Help me get to Arizona for exorcism, & witness protection

This was supposed to be that Earth photo… I’ll try to figure something out for this place where all the spam-bloggers seem to go; I don’t know why they land here…. — Okay, I’m going to try moving the current post, “Help me get to Arizona for exorcism, & witness protection” to here, 12 Dec. 2019 though it is, to be in the first-post position:

 

Click-on.

This isn’t me but I’ve been trying all year to get the photograph-set of me that was used for a rehearsal then for the tricked-photograph taken 2 or 3 days later, back in 1960/maybe 1959 and I have to give up waiting and just found this example as a substitute, the little girl learning to smile for a camera, session I’d been through. Then the few days later I was taken to this place and scuttled to some room to wait while the Foshays went and did something with the baby-Foshay, me finding out later that it had been an appointment to apply for an apartment through the (NY)

Housing Authority. This is back when all this cursing me got started so I’m going to try to explain it but am about out of time for today plus it’s unlikely that my positioning of these pictures is really going to work like this, it’s just an experiment. The part about now, as a 64-year old world’s most tortured (albeit invisibly) person ever’s requiring to have an exorcism of these same bum-types as from way back then though is totally serious, and all I can figure might get me any sort of “witness protection” is that there in Arizona, that big fort, etc.

I want the original “rehearsal” photograph-set to

page found in a 1975 Compton’s Encyclopedia — 0119-001

try to show that I hadn’t been any crosseyed until after all this invisible and unprovable “magic” had started getting all over and including me in their quest for brains to procure for their getting high and “limitlessly intelligent” and owning the world off of. The way that this tricked-photo turned out you can’t see that my eyes are normal and straight, so I could really use the set taken just the few days before this business was pulled onto poor little me.

I’m going to have to just put a little filler that I’ll try to remove later, just trying to get the spacing correct on doing the illustrations this way and as suspected I’ve run into some glitch.

I have something big and scary that I’ve just been

The caption reads, “Learning to share is not easy. The expression of the child in the top picture shows how much she would like to keep all the blocks for herself. The children in the bottom picture have learned to share.

coming to realize the past few days but find that it seems like really dumb to write down about something that’s this big and scary when I’m always all by myself like this like this. Withholding information isn’t something I like to do though. Then also it gets a little complicated with that I suspect it goes back to this Renaissance-era “Oath of the Horatii,” that I’m thinking that those guys were like a group that became the famous Renaissance artists, Michelangelo, Raphael, daVinci, and then maybe Perugino or some such, that they’d sworn back then (like) to take over the world from the “barbarian, others,” the normal earthlings who’d been living all around the earth as those “Jomon and friends,” brain-eaters, have gone around and invaded everywhere, “liberating” the planet from the normal residents for unto their own selves, and I figure that it looks like a big group of them had come over to here like via the Mayflower or what and become this Alexander Graham Bell and his father-in-law Gardiner Greene Hubbard, me thinking that they’d descended from Michelangelo (Me-kill-angelos) and Raphael, with then Bell’s partner Thomas A. Watson as a

the photo credit is YMHA Nursery School

daVinci-descendant type, those 3 and who else I can’t guess’s continuing this Oath of the Horatii — which I haven’t had any chance to try to learn more about, offhand recalling that David was likely the artist of that famous painting, likely in the Louvre.

 

detail

Bell and his father-in-law founded the Bell Telephone Company and the National Geographic magazine and were just busy all over the place back a hundred years or so ago, but lately I’ve been having this especially bad difficulty about trying to get a copy of the photos that were taken just before this one was snuck of me, the photographer asking if he could take my picture but I’d assumed he’d meant like the other photos he’d been taking of the kids in this big community center room I’d been shuttled into, unawares of where I was and just told to wait there and play a game, etc., and I’d given permission for an anonymous one of a group photo like that and instead the guy was kneeling in front of me with the camera and wouldn’t click the shutter and move along and it was creepy and I couldn’t look up because I knew I’d smile before I asked what was taking him so long to take the picture and the smile would make a lie of the whole thing, a complete false impression of the situation, and I feel that there’d be clues in the photos taken just before that would help explain how the underground people-manufacturing system had started setting me up because the Foshays were going to be moving into public housing, which the people-manufacturers make for their manufacturers’ purposes, for private purposes. Trying to figure out why the only sibling/fraud-sibling I’d had won’t send the pictures led to the thought that maybe she’d

Gardiner Hubbard , 1822 Boston -1897 NYC, pictured in Russia 1875

“come from” the Hubbard line, as I’d seen a girl that looked like her once but had had short hair a little like this seems to be in this photo of Hubbard, but from there I’d gotten to thinking that maybe this whole stereotype of people that I figure come from Marcus Samuel might have come from Hubbard and his wife, Gertrude Mercer McCurdy Hubbard:

Click-on but it’s disorganized.

That the combination of their genes’ being mass-reproduced toward this “Bell/Michelangelo” world-takeover (off of little me mind you!) might have “created” the line of people that are more and less

Click-on to be made soon, tomorrow, early Oct. 2019.

like this, descended then from Samuel, to all all over the place and including the “alternative religion” that had been founded in SF by Mr. LaVey — maybe Albert Grossman would be a good neutral example of what I’m suggesting. Able to find little information on the Hubbards yet but all these difficulties keep coming back to his involvement with the Bell business, down to today’s computer-everything situation, at a quick glance it seems she might have had some child-bearing difficulty for the 10 years before Mabel then was born, during which time perhaps she’d had an “appendectomy” or some such whereby an ovary was removed, and the mass-reproduction of this type of the combination of themselves had been begun. I’m saying that based on that it seems like most of the “British Invasion” from the Beatles’ music to all those other music groups of the late 1960s seems to me to have largely been the “made from” work from Mr. “National Geographic” Hubbard, that most of those guitarists and singers seem to me to have been mass-reproduction “Strawberry Fields” from Mr. Hubbard, which is alot of methodology, alot of premeditation in setting these things up. I have to quit for today. I’m horrified to have to write down all this stuff and be alone with it, etc. Then I’ll be trying to get to when the Foshays moved to down the street and I met the little “billions and trillions” girl Gladys and the “French Connection” using me for this brain-eating “limitless” business pursuit of the artsies’.

Oct. 2, 2019, 1- I forgot about Albert Edward/Edward VII, Victoria and Albert’s son, and I’d just learned about him the day before yesterday, so he and Marcus Samuel are somehow very similar that I’ll have to go all back over that Victorian business but from what I’m putting together the “Jomon” must have ransacked that island while they’d had, similar to myself then, Victoria installed there, replaced all the population with themselves and their (brain-eating) allies.

2- Right here I just ran into contemporary lookalikes of the Samuel brothers, Marcus and Samuel Samuel, that they’ve been running this big shelter that I’ve been trying to get a bed in and I think I’m just too old to be of interest besides all any whatever other circumstances around this LURE off of me might be involved. I said I’d try again tomorrow.

Besides the Victorian business I don’t want to have get in the way of trying to get through to the most relevant parts of this “petroleum-satanism” that seems to be assisting the standard “Jomon” brain-eaters’ (invisible and unprovable) tortures of myself I’m then also going through that I can’t simply put this copy of the portrait of Edsel Ford here, the one by Diego Rivera in 1932, as I think it’s a good look as to what Ford was like and somehow the subject of those Edsel cars had come up in 1959-60, the fraud-parent telling me how nobody liked the Edsel cars, that they were “lemons” that nobody would buy and in trying to figure out all this torture-syndrome it comes up that I haven’t any idea why the fraud-parent would have gone on about the subject to me who’s never known anything about cars, that it seems that perhaps it was connected to reasoning for going to the housing authority. Maybe it’s like funding for raising these “pre-fertilized seeds” had gone out from underneath of raising me and they had to seek other assistance, going to the housing authority, and it seems like I’ve been being tortured ever since. At some point I’d noticed that there’s some similarity between Edsel’s face and mine, and then also that Frank Olson of that MK-Ultra business had looked alot like Edsel. I think that both of them were likely being used for work on how to get the system into space, used for work on the space project, is why I’d like to use a photo of the Rivera portrait, but this copyright business is insane and I can’t take any chances on infringing or offending any of these people.

Back last year I’d jotted some few notes on some of the tricks from that Longfellow Avenue, Bronx, time-period of just before the “French Connection” business, that it looks like one of the ladies around Mrs. Foshay was some demon-descendant of these “Jomon” like the one in the Parnassus painting by Mantegna, and she seemed to be all involved with their going to the housing authority. It seems she told Mrs. Foshay that she could get a larger apartment by telling them that the baby wasn’t safe in the same room with me, then we’d get separate bedrooms and it would be a larger apartment, which really would have been nice but what they did was to like lock me in a bedroom and let the baby scream for about 2 hours that I was alone with and then claim that I’d tried to smother the baby when I’d finally figured a way to get the baby’s attention just by lightly dropping a (sitting there mise en place) baby pillow into the bassinet and it distracted the baby to quit crying for awhile and that’s when Mrs. Foshay woke from her nap and “discovered” this lie and family-story that she’d caught me trying to smother the baby. It’d been nothing like that, just the opposite, where I was the victim and being blamed when I’d done the only thing I could figure for trying to reach the screaming kid, it was terrible, a thunderstorm going on and on and me yelling for Mrs. Foshay and I could see her sleeping in the living room on the couch through the keyhole in the door but she’d made me swear not to touch the door handle and so I’d just stood there yelling for her about the baby’s screaming, etc. Then there was some big deal where I’d been told to go outside in the mornings and get that lady to help me cross from our side of the Longfellow Avenue over to her side of the street and really she only helped me cross one time and after that she ignored as I’d yelled and yelled for her attention. I think the point of that was that there was hardly any traffic and they figured I’d just shrug and walk across the little side street intersection but I’m an obedient type and had been told not to do that but to wait for the friend to get up and walk to the corner to watch me cross. Then there was a lie that I’d said that the lady’s new pair of black and white big-checkered pants made her look fat, and I think that between the 2 incidents I’d gotten this curse for being crosseyed put onto me and years of eyeglasses and eye drops and eye patches began. Before that though one morning Mrs. Foshay had asked me if I recalled the day they’d gone for the housing authority appointment and that’s when I learned what that place had been, and she said that they’d only been put on a waiting list. I think that then they’d found an apartment there where on the girlfriend’s side of the street and I’m figuring that that was 1960 because in that next apartment one day there’d been visitor after visitor arriving at the door and I’d been told it wasn’t because it was my birthday and so I’d figured that they were there for a housewarming party was what was going on. Then when everybody suddenly was singing that Happy Birthday song and the name Kathy I’d ducked my head under the table from the surprise of it and I turned around and noticed Mr. Foshay was looking over at a boy cousin and shrugging as though I was a moron for ducking my head under the table. Here’s what I’d had so far on the “Gladys Rodriguez” where are you post:

Photo, mohamed Abdelgaffar, Pexels.comIn 1961 6-year old neighbor Gladys Rodriguez had introduced me to the whole “Passion” subject by showing me a picture in her mother’s Bible of a gory painting much like this one by Titian (1488-1576; Click:)

She told me that Jesus needed assistance to get out of all that pain and I’d said I’d help and she said or asked even if it took a million, billion, trillion or a zillion years to do so. Maybe to slow down this astronomical process I’d asked if a zillion was more or less than a gazillion, her saying she’d never heard of the latter. In this retrospect it’s seeming like an early Scientology-type billion-years-of-slavery vow.

Photo, mohamed Abdelgaffar, Pexels.com

1500 Longfellow Avenue, Bronx, NY 10460. And then a little boy was shot in front of the building, Gladys’ mother thinking that that was somehow connected to drugs even though the boy was only 8, and then the French Connection business had gone on while I was in first grade, living across the hall from Gladys….

Now I’m working up to try to describe that I think the “whole thing” is mostly from a scam for getting cooked meat to the beloved Autist boy invaders from their dinosaur-extincting days wrongfully in the New World, that in their treks to the Old World they’d gotten “crispy” cooked meat from the Old World peoples and they’d come to love that but meat ran out over the millennia because the dinosaurs for it had been extincted, so then they’d gotten these “new friend” Jomon people to intercede in getting cooked meat for themselves, down to where we’ve got all restaurants everywhere now, so that the developmentally disabled (and dinosaur-extincting) Autist boys can get their “crispy” cooked meat anywhere any time now, only it’s at the eventual loss of all biology, that the circa 1432 Ghent Altarpiece Jomon/St. Christopher

Detail, Pilgrims panel, Ghent Altarpiece

took care of everything for the Autist-boy type but had done so at the expense of everything, to get the underdog-seeming boy fed. Somehow this St. Christopher type had latched onto me around 1959-1961 for getting their Armageddon through for themselves, so that I’m recalling the incident of Gladys’ befriending and showing me the crucifixion picture and I’m thinking there’s likely to have been some sort of the hallucino-connection between that and all these bizarre difficulties I go through every day, this life where I’ve got this “Him-kill-angelo” living on my head all day long every day — and I don’t have much longer to live anymore, it isn’t like this blob is going to go anywhere off of me at this point anymore. Usually it’s seemed like this main illustration I’ve been using to describe what seems to be directing this Armageddon business off of me:

Man In Oriental Costume/The Turk, NGA, by either Flinck and-or Rembrandt, bought from the Hermitage by Andrew Mellon and donated to here circa 1934.

I’ll try to pick back up here with this subject but the situation is really getting worse, me like hidden-away in this strange town, this “type” always on my life keeping normal contacts with other people off of me, getting between me and any potential contact and somehow “ruling” over my life as to who is and isn’t allowed to speak with me, and it’s all been negative. I’ve been meaning to mention that my introduction to the whole crucifix/Jesus business was through 6-year old Gladys, who looked some like the girl in these (free) photos by this Egyptian guy, that she’s a little Egyptian girl while Gladys was/is Puerto Rican, a slight difference but similar looks across the 60 years more or less and to my vague recollection, but since this past illness-bout things have gotten worse and it seems like “these bums” have been living off of me way back to when I was 6, then setting up my indirect involvement in that “French Connection” trafficking scam but also there was a sniping of a little boy that had lived around the corner there and taken me for a ride on his bicycle once, that then he was killed riding by the front of 1500 Longfellow Avenue, sniped from the rooftop somehow. That’s like part of this same curse on me, that’s having happened at all, just because the boy had been friendly and normal, like I haven’t been allowed to have any friendly and normal circumstances this life has since been like, that he’d been shot as part of this same Armageddon-abuse to and off of me, that I’m saying will lead to total planet extinction because nature can’t evolve life to be born into this sadism, insane sadism.

13 May; To my recollection she went to a Catholic school instead of the one up the street from our building, 1500 Longfellow Avenue, 4th floor we’d both lived on. I guess she’d seen me idling on the floor landing by the staircase and had invited me into her family’s apartment, and then I was always getting the chicken and rice around after-school time for awhile, that her mother made big pots of. Sometimes we’d watched a little TV. Then I made an error one day and she quit being my friend, like as suddenly as it had started. The error was one of the peculiar little “difficulties” that I’ve always had, where, to my recollection, one day I’d entered our apartment too suddenly and Mrs. Foshay had yelled at me to never enter someone’s house without knocking first. Then the day or 2 later out of nowhere Gladys had run into the Foshay apartment the same way that I had and I’d reacted to her about the same way Mrs. Foshay had to me, Don’t you ever run into here without knocking like this again! and Gladys turned and went back down the hallway and out of the apartment and never spoke to me again, telling me when I’d knocked on her door and asked that she just didn’t want to speak with me anymore or some such. Mr. and Mrs. Foshay were similar to that old National Lampoon comic “The Appleton’s” by B.K. Taylor I think his name is, where Norm Appleton, the parent, is like a sneak-sadist to the 2 little kids and his wife is oblivious to that anything is too unusual, she’s just a nice person. Instead it was like Mr. and Mrs. Foshay together made one Norm Appleton, each having about half his sneak-sadism toward me, so that the deal with that barging into the apartment and getting yelled at and then having the situation reprised with the neighbor-girl was like one of these typical invisible-warfare “tricks” I go through all day long every day all these years, decades. I didn’t read “The Appleton’s” when I used to get the National Lampoon magazine because I didn’t understand what was so funny about it, but I do now and can hardly find any sample copies of it, there isn’t a collection of the pieces published yet, me wanting to show a sample now that I understand the sneak-sadism because they/we aren’t really your own children anyway and they know it and you/we don’t, we are just “baffled” by the behaviors and shrug and trudge along. Altogether I’d lived in that building about 3 years and after Gladys quit being my friend I think I only saw her passingly in the hallway about once in the year and a half I was still there. She’d said that her family had gotten to the Bronx from San Juan via airplane, which I’d thought was really interesting, had asked how they’d gotten there when the subject came up.

Now I find I’ve been sitting in a library across the street from a Church of St. Christopher for the past 7 months. On Longfellow Avenue alot of the cars had had a St. Christopher statue on the dashboard. I’m thinking that instead of patron saint of travelers it was more like patron saint of invaders.

I’d heard one maybe two sonic booms back then, that I believe now were the sound of the protection around Earth’s atmosphere’s being pierced and broken through, broken, that “sound barrier” business, that when you heard a sonic boom it sounded like something had broken bad, it sounded like a big broken-something emergency, supernatural.

A main thing about the neighborhood was Mrs. Foshay’s friendship with a lady named Rosalie and her family, Rosalie Petrucci Deckert, daughter named Amelia that’s a little bit younger than me, born around 1957.

— Unless it’s real pertinent I’m going to continue this at the near-end of the blogroll, in this link — Before and After Gladys

— I think there’s a small factor where while I’d grown up hearing that people were “falling away from the church” from how they’d used to attend, that the situation is more like that the system was wanting the church to grow, that it wasn’t waning but was still in its youth-stages from what the system was looking to expand to to nowadays and that by hooking me with this “propaganda” they’d expected me to assist them in spreading the growth of their “crucifix belief” I’ll just mention it for now.

June 24, 2019, now of course I’ve just noticed that that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was a way big deal in all this, that he must have been some one of the big “brain-eaters,” really, that I’ll have to look into more now that I see his old house is right next to Harvard Square, as I’m trying to look into this DFWallace/Infinite Jest part of “all this” that’s bringing us to gratuitous TOTAL PLANET EXTINCTION.

(Oct. 2019) I’m trying to put in all this kiddy-material because that’s how the system operates, it predestines people’s futures when they’e very young. “Like taking candy from a baby” was a phrase I’d heard alot of back then and it’s how the system’s been stealing the world. My view had been that you grow-into your life, form it as you go along, but the system’s got things pre-decided and won’t let me do anything because I’m not one of their “book of life” family types. So then there was the big “French Connection” time that I only found out about when I’d run across this photograph in 2014 in the 1969 book by Robin Moore. As soon as I recognized those old suitcases and then that the figure on the far right is/was Mr. Foshay I’d realized that this was about brain-serum trafficking and that he’d always been living a fraudulent-front of being a parent to me, the pieces sort of fell together. Unfortunately for me (also) is that I’ve been hoping that the other kid in the little 4-person nuclear fraud-family would look at this photo because back in 1982 she’d mentioned that she remembered that little set of the suitcases and I was hoping she’d help verify some of any of these subjects but she won’t have anything to do with me.

From “The French Connection” account by Robin Moore, 1969, that had actually wound up in Brooklyn and the Bronx, etc.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Baychester Project, Nov. 1, 1963-1973/74. Baychester map.pdf

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marcela Grad talked about her book, Massoud: An Intimate Portrait of the Legendary Afghan Leader (Webster University Press; February 17, 2009). The book focused on the life and impact of Afghan resistance leader Ahmad Shah Massoud, an enemy of both the Soviets and the Taliban. He was assassinated on September 9, 2001, in what is believed to be a preemptive move by Al-Qaeda to limit the response to the September 11th attacks. In the book, Ms. Grad compiles testimony from people who knew and covered Massoud over the years. She also responded to questions from members of the audience. [C-span . org]

check for photos, U.S. President Ronald Reagan meeting with Afghan mujahedin leaders in 1983.

While living in Baychester I went to Evander Childs High School on Gun Hill Road and I’m dumping this little bit on Harry Morgan the buccaneer turned governor of Jamaica here because I’m thinking maybe there’s some parallel with these “Allen Ginsberg-things” that I have to get myself exorcised from, me having one of the pointed out to me in front of the high school and later in 1992 probably noticing that there was a big Carib neighborhood across White Plains Road from where the school is, that there might be some connection, and that that famous cemetery is in that area too, Woodlawn, where Herman Melville is buried, that I’ll be trying to look into this as this Harry Morgan theme then came up again while I was in the hospital between the dogbite and then the missing medicine that wound up getting me real real sick, still not recuperated. And that “Cup of Gold” book cover could go up under that “Kindergartens” photo-set, if you realize that everything’s about the brain-eating.

dc2 Henry Morgan book cover

dc1 Henry/Harry Morgan possible old portrait

Harry Morgan

cover of john steinbeck’s “Cup of Gold” novella, about Harry Morgan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then in October 1973 I’d noticed the Army recruiter office on White Plains Road and because I hadn’t ever figured out where Lehman College was I wasn’t enrolled after all and so decided to join the Army but it was real difficult getting the requisite parental permission but they took just Mrs. Foshay’s signature that it was alright I could go and I got through basic and then spent 5-6 months each in San Antonio and Fort Hood here in Texas and then I got to go over to Germany, 2 years with the Army and then I’d stayed there an extra year and came back in late 1977 and moved out to San Francisco with the Army boyfriend, first in San Rafael and then to Hyde and Ellis streets in about May 1978. This then would be where I’d gotten the attention of the satanism. Then it would sort of jump to 1993 and the grand springing of this “Armageddon Show” onto me with the visions and voices’ singing and dancing about s**ing the world. They still do that any chance they can sneak that c*** through my head as they’re sitting on to kill my life away, grinning and sitting on me and making toilet out of each and every day, etc. The point with s**ing the world is like that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step, you just do these things and they won’t let me do anything whatsoever. I’m only allowed to sit in libraries because they’re scamming off of and pay not any attention to what I’m actually putting together, like today where I’m looking at a homeless shelter video and the bosses are near-exact copies of the Samuel brothers of the original Shell oil company, 150 years later nearly and these guys look the same as those had back then and nobody notices anything is untoward about this world we’re living in. This is where the petroleum business and the satanism or 666-ism became joined and it’s petroleum-satanism that’s been doing this torture-sadism to me like all this year for specific instance but likely back to 1996 when I was like a ghost-prisoner in a San Francisco residential hotel room, the Mission Hotel on South Van Ness Avenue at 16th St. The tortures to my skull, invisible and unprovable, were so bad that all I could mostly do was sit on the floor in a corner of the room and work on these same sorts of files but I’d lost all those paper files in 2005.

Oct. 3, Thursday, they’re still “reprising” the longtime standard “Armageddon Show” things that they behind-my-back/under my feet do so I’ve gone ahead and placed the bits about this millennium into the next post here, but please don’t overlook that this “I Am ‘Infinite Jest'” business was only just learned by me and it’s how the system’s been keeping people from talking with me, lyingly telling people that this is an infinite jest on myself, don’t pay any attention to whatever I’m saying, I’m only being mind-game joked, etc. The “Infinite Jest” book really is and might be more attached to about this to me than I could realize about to be able to describe even if I could describe much of all of this hallucino-system’s doings. Alot of it might be the “trending” way that the system works also. I used to do massive amounts of typing like that is where the idea for the massively-long story might have stemmed from and been turned around for helping discredit me, as these bums keep sneak-doing all day long every day, like the whole system always competing against one tiny nobody me. I’ve never exchanged sex for money but it’s as though the system has alot of this sadism based on claiming that I’ve been a prostitute. They’re so sub-human that I really think they routinely tell that lie as a rationale for doing these trick-tortures to me all the time, and all kinds of other lies as the system’s standard operating procedure. Also, I just found out that Houston is more or less the energy capital of the world, I hadn’t realized that it was that specific, that this is nowhere for someone in my LURE-horror situation to have come to.

Oct. 4 — I finally got onto a little something but have too many different subjects I’m trying to get mentioned and then, unable to get a Permission on using that nice copy of the Edsel Ford portrait I’d come across somewhere it written that the whole Detroit Industry murals set also by Rivera is PD and yet then Wikipedia’s article on it has one PD and one non-free material illustration from them so I’m looking for an easy copy of the picture of Edsel Ford there in the lower-right corner of the south wall mural and ran across an enlargement of the paper that that guy in front of his is holding, but I then got the cut-off time sign here and had to log out and then found 2 real good long articles on inter-connected subjects that I’ll have to go re-find again now that I’m signed back onto this library computer, but there’s only another hour or so left to today if I’m unintelligent enough not to leave early because my circumstances are so bad right now, so I’m just going to through the piece of paper-rotated for easier reading photos of the — google I think it is and I just don’t like to use that word, wish they’d call in the page-brin company or something that doesn’t remind me of the inferno “petroleum” situation we’re in, but, instead of this image’s actually being connected to the Cleveland dot com article on the murals or on the Wm. Valentiner art director subject that I’d been looking up about, trying to be certain who the guy with the paper is since somewhere else it’d been mentioned that it was the architect Albert Kahn so I’m trying to be certain which guy this is and it does appear certain that it’s Valentiner pictured there with Edsel in that little bottom corner that I’ll still tomorrow be trying to find a simple copy that’s somehow PD of Edsel Ford to use for my little description that maybe I’m from that same “stereotype” as he was but then also that’d be leading back to the 1893 time period that he’d been born in, when that big Chicago world’s fair was going on, etc. Here’s the enlargement of the piece of writing so far that I could find, and it’s credited just to the search-engine, not the article it was attached to:

Detroit Industry murals, lower-right south wall, paper held by Wm. R. Valentiner, the art director, then rotated to up and down.

 

 

== just below there on that 4th line.

The whole thing reads: These frescoes:

painted between July 25. 1932 and March 13. 1933 while Doctor William R. Valentiner was “Direc”=

tor of the Art Institute are the gift to the City of Detroit of (Mr.) Edsel B. Ford, President of the Art commission.

close-up of how he wrote what’s presumable “director,” hyphenated I guess:

— Kathy’s point is that that presumable Direc=tor actually looks like a sneaky way of writing Siber (-) and Core maybe, maybe “tor,” Siber-tor, for all I can guess how the system thinks about itself and then back then, in 1932, when they’d believed they’d be running the earth from space or Mars soon. I included where just above there he’d written the Doctor of his own name and the “D” there doesn’t look like the “S” of what I’m saying is sneaked-reference to

part two of the hyphenated presumable “director.”

the Siberia where the system’s long-time been sitting around conducting this Armageddon from, back from the invasion from the New World days before even the so-called Trojan “war,” probably. (Really I figure the “jan” part was the Siberian-area friend-buddy of the invaders, and the normal people wanted to throw “jan” out of their houses along with the grinning little feral-type Autist invaders fresh from

a second view of the presumable first part of the word director

extinction the New World dinosaurs.) I’ll have to get back to this again now, but there’s also a note about how they’d written the “Mr.” part of Ford’s name, that it looks more like “Ur” to me, Ur being like the name of the Siber-area’s main place or city, and like the first and last letters, like an early abbreviation, of the place-name of Ulaanbaatar, near there. I’ll try to find the image again for a better copy of that too.

This is about the art-binge at the 1939 NY world’s fair: otoole-ewald dot com slash blog/2017/10/12/ny-1939-a-worlds-fair-book-review == I don’t think they’d mind that I’m storing this here till I can get it to that fair’s file, ck author’s name though, that s/he might not require it to be mentioned right here. And, otoole-ewald dot com slash blog/2017/10/27/ny-1939-a-worlds-fair-ii == short on the contemporary art.

Okay I have to drop that too and mention that since learning about Powell, I can’t even recall his first name right now! with the USGS and that odd photo-set of Tau-Gu, being that it looks like 2 different people to me offhand so far, no kidding, totally different people somehow, or the one I’ve got from the Cultural Tourism DC street signboard possibly has a mislabeling, but I’m suspecting there’s a “switcheroo” in there, — reading that he’d lost his hand at the Battle of Shiloh and looking that up and having to look more into how 24000 people could have died in one battle in that small of the area, etc., the name of (General) PGT Beauregard came up and in looking into Genl. Beauregard I’m starting to see the whole “Civil War” falling apart as being a load of system-lies for their invasion of and stealing of here from the residents, citizens, people who’d been living in North America, just vanished, absorbed, by the invaders, like Beauregard’s “Jomon” type of the supporters of the feral invaders “back” over Beringia from being long-lost in the New World for probably millennia. It isn’t easy to see these lovely write-up biographies of these system-people and realize that they’re near-total fiction written for Armageddon-purposes, but, with very little time to spend on this, so far I’ve run into that Beauregard had been the general that Fort Sumter had been surrendered to by Robert Anderson and that Anderson had been one of Beauregard’s pupils at I think it’s the NY Military Academy and I’ll have to look up if that was an early name of West Point, but the “collusion” there goes with my years-ago suspicion of Anderson and that surrender, but I don’t recall any specific details except that Anderson had gone on to found the Old Soldier’s Home in Washington, DC, and there was something odd about that process. Then that was a place that Lincoln had spent alot of time at, and that peculiar Winfred Scott, general. These Armageddon people are alot of insane (and brain-eating) con artists, and normal people can’t “conceptualize” that people would always be lying this convolutedly so that we haven’t any defense against these “Jomon,” of Beauregard’s figurehead type now I’m thinking he is. In fact I’d also have to check maybe he came from a pirate like Jean Lafitte or some such, maybe out from that Harry Morgan guy too however these people-makers have been operating. — Edward VII (1841-1910, it being difficult for me to figure how little Bertie had turned out big like that,) didn’t look that much like Marcus Samuel (1853-1927.)

[from a deadline dot com blurb because I have to sign-off: Feb 26, 2014 – In advance of Sunday’s Oscars, CBS News has posted a 60 Minutes Overtime … 1981 interview with real-life self-described swindler Mel Weinberg, who … ‘American Hustle’ Swindler’s 1981 Interview With Mike Wallace: Video. — I’m trying to trace the 1981 interview.]

Oct. 5, I’m agreeing to this in order to see the video:

By clicking Start CBS All Access, you understand your monthly or annual subscription will automatically renew, upon completion of free trial (if any), unless cancelled prior to end of the free trial, and your payment method will be charged in advance of each billing period unless cancelled. Free trial for new subscribers only. You may cancel your subscription at any time from your account management page or calling 888-274-5343; subscription will stop at end of the billing cycle following cancellation. Prices subject to change. == never mind, they have to be given a credit card number and i don’t have one and cringe at the thought of figuring out about giving out the debit card details to anyone so I just quit on that for so far for now.

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/swindler-behind-christian-bales-oscar-nominated-role-in-american-hustle/ == : …organization the FBI created, Abdul Enterprises, Ltd.

He says the word “Abdul” came from Karim Abdul Rahman, a real person he met while flying first class on a Pan Am flight from Europe. “He was a legit guy, we never told him,” Weinberg says.

…After Abscam, Weinberg says he never worried for his safety.

“I’m always careful,” he says. “I always made a lot of left turns– if anyone’s tailing you, you can always find them by making left turns.”

When asked if he has any regrets about working on the Abscam operation, Weinberg says: “For what? For putting them in jail? The only guilt I have was that I didn’t get the rest of them.  We could have gotten half of Congress.”

Then there’s a 2012 105-page school paper on the abscam but I don’t know if one can download school papers without a permission or what: etd dot auburn sot edu slash bitstream/handle/10415/3384/Larceny%20In%20My%20Heart dot pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y

Then I’m trying to figure if there’s a connection between the baby in the Rivera’s Detroit Industry murals and the English king Henry VIII so I’ll be trying to compare portraits:

Detroil Industry murals by Diego Rivera’s vaccination baby

Henry VIII, click for the PD.

check image, fineartamerica dot com slash featured/king-henry-viii-of-england-and-his-six-wives-english-school dot html == how the ladies all look similar.

check lucas de heere 1534-84, looks like a tapestry, henry viii’s family, an allegory of the tudor succession.

 

Oct. 9, I’m starting to think maybe (Abscam’s) Mel Weinberg wasn’t “from” Samuel Samuel, (1855-1934,) co-founder of the Shell company. And maybe the “Abscam” was about the system’s ability to make photography of these “magic” hologram-images of people like I figure I’m trapped in, from the centuries of the practice on my ancestors, working up that “magic” show the system-people have been doing in place of normal life-things like having and feeding real-made offspring, in-utero fertilization offspring that you then love to grow/farm food for, not farming for mass-armies but quality-growing the botany, where the system overlooks all that, the basics of the natural order of life. This is all the time for today now though.

Oct. 14, I don’t know how I’m going to get caught up. I’m still trying to get back to this “Abscam” business and its merging of the petroleum and satanism businesses and I’m just inundated by all kinds of the floating garbage all over everything, still unrecuperated from the aftermath of that dogbite, where then the medicine had been stolen by this “Armageddon Program” all over me and then last night I started realizing some other bizarre little aspect of all this that’s all over me from way back in 1960, that all these things are getting me off the track of this simple description I’d had in mind early last week and haven’t been able to notate down yet. This is all back to this “emergency-style writing” where I’m lucky to be able to slap in any of these floating bits and can only be able to hope to be able to get back to and straighten out these subjects later. Along with the medicine had been some little food items with a big bottle of ketchup and it seems like since then I can’t “catch up” with what I’m trying to do here. The system comes from insane primitives that think that ketchup = catch up is valid…. That Diego Rivera was mentioned on page 153 of the “Limitless” novel I’m trying to explain shows that the “Limitless” intelligence only lasts as long as the extra-serotonin effects do, and now I’ve got a big subject from his “Detroit Industry murals” set to right here and now all over me, connected with that “1960” realization that’s just dawning on me, — and really I’m mostly supposed to be looking for

a- a place to move to,

b- someone to assist me with this blog/the Universe-rescue attempt.

And then it’s come up that I can barely keep up with the grocery-store shopping, like I’ve been out of toothpaste all weekend and can’t go to a store for it today either, and I’m out of paper towels again, don’t know how I keep the room clean without them anymore, and etc. for all the things we have to leave these housing-areas to run go get from wherever the system planted the store-area/s, in place of us being self-sufficient humans who could arrange things for our own selves. It comes from the males’ “making” babies instead of letting that happen the natural way and then the females would take care of the food situation for feeding the baby, everything from the bottom on up stemmed off of that first natural step that leads to the next and the next, — even “next” is a word I can barely say with this filthy-minded c*** always living off of my brain, these abnormal brain-eaters. “Nasty Nasi” I guess is what the most of it comes from, like fictionalized in that “Altai” story by the Bologna Wu Ming group, and that nonfiction account, “The Woman Who Defied Kings” by Adrian Aelion Brooks I think her name is spelled, that that Nasi seems at the root of most of what’s left, the head of the brain-eaters types.

3:50p, they disabled the keyboard here, “magic” trick, while I’d finally gotten into my “social media” account after I’d opened it before the car-hit in 2015 and it’s been blocked-off ever since more or less because on a library computer I can’t upload a photograph — but then I had uploaded one and it isn’t there. Whatever, I somehow finally got to the account again and this keyboard didn’t work and I’d ascribed that to this security problem that’s been keeping me from being able to get to the account because from a library computer I can’t upload the I.D. card they wanted for self-verification, etc., difficulties I’ve been going through, and they wanted the current telephone number and I couldn’t get this keyboard to work and I logged off after looking around there a bit — turns out the fraud-sibling has an account I’d somehow found because maybe she’d done a contact attempt but I didn’t notice a date on it, just found it in with a bunch of strangers and in fact it’s her regular — well she was single back then, etc… I was going to switch from this disabled keyboard to the next terminal over and it occurred to me that there’s an odd character that had taken the seat opposite here and the disabled keyboard might just be some “trick” and I logged out and back on and this is working find again. So I got the Edsel Ford photograph of the portrait but without the clear Permission but it seems pretty clear that it’s not too big a deal for me to finally get that up there and he looks so good that instead of marring it with my words I’ll put them in the click-on attachment file, but of course right now I’m also hooked on the other Diego Rivera portrait of Edsel, the one that’s in the big fancy lying that I just found out that Mead L. Bricker business about, just learned that– in fact Popso’s site says the name is ML Bricke, also, most anywhere that mentions the figure calls it Bricke but it’s Bricker, and the face is all different too. It’s already four p.m. At least I got the nice image of Edsel finally, where for some reason it seems okay to “post” or have or show a photo of a copyrighted work. That portrait isn’t even supposed to be copyrighted back to the artist when it was given away as a gift to the sitter. Strange times. These strange times are what I’m supposed to be working on but instead there I was on the social media and unable to update my phone number, which I really ought to go back and do because it is important toward verifying that I am who I say I am, etc., where I do have a security problem I just found out and don’t know what to do about: The “google” company name that drives me nuts because it reminds me of the turning people into petroleum hidden “lifestyle” we’re all under, sent me one of these standard things they frequently send whenever I sign into email from a different library branch and they had the information and said I should click if it wasn’t me and I looked it up and it was the day that this “Armageddon Program,” on October 3, the recent Thursday, where the parasites were all over me so bad that I got to downtown and had to change my mind about going to the library and head back to this area and I signed in at this usual branch library and then I get this goo-company security alert saying that I’d signed into my UniverseRescue.Attempt email from a terminal at the downtown library about one thirty that afternoon, when I was here, having changed my mind about going to that main branch downtown, so I don’t know how — then, if that wasn’t you they tell you to change your password, is their solution. How on earth would changing that password be of any assistance to me when it’s the most difficult of the different little ones I have to use and keep track of for anything all nowadays. If someone knows that different password then all my everyday ones are obviously also known, that’s the only one that’s slightly difficult to guess, all the others’ being pretty simple and similar. Changing that password isn’t going to assist the security problem, and someone — they had a real big “Program” following me that morning, so that I’d decided it was too scary to go to the big library, and then that real big Armageddon Program apparently just went ahead and faked that I was at the downtown library and impersonated me and invaded the email while doing so.

Oct. 15, the parasites seem to be “playing” while I’m trying to do a few things here so that I might as well admit I can’t do that and try something else instead. I could try to get back to this “simple” description of the petroleum-satanism and off of me situation I’d thought of last week, then I waited through the day to be able to get back to the room just to email-type it to myself and by the time I got back there I was too exhausted to start into the description with that one-finger typing and I did something else for a little while and went to sleep and haven’t been able to get back to this simple easy little description for how this had worked itself up. Right now I should go ahead and try to follow this about how George Bush had moved to here in 1959. I’d thought he’d gotten a job that had led him to move here but it was to start that business up, Zapata oil or petroleum business that’s still functioning under some other name. What I’d read is that he’d arrived in this dusty place to start into the business here, so I’m trying to figure how much of Houston there was viz. (?) what it’s like now, which is this total planet difficulty, the extinction the human race is headed for. To my recollection he’d been a fighter pilot in the Pacific in WWII and for all I can ever be sure of maybe the U.S. had been taken prisoner by Japan and they just let it be said that the U.S. had won so they wouldn’t have anyone bothering them toward getting that straightened out for real, me figuring the system-“magicians” had come from Japan as the long-ago and anonymous “Jomon” culture people, that their thinking and ways are all sneaky and convoluted, that about everything is some kind of a lie or another has taken over everywhere, and I had a rough day. In fact I think I ran into another one of these “Samuel” -family run shelters, Marcus and Samuel Samuel faces all the time. So I’m pretty disgusted with Houston right now and trying to figure where Bush’s arrival and influence had fit in. Wernher von Braun’s rocket-scientist group had flown to El Paso and then moved over to Alabama back the decade and were working on the rocket business and Bush got here with the petroleum Zapata business. I don’t think the “Limitless” fiction book mentioned Zapata but it mentioned alot about Pancho Villa, whatever the relationship there might be, me not knowing anything much about south of the border but that’s all what the Arizona-area is about, which where there was just that murder, at the Sierra Vista transit center, the Vista Transit Center. Then also there’s this whole new Turkey business. A hundred years ago Turkey had just been a real active part in getting this “system” set up, like strung from Uganda to Turkey up that Middle East corridor there. Then Mendelsohn, a little like Edsel Ford/the type maybe, too, had spent alot of time in Palestine setting the place, the desert, up for this system we’re in. So I’m trying to figure Bush in 1959 situation here in Houston, where then by 1969 “Houston” was the first word said on the moon, someone had just mentioned last night on the radio.

— The parasites are changing the radio dial every night now that I’d figured how to work the radio app to turn it on, then I leave it on while I’m sleeping and instead of waking up to some English-language news and time and weather or similar usefulness the “magic” has switched the radio to some Spanish-language music station, 2 different ones I think it’s been but whatever it’s like the Amityville horror. Unlivable world of crawling invisible things, that come from some malicious root.

I don’t recall what these go to, will be trying to get back to check them later:

Milint est’d July 1962; commemorative issue: fas dot org slash irp slash agency slash army slash mipd slash 2012_03 dot pdf

1971, 32p. pdf: gao dot gov slash assets slash 210 slash 204433 dot pdf

This one mentions origins with that Pinkerton (1819-1884) Jomon: fas dot org slash irp slash agency slash army slash evolution dot pdf.

I have to sign off but should mention that that Wilhelm Valentiner director of the Detroit arts museum that had invited Diego Rivera there had written a book titled The Late Years of Michelangelo and I’m thinking now that that was part of totally inventing this arts world that we’re living in, that those late years is just fictional material to make a big star where there wasn’t really much but pay-offs for assistance with the world-clearing of the other peoples that’s been going on since say — etc., what I’m usually talking about, trying to, etc.

October 18: I just sent this to another shelter: I’m a single 64-year old homeless female veteran looking for a place to stay especially since it looks like I’ll be stranded here over the winter again, living in a rented room for $90 a week, which doesn’t allow me to save anything for leaving Houston by, wanting to go to Arizona or else to winter in Florida, or San Juan, since they both have VA hospitals I have to stay near because I have to keep oxygen tanks to supplement my regular breathing by morning and evening, which means that I can’t be around lit cigarettes. If you think you might have any space for me I’d appreciate it if you’d look at the blog I try to go to libraries and work on most days: UniverseRescueKathyFoshayWordPressCom.wordpress.com and if you don’t find the material objectionable I could really use a place to stay. Sincerely, kathy foshay, and the telephone number. I’d gotten to right near the place and was afraid I might have the directions wrong and went to the area’s library instead and good thing because I did have the directions all wrong, would have been huffing and puffing out there till 6pm tonight trying to find the bus stop again. The monsters have me real sick and then I forgot to take the lung medication this morning. In fact I could go out to the V.A. today and put the order in for next week or else I’ll have to do that tomorrow, which is what I’m likelier to do, Saturday being such a quieter day, etc.

Mel Weinberg, from “The Sting Man” book by Robt. W. Greene, both the photos here, fair use I’m claiming as Weinberg seems inferno-connected; check on Sidney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre.

I’m supposed to try to compare his late-1960s photo with Samuel Samuel as I’m running into so many of the type lately and this Abscam thing is turning into the “magic” of taking photography of people in underworld holograms, might be the real point to this underworld-terrorism gimmick’s bringing us to this extinction-bound situation, etc., but it’s late today now and I can’t check on S. Samuel right now. There’s only one photo of him and the family is a big deal in Parliament all last century and we don’t know who was really who or what was going on the way these tricksters work, the brain-eaters, the way they think up bizarre scams to run, and it’s taking me a long long time to try to describe what they’d been pulling with Victoria, that first there was that Abscam, “American Hustle” film and then there was that Victoria and Abdul I think is the title similar convolution of reality scam to try to describe, that they must have used Victoria, my type, as a front for ripping apart England the way they’ve been and are still using me, here. Etc…

I’ll try to straighten this out tomorrow. Right now I’m trying to think-figure logistics for tonight through tomorrow, having to leave here and I guess — good luck to me, taking the number forty to the usual kroger store that’s always tired of me probably, but then i’ve only got a small amount, plus it has to cover lunch for tomorrow, or how exactly I’m now going to transport myself. It is getting too sloppy, the “emergency-style” way that I can only throw things onto here for getting back to if there’s a later. This business with “Louie” and the candy store guy… the system put or has duplicates of those 2 store people-stereotypes at the head of this street I’ve been staying on since last September, Louie the grocery store man and the near boy candy store man, — Louis being the staircase #1 stereotype type and the candy store guy just some tall black-haired guy type, a little Semitic-looking, both types total strangers to 6-year old me but then this “Armageddon Program” has people looking like those 2 store-owner types as store-owner types here where I’d moved into, where then that “ML Bricke” business of the brain-“harvesting” is all the paradigm, the French Connection but industrialized processing has been following me with these same strangers from the Bronx and now to here…. Okay, I have to quit for today. The thing with Louie and the other guy is that I was always getting set up for different curses and my whole life had gotten cursed by all these different and unnoticed strangers way back as soon as I could start walking and talking, circa 1959 on. In this case Mrs. Foshay had used to send me to buy things and that seems to have been part of the curse-scam, that she’d set me up like part of this “French Connection/brain-serum addicts” conspiracy, but I’m just stuck with this right now, knowing that these addicts are going to leave the planet dwindling out for not any sort of “reason,” just developmental disability that snowballed and is okay this way, etc. Then who gets stuck looking at the dead planet smithereens for forever.

Oct. 19, Saturday; I could barely get here for this only an hour now today, couldn’t move or do anything syndrome killing me since the aftermath of that dogbite worse than it had been which of course was already indescribable, and this “program” follows my every move, some anybody running up here to turn on a nearby computer in order to talk to himself to it as a ritual near me now. — Bad bad karmas or what this fakened-world is. Yesterday’s library visit had included one of these that I’m trying to get the exorcism because of, trying to get that stereotype, the (Ginsberg-Ira Levin, Pirate Harry Morgan and on and on) stereotype off of me and there was one there while I was busy doing this, generally afraid to pay any kind of attention to anyone good or bad for fear of the bad luck I carry on me, and this Ginsberg-stereotype sat a few terminals down that small row but on the other side of some guy so that the Ginsberg-face was looking at me through the person’s typing/computing hands and arms and face sitting there, the Ginsberg looking past and through the guy over to where I was. As general for me I can only ignore such things but then I’d (been) woken with that recollection in my mind today and it’s like I’m more carrying that pirate-type than even before, that maybe it’s been keeping a low-profile since the dogbite “victory” over me me or what but it’s terrible again today, in addition of course to all the regular “invisible” -tortures. I should try to describe this Longfellow Avenue business because they’ve attached it to me here for the past year, maybe I’ve always been living with it attached to me and just am noticing it now because — the only time I’d ever had a difficulty with a dog was one day in the entrance of that candy store, so I’d been reflecting on that with this new fear of dogs that I’ve now got, same as the fear of intersections and cars since the car-hit, same purposeful ambush of me too they are. I don’t know if I have the energy to try to recollect all that old business and in fact I recall now that I’m supposed to leave early because of all these recent difficulties, too. I didn’t get to the VA today, I think I’ve got enough of the prescription still left after all so I’d procrastinated that to next week, tomorrow being Sunday…. — Messed up trying to get the cellphone-sends to here, have to go back over it tomorrow, this being Sunday now, was.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do about this photo here. Detroit is a big part of the “all this” extinction-direction we’re in, etc. — 21 October, I’ll have to move this to here for now because of these days’ being so short for me, that I can’t think of a better way to set this up right now. What I’m really trying to get to is this “golem” picture but I have to do a search-engine attempt around it first because it’s unattributed and controversial, but it’s such the big subject that I hate to have to put it off for another day. It seems that most of this Armageddon curse all over me comes from that “Louis the grocer” in that the fraud-adults all around me had set me up to curse that I couldn’t be trusted with money, and so I’ve never had any more money than I’d gotten paid while in the Army, an E-4, regular pay, and otherwise I’ve never had much of anything and it’s just this “book of life” of the underworld’s growing their own children in place of natural having and feeding children, which then leads to normal evolution instead of this extinction-route. I’m trying to get to the subject of the mass-farming to mass-feed their Armageddoning mass armies of “grown” or manufactured people, whereas normally someone like me would want space around my house so I can grow my own food and instead they’ve got the housing all backwards but I don’t have the time and organization to pull these materials together right now, but I’m working on these subjects.

October 23, everything is going really poorly for me, encrusted with this “Armageddon Program director” and the “Ginsberg-” horror-monster and then the usual torture singsongs or what have you, and the weather getting closer to these unreal winters and nothing accomplished for getting me out of any of this. — They sent the one Weinberg photo, I can’t believe it, had tried all day yesterday. Have to leave here early.

October 24 — I couldn’t even get to a library yesterday somehow — yes, but I read the Mia Farrow autobiog, skimmed alot of it, then couldn’t stay there any longer to do this also. Now I have to sign out again. It says that they’ve gotten that “Receptor” novel in, it’d likely be there if I go to the central library tomorrow, and that they’ve shipped some other one I’d requested to try to find some old photo again, a prehistory one, but otherwise all is awful for me.

October 26, I barely got here today because the sun didn’t come out till nearly noon to warm things up a little, no kidding, can’t stand the cold and it hasn’t really even begun yet, think it barely got to 51 degrees, and that makes it an emergency for me to get that mentioned as keeping the blog is therefore going really poorly for me. It’s so bad that I figure as a contingency plan I’ll try to read some long novels to get through the days when I can’t get out of the bungalow-room, starting with like Wuthering Heights, to try to figure prehistory clues from whatever that Heathcliff character was about, just assuming he must have been from a cliff-pushing breed of the “Autists” as I politely always try to describe that the end of Earth is really going to be coming from, that then these “Japan-Jomon” breed or race specimens got involved with championing their dear new little boyfriends, etc. I want to jot that I guess they’d used that whole “Jesus” thing as a scam to get normal people to overlook this brain-invading at first, where “Jesus” seems above things like private parts thoughts, ha, it’s how they tricked their way onto and then into everyone and they appear to feel absolutely the opposite of any remorse for anything anything. — Now 2 difficulties with the email/gmail.

October 27, “They’re” passing it off as being “pranks” onto me, all these different groups anywhere I go does some “prank.” And — one of them was to steal or rob something from the room I’m renting, just a little cup with some change and a few barrettes in it, so far all that I noticed, having put the barrettes into the little cup with the change just yesterday before I left and then looking for it again today just before I went to leave the room because I like to take four pennies with me in case I buy anything so I don’t get a bunch of pennies back in the change, the system doing the theft both for sneak-doing the Armageddon off of me but also to unhinge me. Just before I noticed the little cup was missing I’d gone to take out the trash and there was some ordinary-seeming scene where I realized in retrospect it was one of the sneak-ways to curse crosseyedness onto me, and I kept it in mind to see if anything untoward happened to make me ask you/askew, and then the cup was missing. Now I have all that on my mind while “they’re” pulling some other “prank” all over to askew me from whatever, the universe-rescue attempt, I might be trying to have on my mind. I know it’s “the jew” that’s behind the theft because like this had happened when I was in Brighton Beach in Brooklyn, same modus operandi, and because of those 2 sugar packets that had gone when this had happened while I was in the hospital after the dogbite. I’ll put the link to that here but really I haven’t made that file very much yet: ~~ — ~~ — ~~ — ~~ the dog-bite — The thing with the sugar packets is that they weren’t recognizable as being sugar packets, were a slightly fancy kind I’d bought in a pinch one day and were in a brown instead of a white paper and somewhat larger than the usual type sugar packets, you’d have to know they were inconspicuously sitting in my little sewing box while you were also taking the sugar dispenser from the tabletop I use, etc., for this junk’s wasting my little time today now. I’ll have to try to bring this up to the rent-guy tomorrow but it’s his day off and I was on my way out and it’s lovely and the system just wants to ruin anything and everything and I didn’t want it affecting my trip here to the library, really just healthy to get out of doors. Let me see what else I’m supposed to do today, and there goes another underworld/inferno-world type “prank” again, and another. It’s just like 200 times a day some little “polluntion” to all over me and then that radiates out to the Armageddon and this “New Jerusalem” we’re now living in. Speaking of which, it’s that “YMHA” on the photo credit that has me always figuring that that’s where all these curses all over me stem from. They’d started I think before the Civil War in the 1860s as a Literary association and now today the big Community Centers, just trouble-brewing off of me and profiting all the time. This really then connects to this whole “golem” thing, this illustration I’d come across and am trying to trace to get a permission on. I’ve traced it to the longtime Jewish newspaper’s online version and it’s kind of yucky having to request information then for this attempt to try to rescue the universe because it’s as though from themselves. Also I have to look into the interactions with Mia Farrow and this A. Ginsberg-type, where that author of the Rosemary’s Baby novel had been one of the “Ginsberg-type,” and like one after another “prank” onto her life she’d had so I’m figuring she or “that guy” had been acquainted with A. Ginsberg, as how this Armageddon’s been being done. Etc. for this horrible day they’re doing off of my misfortunate little self. — I guess I’ll have to quit early since things are going so so terribly. Just like I’d been “constrained” while waiting for that 1959/-60 photo I still haven’t received now I’m similarly tied-up by what to do about this golem illustration. There isn’t any mention of who the artist is and it’s likely copyrighted by someone. It depicts one of the “staircase #1 types” but super-sized large compared to the golem-making Rabbi Loew (1520-1609, Prague.) Then that would or does match with this “Louis the grocer” from circa 1960 realization I’m suddenly having that that “staircase #1 type” had been putting these curses onto me way back then, like everything around me was sabotaging my future, the fraud-parent duo and that stranger neighbor-lady Rosalie Deckert, who I see “offspring-descendants” around here sometimes of, one of which I think had cursed my winter here last year, odd “Jomon-demon” stereotype from that Renaissance-era “Parnassus” painting by Mantegna. All these different subjects that I raise all go together to form the or a picture of how it is that we’ve got an underworld that’s going to bring the end of the planet and biology not to mention human race, and I’m positive they’re based on nothing to speak of whatsoever, just primitives’ meeting with developmentally disabled others and forming these personal bonds and doing this “Limitless!”-feeling brain-eating high addiction together and that “high” and their respective developmental disabilities resulted in this system that they won’t untangle but specifically happened onto newborn impoverished nobody girl me to live off of while they’re doing that prophesied Armageddon world-takeover, and Louis the grocer when I was a kid had been active with putting these life-curses onto me and then I’ve been in Houston for over a year now and just noticed that the system has a guy that is Louie the grocer’s type at the beginning of the street that I’ve been renting a room on but opposite that guy’s store is a store run by guys who look like the candy man who’d had the other store there on Longfellow Avenue in the Bronx circa 1960, the 2 storekeepers both active in “laying” these life-curses onto little me along with the fraud-parents and their peculiar neighborhood friends. The system has carried those curses by the 2 strange males to this street in Houston in 2018-19 as they’ve been doing this Armageddon Show/Program/-making off of me for decades, specifically 26 years but it’s been all my life too, these bums from the “French Connection” brain-chemicals business’ following me from Longfellow Avenue to another set-up neighborhood and then into the Army and all through these years and now sneak-bringing back up those early curses by these shopkeepers at this location, which I wouldn’t have noticed except that there had been an incident with a dog scaring me in front of the candy store, noticing the little similarity there and then all this business with the Louie -stereotype, which is what is in this golem picture. I wrote to the person whose blog I’d first noticed it was attached to when I was search-engining in general for about Rabbi Loew because he was the ovary-begetter and people-manufacturing original more or less I guess, that Old-New Synagogue in Prague, not far from King Kasimir’s Krakow — let me try to get a picture of that again:

Detail from Jan Matejko’s “Jadwiga” painting titled, Dmitry of Goraj/Goray” circa 1890, detail of the left-side “staircase beings” and this previously jotted note: This is the only detail-copy I can find yet but I’m just referring to the 3 on the left side, the “Evilene” in front and then one I don’t know to guess about yet and the one at the top that isn’t in this color version well is the type I figure the fraud-parent had come from. I’m starting to suspect it’s an underworld/Jomon hoax to put these little-sized creations into charge of the underworld and it’s locking up of people for the cannibalism/serotonin industries. — I haven’t gotten to this file yet, the Matejko file. I’ll see if I can put a link ….

— That’s the “staircase #1 type, the caption there being previously written. Now I’d like to send the photo of the illustration of the golem that’s been going around a little bit but I’ll have to give the place I’ve traced it to as first appearing another day or two to see if they respond at all to the email/gmail I’d sent on Friday afternoon, a fluorescent of a Rabbi Loew with his creation, looking like this staircase #1 figure detail on the left here, it is but there are many of this stereotype, and Louie the grocer on Longfellow Avenue in the Bronx had been one of this type and they’re all around me here and are at the head of the street similar to how his store was on the street’s corner and then a little lot-space and then the candy store and the rest was apartment buildings and then the big P.S. 66 I’d gone to through 2nd grade but then I got bused to some strange neighborhood! and then the Foshays moved to Baychester Projects, and if I could get this horror-life all over me off of me then possibly the whole planet could get all this negativity, and evil, shrugged off also. I can’t really be bothered to guess if this “staircase #1 type” from the Matejko painting really also became the golem, details don’t matter in this end-of-the-planet business they’re doing off of me, just to cease being parasites, from the way-Prehistory feral Autists’ days then snowballed down to today only getting worse. I have to quit for today. Then the candy man, the Armageddon-director has always got similar-looking guys. In fact it reminds me to check the Abscam other photos, that the stereotype the system’s been using for this also the 1960-candy man type of strangers to me might look like that, some trick the system had done in 1999 that seems to be hallucino-important to itself, that except for the specific facial features they look alot like the departed rocket scientist Hermann Oberth, the point being that when I’d gotten some biographical materials on him from the library of congress (LoC,) Oberth had had a daughter that looked like me, and she’d passed during WWII while in I guess the German or Romanian army, that there’s some small possibility the system had gotten ovae that wound up being where I’d come from from her and they sort of follow me around with these tall guys like Oberth’s general shape and coloring as though it might be in my brain to trust them, when they’re really similarly created to how the system had fashioned the “golem” of the Louie the grocer -type, like Buddy Hackett for instance, or Jack Valenti, who I think was from Houston but much lighter-colored. Let me try to check but then I really have to sign off and go back to prank-world horrorween. — Yeah, 1921 he’d been born here. And John XXIII was a big staircase #1 type, pope around 1963, that vaticanII big conference they’d all had, etc.

Oct. 28, very slow, and already have to leave here soon, could leave already without having gotten anything done yet today except looking up a few things on the search-engine. I might manage to try to get a Texas I.D. card but I think they’ll require an address, and because of the LURE off of me I hate to have any of these unsafe addresses, like a favorite trick of the Armageddon-LURE to herd tricked listeners into heading to under wherever I am to see what this is about the so-called “world-s**ing” the satanist-script had smeared all over my life, as they teamed up with the bums from under the Bronx’s brain-hunting parasites, who’d followed me all into and through the army and over to Germany and traveling around and then briefly to visit the fraud-family in NY and then out to San Francisco where this whole, if you would, Jonestown-Massacre evolved into this Revelation-Armageddon horror they’ve perpetrated.

Oct. 29, I don’t even know what I’m doing still sitting here, I was in so much aches and pains just getting to here, the weather always all turning on me or at least that threat always hanging over my head from this devil “entertainment” off of the invisible-tortures to myself. I told the rent-clerk/mgr. that someone’s been taking things from my room and he said all he could do was watch the camera and I said that it had happened Saturday afternoon and then it seems that he wouldn’t have timed-videotapes that he could reel them back to Saturday to check on that minute or 2 that someone else had opened the door and gone in there and left again like that, but to not say anything about it is like a suicide-request I figure so I got it mentioned at least, so as not to be taken for condoning this thefting from myself, which brings back up this “Willendorf Venus” prehistoric figuring business I sometimes try to explain that I’m evolved from, a curly-haired deaf and blind fat little exploited lady that seems like a gift to Hitler from Theodore Herzl or his source-sire, but I don’t have time for that right now, my hours at the library greatly shortened since that dogbite early last month, etc. Today’s thing on my mind is mostly trying to find out about this Bronte family, it’s starting to look weird in that their portrait seems to look like Mia Farrow’s adopted daughter Dylan Farrow. I just noticed that yesterday and I’m limited to research opportunities or much of anything I can do except move slowly, try to suck in oxygen and lately to listen to the radio a little so that I’m full of questions about what they were doing up on that heath in York/Yorkshire, way back then, and then their pen family-name was Bell, Ellis Bell’s being Emily Bronte of the “Wuthering Heights” book I’m looking forward to trying to figure out, never having had enough time and interest for it but I don’t have anything to do this long coming six months of cold weather again and so am looking for useful ways of spending the time and that “Infinite Jest” is too complicated because of that s****** that Wallace was alleged to have done in Sept. 2012, I can’t deal with trying to figure all that out so I’m just vetoing the concept of trying to read that 1200-page novel because it would lead into everything else about Wallace. He was a philosophy major because his male parent had been one and that’s a bad start for figuring out to begin with, and then he started sliding into literature and my “take” on it is that maybe the visions and voices had been invading the -Champaign -area boy and that his name might have been unfortunate for himself because there already was a David Wallace, Irving Wallace’s son, the latter being what I call a “Shahan-type” if you’d been reading anything of all my years of this Arma-horror-geddoning.

Oct. 30, Wednesday; A big realization, but then I’ve got a difficulty where the gmail I’d drafted on the cellphone last night isn’t on this big screen as a draft when I just called the gmail/email up to send it out now before getting too started into this labyrinth-like latest explication-attempt of the “all this” that’s leading to the planet’s being trashed, what the “Jomon” -type had done to my life in the Bronx, but I can’t really concentrate on it till I figure out how to send this gmail. — Re-type it might be the simplest. Somehow it seems more sure to get sent out on this “big” terminal compared to the cellphone as I got it back again, the all-surrounded feeling that my communication-attempts and those on back to me are all intercepted by these brain-eating circuit operatives. Everybody likes to get high, near-universal attribute we all have, so the “Jomon” et al. can use anyone who’d like a hit of any drug to do any of these “prank” acts, is like innumerable tricks’ working against me all the time, a little bit done by each stranger that thinks it’s not any big deal to participate in following the directions they’re likely forced to follow anyway, etc. This “Push” thing is bad. There are 2 main ways that any of these things could be explicated, — polished and unpolished I could call it I guess, where a regular person might write-out all their notes and then set about making a “post” out of the notes, but what I have always got to be doing instead is to re-create the steps of how I’d come to learn about this or that other aspect of the all this. Horribly enough, being “chatty Kathy,” I could even start it out with that just yesterday I’d come across on the radio that they also have that The Tom Joyner Morning Show here in Houston. I’d listened to it alot in Washington (DC) and had been able to catch it a little while I was then in NY in 2003-05 and then I’d heard it a little bit when I was just in Washington before getting onto this “ss fund” as I’m afraid to bring attention to the system at all in case the “Jomon” feel like crashing it and anything all else, and then I’d stumbled onto them at the right time of day yesterday morning and so had left the radio on the “Majic” station that’s 102.1 here and maybe everywhere else for all I know, and while idly listening while trying to eat and get dressed and mulling all this c*** that’s swirling in my head because I don’t have time to unload it onto here since the dogbite and since all the time too anyway with all this, I’d recalled something about the system’s modus operandi of cursing me with any teeny thing from my way past as though it’s now a payback for that, where a larger thing had been that I’d had a dog similar to the one that had just bit me in September and I’d let the dog wander off and get lost when I’d become homeless one time in San Francisco, in early 1989 I guess it was, and as payback for letting a potentially-dangerous dog go loose like that then the bums underneath me and the lifetime-parasite bum “‘Jomon’ from the underneath the Bronx” might have devised this bite as being a payback for that sin-crime charge against me, where really it’s the sin-crime that a normal person is force-birthed and then trying to survive in this horror-world prison the Jomon have devised, that in 1988-89 I was just too overloaded with all these difficulties and the dog’s wandering off hadn’t seemed to be anything I could then do anything about, couldn’t take care of both him and the cat as we were moving into where some acquaintances were letting me stay on their couch or some such impossible-living situation and I couldn’t stop the dog from going around lost because I couldn’t take care of him from their apartment any longer. That is only one random-like example as I was thinking about that because somehow, maybe in thinking about listening to the radio show in Washington and then to other thoughts about Washington, I’d recalled some obscure detail, thinking how the system — oh, there’s the link I guess, that they’ve got some new character that’s showed up twice now and I’m trying to figure what kind of a curse the system has probably got in mind as the guy looks like someone who’d caused me one of these major curses, back in 1978, and now they’ve got that sort of a stereotype or same face popping up and smiling around me lately and then “the Jomon” are bothering my mind to think optimistically about why the guy’s smiling, etc., etc. for carrying these filthy minds on my brain, these filthy minds’ sitting on and watching my brain and life all of my life to this point (no pun for “point” means like hypodermic for shooting brain to these bums.) I’d been reflecting on that and recalling Washington days a little and I thought, for instance, what semiotic or ritual or other type of a connection did this “Armageddon Program” have in mind when they’d had that guy named Sam be the night staff person at the women’s shelter when I’d gone there in 2005-06, and unexpectedly I realized what the connection is/was to putting that “character” into all this “mix” of the c*** that is done around me, but it’s difficult to bring up and I’ve got to try to figure out how to try to get that little contact-attempt off as contact-attempts are more useful to me than more of these details on how the extinction is being done, that there aren’t any immediate readers to any of this, just immediate more horrors for me as the weather’s like to kill me for real this coming winter, this filthy “magic” all over my head, and so you’d think I’d stay away from the majic radio station but I haven’t connected to where Tom Joyner or the station does any particular harm, as I’m searching for a station that has a little news and regular weather reports and I like to hear the time, as well as a nice mix of music and maybe some other types of programs, etc. Be back.

1:15p, I’m making progress but guess i have to take a break right now, which i hate to have to do just when i’d made a little progress, this is most likely one of the “pranks” or “tricks” to force that now.

2pm, they’re not letting my Sends through. I think it’s likely connected to this new Security alerts difficulty and that the cellphone keeps flashing the internal storage sign. I’m trying to send a photo of the portrait of the Bronte sisters, here in this new link that material would be going into: https://universerescuekathyfoshaywordpresscom.wordpress.com/testimonial/bronte-family/

Ms. Dylan Farrow seems to look like Anne on the far left, and I notice there’s something about Glasstown they’d worked on and that’s connected to the book contract she’s said to have gotten for her 2 YA fantasy-type novels on magic’s obstructing real life.

The point with the sends’ not getting through is that I have to send things to here in order to delete them from the cellphone’s storage so that it will be okay again, where now it’s worse than ever. I’d just deleted a good deal of the email’s storage and it isn’t any improved. I have this feeling that somehow pictures and photos are 2 files or applications where all or nearly all the photos are duplicated, same material in two different files’ taking up the room that’s filled the storage. Besides that it’s the parasites’ playing with my cellphone and computer-use, toward their personal Armageddon uses. How can I get this cute thing through, from the cellphone’s photo gallery to here, — and I’ve been trying to get to this project of doing that all year long. They’re making the library really creepy now, 3pm the day before Halloween and then the Hispanic or Mexican day of the dead on Friday, then Saturday will be some continuation of that plus the first of an anything. “They” know that because “they’re” making the weather so cold that I’d thought that I have to leave here early, have to go get the rent money and do a little food shopping or what all, then that bus back to this area quits at around seven thirty pm. The library doesn’t close till six and dummy-me will sit here because there’s always something more i could be trying to get done or pull together etc. It doesn’t look like they’re going to do anything except keep putting these send-attempts into outboxes, as I’ve tried 2 accounts now for trying to get the cute one through. They’re making the place creepy to assist easing me on out of here for them day, probably….

This “Push” thing is about the novel of that name by Sapphire, and the sequel of “The Kid,” that, believe it or not, those 2 books are connected to me and this Armageddon and all the cannibalism and petroleum, the brain-eating too, obviously then, that that’s what the cannibalism and petroleum-obsession are descended from, the global-system revolving around the system’s quest to stay inebriated-high off of the serotonin and other brain chemicals. This is complicated for (little) me to try to explain and all relates to this business about, How come the system had used this guy named Sam to be a “regular character” when I’d gotten to the shelter in Washington, during the 2005-06 winter and then all through 2006 I guess, that he hadn’t seemed connected to anything in particular except that his name was a little semiotic-seeming but anything is likely to be a coincidence, etc. That’s why a normal person would write these bits and pieces out and then gather them into some organized way of describing this. The system — invented dyeing the ova like Easter eggs are dyed, same thing. When I’d started trying to describe this in 2015 I’d gotten that car-hit and things were worse to describe the least of all that. Because they’d invented the “types” of people like into disguises and costumes then like that then the system-operatives obsess on using that trick and they’ve always been trying to cause racial difficulties onto and around me, like where a boy had been snipe-murdered on Longfellow Avenue after his sister had invited me to their house around the corner and the boy had given me a bicycle ride, them being a family of color, then we’d moved to this Baychester project in the north Bronx and I was usually sitting next to a boy of color, and then in 1969 when I was 14 I’d had a boyfriend who’d had a couple of friends who were black and one of them had asked me to kiss him one time and I’d sort of laughed the incident away but this morning I recalled that his name had been Sam and I think the guy at the shelter was some connection to that 1969 incident based on a similarly shrugged-off incident on a bus in 1993 shortly after this “Armageddon Show” had been sprung onto my head with these singing and dancing “We’re s**ing the world” spirit-apparition cartoon-like phenomenon. It went from singing and dancing to simply never leaving my face with that/this invisible and unprovable “magic” and I went to try to discuss this at Coney Island Hospital, to not any avail, thinly-veiled strait-jacket ideas-of-reference and a good luck as I went about my way back out of there. On a buy going by there on Brighton Beach Avenue or Ocean Parkway I guess it was one day as I was thinking about all that and how to get assistance this nonexistence into my brain sort of silently laughed as a big, young black girl had sat down near me and the nonexistence sort of nonexistently laughed and thought that that girl was like me or of my ovae, the concept of which I didn’t learn about to have it in my mind to think about until 2008, that ovae and ovaries are taken from females and people are fertilized and grown from them, so I hadn’t known what to make of the indication that there was some connection between me and the girl at that time. Then in this past decade that film “Precious” had come out and been shown at the shelter during winter days when we couldn’t go out and I’d caught some of it and had had a slight suspicion that there was a connection between the character “Precious” of the 1996 novel titled “Push,” and then I’d recently skimmed the “The Kid” sequel to that in suspicion that there was a connection to the fraud-parent’s “offspring-descendants” I call the many mass-reproductions, thousands and thousands and thousands of them, that I’ve been being terror-deluged by for the past 9 years, that The Kid is like an allegoric description of dropping those virtual orphans onto society as Armageddon-weapons, sneak-Armageddon weapons. So, even though Sam from 1969 and Sam from 2006 have little in common except dark skin and tight “nappy” hair I realized this morning that, however this ovae-getting and distribution work that because of that scene where the guy had wanted a kiss the system gave some sort of rights to ovae of mine off of that incident and has been “breeding” those fertilized eggs into big people-making business/-es of themselves, who do happen then to look like the girl on the bus and the actress in the film, the novel being allegoric to the whole thing, where her family is a way-distorted view of “the fraud-parents” from the perspective of some impersonal profiting sadist, like one of the other fraud-family members seems to have been like in real life. There are lots of girls I see around who look like perhaps they might have specifically come from my ovae but generally they’re much lighter-skinned than “Precious,” that the ones like the girl on the bus aren’t recognizable to myself but because of the 2 odd Sam people I’m figuring that there is a good chance that they’re mutated out of recognizability. I suppose there’s more to this that I’ll think of when I’m out of here and then as time goes along and I put together this or the other thing or more details. One detail is that the author’s photo on the “Push” book looks to me alot like one of the fraud-relatives, that’s a big aspect of all the sabotage onto me and is a regular ritual for ruining my days around here and such, and they look alot like the photos of Sophia Loren as a 15-year old that look alot like the Paul Wegener “type,” and Mr. Wegener had starred as the Golem from Prague, near Krakow, which then isn’t necessarily that far from Siberia by water-route and is how I’m saying the system had largely spread out to do this world-takeover. Forget the “Louie-golem,” check the microphone…Then, too, as “It’s a Small World After All,” Mr. Wegener’s son had worked with Wernher von Braun toward the whole space venture, and around and around in the repetition-circle. With the “significance” of any of these little things that happen to me topic, just about every radio station I tune into is advertising Lasik eye surgery and people were talking about it when I went to check on that shelter across town that’d require that I get a Texas ID-card. I’m lucky I can go get the rent money right now.

Oct. 31, I am here for a very little while only today. — It’s already 5pm now. I put today’s note at the bottom of here: Receptor. A big point with the “Push” thing is to notice how low the system will sink in making covers-up for WHY they are doing this to this little nobody me all these years unrelenting torture for. The heavy girl was pointed out as an example of this gimmick of this screaming “voices” brain-torture, of where that comes from, haha, was the point, that those are from you and doing it to you…. The brain-eaters just make up any kind of c*** for extending this terrorization over the planet.

Cellphone send: Nov. 1; Sorry I can’t get to a library today, all I could do to get to this clothes-wash place. “They” turned the search-engine ability back on for this cellphone probably for their weekend-LURE ab-use. I haven’t been able to figure why it turns on and off yet, just finding some “hotspot” button here the other day but I don’t know how to find it again yet, maybe with however the “wallpaper” button comes up. If anything important comes up I’ll try to let you find out when/if I can get back to a library again, etc. — This place has the “wifi” so I’ll wait till I get to the bus stop to try to Send to see if tt works.

Nov. 2, Saturday, got a reading lamp but have to check if it and the bulb word, and I’ll have to pick up “Receptor” tomorrow because there isn’t any point to staying in the room because I only use up the oxygen in the tanks if I don’t go out for the day, the torture all pulling all on my internals more and more lately, inane “LURE-drama” if I’ll be able to walk or make it to the bathroom or anything all the time anymore, with only a couple of cold days of the six months of them ahead. It’s real unlikely that I’ll be able to survive. Now that I’m sitting here I recall I’d wanted to check their food shelves to see if they sell this odd sort of a canned food that cheers me up for helping me to make it through this winter, that I’d manage to be able to use the house-microwave for, (those cheese raviolis with mini-meatballs, that for some reason those are real easy and pleasant for me.) There isn’t any sign of anything but more torture ahead for me. Where’s my list of things I could do with just an hour left in the day today for doing anything here…. I have to describe somewhere all that Spirit Liberation Manifesto business that this Armageddon Program had tricked me into in 1992, before the official starting of it in Feb. 1993.

Now that I’m finally here I can hardly think of any of the things I was looking to try to get done. Sundays are short if any time on computer and then Monday the oxygen-refill delivery is supposed to come by but they don’t tell me what time till about 10a.m., but likely then I’ll be able to get to a library for a few hours again, then maybe Tuesday back to anything normal. The “Push” example, that Precious’ son is like the fraud-parent and I’ve got those “The Kid” then all all over me increasingly it seems lately, perhaps on account of all the Halloween holiday but that’s likely coincidental. The point is that the fraud-parent was only some stranger that the ova or newborn of me was merely given to by the secret-system, isn’t any real relative, isn’t anything except a “friend of the Jomon,” a murder-helper given a “gift” of a young person to raise. It’s possible or likely that there is that Queen Victoria in common biology, that her ovae were likely way mass-reproduced all over the place and that Siamese “Rama VI/Vajiravudh” had had tea with her alot around 1893 I think it was and had likely been given some of her ovae by the secret-system — somewhat like that film that had come out recently, that Victoria had “British Empire” Asians all around her, and there was that big Crystal Palace world’s fair and they were camped all underneath those castles working up these “magic” tricks and system. Victoria had been placed in charge of England and the empire for most of the 19th century, alot of years for sabotaging England and the empire using a dummy-girl like me. It’s possible both the fraud-parent and myself had been manufactured off of ovae that had come through her and there’d be that similarity there but really he was just some strange guy the system was working with. It was something like that National Lampoon “The Appletons” cartoon with the sneak-sadistic parent, except in my case the sadism was divided between the male and female so-called parents. I’m looking forward to that collection of that cartoon’s coming out in the spring, thinking that I could find a simple example amongst them of the sneak-sadism. The system-guys get these eggs and they’re from the system in exchange for what you’ve done for the system, they’re presents for your future self-support off of them, which brings then up that “Abscam” subject. Speaking of the Abscam duo around that microphone, — as I’m invisibly-tortured nearly out of my life for not any real reason ever whatsoever, etc., and it’s getting more unendurable as they’re pulling away on my internal parts anymore since the dogbite more and more, etc., I’m starting to accumulate so much “dislike” for the “Jomon” that I’m thinking to describe this as that they’d invented homosexuality, but that was a long time ago, as with inventing the whole eating people industry they’ve got put together now, and they, under the “Limitless” chemicals from other people’s brains’ influence, got these ideas that they could substitute other types for the parts of their business that they didn’t like, that perhaps that duo became the official reproductive-matter receptacals (what is wrong with that spelling or is it just a spell-check glitch, check,) or vessels or suckers in place of the Jomon who figure it’s about time they get the good-looking females for themselves after all the work they’ve been doing all these centuries toward that end, now the others can do the homosexuality and others can also be substituted for the eating-people business that they’d started by “priming the pump” perhaps with “sacrificing” some of their own selves for getting the industry started. — Time to leave for the day, unfortunately for me. Maybe the light will work okay and I’ll be able to look at that novel’s contents tomorrow, maybe it’ll be useful.

[Cellphone Send:] 7 November, 2019 13:03 — It’s too much torture. I’ll try to get to a library tomorrow.

November 9, Saturday, it’s near-indescribable sadism and invisible/unprovable tortures. Then this keyboard is working lousily and I’ve got a bunch of stuff to try to get done.

November 16, “they” just let this cellphone-send through: “Receptor” is really finally here, finally here — I got it from the library yesterday and will likely skim-finish it tonight, too cold to do much else. It’s very entertaining, a good story. It’s about the “Limitless/The Dark Fields'” MDT-48.

— I’m not even sure what day that was. Tuesday, the 12th. The weather was unreal. Actually I feel all invisibly beat-up, Saturday now, and don’t know what I’m doing sitting in a library through the only sunny time, hoping it will continue like this. I’m a real mess now. I think I should have described some of that “shivving” from the Sunday Nov. 3, that this horror is a continuation from that. I find myself “ghost-prisoner” again here. It would seem like it’s my own fault for letting time get by without my finding somewhere different to move to but what the torture’s been doing is sneaking around behind my back and cutting off all potential communications I try to make so that there isn’t any real life out here that I’m walking through, I’ve just been wasting my time expecting that if I kept trying to make contacts that something would come through eventually and nothing has, like right now the person or plant opposite at the library is sitting there suddenly ripping up pieces of paper — not a common thing in a library where ripping paper is one of the things to be watched out for, but I live in an unreal situation and so the real getting out of this situation wasn’t allowed by these goon-bums that all live off of this Armageddon-world. Like you would think that people around you in a library are just ordinary other people doing their own business and aren’t ritual-plants only here as sabotage-pawn roles, and in that way I’ve been blocked off of my own natural business. Okay now slightly discomfortable while this one of the tens of thousands might finally move along.

I was a ghost-prisoner in a welfare hotel in San Francisco from about 1995-99, then able to get a little job and get to the east coast, to Washington was all I could afford and there I’d made a little more money and was able to go to NY but I think that that was just to wear me out, that I’d been too healthy yet so the Armageddon-bums had had me spend 2-1/2 years running around NYC as a temporary home health aide, always on the subways and looking for inexpensive rooms to rent, and I wound up exhausted back in Washington and couldn’t get out of the shelter for the next 10 years and then it was the being shipped out to Kensington, Maryland where the car-hit happened and then nowhere to go except back to Washington except to around where Alexander Graham Bell had happened to live for awhile, a particularly set-up area. Finally the social security let me get south but Houston is too cold for me, I don’t know how I could make it through this winter, I don’t know a soul anywhere, everything is just like a joke-hoax on me. The little “Receptor” book is dedicated to C. Dawg, so I’ll try to look that up now. It’s a real entertaining story but it’s just another story. On page 210 the protagonist, in 1954, mentions that with a slide rule a few hundred million dollars he could get himself to the moon, and that’s sort of what I think had happened, was that Frank Olson had been wanted for working on the secret space program, secret because the system-bums thought the stars were made of salable gems, they’d be getting rich and didn’t want to cut anyone else in on the largesse. By 1994 when they see they can’t made much of anything else out of it they let people hear about the exoplanets. — I think the search-engine says C Dawg is a singer or musician. The story sounds to me like by “a” Sidney Gottlieb, and it’s just another cover-up story for the origin of the “smart pills” or mind-drugs and such, for where the serotonin comes from. The protagonist didn’t get around to having the pills analyzed. The story says the MDT-48 comes from Amazonian tree bark, a bawari tree’s bark. I guess it says that the LSD-25 comes from ergot, I didn’t read it that closely because of the shivving and I’d read a couple of summaries that had misled me to think that there was only a little bit from the 1953 business but it was mostly about the 1953 business so halfway through I started reading it more closely and enjoyed it alot. It’s like saying that all the lookalikes of people come from DNA or cloning or stem cells instead of from ovaries, all the stereotypes come from fancy business with DNA instead of robbing women’s ovaries (many are voluntary but many women inherited their male counterpart’s brain-ways, so things are all mixed up by nowadays, etc.) Instead of looking underneath the drug lab in Hoboken the nowadays people are looking into flights to go find that tree in Brazil, when Hoboken is just across the Hudson. The bums aren’t letting my cellphone-sends get through or I’d try sending a picture, like I’m trying to straighten out that one that got changed of Cybill Shepherd in the footer. I have to leave.

Nov. 18, Monday, I’m here but am a disaster. I’ll stick this here for now:

“”Receptor” is almost here! “Receptor” is almost here!! Click that and-or see bottom of Help get me to Arizona for exorcism, & witness protection

In the early 1980s people were protesting that we were being dumbed-down, and this book seems to pander to that, per what I’m trying to describe about that it sounds to me that it’s written by a Sidney Gottlieb -type or copy or re-creation or lookalike-descendant offspring or what stereotypes might be called, etc., but it is of course very entertaining anyhow, it’s just that its purpose seems to be to whitewash the source of the MDT-48 and LSD-25 and then there were a bunch of others. There really were/are alot of plant-hallucinogens but it goes with the Autism that they don’t want other people to get any of them, same as the exoplanets, they’ll extinct the plants their own selves to keep getting high a secret from “the others” peoples, and this book seems to be trying to whitewash the obvious source of the currently-used hallucinogens. In fact these Autist-system people are so selfish they’d kill the plants to force “the others” to buy what the Autists are proferring, to buy the brain-serums, that I think that’s what they’ve been doing for centuries. This book comes along now and wants you to go to the remote forests where they’ve had the mass-reproduced Autists keeping guard to keep the others away from anything good. — The weather was so nice today that I’ve relaxed myself about the walk back to the room, the library probably open late tonight but still anxious we all get out of here I guess.

— 22 November, I got cut off and unusually the little I’d typed hadn’t been saved, me trying to explain these various horror-factors. In this case it’s a text message on the cellphone saying that I can also get Lifeline internet service and I got tied-up trying to fill out the form via the cellphone and this ran out of time and blanked-out without a notice about the time at all, me constantly looking to check this screen and there weren’t any time reminders. At the same time I realized that the “free” internet is dependent  — oh god they’re surrounding me with their underworld LURE-circus horror here now, which is what happened as I typed out the information toward the “free” internet to my cellphone, that it’s dependent on a home address. I’d given them the address I’d expected to use — it’s getting worse now, like crowded with characters sent up to be this Armageddon Program, total strangers all the time with never any human-style contact for me. Filling out this cellphone-form it turned out that they want a street address and that’s the LURE-catch all the time, then they “SAVE the WORLD!” send unsuspecting people to under whatever slaughter-area or petroleum-abyss area I’m at, this particular one in Houston’s being real bad, me being here over a year now that they’ve been preparing for their big global-system living off of me being stranded here. Creepy all around me now and I’d have to find some other library to go to but I’ve tried all year and the “devil” doesn’t allow me any normal contacts to be able to meet normal people who’d normally assist me with finding any normal place to sleep. This got creepy here now, and I’d come in here with all kinds of stuff I’m trying to get done. I don’t want any internet so bad I’d let these parasites trick unsuspecting humans to their inferno-area under me, is the sudden rush to get this address out of me. When I’d first gotten the Lifeline — it was real difficult getting it, got turned down without any explanation alot of times but I’d been sent a Jury Duty notice and that paid forty dollars a day so I worked like crazy begging the girls to let me get a phone so I could accept the jury duty, is how I’d finally gotten one of these “smartphones.” Etc., that I’d come in here to try to do some other business, the devil getting worse each day since that dogbite business, then back really to circa 1960, etc., and I’ve only got a short day to begin with today.

From Wikipedia’s article on the Second Temple:

Inside the Soreg[edit]

According to Josephus, there were ten entrances into the inner courts, four on the south, four on the north, one on the east and one leading east to west from the Court of Women to the court of the Israelites, named the Nicanor Gate.[38] The gates were: On the south side (going from west to east) the Fuel Gate, the Firstling Gate, the Water Gate. On the north side, from west to east, are the Jeconiah Gate, the Offering Gate, the Women’s Gate and the Song Gate. On the Eastern side, the Nicanor gate, which is where most Jewish visitors entered. A few pieces of the Soreg have survived to the present day.

Within this area was the Court of the Women, open to all Jews, male and female. Even a ritually unclean Cohen could enter to perform various housekeeping duties. There was also a place for lepers (considered ritually unclean), as well as a ritual barbershop for Nazirites. In this, the largest of the temple courts, one could see constant dancing, singing and music.

Only men were allowed to enter the Court of the Israelites, where they could observe sacrifices of the high priest in the Court of the Priests. The Court of the Priests was reserved for Levite priests.

Nehemiah 3:26, 8:1, 8:3, 8:16, 12:37

I hope these people don’t mind my using a link to themselves, figuring out all this is always difficult:

I hadn’t seen it was going to bring the whole picture here but it is way nicer than a mere coded-link. My thought is that that “Water Gate” is then connected to the complex built in Washington by that Rome group, and that Watergate is connected to the Foshays of Bathgate Avenue, the Bronx circa 1930. I’ll put a quick photo of my WPA photo of that:

Bathgate Avenue Market, Bronx, c. 1930s; WPA photo, Arthur Rothstein.

I’m saying that when the system saw for itself in July 1969 that there aren’t harvestable riches in space they could take that they went into this Watergate=Bathgate Avenue, Bronx business that this fraud-family I’m in had been some part of, way of doing this world-takeover or Armageddon or whatever that’s amounted to sixty years of living off of this most-bizarre parasiting off of little me. The fraud-family still won’t sent a copy of the photo that matches that “Kindergarten” trick toward victimizing me.

This Conforming to Jesus dot com group is in Dallas and they write that their material could be used for personal and then for teaching purposes also: Yes, you can, as long as you reference to ConformingToJesus.com as the source of such material.

November 25, 3pm, only here maybe for the few minutes, have to check something.

Nov. 27, Wednesday; this file has gotten too long and dreary with all these little updates that’re just about me being invisibly tortured out here all day long every day, etc. I think I’m going to stick it down as though it’s the first post which therefore equals being the last post, and then more or less try to start over with this that I’m still hoping the fraud-family will send me the little photo of myself from when all this horror-set had been started on me. The file above here is getting too loaded down with all this moaning I can only do as I’m “constrained” and hampered by all these various difficulites. They’ve gotten real bad, surrounding me with all this horror “play” -LURE. Plus I can’t get my little illustrations of evidence here because “they’re” not letting my emails to here through. My latest thing had been to try to find something “edifying” I call it but then the fraud-parent’s name was ed so I can’t stand to use alot of words that the system interprets for its own ways. The system is just all all over me with tons of garbage about the nothing that it only is. I’m surrounded by the “666” type of the system stereotypes, and they’d been behind the car-hit in 2015 and they’d just done some similar ritual-set to me here last week, but I can’t do anything to get myself out of this horror, the system has all the bases always covered, anything I might try to think of only gives them ideas that they then generalize out to for entrapping other normal people. This “edifying” business was that I’d look for some useful novel that I’d never read and immerse myself into something that’s outside of this specific difficulty-set that I’ve got as a way of trying to get through what looks to be an unendurable winter coming up. I located such the book, Thackeray’s “Vanity Fair,” but Thackeray looks to be the “666” -type that led to the music manager Albert Grossman and the Texas author Larry McMurtry, for instance. Then there’s some secret, to my personal figuring, deal that had occurred back in the early 1970s that I think had been a lead-up to the Abscam business, that had involved him and Cybill Shepherd…. So I’d be having that in mind and then this Thackeray business seems to incorporate the whole sneak-takeover of England by the ruse of putting Victoria as Queen, similar to how the system’s been similarly gooning everyone off of this obsession with denigrating me since about 1960.

More bad news: File:William IV crop.jpgWilliam IV, 1765-1837. This was the king before Victoria was ascended and he’s likely to be where Thackeray had “come from.” This was the 3rd son of that George III that we hear alot about in elementary school or had heard alot about in the lead-up to this area’s “revolution” in 1776. Then when this guy was 64 he inherited the throne from one of his older brothers or from their parent, I really don’t like having to deal with all these details. Then Victoria’s parent, who seems to have visited to that Longfellow House next to Harvard before Longfellow had lived there, was the 4th son of George III. This was all tricks going on, how we got to this extinction-headed situation where these moron bums have been doing their Armageddon off of causing me “difficulties” behind my back all my little tiny nobody normal person’s life. This with Victorian England time started with this look into the “Wuthering Heights” novel. I’m figuring that poor Emily Bronte had subconsciously described alot of this as coming from the dark Heathcliff character, that that was largely that Arthur Bell Nicholls’ influence on the poor little family because the system gives good ovae-“eggs” to be parented by system-types and then gives their ovae-eggs to normal people to be forced to raise the Autist-psychopath types. Why I can’t get a break into all this “madness” for real I’ve got not any idea, etc. They were wrong about the nature of space entirely. They’re covering up all the archaeological research about the dinosaurs meant for being our food and transportation, as well as evidence on everything else. Those are my 2 big subjects, Astronomy and Paleontology and the system-monsters sit on both those subjects, so that this farce can be continued till it’s only their own types on the planet over the prison-world of slavery they’ve “created.” But there’s “666” more, with this Gottlieb subect, more floating in my head that I’m trying to disgorge before being trapped without being able to talk to myself even like this for the long 4-5 days without an open library or being able to look up anything. There are some of those Ask a Librarian phone numbers in case I get something simple gnawing at my head, like this, when was the Jack the Ripper business going on, in case it was any conjunction with all this Victorian murder-mayhem that seems to have been going on, much of it disguised as being illnesses, as with the Bronte children. — Ripper was around 1890, nothing to do with this. But I did find a book, published last year, that is about some other big big murder in 1840 that Thackeray and Dickens and this new writing and printing business was all about, a story someone wrote about a murderer named Jack-something. The author was Ainsworth. — Jack Sheppard, this book is full of that that story had incited populace-persons to imitate what they’d read about. These are grotesque subjects. The “Vanity Fair” novel Thackeray started about 8 years later is about 800 pages long, so I won’t run out of something I can do with myself sitting alone in that room over the long winter, with the long novel as a place to start for anyone who could care less about Victorian history. (At my age I don’t, younger people could do this same thing instead.) Then I’ve got one more big-big difficulty with this recent spate of reading matter that is also all “666” -related and is therefore (also) scary for little me alone like this all the time with everything. In fact learning about what the system-bums were pulling in Victoria’s time only underscores how ludicrously about-nothing they all are nowadays, that you could get away with these tricks back then but aren’t they beneath any of those growths by these nowadays’ times yet, etc. Then it’s my lot that I have to be most careful to stay away from the subjects like that because that’s the bums’ gimmick, that they trick normal males to try to look into this and then they “disappear” the normal males and they keep sailing around like nothing’s amiss, all of them, all these nowadays bums hiding behind so much garbage like the Armageddon’s being done off of tricks off of little nobody me, etc. Let my try to move my mind along, and I can’t because of this horrific other “666” inter-connection over my business, but nor am I ready for disgorging it because it’s all always unprovable and in the meantime these are all really dangerous stereotypes, etc. — Another little tidbit is that Charlotte Bronte’s best friend’s way-older brother was an important Apothecary. Whenever I see that word I think that they might have been mostly in charge of the distribution of the “MDT-48” etc. pain-relievers. And then that brother was slightly involved in this murder by a guy named Courvoisier. — Well I could likely just go ahead and leave now. I have one book to try to get a look at before leaving, difficult toddle for me over to the books because it’s the opposite direction from the ladies room which is near the exit. I really dislike to leave here early but I guess there isn’t any option.

2 December, Monday; there isn’t time to describe any of all what it’s been like out here but the “Vanity Fair” novel is real useful as maybe an epicenter for trying to break this underworld-monopoly onto everything since then. — It’s time to quit again already, all I’ll be doing is complaining how cold it is out because I’d been able to make the time to get here to look up a few things.

3 December, going to try to send a couple of emails on these 2 subjects of what’s happening to me out here for one and one on this Thackeray-story business, that the “novel” seems back then to have been a cover-word for the decapitation system, that that was the underworld’s gimmick and obviously they have the whole publishing industry with them now, from themselves, etc.

Subject line: Thackeray’s “Vanity Fair;” Victorian England

Dear Ms. or Dr. V., I have the worst situation in the world and just came across that Thackeray and Dickens could be used for disentangling the monopoly-stranglehold that the secret underworld has on everything, which I’m sure is bringing Earth and our species to eventual total extinction because Thackeray and Dickens had come from ovary-procuring self-mass-reproducing primitive brain-eaters, me hoping that you aren’t alienated by the strong words and will give my blog a look while I’m trying to work-up the Victorian-age evidence for what I’m saying: UniverseRescueKathyFoshayWordPressCom.wordpress.com. Also your Botany work could be a great assist to explaining earth’s way out of this. Sincerely me, Kathy Foshay

historic-uk dot com slash HistoryUK/HistoryofBritain/Opium-in-Victorian-Britain/ == Historic UK
P.O. Box 81
Budleigh Salterton
EX9 9AJ == I don’t really have enough material yet for a specific gathering-place that people could easily click-into yet. I’ll have to get rid of that big photo of Ms. Shepherd, too, that I don’t have her permission to be using her like that but I haven’t been able to figure out this cellphone-sends difficulty yet. It might be because I’m supposed to get a new SIM card but I don’t have anyone to tell me about what these things are, just managed to learn how to work the cellphone radio last month for instance, after more than 2 years of having it. The Lifeline cellphone I’d gotten while staying in the shelter about 10 years ago was from the Kroger company, the grocery company and its area code was for an obscure Waterloo, Maryland, where there are supermarket warehouses and the Ringling Circus had had something regular up there for a long time but they’d closed down just before I left Washington. — I’m only halfway through this Vanity Fair so I really can’t say too much about anything till I’m finished with it, like I’d have to reach the end and then go over all these notes I’ve been making, that it would still be quite awhile relatively speaking before I could set something up on this belief that Thackeray and Dickens were, so to speak, “brain-eaters,” or, brain-eating conspirators.

I had a note to check where Alexander Graham Bell’s important father had been born and it’s Edinburgh, but his wife is a new whole ton of material to be looked at, intersecting of course with this about the system-bums’ getting in and under the old houses and thence “Amityville Horror” terrorizing the natives out of their country. Her name is Eliza Grace Symonds Bell, 1809-1897 and I really don’t want to go into the biographies section with these notes so am quick-sticking them here for now, that she came from Forton in Alverstoke, Hampshire, England, — near Crawley, which is a big deal family in this Vanity Fair. The whole book is sneak-negative about everybody, typical underground-thinking, but that’s where our novels all seem to have and are coming from. She had a brother Charles Hunt Symonds 1818-1895 and their father’s said to have been Samuel Symonds 1776-1818. — I just cleared the footer of the over-large pictures and now found this:

File:Vanity Fair lobby card 1923.JPG

For the PD: universerescuekathyfoshaywordpresscom.wordpress.com/portfolio/vanity-fair/ == plus I’ll be trying to fill this in but it’s all always only my quick and sloppy bare research notes that anything winds up being. I’m just grasping how the brain-eaters had worked, taking over houses and digging in underneath them and then selling or renting the house to unsuspecting people and all inter-conspiring as the “servant-class” onto the pigeons that they’re bilking. Here this illustration does maybe get a little into that the underneath was about the brain-eating, me not up to any of this with that Lord Steyne yet, Becky’s still married to Rawdon where I’d left off, with still 400 pages to go and then back over what notes I’m trying to take and I ran out of paper for those last night and had to turn the pile over and work on the non-blank backs of the notepapers I’ve been using, and in fact it’s already time I could leave here for the day, do not know what I’m doing leaving a beautiful sunny day out there to come into these airless places and do this in this vacuum I’m always in, but at least I got one little thing off about my present situation. I can’t figure what that design on Becky’s blanket is. She was the daughter of an artist and a dancer, so you can figure that she’s the system’s girl there in this story, that she’s a system-girl up from the underground for the artistic types down below, that doesn’t get mentioned. The big thing would be to try tracing the various inter-connected by her households, that school in Chiswick section and then her girlfriend’s house in Russell Square, where about 8 years before Vanity Fair there’d been a big murder of a guy named Wm. Russell and I was thinking that maybe he looked like that King Wm. IV who’d just passed in 1837 so that Victoria the little foreign-type nobody girl could become queen. And was Wm. IV one of what I’m then calling the Shahan-666 type, they are all over the place in conventional society. In fact Thackeray’s type all has a “holier than thou” affect or attitude or characteristic. What I’m saying is that if I could pry myself out of this unhealthy indoors here while there’s a little warmth and light still outside then that my early-time back at the room would be usefully used in getting another 50-100 pages read. I’ve got this bad way of just quick-skimming and turning the pages alot because the act of reading itself isn’t necessarily necessary to this what I’m doing the reading for, I might not require so many of all those details and might turn a couple of hundred pages just to get along with the story, like to see what this is about the Steyne guy.

4 Dec., here i am, a bunch of c*** in my head. — A huge factor in all this Victorian history is that it seems that this toilet-fixated “Armageddon Program” had come from what the system was doing “under there” in Victorian England, bringing that over from France, for instance, and before that the “Greek fire” of near the so-called Trojan age. The system is loo-obsessed because they’d learned how to make fire/fireworks off of the nitrogen that forms on the outside of dried feces, and what-all can be done for setting fire to that then for use as weapons against the normal people. Collecting all that daily-output went into then Napoleon and all that Waterloo horror that’s a major part of this Vanity Fair novel. Then I’d noticed that there’s some modern film they’d just made off of the story too. I’ve still got about 250 pages to go before I could know what the story is like.

One of my big “fears” is that I’ll have to read that huge “War and Peace” Tolstoy novel as this historical-research winds up going back into Siberia from whence it had gone then to the “Low Countries” and France and Scotland-England, Ireland and thence over to here. “War and Peace” sounds like a “boys’ story” to me, that I don’t like reading about war-like violence at all. On that subject, it might all mesh into that “The Deer Hunter” film from the 1970s as gambling is a big theme in the “Vanity Fair” story, where it’s called “play,” Becky’s husband always “playing” at gambling dice or billiards or what kind of anything to wager on, making a living that way more or less it seems. I’d have to look up who’d produced that 1970s horror-horror, where obvious now the real point was to get rid of Meryl Streep’s scripted spouse, and thence via that “gambling” or Russian roulette scene.

Lev/Leo Tolstoy 1828 (150 mi. south of Moscow)-1910 Astapovo

2pm, what if anything am i going to try to do now, — i have to see if i have any dollars in my wallet, then i have to go get the rent for tomorrow. the radio this morning called this another perfect day and that’s one of the titles by that Ginsberg-like author of Rosemary’s Baby and all those other horror stories, and, speaking of identity-thieving, he didn’t thieve the No Time for Sergeants author….

What I mean is that I’m not sure what I should do, that it is lovely weather out there and ill to be in a library unnecessarily so what am i doing as long as i’m here and i could actually move out of this chair if there isn’t anything in particular i can do. i’m in the weirdo position of waiting to see how this novel turns out and if there’s any reply to my request for assistance before i can then figure out how to proceed. — Okay, I won’t have to read War and Peace because it was written way after Vanity Fair’s type of the novel. Tolstoy’s first novel was about just after Vanity Fair was published and was a fictitious account of his Childhood, as it was titled. He’d perhaps not moved out from Siberia either but from the west, and just placed there, maybe. So, I’m in something of a flux in that there’s never enough time lately to try starting anything big here and even little things could wait over night while I leave while the sun is shining to go take care of errands, then I’d get to read for a few hours again tonight, really enjoying the story, that it’s like a soap opera tv program too i’m noticing now, each chapter like a soap opera segment between the commercials and they come back from the chapter-break and you don’t know which of the characters will be the main one of this next chapter. The first big thing I noticed about this story is that the style or tone or affect of it recalled to me that later story by Anita Loos titled, “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes but I can’t let go that sentence without mentioning that I’d closed that story in disgust right away, and it’s that creepy, insulting style or tone or affect that had sounded similar to me as I’d read the first few chapters then of this story,” the Vanity Fair “novel.” They say the word comes from Italian, novella or novello. Then I’d read that the first novel is said to be that “Genji,” story, about the 13th century, Japan lady-author. I’d read that in early 2003. But Japan is where the theatre by the name of noh comes from and maybe vella might somehow be connected to “wells,” where then these English authors’ material seems to be gotten from the gossipy servant-class and whatever this business about saltpeter-making was/is doing, since the system had seen they could make fire off of dried doo-doo and began doo-doo collecting for all these wars.

I notice that there was a shooting of a 34 year old guy named william mayo from se washington on july 2 of 2018. Maybe it’s connected to that that 2nd and d sts property is wanted for something else now.

5 Dec., retarded animals, the retarded animals, are all all over me, but I have to try to do something about a 311 call now. — Now I’m stuck reading about how Rice University’s founder had been murdered in NY, but his second wife was a Baldwin from Baldwinsville, NY and that’s where Charlotte Baldwin of Houston’s founding is named and also said to be from, so I feel like it’s necessary to read this whole little old newspaper write-up on the subject, as there don’t seem to be any other schools that might look into this about the Victorian-era underworld-to-today’s extinction-direction horror off of me. Yesterday I’d looked up about a community college and there was a stereotype and when I left here it’s like the parasites had gone LURE-bonkers with plans for off of if I did try to contact that particular person, and then today there’s some similar going bonkers about how they’ve been setting up one of the only groceries I can get to logistically, that I went there this morning and it’s all this “play-acting cast of characters” planted around my likely paths anywhere I go horror, that there isn’t any connection to reality that this system is in, so I thought I’d look for another teacher-type and it seems there aren’t really any regular schools, it’s mostly all medical schooling around Houston, and a Strayer University that also seems uninterested in the sorts of subjects I’m trying to get through about about the eventual extinction via “this way of living,” an old phrase from the early “Armageddon Show” all over me days, this global-system underworld b.s. What can I do now, except return to this old newspaper article, is to quick-check that Dickens and then Arthur Conan Doyle… Wikipedia: Holmes was partially modelled on his former university teacher Joseph Bell. In 1892, in a letter to Bell, Doyle wrote, “It is most certainly to you that I owe Sherlock Holmes … round the centre of deduction and inference and observation which I have heard you inculcate I have tried to build up a man”,[34] and in his 1924 autobiography he remarked, “It is no wonder that after the study of such a character [viz., Bell] I used and amplified his methods when in later life I tried to build up a scientific detective who solved cases on his own merits and not through the folly of the criminal.”[35] Robert Louis Stevenson was able, even in faraway Samoa, to recognise the strong similarity between Joseph Bell and Sherlock Holmes: “My compliments on your very ingenious and very interesting adventures of Sherlock Holmes. … can this be my old friend Joe Bell?”[36] Other authors sometimes suggest additional influences—for instance, the famous Edgar Allan Poe character C. Auguste Dupin.[37] Dr. (John) Watson owes his surname, but not any other obvious characteristic, to a Portsmouth medical colleague of Doyle’s, Dr James Watson.[38]

Arthur Conan Doyle = 1859 Edinburgh – 1930 Crowborough, E. Sussex and his life was relatively complex but this Joseph Bell 1837-1911 Edinburgh, his relation to AG Bell’s parents now would be the way to look. I’d spent maybe a week visiting some relatives in Edinburgh [it could even have been Glasgow; I think it was…] back around 1968. Joseph and Alexander Melville were most likely some sort of relation, and thence to this novel-writing business of how they know everything, from their weird underneath ways that then incorporated the brain-eating hallucinating of the visions and voices and “magic” all kinds of the unnatural things they are doing their world-takeover off of me off of…. His parent was Benjamin Bell 1810-1883. ck George Watson’s Hospital, edinburgh… https: // archive dot org slash details/b21929749/page/n15; check clan bell dot org slash history dot html — there’s a scots connection dot org that has an easier version of that — A. Melville’s father is said to be Alexander Bell, born 1790 Fife, Scotland, = just north of Edinburgh center I guess — buried London, highgate cemetery 1856. he’d married esther alicia bell and they’d had 4 offspring, melville next to youngest. Now it says that he was the brother of someone also called Alexander Bell. It says his parents were David Bell and Isabella Swan. … Again, Joseph Bell from Wiki: Bell studied medicine at the University of Edinburgh Medical School and received an MD in 1859. During his time as a student, he was a member of the Royal Medical Society and delivered a dissertation which is still in possession of the society today. Bell served as personal surgeon to Queen Victoria whenever she visited Scotland. He also published several medical textbooks. Bell was a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh (RSCEd), a justice of the peace, and a deputy lieutenant. He was elected president of the RSCEd in 1887. Bell wrote the book Manual of the Operations of Surgery, published in 1866.[4] In 1883, Bell bought 2 Melville Crescent, a large townhouse, previously the home of the engineer John Miller of Leithen.[5]

Joseph Bell died on 4 October 1911. He was buried at the Dean Cemetery in Edinburgh alongside his wife Edith Katherine Erskine Murray (1840–1874) and their son Benjamin, and next to his parents’ and brother’s plots. The grave is mid-way along the north wall of the northern section to the original cemetery.

Okay, I give up. There doesn’t seem to be any intersection between Alexander Graham Bell’s ancestors and those of this famous Joseph Bell’s, and it had become an incredibly common surname, but they’re from Edinburgh together anyway, Bell’s father Melville, of the Visible Speech that I’m saying became these computers. The Melville Bell’s might have been maybe some underground-grown line of the same Bells, but also these system-people just go around stealing everything, steal your name and its place of birth and, coming up from under Siber-Mongol area, they just want your names and backgrounds and they replace you, might have been how the Melville Bell’s proximity around Edinburgh became so close that, besides all this confusion little me is in, that the criminal investigation know-how about everybody’s ways and means that Sherlock Holmes could figure the guilty parties so well, is mixed in here too…. Try again; that that comes from the underground-sneakiness and both sets of Bells then would seem to share that, whatever other sort of relation they’d had together, from Edinburgh living. I’m not real familiar with Sherlock Holmes stories, but of course his assistant’s name is the same as AG Bell’s assistant’s, Watson, the famous Mr. Watson. Speaking of Gottlieb-Watson typeology I’d seen the sunshine-one again this morning, just doing a drive-by he was.

That brings up this thing I really require some human assistance with. I’ve been not doing anything about it all year because it’s a little scary for someone as mousy-scared as me, about these “666-Shahan types,” that there’s some connection there to the Gottlieb type and then as the map is supposed to show but doesn’t well enough, Dr. Gottlieb had been born just the other side of the Bronx River from the first apartment I’d later in, but I was raised to be ignorant and never really saw any Bronx River or much of anything else in the Bronx. There was some peculiar incident-set with a lady named Barbara Hoffman, that, in all this retrospect, it had to have been some sort of a curse onto about 6-year old me, where the fraud-mother had taken me on a visit to that lady and she was in the process of dying her hair but by doing what I guess they call “stripping” it of all the color in the strands by use of peroxide, that the lady in the process of doing that’s hair was purple-colored while that stripping was going on, till she rinsed that out and then her hair was blonde or platinum blonde. The curse seems to have been that she kept saying I was laughing at her because of the purple-colored hair but in reality how was I supposed to know purple’s not a color of hair, I wasn’t laughing at her, was just along because Mrs. Foshay was visiting and I never did find out why after I guess one more visit to the same place but I don’t recall anything but the lady’s going on about that I thought the purple hair was funny but I really hadn’t. When she had the stripped hair though she looked like Maye Musk, which might have some bizarre interconnection somehow due to some other trifling-seeming oddity that isn’t worth all these syllables right now either anyhow. I never figured out where exactly we’d visited her, that we’d walked there I think from the usual house the grandmother-character had moved from Bathgate Avenue to up on E. Gunhill Road, and then would have walked back to Gunhill Road I guess. The 2 ladies had just seemed to gossip but seeing that there was only one other visit it doesn’t in retrospect seem like they’d been friends. Really it was more like one of those obscure-seeming visits to someone to see if you could buy some drugs or some such, just being polite and getting whatever you’d gone there for and leaving again and it’s over with. But this comes up because of Gottlieb’s being from the Bronx and some little other seeming-coincidence that I can’t find anyone to discuss that with or be a witness of what I’m trying to research without getting myself into any danger over. It’s that Frank Olson business, that it’s really a big deal and then because 2 books that I happen to look into were just published around that subject, the “Receptor” and then this Gottlieb biography. He had 4 children but his wife didn’t feel anyone would be fair to him and so told the kids to shun questioners. I can’t really look into the Frank Olson business and it’s come up because of the similarity with Edsel Ford, that they’re likely the same “type” or genetic-family types and such. Then also there’s that Ira Baldwin I think his name is that had figured so much in Gottlieb’s early years, that he appears to be that Frank Olson type also. I don’t think there’s a public domain photo of him. Okay, it’s four p.m. now and my day was really skewed that I’d wound up buying some paper towels and bananas only this morning when I realized the library doesn’t open till noon on Thursdays, so that I’ve got both bulky and heavy items on this little cart and therefore I can’t take these on the long trip to a supermarket like I thought I’d be doing today, since yesterday I only had the strength anymore to get the rent money but not then go food shopping too like I’d usually been doing till things got so rough like they are right now, this coming winter being like an unbelievable horror for me, the whole thing, every waking moment some kind of a horror or another with worse always pending all over me. What I’m saying is that I think I don’t have any choice but to again leave here early, because getting here I’d already felt too weak to be able to make this trip back to the room without a great deal of hardship and moaning and resting every few feet along this regular route, etc. Then my next thing is that I have to get some winter cover clothing, that that is due to take up time starting like as soon as possible, maybe tomorrow, where I have to make some shopping-attempt trips, most likely not to pan out but something is going to have to eventually anyway, can’t go through the winter in a hoodie and flip-flops and figuring out what to buy takes me a long time, comparison shopping. I saw something while I was at the “Wal-place” I’ll call it to see what they have for canned spaghetti, raviolis, but I’d just picked up some anythings to buy so I don’t walk out without buying anything and so didn’t have enough money to pay for the winter coat good enough for me that was there on the route to the cash register and by the time I got back to see about them they were gone. Then when I went to pick up the “Vanity Fair” book I saw that there’s a bigger-looking Wal-place on the other side of Houston so I’ve been trying to figure if I could get back to there where they might even have that same style but not sold out but it’s been almost 2 weeks altogether and so the other store likely doesn’t have them anyway, is it worth the trouble of that trip just on the outside chance that they might have that product and not be sold out of them yet, not really a winter coat but for me the important thing is that I get something both warm and lightweight, I can’t wear anything that’s going to weigh say even 2 pounds maybe, I’d never be able to be getting outside in something too heavy, and the type I’d seen was water-resistant and quilted and only 21.97. It was real tempting to think of putting back the little items I’d just put back but I wasn’t sure if the tax might take the price over the 23 or 24 dollars I only had on me and I’d never put anything on layaway so that idea hadn’t occurred to me and I just walked by and got back as soon as I could and they just had something a low fraction as attractive for 21.96 available then so I figured I’d keep looking and nothing came up but I’ll have to do something about that, probably not till Sunday. Since I’m not real familiar with exactly which bus stop to get off at to go to that other Wal-place I’m a little loathe to getting on a bus for that long trip, but something useful might come of seeing the other building, what selections might be possible. This torture goes “ape” when I go to anywhere, is always a big consideration. That’s what they were doing this morning; it looks like they’ve “underground” taken over this one little food store I’ve been getting by by using, so that the place is like an Armageddon Program regular site waiting for my visits so they can go into whatever they do, the brain-eater LURISTS. Then, for a winter coat attempt, where on else could I find anything that inexpensive that’s so good for my situation, is nowhere, if the other Wal-place doesn’t have anything like that then I’ve just got this image of wanting something like that lightweight, quilted-warm and water-resistant roomy type of a simple thing to put on over the hoodie and whatever other warm pieces I can have layered underneath it depending on how bad the weather is this or that day, so that all I can figure is if the other inexpensive store didn’t have anything and they hadn’t, is that I might have to go to this big strange thrift store near here, where I don’t think “thrift/the-rift” is such a safe idea with this Armageddon b.s. living off of me, but that’s how I’ve always mostly only shopped through till I’d just quit bothering to buy clothes because of being homeless and unable to carry or keep many, had been just getting things from thrift shops and disposing of them as requirements come up. So, really I should likely try to go to Wal-place tomorrow since the library is only open for 4 hours on Fridays anyway, should take off for the other side of town and give that a look-see or else it would have to wait till Sunday. The logistic consideration of that I didn’t get any food except some bananas and bread today though then comes up too, that I can’t go traipsing off to the other side of town unless I have some food in and with me, so likely I’d have to go get some of that tomorrow and then visit a library, then try shopping on Sunday because this place here has good hours on Saturday if I have breakfast and lunch food to do this off of, and, if I managed to pry myself out of here now then again I could get some reading in on that VF and possibly finish it even by Saturday so that that’s over with. When I finish it I’ll have to look up a bunch of things about subjects it raises on the search-engine here, but at least I’ll have learned how the story ends, always curious about that. Last night Rawdon asked his brother to take little Rawdy because of that about Becky and Lord Steyne is where I’d left off, so I’m anxious to find out how these different soap opera-type storylines wind up. I figure I’d have to keep up this “how they know all these things about people” research-quest that obviously Thackeray and then his friend Dickens must have been underground-conspirators to be getting all their words for those stories from, and so have thought of this Ivanhoe as a possibility. Checking that a little I see he was from Edinburgh also. Plot’s thickening, and then where was that King James — sure enough, born in Edinburgh Castle.

I think it was Glasgow I’d been to visit because for a long time I’d thought Edinburgh was way north of Glasgow so that I hadn’t been able to visit there but then I’ve noticed finally that it’s mostly just east of Glasgow and only slightly north, not all the way up where it must be like freezing most of the time. King James is always difficult for me because it’s James VI of Scotland and then James I of England, me tending to put the numbers in increasing order, James I and VI or is it James II and VI I’m always trying to figure but Scotland’s James I was born back in the 1400s and so I think was their James III so I finally might be able to recall that he was the 6th James king of Scotland, and thence the first in England of that name, not the second, James VI and I is how the title goes, 1566-1625 — and Wikipedia again, where James passed comes up alot in the Notes to this “Vanity Fair:” Lord Burghley’s younger son, Robert Cecil, 1st Earl of Salisbury, inherited the house, and after the Queen’s death in 1603, arranged for the new king, James I, to stay on his way from Scotland to London, and receive homage from the Privy Council.[5] In 1606, Cecil again entertained King James and his brother-in-law, King Christian IV of Denmark, at Theobalds. Both monarchs were notoriously heavy drinkers, and according to some of those present, the occasion was simply an orgy of drunkenness, as few English or Danish courtiers had their rulers’ capacity to hold their drink: an attempt to put on a masque of Solomon and Sheba descended into a farce, as most of the players were too inebriated to remember their lines, or even to stand up.

In 1607, King James I acquired Theobalds in exchange for Hatfield Palace, also in Hertfordshire. It quickly became the King’s favourite country residence. In September 1618 James gave orders for the demolition of two new buildings nearby that housed tobacco shops patronised by his courtiers.[6] He died there on 27 March 1625. James had made few changes to the main suites, installing panelling in the Great Gallery to which his son King Charles I added a number of carved and painted stag’s heads.[7] Later, after the execution of Charles I, Theobalds was listed, amongst other royal properties, for demolition and disposal by the Commonwealth. This was achieved speedily, and by the end of 1650, the house was largely demolished. After the Restoration, the estate was granted to George Monck, 1st Duke of Albemarle, but reverted to the Crown after the death of the 2nd Duke of Albemarle, who left no heir.

— Obviously the system was busy in other parts of the world than just there in England and around London but the way this is shaping up I’d think it was their main focus, so much busyness with sabotaging everyone and everywhere as this takeover “rolls” over the earth, like in that “Figured Wheel” poem by Pinsky and the system-use of that word, — and they just keep doing the same thing, every day this torture is sneaky and vicious despite any and all reality. The Notes imply that there’s nobility in Hertford that is fictionalized by the story, so that the real-life characters were whoever those lords around there had been which I figure I’d have to be starting to look into on Saturday, if I pry myself out of here and read alot tonight and then tomorrow night, with that new reading light I’d gotten at the Wal-place finally thank goodness, had wanted one last year but this one I finally found at least I finally got.

6 December, this is difficult, the VF has gone to the Weimar, early-ish, republic now. That brings up all kinds of things like the later WWI and II and the MK-Ultra operation for instance. 1848 Thackeray had written this and it took place around 1825 now I guess the events were said to have taken place, plus my invisible-torture is going nuts milking this Victorian-era murder and mysteries theme for its Armageddon, off of teeny and scaredy to be alone with all this me. I’m thinking to find an illustration to stand for Weimar, Germany and came across this adorable clickable map through strangers who give things to Wikipedia: en dot wikipedia dot org slash wiki/File:Weimar_Republic_states_map dot svg. — Now I sent this to Rice Univ: Subject line: Please look over my blog; Kathy Foshay

Dear Dr. H., The works of Thackeray and Dickens could be key to unraveling this system but I’m like a ghost-prisoner alone in Houston: UniverseRescueKathyFoshayWordPressCom.wordpress.com. The system keeps everyone away from me and twists my attempts to find assistance toward itself so I don’t like to burden to distribute the url/address unnecessarily but have written hundreds and hundreds of individuals or groups, offering up to 50% of future-profit, etc. I wrote to a lady at UH but I near-never hear back from anyone. Sincerely, Kathy Foshay, trapped and entrapped, (202) cellphone ***-****.

Then I’ve got this difficulty where the system is like surrounding the areas I’m in with scary loose dogs. Those are in that book of the Revelation too, dogs outside the gates of the pearly-type new jerusalem city or such. They had this elderly lady that’s been renting a room as well as this new difficulty that’s been there since around August, just before the dogbite they’d both moved in I guess, and nobody ever really speaking around me but yesterday the elderlier lady did a walk-by where I couldn’t help but see she’s got the same thing as what my dogbite/s had looked like on her right forearm. Talk about sickeningly scary, that the system is doing that for this sneaky Armageddon Program for its world-takeover. They were likely prepared with a tactic to hold my throat closed if I had wanted to say anything but in reality she and I don’t have anything we talk about and she just sort of glided by like that and was out of calling-distance and me left with this, what was that I just saw, syndrome. Then I had to check on this dead animal around the corner from the library and I looked to my other side and there was this monstrous dog standing there with its tongue hanging out looking at me, (and a peculiar person gliding by too.) A guy from the shop there escorted the dog to the other side of the street where he said it came from, but on my way back last night it was barking all over me and so that leaves me with having to try to do something about that real-life monster now, it going after some other guy that was ostensibly a normal person walking down that street then also just after dusk, right at nightfall (he’d seemed like a planted act I’d figured but it’s still a real-life threat to those around regardless of the system’s “plays.”) I’m so long tortured that it’s just insane that I’m supposed to “run” over to where I can find anyone where that dog’s from to describe that they have to keep that leashed or behind its usual big fence there. It guards a used car lot and it’s been scary all along just having to wait for the bus across the street from that barking like crazy big-sounding dog, and now it’s been let loose to the outside of that car lot and the whole area it seems to be in charge of plus both sides of that street, come to recall, — time ran out because I didn’t pause to click the thing or whatnot. — Back but with only half an hour of time left, what would be best to try doing, where I could even leave early might be the most useful thing I could do as this Armageddon Program is running some of it’s old-new tricks.

7 December, they have an amanda lockwood in westminster, md that maybe is being used as part of this bizarre hoax that seems all the social media all over my account, these people that don’t seem to have anything to do with anything i know about, as though i believe the hoax is real life or some sort of a “prank” is being wroughted. Otherwise, right now I seem to be caught up

achilles statue, 1822: The statue was made by Sir Richard Westmacott using 33 tonnes of bronze from cannons captured in Wellington’s campaigns in France. The body of the statue is modelled on a Roman figure on Monte Cavallo in Italy. The head is based on the Duke himself. The statue was originally completely nude and caused outrage so a small fig leaf had to be added soon after it was installed. (royal parks dot org descr.)

i forgot to mention yesterday that VF calls Weimar, Germany, “Pumpernickel” as though that’s the name of the town and its area instead of the non-fictional Weimar. Pumpernickel is a rye bread is all I can figure, and rye is where that ergot comes from that allegedly makes LSD, but really I think it’s solely a poison, however, the brain-eaters also do anything to get high and there’s been all kinds of glue-sniffing for instance, which isn’t too far removed from getting high off of the turned-bad rye that leaves the ergot mold growth, that it’s still some altered state from plain boring being themselves. That that name-camouflage is so big and conspicuous in the 1848 story means that it’s likely highly significant to whatever Thackeray’s points were. I finished the story and have to start over by reading the Introduction tonight then as the author’d warned it tells the plot and how the story ends so leave it till afterward if you want to read it to find out for yourself first, which I had. It ends with the guy’s being busy writing the “History of the Punjaub,” big expert of East India, and it ends with calling his wife a parasite after most of the story’s being about what a darling person type she was, etc., that it’s a real system-trick lot of paper there. I’ll try to find the page number where I’d thought the story went wrong, where they don’t meet with one of their friends from school, Ms. Swarz, and instead 2 of the characters get married, and the whole thing gets skewed from there and at the end you find out that the husband, who’d died then at Waterloo, had cheated with the Becky main character one week after the wedding and so the whole perspective changes like fifteen years after the husband’s death, calling him a bum then so that the widow would marry the guy who then sits to write the History of the Punjab, the narrator bringing up that the wife is a little jealous of their newborn daughter. Jealousy is one of the narrator or Thackeray’s main topics, they think everyone is jealous this and jealous that, as that is one of the excuses for all this unchanged torture to me, that they’re still doing that same “Armageddon Show” honestly right to this very day, some made-up story similar even to this VF fiction. Becky winds up being more or less more insulted at the end also plus when you learn that she’d cheated with her friend’s husband a week after the wedding and therefore a month before his death then at Waterloo, you wonder who else Ms. Becky’d been “doing something” with all those years then after all too, — really weird odd ending, changing all perspectives on something, skewing story to satisfy this bizarre underworld’s desires. They’re about to turn the terminals off, i just want to remind that when those underworlders got their “loo” nitrogen and ammonia and such from collecting “nightsoil” that never comes up in the 800 pages, then if you add a little fat to that collection and the green leaves you rake up to make compost, then the whole compost gets as a chain reaction where all the molecules or cells change also to fat cells, the fat cells are like infecting and changing the compost cells and all becomes petroleum oil.

9 Dec., Monday, the swine are worse than ever with the not any connection to reality it seems, just all kinds of made-up nothing the “jew” seems to be slathering all over me, anything to distract and stall and waste my time of my life. — 3pm, things aren’t going the way I’d like them to, afraid to use the word “well” as this system seems to really just be getting more and more sick all over me. I always have a difficulty in (anything I try to do, really,) where to sit when I walk into this or any library, always trying to be in a way that underscores that I’m totally on my own and alone, am not connected with or affiliated with anyone or any group or stereotypes or all whatever but the system is silent and hallucino-makes believe and its more and more regardless of whatever I’m trying to do, that it’s getting really sicker with these lies and doo-doo it goes by. I took a seat and glanced over and noticed that the person in the next seat happens to be one of the what I call the “Shahan-666-Pill-grim boy types,” like, they are all over the place and are just one of the many many stereotypes and sometimes it’s bound to be coincidence, same with those things that have the face of the fraud-parent — in fact the 2 types had been partners together when I got ritually hit by that car in 2015. I didn’t feel like changing my seat because the next try to sit down could always might be worse anyhow and I’m not “prejudiced” against any individuals, etc., but I generally don’t see a stereotype or anything else unless it’s part of the unprovable “Armageddon Program,” and now — the noise quit, there was a horrible noise. Anyhow, I just don’t feel comfortable and don’t feel comfortable in doing the little task I’d been hoping to be able to try to get done today and really the weather’s going to change and I have to go buy some food. I can’t come to a library unless I’ve had breakfast and can carry either lunch and or dinner with me to be able to walk out of here and back to the room on and it’s that time of being run out of whatever I’ve got so I have to go do that “anyway,” that I’ll have to give up early and try to go do that errand now, unfortunately for not having gotten much done today except looking up a few things. Two of the things I looked up tell me I have to make a phone call to them so I can’t do that from in here anyway. I desperately require for any human to get in touch with me and decade after decade anymore each day there’s never any person I hear from, and this Victorian-era reading leads right into murder-mysteries, like in Dickens’ last book. It seems like it goes from that into murder-mysteries all over the place. And then also there’s that when they did the moon landing and saw there wasn’t anything the system went into the Watergate/Bathgate business and there’s an historical Bathgate not far from Edinburgh, where that famous anatomist Bell guy that became the Sherlock Holmes model too had come from, everything all muddled for me and as I’m about to give up anyway that guy already just took off, as though the underground signalled him to leave because of my mentioning in my privacy here about the discomfort. I’m trying to open some new gmail account because I don’t ever hear back from anyone and I didn’t feel comfortable in trying to open it while he was sitting here, there, because I don’t know anything positive about the type, only that they — “seem to” sneak around doing these bizarre rituals toward the Armageddon or world-takeover or whatever they thing reality is like, but I’m saying that the moon landing showed that the system doesn’t have any connection to reality in their beliefs, and they just cover everything over and all my life its been parasiting on me, and, again, it’s terrible with the disconnection from reality that they’ve got slathered all over me regardless of everything. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be raining all day and it’s possible I won’t be able to get to a library, but this business with the Vanity Fair has got alot built up that I have to get off of me and I have to try to make contacts because I can’t live like this, the system’s moving all stray dogs in all around my path and they’re doing toilet-terrorism along with this Dickens mysteries theme and I woke up to listen to this thing on the radio where that former president Clinton was in an interview with Tom Joyner and Clinton’s line kept “breaking up” so that you couldn’t hear him well and that’s the sort of “mystery clue” that the system does all this c*** by, and in fact it’s the only clue then that I’ve gotten that there is some link between that radio show and this Armageddon Show. But these are such itsy details that one sounds nuts in trying to describe the system, that it’s all nonexistent, nonexistence bringing on (gratuitous) extinction, and I’ve run out of time for today and going food shopping is such a horror-torture as the Armageddon whittles away at anything I’ve got, makes living impossible, worse and worse little by little till there isn’t anything. They’ve even gone from the usual Jurassic Park dinosaur-type growling noises to now just any dangerous animal growling and louder noises off of those vehicle engine noises, just anything to be vicious around me, this specific torture “program” of all these “Tom Join-her” years. I guess I’ll be glad to have that over with anymore especially now that I got that peculiar clue this morning that the program is really like double entendre for underworld use of this horror, but I don’t know of course if it’s a “trending” or specific to this to me. It does seem that it started during the 1992 democratic convention in nyc. And then I’ve got the going back to 1975 that’s connected to this “666 etc.” type that maybe I’d have been able to get a little closer to in trying to explain except I’d made the error of sitting in this seat where I knew the guy was like planted as a way to get me to take a seat in some other area and I didn’t want to and say here anyway. I don’t even know any of these stereotype people, they just “sneak” around without any real meaning to anything that I know anything about. The Vanity Fair book is alot like that. Then it’s also mixed with this real-life murder mystery they’d had in London in 1840 that I’d unfortunately noticed the book about. The guy lived in the neighborhood that Becky Sharp had fictionally lived in prior to the real-life murder and there’s not any telling what he was really all about except that he was elderly and had only been renting the place for 3 years so it’s seeming to me that that was the underground there’s way of getting rid of a neighbor they didn’t like, as that’s what’s always happening to me, sneak-harassments till you get scared and move back away. Interconnections like that are all over the Thackeray-Dickens-down to nowadays situation, and I’m largely trying to figure out this “Pumpernickel” Weimar, Germany aspect of the novel. One character had spent 10 years there as a diplomat, way before the novel’s main characters traveled to there, so there’s likely some connection. And it’s connected to something called the Transparencies, like a Lord Transparency and family or some such. Maybe that “magic” had been started there while everyone was high and making music, stealing that part of the world. “Pumpern” in German actually means to pass wind and the “nickel” part the search-engine says has to do with the name Nicholas. What Thackeray meant I can’t guess. The narrator was basically negative about everything except him (or her) -self by the time the book ends, and that Dobbin character, that’s I guess one of the “Jomon” -islander hybrids, from the Mongol-run India-takeover, etc. I wrote down the page number on that Ms. Swarz but can’t find it right now, 273 or 237, that the narrator didn’t let the 2 girls re-unite visit at all, just rushed the other one off to get married and then the groom cheated with Becky the following week and died at Waterloo the 6 weeks later. Made me wonder if Dobbin hadn’t shot him, reading then the Introduction the other night and reminded of Becky and that insurance business. Because Becky was the child of an artist I’d thought she was the star of the book but it ended negatively against her so that now I’m thinking that maybe more of the art work was stolen than I’d realized, as the vast majority of artists’ portraits show the Jomon type’s type of faces, range of the type, almost all the people who were painters seem to have been “Jomon” so I’d figured that if Becky was an artist’s offspring she’d be a star and that’s how it’d seemed but it turned so that then I suspect that the typical artist had been a blond guy like she’s a blonde character. Oh, and then that leads me back to that business about the Anita Loos book and I’d found somewhere near Maidstone, England where lots of these people lived, the Marcus Samuel person had wound up there, and somewhere around there there is a Loos something or another, as the tone of the 2 stories seems alike to me. — It’s too late to do that about the making a new gmail account, because the others seem to have all been blockaded by these parasites and I’m trying to get a contact with anyone, but it turns out that I don’t have an email address I can send anything to today. I have to telephone a couple of places and am so unlikely to do that because of all these — because of the dogs’ scaring me at night anymore. Just before I got bit in September I’d been thinking I was doing something toward the “Take Back the Night” effort to have night time be part of our lives again instead of that you have to run go indoors because the streets are full of unsafe people, and now this torture just gloats and gloats that I have to hurry to try to get to the room before it’s dark out and it’s impossible today now, everything all skewed because I don’t know what these “666” stereotype-people have on their minds, but it’s like they’ve been lurking, as the system also has all kinds of anybody strangers also do that, so I never know what to think, but there’s a real scary whole possibility to these 666 types and they seem to have ruined my attempt to get that little photograph of myself from 1960, that one was in a big double-scene at the post office the day I went to go get an envelope for sending off that request, that day with that “caterpillar” and then the 666 and the clerk dropped my penny onto its package, where the clerk had called me over before she was finished with the 666 and now I’ve never received this photo until it’s the s.o.s*** where I just require a human being to speak with about this and what I can do, because that fraud-family — is all mixed up with the Watergate/Bathgate and don’t care if they did know anything about it either business, I’m just surrounded by all kinds of unnatural difficulties so that something as simple as this seems to be part of the murder-syndrome of this that’s encrusted all over me, this Armageddon Program “jew” or Jomon or Dickens now too is all in this mix as being a regular stereotype-hybrid or vice-versa, hybrid-stereotype. I can’t get them off of me and they don’t have any connection to reality and are serotonin-addicts making the planet to suit themselves and doing it off of picking on me all my life, which is what I want the little photo for trying to explain my way out of this for. Etc. I’m afraid to write again about this because I’ve had so many dangerous things happen since March and I don’t have anyone to discuss that with and I always send something at the “season” that this now is, trying to keep some semblance of being in touch with the people that I’d grown up with, and there’s only the one fraud-sibling but there are also all kinds of the Armageddon spooks all over anything I try to do. Nobody has responded to any of my gmails so that I thought maybe a new account might assist and I’ve got to get in touch with someone. There isn’t any reason for doing this lifetime of horror to me. Something like this is always always hovering invisibly over and on me:

page from an old letter

Ha, I go to get the usual photo, that in the middle of this example, and I notice that James Bailey there looks like the “Lord Steyne” character from Vanity Fair’s real life model, down toward the end of this file: brits

1777-1842 the 3rd Marquess of Hertford had lived, the character being said to be a combination of himself and the 2nd Marquess. Bailey wasn’t born till 1847, in Detroit, which is right down the St. Lawrence River from England and Nova Scotia, a main route I figure the system had snuck all into here by. Not only has it become too “dark” out for me to comfortably be able to shop tonight but I even have to leave already because it’s full-dark out by 6pm and it stays this way the whole month of December, gets dark a little sooner each day. Poor little all-alone me can’t get but a teeny amount of time in here and nothing seems to be assisting me, nothing is going to be improving for me all winter. In a best-case scenario if I make it through the winter intact/alive and not in any hospitalizations, all I’d wind up with in the spring is this same ghost-prisoner inability to afford to go to Arizona except as a broke homeless old lady. Nobody from here or Arizona has responded to any of my emails, and I’d have to have a contact because otherwise these system-animals, that type in the middle of that page and the Ginsberg-type and their various serotonin-system helpers, just have me invisibly thrashed and bashed all over the place till I’m hospitalized so the new place can observe me or whatever, get their curses in before I could get started trying to do anything about that the system was invented by insane primitives high on eating brain, who have been living off of doing this persecution of me — and I’ve been thinking that that might be connected, since I’m desperate and alone without anyone to speak with about any of all these things, the absurdity of this is so bad that I’m thinking I’ll have to read the chapter in the Sidney Gottlieb biography on that 1975 business around the Frank Olson business, alleged death by either suicide or murder. It is so obvious and yet I can’t speak about it because of this “666” difficulty, which might be why the kid with that type of the face was sitting here, to inhibit me (easy to do for the system that’s been doing that to me all my life) from bringing this subject up, as I can’t find any reason why these bums persist in this invisible-torture, now with the dogs and toilet and the bad weather hasn’t even started yet, the killing weather for my frail self anymore. This insistence on torturing uninvolved little me has led me to thinking that there might have been some genetic connection between my type and Olson and Edsel Ford’s type, and that in 1975 the system, the brain-eaters following me out of the Bronx/Bathgate plan when the moon landing had failed to find riches, that these brain-eaters from under the Bronx, the Ginsberg type and this in the center of that page usual example I use for this Armageddon Program’s director, had latched onto the idea of plaguing me via pornography for their “self-support” of this global-system world-takeover. So the Gottlieb biography goes into that 1975 business a little bit and I compare that with what I was going through that year, over in Germany and met that false-friend I guess he’d started and ended as, where I’m trying to start a navigation bar file about the Army years now where this would come up, that just before I’d met Norm I’d been able to enjoy a little LSD, thinking now that that’s some coincidence to do with the sudden attention to the, alleged, death of Mr. Olson, me thinking he’d just gone into top-secret rocket science work or something similar the system wanted him for, and also that his alleged death was likely a big “mind control” trick for other normal-type people to be careful or they’d wind up like him. Obviously all that attempt at mind-control worked because I can’t get anyone to be nice to or discuss any of all this with me, that if the system wasn’t keeping people from doing so there’d be all kinds of people interested in trying to get all this straightened out so that space could go from being desolate to normal, prosperous. Etc. There’s also Lee “Harvey” Oswald and that Oleg Penkovsk(i)y that are this name general “type,” where I’ve mentioned that Oswald had spent most of 1953 around the Bronx Zoo area and then I’d been born in 1955, that I might have “come from” any sort of that kind of some combination that then I get picked on so much like this. The big thing is that artwork of St. Cecilia. I’ve got it in a page, maybe one on Victoria, but I’ll try to find a copy of it and put it here, that I’ve been saying all along that when these bums learned how to “grow” people that Nasi-type had grown what seems to have become the Victoria type and then her ovaries went to all over the place and I’d likely come from some combination descended from those. https://en dot wikipedia dot org/wiki/The_Ecstasy_of_St._Cecilia_(Raphael) (PD) File:Cecilia Raphael.jpgThat’s the Nasi/Michelangelo type on the far-left, the jealousy-object on the far-right, and I guess the victim-types up above, that the Nasi-type used these stolen-ovary “grown” people as Armageddon-warriors toward this global-takeover where all the enspirited people have been being killed off. The painting’s attributed to Raphael, 1514. These grown people were used as play-characters and the type in the middle seems to have evolved to Victoria’s type and the Vanity Fair and all that went on while she was monarch, responsible for everything, but you can see here that — that Victoria and Abdul recent film is like what I’m talking about except that like everything else it’s all skewed to this Armageddon-mindset of the brain-eaters as represented by the Nasi-type holding back its laughter at the St. Cecilia/Victoria/my type. Okay, it’s already dark out there and tomorrow’s going to be cold and I’ll have to go food shopping prior to and maybe instead of being able to get to a library tomorrow. I wish someone would read this and cut through the red tape or c*** or whatever and get in touch with me because even if I survive this winter I won’t have anything toward the universe-rescue attempt in the spring still anyway unless I’ve gotten in touch with at least one other person who follows that these brain-eaters don’t care that they don’t know what they’re doing, they’re just primitives who got addicted to the power-feeling that the “smart pills” make them feel like, they like staying high and they aren’t reconsidering that they don’t know or care what they’re doing and they’re taking us to extinction, forcing us to extinction even by forbidding me anything but this begging-drivel I’m always only allowed to do, nothing actually productive or positive is ever permitted by this Dickens-like c*** laying all over me all the time, like as though assiduously monitoring this, but nothing ever comes from its monitoring but more ways to sabotage whatever I’m trying to do. Nonstop misery for not any reason, not any connection to anything except them getting hold of people for their brains and other body parts, that aren’t any of their business, get off of other people, nearly 27 years of me just saying that, don’t be parasites. The torture did move the weight of the blob slightly off of me for the complaint about it. My whole life is just complaining for this c*** to get off of me, all day long everyday, 27 years, and I’d started with that the system has to show that they/it knows how to not be parasites before there could be any non-extinction, just show that you even have any awareness of the difference between right and wrong behavior, and they/it never has. They’re not doing anything but the “getting away with it” because it’s so obscure and long-planned as they’ve sneaked up on everywhere. There’s not any reason for bothering me except taking advantage of a person purposely made to be small-sized and vulnerable, and this started back by 1960, and that fraud-family won’t send that first photo till I’m afraid to ask for it anymore, the system has retardation set for attacking any communication attempts I try to make. Which then could go back around to that Clinton administration business, that I’d sent them a floppy disk on “all this” but all this turned out to be a satanic hoax that won’t listen to the real-life prisoner saying not to be parasites is all, they just stick to their satanic script, that “s*** the world” horror-hoax where the system attracts the nice and normal types of males to see what all this fuss is about and they get introduced to the pornography and disappeared, so that the Nasi-Jomon types and friends can eat brains. — I notice that there are alot of typos that I have to go back and correct lately and if there are alot that I do notice then there are lots that slip by, like just above I’d typed can’t instead of can, eat brains, so that the sentence wouldn’t make any “sense,” which is yet another slang word. In the Vanity Fair days there was a slang language called “flash” that’s a little difficult to look up about but it came from the Romanian gypsies to England, and in fact Nasi had been a duke of Wallachia in Romany, just south of Transylvania, but as I’m trying to look into this flash lingo then I’m trying to figure if maybe that’s all of slang language is evolved from or descended from the flash. I’ll try to bring some examples from this book about the 1840 murder, where the point seems to be that the under-dug in people had gotten rid of William Russell because they wanted to and maybe that their spookiness was to “mind control” all the police and townspeople to be afraid to discuss that the guy had been hurt by under-living people. It’s “Murder By the Book,” unfortunate find for me because this Armageddon torture loves to scare and cow me and waste all my time with timidity from fear. — Now I recall, they have a new dog on this route that looks like it might be able to eat barely able to move-walk little me alive, that that’s why I was supposed to get out of here before dark and now what to do about that, etc., rather than that pleasant “Take back the night” for normal people to be able to enjoy atmosphere it’d seemed I’d had in September. Now they’ve got some big ole dead cat that seems to have disintergrated down into the soil along the regular walk there and then maybe this insane dog come sneaking up and or charging at me. And in this way they’re “showing” that they don’t want me coming to this library and yet I don’t have anything else I can do because I don’t have any contacts with any other people but myself that are positive.

Dec. 11, Wednesday; the parasites are so all over me that I can barely move and think. I’ve only got a few minutes and how should I try to best use those, with this horror all over me, question mark. So many different things to look into but the bums always do rituals as I try to reach to here, all kinds of doo-doo on the bus and walk and then en-place ici, etc.

It got so bad I had to change my seat when one of the other plants moved. That “Vanity Fair” book and whole Thackeray and Charles Dickens type of people seem to all have been sabotage for sucking England into Germany, the book was published in Leipzig, near Weimar. And then of course the sucking continues back further into Siber-Mongol main base for the “Autists” I’ve been calling this difficulty, etc. Have to leave here.

Dec. 12, going to have to try to move this to the bottom/the 1st post position and try to start over because this has become so cumbersome but I don’t know if I’ll even have time for that today, everything real lousy. I’m going to have to try to read that last Charles Dickens story called The Mystery of Edwin Drood, me guessing that Edwin is about the young “Bertie” and similar boys growing in England back then, that became the Edwardian Era when Victoria passed in 1901, that they “win” and the word “Drood” is like undoubtedly about drew-id, drawing brains, id = head, inner head, the way these bums think. Then somehow this near-only copy of the book is here at the branch library I go to within the 1989 Italian novel about the mystery, to where the pages seems to be about half and half the modern outer-story by the Italian authors and the verbatim-text by Dickens, around 250 pages each I guess, checking on that now is what I’m attempting to do, to see if this Italian-made (Fruttero and Lucentini, both passed this millennium, after long-time editing a magazine there called Urania, which is an important word in this “space race” business that hadn’t panned out after all and became this nonstop torture to me still…) novel within a novel really is verbatim because otherwise I wouldn’t want to substitute theirs for the original, so have to check on that before proceeding today. — It looks complete, ending on page 503 of this 587-page Italian-team story. This is the Mystery of Edwin Drood but I don’t have time to read much while at the libraries so I had to find a regular copy of it and the only one in Houston I think is where they go borrow it from an archived shelf: gutenberg dot . org slash/files/564/564-h/564-h dot . htm

— I don’t know where to stick this so I could find it later so I’m copying this name to here for now but on the Alamy pictures it’s spelled Juhuda instead of Yehuda, and nowhere else has got this picture I’d seen in that jewish historical pictorial:

isachar (baer) teller ben yehuda loeb lord satan circa 1637 prague, not any further information on this guy, physician, doctor from then and there allegedly.

Similarly I want to be able to recall that it’s Harry Frank Guggenheim that was busy I think with Lindbergh, check that now.

About kathyfoshay

I'm all alone with the real end of the world and always looking for assistance and no one's ever contacted me from the hundreds of letters I'd sent while at the big homeless shelter, 2nd and D Streets, NW, as though anyone that tries to contact me gets disappeared, my life used as a LURE-gimmick that goes to how that Armageddon prophecy in that book of Revelation has been being snuck-through, and this is sort of the bottom of the barrel of ideas for trying to find assistance, thinking I could get all my various writings on this in one place that letter-recipients could then look up if they're interested. That means I'd have to see if I can send my emails to here, how to do that. Wordpress said there is a way but it entails that spam would also get the email address. My time for now it up I guess. Working in this sitting position isn't healthy for me but I've always got to be doing something toward trying to get hold of someone to help me. It's like I'm a microcosm of the Earth or the human race and if someone could help me out of this torture then that'd be a start on trying to get the whole Earth out of this. 5/1/17, still all this, etc., same situation. (7/14/18 now....) Now it's 2019.
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