Was an Obama Assassination Thwarted in 2014?

Up through 2014 I never gave much consideration to these two terms, Mind Control and Psy Ops. Had no reason to.  I had a good job, had traveled the world, bank account growing, no debt, happy. This was planned so as to make the pain of the change turn me into a sex crazed, drug addled patsy.  More on that in a bit. In early 2017 having returned to the apartment I co-own with my Russian Mrs, I met carefully with a man I suspected was a perp employed by MI6, Scotsman, Adrian Terris.  We had worked together in Russia in an American holding company, Metromedia International Telecommunications, Inc notable more for its shareholders Rupert Murdock and a name that escapes me, perhaps Stuart Subotnick, now passed, once the world's richest man, than its shareholdings like Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages where Adrian worked for 10 years as CEO and larger PeterStar Telecommunications where I was employed as Commercial Director with a seat on her board.  Adrian and I h...

Back in 2011 or so Billionaire August Meyer would lay out those thin white line admonishing himself and others as to the merits of self control. No problem. Homeboy 1 a.m.   Friday night.  Damndest thing was my wife and most of my expat pals were aware, indeed participating in what in some years time was an oldie but a goodie 'street theater'.   In early 2012 prostitute Albina Taptiga brought out much thicker lines of Amphetamine Sulfate.  Coke I had about which an idea but had never heard of Hell's Angel's old favorite 'crank' or 'speed'.  We were naked me and 3 gals, how much cooler does an idiot get to be, like me. The 'piece de resistance' of this street theater, tastes of forbidden was to set me up for the trifecta, my poisoning by Russian Alexander Valerievich Tregubov with prostitute Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva leering in.  Beers quaffed 3 way sex began.   That was August 2011.  She was Ginger Lynn a...

Still banned by Facebook and my internet works just fine boys. Corruption 

NCIS Senior Agent Douglas Boyce In early 2014 I was invited to be house guest for a month by Doug Boyce (shown above) at his home at 313 Sage Road, Virginia Beach VA. During my visit Doug explained, unasked, that he had been an American spy when we knew each other in Russia in 1999 and 2000. This raised my suspicions as I had then no active security clearance nor the fabled 'need to know'. Doug and I served on the American Chamber of Commerce in Saint Petersburg Russia for a time together in 2000, 14 years earlier. Me as Chairman.  He as Board Member. While his house guest, his wife Lena, who I also knew in Russia, though then they were unmarried, would prepare dinner for the 5 of us, Doug, Lena, their two children Alexander and Maria and myself.   These meals were fine and having left Russia the previous October under a false death threat concocted by my then ex-wife Svetlana, some others; this under the guidance of powerful men whom I am unlikely to meet, it...

And I wonder which poisoning will be my last?  I awoke today at 3 a.m.  something was amiss.  Bath salt crystals covered all beds but Svetlana's.  Hmmm. And two modified packs of cigarettes one labeled Kent the other A-PVP each in a presentable metal box.  At 6 am I awake Svetlana (who is likely in on it) to inform her.  She says she needs cigarettes ignoring her favored brand Kent presented so well and departs the flat at 6:34 a.m. I decide incorrectly this is entrapment with 14 years of Russian jail ahead and dothelogical thing, grab a k ife lock myself in the bathroom and begin the ritual of suicide cutting my arms near the elbows. Amazingly at this wee hour Svetlana returns with Emergencg Medical Services in tow.  Simply amazing, no rearrangement there. They broke open the oak bathroom door and then the flimsy washing machine door and began to beat me into submission, gaining two new scars on my arms and another 33 days in the psychiatric hospital ...

Svetlana never returned to the states.  Our son after much arguing with his mother at the age of 14 gloriously and to my mind for alone on a 747 and flew from Moscow to NYC JFK airport.  And I, his father, reputation ruined by false gangstalking friends, them likely in the employ of a variety of national intelligence services (and named in earlier blog posts), was there, on time to meet my glorious son at the gate.   I was overjoyed to see my son after a 14 month absence.  We went on in Victor NY and later in Denver CO as single father and lone son for 2 years.   I was never happier to make up for lost time and to tell my son that my departure and divorce in Russia were both shams. And I had earned enough money in Russia to be what my father could never be now for those 2 years and 4 more now back in Russia, a stay at home dad to teach my son that which my father neglected and I had learned at great cost. I was never happier to demonstrate that father'...

The 1st time I was poisoned it was a spiked beer offered me by a Russian pimp in Sain Petersburg, Russia.  I lost 40 pounds in a month.  That was August 2011.   This was just before we, my poisoner, Alexander Valerievich Tregubov and I engaged in 3-way sex, with me enjoying her Vagina and Mr. Tregubov her anus. I know.  Too much information This was in a small banya with an attractive slim Russian brunette prostitute named Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva of Angren, Uzbekistan.  She also drank a beer to lose her inhibitions.  All for only 2000 rubles, about $80, I thought a bargain for a new experience. Alexander would lie to me in a Skype call blaming Miss Koaheleva saying she was Muslim though Russian ethnically and hated Americans.  That was in December 2013.  Alexander lied.   In that fateful meeting in mid August 2011 he could barely contain his thrill spouting how easy it was to kill a man for he had been wounded in the Chechen w...

By the time I was in my mid 40s, I had what most would consider an upper middle class background, had a good life by most measures, money, good looking wife and son I adored.  That and two homes one stateside, one in Russia. Lots of travel, 70 countries but I stopped counting and caring.  Having seen behind the curtain, it changes, that is it damages ones' perception. Let's take a step back and mention terror event researcher Ole Dammegard.  Google him if you are unfamiliar with his work.  His paradigm concludes that all terror plots: 9/11, McVeigh, JFK, Gulf of Tonkin, the recent Notre Dame Fire, and so many more are performed by our national securìty folks, our spooks, to scare the rest of us and let those in power steal as they will. I only began to realize I was targeted in 2011and finally understood come 2016.  The hardest part is realizing you've been lied to your whole life and that CIA  and FBI and the like are run as criminal organizations for the ...

Watching this Clint Eastwood / Meryl Streep movie with my son.  I forgot how good it is. I recall leaving my first wife Christine for the Russian goddess I perceived, Svetlana Borisovna. And unlike that moment in the film when Francesca grabs the truck's door handle, which if turned, would change her life, and she relents, stays with husband Richard and their two teen children, I pulled the handle, opened the door, crossed an ocean, for a girl I knew not, but for in the sense most would describe as physical, landed in Siberia, and convinced her to join me.  That was 1997, over 20 years ago. We have a son, now 19, and all that I perhaps ever wanted in a son. And Svetlana, I knew she didn't love me, not as I loved her.  Men and women are perhaps different in this regard, of that I am not sure, my data set too small to matter.  I recall thinking if she just got to know me she would love me. Perhaps she does as she can; we grew up so differently, me ...

I had what many might consider an interesting career. And then I had a set of interesting experiences that challenged my perception of the narrative of my life.  I was in manner most odd given a key or perhaps a prism, a device of a sort that let me decode a level of encryption that coded the narrative of my life. My career has its roots as it has for any man back in childhood and those formative teen years spent in a place of socialization we call high school. Using my earlier unaided set of perceptions, the world was a jumble of random events, actors, places, coherent, related, though with little oversight.  The mess that appeared to meet was a world industrialized, capitalized, commercialized.  Institutions such as companies and corporations existed as did universities, militaries, churches, as well as local rotary clubs.  And into this world so perceived I emerged from southeastern Massachusetts having been born in a town settled by Pilgrims in 1620, Plymouth...