August Meyer. Did he Conspire to Assassinate Obama in 2014 as Part of Failed CIA Plot?
August Meyer.
For a time back in 2012 and maybe 2013 we had a series of late Friday night gatherings. Just him and me and some wine, hash, and coke. August sourced the wine and coke while I brought the hashish.
Usually this would be after other expat pals like Steve Wayne would go home.
I always felt shiny, special, and fun being invited by August to his apartments on Canal Griboedova, 3 metro stops from my apartment on Petrogradski which I bought from him in an all cash deal in 2006.
I had liked August, admired his mind more than his bank account, for that was none of my business while he would share his insights in enjoyable conversation.
I had liked his petite brunette wife Inna as well and believed that she too liked me. We are both Scorpios, her birthday a week after mine.
August always mandated restraint as we snorted those thin lines of cocaine in his home. He has two apartments side by side on the top floor of his building which offers delightful views of Canal Griboedova and some not unattractive architecture nearby.
August introduced me to his cocaine dealer, a middle aged man named Pavel. The phone number I have for Pavel no longer works which is just as well.
August and I would text each other and inquire if the other was ready for a 'Pavel night'. I liked the sense of intimacy. We always bought 50/50 and in small amounts, 2 or 3 grams.
I thought August had liked me. In this over time I would learn that I was incorrect. He like so many other expats whom I would meet in Russia were actually working in concert with the CIA and trying to program me into becoming a presidential assassination attempt patsy. Learning that was like a firm punch to the stomach. The kind that makes you double over.
I admired August's well trained mind. He had gone to good schools and had been a prosecutor in San Diego before leaving the US behind and becoming a small property investor in Russia. He bought and refurbished apartments for a time. Mine is one of them. 210 square meters with a small balcony 1 minute away from a metro station. City living.
I would regale August with my stories of having sex with a variety of prostitutes at a variety of bordellos. August would relate to me the latest goings on in his battle for control of the Russian Lenta supermarket chain. These conversations were in the time before he sold his shares.
I imagined my life as quite full. I had myself over a million in the bank, owned a place in New York State and the aforementioned Russian apartment was married to a beautiful Russian had a son and had a variety of Russian and expat friends and acquaintances from many walks of life. The high end would certainly include multimillionaire August Meyer and his overweight German friend David Meerkatz. Others would small business owners or men and women with solid corporate jobs. I also had made the acquaintance of many prostitutes and a few madam and one self professed pimp who would poison me in August 2011. That's another story already posted here on fb earlier. You can find it if you look for it. The self professed pimp's name is Alexander Tregubov.
August would engage me and two other American expats, Christian Courbois and Steve Caron in gentle discussion about the upcoming first election of Obama. Christian and Steve were vocal Obama supporters while August had voiced a preference for that other black candidate Herman Cain. I mostly stood on the sidelines as I had no preference and didn't care. What was interesting to me was the difference in their arguments. Christian and Steve would talk about hope and opportunity while August would present facts and figures. I confess I found August's arguments far more compelling than those of either Christian or Steve.
I was surprised to be included in a series of emails in the cc line on the topic of the upcoming presidential election authored by Meyer, Courbois and Caron. I didn't mind. Nice to have friends and such barbershop type discussion.
It wasn't until 2014 that is clicked as to why the three of them had appeared to professional friendship and why they bad sent those emails.
As posted here on fb earlier I have reason to believe I was to be a presidential assassination patsy against Obama in 2014. I have also described here a mysterious roof fire on May 29, 2009 in the building that houses the apartment I bought from August Meyer. In 2014 another American expat I had met in Russia, Jason Smolek, told me the significance of this date, JFK's birthday.
You see the fire and the emails had been constructed and left as 'smoking guns' in the event of a successful presidential assassination in which both Obama and I would be dead, the world would be mindfucked as it was in a 1963. Investigators would blame the fire on me and see some sort of pattern in the emails drafted by Meyer, Courbois, and Caron and use that and the fire and other things no doubt to paint a picture of me, the author of this post, Rick Macy, as a line wolf nut bag.
The press would never know the truth that I was and remain a 'targeted individual' and these boys, Meyer, Courbois and Caron are federally funded 'gangstalkers'.
And the introduction of cocaine by August Meyer was done in concerted manner with the intoduction of Amphetamine to me in February 2012 by then prostitute Albina Taptiga in a Saint Petersburg apartment owned by August's very dear friend Rustam Ivanov and the introduction of MDPV to me by Adam Stanhope in September 2011 and of MDMA to me by his pal Mark Brady in that same month. The idea of the CIA in planning all this was classic, give the boy an inch and he'll take a mile. This had earlier worked as regards my sex life, having now slept with a bit over 400 women and more than a few men, those mostly after Albina presented the benefits of amphetamine just after my mother passed with me holding her hand. I learned there is indeed a whole sex/death dynamic.
I recall the intonation of August's voice when I told him that I had had an experience with MDMA. He responded, 'The Love Drug' in manner approaching lascivious though not quite. And later on that Friday evening after ample portions of wine, cocaine, and hashish, he murmured '30 seconds of pleasure for $3 million dollars'. Unsure then of what he meant I took that as a sign we ought to wrap our evening up. I wondered was he interested to fool around in such an altered state. I considered August my friend then and thought best that we close this evening now and so I said my goodbyes and trundled off into the night air on my way to home. Later I would reconsider his meaning, his intent. I now see it as him making comment on the destruction in store for me as a 'targeted individual' by him and a legion of CIA and FBI gangstalkers.
For a time back in 2012 and maybe 2013 we had a series of late Friday night gatherings. Just him and me and some wine, hash, and coke. August sourced the wine and coke while I brought the hashish.
Usually this would be after other expat pals like Steve Wayne would go home.
I always felt shiny, special, and fun being invited by August to his apartments on Canal Griboedova, 3 metro stops from my apartment on Petrogradski which I bought from him in an all cash deal in 2006.
I had liked August, admired his mind more than his bank account, for that was none of my business while he would share his insights in enjoyable conversation.
I had liked his petite brunette wife Inna as well and believed that she too liked me. We are both Scorpios, her birthday a week after mine.
August always mandated restraint as we snorted those thin lines of cocaine in his home. He has two apartments side by side on the top floor of his building which offers delightful views of Canal Griboedova and some not unattractive architecture nearby.
August introduced me to his cocaine dealer, a middle aged man named Pavel. The phone number I have for Pavel no longer works which is just as well.
August and I would text each other and inquire if the other was ready for a 'Pavel night'. I liked the sense of intimacy. We always bought 50/50 and in small amounts, 2 or 3 grams.
I thought August had liked me. In this over time I would learn that I was incorrect. He like so many other expats whom I would meet in Russia were actually working in concert with the CIA and trying to program me into becoming a presidential assassination attempt patsy. Learning that was like a firm punch to the stomach. The kind that makes you double over.
I admired August's well trained mind. He had gone to good schools and had been a prosecutor in San Diego before leaving the US behind and becoming a small property investor in Russia. He bought and refurbished apartments for a time. Mine is one of them. 210 square meters with a small balcony 1 minute away from a metro station. City living.
I would regale August with my stories of having sex with a variety of prostitutes at a variety of bordellos. August would relate to me the latest goings on in his battle for control of the Russian Lenta supermarket chain. These conversations were in the time before he sold his shares.
I imagined my life as quite full. I had myself over a million in the bank, owned a place in New York State and the aforementioned Russian apartment was married to a beautiful Russian had a son and had a variety of Russian and expat friends and acquaintances from many walks of life. The high end would certainly include multimillionaire August Meyer and his overweight German friend David Meerkatz. Others would small business owners or men and women with solid corporate jobs. I also had made the acquaintance of many prostitutes and a few madam and one self professed pimp who would poison me in August 2011. That's another story already posted here on fb earlier. You can find it if you look for it. The self professed pimp's name is Alexander Tregubov.
August would engage me and two other American expats, Christian Courbois and Steve Caron in gentle discussion about the upcoming first election of Obama. Christian and Steve were vocal Obama supporters while August had voiced a preference for that other black candidate Herman Cain. I mostly stood on the sidelines as I had no preference and didn't care. What was interesting to me was the difference in their arguments. Christian and Steve would talk about hope and opportunity while August would present facts and figures. I confess I found August's arguments far more compelling than those of either Christian or Steve.
I was surprised to be included in a series of emails in the cc line on the topic of the upcoming presidential election authored by Meyer, Courbois and Caron. I didn't mind. Nice to have friends and such barbershop type discussion.
It wasn't until 2014 that is clicked as to why the three of them had appeared to professional friendship and why they bad sent those emails.
As posted here on fb earlier I have reason to believe I was to be a presidential assassination patsy against Obama in 2014. I have also described here a mysterious roof fire on May 29, 2009 in the building that houses the apartment I bought from August Meyer. In 2014 another American expat I had met in Russia, Jason Smolek, told me the significance of this date, JFK's birthday.
You see the fire and the emails had been constructed and left as 'smoking guns' in the event of a successful presidential assassination in which both Obama and I would be dead, the world would be mindfucked as it was in a 1963. Investigators would blame the fire on me and see some sort of pattern in the emails drafted by Meyer, Courbois, and Caron and use that and the fire and other things no doubt to paint a picture of me, the author of this post, Rick Macy, as a line wolf nut bag.
The press would never know the truth that I was and remain a 'targeted individual' and these boys, Meyer, Courbois and Caron are federally funded 'gangstalkers'.
And the introduction of cocaine by August Meyer was done in concerted manner with the intoduction of Amphetamine to me in February 2012 by then prostitute Albina Taptiga in a Saint Petersburg apartment owned by August's very dear friend Rustam Ivanov and the introduction of MDPV to me by Adam Stanhope in September 2011 and of MDMA to me by his pal Mark Brady in that same month. The idea of the CIA in planning all this was classic, give the boy an inch and he'll take a mile. This had earlier worked as regards my sex life, having now slept with a bit over 400 women and more than a few men, those mostly after Albina presented the benefits of amphetamine just after my mother passed with me holding her hand. I learned there is indeed a whole sex/death dynamic.
I recall the intonation of August's voice when I told him that I had had an experience with MDMA. He responded, 'The Love Drug' in manner approaching lascivious though not quite. And later on that Friday evening after ample portions of wine, cocaine, and hashish, he murmured '30 seconds of pleasure for $3 million dollars'. Unsure then of what he meant I took that as a sign we ought to wrap our evening up. I wondered was he interested to fool around in such an altered state. I considered August my friend then and thought best that we close this evening now and so I said my goodbyes and trundled off into the night air on my way to home. Later I would reconsider his meaning, his intent. I now see it as him making comment on the destruction in store for me as a 'targeted individual' by him and a legion of CIA and FBI gangstalkers.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDelete