CIA Tried to Kill Obama, OMG
I recall that moment of clarity when I understood there lay ahead of me two paths. Should I pursue one, the other must logically be foregone. How best and most accurately to describe these paths? Simplistically, one could say red pill or blue bill. In the matrix or out.
I had learned of corruption, gangstalking, been told I was to be this generation's Lee Harvey Oswald, that 'they' would get me and Obama too. An American I had met in Russia, an expat like me or so I had then thought, who had served with me on the Executive Committee of the American Chamber of Commerce of Saint Petersburg, Russia told me he had been working as an agent for the CIA, this revelation shared with me in his home 15 years after the fact and while he worked and I believe is still employed as a senior agent at the NCIS. I had met in manner both unusual yet odd, Russian spy, large breasted Anna Chapman, had felt her vibe, brilliant and bad, and had kept my distance. I had learned much, more than ever expected in this life, and had surmised the roots of this drama went back to my father an Alaska Airlines pilot in the middle east just after the war who had flow in Operation Magic Carpet, flying Jews from places like Yemen and Ethiopia to the new state of Israel. He had killed an Arab, this he told me in manner seeming of guilt, and more, though I was perhaps 19 when he shared that tale most unexpected.
I had left Russia after 15 years employed in various manner seemingly entrepreneurial, launching a Siberian mobile phone company's commercial departments back when Yeltsin was Russian president, turning around a money losing Yellow Pages business in Russia's Northern Capitol, and even starting my own successful venture as a corporate sales trainer. I had left under a death threat. A fraudulent death threat, though it would take me three years to learn of the skullduggery which involved two beautiful Russian women, FSB honeypot traps, one my wife, and one with my name tattooed on her left shoulder in manner stylistic and two Russian thugs, less than attractive, at least to me.
Two paths.
The red pill, this path required a 'truth to power' approach and to forego relationships once valued and thought true that had been painfully revealed to be false and therefore to be discarded. The red pill required that I stand up and against pressure psychological, social, and perhaps even authoritative and tell calmly this tale, this revelation most u expected, this conspiracy revealed.
The blue pill, while dishonest, had the possibility of getting back in the matrix, to retain false Facebook friendships, the rare phone call, email, pleasantries upon which our human social structure is based. Maybe a good job again, though that seemed dubious. Memories of what I had wrongly considered friendships with wealthy multimillionaire, boat rides, nice meals, beckoned. Ah to go back to the 'good old days' when I mistakenly perceived myself as a self made man, a millionaire, a cool dude. Nights at parties, clubs, ventures into bordello where perfumed pleasures waited. Who wouldn't like that stuff? Who wouldn't indeed? Unless one knew to one's core that that past had been false, a construct, assembled carefully by experts in the field of human psychology, and employed largely by Langley, for that is where the king makers held on to their levers of power.
I had learned the reason Omar Gonzalez had made it all the way into the White House in the fall of 2014. This was no oversight, but a careful bit of dark gangstalking by our security services, using high tech, street theater, psy ops and more to get that poor vet over that fence that fateful day.
Similar tactics had been employed against me. Psy ops. Street theater. High tech. All that plus sex and drugs. Oh boy. I had gotten lucky, ballsy, perhaps I was my parents vengeance made flesh against the injustices they had suffered which may well have included early graves for both of them, for the boys at Langley, to murder, to 'suicide' someone, well, like Alexander Tregubov told me on the day he poisoned me in August 2011, killing a man is easy. NCIS agent Douglas Boyce, the man who revealed to me that he had been CIA when we had met in Russia in 1999, confirmed both that Alexander had indeed poisoned me that summer day, and that it was indeed a simple matter to kill, valuing a life at 53 cents, the price of a bullet bought and paid for by the US government.
The emotion strong, my desire to return to the matrix, to unlearn somehow all that I had uncovered, had found out, had learned, these things I confess. I think in retrospect it was my realization that what I wanted in this matter was and remains irrelevant. I am targeted, have been since birth, and the kicker of it all is that my assailant is the mother loving CIA.
CIA.
Does that make me the unluckiest guy alive? Or the luckiest? Is my cup half full or the alternative? I see myself as lucky, my steps from Russia to Pembroke MA, to Portland ME, to Levant ME, to Manhattan, to Virginia Beach, VA, unplanned, but each bearing fruit, result and consequence. What luck. Seriously. Douglas Boyce had advised me to get my will together, to rent a PO box, to trade in my car, in a desperate and mad effort to go 'off the radar'. I was then as now, under surveillance, but then unlike now, I had up to 40 FBI gangstalking undercover vehicles pursuing and harassing me, with hope of manipulating me into breaking laws or worse. I held my ground, watched, learned, documented.
And the things I learned. As they say, 'oh the places you'll go'. From my experience I learned how corrupt our society, government, corporations, churches, schools, institutions are. As NCIS agent Douglas Boyce told me 'everybody lies, all the time'. And I learned how right he was in this matter. The lies are summed up and reflected in our media, in our culture. Years ago, a likely CIA plant in the western media industry in Russia, by the name of Bradley Cook, now employed at a senior level at Bloomberg in Moscow, presented me a book. The title was something like 'All That You Learned Were Lies'. I don't recall the exact title of the book. I do remember it's content. It went through, example by example, demonstrating how so many of the tales of history, of society that we were taught, thaf I had been taught in both public and private schooling, were untrue, were lies.
By extrapolation, by connecting dots, I learned there was a CIA led plot to kill America's first and to date only black president, and I was to have a featured role as patsy. This event was to have happened sometime between 2012 and 2014. It didn't as the techniques employed by CIA and their assignees require the maximum amount of cover, of deniability. No one was to know or to contradict. And those who might were to be targeted, marginalized, even 'suicided' as reporter Gary Webb learned when he revealed the CIA's connection to Central American wars and the so called crack cocaine epidemic in America's inner city black communities of the 1980s.
Going further I learned that the story of Oswald being a lone shooter killing JFK was a lie, the story of Sirhan Sirhan killing RFK another lie.
Finding the work of Ole Dammegard, a targeted Dane, overly optimistic and forced to move to Spain as a matter of survival, revealed more. All these terror events, false flags, and related and connected. 9/11 perhaps the biggest high tech hoax to date.
That was ballsy one must admit.
So I chose without choosing as there really is no choice, no blue pill for me, no sanctuary awaiting get me in the matrix, I chose the red pill. I write, I document, I witness, and the world may remain unhearing and unseeing as I pathetically rage at this machine, so corrupt, so well lubed, so oiled. Perhaps I'll open a few eyes, perhaps not, that ultimately is not up to me. No Don Quixote I, simply a man to whom truth was revealed, a man who kept his eyes open when perhaps another would have squinted, would have shut. I see no windmills, only people, corrupt people and the other kind. And I remain hopeful. What is that saying? Oh yeah, darkest before the dawn. That's it. And a dawn is coming, an awakening.
I had learned of corruption, gangstalking, been told I was to be this generation's Lee Harvey Oswald, that 'they' would get me and Obama too. An American I had met in Russia, an expat like me or so I had then thought, who had served with me on the Executive Committee of the American Chamber of Commerce of Saint Petersburg, Russia told me he had been working as an agent for the CIA, this revelation shared with me in his home 15 years after the fact and while he worked and I believe is still employed as a senior agent at the NCIS. I had met in manner both unusual yet odd, Russian spy, large breasted Anna Chapman, had felt her vibe, brilliant and bad, and had kept my distance. I had learned much, more than ever expected in this life, and had surmised the roots of this drama went back to my father an Alaska Airlines pilot in the middle east just after the war who had flow in Operation Magic Carpet, flying Jews from places like Yemen and Ethiopia to the new state of Israel. He had killed an Arab, this he told me in manner seeming of guilt, and more, though I was perhaps 19 when he shared that tale most unexpected.
I had left Russia after 15 years employed in various manner seemingly entrepreneurial, launching a Siberian mobile phone company's commercial departments back when Yeltsin was Russian president, turning around a money losing Yellow Pages business in Russia's Northern Capitol, and even starting my own successful venture as a corporate sales trainer. I had left under a death threat. A fraudulent death threat, though it would take me three years to learn of the skullduggery which involved two beautiful Russian women, FSB honeypot traps, one my wife, and one with my name tattooed on her left shoulder in manner stylistic and two Russian thugs, less than attractive, at least to me.
Two paths.
The red pill, this path required a 'truth to power' approach and to forego relationships once valued and thought true that had been painfully revealed to be false and therefore to be discarded. The red pill required that I stand up and against pressure psychological, social, and perhaps even authoritative and tell calmly this tale, this revelation most u expected, this conspiracy revealed.
The blue pill, while dishonest, had the possibility of getting back in the matrix, to retain false Facebook friendships, the rare phone call, email, pleasantries upon which our human social structure is based. Maybe a good job again, though that seemed dubious. Memories of what I had wrongly considered friendships with wealthy multimillionaire, boat rides, nice meals, beckoned. Ah to go back to the 'good old days' when I mistakenly perceived myself as a self made man, a millionaire, a cool dude. Nights at parties, clubs, ventures into bordello where perfumed pleasures waited. Who wouldn't like that stuff? Who wouldn't indeed? Unless one knew to one's core that that past had been false, a construct, assembled carefully by experts in the field of human psychology, and employed largely by Langley, for that is where the king makers held on to their levers of power.
I had learned the reason Omar Gonzalez had made it all the way into the White House in the fall of 2014. This was no oversight, but a careful bit of dark gangstalking by our security services, using high tech, street theater, psy ops and more to get that poor vet over that fence that fateful day.
Similar tactics had been employed against me. Psy ops. Street theater. High tech. All that plus sex and drugs. Oh boy. I had gotten lucky, ballsy, perhaps I was my parents vengeance made flesh against the injustices they had suffered which may well have included early graves for both of them, for the boys at Langley, to murder, to 'suicide' someone, well, like Alexander Tregubov told me on the day he poisoned me in August 2011, killing a man is easy. NCIS agent Douglas Boyce, the man who revealed to me that he had been CIA when we had met in Russia in 1999, confirmed both that Alexander had indeed poisoned me that summer day, and that it was indeed a simple matter to kill, valuing a life at 53 cents, the price of a bullet bought and paid for by the US government.
The emotion strong, my desire to return to the matrix, to unlearn somehow all that I had uncovered, had found out, had learned, these things I confess. I think in retrospect it was my realization that what I wanted in this matter was and remains irrelevant. I am targeted, have been since birth, and the kicker of it all is that my assailant is the mother loving CIA.
CIA.
Does that make me the unluckiest guy alive? Or the luckiest? Is my cup half full or the alternative? I see myself as lucky, my steps from Russia to Pembroke MA, to Portland ME, to Levant ME, to Manhattan, to Virginia Beach, VA, unplanned, but each bearing fruit, result and consequence. What luck. Seriously. Douglas Boyce had advised me to get my will together, to rent a PO box, to trade in my car, in a desperate and mad effort to go 'off the radar'. I was then as now, under surveillance, but then unlike now, I had up to 40 FBI gangstalking undercover vehicles pursuing and harassing me, with hope of manipulating me into breaking laws or worse. I held my ground, watched, learned, documented.
And the things I learned. As they say, 'oh the places you'll go'. From my experience I learned how corrupt our society, government, corporations, churches, schools, institutions are. As NCIS agent Douglas Boyce told me 'everybody lies, all the time'. And I learned how right he was in this matter. The lies are summed up and reflected in our media, in our culture. Years ago, a likely CIA plant in the western media industry in Russia, by the name of Bradley Cook, now employed at a senior level at Bloomberg in Moscow, presented me a book. The title was something like 'All That You Learned Were Lies'. I don't recall the exact title of the book. I do remember it's content. It went through, example by example, demonstrating how so many of the tales of history, of society that we were taught, thaf I had been taught in both public and private schooling, were untrue, were lies.
By extrapolation, by connecting dots, I learned there was a CIA led plot to kill America's first and to date only black president, and I was to have a featured role as patsy. This event was to have happened sometime between 2012 and 2014. It didn't as the techniques employed by CIA and their assignees require the maximum amount of cover, of deniability. No one was to know or to contradict. And those who might were to be targeted, marginalized, even 'suicided' as reporter Gary Webb learned when he revealed the CIA's connection to Central American wars and the so called crack cocaine epidemic in America's inner city black communities of the 1980s.
Going further I learned that the story of Oswald being a lone shooter killing JFK was a lie, the story of Sirhan Sirhan killing RFK another lie.
Finding the work of Ole Dammegard, a targeted Dane, overly optimistic and forced to move to Spain as a matter of survival, revealed more. All these terror events, false flags, and related and connected. 9/11 perhaps the biggest high tech hoax to date.
That was ballsy one must admit.
So I chose without choosing as there really is no choice, no blue pill for me, no sanctuary awaiting get me in the matrix, I chose the red pill. I write, I document, I witness, and the world may remain unhearing and unseeing as I pathetically rage at this machine, so corrupt, so well lubed, so oiled. Perhaps I'll open a few eyes, perhaps not, that ultimately is not up to me. No Don Quixote I, simply a man to whom truth was revealed, a man who kept his eyes open when perhaps another would have squinted, would have shut. I see no windmills, only people, corrupt people and the other kind. And I remain hopeful. What is that saying? Oh yeah, darkest before the dawn. That's it. And a dawn is coming, an awakening.
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