THE FIRST RULE OF DYSTOPIA CLUB IS

Having stalled myself with this amusing and slightly sordid

little diversion initially, I may as well get on with it, and, without
resorting, as I say, to miraculously discovered mysterious, strange
diaries, hidden under the floorboards, or found in an old musty,
magical cupboard, or some abandoned modern computer, say, a
discarded hard-drive. One just doesn't find these things; it doesn't
happen; the writer would be too proud of their work to fully abandon
it; they'd be looking to get it published as some point, tell their own
story. We all want credit for our own efforts, not have them be
attributed to someone else. It's an amusing conceit, or would be
that the writer, the author, stumbles on a story written, complete,
whether perfectly or imperfectly by someone else, and can thereby
take the credit for it, or the positive aspects, while creating the
impression of modesty and normality. (Whatever you think of
this, you can believe also, through suspension of disbelief that it
wasn't written by me, though we both know it was.). That's fine; it's
a useful literary device. It lets you know where you're at and where
the writer is. You have a pretty good idea of what you're going to get.
That it's a fantasy or a time-travel story or whatever. But as I
said,life can be a whole lot stranger; even when you're paying
attention; or especially if you're paying attention. That's the nature of
the paradox, how they get you, how you're hoodwinked. When you
truly can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy or
illusion any more, then you're done; they've got you; right where
they want you. You're a dead man, just like them. Unless you can
turn the tables and they have you right where you want them. My
strategy. The name of the game will be exposure.
On second thoughts, people lose stuff all the time. In short, I
spoke too soon. Fate has a way of tripping one up. Just me, then?
I went to the loo again; any excuse for a reading break. Almost
as soon after I sit down, an alarm goes off across the street. When
I'm done soon after, get up to wipe my arse, it goes off again. Weeaw-wee-aw-wee-aw bleep bleep bleep. World of bleep. But what
the bleep do they know? They see me going about my business,
literally in this case, my figure visible still, through the distorting
glass of the bathroom window. Maybe and by maybe I mean
perhaps (Ellen) there's an invisible sensor beam; that I cut through
and it gives the impression I'm being continuously observed. They

and it's very much They like to create the impression, the illusion
that they're all seeing, all knowing, virtually omniscient. It's all BS
of course. They're the clever idiots, the unholy fools. Ascertaining,
experiencing true intelligence is beyond them. Or picture it if they do
for a moment... They must see me as a foreign, invading, threatening
thing, to be pushed out of mind, blocked, as soon as it manifests...
like some alien entity, a thing of horror and hatred, unknown to
themselves. Pity them for they know not what or who they are. Or
what they do. Theyre twats. Life is too short for this horseshit, but
this is all they know. It's what they live for. We are the dead. No,
they are. They just don't know it. Nor do they know it will soon be
over for them, that they live in a self-sustained delusional
groupthink. They're living on borrowed time. Their days are
numbered. They're in for a rude awakening. It's the world inside out
and upside down; a madhouse. The lunatics genuinely believe they're
running the asylum, when the asylum is running them. Ain't it
always the way. Though it's all too easily forgotten.
I know some targets have dropped like flies. I'm more fortunate,
having developed the ability to flit from consciousness to
consciousness, mind to mind, but I have to be in an odd or unusual
state of mind to do it. This current mind isn't my own. I let him voice
his own thoughts, let you get a feel for it. Some of what I said, what
I thought was me, was, certainly initially. But only I can truly tell the
difference. At least I hope I can. I do, I have to admit, sometimes
have my doubts. I both blend with the person I'm 'possessing' as well
as know my own thoughts. I can tell the difference; but often the
mind, the possessed, if you like, begins to sound suspiciously like
me; or I sound suspiciously like them; I haven't quite figured it out
yet. Maybe it's far too dangerous a game, but it's surely no more
dangerous than ... I can see you're ahead of me.
I doubt they've figured it out yet; the PTB, that is. Mine hosts,
as far as I know, are blissfully' unaware of me. Nor can I influence
their thoughts, their actions, much as I know the PTB would
influence theirs if they could, or mine. And perhaps they already
have, that's the problem. To a degree, I'm above the field of play, so
to speak, above the battleground. This ability gives me a certain
detachment; or I've developed the ability through cultivating a sense
of detachment, take your pick. And as if this weren't complicated
enough and I can see you're ahead of me again I can't rule out the
possibility I could be influenced indirectly by the host if he or she
can be influenced by the PTB themselves, whether directly or
indirectly, though it can be argued it's all indirect, if any of it is

possible at all, whether through dreams or other remote-controlled or

more 'hands on' means, such as microwaves. Add to this that it may
well be inaccurate to talk about the PTB in terms of themselves so
much as 'Itself', that they seem to be as much of a hive mind.
Whether this is an aspect of groupthink or something far more
sinister, I don't know. I do, but I don't want to speculate on it too
much. I'm all for denial myself in some instances, and that's one of
them. I came face to face with the devil before, the murderer,
whether inside or really 'out there', and I'm in no hurry to repeat it.
Similarly, there's certainly a frisson in the thought of entering a
woman's mind, but on knowing of the ones who've been targeted by
Them, though it more accurately refers to their minions only to be
driven to suicide, well that's a mind-trip I can do without if Im
incapable of influencing them in any way, though now of course,
there's the net, email etc., or even a more direct association if one is
so inclined, or moved to make such an effort, though that demands
even more of a direct commitment than even an electronic
connection would. Either way, one compromises oneself when these
people are under tremendous emotional stress and may even be
unstable to begin with. Or, to put it another way, just because you're
being targeted doesn't mean you're not crazy. Often this is the very
thing their covert, sneaky attackers are playing on. They have
credibility in the eyes of a myopic, acculturated society.
Psychological warfare is about hiding in plain sight; the attacks are
indirect and consistent, designed to wear out the target through time,
in time. The target plays into this also, as much unwittingly by
taking on board, if understandably, the perception of themselves as
the proverbial victim. No one has ever suffered as I have, etc.
The problem here is in treating illusions as real, each
compounding the other, believing themselves to be tormented
beyond endurance, when it's all a matter of interpretation. But again,
it's understandable. We all feel constantly shat upon, crucified for
most of our lives, and now it seems as if that malevolence has come
out into the open to crap all over us big-time, playing on, and
compounding all that unconscious guilt we feel. We're our own worst
enemies and the egotists play on that; the mind's tendency to sink
down into a kind of emotional entropic collapse. It's basically a
psychopathic system. 'Sensitive' individuals can be impacted in more
hidden, subtler levels than can your average plumber, say, who
functions on a level more concerned with form, and for that reason,
is more likely to succumb to such a system. The crazymakers, the
'nice' people, the 'perps' manipulate form to confuse and distort the
perceptions of their targets, so that everything becomes a threat or is

seen as one potentially. To behave in such a way is an expression of

a fear-based consciousness in any case, where everything becomes a
symbol of that, but through projection.
The perpetrators aren't aware of this, or those that do either
don't care or they have no choice, they're coerced into it; though it
may well be a combination of various factors for some or even
many. And it would be as accurate to describe them as the projectors
as it is to call them perpetrators. This is a term that suits the victims
perception also, for it conveniently reduces the situation to be seen in
terms of us and them, victims and victimisers, though this will also
suit the perception of many of the Projectors too, as that's the path of
least resistance for most of them; or so they think.
We're all projectors though. Each only the other side of the
same coin, each believing God is on our side, and if not God, then
extraterrestrials, or, as the PTB would have us have it be, aliens,
(which, according to them, don't exist in any case, even though they
have thousands of classified documents to prove it). Weirdly, this
just might turn out to be true, but again, it all polarises. Different
factions ask the extraterrestrials to take out the other faction they
believe is making their life such a misery. If the aliens were anything
like the Old Testament God or its writers, they'd destroy both in a
puff of smoke or something far more dramatic.
But I wanted to give an example of the minions strategy of
intentional perceptual/perspective distortion, bonkers as this might
sound, though it's clear enough to me they get their training from
above the PTB, the Elite, call it what you like; and I will. In
this instance I wasn't inhabiting anyone's mind; he told me of it
voluntarily; an artist/ occasional musician acquaintance/ friend This
was a few years back, when he'd been experiencing a periodic
increase in harassment; the summer months seems to bring them out;
presumably as it's easier for them, as well as to reduce the quality of
life of the individual concerned. It must have been fun for them this
last Winter then, sitting in their cars in virtual blizzard conditions,
waiting to make their myopic dumbshit synchronistic moves as
their world acts up, tries it on, acting the goat and generally not
playing the game, what with all the other natural disasters and
world-wide catastrophes n' all. Ironic. Paradoxical. Ya gotta laugh.
Though I suppose all that death, destruction, chaos and General
Mayhem also suits the PTB in their 'population control' goals. It's a
lot less mouths to worry about, however tragic. They must be
laughing in their reinforced bunkers. But I digress again.

Here's a recent experience of my own. Going to the bathroom

one day, aware of the increase in harassment, I was alert or,
hypersensitive, call it what you like, when a red van moved into
view through the frosted windows, only, it was on the other side of
the street. Feeling enterprising or, as much curious, I opened the
window, kneeling on the toilet bowl, and looked across. During this,
a matter of a few seconds, the driver came back out of the works
opposite, and and this is the bizarre, inexplicable part turned
on his engine and drove quickly to my side of the street in a sharp
zigzag. It was a disturbing experience; it creeped me out. It was a
new and disturbing development, though, if I'd thought about it, I'd
have seen it was only a variation on previous strategies. But it gave
me a fresh insight into how D must be experiencing it when it's all
relatively new to him. I can go into his circumstances at some point
later, the events he's been experiencing, know what he's been feeling.
Call it false empathy to identify with it, but the essence of the
experience and this system is that it's designed to have you feel
alone, isolated; more isolated than anyone in the world. This is a
confidence trick of the ego of course, an illusion, if a convincing
one, and it can and does have consequences, If I could experienced
what D felt, it might lessen that sense of isolation, I thought, as well
as that I might gain some insight into him too, and through that, be
of more help to him. It's been obvious he's been finding it very
difficult to cope with, or downright impossible.
What I can do, in a retrospective, semi-dreaming way is enter
into his mind and experiences his thoughts and feelings. He doesn't
know what I can do; I haven't told him. Call it a breach of trust, or
confidence, but I wanted to check it for myself. Or rather, I wanted
to experience it, because I did believe him. And more accurately, I
wanted to know what he felt. Call it false empathy if you like, but as
I say, I can keep a certain detachment; it works for me, so far, touch
wood, as me old Dad likes to say. It was just as he'd described, but
what was as disturbing was the almost overwhelming sense of
shame? No, he has a depth of self-assurance about him; he had too
much practice with this; I knew some of this story. The perception,
as well as having a degree of anger, one was of guilt. And as
immediately, I recognised if not the actual source, then certainly the
ostensible reasons for it, however outlandish or insane, though Ive
already touched on it. The people, the minions, the useful idiots, the
projectors, saw themselves, like all self-appointed do-gooders and
fanatics, as doing what they did in the name of God, however
unconsciously. They were the community's fundamentalists, seeing

sin and guilt in everything and everyone but themselves. It was a

methodical, structured guilt-trip, organised from 'on high'.
The most alarming aspect was how widespread it was. Added to
this was the awareness, his and mine both, of how endemic it was
also; the fact that most people thought like this, that it was deep in
their 'bones'; it permeated all their thinking, how they thought of
themselves and others, like a virus, a contagion of hatred spreading
across the world.
Worse, its insidious nature meant it could worm its way into the
perceptions of its victims, targets, in a kind of osmosis, for there
was always the ego aspect, the unconscious or hidden guilt that this
very process, this system was designed to play upon; a form of
brainwashing, but of an 'all-encompassing' nature that would replace
its percipients feelings and even memories with its own as his/her
memories were gradually, inexorably superseded by the repetition of
the negative experiences and scenarios engineered specifically for
that purpose. This is to be a world of guilt, of death as life, where to
step out of line, or even think out of line is a thought crime, bringing
on a deluge of passive aggressive, crazymaking harassment and setups by the perennially hoodwinked, the terminally deranged. Nice
work if you can get it. Legitimate pretexts are the cover for this.
Highlight the 'sin' of others, even one mistake, and you can hide a
multitude of sins of your own as well as carry them on, big-time. As
Goebels knew, people will swallow a far bigger lie than they will a
small one. Maybe it was Hitler. Thought-experiment over.