Sunday, September 8, 2024

Current, I haven't been to the UPS Store, nor the bank. Nobody has made direct contact. The region is hostile. My home is hostile. I fear for my safety. I haven't been able to go to the grocery store, due to terrorists in the stores, en cloak, armed with nuclear weapons. Terrorists, targeting me, personally, are swarming around me, in motor vehicles and on foot. I've been staying close to home.

Yesterday, I read a couple of pages, of "Rabbit, Run." Why am I reading such a trashy book? The people are despicable! How is it "literature"? The human traffickers chattered, over everyone, that E.M. Forster was trashy, too. The prior book, on my assigned list, was Mark Twain. It was impressive.

Last night, I didn't get dinner. I had a package of pastrami, in the fridge, at home, and a bag of potato chips. On Friday night, I had wandered west, on SE Belmont St., to a pizza place that I hadn't been to. They said that they were out of breadsticks! All day, I'd been looking forward to a half-dozen breadsticks, with marinara sauce, for dinner! They're on their menus. It was devastating! I had the '2 slices + a soda' special.

Nothing in my room has been moved. On Friday, I found that my ströpe kit had, again, been moved, on the shelf, with a nylon hair left on top of it. I try to leave the house early, in the morning, and return late, at night. I try to stay out of the kitchen and away from everyone. I had volunteered to help keep the kitchen clean. When I left this morning, dirty dishes were piled in the sink and the counter-tops might not have been wiped in days. I haven't checked the microwave, since Thursday.

This morning, I changed my clothes. I need to go to the laundromat. This morning, the parking lot was full. I thought it was busy.

This morning, at the cafe where I ate breakfast, I took the photo, shown above. They have the egg & cheese bagel sandwiches. I've been ordering hot sauce, on them. I've quit trying to order a different flavor, of bagel, every day. I'm stuck on onion with cheddar. It's not good. The shitfight frenzy, of my human traffickers, to puppet me, won't wait and listen to the flavors available. They still have to get there, ahead of me, and be in control of me. I had agreed with the military and my loved ones that I should try to speak and order, myself.

I'm sitting, on a couch, in another coffeehouse that's air-conditioned. I had a day-old croissant, for lunch. The crust was flaky, the inside was doughy. I've been trying to walk, a little bit, every day, to cleanse my blood. I'm in good health. I don't have enough money, every month, to eat as much as I'd like. I'm hungry. I'll probably lose more weight. My body is stretched, by nuclear weapons, against my will. The U.S. Army assigned can't tell my size, accurately. When they look, they report that I still have fat stored, on the external.

I made this video. Please, share it!

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I had to flee the coffeehouse. I was being raped, by nuclear weapons and Robotics. The human traffickers were pushing in, to take over my blog post. A military-Robot came in, visible, as a customer. They're at that coffeehouse, often. People have complained about him, for years. The coffeehouse keeps being told that he's a mentally disabled man that they should be nice to; they should pretend. They think that they're using line-systems to "case the joint." They intentionally leak that the group are involved in sex-comms, rape, pedophilia, kidnapping, and crimes against children.

I was being raped, invisibly, and trying to finish this blog post. The human traffickers escalated, again, maniacally happy, that I had to "go pee, right now!"

I went to the bathroom. When I came out, the whole place was screeching. I left.

The pervert, Robotic, guy had gone outside and they had comm'd back that I shouldn't try to sit outside.

When I passed by the bus stop, the pervert, Robotic, guy was there. I yelled, "Keep back!"

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I didn't make it to the laundromat. I had pizza, for dinner. They had breadsticks. They were delicious.

I have to publish this blog post and send an E-mail to Sam Hithye, that he will receive with a typed box with a note that I sent it but it didn't reach the server, or, he won't receive at all. I'll try to say something nice. I'd be miserable without him.

I'll keep writing out.

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