Flooding the Netherlands
It should have happened yesterday. I can list many reasons, but the pressing feeling of urgency I cannot put to words. It’s been a while since I’ve written about it. My views have never changed on this, I just feel unsafe – even across the border – speaking up about this, even though I have my well-known exile in my advantage.
Somehow the majority of the country’s land is “Mozes-style” there-should-actually-be-sea-here land. The threat of the sea claiming back what is theirs is always there. The people know that, which is why every 1st Monday of the month there used to be an alarm drill (but since January 2020 that has been abolished, I believe (I’m not sure because I’ve been living in Belgium since September 2019)), though the false narrative most people know about that is that it is a drill in preparation for war (though given how the country works culturally and economically on a global scale that is not really a surprise).
Simultaneously, (business) finances and ways of living are constrained by concerns about “climate change”. In the light of the long history of the existence of the Earth, the climate always changes, so people should really ask themselves why the concept of “climate change” and “global warming” are such a big deal. All over the world, people are doing things they usually wouldn’t do to prevent the icecaps from melting (the most those measures could actually lead to is slowing down the inevitable). If the icecaps were just melted, people could live freely again.
It is higher status that lowers itself that is respected, not the other way around. In the Netherlands that is – along with ecological constraints leaving no other choice – so deep-rooted in its national culture that all forms of utility are limited by default (worsened by decades of very strong socialism). In a way no other country in the world knows.
When it comes to living space for future generations, there is absolutely none and with the nearly unlimited amount of illegal immigration that pours in on an annual basis the country is digging its own grave, leaving no room for future evolutionary advancements at all. It encourages a culture of tearing down intelligence, masochism (laughing at everyone who tries (anything)), infinite earnings without labor and consuming entertainment being considered far too important. Ever moving away from the purposeless lifestyle that comes with the alleged killer virus is impossible for the Netherlands. (Not that anyone is capable of actually developing a way to get back to normal. It’s fun to watch because they are too arrogant to acknowledge me.) (Not even mentioning psychotic national convictions where it is, for example, more logical for someone to be forced into being acceptant of the concept of sodomy than being allowed to be against it by principle.)
My body is exceptionally sacred. I am exceptionally intelligent. There is almost no limit to what I can do. My perception goes far beyond what is considered “normal” or “human”. I can’t speak for any other country in the world, but in the Netherlands, such things – when they are a strength – are not allowed to reach the public (as a strength). It is in conflict with national culture. Exceptional talent requires exceptional expenses. For me, those would be more than there is room for in the Netherlands. So instead, they have been using psychiatry to force me to be “normal”. (I’m currently settling for worse than less in Belgium as a Dutch citizen.)
As I mentioned for example yesterday, spiritually I am more than I have been informed of. Having lived through the hell that is the past month, apparently this is well-known by the Dutch government (and they (fvcking communists) are making money with it¿). My biological father is – seen from the perspective of a human – basically an alien. That makes me 50% alien. My dentistry confirms this. Given the experiences I have been living through most intensely from 2016 onwards, I have noticed that spiritually speaking, my body ages differently. (I described this elaborately in my first book.)
The Side Mind
Apparently Ben Shapiro was the operator of my Side Mind for the past 33 days. In my partially alien brain, the Side Mind could be considered a special seat in my subconscience, saved for my husband. There could be official (Jewish¿) terminology for that Ben might know of. I just call it “Side Mind” because it could be considered a quick access connection to someone else’s mind, hypothetically speaking to quickly ask your husband’s opinion on “Do these jeans make me look fat?” telepathically. (But I have intentions of using it more for ideological purposes in the future.) I have never been educated on the alien aspects of my body. My explanations are entirely based on my intuitive experience of my body’s inner developments.
I’ve been writing about being tormented by demons/defects/traitors for quite some time. One of the questions I’ve been asking the Side Mind very often in the past 33 days is an anticipation on (public) opinion in the Head Cuddle chat on my genocidal agenda. Through this shine the personal convictions of the person operating the Side Mind on what is right or wrong, which I then feel physically. What I feel physically the people in the Head Cuddle chat can use to read how true, how nuanced or how great a lie my telepathically or physically spoken words are. How much Ben would consider public opinion is needed to know what is a decent thought to have and how great the difference is between what is good and normal to him and what is good and normal to me (like how evil do you consider a white lie), has led to extremely extensive explanations and (people are responsible for their own actions though) the most barbaric verbal lynching I’ve ever heard of. The idea of how love is shown and the idea of what punishment is and why have been reflected through in this same process. It has made me extremely concerned about the standards of communication he is used to. (He is so mad about me not living the lifestyle of a Goddess. 🙁 ) (His convictions are not a choice and in that way he is still not directly responsible.)
That I don’t elaborate on the emotional pain that has been the past 33 days might be remarkable, but honestly as long as it is ensured that I will never have to meet any of the people who have been tormenting me for whom I have not expressed any individual interest, better said that they are assassinated for what is in their character (spiritual mirror), I can see a way to find closure for this. Until then and beyond, Hunter Biden is the one and only person authorized to be in the Side Mind, as I’ve been saying since, yesterday night, he found a way to quell me inflicting emotional pain on myself by “killing the Side Mind” thus, in other words, taking over. The toxic narcissistic masochist demons inside the chat have been struggling ever since the Side Mind stopped generating negative criticism. (My baby has, in the Side Mind (paralelling the speedies (communicating without any hearable words)), been – as I’ve been requesting – generating full honest lists of pros and cons on every thought I have.)
So after days of Hunter telepathically telling me that I should love myself to the fullest, through the sound of people chanting the same hateful words over and over and over again, yesterday night he quelled a voice that made it more difficult for me to love myself. I told him that I was happy that he took that effort and I started telling him things based on the controversies about his perception of me I sensed in him. When other people started to speak of the controversy in our conversation because of his status, I got mad and went for a shower. But doing that did not make the conversation end given that the existence of the Head Cuddle chat is eternal.
Though that topic comes (equality in respect, what is “normal”) from two such different perceptions of life that we need to talk about that in person to really sort things out (it’s similar with Ben), I was soon back to experiencing our conversation (as far as there is his full awareness of our eternally telepathic meets (soon I hope) physical life reality) as free of inner conflict (how he sees me versus how his circle sees me) friction. After my shower, I went to bed. Laying my head on my mattress and wrapping an arm around my pillow, I heard the nagging Dutch woman who seemed to have replaced another nagging Dutch woman say: “This is all kinds of cuddle,” as if she had become some tour guide of some experience of intimacy. It was uncomfortable, it made my stomach turn and it annoyed the hell out of me because I have the feeling they are making money off of me behind my back but I can’t find out how. I am not a prostitute.
The Side Mind is an extremely emotionally intimate, (semi-)mutually immersive experience of thoughts and feelings. Whoever gets into the Side Mind, I can sense the secrets, thoughts and feelings of. Let’s say someone enters my Side Mind who has just experienced a heartbreak, I would then physically be able to feel that. (I wonder – not for experimenting please god damn please stop experimenting – what that would mean for e.g. a bullet wound.) I turn to my Side Mind mostly for moral/emotional support and a perspective that is not my own. Just like with my touch and just like with my experience of telepathy, (I can see the socialism in it) it leaves a choice for me on how to use it: I could allow everyone in, or I could choose to be more principled. I do not believe that anything sex related should be a profession and I prefer a genuinely special connection when it comes to things like this (especially because it has a great impact on my senses, my ability to concentrate et cetera), therefore I am principled and have a preference for limitations and restrictions.
I turned off my night light and as I telepathically told Hunter that I was going to do that one thing I always do before I (am able to relatively quickly) go to sleep and that it will be immersive for him, I sensed the jealousy in others. “The Side Mind is yours eternally,” I told him. The nagging Dutch woman was one of the first to say: “No, let me try.” There was a demonic man as well who found that he was entitled to try out my Side Mind. “Fuck the god damn cancerous hell off,” I told them telepathically. “Hunter, stay.” More people started taking turns, Thierry Baudet and Victor Geskes among them. (Given their characters, I do not understand why.) “Stop doing this. You’re messing with my subconscience. You people are insane,” I said out loud, facing my phone under the assumption that if people are watching me live on camera 24/7, they are (reflecting on Victor’s telepathic words of defecation appreciation) listening to my phone’s microphone as well. (This (the external) is stalking.)
“If you don’t stop doing this, I will just not touch myself and not go to sleep at all and tell you all night long that you should stop doing that. Do you want me to see sunrise?” They persisted. It was like it went on for hours. “Just give me ten seconds with Hunter. Thirty seconds,” I told them. I sensed that he came early and he made – through imaginary visions – suggestions for alternations of the things I was imagining for arousal that I am very interested in trying with him in physical life (beyond telepathic, that is) but did not suit the uncontrollable thirsty lust I want to forget about life high pace intensity I was imagining one of my classic favorite porn videos I know by heart. “Now try with me,” the annoying Dutch woman said as she entered the Side Mind after I was done. “Ugh,” was all I could say back. Not long after I fell asleep.
Today (reading back based on date is “today” but in actuality I’m writing this past twelve) directly after waking up the annoying Dutch woman said, “Toxic bitch,” in my Side Mind. “I need to add another stripe to my chalkboard wall,” that made me think to myself, given that I count these days of mental torture. “Only Hunter Biden is authorized to be in my side mind,” I told her. She already knew. They all knew. They just do not give a fuck about what I want for myself and believe that they have a better connection with me than I have with Hunter. Me saying, “My body is not a public playground,” means nothing to them, even though they claim to love me. Over the past 24 hours, while going grocery shopping, getting laundry coins, doing laundry, writing this post and (after a long time of being relatively on schedule) making dinner past twelve, all I’ve been doing is telling people to stop taking turns on my subconscience and for Hunter to stay in it permanently. You’d think asking once is enough.