My Final Offer
I will be commentarying on this document here.
Today was the first time I wasn’t able to keep myself from confronting people with the disturbance of having people talk about me all the time while I am a private citizen. I am usually biting my tongue for it. Though I always want to use the awareness thereof to incentivize someone to take the initiative to get me away from here, now my fang-o-meter has reached the point where my tolerance for being among the people is so low that I really should get off the grid.
I think you are starting to notice more now that people are trying to get me, “genocidal vampire”, into some form of mainstream public debate by confrontation. (They were planning on chanting “apologize, apologize” at me today?)
I think it’s repulsive to direct group hate at one person, especially a private citizen, and especially me for the political dependency. I have no interest in entering the confrontation of the hate against me in a pressure cooker whilst being a private citizen. You hate me for who I am and I can’t do anything about it because I hate you for the things you say about me (I have a sixth sense, so we do not need to have met for me to know about the things you say about me in my absence).
If you have the “quality” of being blindly radicalized into hating someone, especially without knowing that person’s side of the story (about me they say that I am dead and I have been some reckless slut), my interest of being in some informal group situation or building a personal relationship with someone like that is absolutely zero. I cannot wrap my head around this multi-talented private citizen having expressed so much hate over all the time. I do not want to sense shit like that anymore.
Sure, my “masochism click counter” (every time I telepathically hear people speak of masochism) has reached past the number 600, but how the cancerous fuck did I get myself involved in that in the first place?
Less venting, more strategy
My living room looks silly with all the groceries on the couch. It’s for Fitzgerald (or “Hunter Biden”). Vladimir Putin (or Vladimir Rockefeller) his lost (surrogated) son? We, along with our fathers, have this (“adult newborns”, as in getting acquainted with our fathers at an older age, in a vulnerable state (I am tired of fang flexing in my refusal of being submissive; I think my dear Fitzgerald is uncomfortable endlessly being in the apartment upstairs with no sign of ever getting out of there)) unique relationship and unique current circumstances in common.
That we, even though among regular citizens during coronavirus, and while the hidden cameras on our ceilings are day-and-night entertainment to the populace, must (because of high profile) long-distance travel out of this place by exception.
Who holds grudges against us and who agrees with us ideologically are factors of general distrust. Therefore, I am extremely uncomfortable with the thought of anyone else attempting to help Fitzgerald out with getting means to grooming in this non-elitarian part of society. (I hear telepathic protest but I don’t want to phrase it as “He’s just stuck there eating his own feces while people are watching him?”. I don’t know how he got there. I don’t know how those cameras got there either. But my sixth sense seems to be telling me the truth? (Of course I got him food my God.))
On July 6th, I went to the store to buy groceries for us. I informed him of this telepathically and through the thin walls of this apartment building.
Instead of accepting the offer, the majority of people who speaks to him have been convincing him that in reality everyone is living in such circumstances that they are all stuck at home eating their own feces, and that allegedly I am so psychotic that I say that I am cooking but in actuality I am also eating my own feces.
I knew that most people are demons, but that they would go as far as watching him eat his own feces like a circus animal, while telepathically lying to him about their actual dinners, in the name of masochism (laughter, if not arousal), is a level of evil that goes beyond my parameters. How can someone watch such a thing (and know the address of where it is taking place).
His mental state concerns me. Especially because they have been radicalizing him into making him have sex with me. “Don’t worry about politics and just suck this dick,” is his credo basically. And he very often says “Masochism, masochism,” in an infantile way like saying “transformers” or something. He seems, especially in his sense of reality and right and wrong [telepathically I hear him preaching hate to me frequently (along with the rest of society)]. The unpredictability, and to see what they have done to my dear Praesens is something I would rather see after his recovery. It is what discourages me from showing up at his door. I believe he can do this by himself.
I have bought things for him to make himself three meals a day, shave himself nice and smooth, cut his hair, wash his clothes and clean his apartment. (A standard thing would be to say get him into a psychiatric hospital. But he does not need that. (It is nothing but ideological interference. Molding your thoughts into человекы NPC shxt.) We need to get out of here rather than just being here doing nothing. But tranquil.) It would be a good way to get accustomed to performing basic tasks again. As well as to get all the indoctrination out of his system.
He just said: “Wat een terugslag for the Dutch government.” Is that because of this blog post? When I wrote that he was still mostly convinced that he was fighting on the side of the Dutch, intercepting my telepathic traffic and doing other forms of telepathic suppression/torture on me in the name of the Dutch government (together with Ben Shapiro).
Things that must be “de-doctrinated” out of his system are [thus stating what is wrong (what he must learn as wrong) and has been telepathically inculcated by the Dutch]:
- Classic racism (as in non-systemic)
- Things about genocide of all people of color, helping the Dutch take over another country or something like that in case of their flooding, things about people of color being of lesser intelligence by nature.
- Classic misogyny
- Women are made for sex and making babies; sexual objectification and lack of intelligence.
- Keeping things simple and stereotypical
- Things about speaking ebonics and abstaining from things that are not liked by the mainstream.
- Masochistic “humor”
- Saying insults (in a doing an impression kind of way) that cause chest pain as a form of masochistic humor. As well as doing the opposite of my ideological guidance as a form of masochistic humor. (On behalf of the Dutch government.)
How he has become involved with the Dutch government I do not know. He is the main entity, however, since Ben Shapiro has been appointed to do that less I think, who has been practicing thought suppression, the interception of telepathic messaging and the suppression of telepathic speech in general for me (they often suppress my words into my side mind (subconscience) and then parrot it into the Head Cuddle (conscience)). This with the goal of preventing me to set things in motion by telepathic command and preventing me from getting together with my biological father.
How to transition away from this telepathic group behavior I do not know. Especially not without a genocide. Like all I can do is ask for silence – because I do not want to have telepathic group conversations or random telepathic individual conversations (but the Dutch government seems to feel differently about that¿) because I prefer my mind just for reasoning and not for communication (which is why it gets on my nerves so much) – or with telepathic force attempt to physically force them into silence.
My conscience is being suppressed less now. It is still happening. It makes me so aggressive that people can suppress me like that without me being able to fight back against that. I keep demanding to be left alone and people keep bothering for me for meaningless apologies. (What do I have to apologize for? Apologies are made when something was done unrightfully. )
It is being suppressed again. Never cancerously mind about my slight happiness for the end of my thought suppression, then. What the FUCK is so unfeasible about the request for not being telepathically contacted anymore? I have been demanding that (yes not in the mainstream media my god these fucking cancerous человекыs) for 140 days. It is unethical to me to practice thought suppression and such in the first place without even approaching me in person about it. It is like being stuck in a straight jacket. I can’t confront everyone who does something to me telepathically. They are saying the utmost ridiculous things about me. (Apologies will not change a thing.)
If the circumstances of my telepathic brain can be controlled by technology, then maybe that can be used to restore the state of me being the only voice in my head. (Maybe my papa there as well, maybe Fitzie also. Other than that rather no one at all.) [The ambience feels better now again.]
I don’t know how this does not resonate with you people, but you people really need to stop saying that you know anything about my present and my past because literally none of it is true. Suppressing rage all the time gives me a form of paralysis.
How often have you told Fitzgerald to lower his curtains already? You have done that already. So please end the hypocrisy over saying that allegedly because I have not written it down ~ again ~ that he because of that still cannot eat. If he believes that the people have been lying about eating shit to him by now. Mind you that he does not know that the Hunter Biden stories all over the news for I don’t know how long are not there because of me, but he believes my intentions are to ruin his life further.
Summarizedly, I will travel to Russia with Fitzgerald, regally, then he will spend some quality with his father and I will spend some quality time with my father, then we will all meet at a party and from there the Volta will be completed.
I’m assuming that Fitzgerald’s apartment is empty. The plan is – I have seen that there are curtains (double ones) – that he takes down the lighter curtains in the living room, ties them together and hangs them down the rails of his balcony. I then tie the red bag to it, with resources in it, then he pulls the curtain up with the bag on it and unpacks the bag with the resources in it, then lets the bag down again, then I fill the bag with more groceries until I have given him everything visible on the picture above.
I hope he will do this now. I hear you people’s negative commentary on there not being enough fruit and vegetables (but I threw out chicken, haricots verts, strawberries, Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and all that a couple of days after July 6th because they went bad; he is so strong somehow that he is capable of not going for this gamble). Or maybe tomorrow… I know that he is not doing it because of his fixable sense of reality and not because lack of intelligence as some say.
Not today (July 15th). Maybe tomorrow (July 16th), then. I refuse to but the ration back in closets. Either he receives it or he throws it out. But he is my only way out of this place anyway so I can’t really throw it out regardless. Also it’s uncomfortable to live on one’s conscience with. That I have an abundance of food while he is stuck up there with nothing.
I often describe ultimate scenarios (which then often end disastrously). In slight emotional protest, I have been refusing to open my curtains to not seeing his curtain waiting for me when I wake up in the morning. I hope to wake up to his curtain hanging down his balcony onto mine this morning. I have endorsed papa Czar Crutzen, with an impressive amount of secret (taboo to have this ability) technological intelligence, to, given that the hidden cameras are his design, to telepathically guide him in this process (for the physics of it, given the fact that there is only one chance-and-a-half to make this “curtain crane”).
I think it is best we continue to communicate with each other through the walls and then later on (I will be keeping an eye on what he’s doing through the walls as well), when we leave this place, we meet in person. First we can be tranquil about this. Day 141.
This wildcatje Fitzgerald has, with his “masochism” been one of the frontiers radicalizing people into getting-blurry-vision-level hate against me (but to him he calls it “masochism”). I hope doing the curtains thing and him then focusing on his housekeeping will make telepathic traffic more tranquil for him, in aanloop naar telepathic brains becoming free of populace again.
It is my intention to, after having helped him with this. (I think otherwise he is basically left for dead…) After having helped him with this, and meeting eventually, I intend for him to be my life-long Praesens, living together with me and the rest of our autocratic family in Russia. (They don’t feel as yayed from me preferring, instead of with them, to be with romantically and endorse professionally this man, who I’m guessing might have gone into sexy caveman modus, who is eating his own feces in a non-apocalyptic situation. I think it’s courageous. The point where I’d have to eat my own feces, I’d commit suicide.
I sense no curtains awaiting me. 🙁 I sense the Dutch are telepathically strategizing to prevent it from happening (still). I hear a lot of telepathic debate going on but I do not hear him take down his curtains.
I’ll be making banana bread later. =.=
Do you think it is because he is naked?
My concern is if people in the building across would call the cops on us for psychiatry or if there would be called in for basically “sight pollution by the building”. There must be no one involved. Like no psychiatric nurses visiting him and things like that preferably. Because it will make it more difficult to travel alone.
So everyone has the expectation of me – wishing more doom and destruction for the intelligent – to now throw away everything. But I won’t do that because all my future fun depends on him. This getting subtly acquainted is a wild subtle reason to have a cup of tea over it in the future.
I INSIST he makes the curtain crane. HOW THE FUCK does he keep letting other people talk him out of it?
Ughhh. I have two pieces of steak. I want to marinade one and then, having opened the package, either give the other one to them or put it in the freezer.
Czar just said: “No, to get in contact with the son of the president of the United States, you must climb up the social ladder first.” Excuse me, he is in the upstairs apartment eating his own feces while nearly everyone else here wants him to die rather than receive the overdosis of food supplies I have for him. Mind you, he is the half Russian bastard son of the wife of the president of the United States. From that bullshit, you can see the Czar has been taking plenty of life lessons from the Dutch. =.= It is so ignorant, hurtful and frustrating at the same time, hearing such discriminatory bullshxt about my alleged descent.
I refuse to open my curtains once again. And I’m annoyed once again for people saying that I’m psychotic for having so many food supplies in my living room to give to the upstairs neighbor they are watching eating his own shit on a livestream but to me, if I’d ever see them (but I’d commit suicide if I end up in such a situation), they would say that he does not exist and/or that he was never there.
I wonder who the people are outside near the building who are so clearly talking about the both of us. My mother does not want me to get acquainted with people like him. She doesn’t even allow me to get to know my actual father. She has convinced him that I must still be born.
Someone outside literally just said: “Practice some more thought suppression on her please because otherwise I am an accomplice (…)”
They are practicing scheiße on me again in the name of the Dutch government (who has to solve an unsolvable infrastructural crisis haha…), which is why I cannot speak into the Head Cuddle.
They say to him that lowering curtains to accept abundance of food is “not puritan”.
The Czar prefers misery on me because he wants me to hide my sixth sense. They all want me to go back to “my tribalistic sex cult” but that will absolutely never happen. As in I would rather commit suicide than go back to the Netherlands. He must stop interfering, kill my mother and let Fitzgerald take down his curtains. The couch will become empty.
The other piece of steak is sliced in half and in the freezer. I have been insisting the man take down his curtains for over a week. He exists, though. He is really there eating feces even though I have never met him.
I have a very special connection with Fitzgerald. He receives more of my telepathic presence naturally. We should have met when we were kids, given the fact that my mother knows of these aliens.
Vlad, these women are already talking headlines, but we still must get to загородный and they don’t want to take this to the general public. While I insist they just let the general public know. Tell *sigh* my father, that he must write letter for in клыки. :p
People say that I do not deserve it, but these things must really be done by exception and my mother must be assassinated for purposely obstructing that.
Where I was? Not in the mood to write blog posts.
Why I am not talking about genocide? Because if I would, you people would commit genocide while I live in the crowded city center as a regular citizen. I would be seen as the cause and things would become quite apocalyptic given they are radicalized into hating the cause of genocide.
Message to Vlad intercepted but they say they want to storm Fitzgerald’s apartment with cameras.
I keep hearing bullshxt about sex. Fitzgerald has been saying things like: “Just let everyone have sex with her once,” and other dumb shit like that. They still believe that we’re living in some sort of apocalypse presently and that that is all my fault.
A woman outside is of the spiritual mirror embarrassing herself saying that I am in love with her. She is one of those who has been having the sex they try to get me to as well. I’m keeping myself safe and distanced with my PTSD.
I just had a wild orgasm after not having masturbated in a long time after having heard the sound of the sexual radicalization I practiced.
Thought suppression doesn’t do anything good. It just slows down my thought process. I still get to the same things, only slower. It is so dumb that they consider it a form of telepathic psychiatry.
Vlad, they don’t understand why I say “Just make people think that we’re having an affair,” in my attempts to get out of человекы town. They’re all focused on the sex and stuff. =.=
Sometimes Fitzgerald only responds to the name “Hunter”?
The saboteurs want me to throw out the food supplies I have for Fitzgerald. I guess I’m then waiting for someone to enter my apartment saying that I have mental health issues and must be put under psychiatric surveillance again.
Did you know that DJ Czar есть величайший? (My god the amount of subtext directed at me is heart-attack worthy. He wants to spend the rest of his life forcing me to live the Jan Modaal life while I’m trying to get to his house. Private. Citizen.)
Now his set of food supplies contains 0 fruit. </3
It is such a curse to have a telepathic brain that in which people can try to override your physical movement. My father (the Czar I can’t help but refer to as non-father sometimes for the racist Dutch propaganda he reiterates at me sometimes) wants me to hide my intelligence, but doing that there will never be any progress in this situation. This situation in which “Hunter Biden” a.k.a. Fitzgerald Rockefeller is eating his own feces in the apartment above mine. You know the address.
Ask telepathically Fitzgerald if he wants some banana bread. =.= All my outgoing messages are intercepted.
DJ Czar’s psychotic entourage is subtexting me about making apologies. My final offer is they may radicalize the people over it some more and we can have a face-to-face sit down over it, but I will never apologize.
Someone tell DJ Czar he must stop openly propagating for genocide.
Je moeder is особленний. Regardless if I am his daughter or not, Fitzgerald must admit to what he has learnt from intercepting all my messages to DJ Czar. And that I assume that he won’t be torturing me when I meet him in person, which is partially his concern and partially why he helps the Dutch with making sure that I never meet him.
Allegedly Fitzgerald and I are actors and we must “piss off” out of these apartments in the name of the Dutch government. We need to get to Russia man these fxcking Western people are insane.
Czar wants me to “gezellig kletsen” with some человекыs to get in contact with him, where he will then be acting like a человек as well. I refuse to do things that way. They are actively preventing even his “promised” scenario to work out as well.
Another day without Fitzgerald taking down his curtains to make a curtain crane for the acceptance of the food supplies I acquired for him. =.=
It is the utmost disturbing to be playing the piano while hearing people actively command a whole army to use their telepathy to make me make mistakes. And then laughing about my failure. In my subconscience, of course. They also suppress my telepathic inner voice in such a way that I am restricted from reaching my Head Cuddle.
Yes, explain to Fitzgerald that the concept of “downstairs neighbor” (not “she is underground, dead”) exists.
My Final Offer – Fangs