If you’re on hols for Thanksgiving, or don’t do Thanksgiving, but free to go to the movies, I’d love to meet you there. Starts in five minutes, and I’ve saved you a seat. Hope you like Westerns, and I’ve left a ticket at the ticket office for you. (settles in with a bag of non-cattle-rustly sweets, and a soder pop.
Some of my readers will remember Truth Convoy. She isn’t easy to forget, as she’s the lady that haunts YouTube’s dankest corridors, looking for folks to spook. These days, she seems to be the only one spooked, as she awaits a knock at the door of her Interior Castle, and rather like the drunken porter in Macbeth, the final knock may come when she’s sleeping, as it did, one afternoon recently.
The original livestream “Knock at the Door”, with a second of the same name up now, after the first being set to private, was a doozy, and 30 people got to hear the Halloween tale she told the Elderlemon Care person that called to her door to investigate claims of moldy walls and cockroaches, within the dark castle’s interior. In fact, we got a glimpse of one of the wee beasties, scampering up the wall, in alarum, when the stream went live suddenly.
The dead awoke from their drunken slumbers, and the rusty door hinges squeaked (well, not really, but I’m keeping to the spooky Halloween theme here), and the invader was held off from entering, ’till another day, with this tall tale (and, according to Truth Convoy, afterwards, a request for a warrant), before shuffling back inside, to get dressed, and set the stream on Private. I’ve summed up the wonderfully entertaining Halloween horror story told by Denise, here, in an abridged version, since it’s gone now, and you mightn’t have been able to follow it well, in the first place. What’s really scary is that I can follow her fancy horror stories at all, but she’s been telling the same story, with new actors, regularly. The plot features gay jewish nazis, forced abortions, and murder. Classic Halloween horror. Denise never disappoints, with her imagination.
If you are a glutton for horror, you may wish to hear the unabridged version, which is quite an old story, retold with embellishments, from a 2010 forum post, that she came across again recently, and still stands by. We learn about the secret “forced” abortion she insists the gay nazi cult carried out, for their evil pineal gland harvesting purposes, and her own simultaneous pregnancy, which may well have yielded two extra pineal glands for sale for the cult, for all I know, since Denise didn’t specify whether the con-joined twins were joined at the head, or elsewhere. Denise, of course, used to be in a kidney donation cult herself, so she’d be an expert on all the gay nazi cults’ shady shenanigans. Here’s the rambling tale, told by the cult lady herself. She’s not mad, she points out, although she’s a habit of calling anyone who questions her stories mad, telling us again what we heard her tell the visitor at the door, that she did have a stay in an asylum, all expenses paid, curtesy of her family, once, after a “nervous breakdown“. I wonder did they have internet there, to help relax her (ahem)?
This is not fit viewing for the childer, and there is some doubt that Denise’s daughter actually lived with her after her tender years, as Denise was only married for five years, and was displaying paranoia that the daughter’s teachers were out to kill the daughter, even while she was a very young child……..so yez will have to click on the image, to be transported into the mind of the spooky Ms. Matteau, for the full horror, in this tragi-comedy of horrors.
I’ve added a nice picture of Denise’s daughter’s besom (witches broomstick) on the left there, because, apart from the cockroaches and mold, her kitchen sink didn’t look spooky enough for Halloween, I thought, although she threw pretty much everything but the kitchen sink, into her story, pulling out all the stops, to get the verbal boot in, on her imaginary enemies, from down all the years, and all the dead ends of her dank and murky maze of memories ( I know – Shakespeare, I ain’t, but I sure give Proust a run for his money, with the length of my sentences, wha’?). Sadly, neither the broom nor the daughter exist any more, with the daughter having killed herself (not been murdered by the gay nazi cult, surprise, surprise, as Denise claims), and the broom literally gone up in a puff of smoke, as this photo was taken at a consecration ceremony by her pals in the coven, and published on her memorial page. It’s now taken down, probably Privated because of Denise inadvertently drawing attention to its existence , while pushing the murder story, and trying to hide the fact that it contained a suicide letter, and other letters distributing her items from her Wiccan altar to her pals. That didn’t fit in with Denise’s Christian lady image she was pushing on her channel at the time, nor her murder plot, but in a stroke of audacity she claimed the grave (which, I discovered from the memorial page, featured a slab with a pentagram on it, as well as a curved indentation from being run over by a lawnmower) had been desecrated by Satanists, and casts another friend she calls David Coagn (no such surname exists, in the real world, that I can find) as a jewish gay nazi murderer she owed money to, at the time of her “murder”. Riiiiight.
In a stoke of crazy genius, and that chutzpah she’s so well known to display so frequently when under pressure from murderous gangs, bent on taking down ordinary decent American families, she tried to put the imaginary dagger in my hand, and say I’d blood on my hands for the murder, abortion(s) and broom stick carrying, instead of taking ownership of the entire plot as her own work of theatrical tragedy, using items from her daughter’s and her own biographies as the raw ingredients, and her own persecutory fantasies to add some extra gore. Her Halloween fake dagger points at a lot of people, as she plays Pass the Pumpkin with it, going way way back in time, in her imaginative story, to link many entirely unconnected characters, accusing them all of murder, and it makes for a hilarious bit of theatrics, on her channel, as she plays the victim, constantly, while attacking others, then uses her own daughter’s dead body as a shield, to protect her against criticism. Reality, though, sometimes comes knocking at your door, reminding you that the outside world can intrude on your delusions, and plots.
Let’s hope Truth Convoy has some more convincing tales to tell, if she hears knocking at the Gate again, and has to run to hit the “Go Live” button on this livestream, up for a few days now, just waiting, because she points out that if she’s not quick about getting the bathrobe on this time, they might “crash the door in”. Perhaps she’s just being dramatic, in the spirit of Halloween, or perhaps we’ll get another exciting chapter in her Halloween story, yet. If not, the stream might stay up, as she says she finds it handy, as she’s too poor (oh, the poor ting!) to afford a high tech security system for her paper thin and funkily filthy front door. She would buy one if she had the money, she points out, in a subsequent livestream, looking meaningfully into the camara at us, in her best helpless, harmless, cookie baking elderlemon role. Perhaps she’ll flog some of her home-made stage jewelry, instead of having to beg for it, as Truth Convoy’s Wednesday nights are sales nights, online, but I’m not convinced the potential clients might like the look of the brown stones in those earrings, if they start to move, on delivery. Oh, the horror.
Denise, three days on from the first “Knock on The Door” livestream, is out of the bathrobe, and in her best moo-moo and chakra-calming stage jewelry, and up at all hours of the night (though, like many a keen thespian, not so keen on mornings), as she seems to think she may have visitors at any moment, and wouldn’t want to leave them waiting for more than a moment. We in the audience wait with bated breath, too, in anticipation of the plot getting even more convoluted, and impossible to follow, with the introduction of more characters.
The dramatic tension is building nicely, on the darkened stage. Will it be a cliffhanger, like this longest-ever up YouTube livestream, or will the story move along further?
Already, she’s adding new touches, with me being added to the gay nazi cult as a regular paycheck receiving employee, mentioned in an im-por-an’ court case, which sadly, or perhaps happily, like the rest of her “proofs”, she doesn’t produce for us, but leaves to our own imaginations, clearly thinking they are as fertile as her own. I wonder am I supposed to be on the pineal gland shipping end of things, or installing bugs, or what? I’m slightly more unsettled, ‘tho, by the discussion of my Irish troll underwurs, by Denise, on her subsequent video, than these puzzling details, because of the gay end of the cult, and Denise’s recent big girl crush on little ol’ me. I doubt I even have a suitable gay nazi costume to throw on, for that Halloween party, if she invites me. Perhaps the gay nazis are a bit of a psychological projection, when the truth is too horrible to imagine ( am I the Alice B. Toklas to her Gertrude Stein, in her mind, with all that claiming to be “channeling” me, and all that wondering about whether I was getting my underthings bunched? Yikes!). No wonder I wear trousers, and not skirts, when out and about, as these gay nazis are circling everywhere in the ether, trying to get their hands on your body parts, particularly at Halloween, it seems (is paranoia catching, do you reckon?), and they sound a fright. Happy Halloween, dear reader. Enjoy the tricks and treats.
Whenever I’ve been unfortunate enough to have to do business with the dole office, to try to access payments I’m legally entitled to, I’ve had a bit of bother, as Frank Spencer would say. He wasn’t as good in the skills department as me, I imagine, and his CV wouldn’t have extended to one page, let alone the two and a half that the dour-faced and depressing-to-look-at pen pusher behind the interview desk frowned on, as being far too much longer than the one page she thought a tech job CV should be. She shared her top tip, keep it to under one page, when casting a look that could turn clients to stone, first at me, then my CV, which she handled as though COVID-19 was already here, last time I was called for a “Job Activation” interview. Never mind that I had taught CV preparation myself, as part of my work, before, or had done a top-up module in CV skills, on a digital media journalism Diploma course. No. She knew best, Ms. dole office, or at least hoped I thought she did, as she struck me as a lot more grim-faced after she’d seen my CV, which I imagine had a lot more qualifications listed than hers would have (not that she would need to be producing hers for some sour wagon at a pointless dole interview, since she already had her pen-pushing gig) . It didn’t get me a job of course. In my mid fifties, in a job market dominated by imported workers from EU agencies, and a gap in my CV showing I was unemployed, I wasn’t terribly surprised. I’d even applied for jobs overseas, ‘though I baulked at the few that were advertised that I had some chance of getting, teaching jobs in Saudi Arabia and China. Nah. I thought. I’d just shake some guy’s hand the first week, and it’d be downhill quite quickly from there. Even three hots and a cot wouldn’t be guaranteed, either, I’m thinking, in those sorts of regimes.
Mind you, our regime isn’t much better, if they insist you hike it out to attend a going nowhere that results in a job session, in the middle of a COVID-19 lockdown. I had already been getting letters every couple of weeks from them, to attend meetings cited over 50kms away, with no public transport route to get me there. I don’t drive, of course. I’m unemployed, and was a zero-contract dispos-a-worker type, when I was getting the crumbs of work left over from what the foreign agency workers hadn’t time for. I was the first to go, and last to be respected, as many Irish employers seem to prefer agency workers, who provide the quick turnover needed, to Irish employees, who, let’s face it, answer back, ‘cos they speak English. They might also have a super CV, which could put you to shame if you hired them, and make you look like the complete thicko that you are, just there because you slept with the boss, and know where the tax money is hidden, or maybe your actual daddy’s the boss. Small companies like to keep things in the family, while larger ones like to keep things as impersonal as possible, preferably by not having anyone Irish working there at all. Hence the bewilderment of visitors to Irish shores who wonder why there are no Irish staff in hotels or restaurants. They’re probably busy completing a series of Job Activation interviews, for jobs they have no hope of getting, in which they are berated by being told they are just not trying hard enough to get one of those jobs there are so many of, according to the massaged figures, which count the various work schemes the state runs as employment.
I’ve been shoved onto those as well, and if I don’t get a job, can be expected to bounce about from one type of work scheme to another, until I am an old age pensioner, as although each type has a maximum timelimit, it’s easy to get around that by having lots of differently named ones. Usually, they involve picking up litter, sweeping roads, or freezing your behind off in the rain in a range of ways that seem designed to destroy the individuals dignity, and health, but keep an army of supervisors on a good wage, while the person on the scheme gets none of the training in skills suitable to their existing skills, which the schemes promise in the small print, nor the training grant that they are entitled too either. I know. I’ve asked, as I figured learning to drive might increase my ability to get work, but my question was brushed under the carpet, as I almost was too, when they put me on a scheme which said it was an office job, and turned out to be a janitor’s job. I had to go home that first day, to change out of smart office clothes into my oldest jeans, as no work wear was provided. I refused to go up on a roof to clean a gutter on that job, and kicked up a stink, arguing that I had never worked in the janitorial arena, so had no existing skills there I wished to build on. My teaching and digital media qualifications, as well as my rather super, if I don’t mind saying so myself, communications skills, persuaded them to get me off the roof, and into an office, to teach web design. I learned nothing, and had few students, but it’s about keeping the little gulag going, as this cheap labour helps provide services for councils, and keep the unemployment figures looking healthier than they really are.
I find I have to remind dole office workers, and the companies they liase with, of Irish law, regularly, as they have broken their own department’s rules several times already with me, e.g. insisting I work on a scheme while already having a real job . Now it seems, they’d like to again push the boat out, by ignoring Leo Varadkar, who’s going hoarse telling everyone to just stay at home, to observe the COVID-19 restrictions. The foreign contract workers must think we Irish are stupid, for paying them €350 for 12 weeks, to sit at home during the crisis, so the company they worked for will hire them back whenever the crisis is over, while the people like me, who were made unemployed before the virus sent the country into lockdown, get the old rate of jobseeker’s benefit, and told to risk infecting people by traveling to even-more-pointless-than-usual job activation interviews, for what, exactly? To work on a CV again (oooo, maybe we could shorten it even more, and leave out those three qualifications), and be asked why I think I haven’t gotten any replies this week from employers, I suppose. Em, because we’re on a feckin’ lockdown, you complete idiot.
Update: I discovered I shouldn’t have been asked to do JobPath at all, since I haven’t been unemployed for 12 months yet. They started insisting I go to JobPath interviews, however, as soon as I signed on as full-time unemployed. They’ve tried illegal things on me before, like insisting I do a community employment scheme when I was employed; those schemes are also only for those unemployed, for over 12 months. One finds oneself having to do battle with these dishonest people, just to get one’s legal rights upheld, as they will insist black is white, even as you show them their own rules, off goverment websites. Perhaps the fact that there is a lot of money involved in the schemes is a factor in their stubborn hostility towards unemployed people, but it’s certainly made difficult for unemployed people to access the payments they are entitled to, without having to put up quite a fight for them.
It’s a lazy Sunday, and what could be nicer than a sci-fi fantasy movie, with beautifully shot scenes by that master storyteller, Stephen Spielberg? This is one of my favourites of his, about what it means to be sentient, and whether humanity is possible in an age of artificial intelligence, where AI have developed sentience, and whether that is a desirable future. I warn you, bring a hanky, because there are some sad bits, as well as a lot of beautiful as well as challenging ones, and many beautifully shot scenes. A very thought-provoking film, that you will also lose yourself in, and think about for a long time afterwards.:
Here’s a trailer, so you can decide if it grabs you:
Now, to the movie. Click the link to view the movie. It’s a freebie, with no login required, but you might have to close an ad window before it’ll play. Sorry, it’s the best I can do, but, hey, it’s free!
If you’re not understanding the ending, wanting to see what the director’s overall vision was, or just want to find out more, but are too busy, here’s a short clip of Stephen Spielberg discussing the ending.
If Stephen Spielberg is a bit to sweet for you, and you like your heros to be grown-ups, this sci-fi movie is one that I’m sure you’ll know, and love, Ridley Scott’s Bladerunner. No matter how many times you watch it, it always delights with its sumptuous evocation of a dystopian future, where replicants are everywhere. This movie, like replicants, just never gets old or tired. Just don’t stay up late watching them back to back, or you won’t feel human when you have to get up for work tomorrow.
We all are fond of a good read, and I have to say that last year, when I attempted again to read Luther Blisset’s “Q“, I remembered why I’d flung the book at the wall in annoyance on the last couple of attempts; it had been a collaborative effort by several authors, which often leaves the reader feeling that the novel’s structure is confused, and lacks cohesion, as a whole. I kept the book, as it had a pretty cover, and dusted it off, when everyone in the Truther Community was wondering about the identity of the Q poster causing a stir on the chans, with his cryptic political posts.
Now, I often review books on my own YouTube channel, and my videos don’t exactly set the intellectual firmament alight, but your average Truther tends not to be the arty type, preferring often to see things in black and white, rather than the full spectrum, when it comes to truth. Or maybe my videos just bore them. This one, by the Wu Ming Foundation won’t, if you’re a Truther, as it’s related to the increasingly raised vibes the Truth Community is experiencing at the moment, from the dropping of a variety of truth bombs about how the conspiracy community’s narratives, that the various channels explore, are conceived, and organized.
Who did what, and when, are relevant questions, when the truth is at stake, and funnily enough, a lot of channels are still keeping rather quiet about their sources and affiliations, and leaving a lot of awakening-but-still-slightly-bewildered subs in the dark. Well, I do my best to seek the light, when it comes to truth, and looking behind some of the stories on YouTube’s Truth channels has been something which was a big influence on a lot of my posts over the last year or so. Turns out that Truther narratives are quite like a series of books, all around related themes, with some of the authorship shared. A lot of games get played, and strategy is all important in games.
Bound to happen, when life is like art, and inspires art, or the other way around, sometimes. What do artists like to do? Play with ideas.
In this next livestream, below, I discuss some of the games that informed ideas that become Truth Community projects, often referred to, yes, even by me, as LARPs, because they are like a game that everyone in the Truth Community participates in, whether they are aware of it, or not. I even got credited myself in other people scripts, on the Tube, and on other blogs, without having actually written a line of the thing, because if you are in the vicinity, you are in the game, according to the LARP rulebook.
What struck me as odd, or maybe not, was how little the origins of the games channels were playing were being discussed, openly, until very recently, and I’m very glad to see that the conversation is happening now, as I’m a big believer in truth, and transparency. Some of the links I provided along with my last couple of videos are useful, if you are interested in the mechanics of the thing, not just how the cogs and wheels move, and who’s running the projector, but who’s writing the scripts, and why. I’m including below some of the links I populated my chat and comments on my videos with, because you might find them enlightening, inspiring, and/or educational. Check out the links in this post, and the many links included in my two videos shown here, above, to be taken to some real red-pilling info, which requires, perhaps, a love of reading, rather than games, to be able to see the full picture to come into view.
Although we all can see things differently, we are all players in the game of life. Have fun, and be prepared to possibly end up with some muck on your clothing, and a few holes in the well-manicured lawn, when life and art intersect.
A Project Mayhem YouTube video, from 2012
A relevant clip from the movie, Fight Club. Warning: it’s pretty grisly, and the rules are, there ARE no rules.
It may seem complex, but you can figure it out. You have the keys. The secret is that there’s no secret, as it’s all there on the internet. You just have to know where to look. My videos included above provide you with the links to help you figure out the rules to the game played regularly within the Truth Community, and decipher the scripts for yourself. Learn about the game, or level up in your own game, if you seek to avoid a download of chaos and mayhem, and are determined to seek your truth. Or you could just wait for a White Rabbit to appear.
Saturday night and not feeling the going out thing much? Then slip your slippiest slippers on and scare the pants off yourself with this Korean horror, one of my personal horror favourites. Curl up and enjoy scares, and some funny moments too, in this great movie, which I dredged up from the internet for you, in all its beastly glory. It’s sure to surprise and delight you, and to make you spill your popcorn all over your couch as well.
First, the trailer, so you can prepare yourself for the show.
Settled in nicely in the dark of your living-room? OK then, brace yourself, and click the image to start the full movie, or the link under it. Not as frightfully expensive as a Saturday night at the movies, and even more fun than walking home in the dark.
On Wednesdays, after a hard morning’s shopping for wine, I like to wind down and uncork a good movie. Seeing as how I was thinking about the Truth Community, and how they like to hold people hostage to their silly scripts, I thought immediately of one of the great movies by Sidney Lumet, Dog Day Afternoon, while I lay around, like a dog in the sun, basking in the glow of the organic wine I’d purchaced. But first, some thoughts on the Community of liars, whose plans to keep me hostage went so wrong.
Ah, wining bigly against the liars that want to keep me hostage. Now, lets kick back, and enjoy a classic movie, in the peace of a Dog Day Afternoon. Here’s the trailer, before the matinee starts.
The script is easier to follow than anything Truthers can come up with. Mind you, truth is often stranger than any fiction scriptwriters, such as those concocted in The Truth Community of the YouTube studios, and the movie was based on a true story, with sensational elements that will make you say Whaaat? Click on the image, or the link below, to be brought to the free matinee. Should liven up your midweek, with a little drama, nicely.
In the Truther Community of YouTube, folks can be touchy. This guy, although he likes to think of himself as the sensitive, touchy feely type, who just likes to “reach out” to other people, is mostly just touchy about his own favourite topic, alchemy.
What the heck is that, you may say? Well, it’s a medieval fascination, which passed for science in its time (Dark Ages, as they call them now, followed by the great explosion of innovation and re-discovery of architectural triumph and art of the classical world, and a good synthesis of old and new led to better results than messin’ about in dingy basements ever had). Outmoded, bad ideas tend to hang around for a while afterwards, like the funny smell from the stove top, when you’ve had fried fish for dinner. Now, while nobody’s stupid enough to think you can turn lead into gold with any profit accruing from the mess stuck to you when you try (wash your hands VERY carefully after messin’ about with that one!), the occult has become trendy among a lot of folks, who regard themselves as alchemists, and like to look at the pictures in old books online, that have pictures of people kissing the devil’s behind, and muckin’ about with Mason Jars, and so forth, in them. Now this guy, below, didn’t like the idea of being asked about another modern-day alchemist, a certain Mr. Crowley (AKA Baphomet), by me, when I popped by ask about his beliefs, and a self-triggering alchemy ensued. As I say, touchy. Maybe all that mercury goes to the brain.
I can’t say the livestream got any friendlier after the question was asked, but I did discover that it’s fine to be a Mason (not the jar type, presumably), but not so hot to be asked things about Crowley, the Mason.
Not sure why; maybe it’s some mystical reason I just haven’t the mind for, as I didn’t appear to be self-triggering, like our alchemical friend. Anyhow, on it went. It had been a 5 hour livestream, which would have given me the vapors, had I endured the whole thing, but the last hour or so seemed to revolve around the question I’d asked. Or just around me, since my question wasn’t appreciated, it seems, by anyone, not his pal “The Dude” in the chat, nor by the rest of those in chat, who seemed to know a lot about the magic scripts that were written about me, cooked up in the Truther-Tube kitchens. They should. They wrote them.
Now, I didn’t manage to find a man to help me understand what he was trying to say (not in there!), in answer to how he managed to cook up so many alchemical scripts, without reading Crowley, but I did learn that I was an “evil bΨtch” for asking.
The chat section, from which I was magik-ed away, agreed, and it was Khaos in there, with prescriptions for me being made up, and old formulas flying about, while I was trying to figure out whether this was their idea of a joke, or whether the mention of Crowley might be summoning up something darker, and far dank and dirty, with the fumes they must have inhaled in their experiments in the basement of YouTube. It was “Do as thou wilt” time in chat, and everyone was doing their evil bestest to wilt me, with the power of their mindlessnesss, and a few incantations. Oh, the beasts! Every rumour going around this small circle of jerks emerged from the odoriferous chat, as the pals worked together like a herd of goats chewing a ouija board, trying to make someone the butt of their accusations, as had been seen in many another channel they had “reached out” to, that like to mix things up, and shuffle truth with lies.
Good grief, the little demons had fun in chat, as Bob the insect man become more venomous, not to mention verminous, in his self-triggered rant, rather different to the impression he wishes to convey when he’s off with the birds, in Twitter. It’s all love and hearts there, with the demons kept in check, and pinned down, while they escape out of the Tubes, with a vengeance.
Who’s Tafoyovsky? His pal, Lestat, the Mexican vampire, who accused me on HIS livestream of paying a guy they don’t like (featured in chat, above, in an impersonation account, as Th Stg, to seduce me, although in Bob’s chat they said it was the other way around, and that he paid me. I wonder at times if Lestat is jealous, and wants the man to himself, as he likes vamping up pictures of him, dressing him up in women’s clothing.
The Virgin Mary, to be precise. I don’t think that’s necessarily a vampire thing, but I do know it’s a Crowley fans kind of thing. Reversal, and mockery, and all that, like the mockery of the Christian rituals they’re so hot on. Not that I would know a lot about these things, not being a Satanist myself. Now, theeeriousthly (as Truth Con would say), who’s going to believe that; as if such a gorgeous creature as myself would have to pay for such services. Are they blind seers, that they can’t see my lovely avatar, or do they just like old goats and oujia boards? Where do they get this nonsense from? Why the lady many call “The Tooth”, of course, who is the go to oracle for all sorts of visions and dreams to conjure with, and plenty of spit and venom to put in the Tube. And 100 percent reliable, apparently. Yeah, right.
Can’t follow what they’re talking about, still? Don’t worry, it just means you aren’t as stoned as them. Or not into alchemy with reality. To continue (and they did)…..
The fumes became more poisonous and self-triggering, as he started to discuss wildlife. Seems they cut chickens’ heads off for their alchemy, as he told the evil fÜckin’ bφcth (me, remember?), he’d “blow your head off with my ©ock”, “blow you the f∇ck out, and break you in two”.
He must have to do a lot of tidying up, too, after his kitchen mix-ups, because he suggested I should knock the dust off that pussy. At least he likes cats, and chickens. Just not me, I take it. I’m sortof glad he doesn’t, in a way. I don’t think alchemy would be my thing, if you end up like this, all self-triggering, and all over one question.
The other alchemists loved it.
Remove your children from the room for this clip……..
At least he admitted that he was being a “total asshÓle. Ole, as Lestat might say. The admissions got thicker as the humors were still on him, and I learned a lot about how the bug thinks. He blabbed that he was just talking jibberish about the gang thing he’d been pushing, because he could say anything he wanted. He was right, because the video stayed up, despite my reporting it to YouTube. You can pretty much say anything and everything you want about someone on the Tube, and they’ll do nothing about it, when you complain to them. However, he wasn’t exactly apologizing for the lies, no. He was saying he was enjoying them greatly. It’s fun, the ol’ do as thou wilt thing, after all.
After long diversion from the question of whether he’d read Crowley, that I’d asked, he eventually came to the real answer. The answer to why he’d been telling such awful stories about me, and hanging out with others in the dungeons, who were. He wanted rid of me, off YouTube and Twitter. Aha. Perhaps he wasn’t very lucid in his thinking, saying it, but he was, for once, being honest. All this, to get rid of someone who he just didn’t like, because he saw them talking to someone he doesn’t like. No, Bobs. I’m afraid I do what I like too, I just don’t think anything goes, with no boundaries, and no respect, like you.
Bonus: If you’re interested in giving these absolute charmers more views, the whole 5 hours of fumed out nonsense is here. Viewer discretion is advised, but insanity might be more helpful, if you intend to watch the whole thing. If you just want to watch them berate me, here’s the last hour.
Update, 2020: It seems that one of the people in this post, the winged beetle guy, has changed his ways, and gone to the other camp, having “found Jesus”, as they say. Well, there are two sides to every coin. Whatever his reasons, and whatever crutch he’s currently propping himself up with, it’s a big improvement from the self-triggering days, and he’s pretty much staying out of online arguments, despite his old adversary, Thomas Schoenberger’s best attempts to drag him into the virtual ring that keeps arguments going around in circles forever, like an oroborus chomping it’s own tail. He prefers bible stories to occult tomes now, and that ain’t so bad. Hopefully, no bible-thumping will ensue. Always gives me a headache, that.
Anyone who reads my blog regularly will already be pretty familiar with this lady, who runs an endless Con she sells as the Truth. She’s kept on truckin’ for over a year now, and the narrative has taken some twists along the way, with anyone who tries to use the other lane getting side-swiped or just plain run over by her inventive fictions and colourful language, all geared towards adding her perceived enemies to the story of the international stalker gang that’s pursuing her for her secrets (told nightly in detail) about the conspiratorial workings of paint factories, unions and cults of all types. Oh, and murder plots.
Lately, she’s garnered a new fanbase, made up of those who love stories, and wish to borrow some for their own ends, and others, who just like a laugh, and a drug free trip with the steamroller Convoy. Lately, she’s taken to Twitter to follow the fun, as others who joined the con convoy, hoping for a free ride on the tailgate of the lies, are tweeting away like mad, about stuff she really cares about. Emails. Yeah. Doesn’t sound exciting, does it? Some, though, like Denise, have an obsession with discovering who owns a particular address on the interwebs. One that she wouldn’t block, as you or I would, when we don’t want to write back.
It’s not a game, folks. These people aren’t really pretending to be mad. They actually are; it’s a Truth Community thing. You just wouldn’t get it, unless you’d lived it, but lemmie explain how this Bedlam ward of YouTube is run. It runs on lies, and if you aren’t a liar, the inmates get very worked up indeed, and you will find them turning on you, in droves. Or should I say, convoys. Maybe I’m the crazy one in a mad, mad world, because I keep telling the truth, even when nobody in the asylum will listen, even though I don’t have the word Truth emblazoned across my channel name, in an effort to convince people that I haven’t just been turning the truth on its head, to steamroller people into wanting to get off the Tube, so I can tell tall tales to the other inmates. I’ve been assigned to the back office, where I take notes on the patients, and make sure the drugs are locked up (though a few channels seem to have managed to forge the keys, as the opiates levels are constantly dwindling).
It’s a solitary life, but I don’t mind it. Once the patients are (b)locked up in their own wards, they aren’t any serious danger to anyone else, and they scrawl happily on their walls, with only the odd mumble heard down the corridor. My filing cabinet is stuffed though, and I find I must re-organize. Perhaps you could lend a hand, seeing as how you dropped in, or just put the kettle on, while I’m clearing up. Nice cuppa tea makes the medicine go down, I hear. Or is it sugar? You won’t find much sugar in the tweets I’ve got to go through, but you’ll spit your tea out, laughing. Here we go then (opens the cabinet of horrors labelled Corsi Emails).
Now, this is inmate No. 23’s favourite cabinet. Denise is obsessed with the “Corsi Email” in which she was cc-ed, months and months ago. She used to fancy Jerome Corsi somethin’ rotten, after Roy Potter lost his place on her pinup wall of her cell. Now she decided that the Jack Quin that signed the Email simply must be this Jack Quinn, based on a Google search of the name (spelling close enough, right?). And he is silver haired and attractive, and most of all, “impor-an'”, as she likes to say, in her best Boston/Texas crossover accent, Everything’s impor-an’ in Denise’s mind, and everything involves the gang that’s been stalking her, for oh, forever.
We have lots more files in the cabinet, ‘cos she toted the Email around all the cells on the ward, to get the other inmates involved. Several have now got the same obsession, and are tweeting all around the corridors, about the sender, whose identity changes constantly. Sometimes s/he’s a guy called Brian, sometimes Jack, sometimes Tom, sometimes he’s even on Twitter, disguised as a vet, serving as the alter-ego of one of the inmates who believes that you can be more than one person at a time.
Sometimes you have to humour the inmates, so when I’m not in the office, de-cluttering the cabinets I play along, nodding and smiling to all and sundry. They can get quite ratty if you don’t pretend that this is the normal world, after all. When this one, who just won’t take her calming meds, insists that an Australian vet is a858, I don’t point out that that’s actually her cell number, I just say, yes dear, and walk her back to her bunk, or if it’s not lock-up time, the recreational lounge, where she can mingle, and gossip with her friends. I leave it to the porters to break up fights, and go back to the office, locking the door behind me, in case they try to break in, to get at the opiates again.
Sometimes they play word games, or argue about pi (OCD patients in particular), but always the story told about the darn Email address changes. One minute it’s here, one minute there. It’s him. No it’s her. Honestly, these people could argue about anything, or nothing at all. They don’t seem to want to settle on a version; I suppose the days are long, and you have to pass them somehow, but they will keep sneaking into to the nurses’ lounge when they’re fagged out from a hard day herding nuts, and accessing the computer to send secret messages out to their Email fixations. The target of their fixation got so fed up with the endless stream of fruit and nut mails, that they replied with a missive that added even more confusion to the already confused recipients.
Now, just as misery loves company, this inmate had some friends, like the guy that identifies as a vampire, playing along with the tale, until the Email fecked it up for them, and sent them into a spin. I’m afraid I got a little short too, as they’d been at the medicine cabinet at midnight again, and I wasn’t happy to have to get a new key cut for the third time that week. I enjoyed the tweets they’d posted up so much, I teased them gently, about all their stories, and nodded away for all I was worth. Nod, and smile. Yes, dear. Back to your cell, now. Yes. I know.
An Australian vet that does puzzles, and is a composer too, living in America, that might be a transgender person, and that person you were talking to on Twitter’s just a liar. OK then. You know? How? Oh, I see, your vampire friend googled a858 and something about pi puzzles came up, right after the Lenovo phone result. And Denise says he’s in a murder gang, and is called Brian as well as Thomas and Jack with two nns. And Pi has a lot of numbers in it, sooooo……(rolls eyes, feeling headache coming on. How I resist the lure of the medicine cabinet myself, I don’t know).
Confused? Yeah, you will be, after emerging from a day at the office, here. And there’s no telling these people; they don’t want the truth. It’s not as interesting to them as the tall tales.
Time to scan the online ads, and see if there’s an easier way to earn a living. Oh, cripes! They’ve been at my computer too. Now I’ll have to change the locks on my office again, for the 4th blinkin’ time this WEEK!
Seems Defango has latched onto some new narratives along the way, and teamed up with some new people, for his Hoggbelly and QSlayers campaigns. His old pals, like Cheri, his favourite mod and second mommie, have been left behind for a while, to hold his teeny fort, while he trots through a variety of airports, to escape a subpoena in the Aaron Rich (brother of Seth Rich) lawsuit. The subpoena caught up with him on the same day he managed to avoid falling in an alligator pit, after being nearly trodden on by an astronaut. An exciting holiday, then, for DefangoTV, and he’s been updating us from his hotel rooms, and trying to read those complicated legal documents. Seems the court wants him to hand over all his internet communications, and it all proves to be far more interesting than even the tall tales he and his subs have been putting about of late.
He’d had them well trained already, mind. Years of slavishly following made them dog-like in their devotion, and he set them loose on Twitter, to try to cut a swathe through any conversations anyone else might be having with Thomas, well armed with a Chronically inaccurate map, compiled by a buddy, on what Defango has taken to calling his “BlackTeam”, the maps produced are designed to point out who is on the “other side”, the “White Team”, I guess, although the map colours change regularly, as confusing “layers” are produced exhaustively, by Chronic, who clearly has a bumper pack of felt-tips and a ruler at his disposal, or at least a handy little app which helps you target people with precision-ishness, assuming you have a high enough IQ to be able to spell their twitter handle correctly. Defango left the spelling to Chronic, and the other work in his chat to others. They tried to slay my good name in chat, but failed in Twitter, where they couldn’t control the conversation, and all sorts of info about the Black Team started to emerge.I suspected already, since the impersonation phone call and murder allegations had been made against me, that Defango and crew had indeed gone to the dark side, but some of the characters that emerged from under their rocks on Twitter looked like they hadn’t seen the light of the sun in a long time. This tattooed terror, Lestat, I knew already, but some new and disturbing things emerged into the light, along with the tattoo, along with darker aspects of his video work.
Turns out that Lestat likes ’em young, and although the age limit is 16 in some parts of his native Mexico, I’m pretty sure it’s not quite this young. I had heard allegations on Twitter, during the back and forth spats with Defango’s cultish subs, over my refusal to participate in the rather vicious anti-Thomas Schoenberger “Hoggbelly” campaign, and receiving all kinds of insults, started to realise that the people I’d not known very well before, had been tweeting out stuff like this, when I had thought the creepy back tattoo and dark videos were quite enough to be dealing with, let alone having to find out this kind of thing.
While I was still reeling from the idea that Defango really didn’t care what type of folk he associated with (well, it didn’t come as that much of a surprise, but it wasn’t pleasant, finding out just how bad), I found more Nazis, Satanists, and Anarchists crawling about with them, than you could shake a stick at and say shoo. I’ve never had to report so many accounts before, for tweets I had directed my way, like Diane’s lovely friend Anna, who is a Nazi, and has other Nazi friends that wanted me to know how awful Jewish people are, and how ecologically sound Hitler was, in getting rid of quite a lot of them. Diane turned her on to the narrative about Thomas, that he was an awful person, and probably Jewish, and away she went, a woman on a mission.
Turned out that Diane had been recruiting anyone and everyone that would listen to her stories about Thomas, on Twitter, by telling them he was an abusive man, and she the victim of his terrible deeds. She also had a major crush on him still, it emerged in her voluminous tweets on the topic, although she’d never met him. She begged to be unblocked by him, in tweets, before continuing on to berate and denigrate him to anyone she could get to listen.
I came in for a lot of her tirades, as she was convinced that I’d been up to some kind of jiggery pokery with him (though I’d never met him either), which she’d obviously wished she’d been up to herself, the general tenor of her tweets making it obviously that sex was on her mind a lot.
She wasn’t the only lady friend that was giving me what for on social media; back at the ranch, on YouTube, there I was, innocently commenting under a video, when who should spring out of the bushes, but Elizabeth Vering, and she was in a fit of hysterics as well, or at least put me into one with her complaints, as I couldn’t help posting this ditty in reply, though I suspect she’s more the romantic poetry type. I don’t think people will ever really appreciate my sense of humour as much as I do myself, somehow. I had to apologize to the channel owner for the mess in his comments, and back out gracefully, picking leaves from my attire as I retreated, smiling, and luckily, free of any scratches from the prickly bits.
The channel owner had the wit to remove the comments, as they were entirely unrelated to the content of the video, but I, of course, kept them, for my own amusement, and yours. The threat made me giggle, since I know her love of poetry, expressed in rambling comments under various Sofia Musik videos of Thomas’s, and I imagined she might wish to bore me to death with some epic poetry, perhaps Milton’s “Paradise Lost“.
Back on Twitter, the not so epic battle continued to rage, and there were tears tantrums on that rage therapy couch known as Defango’s channel, with everyone in a funk, and Lestat advising Defango to be smarter (how could he, one wonders, since he claims an IQ of over 200?), and say less. I wonder how he’s going to do that, now that everything he’s said over the last while will be all out there anyway? Maybe Cheri can perform some “emotional alchemy”, as she promised me in comments. She’s very keen on that sort of thing , with this the book she’ll use, from her single volume playlist.