Pitiful State of Affairs

On Monday the 12th of November this year, I was standing at the Edmonton Green bus station, after a visit to a post office that was particularly full that morning, so full, the waiting line stretched all the way to the door, and because the line was snaking, it could very well have measured a good 30 meters. An older woman standing in front of me was called by someone apparently expecting her. I recall her making it very clear she had lived in the area for a very long time, and had never seen so many people in the office at the same time.

As no stranger to stalking, there was here the real possibility this was yet another choreographed maneuver, no less because as soon as she had said this, the man standing between us looked knowingly at me, as I stared back, feigning a dumbfounded look.

I was in no mood for detective work that morning and refused to look beyond appearances.

I blocked out suspicion, settled with taking it all as it came, just one of those things. If it was indeed mobbing, then so what? It wasn't out of the ordinary. Further more, that particular morning, things had gone in such a manner there was no way I could have avoided being hounded. My phone conversations are always monitored, my phone's files always sifted through, camcorder recordings I play back on my transmitting TV screen picked up and watched, so I could really not be more careful. I had made an appointment to meet a friend at a post office that turned out to be closed and, to save us both time, had called and changed the location to the nearest one in the area. Obviously, I gave whoever controlled the zombies in this part of town ample time to gather them together for this task.

A similar situation happened in the shop directly opposite the post office about a month ago when I announced I was going over there to buy a ticket for the bus. Upon entry, the line suddenly swelled. Then, just after I had left, the shop was as suddenly empty again. I noticed this when I returned after walking a few steps from the entrance, after I noticed I had forgotten my lighter and decided to buy a box of matches. Apparently, the shop owner had noticed too, and also seemed aware of mobbing because he wondered aloud whether the sudden and unusual number of visitors a moment before had been there for that purpose.

Now, standing at the bus stop, I noticed a white woman standing with an African who by accent was a Nigerian woman. Their attention appeared directed at me, with the Nigerian woman smiling curiously as she looked my direction. I looked around me, as far as I could see and saw nobody behind me, and when the attention continued, I concluded they were on about something I could not see.

I was not judging people guilty until proven otherwise on this morning, the method that works very well for me whenever I get into suspicious situations and require to know who the perps are. Looking back, this lack of worry was in large part because my mind was sluggish, a result of a heavy attack I had just been through as I took a shower, one of the rooms in the flat that was completely unprotected.

The Nigerian woman then spoke, at pains to confirm their attention was in fact directed at me, mentioning to her friend that she didn't believe I even knew where I was going. I obviously looked a mess after the assault that morning, and felt weird within my person too. I had the classic symptoms of microwave attack. My eyes were overly sensitive to light because the iris muscles were weak, so that they did not contract timely to changes in light intensity, making me squint a lot, while my face felt like a mask due to numb muscles. Despite all this, I knew perfectly well where I was going.

I had a morning appointment, and was running late already.

This particular scene may seem exaggerated for those who see the possibility, and may look as though I was actually imagining things to others who cannot believe this. But if one were to walk with me to the Edmonton Green shopping center, especially this particular location every morning, then a lot of what I say will begin to make sense. One would even realise just why the woman would have found the courage to speak as loudly as she did, without fear others would hear and properly interpret what she was saying, without fear I might make a counter move.

The Edmonton Green bus station as well as the shopping center is a location I would rather avoid due to the large number of perps in training that are usually roaming the area, believing as I once heard from three persons sitting next to me on a bus that they are secret agents in training. Almost every morning I arrive here, there is this crowd of people who do not look like they are really going anywhere, but rather that they are waiting for somebody.

Before you jump to conclusions, I should assure you that this here is an impression hard to get at that many places in London. I have lived here long enough already and can recognise the epicentres of perp activity. This location is definitely one of them.

When I board a bus, there will always be some types who will make it a point to talk as loud as they can, with each other or into a phone, spitting details too particular to my private life, and if I have somehow made known where I am headed, then they will be privy to the same details. There are parts of the bus I avoid sitting or standing in, the favourite places where these types sit, especially on my way back to the neighbourhood because, as soon as I enter Totenham going towards Edmonton, all manner of miscreants enter and perform circuses impossible to imagine in any other part of the city. These displays of emotion are usually timed to coincide with attacks that are supposed to have caused certain results, a usual game among perps where the leaders meet themselves around corners. For the perp on the ground, the experience is meant to convince them of facts they have been told about the target.

Because I protect myself, it doesn't always work out as planned. Sometimes, the perps look all over the place looking to find something wrong, only to come up empty handed, after which I hope some bell rings in their thick heads. I know for a fact the perps would not be able to pull off what they do in this section of town without appearing insane, or invoking some kind of wrath from observers.

This game is really retarded, but it is one I have to witness every time I go out, and now it has really started to seem very much like a mental case going through the motions, banging away at the head as they repeat the same phrase…

It's as though all hell breaks loose whenever the bus turns or passes Seven Sisters Station. Where previously there had been nothing wrong, where other passengers had been just that: other passengers, they suddenly become some kind of weirdo out for a lot of psychological romance.

The age groups and sexes of those who board the buses, obviously looking for someone, confirm something, or even shake their tail feathers at, vary. I have had what I would consider babies acting very feminine towards me, in manners that are obviously staged, and though I know younger and younger kids look at grown men like a woman would, and am no stranger to such behaviour, the manner it is done in this part of town lacks spontaneity, especially when contrasted with other neighbourhoods.

These are kids, some as young as twelve, being abused by what should under normal circumstances be a more responsible body within society, used to make statements to a grown man that they only comprehend in part, the background to which they have no idea..

I am quite used to being watched, often blatantly, with a view to making me know I am being watched, and also followed around. I am used to strangers knowing what I am doing, where I am going, to realise when I am being stalked. Some time ago, I was organising the Pan-African March, and went up to Brixton, a town on the other side of London from where I live. As I was walking into an internet café, two young black males made disparaging remarks about my fund raising efforts, and though I realised they were nothing but stalkers, I noticed they took their role seriously, almost as though they were doing a job that is intelligent, necessary, respectful. I thought against offering to sell them cocaine, confessing I am the rapist the police are looking for, or the pedophile with a string of child molestation and murder cases who should be locked up and the key thrown away. I wanted to walk up to them and apologize for being the one whose image blights the land, one so unpleasant being out on the streets is a terror for others.

I could not see how such like would take the hint.

What I find remarkable about all of these occurrences is the lack of discretion expressed by the stooges to believe everything they are told about someone they know nothing about. There are even cases when people display so much hate for me I begin to believe I have committed the worst atrocity imaginable.

While training at the Watkins House, after prolonged exposure and some serious blows to my head, I got the stomach to speak with some of these characters. My first urge was to have them know what I was about so there were no mistakes. It appeared from their response that what they had been told was quite close to what I said; only they seemed to believe I was deliberately insulting/offending some people in authority, not taking hints and such like. All of what they seemed to believe didn't suffice for a location to be loaded with their kind, all for the sake of one individual, but somewhere in the universe of their greasy imaginations, it all made sense.

It is inconceivable that a government recruiting people for particular intelligence jobs would be able to find so many young people who have such low mental powers, whose minds are so set they cannot ask questions but simply hate from the bottom of their hearts someone they have only heard about through a third party, who can consistently be manipulated, time and again placed at the scene of a crime crudely made to look like it was the victim's fault after all. Such things do not happen in real life where, no matter how terrible an individual is, there will always be those who will realize or at least suspect there is more to it than meets they eye, because they realise they are only being confronted with a part of the whole story.

These people are doing a job for the man, and some of them are really looking for careers. I have had occasions where a perp who seemed to be on training made the mistake of making faces at me while somebody else was looking, after which they asked the other, who appeared to be the mentor, whether it is OK that they were seen by this other person.

Even when they are just doing a job, which some of these kids definitely are not considering their ages, the question should be asked whether it is possible to have so many people behaving so unnaturally in a given location. My suspicion is that these perps, including the young ones, are themselves victims of abuse that I believe involves mind alteration, including the use of Directed Energy Weapons to achieve the same. These children have their minds destroyed so they can be used more effectively.

It appears the crucial ingredient added to their minds to make them the monsters they become is hate. It is very easy with modern technology to instill this state within the mind of anyone. I believe perps are as attacked, maybe even more so than the target because they are not warned, therefore not protecting themselves. They believe they are playing the right cards and as such out of harm's way, while in reality they are getting holes blasted through their brains.

Children are used for such activities because they are easy to convince, are malleable and do not ask crucial questions, this itself begging the question of whether behind the scenes reigns some kind of pedophile. They are however also altered mentally to make them better at the task they have to perform, especially to foster early dependency and trust for the establishmentarian, making their association unbreakable, a lifelong acquaintance.

I once met and had a long talk with a woman who is a victim of DEW attacks, and knew she was a victim too. She surprised me by stating how she sometimes felt sorrow for the structure that can think up such routines, from the top where the orders are given, right down to the bottom where they are carried out. My surprised reaction was not so much because it is strange for one in such a situation to feel this way towards their tormentors, but because I didn’t' expect she would feel the same way that I did about the situation.

I had obviously misjudged her.

It is quite a sad thing to witness, albeit from a victim's standpoint; the mental powers, or lack of them, which lead grown men and women to acts that denigrate them in the same manner that organized stalking does the entire hierarchy of stalkers. The depravation is almost impossible to bear, to have to face day in day out. One is left both disgusted and pitiful, wishing for a glimpse of normal, upright and proud humans. One is left confused about conflicting emotions, the cut between a need to help out and the notion of the enemy being the soul out of reach, that cannot be touched without that being taken wrongly, as duty is always calling; save observed day in day out, as they go through some ritual that could not be any good for anybody. The bosses are sick in a particular way, and their servants in another, both wretched, pitiful figures framed as incompetents in time, prisoners of their own stupidity spreading it around, whether induced or natural.

Is it any wonder that the most common reaction targeted individuals make is to become reclusive? This here has the potential to destroy one’s faith in other humans, if it is not recognized for the conditioning that it is.