Help get me to Arizona for exorcism, & witness protection


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

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

I want the original “rehearsal” photograph-set to

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

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

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

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

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

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

the photo credit is YMHA Nursery School

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



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

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

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

Click-on but it’s disorganized.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo, mohamed Abdelgaffar,

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

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

Detail, Pilgrims panel, Ghent Altarpiece

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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









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









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

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

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

dc2 Henry Morgan book cover

dc1 Henry/Harry Morgan possible old portrait

Harry Morgan

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










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

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

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

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



== just below there on that 4th line.

The whole thing reads: These frescoes:

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

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

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

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

part two of the hyphenated presumable “director.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Detroil Industry murals by Diego Rivera’s vaccination baby

Henry VIII, click for the PD.

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

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


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

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

a- a place to move to,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


About kathyfoshay

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