We were being watched very closely EVEN STILL, in particular, by a certain CHINESE COUPLE (male and female)* who were very afraid that we would eradicate the Chinese Communist Party, which has presently gone underground (so to speak), to try to resurrect itself at a later time.

*We do not presently know these people.


So lately, I’ve been getting lots of antisemitic/racist hate coms online, on sites and social media platforms which the cabal stalkers know that I use.


Truth in comedy:


I remember watching this and thinking it was funny, if a bit far fetched as a concept.

Now, I see it sketch and I realize this is exactly what my aunt Elaine’s, uncle Eugene’s, and their cohorts’ agenda was. Revelation of method, natch.

They had never told me that I was part “black” (African American, Hebrew Israelite on my dad’s side); I guess they’d (erroneously, obviously) thought that they could spare me whatever same BS my dad had to go through.

Little did they know that the Jesuits were always watching, lurking, plotting, planning, and waiting to exterminate us.

Thanks be to God that no weapon formed against me or my loved ones will ever prosper, even these comments and gestures aimed towards me which do so often hurt (as they are designed to). And everybody sees who is doing it towards us too.

So we really don’t care. Everyone sees them now, and they say more about you and your obsession with us than they ever could about us.

I’ve had what I thought was a passing cold since February 23, but now it seems to have stalled in my lungs and advanced to bronchitis.

Sleeping under a bus stop with cute sparrow families was endearing and comforting for a long time. However, I did a bit of Internet sleuthing and apparently bird droppings (ewww!) when inhaled, can lead to lung infection.

I don’t even mind the laryngitis so much. I’ve gotten it intermittently, ever since I came down with it the night before my debut in the school play in the seventh grade. Since then, it usually occurs when I’ve been run down, or ersatz employers work me like a slave for little to no thanks or pay, or when dark Nazi forces conspire to make me an “unperson” (in full Orwellian style).

The hacking cough really, really sucks.
So (speaking of hacks) I’m going to have to tweak my routine.

Sleeping beneath a bus stop is still preferable to the other option – sleeping on the ground under the shopping center alcove. At least it’s open-air (even if all the crack smoking druggies and cigarette and pot smokers convening around me and bird droppings pollute the air to a large extent).

On a side note, this morning I saw two fat heifers eating pizza or something and then, all of a sudden, dropped their paper plates with food still on them in the middle of the crosswalk. What cafones! I never understood that – why would you want to pollute and damage your own community? Other people have to come and clean that up. Such entitlement complexes around here. Many of the people are super nice, but there’s still a lot of spoiled brats with bad attitudes.

Most of these people, I now realize, belong to a Naziesque, Satanic religion that wanted to whack 2/3 of humanity. (Agenda 21, 30, etc.) We’re (at least myself) now finally learning about it.

So when Nazis come up to me and flex (one did just last night) I realize that there can be no compromising or negotiating with such negative entities.

Many of them will never, ever be satisfied by anything less than the disappearance or death of 2/3 of humanity.

What are we going to, drop dead just to please them? They wish, but hell no!!!

They find our very existences offensive.

Thankfully, most of humanity is waking up to this, if they haven’t already.

So, talk to the hand.

Just a quick recap cause I didn’t even feel like writing about this but today’s typical happening reminded me of when my unsuspecting mother brought me to NYU hospital in 2011 when I was getting gang stalked back then (she’d thought I was going batty, but I was really just responding to the gang stalkers). I was being so gang stalked there, and I was becoming worse, so she then had me transferred to Hillcrest Hospital in Queens (it’s no longer in existence, haha hi “Doctor” Cohen!)

Today on the red bus back to the terminal from the soup kitchen (I go there much less frequently since being assaulted by Silvester on January 8) I was targeted again by Tuesday.

Basically my mistake was to sit in a seat in front of her where she could see me (and be triggered by my existence). She basically started in her demonic like voice to say “F*ck you bitch, racist…I know where you sleep, I’m going to take a match and gasoline…” the usual things, whatever she felt like saying. Oh yeah, she also called me a snitch for calling the Keystone Kops on Jesuit puppet pimp Silvester. (Whatever, hooker. We ain’t loyal to people that try to play us and aren’t our friends, too bad you apparently are.)

Anyway, we just laughed cause by now we know the playbook and she can’t ruin our vibe. It was hilarious.

We just like, exist, and she hates us! Oh well.

Three weeks or so ago she showed up to her assignment at First Baptist for the Homeless Service with Pastor Miguel, and made a big “to do” about “giving her life to Jesus today”. I was pleased – good! Hopefully God can use her. We know that He chooses really surprising people sometimes to work through, and we will continue to pray that God does a work in her life.

We wonder, What happened?

We’d hoped that, even though we were pretty sure she was making a mockery of Christ, that God would nonetheless act upon her life and cause a miracle for her.

Fortunately, God will not be mocked.

(We imagine that God is not pleased by her ongoing harassing and targeting of Yours Truly, but we’ll count it all joy, dear Readers!)

Oh so anyway, the point is that when we were in our bed in NYU in 2011, the gang stalkers that have constantly preyed upon my family (hi Marguerite Bitteti and friends!) and myself stuck some weird black guy in the bed next to me and he was basically using that same demonic voice that Tuesday uses whenever she sees me or is in my general vicinity.

It’s the, you know – “Exorcist” voice. Whatever. It’s really so played out. Talk to the hand, see ya wouldn’t wanna be ya – bye.

So, I have a new hand truck from George, which I’m happy about. It could use an extra bungee cord but it’s pretty decent and fits my suitcase. It has more concrete-friendly wheels. It will probably be more time consuming while getting on the free buses, but it is definitely worth it and I’m grateful. I can’t always depend on the shopping carts – they aren’t welcome inside the public libraries or bus terminals here and they’re often taken when I leave them outside.

The thing is, he became angry with me for mentioning that he had promised me a completely refurbished suitcase three weeks ago, give or take, and then (after the radio silence where I didn’t even attend church the following Saturday (because I couldn’t pull the suitcase with me!) and hadn’t seen him, I was waiting, waiting, and waiting, and then finally saw him the next Saturday at church (I’d luckily found another shopping cart to throw the suitcase in).

Just to review, George had:

-Written me an email where he first promised to get me a hand truck and all I’d need to do to pay him back was “smile more often”.

-Then wrote another email in which he’d told me that a new big suitcase had come into the Lord’s Gift House. I showed up in church that weekend to get it, he’d told me to hide my current suitcase (the one with the broken wheel) because “he (some other dude) might not give it to me if he saw that I already had a suitcase” (even if it was broken). There was nowhere to “hide” it there, and he suddenly went AWOL (I couldn’t find him.) So I left with no new suitcase.

-When I reached out to follow up with him via email, he’d written me an email in which he proposed constructing me a new bottom for my current suitcase with “concrete friendly” wheels, and would be able to purchase the supplies cheaply from a home supply store, come in, etc. “Help me help you,” he’d written.

He’d told me to come in the following Tuesday, which I did. I sent him a photo of the wheels on the bottom of my suitcase so he’d know what he was dealing with.

-When I showed up for the “Suitcase Refurbishing Consultation” with him, it was quite delightful. He’d proclaimed that he would be purchasing all the supplies from the local home supply store for less than 20 dollars, and would prefer it if I’d come in on a Tuesday, since that wasn’t his normal workday, etc. I complimented him on the skills set to be able to do that, and thanked him profusely for being willing to do this for me.

-As I’ve already reported, I received no follow up communication from George despite all these profuse promises
(both in writing and verbally!) and was essentially waylaid from much of my usual travel due to the handicapped suitcase and no shopping cart at my disposal that week.

-Last week I went to church again. I’d gotten the sense that he’d regretted making the promises to me and wanted out, maybe he was trying to ghost me. I felt at peace about the whole thing, that God would see me through, with or without George’s help. I saw him and told him that if he wasn’t able to do it, not to worry about it. I realize he’d be doing me a favor, I’d said, and I didn’t want to trouble him unnecessarily. Oh no, he’d responded, “My donors were really good to me this week, so there should be no problem, Tuesday or Thursday should work.” I was obviously thrilled because I’ve been really depending on him, even though I gave him an out in case he didn’t want to do the work or spend the coin.

Monday I got an email from him: “Great News For Your Suitcase”, in which he told me that “something great just jumped into my car” for your suitcase. But please come in on Wednesday or Friday because I don’t have enough money to come in to work an extra day (on Tuesday).” Great, we’d responded, see you on Wednesday.

To wrap this saga up: I went in just now – I got a dolly for the suitcase with one bungee cord. He said I’d need another one and apologized for not getting me two, he just didn’t have the money for it.

I tried it out, and the suitcase immediately fell off of it and onto my foot. “OW!” I yelled.

“Hahahah” he chuckled.

“You know, I’m not sure this is going to work for me. What happened to the whole ‘I’m going to refurbish the bottom of this suitcase’ that you said you were going to do? First, you were going to get me this. That was over three weeks ago. Then you promised you would put completely new wheels and put wood on the bottom, completely refurbish it, so I was waiting on this for such a long time.”

He then flipped out and said, “My feelings are so hurt that you are criticizing this free gift I’m giving you. Then just take this and be on your way and I’ll sever the relationship.”

Can you freaking believe that?

I responded, “My feelings are hurt that the suitcase just fell on my foot and hurt me and you laughed at that. You told me that you were going to do one thing, I keep my word when I give it, I don’t make promises I can’t keep, much less try to turn it around and blame me about it. I don’t want to sever our relationship over this, nor should you, if you profess to be a Christian man.”

Aren’t you though? Isn’t that what this church and your “ministry” is ultimately all about?

Then he responded “I’ve been womanized” (whatever that means). Then he tried to make me feel guilty that he’d spent “his last money” on the hand truck. I guess he didn’t remember telling me how generous his donors were to him last week, or he really hates me and is a part of the whole racketeering operation down here.

It’s totally possible. I recently had an extended conversation with someone who basically told me that Silvester has been a homeless pimp for like the last twenty years, running game on every new homeless girl/woman who comes through this circuit, and tried to make me feel stupid for “getting involved” with him. Live and learn.
Point being, Silvester is treated like a god or at least a respected leader at First Baptist (he’s very close with the music ministry leader, Melinda) and also at Our Father Soup Kitchen (where “Miss Katie” refused to even call the cops on him after he’d backhanded the water bottle out of my hand and threatened to “pay someone 50 dollars to put a bullet in my ass.”)

George also referred to the voodoo practicing Judy McCormick as “one of his stars” once, and I was like, uh….yeah ok.
Now that I’ve made Judy and Silvester, among others, as players in the organized crime ring down here, it would probably make sense if George also is a part of it.

I just didn’t want to be right, I guess.

Hello Dear Readers!

Hope you’ve been well. Basically, I’ve been counting my blessings and hanging in there, so to speak.

Not much to report, except for a few token run of the mill gang stalking incidents, but those have pretty much been unremarkable, thank God.

The only thing that baffles me is that George, the homeless advocate from First Baptist, who has thus far been so helpful to Yours Truly, has kind of been MIA this past week.

This baffles me because last week, after several emails where he’d volunteered to a) find me a new suitcase from the homeless gift house b) purchase an inexpensive hand truck for me to put my handicapped suitcase on, and lastly c) purchase items from the Home Depot to refurbish the bottom of my suitcase with “concrete friendly” wheels and a completely remade bottom, he did not reach out to me when he was ready to complete the upgrade, as he’d given me his word that he would do. We went to visit him in his new space for a “consultation” of sorts, whereby he’d assessed the project and made estimations of what he was going to need, and the timeline for completion had actually been this past Tuesday.
As of this post, today is Friday.

My first reaction was to be concerned for his well being. I reached out to him, via email, twice and received no reply, which was really unlike him, I thought.

Then I emailed Tony Orlandi, the helmsman at First Baptist, and have thus far received no responses. How weird, I’d thought.

Yesterday, I’d stopped by to receive the free “lunch” – Vienna sausage can, Del Monte fruit cup pears, and peanut butter cracker sandwiches (the latter two being the only thing I can eat, since I try to heed Yashua’s Torah admonition to stay away from the pig as food), and inquired as to his welfare. I was told that everything was okay, and nothing amiss. (The last time I’d not heard from him, he had been hospitalized for a medical issue.) I was relieved.

Now, I wonder, why the radio silence? Especially since we’ve been going on three or four weeks now where he’s been promising me to hook me up with this.

I’m the type of person where, if I don’t think I’m going to be able to do something, I will definitely not give my word that I will. If an obstacle occurs to me fulfilling my promise after I give my word to somebody and I know that they are counting on me, I will definitely reach out to keep them in the loop and not just go AWOL like that.

The things that make you go hmmmm.

Right? How true this is.

Fortunately, guess what? We don’t like you either – your demons irritate our spirits. I pray to God for forgiveness for the times that (I’m only human) I hate you and want revenge, but basically we are protected and won’t let you ruin our vibration.

Revenge is not in my plans – you already did a great job of fawking up things for yourself.

I’m rubber…you’re glue…whatever you do to me bounces off of me and sticks to YOU.

BYE. Talk to the hand. See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.

Get it? My dad (Patsy) and his brother (Paulie).

Also analyses of all the characters’ names – yeah we know now they know that we know – whatever.

At first I was like, I can’t believe we hadn’t figured this out. How on earth did the creator, David DeCesare Chase get some of this dialogue that often resonated so strongly when we’d watch this (it was a favorite of my parents and I)?

I think we all know the answer to that. I really should be receiving royalty checks for these episodes (along with a lot of dialogue from Scorcese’s films too.)

I was analyzing the last episode where Tony, Carmela, Meadow, and AJ were in the diner and then it cut to black and everyone was wondering what had happened to Tony. Now I feel like it was a revelation and foreshadowing what was being done at what would be done to my father (“Doctor” Mannino/Club of Rome installing a defibrillator into my father and then whacking him with it in 2010).

I was also focusing on Meadow, and even though my family was totally not in the mafia, many of the scenes and dynamics echoed certain conversations the three of us had had. (While there was no AJ equivalent in my household, I guess they had to add another kid, to avoid suspicion of making Meadow an only child).

Many of the details and dynamics were eerily derivative of my own family life.

Lots of episode analysis used to be on a website called Television Without Pity. I used to read it obsessively back then (early 2000s) to find out what the heck was really going on (I later became an English teacher, and we have been known to “unpack” movies and television shows much like literature). However, I tried to find the site now, through Internet Archives, and it’s not (at least to me) currently available for the Sopranos during those years. (I bet that someone has it, or can find it, though.)

One thing that really confused me was the name of Meadow’s character. Why Meadow, I’d wondered.

Then, yesterday, it hit me. Fresh Meadows, Queens – this was where I’d attended both primary and secondary school, where most of my classmates and their families were from. Now I realize that many of them were aware of what was being done to my family and, were also part of the Club of Rome.

Revelation: MEADOW. In your face.

They have to tell you.

In the words of Rage Against the Machine: “Now it’s upon you.”

This man really did a number on my mother – she’d frequently traveled to Oxbridge, Massachusetts to attend his “healing masses” for the “Marian Healing Ministry”.

“And call no man your father upon the earth: for one is your Father, which is in heaven.” (Matthew 23:9).

This post is going to be short because I’m not in the mood to write. However, I felt it was necessary to include images of all the Roman Catholic priests, and their cohorts, many of whom we’d trusted, respected, and loved, but who ultimately turned out to be complicit in the genocide of my family.

Wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Me at my confirmation in 7th grade with the bishop (nice Mithraic fish hat). My Nana was supposed to be my sponsor, but she was whacked by uncle Eugene and aunt Elaine and their cohorts (they’d made it look like lung cancer) at age 70 shortly before, so my Poppa stood in proxy for her.
My mom with some weird priest and her friend Dolly DeThomas, who we’d both loved (who mysteriously died shortly before my mother).
My mother’s “reception” into the Carmelites at St. Anastasia’s Church in Douglaston, NY