Don’t be angry; I tend to always contradict my convictions; I don’t want a lot, including this blog. I might quit blogging forever… I’ve been doing this for over 20 years… writing to no one for nothing but me. Not sure it gives me the same thrill it use to. Now I worry saying anything will make the world worse, but I know that’s stupid. Nothing I write should be of significance to warlords who’s predecessors were documented as plotting to kill an astronaut in attempt to blame another country (check out: Operation Northwood). I’ll be detailing a bunch of this history in my book you won’t ever read or you could read where I read the info: Body of Secrets by James Bamford
I’m beat and have been since day one August 23, 2016. Specific milestone that catapulted me into realizing how broken and controlled some people are; the day I started my manuscript —
My story brushes against human trafficking of elite slaves that I refer to as celebrities. To further this scene, imagine the paparazzi as a weapon to keep the celebrity from stepping out of line. Blackmail is as easy as playing the same story over and over non-stop day on end until it’s resolved with a happy planned surprise. Politics —
As angry as I am, I try to simmer and not respond with my first reactions, which I have a problem with. Who doesn’t? Especially when there’s too much… My hashtag should be #toomuch, but it would get muddied down just the same as every movement. I’m not a ray of sunshine and have zero hope for anything but the kindness of a human being truthful every once in awhile.
It’s time to step down from ownership of a movement that is being muddied, forged, melded, and confused by what it could have been. Ask me what, and I would answer for days what’s missing.
Currently this #metoo activist movement is an angry uproar and people are getting too angry on camera and radio, while the show inside with tailored suits scoffs at the public. The public pay the tax for the hearing to take place, while well-off well-meaning public pay the public radio to hear the news, and the news plays the same thing all day long. A sham (to me) and the radio speaks of nothing else but a couple political sides and not much more than three, and never enough, for there’s simply too much for anyone to say (about every topic not being talked about) … where has all the money been spent?
The problem’s not enough people care to know who the Department of Defense (DoD) is and what they Tweeted #cooljob they made back in 2017 or ’18 in reference to how closely military work with Hollywood movie making. The screenshot of the Tweet made by U.S. military defense having a hand in Hollywood movies and role as military propagandists… heads would roll. And I mean Game of Thrones, literally roll to hear more. This is a blog, but I am a person and my book is stupidly huge.
I have too much to say about the FBI, NSA, and CIA and how helpful they are in historical standpoint and in current times… And Dr. Ford’s #metoo made the FBI seem like shiny heroes to go report your rape to, when FBI tells victims to go to police. For my case I was not raped, I was blackmailed and can’t prove it without NSA admitting to what they never want to say, however, I tried the FBI and they told me they don’t help…
I don’t wonder why I’m alive, I know I’m alive because I’m a toy ready to be bullied by the rest of the world if my story should emerge. Once you’re known from something humiliating, one thing is media bullying and rallying enough people to see a person as ugly, stupid, or nuts. The ones who own the news owns all the celebrities, which is why I originally said, “Yes, I’m writing a #metoo.”
My book entails Hollywood abuse. Surviving breathing celebrities are terrified of the most powerful men and women in all the world… wonder who they are? My #metoo has/had nothing to do with me being raped. It has to do with data. But it’s even more, there’s even more and I can’t tell you everything.. it would take too long. At least three books, but you see, it’s my life too, and I’m young, so I want to live left alone; see me as a shadow with a distorted voice. Good luck me. I’m an idiot.
The problem is too much; I believe in the afterlife, some wish to call this “God” and I refrain from capitalizing the word god as I believe there’s way more than just a handful of gods. I call these gods ‘ascended masters’ and that’s just part of my personal spiritual vocabulary choices. My book… and my life include the afterlife and that’s why I refuse to say much more as I’m not religious, but had an experience that was similar to a near death moment in which if I had not felt as if gods weren’t with me I would have been flown across every TV screen as the raving heretic wanting to save children from the NSA’s ability to prey on anyone for any reason:
On my knees in my parents house, I was begging with a female cop, holding her hand like she were a Queen, “Please let me speak with Amy Goodman about the NSA and what they’re doing. I need a reporter…. I need Amnesty…” …. Later that week Goodman was on trial for doing her job reporting about the dog attacks at the LNG Pipeline protests… — EXCERPT
For the last two months I have not been writing my book, so I’m still on page 500, that’s less than halfway, but I should be back on track by December when it’s cold and less is going on.
I have too make money in order to simply survive independent of needing assistance, and when I complain about the FBI, I don’t incorporate the entire government social services and never thought anarchy was a good option. Anarchy is awful, but so is what’s currently in power — my political party is whatever isn’t those two single options we always have to grit our teeth and say “It’s better than the other one!”
Where am I? Poems Found, where there’s a lisp in the address, the manuscript is planned to be released for at least another decade or not while I’m alive. I don’t want to be alive to answer questions when people read and react to all of it at once. It’s too much.
I’m stepping down from ownership of the hashtag brigade that I now waffle on in support in the same way that I cannot agree with women who hate men just because he’s a man, it’s as bad as racism so I can’t abide what I don’t know.
What I do know is a lot of women and men born into money have a strange number of wicked blackmarket hobbies.
What to say?
Nobody reads this right? I’m not sure anyone cares. The only ones who care about me are people who can look me in the eye, but I like meeting strangers. I have discovered that even in my dreams I am incapable of committing suicide, which is why I’m still alive. Based off what I’m not sharing anywhere but in my book, some might wonder how I stayed alive. I should be dead and that’s why some people write. Because this is Poems Found, a soapbox platform blog manuscript, I’ll find a poem, here:
(by E.E. Cummings)
thing (even a
universe) might be
so not quite believab
ly smallest as perfect this
(almost invisible where of a there of a) here of a
rubythroat’s home with its still
ness which really’s herself
(and to think that she’s
warming three worlds)
…… another bonus by E.E. Cummings
have an album i found from 1975
Manfred Mann’s Earth Band – Spirits in the night.. this album is crazy