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.
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.
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 callnoman 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
It took me 5.1 months to realize this (I’m an optimist, but I can no longer continue to give criminals the benefit of the doubt), but it has finally become clear to Yours Truly that every person I’ve chronicled in this blog since August of 2022 up until now – and then some – has been connected in the latest chapter of racketeering, and organized crime, in the saga that has been my life thus far..
After being assaulted and threatened by Silvester Brownlee (formerly referred to in this blog as “Bramford”) at Our Father’s House Soup Kitchen yesterday, I am no longer going to the soup kitchen. It’s run by racketeers anyway. True, the food was copious, free, and good, but after “Miss Katie” – the proprietor there – failed to call for help, or even chastise Silvester in any way yesterday, I can no longer ignore the hostile framework of the racketeers that run the place. They are not for me, not at all, and are disappointed and angry that I have seen through their hustle and publicly called them out on it.
Dear Reader, they have all been working together.
Silvester very cleverly (this is how they operate) “love-bombed” me in November after Judy McCormick (formerly referred to in this blog as “Irene”) accused me of making a pass towards her. He very ingeniously flattered me, telling me that he saw God in me, etc (the devil really studies people of God, and shapeshifts according to what we want to see in people), he shared his desire to find a good wife, someone he could trust, etc. While I told him multiple times that I did not feel romantically inclined towards him, I was flattered and believed the best of him. When one older, drug addicted prostitute (acting? Who knows?) called Tuesday told me, on the free green bus, that she knew where I slept and would find me one night using “gasoline and a match, bitch”, he gave her a verbal dressing down like I had never seen. It was quite good, and was one of the fiercest roasts of someone I’d ever seen. (Of course, she was in on it, but I really didn’t know that then.) He positioned himself in between myself and everyone else in the criminal gang who was threatening me or being nasty towards me – which was just about everyone back then. Everyone became summarily nicer to me due to my “relationship” with him, even though I continually insisted to everyone that it was just a “Godly friendship”. (Yes, I know. How embarrassing. The guy is a total reptile.)
Oh yeah, these buses are another aspect to this whole racket, by the way, so these crime bosses can limit and organize my travel, just like they did during my stay at Ocean Sleaze Breeze rehab in Pompano Beach (now it’s gone, like so many other “institutions” these wannabe Goodfellas have hustled me into over the years) and now there’s a company there called, Vector Construction , which I hadn’t needed, but where uncle Eugene had tried to park us after he’d murdered our mother to try to begin liquidating and transferring our assets.
Just like the staff and many students at the various schools I have been employed at, and the jobs I have worked at, including (most recently) Anthony’s Coal Fired Pizza. Just like the staff at Hampton Inn, and just like a corrupt faction of BSO and the Pompano Beach Municipal Services, who have maintained a united, fascist front to block me from accessing what is rightfully mine, due to my bloodline and their prejudice against it.
As I stated on my other social media platforms this week, the revelations that the Nazi Shine family of Florida, Colorado, and New Jersey (Joyce, Jimmy, Connor, Judy, and others) has been behind this latest chapter of the attempts to target me for my blood line. I guess they just hadn’t had enough from sterilizing my mother, and then murdering my father, and Uncle Jack (who they’d poisoned with radioactive waste for a number of years), murdering my mother, and then making me homeless last year.
Two different soup kitchen actors attendees have displayed clothing labels indicating the Shine family involvement: One eccentric young black man who wears his dreadlocks tied on top of his head in a shirt, and the label SHEIN was sticking out of it:
Then I’d seen another guy with a tee shirt advertising this nearby business, which I used to go to (before Broward County towed away my Nissan Altima for an expired registration sticker – another of their Nazified steps in their attempts to disenfranchise and depersonalize Yours Truly):
“You work for the Shines?” I said. “Yeah”, he replied. “You know they’re Nazis,” I said. “I know,” he said, somewhat resignedly.
So once I figured out Silvester was just another pimp ass clown running game on me and had crime bosses that were likely Jesuit affiliated (disappointing, but not shocking, since I now recognize patterns), I basically ended the friendship. I’m essentially done with him.
He put cheap ass dollar twenty five plastic sunglasses in front of me and I politely handed them back to him and said no thanks, I didn’t want anything that came from him. He revealed his true pimp colors and proceeded to backhand slap the Fiji water bottle out of my hand, then threatened me, and demanded that I take my stuff out of “his” suitcase that his crime bosses he had given me: https://mariachicat.wordpress.com/2022/12/29/such-a-little-thing-makes-a-big-difference/
We approached “Miss Katie” of the soup kitchen and she did nothing to call for help or anything. Her solution? “I’ll get you another suitcase,” she crowed. That’s it, we’d thought. They work together. Fuck them all.
I called the cops – of course, they had their corrupt Keystone Kops at the ready that came and “responded” to the call (see my TikTok).
We also documented this latest experience via email to George Berlenge at First Baptist Church:
I ended my friendship with Silvester and there was an incident several hours ago at the food kitchen at Our Father’s House: He’d tried to gift me with a pair of sunglasses, and I politely but firmly told him no thank you, I didn’t want it.
He proceeded to forcefully backhand slap my water bottle which I’d been drinking from out of my hand, then threatened me: “Then give me back my suitcase, take all your shit out of it and give it back to us.”
Miss Katie did NOTHING to help us or call BSO….we did so ourselves, but as we did not just fall off the turnip truck, we know they are all part of the same crime syndicate and expected no real help. I told them I want a restraining order against them and (they did this when I was asking for protection from Michael Sparano, another gangstalker in their crime syndicate from Waterford Point, my old residence, who I was being harassed by) told me that the protocol was I’d need to go to the courthouse, fill out x, y, and z….so yeah.
Silvester told me that he would “pay someone 50 dollars to put a bullet in my ass” and etc, etc. That I “f—ed” with the wrong one,” etc. (As if I ever f—ed with him, not the other way around.) Some other stuff too that I’m too polite to repeat here.
I don’t know if one of you over there might be able to take me to fill out the requisite forms?
I just want to go get my lunch and stuff without being harassed by these people.
Notwithstanding, I’d love to give him back his (geotagged – we know that he was given these suitcases to give to us by his crime bosses) stupid suitcase, so if there is still a comparable option that you have on hand, please let us know when we can get it.
We don’t want anything more to do with him.
Thanks!
Maria (Mary)
“Miss Katie” of Our Father’s House Soup Kitchen (blond on the left).
Seriously, as I write this blog I’m already getting warning emails not to publish. What, I should stay quiet so the guilty can stay comfortable? I was never anything but nice to all of these people!
In the spirit of the title of this blog, and in recognizing that we, the true Israelites, should not jump for joy when offered crumbs that these Jesuit/Masonic/Club of Rome pagans looted, killed, and stole for from our homes, that they are just giving back to us, while grandstanding (take a look at the website, it’s hilarious) that they’re actually doing good in the community, as of yesterday I can no longer claim that this seemingly mild-mannered woman gives a shit about me or anyone she claims to be helping.
She is all about the Benjamins, and I’ve seen her promote the vaccine at her soup kitchen and they push masks and rosaries on people like they have an agenda – which they obviously do.
I should not have to JUMP FOR JOY for the things that I’m already entitled to, that they’ve looted, and stolen from me (in addition to being complicit in the murders of my family members.)
This is a whole traveling circus around me, a bunch of deluded criminals who think that they should still have access to me.
Her eyes sparkled with glee when she’d seen that I was in distress when Silvester was pimp-style threatening me.
Um yeah Silvester, I’m not the one – you’re confusing me with one of the hoes in your racket. We’re not about that life. We don’t (knowingly) associate with career criminals.
Hilariously, after we’d gone back to get our lunch (that was all we were really there for anyway), one of Silvester’s “friends”, a black man in tie dye, asked me if I was “done with the smart talk now”. Huh? “What does that even mean?” we asked. No response.
I hope you get arrested soon for your ongoing deception, duplicity, and straight up evil – or at least for pushing the vaccine and racketeering. If there is any justice in this world, you will.
For now, enjoy your staged tableaus without me – I’mma close the whole damn store on you. Bye!
Well, turns out she’s been a total puppet for these racketeers the whole time! Clearly these racketeers want to use this playbook until the wheels fall off for them.
Dear Reader, the cast of characters I’ve mentioned to you thus far : Lisa Big Missy, Silvester Brownlee Bramford, JudyMcCormick Irene, Sylvester Roberto, Rob Bob, and Dave George, were all front and center as useful puppets in this latest chapter of the Jesuits who stalk and troll me. They basically now know that I know. Are they all homeless? No? Are some of them? Maybe. Are those all their real names? My guess is that Judy and Silvester B’s are, and Rob’s, but who knows about the rest. Are they actual crack users and whores? Maybe, or maybe they’re just acting (but very well, I must say!)
Judy McCormick, aka “Irene” from this blog
What had happened was that “Miss Judy” was the first woman I really came to know and spend time with after I was pushed out onto the street after seeking safety and not finding it long term from the staff at Hampton Inn Pompano Beach (also run by racketeers). Sylvester (the first one I ran into my first night homeless in Pompano) brought me to her. I initially felt safe around her because she was a woman and somewhat older. I felt that by being around her, it would deter a lot of the “street elements” around me. You can peruse my earlier blog entries for a summary of what she’d told me about herself and her life.
She’d brought me to a variety of local parks and playgrounds, churches, and soup kitchens, and also taught me how to ride the free buses at the Northeast Terminal in Pompano Beach. Some of the places she’d brought me to included:
PBN Church at the First Church of the Nazarene in Pompano Beach, FL
This was where Judy first shaded me for eating more than a donut half and criticized me for not, in her opinion, dressing appropriately for church. It was comical, if you recall the post about it.
We initially liked Pastor Dale Butler and his wife, and the other congregants there, but proceeded to get a weird vibe from them. They knew our story (we’d written how we’d arrived at our current circumstances on their “Connect With Us!” welcome cards at least twice), yet never made any moves to help us with our circumstances.
We were turned off by this and also the fact that we signed up to volunteer at the church, hoping that this would lead one of the church members to find safe temporary shelter for us, but it was to no avail.
In fact, they insulted us by emailing us, asking us to volunteer with them one Friday to help clean up some of the homes in Fort Myers after Hurricane Ian. WTF, we’d thought. We clarified that we would love to volunteer our time, but couldn’t commit ourselves yet because we were currently homeless. Later, we were told by Pastor Dale that he had “no luck finding us shelter” yet, but was there anything else he could help out with? Uh no dude, that’s pretty much it right now.
After that, it was kind of annoying to watch their little film strips where they asked everyone to contribute to their “Nazarene Missions” in Guatemala to help people there with COVID, etc. I’m like, seriously? WTF.
Then the preaching just got too disparate for me and where I am at in my life now, spiritually (with their embracing of pagan traditions commingled with Christian teachings). At best, I’d thought that they were just shallow and unconcerned, what with Pastor Dale schmoozing with me before the service telling me he’d “love to get together with me for coffee and hear my story”.
Uh, no dude – We’ve been telling our story to everyone, including you and your church. What are you deaf, or is it that you just don’t want to get involved, we’d thought.
Well, it turned out to be the latter.
We always err on the side of caution when being accusatory, but one of the things that made us go hmmmm in this particular church situation is that they began, pre Saturnalia Christmas time, to show filmstrips of staff from the following school, wearing reindeer ears and talking about where the congregants’ tithes would be going:
Pompano Beach Elementary School, Pompano Beach, FL
Apparently the congregants of PBN church would be donating for the children of Pompano Beach Elementary School, to provide underwear, socks, snacks, and whatever else for the Saturnalia Christmas season.
Backstory: In 2017, after getting exiled by the Department of Education of New York City, I began substitute teaching and working temporary assignments for the School District of Broward County. Despite the fact that my license and tenure is in secondary education, there was no restriction to substitute a primary class.
One day, I’d picked up an assignment at Pompano Beach Elementary School. It was a really young group of kids – either a kindergarten or first grade class. To be honest, primary school teaching is not my forte and I’d hated it, but I did a decent job and made a success out of the day. I do remember lots of staff members stopping in the room of the teacher I was subbing for (and I now suspect it was because they’d known who I was and wanted to get a look at me.) The only fly in the ointment was apparently I did not let the bus kids out early enough or something, and a school secretary had to pick up the slack. I was out by the time my day was officially over (because at $11 an hour, I was not going to start making travel arrangements for the children. That was something they should have anticipated themselves – secondary teachers aren’t really used to corralling children for bus travel and such.)
Well. Later that afternoon, I’d gone home and forgotten about it, until I got an email with an official attached letter on Pompano Beach Elementary School letterhead, telling me that I was banned from the school from then on and would never be accepted there for another assignment.
Fine, fook your stupid school, I’d thought at the time. I don’t like it anyway.
What I didn’t realize back then was that it was actually anti semitism at work.
I include this backstory because really, everything clicked for me when Silvester never returned my blanket and pillow to me after the cold snap last week. I now realize that all of these people, places, and things, are connected, and that there are no, and have never been, any coincidences.
Oh yeah, don’t forget that Rob was also one of the first people I’d met with Judy, and she used to refer to herself, Rob, and Dave as “The Three Musketeers”. (I guess they do have to tell you, but it’s surprising the amount that they do reveal. If I were a career criminal, I would think I’d be a little more discreet.)
Rob (“Bob”) of “The Three Musketeers” with a woman called Wanda at the Our Father’s House Food Kitchen at San Isdro Roman Catholic Church in Pompano Beach, FL.
Silvester Brownlee (“Bramford”, lol) with Denise at Our Father’s House Soup Kitchen.
Lisa (“Big Missy”) with some other (actor? who knows) guy who always brings his little girl in a stroller for lunch.
Anyway, that’s all for now, but all these synapses in my brain started firing at once as soon as I realized that these racketeers just don’t want to quit, and that they were all connected.
I suspect that Hector from the Green Free Bus was in on the whole thing too.
We’d LOVE to get the photos from Junior Prom back! The Nazis in my family and their Club of Rome associates have taken all of my photo albums (the ones filled with photos taken and compiled by Yours Truly), but they’re extensively filled with fantastic pictures of us all, including many of the “friends” that have decided to fook with us over the years – from grammar and high school, and then during college.) For some reason, they only left the photos that contained revelations of their misdeeds as they’d chronicled them – not that they’re insignificant, but we are left wondering why they took away our photos, containing many photos of these “friends”. These albums were compiled by our mother Bernadette and Yours Truly.
My old schoolmate has brothers, but I was never introduced to them. I imagine they definitely know of me, though. In fact, I’m almost positive that they’ve been front and center, following my family, and my life, since the days of my youth.
When we were in grammar school, she’d invited me over once (I was so excited, since she was in the “popular” group and I wasn’t) and her mother treated me like trash. (You may forget exactly what a person said or did, but you will never forget the way that they made you feel. That is true in this case.)
Her mother treated me like she was a racist white person and I was a black kid from the projects or something. At least that was the way that it felt like to me. It was pretty foreign to me. I didn’t understand it. For the most part, until that time, if parents or people held me in contempt, they’d kept it hidden from me.
Chuck Schumer later gave me a similar look at a Sweet Sixteen party I went to. The look was one of pure and utter contempt – like I was trash underneath his shoe.
Now, I realize that this family is likely in the Club of Rome. Definitely Jesuit sympathetic, if not Jesuits themselves. I imagine that many of my old “friends” from my grammar school were as well.
(Palm Aire, Pompano Beach – where I’d stayed during the summer of 2018 with a woman named Andi Khaleel.)
In 2018, the summer after my mother’s murder, my uncle Eugene arranged to have me stay with a woman named Andi Khaleel (ostensibly I found her on Craigslist, but you know how these hackers operate – how convenient that she had shown up at that time.) Anyway, during that time, I was kind of lost – grieving my mom extensively, and whatnot. I was not careful about who I was spending time with, and ended up in a lot of questionable situations, in which I was targeted, exploited, and abused in quite a few.
I was really lost in my own grief during this time, and had a fatalistic “Who cares what I do” attitude about my life, but what I didn’t yet realize was that Eugene, Elaine, the Daguannos, Maiuris, Shines, and my father’s surviving brothers and sister, as well as my cousins, were also involved in this Jesuit plot. All of them, and then some, were keeping very close tabs on me and were well aware of what was going on in my life. (As a side note, what sellouts are my Aunt Katie and my Uncle Vic and Paul, right? As well as her sons. We are like, all of that same bloodline of which Jesuits so abhor. I guess they figured when in Rome….sell your least favorite brother and his family into indentured servitude, hahaha.)
I remember being in Andi Khaleel’s apartment in Palm Aire, Pompano Beach, and posting on social media. I’d posted an old childhood photo of me for some Throwback Thursday post and suddenly, all of my former classmates and their brothers were commenting on my page and friend requesting me on Facebook.
This particular friend (whose family inspired this post) was like “There she is!” underneath the photo I’d posted. The tone, I now realize, was mocking. These people were obviously privy to the fact that I was targeted and I was clueless about it, and they were making a mockery of me.
Now that they know that I know, suddenly they don’t want anything to do with me. Not surprising.
My old schoolmate had ended up going to Fordham University (yet another Jesuit institution) where I was also accepted, but since I didn’t get a scholarship there, my parents didn’t want to spring for the tuition or do anything to try to swing it (they were pragmatic – it wasn’t exactly an Ivy League or anything.)
Interestingly, I should have received a scholarship there because my father had graduated from there, but I guess it would have ruined their plans to keep watch over me at Stony Brook, where they were likely already assembling children from Nazi and Club of Rome families to play the parts of my “friends”.
David Chase (deCesare) fortunately also included a revelation of it in “The Sopranos”. We’re not going to spell it out, because you know who they are, we know who they are, and now everybody knows that they know that we know.
Now we understand why her mother gave us such a contemptible look that day.
Since yesterday, I was gang stalked (again!) by three delightful (Jesuit-sympathetic? Probably) individuals, two men and one woman, at the bus stop.
I’m not proud to admit that when these kinds of scenes occur, I do not always keep a “high vibration” and have been known to stoop to the level of the perpetrators, at least insofar as speech and gestures are concerned. On the other hand, my father would probably have been proud of me. Sometimes, you must talk to people in the language that they understand.
My poor mother would have had a heart attack if she’d heard some of the things that I say at times, (and definitely would have had she been privy to some of the things I’ve written!) Anyway. Fortunately the event was short lived, but I can now recognize some of the hallmarks: They’re put together like little plays, little skits, little sketches. I am to be the main actor in the skit (previously unbeknownst to me), and they’re designed to bust my chops, lower my vibration, and basically serve as some kind of an emotional outlet for a whack ass crew that is, apparently, still obsessed by me.
Oh, so the reason for this AM’s blog post: It has come to my attention that the dark forces (CIA? Club of Rome? Rando Jesuit crews?) have done the same thing to my shopping cart (the one I wrote about extensively yesterday) that they did to my cars – specifically, my ’05 Nissan Altima, and my father’s heart – they’ve rigged them to be remote controlled. The front wheels started seizing up on the cart this morning – the same way they do if you’re actively trying to remove it from the store’s premises – you know, how they warn you extensively about this, etc. This was the first time this had actually happened to me with the cart. I was nowhere near the Walmart where it was likely procured.
It also shed additional light on the person who found this specific cart for me (Bramford). In tandem with his Loyola sweatshirt, broken promises, and narcissistic hissy fits of late, it kind of just confirmed what I’d already known to be true.
Whatever the setting, they gather a little theater troupe to trail, troll, and control me. Same playbook, different setting.
Revelation of Method: Luciferian cabalists must reveal their plans in advance.
I’m not sure exactly when or how my mother met Gina Grasso Blair, our housekeeper of over twenty years. I think I had asked my mother once and she may have told me that she had met her through Eugene. If that is true, it figures.
Gina had become a trusted family friend. Since she had won over my mother, I treated her like a sister.
Over the years, my parents had paid her and her (then) husband Kevin to help me move apartments, painting, redecorating, and such. They gave them and their son gifts for holidays and birthdays.
Yes, Gina was front and center in the planning and execution of my mother. Love of money will make people do anything, apparently. Now I realize she was likely in some kind of Satanic cult. For lack of a better term, she was likely a Satanic witch, una bruja…the whole time.
I first met her on one of my returns home from college. I was probably twenty years old. I remember thinking that she looked like a guidette. Other than that, she seemed nice enough.
When they were staging my mother’s murder in January of 2018, Eugene wanted me to allow Candice and Jacqueline into my mother’s hospital room. (Everyone was telling me that my mother was so sick, dying – I had to prepare myself, her death was inevitable.) I was staunchly against this. Through the years, my mother often asked me not to have them or her sister present at either her death or at her wake (at least I was able to uphold the former request). Though my mother had had no idea of the extent of their treachery, she remembered how horribly they’d behaved at her father’s wake, shallowly criticizing our Poppa’s tie/suit color, and making other insensitive, inappropriate remarks.
Well, who did I want with me, he’d asked me. Anyone else? Gina, I’d said. He seemed satisfied by this choice.
Gina came by with her brother and they acted appropriately solemn and supportive of me.
Later, at my mother’s wake, Gina handed me a polished rock with “Friend” etched into it. She asked me if she could place it in her coffin. I stupidly (ignorantly) agreed.
A year later, when I realized the role that she had played, I Facebook messenged her and told her that I realized what she had done, and one day would place a rock in her coffin. Then, the DARPA/CIA Facebook monitors made her unavailable to me. They did the same with other complicit participants (namely Christina Menos, for one) lest they further implicate themselves in our electronic communications.
mariachicat 