text, trying to edit from cellphone Dec. 2017

I’m trying to edit the media library from the cellphone (post, maybe Dec. 2017, Jan. 2018)

— I’ve never signed on from the cellphone before because the unprovable “games” are worse than when on a regular computer terminal but I decided it would be best for me to stay in today and I’ve been planning to try to do this on some foul-weather day but the “invisible/anonymous robot-boys,” the ghost in the machine/deux ex machines,” are way out of control for me, I’m afraid I won’t have much of my media actually there when I can get back to a computer. I’ll try to save and get back to this file now: it’s only 10:30 a.m. and I’ve got to have something useful to do with my time and it’s better not to bother the general public because I only have one set of warm clothes that I’ve already been wearing everyday and there’s nowhere to go except the Smithsonian so why bother them when I don’t feel like saying that happy new year phrase or anything, I’ll just sit around here (the former morgue still of course,) but then I have to try to stay clear of all the “Armageddon Program” traps. I was doing really well with the drone-work on the Media where every time you send a picture by the cellphone it sends also 3 empty files for the box-lines so I thought I’d delete all those empty files on some bad-weather day and this is it but like out of nowhere “the boys” got out of control. I’ll probably have to try to sleep mist of the day. this typing I could do by sending Message through the cellphone instead of jeopardizing the blog’s security by signing in, and “the boys’ know of course how to hide the log-off key or anything else from poor little old fraught me. the Media editing is the only useful potentially thing I could do from remote like this and barely able to see much print, etc.

as often “the boys” cut off the connection without me getting a chance to sign-off, to log-off: they are the opposite of trying to get the Universe rescued and they can’t comprehend that–i haven:t any choice but to take a forced break till later now, hoping there isn’t “tampering” with the blogsite, me encrusted by the Armageddon “program” parasites all the time. kf

3:50 pm. again the same cutting off my working only this time it’s worse Armageddon Program, forcing me to turn off the cellphone.
630 pm and for the 2nd time there isn’t any password sign-in when I call this up, like anyone could do it. it also seems like it might be best for me to stay indoors (in this former-morgue) shelter again tomorrow and still trying to do the media file/library by this cellphone. it feels like an Alexander Graham bell-type supervises to rig to sabotage me, pounce with those. You are offline. Try again laters.

sorrowfully, the same thing keeps happening. I got the little drone-chore finished but didn’t get to sign out and can’t reach the blogsite again yet now and have to quit. the “girls’ saw the old film breakfast at Tiffany’s and Capote’s book seems connected to the real “French Connection,” with sally tomato maybe like Angie tuminaro, in jail back then at the time or some such. now it’s “the bodyguard.’

1/2/18, Tuesday, at a regular (library) terminal now but can’t stay long. Am busy curious about what Capote was doing with that Breakfast at Tiffany’s, published 1958. I think that was the year of the robbery, that also Cartier’s was robbed and it’s difficult to keep the 2 straight, that are involved in this moon-landing/French Connection situation I’m in and if I’m in it so’s the planet being what I’m always trying to get across, that there’s this inextricability I figure the 2 situations are in, that I at least can’t separate them. The moon-landing proved, showed, that the system’s perspective is way off, that they even don’t know what they are doing. They did that French Connection drug-business, with me inadvertently involved, in the belief that they’d soon be rich, were financing their future off of that narcotics business but when their miscalculation was shown by the uninterestingness of space’s available resources, unsalability, unminability, then they nevertheless forge ahead with this world-ownership obsession but have been pulling it off of having me as a gimmick. They enjoy torturing me invisibly so that it’s like I’m a “battery-blob” that gives them powerfulness feeling, but it’s a false feeling of power and they just don’t care and just keep doing it and I can’t guess why, what the big deal is about keeping up the sham. This has been going on for many years and I’m very tired. For a lighter note, I’m sort of curious what the connection was with Capote, as the way that the book goes Holly Golightly goes off horseback riding and somehow that’s when the police get her for questioning because she makes weekly visits to a narcotics-trafficker in prison. That trafficker is alot like Angie Tuminaro possibly, and Holly might be alot like someone in real life connected with all that French Connection business which I think was really largely a ritual for disguising the brain-serum traffick behind the white powder, so that the brain-serum would stay invisible to the unawares populace, like it still is. Now I’ve been hearing all that opioids are a big deal but when I look them up that seems to just be about things like demerol, uninteresting mere pain killers, because we live on sadism-planet they’ve turned this into, those high on the brain have. The French Connection could have been the ritual that it was for other reasons also but the main one that I’ve noticed is that it was for camouflaging the narcotic-source. I guess, the trafficker-friend’s name, “Sally Tomato,” only sounds to me similar to Angie Tuminaro is why I suspect some connection. Then in 1960 there was a scandal involving an ex-boyfriend of Capote’s who’d happened to write a biography on Melville, and on Hawthorne, both Pittsvillian “New England Transcendentalists.” They, with their Autist-buddies, simply believed they were smarter than mere other people. The moon-landing showed that they’re off-base in their thinking and they, the types, won’t let it go, keep forcing the lie through this “Armageddon Program” off of me, inadvertently at the bottom since that 1962 French Connection ill-use of myself toward getting that ritual done. So I’m trying to look up to see if Angie Tuminaro had happened to be in jail around then and I’m never going to find out what females visited him. Maybe Mrs. (Pasquale, Patsy,) Barbara Fuca had visited him in jail; I’d learned of Mr. Tuminaro from her mentioning him early on in her account, “Mafia Wife,” also with the writer Robin Moore, of the French Connection account. He was the uncle then of Patsy and Tony who did the French Connection receiving and getting caught with the “heroin.” Tony’s picture looks like Lenny Bruce but I don’t think that that’s even the real Tony Fuca and I live alone without anyone to compare the evidences pieces along with me, am just float-sinking in quicksand under all this because these guys have developmental disability-sets of all kinds and are taking us to extinction off of abusing me like this. Right now they’ve ostensibly got some sort of an excuse that it’s up to me to try to extricate myself now that I’ve got the little “ssfund” from finally turning social security-age, that I’m complaining about this situation but I’m just sitting in it. So I have now to try to go see about the hospital paperwork on that car-hit before I can leave this area (attempt to,) so I went and got the money for the bus ride up to there and will try to get that done as soon as I can. I think there was some reason I can’t make the trip tomorrow but I’m going to try to get there this week. It didn’t work when I’d gotten out and tried to get the chart through the internet and they told me they can only fix that if you go there in person and I haven’t had bus fare until the ssfund just got straightened out and then there were the holidays and now it’s unreal cold weather but I think it’d be worth it to try going this week instead of waiting till next week because I can’t complain that these bums won’t quit the invisible torture-syndrome while I’m not doing anything about subtracting myself from this same situation at the same time. The winter lasts a long time and I’ve been worried that they’ll drive me to being broke before I could at least finally get up to Northampton to get a look at the Florence Sabin papers, for the reason that she seems the main predecessor to myself in this invisible-parasitism torture.

…Another odd and end to all of this situation I’m in is that I think one of the “tricks” of making fun of what I’m trying to say is that for instance all this with the “Babar-Ainu hallucino-robot boys'” seeming to be fancy directors for themselves’ doing this “production” off of my unfortunateness is that they don’t believe they’re doing an or the “Armageddon” anything, they believe perhaps that they’re only trying to get that area cleared of the people who might tarry, poor word that, live-residing there because there was mention when I’d first gotten there a year and a half ago that there’s some sort of a “rainbow” housing cooperative or condo or what for gay people that’s scheduled to be built in that area ostensibly, so that my complaints, however invisible I only am, are off-base, my thinking is incorrect because they’re only trying to get the old squatters off of the property, perhaps might be what goes on in this underworld I’ve never known exists anywhere. I think the system had likely stolen the Cappadocian underground and then went into obsessive-compulsive underground-digging and won’t come out. Cappadocia and Catal Huyuk are likely interconnected, the goings-on back then, and then with that Trojan “war” ostensibly in that same area, as the Paleo-American dinosaur-extincters trekked back and forth between the Old World and their New World longtime-territory, that’s been kept all the secret. Then it’s looking like they’d gone to Africa and killed and replaced everyone there before doing that to Europe, and thence over to here on the Atlantic coast. —

4 January, I got the car-hit hospital record on a CD disk but don’t have enough time today to try to learn how that works to try to overview it, 2100 pages for the 11 weeks. Things were going really really badly and then that wasn’t the easiest of errands and now I have to live through whatever return to what was going so badly is going to be like, that it seems these “Babar-Ainu boys” must have been bred specifically for the brain-getting, the “narcotics,” but there’s more too, a petroleum aspect that’s real bad. I’ve got so many difficulties that I don’t want to offend anyone but I don’t have time to look into this but Florence Sabin had done some work for that Guggenheim foundation or what it was back around 1940 I think, and this invisible torture was so out of control for me considering my location that it occurs that that could “Autist-decode to” goo-gen-home, heim is home in German I think, the way the Jomon/hallucino-system puts things together for themselves, goo is petroleum like decomposed people turn to under damp circumstances, and gen seems to be a representation of engine, of machine, as well as then “gen” also seems to refer to people, but I think it’s basically machine-engine, goo-machine-home, that you could make your private way of making that fuel for heating and such. It’s real bad, and there’s a weather-coldness and the system makes childlike excitement-hysteria out of anything so they’re all wired up for what they’re going to gimmick-LURE-do off of me for days enclosed indoors I think is what it was that was so bad last night but it, it set me up to blurt something that they might make trouble for me then off of, is why there’d been a set up to cause any sort of trouble, it’s really bad. It came out as that someone on staff had a big behind, but that’s what came out because I couldn’t say that it looked like I’d caught one of the big “thieves as in the night,” like it says the Armageddon is coming from somewhere maybe in chapter 16 or what in those 22 books, that they’re going to come like as a thief in the night, and I saw one of the Program types while I was pondering LURE “signs” and I couldn’t say I was thinking she was doing that because of the LURE because everything’s a big secret so that it came out about where she was sitting looked like that, instead, and I’m mentioning that that’s real precarious, I’m always all alone with all this and it’s really bringing the end of the Earth and they really do just force you into ambulances or police cars or old “black Marias” or what and you’re never seen or heard from again so I always try to be careful but I got almost no sleep and then had to go out to “the car-hit hospital” that’s in a location also that’s the same thing as all this that you can’t be candid about the system with around itself either and now I’m walking out of here and might not be able to get back out to a library till next week and the way things were going last night there might not be a next library trip for me but I really do have some things I want to get done tomorrow that I’d be trying to get to one of them but I’m not a masochist or suicidal about forcing my way out into impossible for me weather either so I might just have to sit indoors for the few days, but I finally got the latest “round” of the letters of Florence Sabin and her sister and that means that the next thing, already today for instance, that I’d want to do is to mail off for the next set of letters, except I just put all my cash into the bus fare card, do have an envelope, but it’s just too complicated to get change right now, even though I’m right across the street from a post office. If nobody bothers me I’m doing okay but it seems like these “Babar-Ainu boys” have taken over Armageddon-making Program directorship and I don’t think they have any connection to reality, only have been bred to do LURES for the things the Autist-system thrives off of, our human remains, that this is really bad right now, except for getting this new batch of the letters that’s like my only pleasant thing so I’ve been bad off with some delay till now and reading those will cheer me up a little because they are two cheerful-seeming little old spinsters so it’s pleasant for me to read them but I really know that the system was using them to get to where the system is now is what I’m trying to learn about and it’s alot of letters to read through till I have enough background. Something on the Breakfast At Tiffany’s is that Truman’s name wasn’t really Capote, it was Persons, Truman Persons I think is what it was, but we all call him Capote now, and he’d lived in Brooklyn, near the Esplanade, and I’m wondering if that wasn’t near the Dumbo area and that that wasn’t where some particular place, a restaurant or bar was that the “French Connection” types had favored, and Mrs. (Barbara) Fuca had written that as a young girl she’d contemplated and maybe tried to walk from L.A. back to New York, sort of like Holly Golightly had walked from Tulip, Texas, that there are some parallels and I’ll  look up now to see where the Esplanade/Brooklyn Heights is in relation to the Dumbo artsy-dive area. They’re pretty close, Truman might have met Ms. Fuca or some of them maybe is what might have been behind the story. I can’t find a public domain image of Chubby Checker doing the Twist, that I’m thinking he might be a Babar-type as they seem to think-twist anything to fit their system means.

1/5/18, Friday, it’s one of the worst days and now this cut off without logging out already and now I have to, because I’m being like railroad-pushed, try to figure out this other thing, and then their printer isn’t working and I forgot the form that I could have photocopied, toward the only little sanity-nchor I’ve got, with those Florence Sabin letters, I wanted to mail off another order but can’t figure a copy of the form toward that, as the torture-to-the-brain is intolerable anymore. I have to look up Harry Guggenheim’s birthdate, trying to figure (because I’m afraid to say “wonder” because this Armageddon Program all over me twists all the vocabulary words to their Autist-system meantings, the “Jew” on me like stink of feces, that close right now as I’m trying to type and they’re merrily proceeding with all the same tactics they’ve been using all these years because I’m totally surrounded by their system in every way. They even installed a new “Shahan-looking girl,” that this reality is impossible to describe, it makes me sound “psychiatric” to try to describe that they have this global-system all rigged with just their preferred stereotypes in different “life-guises,” this — all also connected, playing off of, that car-hit,  making the hallucino-big deal out of this invisible situation I’m trapped under, etc.

I get stuck with doing this “counterpoint” instead of my own things I would like to think about because the “show” and the “program” and the “characters” are drowning me, and making also the big deal just because I was finally able to get the copy of my own hospital record. It’s got that “schizophrenia” word all over it and that simply isn’t true. It brings up all kinds of subjects I could go into but what would be the best thing to do. (I’m afraid to use question marks because they look like “meathooks” to the types that do this invisible torture to me as just an example. As soon as this “Armageddon Show” erupted onto my head invisibly one can tell that we’ve got brain-invaders. If I can’t use my brain then the same brain-invaders will be taking us to human extinction because we’re not allowed to think, they poke holes into the brain and who on earth are they, — only a “moron” would spend their time staring at other people’s heads long enough to have learned how to do this. Normal people aren’t going to sit around and watch other people thinking, they had prehistoric-days’ Autism that they chose to sit and just stare like that and worked this up to this, and Kathy Foshay was one of the last to learn about this brain-invasion, back in 1993, the “visions and voices.” They’d already wrecked all kinds of lives with this scam that the “visions and voices” phrase was kind of infamous, probably still is, the whole psychiatry industry is like a weapon. The stuff came from that Emil Kraepelin but before him the term “dementia praecox” had come from Heinrich Schule* and the only picture I can find of him looks like the “Allen Ginsberg” general type and one of them sits on the dinosaur-extinctions subjects and another one sits on the extrasolar planets subject and going by this car-hit business and last night now they installed this “Shahan-girl” I can only guess that these guys all physically threaten any normal guy, human, is how this global-system is so powerful like it is but they’re powerful off of abusing me all my life so how valid is that, it’s not at all valid, they’re just shammers, but decapitating shammers so everyone’s afraid of them. I had one like that last week, one that looks like a 6-foot version of the fraud-parent in black skin-disguise (there go the schizophrenia-lovers to that big cover-up subject,) pull that scam on me last week when I objected to something and he snapped back that none of the other ladies is complaining — they’re all holocaust victims like I am, we’re all afraid of getting worse problems than we’ve already go, no one is going to say anything to a nearly-obvious murderer-type, the guy like one of the “products” made from this Bronx fraud-family, though maybe he’s from some other branch of John Philip Sousa-disseminated ejaculates or what, could be anything, the point is that all the ladies are more or less in the same personal “boat” as I’m in and I just don’t want any problems with anyone except that it was like a set-up I’d walked into, the same as walking in and seeing that “program director” more or less sitting on that thing they call a “trunk” next to my bunk, in the inferno-making-shelter. I’m supposed to try to check on the birthdate of Harry Guggenheim now, “let me” go do that.

* this with H. Schule is a big subject but there’s barely any information on what they were doing back then. I think they were purposely raising bodies for sale as meat was the main thing going on, and maybe Schule got the idea that “the men tee-aa/to be crucified,” should be used instead for this “Brave New World/Fountain of Youth/people-growing mass-reproduction system.” I’m only saying that everything should be re-assessed because the moon wasn’t made out of anything edible, the stars aren’t diamonds, they’re on the wrong track and they’re on the wrong track because the food for today was killed back in prehistory by the errant Beringia-trekkers. They forced their way over Beringia and wound up accidentally killing the food for us by smashing the dinosaurs’ eggs. They smash our ovary eggs the same way and we’re going to wind up extinct if this is all kept covered up like this.

Harry Guggenheim was 1890, Long Branch, NJ, near Brooklyn, to 1971 in NY he’d passed.

I’m wasting my time with this one. I’m thinking (which is what schizophrenia is said to be, when people don’t like or agree with your thinking,) that maybe he looked like Brigitte Bardot’s paternal grandfather, that I’d seen one photo of once but now I can’t find a copy of it again on the search engine and I’ll have to try a couple of leads on Bardot sites to see if there are any further leads. He was a bigwig with like gases, a gas industrialist. I’m thinking maybe Guggenheim looked a little enough that perhaps they were that closely related that would normally have been called family but now family is more like some consortium of seem alike-types as the system’s getting more careful because of all the photography now.

I had one good thing happen or that I learned about, is that Florence Sabin’s uncle had passed in January 1913, because I’m trying to see a copy of his obituary. I’ve given up on getting to the LOC because it’s cold weather and I don’t want to be used as a heating-bill excuse for getting people decomposed into petroleum for fuel for that but already I can feel that I really want to go look that up because it wouldn’t take long to do that whereas on computer it’s probably hopeless for me to try. — It is. I sent an email to an address that seems to type some obits. It’s difficult for me to describe all the hallucino-micro “tricks” that this Armageddon Program lifetime invisible-torture plays on for example me but they did one so that I hardly got any sleep before getting up to trek up to Bethesda about the medical record and when I walked into the hospital I noticed this very common phenomena where my one eye hurts so that it feels crossed or inward-turned so that I don’t want to look directly at anyone. I think it largely comes from the shadow underworld or other “magic” way of “leaning on” the outside of my eyeball, like focusing a stare at it or however, leaning on that side of my face. They used to do that to me all of the time but it’s been awhile, probably because in the gutters all the time like this it doesn’t matter much to the torture what other people think of me, I’m just by myself in the gutters or a library looking at books or computer screens and they don’t bother me much but going to get the medical file I think they didn’t want me talking to anyone and so caused me to feel uncomfortable internally like that so that I wouldn’t do so unnecessarily or also maybe there’s more to all that than I’ll ever be aware of and avoiding eye contact is a way of making me seem like a liar or such. And while I typed that one of the “leaner” types of the fraud-family from the Bronx types came and sat at the computer next to me and it freaked me out and I’d muttered that and there’s another one, uhhuh, and the gutters, … trying to keep my train of thought as they’d played a trick on me about this time last year with one of those types so that I recognized that it’s a “leaning” onto people type, a big heavyset fraud-uncle type, where a girl that seemed descended from this “fountain of making youth” system methodology had come and stood next to me and said something that I took the wrong way because I was in a bad way and after the incident I’d realized in retrospect that she’d been playing a trick of “wearing” a shadow-partner in some underground, however exactly it works, so that her body-size was “invisibly” carrying his bodysize like a big bubble-aura around her own self so that when she came and stood near me it was invisible that the shadow-body was looming right onto me, because she only looked like she was just standing there not doing anything unusual but they are underworld trick-players and this “leaning onto” people is one of the tricks, and the system commonly does that specifically to the outside of my right eyeball and did it yesterday so that I felt uncomfortable in bothering anyone, just did my business real quick and left, didn’t think to look up anyone or look around or any such, might be why they’d pulled that trick up yesterday. The machine signalled that it’s time to sign off. — The rest of this post went to the de-evolution post.

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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