Tea Tax (and Alien Invasion)
This open letter to The Young Turks details the unbelievable seven months of daily torture I have been subjected to after I happened to send a few emails to this show. I became a fan of the show shortly after stumbling onto it on Youtube. There I posted several comments, and on their site, and it seemed as if they even referred to them on the show. Then I started sending some off the cuff emails. They got no response, but on the air they seemed to say shut up, and at the end Cenk acted unusual, maybe drunk. It is a little embarrassing to read my long winded emails at this time, after how serious things have become. For the purpose of explaination I will try to summarize these emails before going to the more sinister events that have occured to me. At first they might not make much sense, but apparently they struck a very dangerous chord, so they added up to something.
The first emails dealt with a debate I saw between an Israeli woman and Palestinian woman. I wrote that I thought that the Israeli woman would make a good candidate, that a woman could be more sympathetic to the Pales concerns. I wrote that you could actually manufacture anybody to be a candidate, as with Sarah Palin, somebody who has populist characteristics, but also is knowledgable of the issues. I wrote that a sensible woman leader could do better at making peace, because she would be less concerned with gaining prestige.
Then I wrote about a debate between a Palestinian spokeswoman writer and activist, and Alan Dershowitz. I suspected that she was a British agent, that Dersh was an Israeli agent. The debate seemed very suspicious to me, a caller seemed like a plant, given a lengthy question by the BBC network to nail Dersh. I wondered, the BBC is a state run network, is Great Britain siding with Palestine (Hamas) against Israel. Who knows, I don't. I wrote more than this but most of it was just dreck, so I won't recount it.
Then I went on a tangent about British tea. There is a site called Teavana, that sells flavored tea, is kind of popular. I said I thought this could be the next Coca Cola. It's cheaper than coke, it's healthy, it tastes as good. Americans would be willing to pay more than any other nation for the same tea as long as it's flavored. Essentially a "tea tax." I quoted Austin Powers' No. 2 who said "These days world domination is all about the corporations," as they plugged Starbucks. Maybe this could be used as leverage against the Brits. I wrote "Where does tea come from?" India, China, and Japan, but Who Traffics the Tea?"
That did it. I know it's surreal but there seemed to be something really upsetting to some people about these loudmouth emails. But Why? You have to read between the lines. Just replace the word Tea with Drugs.
So how do drugs get here, in America. They come from South America (coke) and the middle east (heroin) and elsewhere, and a lot of it comes across the Mexican border. But who traffics it? Everyone has heard the "theory" that the CIA once engaged in importing drugs into our cities, during the late seventies/ early eighties. But what they dont know is the Shadow Govt still does this, working with the British Shadow Govt. working with the American and Mexican Mafias. That's why we can't Win the Drug War, because "We" are neck deep in running the business. And even the Queen is in on it. They've been running things since the Opium Wars, when the East India Tea Company declared war on China for not buying their opium. I had stumbled onto a shadowy conspiracy of epic stupidity.
You have to realize how important the illegal drug trade is to the economy. Right now hundreds of people have been killed in the streets of Mexico in the Drug War. The only thing that seems to scare these people is drug legalization, because that would interfere with their business.
After I wrote the thing about the tea, I noticed some threatening posts from Brits on Youtube, on from a poster who's name roughly translated to "antiChrist." All the videos on my page seemed offensive. On my Netflix page they were all dvds of violence and horror.
I got scared so I called the police. When they arrived they said there wasn't anything they could do, but take me to the station, or to the mental hospital. That didn't sound good, so she said go back in there and keep writing. I figured I blew the lid off this Tea business, and a couple days later I heard about all these "Tea Parties," conservative protests.
So I wrote a couple more things. One said that I suspected a famous American writer was a British Agent, because he mentioned a book that seemed to have a characther, that Was Him. The book: 1984. How is it he is always right about what is going to happen? Maybe intelligence plants details into the newspaper, knowing that only he is going to notice it. Then when he writes what is going to happen, and it happens anyway, terribly, the reporter wonders why it happened. That's why they are able to write these controversial things and are safe, while I wrote a couple crackpot emails and got hammered. Because they have backup. The mob doesn't care about the first amendment.
I didn't write the name of the writer. It was a riddle. In the novel 1984, there was a character who was purported to be the world's greatest political intellectual and truthteller, whom it turned out was in cahoots with the totalitarian British government, and whose job was to help root out subversives. As in The Manchurian Candidate, a tale of hypnotized soldiers, he's "the kindest, gentlist, most decent human being I've ever known." Feh. Trust no one.
I looked at my yahoo mail page, and there was a small picture in the corner of a girl, making a shushing motion, the words "for Fubar, click here."
On the NY Times Online frontpage there was a fake video story about a cop who complains that all the gangs are armed with guns made in the US. He get's in a firefight and shoots a criminal, then said "he had kids and was thirty two, old enough." I am exactly 32, no kids. The NYT doesn't typically have video clips, at least not on the front page. Somebody hacked into my computer and planted it.
I got the message I should stop writing, because the police could not protect me. Then I had a rude awakening. While I had been writing I was ignoring the loud stomping from the upstairs couple with a child. It dawned on me that a child could not stomp so louldly. The upstars couple were white, but this seemed to be an old black lady angrily stomping. No words were spoken by her, only stomping and tapping on the cealing. Apparently all my neighbors in the apt had the remarkable ability to hear thoughts, that this apartment I chose at random was a special place where they check in on certain people. The black lady claimed to be the one who freaked out Louis Farrakan about the Mothership. I saw that I was in trouble that I had been foolish, and I thought about taking my life. I wrote a suicide note and went to bed. When I woke I was being harrassed by cars outside. I found out that there were two cars. One with a Mexican gangster honking at me, the other had a G-Man with a heat ray to attack me, both telepathically linked ot my thoughts. Both said I was going to die, badly, but for some reason they didn't intrude on my space. As long as I stayed in the apartment I was safe for some reason. But I did manage to leave my apartment later, and I was still safe to walk the streets. Their plan was to aggrivate me to death, but why not just shoot me?
I started to get scared, so I called the police and ambulance. The ambulance took me to a hospital in Evanston. I lived in Rogers Park, N Chicago. When I was in the hospital I was relieved to see everything in its place. Then I was left in a room, where the tapping started. The tappers started to drive me crazy, they said they were a part of a doomsday invasion, and no matter what I did I would die. I denied this, and saw that the whole hospital staff was listening to my thoughts. Then they gave me a taxi pass to go home. I waited in the lobby and I was shocked by the NBC 5 news broadcast. Everything about the news seemed shocking and awful that night. It was the anniversary of the Columbine shootings, but even the commercials seemed to shock me. As I walked outside, I heard a high pitched noise that sounded like a weapon from space. The cabbie could barely navigate the streets. I got out and ran home. A black man said to me "everything I ever loved, gone.." I found my way home. On the radio they said there was a big protest about dog maltreatment by big companies or something. Did this have something to do with my stupid emails? I wondered dumbly. The noise pollution seemed ot follow me home.
The next day I looked at the Chicago Tribune, this was early May. The paper looked like pure dreck. It was awful. The photography the headlines. There was a front page headline about Youtube, another headline making the Cubs look bad. I got the feeling the black lady had something to do with this. That she had a connection with the guy who runs the computer that runs everything including the papers, to make the paper crash. I turned the tables on my tormentor, and used a broom hammering on the ceiling wherever she walked and cursed until she stopped moving. Then I calmed down. I walked outside to the Dominics and saw that everything was in it's place. No invasion. Nothing unusual. I went home, and felt guilty for my rage. The black lady died a couple days later, before she died she said I would die too. She was replaced by two younger ladies one white one black, who took turns tapping and stomping. My neighbors worked in tandem with the gangsters to drive me crazy. Gangsters surrounded the apartment hammering and jackhammering at all hours.
While there I heard two radio broadcasts where they seemed to communicate with me. They must have known I was a radio listener, then timed the fake broadcast when I turned it on. On broadcast was a Cubs game, the other was a NPR show. They sounded like they were keeping a straight face as they read the "news," talking to a GM suit who said they regretably decided to kill the Pontiac Grand Am model, due to investing in more fuel effecient models. It just happend I drove a Pontiac Grand Am, before it broke down on me and I donated it. Later I heard a meditation cd I had saved onto my computer, I heard Dr. Andrew and his partner giving instructions on how I could get out of there, that I could find a key in a car, that I should remain calm while driving. But near the end of the "recording" angry voices intruded and suggested my rescue would cost the life of another person, so I backed out of that, and there was no other way out.
The upstairs lady had a husband, and they aggeed that I was going to be killed if I stayed there, so on the evening before Cinco De Mayo I left and went down to the lake shore to accept my fate. I was there two days and two nights. While I sat on a park bench it seemed like half the neighborhood walked past me to and fro on the path. I sat on the bench all night through the cold wind. Then I heard the motorcycle of the Mexican Gangleader. He said I was to sit there as he drove past, and think nothing as he drove past, that is not curse him out. Then he drove off. So it was a waiting game all day and night, as people went past. Then the skies erupted into a thunderstorm, did I mention, you gotta believe, they have a weather machine, that can make an imprompu thunderstorm, hail, etc. I got soaked twice. I kept waiting, cold and stiff, they said I couldn't get up, I gave up, I got up to take a tremendoud piss. Then walked down to the shore. I stayed there until morning. I dried off and got a ride home from a cop car.
During this time they started to use their machine and fixed it so I couldn't take a dump, for several weeks. As I walked outside everywhere I stepped my feet burned. I went to a cop car and found out I was the only one who noticed this. They took me to another mental hospital Lakeshore, where all the patients could read thoughts as well.  I thought this could be a refuge, but I was still within the reach of the mobsters. They still hit me with the heat ray, and the staff could do nothing to help me. They shut me in a room with two men who seemed as if they were possessed. At night I was heavily drugged, as the mobsters turned up the juice on the heat ray to the max. I tried to stay up, but fell asleep for a short time and had a terrible vision of unhearthing a hidden evil beneath the hospital. The next night I found I was expected to have a breathing contest with the other guys as poison gas was released into the room. I was supposed to exhale on his every inhale, and vise versa, and time it exactly. Meanwhile overhead a helecopter hovered and emitted a soothing humming sound intermitently. I stuck to the breathing until I nearly stopped breathing as the poison was released, while the other guy tried to distract me, I did this all day and night until he gave out in the morning. I only survived because someone crept in and gave me coaching on my slow breathing with the gas. I thought I succeeded in the morning, until he started growling, then I lost my concentration. The next day he was released, and the other guy died. I was ready to die, but I lived.
At this time I had difficulty breathing and if I sighed or yawned a little, I would have to struggle to catch my breath, as stress was put on my heart, it seemed to affect others negatively as well.
The next day there was another possessed guy who I struggled with, the heat that was pumped into me, I could emit as a weapon from my hands. He didn't last long before giving out, then we both rested. It was over. But then I panicked and pulled the fire alarm, when I thought there was a rescue planned to get me out of there. I still don't know if there was such a plan. At no other time did anyone come to my aid.
After a few weeks, I left Lakeshore and went to Clayton Residential Homes in Lincoln Park, where I have remained for the past 5 months, and there also all the patients and staff could read minds. They told me I would be safe there, but unsurprisingly, they were wrong. They stopped up my bowels again, and the food was poisoned for the first couple weeks. For a day and night they blared loud annoying music across the street. There are possessed people here as well. Then things settled down a little as my bowels were under control.
I still experience daily torture. They can hit me with the heat ray. Everywhere I step it can burn. They can vibrate on my behind. When I rest they use the heat ray to attack my limbs, especially my aching feet, so I get up limping. The walls, floor, and bed in my room vibrate, but people hardly notice. They can make me severely itch, or pinch, on my face and body. I have to stay on my feet moving all day long, to keep their computer from zeroing in on me. The heatray can follow me anywhere outside. I hardly ever leave my room. They struggle the most to deprive me of sleep. The second I lay still my body is attacked with the ray. When I do have a drugged sleep they can actually invade my dreams, and mess me up. Call it Remote Viewing Lucid Dreaming. All this bullshit from the Stargate Program actually works. They know my every thought. They see everything I see. One of them now inhabits my mind and communicates by twitching my facial muscles. They don't intend to stop anytime soon. They still expect me to die. It's been indicated that since I've been subjected to the heat ray for so long I'll get cancer. It's hard for me to control my thoughts, to the annoyance of other patients. Most people here are oblivious to my suffering. I call it the Land of Nod.
So why are they doing this? I don't know. Maybe they just like killing and torturing things, and bear a grudge. Maybe they are using me as an example to others not to speak out. Maybe they are using me to train new recruits. Maybe they are using me to experiment the effects of the heat ray. Maybe they have a Dead Pool about me, and everything is a game to them. At what expense, a million? How many people, dozens?
All this power in the hands of monomaniacal sociopathic terrorists with nothing better to do then screw with me for seven months. It's an Abomination.
Did I mention I saw a UFO? At the Rogers Park beach I walked to one day and saw it there plain as day. I was never a believer before, but I saw what at first looked like two suns. Then I saw one of them was a golden circle that drifted down slowly. I asked a passerby what she thought. She acted like she didn't see anything. Then I asked a couple on a bench. He replied "Ask God." So I did. I asked why I was forsaken, and the sudden gusts of wind seemed to reply that I didn't amount to much. One of these ships was also sighted over Russia. Seti has just been pretending to look for stuff all this time.
Rogers Park was a strange place. My feeling is large sections of Chicago were hit with a weaponized sound wave that gave people these abilities, to get them to fall in line. They could only do things like this with alien tech. Where I lived in RP there was a meditation place on Sheridan and Sherwin called Shamballa, or something. Next door to that there was another place, in the window a picture of headphones. A sign reading: "The sound of HU, ...is the sound of immortality." Hu. Hmm.
In summary:
The Shadow Government works in collusion with the Mafias.
UFO's are real.
There is a Weather Machine.
People can be possessed.
People can invade dreams.
People can read thoughts.
If this stuff is real God must be real, but very silent.
There is no justice.
This is the Truth. Every word. Why would I make this up? I don't get anything out of this. I'm not proud of any of this. Maybe I'm crazy, and I just imagine this terrible daily treatment. So if they really are messing with me, then it's true. My only wish is for this to end. If you want a story you can have it. What they have planned for me is a slow death by torture, and either enforced suicide, or cancer. So why not just Shoot Me, and get it over with? Because they're not allowed to. There would be a body with messy bullet holes. This way there is No Proof of a Crime being committed! Just me stuck in a room with vibrating walls. A guy who sadly takes his life or is stricken ill. How can people just let this happen, it's inconcievable? If I end up dead I want people to know who killed me.
I don't expect most people to believe me, some things you have to see to believe, and I expect that my treatment may get worse as a result of writing this, but I have no choice but to speak out against my hated oppressors. Resistance! Watch the Skies.
Note: Several times in this letter I wrote that so and so "said" something to me. What I meant was not that I heard them, but that they indicated so through tapping, or knocking, or honking, to communicate to me.
Nov, 24 2009