[These first few files will have to go under the Navigation in some Pre-blog topic, but for now I’m typing them here because it’s lonely back there.]
Then this spate of the phonied-up hospitalizations started. The files are a wreck so I’ll be trying to make these legible soon. This was written while at George Washington University Hospital for 9 days in 2014 when this “low oxygen” torture-scam began. Current notes or comments are in the square brackets [-]:
4/25/14, Friday, Dear George Washington University Hospital,
I have everything on my mind, so that it’s impossible to try describing just a little bit, where the paperwork I hand out also seems to be worrying the homeless shelter but without samples here with me now I can’t try just describing some of everything, it sounds baseless.
The global-system has really been doing those threats and promises at the back of the “Bible” off of me and in order to try to get this all off of me I’ve had to try to find the source of all the problems and it seems like I’ve got about most of it, and ideas for getting everything fixed, [I try to never use that drug-slang abuse word anymore, current comments in the square brackets if any,] but my work has been used for getting the Armageddon sneak-perpetrated in that I go around looking for assistance with this and interested people are “Armageddoned” it seems, and no fixing of anything has gotten done.
— I just got some good news, the lady at the shelter says not to worry about my paperwork, copies of all the letters I’ve distributed on this since 2005, they’re all I’ve got, hundreds of them… and I can only offer 50% of future-profit from them for trying to interest a potential helper. I thought maybe I’d found one and was bringing a job to him this morning until there was this surprise involuntary trip to here, seemingly 1/2 over the letter-writing, as there were 2 or 3 new pieces of it around. This morning’s is that I thought a possibly-interested person might forward a 1-page letter to the president for me. I get no responses and thought he might be able to get that through, a chaplain that’s from the Central Union Mission that’s recently moved from R Street and 14th down to the other side of the Georgetown University Law Center from the homeless shelter that I’ve been stranded in for 9 years, since 2005. They’d had some big sign out front that reminded me of (Dr.) Temple Grandin’s blueprints for slaughterhouses, so I’d brought them some of my material on Dr. Grandin and the desk lady said the chaplain might be finding this all to be interesting and I’d worked hard to get this 1-page done extra, by Friday for him to give it a look-see. [Page 3 is missing. This is rough and unedited yet.]
(Continue reading sign goes here.)
(page 4) I think her weird voice comes from a “magic switch” to give her male ancestors’ deep voice to a male with the Autism-psychopathy, (psychoto-psychopathy describes the hallucinogen-abuse.) Then Temple’s ancestor got left with the teen boy’s-type before-the-voice-change part of the deal. [I’ve never heard anyone else mention that her voice is peculiar at all let alone the horror I’d heard as I’d caught the tail-end of that interview by Terry Gross so I’m wondering if it might have been particularly exaggerated for that specific interview.] Then I think her biological-sire, the sperm, came from the guy who played Larry in the 3 Stooges comedy group. [Larry Fine, Louis Feinberg, 1902 Philadelphia – 1975 Los Angeles.]
I noticed Larry’s influences because I think Moe (Howard) was the sire behind the writer *** ***, and I’d noticed that because I suspect her husband might have been the photographer in Nicaragua that got the Iran-Contra scandal into a big deal, which I’d noticed in researching to see if Oliver North or his group nearby would help me with this, thinking that he’d recall Reagan’s aide Michael K. Deaver, because he’d subsequently spent 16 years at this homeless shelter at 425 2nd Street, NW, that I’ve now been in for 9 years.
Michael K. Deaver (d. 2007) was a huge bigshot, only low-key because of all the complexes, and stereotyping them that the Autism (psychoto-psychopathy) comes with.
He was a showman, a Public Relations specialist, and he’d hooked up most of this “Armageddon-making” off of me, but since it’s all so sneaky and behind my back I can’t easily explain it, it would only be when you already knew loads of this and then you could figure further extrapolations off of that. I have nothing without all my supporting paperwork. For instance, both Mr. Deaver and Oliver North were/are Episcopalians, and both worked in the White House for President Reagan, and 2000 people attended Mr. Deaver’s funeral at the National Cathedral so I figure maybe North was at the funeral, was close to Mr. Deaver, and maybe that’s why North’s group, Freedom Alliance, didn’t respond to my letters and phone calls this past January. Mr. Deaver did public relations for Guatemala, which was [is] near the Contra scandal, having a holocaust of Mayan people in 1984, and he did P.R. for Argentina and all kinds of different places and people. (- the Falklands crisis was about 1982.)
Mr. Deaver did P.R. for Taiwan also and every Saturday a Taiwanese group brings coffee and donuts to the outside of 425 2nd St., NW. He worked for Chicago’s Edelman P.R. too. Maybe the key thing he did was to work with a guy at 425 2nd St.s’ Clean and Sober Streets group/program (Henry Pierce III,) that I call a “Neanderthal” type.
I’d gotten stuck into a “nuclear-family” when I was born in 1955 that is headed by one type of Neandertal and Mr. Deaver’s partner seems to look like one of his “nuclear family” phonied-up brothers, and a 3rd brother looks the stereotype of the Civil War Secretary of War Stanton, Edwin Stanton. There was a 4th brother but maybe the Neanderthalism didn’t take as well. I haven’t completely met or been aware of this Clean and Sober Streets now-Director, is why I can only say that he seems to look like one of my male given-parent’s slightly older brothers, both in their 80’s now, I’ve had only a few possible interaction times and am only guessing that he’s the same person, but I think he’s the brother’s offspring, somehow.
So there were 3 Neanderthal [fraud-family, “Frauday” herein] brothers:
For 9 years I’ve been trying to get someone to help me with that there’s something strange about my male given-parent, some mix-up with the Dept. of Justice involved, and now I’ve been seeing say more than a thousand of these “Thunderville” copies or offspring, over the past year. Not only is all this indescribable but I can’t stay awake long enough to go into all the aspects of this.
I think Mr. Deaver had set up an offspring somehow of the Yorktown-type at the 425 2nd Street building and he’s been live-working there for free for around 20 years. The Katonah-Edwin Stanton types seem to be a common stereotype, but the Thundervilles have been “popping up all over” and I can’t guess what all to think. For example, my shelter bed was moved from the D Street to the E Street side of 2nd Street but then the whole hallway is to the middle of the block again, where on the other side of a locked door the CCNV part of the shelter’s lobby “Bubble” where the front desk workers are, is. But there’s nearly only silence, no more intercom and noisy activities like in 2005. So that’s one odd thing that has me wondering if, and using poor little me as a LURE, these “Frauday-Neanderthals” might have taken over, as I’ve been struggling to look for assistance, the whole system using me as a gimmick-set, multi-uses all toward the same Armageddon or world-takeover.
I’ve got alot of evidence that this is all going to TOTAL PLANETARY EXTINCTION, really.
I figure that when the invaders with the Paleo-American Autism psychoto-psychopathy and their buddy Neanderthal partners took what became the Semitic peoples captive they had the Neanderthals pretend to be the order-givers, they pulled a “switcheroo” so that the new captives had to obey the big guys and not realize that it was really the small people who did all the thinking toward the psychopathy, and that situation-appearance has kept the Semite-types prisoner to “Neanderthal” thinking.
— Somehow I’ve got 2 page 9’s, here’s the one I just found stuck at the bottom:
Like, “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear —
— and it’s time to leave, 18 minutes and the computer shuts off in around four or nine minutes from now so I can only hope I can find these same spots again tomorrow, this page 9 on page 15 of the 55 on the gwuh2.pdf, somehow. Then it just goes on to the single pages I’d written.
1- This oxygen-theme is a hoax [oxygen business] where the canula [cannula] interfered with my breathing all night and my nose-insides are all dried now, with a “boogers” problem, dried mucus I guess.
2- How the Autism-psychopathy developed, took over the world and is taking us to extinction of the planet Earth.
3- My problem with the Neanderthal-types, that’s like the linchpin to the Armageddon-making.
And there’s also the more-interesting subject of Mr. and Mrs. Jack and Suzy Welch, him a longtime General Electric CEO and Plastics specialist, them married in 2004 and I’d just found a novel she’d written back in 1992 under her then-name of Wetlaufer, that’s all allegory to this world-problem and explains that her type, her ancestors, showing up in the middle of everything had mistook the (Autism) psychopathy for not being too abnormal, had thought that the society caused that character’s problems.
–end of the other page 9 was just there, then this is 10:) Ms. Welch’s book, “Judgment Call” is a great way for explaining all this. Also I’ve got 400 or 500 good illustrations. I was trying to get a letter to a meeting at 425 2nd Street NW that the City Councilmember **** **** was going to be at at 2pm. At 7am the meeting area was still closed and I slipped the letter under the door, and it flew open to a page with Suzy Welch’s picture big on it, the cover of her 2009 book, “10, 10, 10” and I’d had to just leave it that way, on the floor of that same, ***** ******, ***’s, Clean and Sober Streets program area, where the meeting was to be held, and then there was this rush to get me here for “oxygen” [at 9pm that evening,] where fresh air would take care of that. There’s not been enough fresh air in the shelter areas and it must be a running Armageddon-strategy that open windows have been switched to this “HVAC” everywhere, in all the new architecture. The architecture in space all fell apart because we have this psychopathy crisis here, then the Autists squabble to do buildings that are all the same.
Mrs. Welch is probably similar to Dr. Safai I probably misspell her name, they’re probably similar looking. … Now Dr. Safai walked in and corrected the spelling herself, but she doesn’t really seem like yesterday’s Dr. Safai. She wasn’t wearing a name tag but sounded so familiar with yesterday that I asked if she was Dr. Safai and she said yes. But maybe she seems less Semitic now, which is my point, that inherited look. I use the examples of the 1432 “Ghent Altarpiece” and the example here in the National Gallery of Art, gallery 48, “Man In Oriental Costume” by Govaert Flinck, formerly called “The Turk” by Rembrandt as being the prototypes.
I’m saying that Suzy (Wetlaufer) Welch’s novel is allegory for the early experiences of those people when they left Japan, probably by captivity upon being found there, and went to the mainland and got all embroiled in this, and then they’ve been “on the side” of the Autists, which is enforced by the Autists’ Neanderthal-buddies, and have done most of the global-set up, the stock market, religious work and this “Armageddon Show” set up to me.
Until I found Mrs. Welch’s book I’d thought they knew what they were doing but the allegory shows clearly that all is confusion and mistakes and disaster, and this Armageddon off of me has nothing good about it after all, as I’ve been blindly hoping-assuming.
— Now I had 3 different visitors during breakfast. the tech for vital signs, Dr. Ahiri, and the R.N., not in that order. He said that we should shake hands on that he is going to include a note in my discharge paper asking the shelter to put me in a bed by more fresh air than I’ve been getting, which is how this problem was invented.
This syndrome is all connected to Mr. Welch too. He and she are respective examples of generational-slaves. Then if she got pregnant the baby might look like the guy who arranged for the 425 2nd St., NW, building, Mitch Snyder, to be used as a homeless shelter, him looking like the son of generational-slave rocket scientist Hermann Oberth. The Welches make explaining EVERYTHING easier. Jack and Suzy Welch’s respective ancestors, and an Autist, were depicted on the “Pilgrims” panel of the big “Ghent Altarpiece” said to be painted in 1432. It’s also called “The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb.” In Suzy’s “Judgment Call” novel is the 1st time I’ve seen it written that dead bodies turn to black goop, to petroleum.
It looks like Suzy’s people were found and taken to the post-Trojan War, which was really an invasion, not a war, Asian mainland. The Autists already know about leaving dead bodies to turn to liquid and liked that method and set about turning the “materiel” into explosives and then oil-kerosene then gasoline and airplane fuel, the airplanes invented for better hunting of people. A group of the early “stunt pilots” came over here and “seeded” everywhere from Canada to Argentina for producing more airplane fuel from this disembodied ovaries “growing” of people problem that the Autist-Neanderthal partners had learned you could do that from dead bodies too, and one of the pilots was Roland Garros and I don’t think he’d died in 1918-WWI but had had facial reconstruction that turned him into Hermann Oberth.
Either way Oberth then set about trying to figure how to get to the moon, it becoming a goal for the Autists. When it turned out that there aren’t any easy riches in space to require that much rocket fuel this Mitch Snyder who looks like one of Oberth’s (underground) sons, wound up here, arranging for 20-year use of the 425 2nd St., NW, building, 1986-2016.
[– Besides that my math isn’t good, that 1986-2016 is 30 years, some extensions there I guess had been arranged for, recalling that that would have been 1986-2006 and I’d gotten to there in May 2005, — I think I also recall that that deal had had to go through or be presented to President Reagan through Michael K. Deaver, who was from Bakersfield, Calif. which is said to be a big petroleum headquarter.]
In the meantime Jack Welch was working on getting plastics invented from “materiel” for General Electric and I think I read that the whole business or section was sold to one of Prince Bandar’s groups, Saudi Basic Industries, in 2005, Prince B***** being an employer of this Michael K. Deaver in 1987, like a contract Mrs. Reagan helped him to get, receiving $50,ooo a month for 10 months, for getting started here as a lobbyist when he quit the White House! [He’d left the White House in 1985 and I think that arrangement was for right about that same time, maybe it’d taken a little while but 2 years sounds longer.]
Reagan, also connected to General Electric, got abandoned by everyone, except his wife. He went to the White House with a family friend as his doctor and he left and there was a stream of strangers as “doctors.”
It’s difficult to pull all my blindside little pieces of evidence together but it clearly looks like that from the time of the Ghent Altarpiece where they turned the scallop-shell logo of the Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela later into the Shell Oil logo, worn by a character walking between the large character like Suzy Welch’s or Dr. Safai’s maybe ancestor and the odd young boy with the Autism (psychopathy,) the character with the pilgrimage-logo scallop shell maybe even looking like Jack Welch’s ancestor. One that looks like Oberth/Mitch Snyder’s type is seen like peeking over the Autist boy’s head. From that time through to now they’ve been working on selling the black goop. I’m trying to explain that that’s the sick idea of a mentally ill child that’s gone undetected, but the 20th century kept lots of records and files on everything and we can backtrack to see the Prehistory of the development of the Autism to get the situation untangled, to prevent TOTAL PLANETARY EXTINCTION.
— It looks like I found p.16 where this Mo. T’s escape pdf has this in it, where maybe I’m mixing my own set of notes with the letter to gwuh is what’s happened. Here’s the page 16 though:
Like a child the people with the Autism and their partners only don’t want to get caught and retributed, would rather that the planet and everything on it just die off. So I’m always trying to find assistance with this letter-writing to try to get the Autism recognized. I’ve only found one book that’s useful. Most of the material has what I call “Past-Lives Captivity Trauma” confused for the Autism.
What I figure happened is that early walking people were entranced by the sight of the sun in the morning, as it looks like it’s rising, but one group couldn’t be deterred from trying to “catch” the sun before it “rises” and got ill forcing their way over Beringia, then were over in this New World with no other humans for no guessing how long, 40,000-250,000 years I’d guess. It looks to me like they’d done their first home-takeover to dinosaur nests, moving in for warmth and the food brought to the hatchlings.
p.17) I figure that there were alot of hallucinogenic plants evolving and the dinosaurs would bring back mouth-mashed flowers and mushroom-toadstools and toads with hallucinogens in their skin and such as that for diet for the young and the humans found no big reason to ever leave the nesting areas till extinction had occurred from their strategy of egg-smashing so the young weren’t born to be competition for the food. Eventually the dinosaurs became upset and angry which turned into all the enmity that began the psychopathy against the other (New World) megafauna, war as a game to play during the days, running the animals to off of cliffs, then those habits brought with them as they found the route to the Old World, to our situation today.
I have nearly no resources, only what library books are available, but I saw a documentary on the cia’s MK-Ultra program that could easily be looked up on the internet and help to show the dinosaur-hallucinogen habit connection if I could get anyone to work on this with me. [-It isn’t a documentary, it’s likely some loony-goony ritual against my getting listened to, and whatever else it might be doing. I didn’t have search-engine use and just got a chance to look it up this year.-]
The first thing I’d found on the Autist-hallucinogen connection was the early work by 1 of your lab doctors here, now retired I guess, Dr. Mary Coleman. Then she went into 5HT research and production and the early work got buried. 5HT I guess is like a synthetic serotonin brain chemical and there’s a connection between high or low levels and the Autism, but all the Autism research petered off into mixing it up with the “Past-Lives Captivity Trauma.”*
[*this is the 3rd thing I’ve noticed that I must have mentioned on the missing page 3, for trying to re-create it more or less, soon.]
There are 3 pieces of artwork I’ve noticed that connect dinosaurs and Autism:
1- The untitled 50′ statue by Picasso in Chicago’s Daley Center [The Picasso]
2- an altar painting in North Capitol’s St. Aloysius Church
3- an outdoor mural at 713 S Street, NW, near Howard, that has a depiction on it similar to Johns Hopkins hospital’s Dr. BC on it. (I think he has the Autism mixed with Neanderthal similar to the type that I have the problem with.)
When the people with the Autism went to the Old World they didn’t have their hallucinogens available this decapitation-for-hallucinogens began, leaving the body for muck.
Like “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear” you can’t run a planet like this for very long. When the cannibalism started, which my image is that that had happened while lost up around Alaska, the North Pole, it was a crisis of being lost, cold and hungry for a long time, and I think it was a big, dramatic event and caused many spirits to leave space and try to come down and assist. Between that and the earlier “accidental” extinction of the dinosaurs and the errant extinction of the other large, future-food animals, the solar system had had to cease evolving, there couldn’t be new forms of life created only to be victims for the Autism-psychopathy. Everything has just been on hold. But the Autism is in complete denial of everything except the few things it likes, which mostly “Suzy’s people,” who are generationally-enslaved all these centuries, thought up and worked out for the Autism and Neanderthal alleged “overlords.”
Really the Autism wants to ditch its old partners and I suspect they’ve been concentrated in the U.S. with the hope they could be bombed-out here. Then I have this horrible “Armageddon-making Show” with those all over me as my given-next-of-kin with some sort of an Armageddon army of a nation of offspring that have suddenly been all around me as passerby-strangers, but who seem to be after my ovaries. I don’t even know what I have inside of me. I’m trying to get eternity safely restored and the regular Armageddon Show has been being done and increasingly there’s this new theme with the “Thunderville-Neanderthals” the looking like the given-family Mr. Frauday’s face as seeming to be the main torturers hoping to hospitalize me…
[it seems like one of the monster ones of them just did some horror scene sitting near here and it’s always disgusting. I guess they’re following the “Nasi-Jomon ‘generational-slave’ haha on me for that error’s” directions for loudly getting up and leaving the seat at the same time as I got to this part and was about to click-off for taking a break to the ladies’ room before this place closes, then them doing a disgusting trick in conjunction or teamstering. monsters all day long every day.]
… Those people are all total strangers to me and I’ve been trying to explain for 9 years that Mr. * isn’t my actual parent and seems involved with a cover-up of this Armageddon-making a Show, through the Dept. of Justice, that everything would get covered up by abuse of the next-of-kin status, — by letting me to involuntary confinement, much as this appears poised to do to me now, at GW and with the 425 2nd St. building’s then discarding all my years of work on getting the problems uncovered and fixed. (Straightened out.)
I’d like to do the section or part of my thinking on Dr. Ahari’s type, and Andres Galarce in a “Deco” room on the first floor here for instance and many people all over. I have a feeling that they also came from Japan, were the products of “island-rape” after the males of “Suzy’s people” had been taken to the mainland, the females left with the invaders and then this type of people were maybe the original “hairy” Ainu,* the 2nd culture on Japan, and taken by the 1st culture later to be helpful go-betweens between themselves and the people with the psychopathy and the Neanderthals.
Nobody but me seems to have that idea but I think that that’s what happened.
The “uncle” type incorporated their assistance and alot of it seems to be in food management. That’s said to have started at a halfway point between Ghent and Santiago de Compostela, a place called Conques where this type was dubbed “Saint Foy” after the earlier Sainte Foy. (Saint of grill cooking.)
*Ainu = pronounced Eye-noo.
So it seems to me that Mr. Frauday was a, for whatever background his side has to all this, regular purchaser of underground-narcotic which would come from the kitchens. And I would guess that that was bought in exchange for similar, that the cost of some brain-serum was by a sperm-donation each time, and that that is how I’m seeing so many adults now with Mr. *’s face-looks. I don’t know the history of his type’s involvement except for a few little things, meaning that I don’t know how much torture they also may (or may not) have been through, so I don’t have many opinions on other people’s business, only want to get the situation straightened out because there’s no long future ahead for the race and the planet, the human race, but Mr. Frauday’s always been pretty scary to me and I’ve been trying to get some attention to this pat cover-up, of everything’s being done off of a secret “show” off of me, that this is how the threats of the book of Revelation have been being pulled off. First I was in California for a long time, and from 1995-2000 in a residential hotel run by “Dr. Ahari’s type” that I usually call the Babar-people type, the “Babar’s”…. Then I came here because I hadn’t made any friends. I spent 2 years here and again no friends on any horizon so I tried living in NYC and after 2-1/2 years it was like the “Armageddon Show” had me in the right broke and exhausted shape for coming back here as this LURE-show and the shelter provided lockers and I’ve just gone to the library every day collecting background on how we’re heading for extinction off of this Armageddon. One of the first books I found was by Pete Earley, 2002, on the Federal Witness Securrity/Protection Program, titled “WITSEC.” In it are 2 pictures of the founder and one of those looks like Mr. * and the background of his house, with a BRINKS Security System sign. The founder is similar looking, looks like the 1959 Murder Inc. boss Albert Anastasia’s son or young brother, Anastasia assassinated that year. I felt that I should be under some protection but it’s difficult to verify any of this underground business I just kept going to the library, like a shuttle from the Hyatt hotel near the shelter to the one near the library, with both places doing excoriating exhibits of me. That’s the Armageddon-script thought up to “Suzy’s people” who go by many names and are probably also the “Jesus” type, but maybe Mr. Welch’s type is also or was the original “Jesus” type, too.
However things exactly happened historically, what I’ve got is that Mr. Welch’s ancestor, as a generational-slave, set up the Autism to be St. Patrick’s church at 10th and E Streets, NW, now moved up to the G Street corner, in 1794, and from there they went into town- and world-takeover business that I’d guess was the main beneficiary off of doing this “show” off of me, that it finished their 200+ years of digging under the buildings and sneaking around to accomplish owning the town. In 1794 Welch’s ancestor was the Bishop of Baltimore John Carroll, working for the benefit of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, and moving their “cousin” into 10th and E Streets, Anthony Carroll, — but that’s my supposition, where the priest was said to be an elderly man [check elderly, then I’d reread to see he was young?] named Anthony Cafry (Caffry/Caffrey,) I think that is probably the most important but all-unknown thing about Washington history, and everything’s followed from that. I think Anthony Cafry/Carroll might even have been the ancestor of comedian Lenny Bruce, d. 1966, and there are “copies” of him all over the place loving this Armageddon-making. The 2nd priest is said to have worked there for 50 years, overseeing everything, and alot of the copied-descendants of his are similar to the comedian Danny DeVito, the two types running things all over the country, and throughout the world.
Looking at 10th and E Streets, NW, on the map there’s the FBI building and then Pennsylvania Avenue and then the Dept. of Justice, with the Archives to one side and the Internal Revenue Service to the other, and the Smithsonian Mall behind those, that I’m looking into that they’d maybe dug to make ovary-fertilizing “hatchery” labs for raising all kinds of security guards for themselves all those 200 years, that we have so many now. To the west then is the Dept. of Commerce and I was trying to make a letter for I think Penny Pritzker is the new Secy. of Commerce. I only know, not having much input from TV, newspapers or internet-web, that she comes from the families that own the Hyatt hotels that flank my 9-year shuttle from shelter to library, and I saw a brief glance of a picture of her once, and it’s a bizarre longshot that it is correct, but in that short glance it looked like she could be of Lenny Bruce’s type. I’d gotten distracted from next writing to her about all this from seeing the big sign outside the new Central Union Mission location that reminded me of Temple Grandin’s blueprint-drafting style and I’d expect to try to get back to it where I think I have an angle that she might like. What happens most times though is that a front desk security accepts my letter, and I never hear back, even when I’ve enclosed a self-addressed stamped envelope or postcard.
The angle is that “Suzy’s people’s script” would have it written in for the Lenny Bruce-type descendants to do dramatic scenes of, after it’s too late to do anything, find out about this simple Autism-explaining attempt I’ve been making about why nobody’s done anything about this, like yelling at the Danny DeVito types that it wouldn’t have even cost anything. All that drama could be converted into before-problem proactive steps by Secy P. though without G***** (search-engine)-access or normal communications I can’t confirm that she is or still is the Secy. of Commerce, but it’s likely enough that I’d go ahead and make it, 4 pages with a cute illustration describing that the 14,000-mile walk from around California into a nice climate in Asia gave the people with Autism the obsession for speed that is behind all the petroleum-obsession. It’s so difficult to walk up to Beringia because travel wasn’t wanted, things were being evolved and weren’t ready for humans yet in the New World, but the fixation on the sun didn’t abate. Then it took thousands of years to learn and then teach them the Earth-Sun connection and the Autism is just thankless for everything. I just found a new book, “God Is Disappointed In You” that looks useful to helping me explain this, where in its summary-set it looks like the Bible is mostly a 3-way book, amongst “Suzy’s people,” the Autists and the God-Neaderthals.
Their summary of the book of Revelation is good, too. They say the gist of it is about going after the pregnant lady, in chapter 12 there, and that’s pretty much what my “role” has been, that character, only in 1971, 16 years old, I’d had a saline abortion and had been allowed to abort at home instead of in the hospital, which is lucky because I guess they would have kept the fetus alive, already way far gone, 5-1/2 months, because of all these peculiar problems. Doing that at home the fetus was multi-killed off by the time I got it to the hospital the next morning, killed from drowning in the toilet water as I’d purposely procrastinated for, and then I’d accidentally put in a piece of b.m. as I’d groped to include all the pieces of placenta, and then it sat in that quart jar for around 12 hours before getting it to the hospital, had sat overnight like that. The aide at the hospital (Jacobi) had told me gratuitously that it had been a boy. Mr. Frauday was about 38 years old and prime in his beast or dragoniness time, but that whole thing was a fizzle as far as this beast-anger Revelation goes. Then however the underground must have been “invisibly” stabbing me that I’d (sp.) hemmorhaged an unbelievable amount for about 2-1/2 months till I wound up in, I think it was, Montefiore Hospital on Grand Concourse, in the Bronx. There they took out the IUD I was trying to have, and did a D&C, and worked on the anemia. Mr. Frauday was in-on all that. The abortion was never mentioned there or otherwise that I knew of.
Around 1979 there was another attempt at making a baby for this Revelation-script and luckily that didn’t work out, but there was still a whole script made-up and gone through with anyway, with a couple of allusions to it when I came here and got the CAT scan.
But it’s “Suzy’s people” who write these scripts and religious writings and like in the “Judgment Call” novel everything gets worse. I’ve been trying to explain that they were an uninvolved island-evolved people taken captive before language-translation existed anywhere and the things that they came up with need to be gone over now that we have all these medical and police resources everywhere, should be re-assessing instead of covering-up, and “Suzy’s people” or all the Semites are likely prisoner to the Neanderthal types and therefore unable to do anything toward starting changes their own selves.
I have no idea what the underground does or has been doing that no one listens to me when I offer flyers by saying, Want to try to Rescue the Future from the underground? and such to that effect. Nobody shows any surprise or interest. So I’ve been guessing that, over the 9 years of more or less this theme, that there’s been exhibition-example killing of people who try to assist me….
In fact I think this theme goes back to 1964 and then 1971 when I started working at a fast-food Wetson’s hamburgers place, that Mr. Frauday or his family-type was always underneath the area so that me walking around sparked controversy with the other stereotypes and against any “normal” guys who’d get involved and say not to insult me so much, etc. I’ve been an excuse for LURING and attacking to kill off the “normal” males, to then the female-gain for the males with the Autism and their Neanderthal partners.But it all goes on underground so that I can only make guesses off of little specks of hints about all this.
In 1963 we’d moved to a new neighborhood across a street to a new high school dedicated to pretty famous Cardinal Spellman. He’d written a fiction book about a “voice” and similar was the film “The Next Voice You Hear,” with Nancy [Davis] Reagan, and from everyone’s behavior I get the impression that in the 1950s the underground “growing people” system had started installing radio transistors into the newborns. That’s all you’d have to do is to admit that that had been tried and shouldn’t have been and let’s just forget it and grow out of malfeasances like that.
Alot of the things everyone is doing were written about in the 1932 “Brave New World” novella. The leader Mustafa Mond is like “Suzy’s people” and the whole book coming from that type, that this is what they’ve set up for the people with the Autism, this world to be set up like described in that book.
The author’s credit is given to Aldous Huxley, LSD-advocate, and he was maybe the bio-sire of this “Armageddon Show” tall boy that was gone through with even though there was no baby-child-teen to argue about. Instead they did, do, a “jealousy show,” where all the guys, especially from St*, are fans of a girl they call “Julie,” like I’m being invisibly torture-punished for being jealous.
With the “Brave New World” theme I was supposed to be like the barbarian Linda-character, but the baby didn’t materialize, and the barbarian-theme is generally on me too. So for 9 years I’ve been withstanding all this in hope of reaching someone that will realize that this really is how they’re sneaking the “Bible” threats through, and all I can do is call the torturers, invisibly, animals, and have less respect for the town as this suffering got worse, that “they” had me looking like a barbarian.
I’m trying to describe that the Autism had developed because the early people were just running amok totally on their own, and then I was in this similar situation all this time as I don’t know what goes on that nobody wants to find out what I’m talking about with Rescue the Future.
Also similar is that I was raised in this sabotage-family where it seems it was always pre-figured to live off my ovaries and using me as a LURE against normal males for the cannibalism-disappearance of those or however life under the Bronx worked around the *s and I left in 1973, so that then time in the Army was healthier for me but basically I’ve only been going blindly around into different trouble situations with transient strangers, like flotsam and similar to the running amok theme, that the Autism is always trying to put their qualities onto normal people to criticize them for being victims falling into the tricks purposely laid out as though that is comparable wilfull forcing the way across Beringia, as though nature had been a trap-layer LURING them up to the North Pole on purpose to get lost and messed up.
About the only warning I got that this here might happen to me is hints around if I try to write to a particular person at the Carlyle Group, and otherwise no one has spoken to me about what I might could do, that I was surprise-moved from D Street to E Street where maybe the atmosphere is very different. No, I have no idea what to think. All I know is if I, (God help me,) finally find my papers okay it would be a more polite me. All I want to do is reduce the amount by sorting them and at least 5 times this year I’ve been getting started on that and some disruptive thing like this has happened and the chance to do that was gone, some other chores or letter took priority. So finally I’m reduced to the worry-fretting to get out of here and run back to the same things I was doing, only probably more cheerful, which isn’t one of the problems. Generally whenever I feel cheerful for a moment the invisible-system sends someone or another to do anything that’d be annoying or insulting, anything to de-cheer me.
I’m really terrified about the papers and that’s only considering 1/2 of them, that the others are too much to think of.
If those were all gone what would I do, and the teeny chance I’d had with that chaplain has probably been swamped under and forgotten about by the time I rush over to check on if he’d take these next 6 pages I’d gotten ready for him. Likely his group will have forgotten about whatever I’m talking about. The letter to the Secy. of Commerce has hardly got any start yet and then it’s unlikely it will reach her.
Oddly I know where her mail room is from the bicycle delivery job I’d had here through 2001 for a boss that looked like a brother to Michael K. Deaver, that all that was a part of this. But what more productive could there be?
I might have to try to type this, at the library. If I was at the library I’d rather look up new material points for evidence that to type up this. I’d sit down and think how instead I could go look at some new book on Ford’s Theatre, since the main group here with the Autism were working their way up 10th Street there. But it’s hard for me to know how much history might be fabricated anyway so I haven’t looked into that one yet. Mostly the oil in Pennsylvania seemed on the system-people’s minds.
4/27/14, Sunday, ____
4/27/14, Dr. Ahari, We couldn’t have the same oxygen level no matter what because you weren’t a cigarette smoker, they are never going to be the same.
— It isn’t that I didn’t understand the question on Friday, it’s that I disagree with that statement to a large extent. [To Lowlock/Lowlack.]
— The human race is really headed for extinction by this anthropophagy-system, cannibalism, of the global-system, esp. in that that includes the secret ill reducing people to hydrocarbons, petroleum, that that needs to be back-tracked and re-assessed and corrected, is a madman’s idea to do.
Jack Welch’s ancestor or ancestry would also include Obadiah Brown, the co-founder of George Washington University. Brown looks obviously like John Carroll (d. 1815,) who’d founded Georgetown University and as Bishop of Baltimore had set up the church network, but as a captive. I think he’d made a trip to Montreal in 1776 and then in 1777 Obadiah Brown was born in New Jersey, then came down here and set up all the Baptist churches here and moved into the Ford’s Theatre site, way before Ford’s Theatre, that I think the St. Patrick’s church had already set up (I’d need to check my notes, and this is all difficult to piece together, everything is obscured and difficult about early Washington history.)
Then Catholic Charities was started at St. Patrick’s by this Bishop Shahan, who is a big deal with descendants or copies, underground-made offspring, as big shots around here today, and when I got back to Washington because my purse was stolen and my bank was here the homeless shelter building directed me to the D Street side run by Catholic Charities, then a Baptist group replaced them 3 years ago.
(p. 35 is usually missing but it’s here,) I mean that the Revelation was done by keeping me with Catholic Charities for the bulk of the LURE done off of me, about 6 years, then switching to this (secretly-related) Baptist group for 3 years, and this month they moved me to the Baptist group’s E Street area and all this accumulation of the torture-sabotages became this big “health-raid” on me now.
I really like my own life, returning to the evidence-papers I’ve got, only to try to get myself off of the Baptist group.
I had been with them for 8-1/2 months in 2001 and wouldn’t have gotten stuck staying with them like I did at this Catholic Charities place. Before the 9/11 had happened, 9/11/01, this Baptist Open Door Shelter had been told to move from their location in outdoor trailers, which was nice, into the 425 2nd Street building. I’m sure that directive had come because of this connection of me working for someone that looked like Michael K. Deaver’s type and Deaver’s working just above Open Door’s new location, which had seemed like a surprise mandatory order unusually.
They were, a good example of this bizarre little life of mine, where in 2001 the Open Door Shelter ladies, much like now too then, were so mean-acting, but it’s also about anywhere I go. It’s like maybe the system only really likes anger-scenes and I make an easy target as a shill for that. Or maybe with Open Door it was about territoriality, that no new females are ever wanted.
Also though I believe I’d come here with this underground “show.” Mostly pornography it seems to be based around, using that to trick people into death-positions.
That whole area near the Open Door’s trailer shelters became the new Safeway store complex, where it was also the area I went to 2005-2007 for homeless people’s soup and sandwiches every evening around 5pm, the McKenna’s Wagon. So I figured they’d lured alot of people to there, underneath there, because of this pornography extravaganza, and the Safeway is geared for doing this syndrome so I haven’t been able to shop there, unable to find any responsible adult to learn about this situation, which is that the script that “Suzy’s people” [“Jomon” lately I’ve been trying to describe them by,] set up for the Revelation-doing is that I’m reviled wherever I go. If I walk into a store it’s as though I touch all the foods with germy hands, spreading disease, and all the machine-noises get loud, and like a pornography “show” is done, etc. The “Semite type” I describe like “Mastermind,” Suzy’s type but male, take the stance that everything is lousy about me, but that isn’t true. Everything is done under false pretenses. No one’s fixing it though.
You can’t substitute people for the missing food animals like the dinosaurs and big elephants that had been cliff-run in the U.S., New World. You can’t do any of these bizarre things that are going on, like cutting out women’s ovaries to grow your own copies. The solar system is just waiting for the psychopathy to be fixed.
Just now a doctor walked in, a female, wearing the same color-theme top as Dr. Safai had had on Friday and eyeglasses like Dr. Safai had had on Saturday, like psychopath-Halloween here as there were at least 2 other females with the color-theme and eyeglass-style set also yesterday. I can’t see much from the room you have me sequestered in, but everyone here has some computer-cart or another that they walk around with, where the 2 main signs and symptoms of Autism are self-ness and repetition, so that you have each person with their own portable computer, lots of the same thing. I don’t know why no one’s worried about this. GWU seems to think that they have a sustainable future, but their founder Obadiah Brown was a generational-slave. I don’t recall about Luther Rice.
Mostly everything seems to be tricks. Cartoon-likeness all over. The bizarre building noises like a rocket about to take off. They had those every day at the NASA building too. I’d used their little lobby library for a few months. It was all this same strange stuff also and my letters not acknowledged, except I wrote a note to ask a girl to cease terrorizing me and they told me I couldn’t come back there anymore.
All of (that group) came from this same “Ghent Altarpiece” group’s going into the petroleum, melted people, business, the same “Suzy’s peple” to Hermann Oberth to this homeless shelter and Jack Welch’s Plastic work.
After (that group) wasn’t an escape from the shuttle-routine of 2nd and D Streets to the library at 9th and G Streets, diagonally across from the St. Patrick’s church, I’d spent alot of the summer at the Library of Congress, and the branch library at Eastern Market, S.E. Offhand it seemed like people were LURE-collected while I was at the LOC alot, then infected with these “slug-pneumonia” germs I call this bizarre “cold” illness, where I cough up green globs like pieces of slug-leeches. It seemed like there was alot of that in the S.E, and that that’s how peple are being turned to muck, by “consumption” by this slug-illness.
There must be something really Autist that has some slave command-center that all of this against-nature horror gets ordered from. How can this be broken through to? I’ve always or since about 1998 figured it’s under the Siberia-Mongolia border there. There’s an old country called Tuva there. (Most dangerous, probably connected to their own (illegible, bottom of the page didn’t copy.))
I think that’s been the headquarters area since the early days when the people with the Autism learned to go back and forth, that they’d befriended Neanderthals and used their caves as a base. They probably switched the Neanderthals to the Caucasus. Then around 1930 a guy that looked like John D. Rockefeller was the president of Tuva. And he or a similar one did a small bit in the rocket-to-the-moon film “Frau Im Mond,” by Fritz Lang, Woman On the Moon.
From their secret headquarter around Tuva they direct the slave-system, to Russia, to Berlin, and then mostly Chicago it seems.
St. Patrick’s church’s second priest, William Matthew, was likely the progenitor of Stephen A. Douglas, who’d lived above where the church on North Capitol is now, St. Aloysius with the Gonzaga school, and when Lincoln won the election Douglas went to Chicago, bought alot of property in its south, and passed c. 1861. So Washington has a close relation with the set up of Chicago. Then this library at 9th and G was like a gift from Chicago. The architect (allegedly Mies van der Rohe) looked the same as the first Mayor Daley. Then I was stranded there all these years. To me, it looks like there’s nearly nothing left to it, all the books mostly gone.
Tuva -> St. Petersburg, -> Berlin -> Chicago -> Washington.
I’d learned about St. Patrick’s church because I was trying to figure out what had happened with all the big deal about space and the moon landing, what had been learned and where it was headed. One of the books was that the Congressperson wife of an astronaut had been ambushed in 2011 during an event in front of a (Safeway/supermarket) in Arizona, Gabrielle Gifford. In looking at the pictures I recognized a visitor, constituent named Matthew L***, that looks descended from the 2nd priest. Then it turned out that most of the main people also seem descendants from St. Patrick’s church here right across, near, the central library, MLK. Ms. ** looks descended from the 4th priest and her campaign manager looks like what I figure the first priest, Anthony Cafry/Carroll, had looked like, Lenny Bruce to the 2nd priest’s Danny DeVito as the constituent’s picture I’d recognized. The astronaut-husband may likely have come from Mrs. Mary Surratt’s ovae, as **’s ancestor had been there when Mrs. Surratt was hung for conspiring against Lincoln. The assassin looks like he could be the son of the husband. You, they all, Gabby could, look at a picture of the assassin and he’s just a young version of her husband.
The husband has a twin brother, I think they’re identical twins, where the husband is a “Babar” type, like Mrs. Surratt, but the identical twin brother actually looks like a John Carroll type, like Jack Welch.
I don’t know what the system thinks it’s doing except it’s ill with this Autism, repetition for selfishness. To break through this, is what I’m trying to do and since I’m all alone in this I’m really frantic about my papers and running to see if they’re still there and setting about doing this same thing. Secy. of Commerce Pritzker, she won’t hear about a letter from me unless I can get someone to help me, which is all on hold while I’m here. These bizarre loud building noises are in the place of the natural noises that should be reaching the stratosphere instead of in contained buildings, whatever they are.
My hope was that someone would help me reach the astronaut-brother, *** ***, **’s brother-in-law’s name, because he’s going up into space for a solid year, and if I could explain this Autism-explication work I’m trying to do perhaps he could muse on positive things toward getting the solar system started up again, which it can’t do while life is all bizarre like this.
Mars and Venus on either side of Earth appear to have started to evolve and then died off, and then between Mars and Jupiter there’s a circling pile of rubble called the Asteroid Belt that I think had been broken to prevent new creations from meeting the psychopaths.
When they were readying to go to space there is the feeling that they were looking for food or to make prisoners or such. They were preparing for different possibilities, and I got the feeling they’d have like to base on the moon and conduct war on us down here. One of the first things they did was set up some [unspecified] nuclear equipment.
Space was probably filling up with spirits and spirit-architecture of the place when all this crying and war-mongering down here kept drawing the spirit people to see what they could do as regards all of this Autism-psychopathy, helping or damage-controlling the situations. Now it’s left like a crime scene but no one can tell the difference. They seem to be using the space trips like fancy roller-coaster ride experiences for people with the Autism. It looks like they send up about 2 generational-slave types per 1 person with the Autism, the 2 like unacknowledged teachers, the 3 considered equals. And they ride around up there. It was meant for spirits to live in. I don’t know what to do about this lack of interest in the reality of that. People were meant to be completed people, like hatching from the mortal mold, with that entire universe to fill up. Now that there’s been all of this education instead of fixing the past we’ve got this “security” -done holocaust.
Then I’ve just had 2 problems here, one with the DECO group giving me a strange paper to sign like I’m really signing my life away here, then a paper that I’m requesting medical assistance = medical help, which is the opposite of this situation, and while I ponder how I can’t describe these tricks I realize that Dr. A*’d just done one this morning as though his and my oxygen levels are supposed to be the same, whereas mine is low because I’d smoked, that that’s what’s going to happen, of course it’s different. And when the girl from the DECO’d come in here now she’d said I’d been asleep when I know I wasn’t so I wonder if that isn’t “ass leap,” as signing that paper is bizarre, posed as being asking for Medicaid but instead it’s generic Medical Assistance, which is the last thing desirable in this phony world. Poor little me. I don’t know what kind of c*** they’ve got all over me, seems to go with the building noise. I’m really terrified they won’t let me go back to 2nd St., NW. As they’d moved me from the Emergency Room to up here I guess it was, they did a scene of the voice of the shelter-girl I call the 2006-Italian that they call “Julie” alot, like the little Jewish Mafia boss of the place role that’s really strange, a voice like hers shrieking that she doesn’t want to go, help.
p.44) Blood-curdling involuntary lock-up sort of a scene, but I was asleep and I guess just woken to tell me they were keeping me overnight. Now the nurse brought 2 inhalant lung medications she says they are, that I guess I should try to read what they’re supposed to do, Advair and Spiriva. I was really expecting to have to sit up in the waiting room till it was light enough out to run try to reach that 1 chaplain, like the most Raggedy Annie person ever I’ve been running around here, like in prehistoric conditions.
It looked like one of my problems might have come from putting a letter to Thunderville in the 5th and F Street mailbox, as there was a fire engine here that moved its door so the stretcher with me could get through the narrow space. I guess this thing with the medical problems was conspicuous enough it couldn’t go on much longer, the underground doing them. One is real difficult for fear of getting the underground excited over it to mention, but, it goes with one of the curses at the shelter, — maybe I get it now, that I’d called or asked the girl about being a swine, for getting in the shower ahead of me for no apparent reason. The word, epithet of swine came from all the Thundervilles all over me. That girl did a scene the last day at the John L. Young and now I’d been having a torture of the u.g. grabbing and squeezing my heart, and you make a twisted facial expression like that girl’s.
p.45) So I guess she had the problem of them doing that to her that I wound up making that same twisted face alot, that they’d strike me with that unexpectedly, maybe along F Street by Verizon, I shouldn’t guess because the whole thing is just a blur, just me trying to do my list of things while ignoring everything because nothing seems helpful; either negative or nothing. Unbelievable lack.
The prehistoric conditions made me think to ask them here for a tweezer so’m waiting to see if I can get one of those and I’d be busy for a long time trying to get these chin hairs fixed, I hope. People think I’m just a slob instead of that I’m not allowed to have a tweezer in a homeless shelter.
I never get anywhere trying to get protection from the government and it looks like the whole place is about stealing buildings to live under them, — whose home is fancier, and they’re supported by the taxpayers! Then it’s all approved by the “Tuvan” overlordship of all these “venues.” They send people up to deal with business but otherwise everyone stays in the underneath and relaxes with entertainments, it seems like, and that’s how Washington is running and, my business is twice-cursed, once where they don’t want to hear from anyone and twice where I have this horrible LURE and Mr. Frauday problem, where it’s okay to do all those things to me.
I’m so terrified. The night they, took me here, they had one of those “Mobile Crisis Unit” people asking me about my flyer, a copy of that most recent one. I can’t figure where they’d gotten it from though. I had had one that I took off the back of the 5 pages to Thunderville and replaced with an update saying I’m about broke, am near-broke.
p.46) But I’m near-broke largely from Mr. Frauday’s offspring or copies or such’s doing these tortures. Anyhow I changed the last page and thought I’d folded that into thirds facing out and stuck it in my papers but when these problems started I kept looking and couldn’t find it anywhere, but this Mobile Crisis Unit did have a copy of the same thing, that I’m the most invisibly-tortured person that’s ever lived… and I can’t figure where they got it because I haven’t given any out in awhile, since I moved from D to E they’ve been outdated. Everything is so phony that they could just have been holding it for the spring onto me.
When I went into the shelter (that) Thursday night, 4/24, right away they called me to Rev. Johnson’s office and the other lady took out a piece of paper, a Complaint form, a Client Complaint Form, blank except for a note at the bottom where more of less Hughs had written that I smell. Now I’ll panic more recalling that diatribe she’d been inventing. I don’t think I want to think that closely about my poor papers and my chance of a reasonable getting out of here tomorrow, panic, panic.
There’s some sort of a game it seems, that maybe I’m not allowed to have tweezers. And the Nebulizer didn’t show up for the first time, maybe replaced by that Advair and Spiriva inhalants puffs around that time. There’s nothing to do but panic.
p47) The system is crazy. Also it comes from way on the other side of the world and means us no good. It’s such a happy-seeming system-people that it’s hard to imagine they’d bother with actual bombs. It’s like they just like to sit and watch and they’d be watching to make sure no one starts throwing any bombs, that things would just be peaceful and quiet and cartoony, every day.
Thinking of John W. Young’s type, the astronaut bigshot at Houston for a long time as Director now or such, they’re in total denial that anything is wrong.
My other idea was to try to contact Sandra Faber the UC Santa Cruz astronomer, where God help me please, that stranger is maybe the closest thing I know of to being a relative, type, not this phony make-believe lumped together people but someone who might understand all this, but I have no responsible adult for helping me try to contact her.
Then she could explain what I’m saying about our dead solar system, died- or dying-off from nowhere to go, to the world of her colleagues. Ideas like this have all been intercepted and chopped off. God help me I can get out of here okay, it is so scary, and, things would be much nicer of course. I’d gone from the loud, hot, John L. Young shelter to this slightly different atmosphere on E Street without losing any of the hotness of all the torture, no relaxation from it.
No warning, no anything, just a bunch of tricks that I didn’t know whether to bring my wallet even, Rev. Johnson saying to leave it and that I should keep on that bizarre skirt I was wearing for a night dress. That’s where I’d gotten upset and dropped the subject, is that I got to the Open Door maybe around 5pm and called to look at this note and then taken to the clothing or Clothes Room to pick out some things. From the Clothes Room I signed up for laundry and was headed for the shower when I remembered dinner and thank goodness I ate, and it was a big meal of some sort of crab or canned chicken like a salad, but a huge amount of the chicken so that I felt healthy. Then Ms. Ingram said she thought I was in the shower and I said that if I’d missed dinner then that would have been another emergency for me. Then I was a little later than before and just at the beginning of everyone’s usual shower time, where I’ve been in the back shower unless I was early, so there was the bizarro-torture feeling that maybe I was using other people’s shower, and then I went and started, God help me, the paper-downsizing work again from the previous night it’d finally gotten going, as the lights have been kept off alot of the previous nights, then 2 of the staff came to escort me to Rev. Johnson’s room and I was there maybe half an hour when they had a fire ambulance pull up and it was a sudden rush to get me into it, running up the long hallway to get my wallet and had the presence of mind to change the skirt to pants and get my papers that I carry every day, but I left a small bag of oatmeal packets there on the bed with the other purse items I didn’t bring, and the small mess of the 3 pieces of clothes I’d taken.
So somehow it went from getting a change of clothes to the 2nd time in her office where it was a medical crisis. That could even have been sprung then because with the doofy skirt you could see that my feet had swollen, but who could have seen except what’s under that building.
The idea of returning and even that little bag of food’s being intact is like uber-happy, like all this fretting waste of energy is just a stream of unwell things, none of it good except my attempts to make progress.
The image that I’ve got is that the Autism is content with things like they are, where they live like at a cocktail party, laughing and talking about their friends and family while wearing gown-like clothing and this is a nice lifestyle they like but I think it’s a [re-creation] recreation-imitation of what they’d seen the Old World peoples living like in the early invasion days. Oh please God I hope they let me go.
Jack Welch, likely descendant of even Obadiah Brown of GWU, also gets rumored or insinuated to release these same type of “slug” germ bugs that I’ve been sick, including all the potential, beginning stages, 68 times from, sick real bad around 25 times it reached the horror- (point or part, illeg.) only because I didn’t understand about that Claritin clears it overnight, releasing them by shaking hands after biting his nails… that makes the Plastics materiel.
p.50) I’ve been trying to explain this for months and didn’t think it would be so difficult. It looks like I’d need the 2 illustrations to back up what I’m talking about. Without my papers I have no evidence, can’t recall the book title and author. Some young guy with the standard generalized Autism used an author’s picture of himself like ill with a cold to go with hints that Jack Welch spreads illness. I guess the people go to “the Pit” they use to teach in or then similar secluded places, and then get sabotaged by hot sex and then hunger and the illness set in and there’s no way out and they die and rot into the goop they make Plastics out of. //This sounds ill but I’ve been deathly ill from the slugs so many times that I’m sure it could kill you if you got locked into a pit-place.// These are the same things I’m sure Oswald Avery was growing, “pneumonia.”
So, generational-slave from Salem, Massachusetts Welch learns how to do that, and it winds up here at the shelter and Capitol and gets sold to Saudi Basic/Saudi Industries, I don’t know if I’d read about 2 separate business deals around the Plastics and Washington.
I seem to get bad luck whenever I mention the Chicago Pritzkers, but I don’t know of anyone else with enough, potentially, clout to be able to affect any of this. I wish I knew more about if Ms., Secy., Pritzker was actually from Lenny Bruce. That would make a good evidence for all of this but if she’s just similar what use would it be, in trying to explain this drama-business. I figure the 2nd page would be that energy-overload illustration with the Beringia. What is the nuclear power?
p.51) There’s that Commerce illustration from the Brumidi on the Capitol top; La Brea Tar Pit; Vlad Dracula’s old area; to that it’s dead in space; ck that Domenichino
I haven’t dealt with the part about that black hair is the most obvious sign/symptom to the Autism psychopathy yet. If I get out of this nightmare tomorrow, God help, (me,) I really can’t run to go check on that chaplain then anyway, that it’d be best to go there before 8a.m. when he’s likely to be at the front desk. Two weeks that will be, in a town that seems to toilet-bowl everything. I’d should do that on Tuesday morning, and find out if there’s anything going. If not I have no idea, still stuck in the position of no responsible adult. God help me I guess this is about my competency, but even being released to return as a homeless person, that’s no help in being able to make contacts on the worldwide Autism problem and how to get it fixed. The first page of a letter to the Secy. of Commerce, what would be on it to (defer?) the part about the common practice of turning people into hydrocarbons, what could take up space from straight text or what would the straight text be. Without the chaplain’s help I don’t think I can reach anyone, and I don’t know why not (except all the fear of decapitiation.)
— then page 52 of the 84 is a 4/28 1-page, then, (illeg. pg) 8:30pm, It was ambiguous but the shelter said my papers are okay in the back. First she said not to worry about it and like she didn’t know but how was I feeling. I said okay but sick about my papers, and tomorrow is linen-collection. Then she said that yes, they’re alright, Ms. Camara did. So the trick is if actually I’m getting free again. Finally the bizarre swollen feet and ankles just went down around 6pm, just from keeping them elevated in bed.
4/28/14, Monday, 8a.m., Here goes with my horror-time of finding out if these people will be discharging/letting me go today.
They did something odd in not sending decaf coffee with the breakfast tray or bringing it to me otherwise, by asking the tray-distributor, so that I wound up asking this new nurse and she brought like a store-bought regular cup, not decaf. Then she wrote down a fluid-chart start of 200cc of coffee. Twice she’s said she’ll come back and talk to me after breakfast, but not about what, and that she has no idea about my discharge-status, the doctor/s will be around.
For all I know this could just be a better grade of decaf. I’m trying to use it to sip on for this as there’s nothing else to do, just all horror of being kept from my clothing. If I had made the opposite decision about whether to take the little bag of oatmeal packets that might have impressed these people to get the bag back to me.
_____________ … to the, The day looks okay page with the blanked out dr’s names= that they’d already been scribbled on a blank page the day before probably and then i used that page for this, p.53 =tt tt’s the beginning of the part 2.
p.53) The day looks okay, the weather, for the light clothing I’d come with. Around 4:30a the nurse had come in and taken off this bizarre contraption on my chest, “Heart Monitor” I think it’s called, and one of the needles they have in my arm, leaving the other one, so that it seemed like I might be being readied for an eight a.m. discharge. I have no clothes and therefore nothing I can do except to sit here and await the — parade, I don’t know how to call it, that there seems to be all acting with stereotypy, same as downtown.
Then semiotic scenarios as though for the underground to read my reactions, however they do these things that there’s no admittance about at all. Like it feels like they put something on my forehead, that’s very common, for say EEG’s or such reading. Their interpretations seem to have no connection though.
The only thing I’d gotten figured out is that I’d try to explain-writing to say the Commerce Secretary that this turning people to petroleum should be stepped back to the time of the Ghent Altarpiece and re-assessed. Then the solar system could get started-up again.
p.54) 9:20a, they took me down to Ultrasound and the wheelchair guy said there’s likely to be a thunderstorm today, and the day’s turned gray. The overhead intercom said to ignore the fire alarm. So I’m waiting for the social worker. They have alot of stereotypes around where as usual I’ve no idea what they think they mean with them. They’d had one at the station out here that is like that priest at 5th and G Place St. Mary’s that looks like Mr. Frauday, as though invisibly my reactions to that are monitored, then the or a “b.m.-phrase type,” of the Armageddon or “Armageddon Show” or Armageddon-creating, Armageddon-making “Show,” walk across the hallway like crossing my path. The tech aide for the day did something odd but maybe that’s because I’d asked if we’re supposed to wait for a guy to wheel me so that she decided to wheel me and maybe they just need the make-work. They’re doing their 2nd code red now, and they had the same or another “Mr. Frauday” around 34 years old maybe, at the nurse’s station only this time they had the balding top of his head facing this way only all red, which I hadn’t recalled happens/happened, that that might even fit the part about the red dragon, but this circumstance isn’t the place or time, that of course I’d need to be out of here before that’d come up in this thinking. It’s almost 10a.m. I’m afraid they are “shucking and jiving” me to waste away another day until it’s too late.
I’m asking the nurse about (there’s a 2-part name it looks like censored-out here)
the social worker and am getting nowhere, then trying to explain that my life’s work is laying out and needs to be secured.
p.55) So she asked me what my life’s work is and I managed to recall to explain that the anthropophagy-system can’t work, but does she really know that word, she said uhhuh so I continued without saying, cannibalism, because now I’m focusing on that the petroleum part is just so mentally-ill. I think I’ve got that illustration in my belongings here.
I was so scared last night that if I called the Open Door they’d say my things are already gone and I’d be alone here with that bad news then, and now it’s even worse that I’ll have to call Ms. Hughs to check on that.
(one little thing like that packet of food in Security here instead of on the bed there could be all the difference, no kidding, as impressive as food is they might get my clothes back to me to get rid of it from storage, and I shouldn’t have left it on the shelter bed!)
The nurse Rini said a whole dr.-team would be in here by noon. Reaching GW is something I’ve been hoping to do since I brought the letter to their Anthropology Dept. in 2008, and then gave a flyer to a GWU girl at that Autism Speaks Walkathon on the Mall last November, then trying to find a doctor in this area, and the letters to this church down here, Western Presbyterian.
2p.m., I’ve been making 1-page summaries of a letter-note asking to be discharged today, and it’s okay that I pause on that and try something else, another approach maybe. Horrors.
p.56) This is a Staples brand SONIX Gel pen, working okay. What I’m going to try to do is to try to express all this, but of course I’m not sure, just to gwuh in general I guess. The LURE and all the “Armageddon Show” script seem like too much for 1 page and of course I have to worry about the pen’s running out. And where more would come from. Since I have no idea what these people think except that they ask if I’m feeling better as thought I have health complaints which is the opposite of this, all I can do is try to express myself in these 1-page “flyers” or hand-outs, and how to go about that, and, etc., that I feel super-railroaded, as had always been the fear.
So what tact should I try, since it’s such a wide-open choice.
4pm, Horrors, total silence. There was one optimistic note but I didn’t get excited and am still just sitting here, God help me. This nurse had said she could make me some copies. What would merit exact copies?
4:25pm, Well, 2 psychiatrists were just here and I called the shelter and Ms. ()Ingraham said Rev. Johnson wasn’t there but my papers are, somehow, – (miraculously?) okay as though it’s so casual and normal, (whereas I usually see them unceremoniously throwing stuff into bags for toward the you-know-where, then the female psych, Karen Wooten talked to her and then, horrors for me, I signed a piece of paper she said says she can call the Open Door about me. But this had sounded all civilized! Ms. Ingraham told her that everyone knows how I am about my papers and they’re safe.
It was left with them saying they’d talk with the medical team and see what they say, but, they only got 2 copies of these notes I’ve been writing, while I feel that only a little of it isn’t much convincing.
p.57) But that’s all for today, that I got slid into another night here. I took a paper from the top and from the bottom that he took with them. Now to try to think of something new. Dr. Wooten got Ingraham and Hughs’ name, where I’d asked if they’d even be alright with Ms. Hughs on this evening. Ingraham sounded, like Rev. Johnson on Friday and Ms. Camara last night, completely nice, and casual and assuring about the papers. I feel that all that I’d need is a few of the new shopping bags from the Giant supermarket and everything could be fit into about 3 of those that could then be portable-enough for me.
They have this “obsession” to attach an oxygen tank to me. I have no idea what that’s about. It seems like an emergency and not a way of life tool, and really seems that it’s only a gimmick toward “dying” me off, killing me off.
The nurse Rini said that that was her own coffee she’d given me this morning. So I distributed 4 of these “flyer”-type letters, what new could I do? Dr. Wooten said she didn’t need one because she and Dr. Lowlock work together. He might, in terms of who on their over me teams would want a long version of all this that this life has been like, is trying to be about. That’s kind of wild to be giving him but I’m sure of it. What can I figure might help my tomorrow? They have 1 doctor come by early and then a team later. Also this might be the goof of all times, as the relaxation-levels of these shelter ladies is unreal. It’s partly the airier location, but there’s nearly never been any pleasantry around me. I shouldn’t waste this pen.
10p.m., bad; as I lay down there was loony-goony ambulance noise and then this type of the Mr. Frauday that the 5th and G young priest looks like also, different from the “Neanderthal” faces = doing an opera all over me now.
(4/29) flyers; p.58) 11a.m., Nothing, I’m just ill with worry now. The “team” is said to be around around noon. I hear someone on a phone call about me, some stranger.
11:25a, nothing more after that, just alot of happy-sounding okays over the phone and that’s it. I’d quit doing the pages in case that would spur the watchers to do a visit but there was just the cheerful phone call and then nothing, God help me. The paper and this pen are about over with. An adult can’t just sit around and do nothing like this.
Lisa Greeney. was by, RN manager of your hospital unit, wrote a big sign that 2nd and D has my important papers protected. Actually the note doesn’t have my name on it and the address is all wrong. It says, your papers are protected. You can pick them up when you’re discharged, and her name. It’s so wierd/weird. She signed that she’s RN manager of your hospital unit but her lab coat had Oncology printed on it. She was talking with the nurse Rini before giving me the note. My feeling is that this trip to here was solely for separating me from the papers. I have to cadge more paper and a pen, somehow.
1:10p, Absolutely nothing, just holding me and bothering me with the bizarre attaching an oxygen tank to me. [While I’m typing I can hear the Jurassic Park Ginsberg-monster noises warming up for the attack when I leave this building to back to the room….]
I’m beginning to get sick with knowledge that they’ve destroyed my papers and thinking I should gear up and call to ask ms. hughs, expecting to hear that the papers have BEEN gone. I’m trying to get ready to do that tonight, be ill. This is so sneaky-sadistic.
59) (talk about sneaky!) someone looked in on me, no idea affiliated with what. God. This place is the same thing I’m trying to explain about and I can’t explain without my papers. It’s 1:30pm now, nothing but TV noises. God help me all I can figure is that Ms. Hugh might be informative, — these other world-people have all kinds of ways that I know nothing about, including selective about what they mind read.
There’s no way that mess on the cot would be tolerated. There is zilch to do here right now. I figure I’d need to call late to be able to get communication without too much confusion. Maybe 10:30 would be a good time.
2:30p.m., Now the pens, the good one and this one, are gone. This one is Roberta’s, the tech for next door or semi-me. It’s a Hyatt . com pen.
2:55p.m. Now they said a male doctor was by while the nurse took me for a walk around the hallway, checking the O2 level.
1- After all of this time it now started raining, the cats and dogs type.
2- There was the regular sort of the “Thunderville-type” around during the walk, or maybe even the similar type like the library Police’s Scott or George Scott type, that the 2 types seem a little mixed. Anyway anyone could tell you that there’s no way I could get to the shelter easily enough through that mess outside now, but you know I couldn’t care less plus it’s never meant anything to anyone what kind of rain I’ve walked through.
This “Thunderville-type” or whatever; the whole winter was like to make me unhealthy on very purpose, that I can’t feel there’s any legit concern around.
3:45p, (4/29) They did a big scene with the nurse talking to a female doctor it sounded all about discharging me and 2 male doctors yakking like they were some play-set with the 4 voices. The rain went down to nothing or maybe sprinkles. Whoever the nurse is talking with I’ve never seen before.
5p.m., Nothing. I figure I’ll lay down immediately after dinner because there’s nothing to do and maybe some fresh idea would be better. Obviously I can’t “distribute” these many flyer-letters, use these up, but I guess I was trying to make a nice 1-page, which still might be a good idea but what would be the best tact? Then, what to do about having to call “Hughs” for real that I have no choice, just to hear what she’d bluntly say. But there’s too much confusion I think before. (sic)
5:05pm, Nurse Rina said, now to try for tomorrow about the discharge. I have no idea if these things I write help or hurt but I’m a blank to these people I figure without the little bit of that personal bit. What might, if anything, incline them toward not doing things against my will?
Back to Hughs. In order to get a clear answer I think I’d have to wait until 10:30pm. But, especially with the rain, I’m afraid that someone’ll need the bed tonight if not before and the staff would be — I guess it wouldn’t get from the cot to the dumpster that automatically, —
I feel there’s a good chance Hughs would admit that it’s been gone. The whole thing is absurd, all of it. To go from where everyone is a predator to where here and the shelter are nothing but nice, and even this miraculously nice business I’m getting fed that my things are safe!
— this is in a different pen, p.66? So first I’m switched to a new team of strangers, which sounds odd toward being able to get discharged, by brand-new people, ETC. Then Andrew Roberts MD really didn’t want to take one of my 1-page papers, I had to beg that he could pass it on to the new team, him saying he already knew about them from my record, but I got him to take one, an Asian guy.
With that so awful I picked up the phone and Ms. Ingram answered and says that Ms. Hughs had packed up and put my stuff wherever everyone else’s goes, the night that I left. I told her I talked to Ms. Hughs last night and she said to never call her again.
I can only guess that since I’m here not doing anything the team-switch is to do new tests for trying to find things to invent things. So it’s 6pm and everything is done so it’s clear for nonstop sleep. Vitals = 103/55, 84 and I think 94 for the O2. I’ve no idea where the low blood pressure is coming from.
9:15pm, They’re making my throat and voice be scary-sounding, like raspy and croaky sound every time I try to talk, but I’m almost entirely in silence, only get to speak a little bit and then it’s coming out with this sound.
all the electronic gadgets are underground toys
the new black building might be Dept. of Health/Care
Page 16 of the pdf begins the 1-pages.
5/1/14, Thursday 10:30a.m., No one’s been around, this new Orange Team.
A new guy I guess is from DECO just came and left and came back and showed a $5 for getting me to do the “Medicaid” paperwork now.
lauren pitman, case management, brinton robison md, wouldn’t take a flyer, dr. millwala, farida, stephanie orient, rehab
3p.m., Nurse Eva just said to forget about using the oxygen, my level is 88 and that’s okay considering the COPD.
one out of many, from many to one
4pm, the nurse seems to be getting me out of here today plus I called the shelter and Rev. Johnson said that of course there’s a place for me tonight, she told me that everything would be the same, or words to that effect that I really can’t believe my papers are there, that virtually every day for the 9 years or that after they’d accumulated, I’d had “Mustafa Mond” over my head that they were going the way that all this has seemed to be, separating me from them by a hospitalization/cpak for over 3 days and trashing them summarily, especially when they got weighty with evidence, that they wouldn’t be allowed to exist. Sitting down seems to lower the oxygen-intake. I suspect lack of nitrogen in the air is more the problem but there’s no telling. It’s like an unlikely dash at 4:30 now. Wonder if I got there after 7:30p. I don’t think there’s much I can do to prepare for leaving here. I stopped, ceased, halfway through a letter
i don’t need fluid restriction
dr. frances tustin, and her husband was on the manhattan project
the unwritten rules of social interaction
5/2, 7a.m., Unbelievably it’s Friday, meaning extra nervousness that I could be conned, con-slid into the weekend as must of this (illeg, crap?) seemed to be being done. The lab came and took 3 tubes of blood so I can only guess hope that that’s some good sign. Nothing to do but pray for breakfast to arrive without a hullaballoo. nicold nguyen md psychiatry, children’s national medical center, they have no children at GW.
8:55a.m., that was psychiatry about the oxygen tank again and I can only thank goodness that I (have) to have one in the bathroom yesterday (from) shaving my legs yesterday to show how bizarre having one attached to myself is really all about. She asked bizarrely what if your doctors felt you needed home-oxygen, what would you say then? I said, what doctor? since there’s been a small stream, nearly like an arcade game, then if the hypothetical doctor hypothetically said that I needed oxygen and I agreed with that then sure, or if I was laying on the floor I would agree with that, — then I got the one from the bathroom that only luckily was there over my protests, and that I’d been taken off of the oxygen yesterday anyway.
11:30a.m., pray now. These people are bizarre, like I’d said about the little bag of food I’d forgotten that could make all the difference in getting my clothes to me sooner. Now I’m hearing the word belongings, having her belongings. This was Dr. Robison now, saying he’d check the numbers on my O2 level at the nursing station to determine yes or no on my leaving today.
ck Haber-Bosch, michael callan, luther rice
2p.m., this has become really insulting, total disregard _____________ol strangers’ say-so.
polyptych, spiriva = for the copd
3:10pm, bizarre millwala, dr farida millwala, was here doing this lie-thing she does like water, leaving saying that we’ll talk later =? Luckily I recalled to mention that this is insulting to disregard me.
She said my O2 levels will get me discharged when they’re 90 while I’m walking around the floor. I’m trying to explain that I think there are gimmicks like needing the back of my nasal passages to be better used. She said she can tell I was all out of breath and besides my excitement at her showing up and getting out of here I forgot to mention that I’d just dragged the oxygen tank out of the bathroom while I was trying to fast-talk, as these people are really nuts.
They dc’d the q4h nebulizer treatment without a word about it to me, then yesterday they dc’d the oxygen cannula. It seems they’re keeping my levels low for excuses for keeping me here. I worked hard on the back of my nasal passages this morning and now the cannula is feeling effective for the first time.
must be friday evening 5/2) Trying to figure what I can do with myself, my only plan being to take a shower after dinner and in the morning in this attempt I’m making. The oxygen cannula is back in and I can feel the stream for the first time, and then I’m worrying about this pen. I was able to spot that first nurse Janice who’d given me hers and gave the empty back to her at least, a personal pen as opposed to these from Staples. (i could…, no, someone might come around for anything yet.)
6pm, Now Dr. Katalin Roth got the shelter’s number and said she’ll be back around 9-9:30a.m. tomorrow. It seems she, with Dr. Millwala waiting outside here, then went and talked with the Dr. “Lowlack” it sounded like this time and she said probably the same standards, have concerns that you don’t understand, me paraphrasing or interpreting, the risk involved.
I have no idea what this is with the croak in my voice that wasn’t there until Dr. Robison this morning. So I’ll go try my shower therapy. — Now they say Dr. Robison put the O2 order back on this morning.
(same page) 5/3, Saturday morning, 5:30 a.m., What to think about/write down about this morning that might help me get out of here. This Dr. Roth was called in by Millwala because I said this is insulting to ignore me, disregard me, kept saying she wanted them to put me into a cab. Her office is on PA Avenue. Ethics Committee, Katalyn/Katalin Roth.
It isn’t going to be super-sunny. Today’s the start of my 10th year here. Of all my problems on the outside the biggest one is if the chaplain isn’t interested. I don’t know what I’ll do in that probably situation. There’s nearly no chance that he would be interested, after all my experiences.
11:15a, talk that I might leave soon and all along my plan’s been to try to stop at Safeway to get the coffee bags that I wonder why I don’t take the opportunity to quit since it’s like the big inconvenience at the shelter.
The nebulizer treatments went from the q4h to never came back around 4/28. The O2 was dc’d 5/1.
The electronic things are easily tampered with by this secret “magic” or underground system we’re in, like when I use copy machines, cellphones or computers.
The bizarre croak noise in my throat is somehow artificially-done and is only around for the doctor types.
emphysema/copd, 111/60 80 95 O2, advair x2, spiriva x 1
What a strange note, and to claim that I’m leaving against medical advice, after all this time of therapy here. There isn’t anything else I can do, the papers being my first step toward doing anything. It’s hard to figure, just now recalling that the Safeway on 17th St., after my first visit they get upset, if I’m in that area for awhile and then go back there, this “Mustafa Mond” or whatever my “Jew” situation is being called, etc., as Katalin Roth is in the area again. They’ve got all these drugs in mind. I haven’t signed the AMAdvice form yet so I guess my clothes aren’t on their way here. They seem to know and time everything in advance, that it’s likely to be timed for no leisurely walk to the library and Safeway but such as that I’d have to go straight to the shelter, and thence into the next scene for the underground. There was a nurse last evening that looks like Ms. Conti and took the chair out of here, like maybe the plan was that she’ll be on and see this paper and I’d have to describe the tank and the Medicaid paperwork problem. I can’t believe all the papers are there. Then she’d get the life and death whether I could stay anyway or not decision that that chair might have been about. It is so bad that I don’t want to write down that if need be I don’t have to get to the shelter until 7-7:30p, as, he’ll be back with a nurse about getting the paper signed and whatever else. Why doesn’t anybody think the global system has got or maybe has got Autism or any other problem. 74?
68?= But that croaking voice was back. She took a 1-page that was the best, on the Autism books and (term?)terror
5/3/14, 11:15a.m., I’m trying to figure why I have no attempt or interest in not drinking coffee where I’ve only had Sanka except that one cup on 4/28. This is a good question and add to that that tomorrow is Sunday when there’s the 6 hours with nothing to do.
— My health is pretty good, I think the problems come artificially from the underground-system.
Fall, loose consciousness, have organ failure, or possibly die.
My health is pretty good, I’ll try it without a tank and if there were problems I would try to get an oxygen tank. I think the problems come artificially from the underground-system.
— Goodness, no wonder I figure I’ll need the better coffee, this is like a big list of threats for what the underground people will be trying to perpetrate onto me. advair x2, spiriva x1
1:05, just waiting for nurse Rhea to bring the clothes.
This massive decision about whether to buy coffee is made for me in that it’s too late now for me to get to 17th and R and then to the shelter.
gwuh1 = page 3 is in here. [I think that’s a different page 3 maybe]
gwuh2 – 42-74 misc
gwuh3 – a.m.a. discharge paper, a 1-page, (to 4/1/15 visit= pages 34 and 35, made it out to there, thence to the whc)
In preparation for a letter to the Dept. of Commerce on the Autism-obsession with oil I asked the chaplain to see if he could get me some material on its Secy. Penny Pritzker, and I’ll find out about that on Tuesday, if he has any real interest in my business of explaining that the system really is insane but could get straightened out merely by explaining how the Autism-psychopathy had developed by accidents in Prehistory.
I’ve got impending threat of another phonied-up ambulance-call over me any morning or evening now so I can only rush to try to do all the different things but the main one is always trying to find a responsible adult and now even any outside contact to get me paper and pens and a little personal food in case of another hospitalization, — which is totally kept a secret from me like a big lifetime-long Hidden Candid Camera sitcom. I don’t have change for a telephone call or postage and no www access due to my unique unfortunate situation.
At the library I found out that Columbian College/GWU’s medical school had started at 10th and E Streets, (southwest corner) NW, as the Autism-psychopathy had been planted in 1794 under the name of the St. Patrick’s Church, up across from the library now, 10th and G Streets, NW.
Please tell or let your lobby security know it’s okay for me to bring another letter, probably on Wednesday, 5/14/14. (I just copied this end from the previous draft above.) Thank you, kathy foshay
gwuh.pdf= here it starts on page 16 but the rest of this is a mess. and there’s this one
gw 2014, 84 pages. I’d typed without proofreading yet this. I’ll have to do some editing.
Here’s the other page 9: Like, “You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear” you can’t run a world like this for very long. When the cannibalism started, which my image is that that had happened while lost up around Alaska, the North Pole, it was a crisis of being lost, cold and hungry for a long time, and I think it was a big, dramatic event and caused many spirits to leave space and try to come down and assist.
Between that and the earlier accidental extinction of the dinosaurs and the errant extinction of the other large, future-food animals, the solar system had had to cease evolving, there couldn’t be new forms of life created only to be victims for the Autism psychopathy. Everything has just been on hold. But the Autism is in complete denial of everything except the few things it likes, which mostly, “Suzy’s people,” who are generationally-enslaved all these centuries, thought up and worked out for the Autism and the Neanderthal alleged “overlords.”
Really the Autism wants to ditch their old partners and I suspect they’ve been concentrated in the U.S. with the hope they could be bombed-out here.
(page 2= 3/17 flyer =page 2, page 3:
3:30p.m., odd scene outside the copy shop with Chinese couple saying a syllable while taking picture of this new Georgetown thing and 2 “slow” girls like my type but show passing by. 72?
4/15pm, 5/3/14, Mass. and 2nd., that this is it, first the shelter and then about the papers, hard to believe the proximity of that now, gearing up for the unbelief.
Inside all seems normal, truly there. there’s a sign ms. brooks had passed and her funeral in maryland was today. There are alot more fences, from say the copy shop, on I St. across from the synagogue (synagog) Chinese people seemed to be like taking credit for a fenced area that seemed odd, then at the CVS and then that big circle park off of 3rd St. Here Ms. Warren/Warring/Ms. Jones the guard had said, told me to go take a shower and that my clothes need to be changed when I said that I’d had one this morning, so then that I have to shower and change clothes where my bed still is. Back down into the 70s the oxygen level’d go. What a mess I’d left that night. I really need to still do the same downsizing that I was wading in, so bad that maybe, now the weather’s improved, — hm, i have to go to CVS, over that Advair, and it would be a quiet day for returning to the library. In fact, therefore I should review the papers for Chaplain Searle and what’s in my bag for everyday.
As soon as I left the hospital the underground-generated medical problems began again. I’d wanted to detour to the Safeway on the other side of Dupont Circle for coffee I like and my whole torso started getting tugged on each time I tried to go that direction. [it felt like babars doing that] I ran out of time and gave up, but little by little all the same problems re-assembled. The next day lower back pain began as I stood on the street eating outside the GAO on 4th St. before going to the library, 11a.m. on Sunday with nearly no one else around. Being homeless I have nowhere else I can eat except on a street and I’ve been in this same neighborhood like this since 2005.
But it’s much worse than that. I have a special-special problem that’s only just crept up to be noticed by me this past year, with “Neanderthal-Foshays.” It’s terribly controversial and therefore would have to have a letter that you know to expect; a separate subject but also very inter-related with all the Autism-psychopathy’s bringing us to TOTAL PLANETARY EXTINCTION situation and my “anti-Armageddon attempt” that I am totally alone with. This “Neanderthal-Fraudays” problem is what’s doing the congestion that leads to the oxygen problem, medical emergency and I don’t know anyone I can explain all this to except maybe you.
p.4, my scrawl now, I did start bringing papers over to a chaplain in early April. The men’s Central Union Mission had moved to Massachusetts and New Jersey Avenues and the design on their sign reminded me of the drafting-designs by Dr. Temple Grandin of Univ. of Colorado, the world-renown designer of livestock slaughterhouses that allegedly has Autism.
In bringing a couple of warning-attempt letters to the mission I realized that Dr. Grandin probably has what I call “Past-Lives Captivity Trauma” that’s generally confused for being Autism, from being confined in European dungeons or the like, from being held captive by the people with the ages-old Autism-psychopathy. The only sign that something is wrong is that Dr. Grandin has a bizarre, shrieky-high that made her sound retarded mentally on the radio, a Terry Gross interview I think, and then I heard about her slaughterhouses work, back in 2005.
Nobody in Washington has or has been allowed to assist me with any of this “anti-Armageddon” work by merely explaining the system-males had had long-ago Autism that caused all the problems in the world for the planet and human race, so my chance isn’t good with this chaplain either but if you and he could be in touch you might be able to be mutual-support for being able to assist me a little with all this. (to p. 5, on the same sheet=a handcopy maybe,) Secy. of Commerce Pritzker could do alot toward straightening out the whole world-situation if I could get all this explained to her so I asked the chaplain to see if he could get me some material from their website, () Wikipedia, for background help and I’ll find out on Tuesday how seriously he’s taking these appeals of mine.
I’ve got another phonied-up ambulance-call over me any morning or evening now so I can only to try to rush to do all the different things (and?) now even any outside contact to get me paper, pens and a little personal food in case of another hospitalization.
The system is totally kept a secret from me, like a lifetime-long Hidden Candid Camera sitcom. I don’t have change for a telephone call or postage and no www access due to my unique unfortunate situation.
At the library I found out that Columbian College/GWU’s medical school had started at 10th and E Streets, (southwest corner) NW, as the Autism-psychopathy had been planted in 1794 under the name of the St. Patrick’s Church, up across from the library now, 10th and G Streets, NW.
Please tell or let your lobby security know it’s okay for me to bring another letter, probably on Wednesday, 5/14/14. (made changes.) Thank you, kathy foshay
____ When I got out of the hospital (on May 3rd) in 2014 I sure enough had lost all my photocopies of the letters I’d sent about the Autism-etc. and the 9 years of notes on all these subjects. I tried to regroup and made a letter for a big govt agency and hand-delivered it. I should have a copy of it on here somewhere and will probably insert it here when/if I find it. When I handed that “in” around the beginning of August I didn’t have much to do and was looking into drug-traffic in the Niagara Falls area and ran into “The French Connection” as being out of Montreal and I found a copy of the book that’s an account of the real-life story behind that later film on the subject and didn’t have much time to look at it so had taken a few photocopies to look at for later and while looking at them I noticed that the suitcases in this photo toward the back of the book looked like a set I’d used to play with when I was a kid and I took a closer look at the people in the photo and the one on the far-right is somehow of this person who’s just (allegedly) passed and that I’d immediately started referring to as my “fraud-parent,” the person who’d raised me in the belief that he and his missus were my regular “biological” parents, and I’d already guessed back in 2006 that he’d been involved with underground brain-chemical trafficking, so that when I found this photo I’d put together that that and not the purported “heroin” was really what the “French Connection” had been about, and that he and indirectly myself through having been led to play with those suitcases I guess before they were used for that scam had been used for the real-life “French Connection” that’s actually about the (invisible) brain-serum trafficking.
I spent the rest of 2014 trying to get anyone interested in my letters on this subject to any of the drug-affiliated agencies or what that I could but these, mostly black, people who look like they’d been “from” the fraud-parent were all over the place, still, as had been a part of the before the forced-hospitalization spate of 1 time to Howard University’s hospital forced into an ambulance driven by a “Shahan-face” that I call that type now, because some strange girl at the shelter had claimed that I had a bedbug on the back of my shirt at 5 a.m. one morning, I’d gotten forced into an ambulance and with all my belongings that one morning in March right after I’d started the “St. Patrick’s” flyer distribution and I’d slipped one flyer to the intake-window before I left Howard, which didn’t want to hear about this bedbug story, that it was ludicrous and I’ll try to get back to a brief description of the invisible-torture whirlwind I’d been in (still am in) at the time, but then on the 24th of April the system had started this “low oxygen business” and I’d been forced into 9 days at the GWUH and then had gotten out and found this “French Connection” photo that amounts to connecting the Revelation-Armageddon with this extinction-bringing brain-eating big “fad” that seems to be everywhere nowadays even though most of the participants are likely kept unawares of the source of the “high,” as in like that “Limitless” novel and film and then television show that I’m trying, 20 years after it was published and I’d finally found out about and gotten a copy of the novel, to do a critique on toward explaining that the system comes from people who’d never known what they’re doing. Here’s the link to the notes on that that I’ve gotten to so far: “‘LIMITLESS’ is here finally“…. While I was sending those letters these “copies” of the fraud-parent I’d had were all over doing sneaky curse-tricks around me and I wound up really ill until I was unable to walk anymore and wound up getting taken to a different hospital in a police van.
gwuh = 1st page is a copyrighted piece I don’t have a permission for yet so I’m sticking it way down here out of the way while I figure how to do this.
I don’t know why this is a disaster, something to do with “div” lines in the typesetting maybe. I’ll clean it up soon. Then I was tossed from one fraud-family group to then another out in Maryland. The first one got me started on how to use the internet and the second one gave me scheduled hours and I started trying to look up subjects and then individuals I might be able to contact, especially that little scapegoated girl in that 2003 Abu Ghraib scandal because this Armageddon business to me and that were like “magic” brew-whirled together, stirring up trouble there at the same time as running a big set up on me in Brooklyn, running around as a home health aide from 2003-05. I couldn’t contact her through the search-engine but had signed up for 2 social media that now the accounts have been left just there with portals to this site that I haven’t been able to do anything about because of being all alone and I don’t want to make situations worse and I don’t really want to have to close the accounts either but maybe they’re being used for LURE Armageddon purposes all this time because I don’t know how to do some little technical thing that has to do with that fraud-family difficulty that is all over me no matter what I’ve tried to do so far, unreal “magic” pursuing its Armageddon by blocking-off any contact attempts I try to make to get assistance for getting anything straightened out, etc. Then I was also looking for material on that 1962 French Connection scam that I’d been indirectly involved in via all these “magic” difficulties, same syndrome set/s, and I’d found something with a little information, an Omnibus dogstar site or some such and that or another one had caused me to notice this, free blogsite from wordpress business and I quick signed up for that before I lost the opportunity altogether is how come the URL is like it is, because I didn’t know which punctuation one can use and the automatic-machine kept disapproving and if I only wrote UniverseRescue for the title they said I’d have to have the wordpresscom.wordpresscom.wordpress.com 3 times so I’d added my name to it and they let me have it with only the 2 wordpresscoms like it is, is how I’d gotten started doing this and below is the remnants of my early posting attempts, which had been the Siamese material storing place for awhile and then I’d moved that because it’s so messy and that left these and I’ll be trying to straighten these out down to the current posts and then the files that I’d be trying to link to from the Navigation bar, etc. This Armageddon Program/Show/nonstop-invisible-torture has been going on since 1992/-93 and then I keep realizing things in retrospect and it goes back to that French Connection time in the Bronx and a little before that and then I’m winding up with this Renaissance time fresco on The Dispuation of St. Catherine, where I’m not disputing, I’m reacting to the being invisibly-tortured and all that that entails, etc., that these are just goony “brain eating drug addicts,” if you could refer to the brain as being a “drug” which I don’t but it’s time to leave here today and I have to stress that the bottom line to any of this is that the brain eaters aren’t going to quit, they are first and foremost headhunters and nothing else is true about themselves, they have that desire so ingrained that it’s all they’ve become, autism or not autism classically, like I don’t think they really were, but after all the centuries of interbreeding they would be by now anyway, etc.) flyer.pdf, Nov. 2014, misc. mess. Here till I figure where to leave it.
brave new world book cover and facebook message.pdf, (8/27/16, It’s more likely King James or Queen Elizabeth that that theme is from.)
then there’s the between heaven and hell cover, tt it’s by joe velasco, that the book hadn’t been interesting except for that cover. i think that that cs lewis was also one of vajiravudh’s offspring-descendants, depicted in the middle like an expert on religion and christianity tt he was, and tt they’d all passed on the same day, and so help me i’ve got that day wrong, have it as november 23, 1963! I can’t ever figure why I think it’s 11/23.
This card for the Target store was given to me by one of the plants in the veterans program and when I finally got to the store in March it turned out to be blank. It’d been a ritual-piece given to me by a girl that looked like some “offspring-descendant” of maybe that D.H. Lawrence friend of Aldous Huxley. Then I’d gotten hit by the car. She’d also given me some used clothes, maybe her own.