So, I wanted to be a Journalist?

So, I wanted to be a Journalist.
24/08/09.

More ripping yarns, factual, about my tormented life, this latest blog-posting tells a few tales on my enemies. I scribed it while trying to dispell a few frustrations......, and I finished it this morning with a few vibrant comments about passed events and our fallen nation's political insanity.

Victorians may be interested in a few incidents remembered herein.....


Fate has driven and shuved me into journalism since I wrote my early essays for school.

“Investigative journalism” has become the loose name for my special interest.

Being a pensioner at 54 years old leaves one with lots of room to consider what they want to do.

Being the illegitimate child of a stolen part-Aborigine woman, who was raised by a catholic convent to do 'orrible things to people's minds, by fooling them that I was the messiah, finding out that this was MY case, too late to make an independent life for myself, while having on the other side of my parental guidance, an ex-Commando Sergeant-Major (Australian Army) for a step-father, at least left me with the concept of keeping SOME integrity to soothe my wallowing in social exile and self-pity.

Therefore I chose Defiance and Dissent against the bullshit coming via the astral realm to me from mummy and her nuns, and have now lived homeless for over 13 years.

As said, living this way, innured of the want or need for human company, with bales of time, and a smallish pension of $280 per week or so, I have gathered the few things needed to sustain.

Just exactly WHAT I am sustaining is a fair question, considering I still live underneath plastic tarpaulins on the back of a Holden ute.

Personal trauma is the story or the background to my own life, so each day I am assaulted with energy-draining depressions, as reflections of a seriously tormented upbringing flicker back to the fore of mind.

Smoking marijuana has, over thirty years-plus of imbibing, helped. But it does get in the way, because it demotivates the Soul, but, not in ways the cynics might say. A fella told a few of us years ago, that marijuana weakens our defenses against occult attacks, as it opens the portals upto that and higher, “spiritual” realms, so if one suffers varying moods, highs and lows, a deflated ego is disarming and enables any magician with intention, to “get-in” and play even more havoc with one's moods, state of mental balance etc.

(As to how much “depression” is CAUSED by other occult influences, and that the occult actually lies at the bottom of causes of moods, mood-swings, high-and-lows, etc, is where I would like our so-called “psychologist and psychiatrist professions” to go.

But as they themselves are but church-controlled players in manipulating the masses, to, I put-it, pernicious ends, themselves using the occult in their “psyche wards” and mental hospitals etc., it's unlikely, without SERIOUS REFORMS in the fields of mental illness and mental health, that society will move forward in terms of addressing and cleaning-up our endemic “Christian world” mental health problems.)

So, while I am overflowing with the necessary skills and talents to make a nice little 4x4 mobile home, as well as do effective things in media, politics and religion let's say, mummy's demands and psychotic desires to make me her little baby messiah, floor me, and dishearten me to the point of stasus, where drunking my sorrows, or suicide are preferred pathes to take. Added-up, they may well be the more Righteous Path also.

Nevertheless, “media” has for over 30 years, been calling me. Not any media organization, but simply the “medium” of giving-out the things I've come to believe in, which actually do seem to help effect the changes everyone has to confront, in this fast-changing era, early in the 21st century.

As the internet has grown, I've been hiding in the forests. However, I have sought to use it to effect.

A bloke from Canberra came to the village I used to loiter around in about 2002, and introduced me to the rudiments of “blogging” online.

Spared by my being exiled from society (from ANY society) the complexities of learning about how to make websites, or online stuff I would only become distracted by, I stuck with my talent in essay-writing, and sent words flying around in cyberspace, whenever I was so inspired and managed to drive to a library or local internet cafe with internet facilities.

I'm not one to trumpet the successes I've accrued over the last 10 years at least, but the messiah thing has been big amongst catholics, as we know, and as catholics were and are still thick in our worker's Unions, there were eyes watching and ears listening to my, even then, “prognostications”.

Such that, in the months before the feared 1999 Victorian State election, which threatened a heinous “Liberal” fascism would expand it's reign of terror over a generally reasonably educated Victorian populace, I was inspired to communicate mostly via email or hand-delivered articles, with the Australian Council of Trade Unions, the ACTU as well as with others.

In one corner of Victoria's political mash, we had the then incumbant Liberal Party Jeff Kennett, now a mellowed and hugely more considerate bloke, but then totally fascinated by a mob of dirty bastards, mostly from the elites of our church schools, who were fast-tracking taking Victorians for everything they had.

Schemes and dastardly plans were being hatched by the Kennett cabal daily during their rein of terror through the 1990s, and most unionists were convinced the end was nigh.

It was perhaps only weeks before the 1999 election, and things were grim. I was homeless, but had chosen to be so, or so I thought...., and with Howard in illegitimate government in Canberra, and another term expected for Kennett and co., I really thought I would be dead within a year or so.

My “family” basicly rejected me, and friends were nowhere.

Dead, and not by overdosing or such, but by a government hit squad.

Police harassment was pushing me to the limit.

Indeed, I drove cabs nightshift for years, but was reduced to that occupation after the black hole gang had exiled me from any prefered work, in the early 1990s.

One early morning, after a shift, I was walking the 8 or so kilometres home to the garage I was reduced to living in. I chose to walk for the physical fitness it maintained.

This morning, for some strange reason, I decided to walk on the western side of Fitzsimmon's Lane, Templestowe (a leafy north-eastern suburb of Melbourne), a four lane inter-suburb connector road. I reached the top of the hill before crossing the Yarra, and I think I even had a cigarette, when I noticed two Victoria Policemen, both huge framed fellas, riding their police bicycles, in full uniform with handguns etc, at around 4am, for god's sake, along the same side of the road I had walked for months, when going home after a nightshift. My intuitive mind said, “Keep low, Bro'!” and so, I waited for them to be gone, waited a while more, then walked back to the nearest phone booth and called a taxi to drive me back to Doncaster.

Worrysome times. If I live long enough I might write down the several other close-calls I had, in the 1990s. One which springs to mind was when I was “invited” by “workmates” to go parachuting! I was OK with that, but nearer the time I began to feel something was not quite right with this richard, so in the days before I was due to jump out of a plane with a faulty parachute, intuition intervened and had me say no to the idea. Dick was so dissappointed!

Nevertheless, as I said, I would go to public libraries to write and send articles I'd written, out to the media and to the unions. Usually I'd spend time reading the dailies as well, and one day, a few weeks before the dreaded election, I was in the newspaper area of the Ringwood library, in outer-east Melbourne, when a bloke of about 40 years of age, out to advertise he was a worker, by wearing shiny new bib-and-brace overalls, dropped the day's newspaper in front of me. “The Australian” I think. I've forgotten the front page headline, but it alluded to the election, and something about Labor's chances against a vigourous and supersmooth mafia boss named Jeff.

Labor was leading with challenger “ol' sad eyes” John Brumby, he who now heads the Victorian government, and heads it well, as best as I can determine from up here on the NSW north coast.

Kennett was winning egomaniacs over by the moonload, and was being supercharged by a fast-growing coven of spoiled, evil bastards from the private schools sectors, themselves, hypnotized as well. But then, none of them knew exactly what was happening inside their brains....

The roaring differences between Kennett and his egomaniacal right-wing mob, and Brumby and the rather “placid”, rather “Fabianist” socialists of Labor and the unions, was that Kennett and co, some of the main-players were ex-work mates and bosses of mine, were, egomaniacs. Spoiled, firmly believing the world was THEIRS to play with, and to destroy or plunder as they desired.

Brumby's Mob, typically middle-working-class catholic, were tame, NOT egomaniacal as the word is usually applied, so their campaign and fight for the chair in Victoria was failing badly. Not for any lack of Intellect, or Right-mindedness, or even Wisdom as is required to run a State, but they had integrity. And the day's influences were not really interested in those “old” notions of being Genuine or Honorable or such, and ESPECIALLY not when in government and power!

It was the end of the 20th century and every egomaniac saw the new century as the start of a whole new world era.

Kennett, prior to entering politics, ran an advertising agency, and a successful one I think, so he knew all the tricks needed to win over the viewers of his campaign ads and so-on. Also he had a wealth of spoiled “ideas brats” supporting him, so they may get a slice of the action and the government real estate which was, through the deadly 1990s, being sold off at a rapid rate.

Brumby, on the other hand, as I said, was totally earnest, and brimming with integrity. But against the hype of Kennett and Scotch College, with help from London, Brumby was pushing the pile up-hill with a pointed stick.

Being a keen watcher of personal behavior in others, to ascertain their depth and integrity, and knowing the benefits of “appearances” to a generally undiscerning voting mass, I had for a while regarded Brumby's worst assett, as being his “Genuine” but terribly sad eye-broughs.

To me, in this battle, and a bloody important one it was, those sad eyes of his were going to lose the election for Labor, for the Unions and for Human Liberty, at least in Victoria.

So, when the bloke in bib-and-brace overalls plonked the newspaper down in front of me, for some reason we had no reason to chat at all, all I felt the need to say was “Get rid of Brumby, I reckon.”

A few weeks later, still out from the election, John Brumby was addressing a union crowd in a large hall in Melbourne, either a launch or near-to-last speech, when minutes into his campaign speech, a large bunch of Unionists all stood up together and walked-out!

That was it! Poor Brumby was shattered. Ruined. A wreck, standing in front of all the Labor Faithful, as if with no trousers on.

Panic struck the ALP, and within days a new bloke was thrown up.

Steve Bracks, riding-in from the very same catholic college my very enemies were plotting to destroy me and Labor and socialism FOREVER from!

Come election night, results were unclear. The faithful were gathering in loungerooms across the State, demure, depressed, trepidacious, and generally afraid of what was expected to be our worst nightmare. ANOTHER TERM OF KENNETT? (Sorry Jeff!)

But not only Jeff, the greater fears were around the FACT that the State, and with Howard in Canberra, the nation was plummeting into fascism and an evil, considering the times, worse than Stalin, or Hilter!

I, unusually even back then, forced myself to be social and accepted a casual invite to a house in Coburg somewhere, to watch the results on tele.

It took a while, and we were all feeling a bit strange I think, but when the results finally dropped, I at least, was still numb.

After a few pleasantries, I jumped in my Gemini wagon and drove off to a park somewhere to sleep.

I leave it to my ego to ascribe the victory to those few words in the Ringwood library.

But other affairs were at play elsewhere in the town of Melbourne, which I was on-the-case-of.

As written above, I was born and raised for a purpose, but it was deemed necessary that I be “blind” to what was REALLY going on behind the facade of politics. By 1999, I'd become vaguely aware of the occult, and of how another person can fuck your mind totally, with telepathy.

Watching events in politics as I had been, I made mental notes to myself when “strange” things happened.

Not in chronological order, I recall a couple of politicians tried to commit suicide in the late 1990s.

One, an ALP parliamentarian, survived. I think two others did not. Again, I had no idea of what is possible with magic then, but my “Spirit-Guide” knew, and made sure I was kept in the dark, but safe.

In 1996, I was cognisant of magic at play in the big debate between the challenger John Howard, against the incumbant Labor PM, Paul Keating. The debate was planned to be held at the ABC studios, I guess in Sydney, but Howard played the clever-dick and, for more than just any want to be close to his mate Kerry Packer, insisted that the debate be broadcast from Packer's Channel Nine studios.

He won, and so Ray Martin played the bloke in the middle. It became clear to my unknowledgeable eyes, that Howard was using more than every trick in the book to defeat Keating. His mannerisms were acted-out with a strange tone and look in his eye, brimming with interuptions and interjections and distractive slurs, Keating was on the back foot for the whole debate.

All the lead-up of fighting to have either our catholic, decidedly pro-Labor ABC broadcast the debate, against the Anglophile, right wing Kerry Packer “evil empire” mob, then the weird performances on the broadcast night, left me certain that Howard and coven were being utterly dangerous and evil bastards.

Howard and the Libs won the election, and it was all down hill for 11 years. Amazingly, I'm still alive. I think....?

I think it was in 1999 that I was watching the 7pm ABC news one night, when there was an item on about how the NSW coppers had captured a yacht from South America with a large amount of cocaine.

My ears were pricked when the copper, who bears an uncanny resemblence to the current Commander of Lismore Police Station, Bruce Lyons, told the ABC reporter that they tracked and caught the felons by “getting inside their heads” I think were pretty close to the words the cop used.

“Ahum?” I said to meself, I said! “Ahum?

The next day I went to the ABC television studios in Elsternwick, a suburb south of Melbourne, and spoke to a reporter in the foyer. I told her that the coppers were using magic, and refered her to the bulletin from the previous nights news.

I left it at that, and resumed my war against the bastards in the catholic church who knew I was onto what they did not want me to be onto.

That the elite were using magic to fuck Australia.

(Of course, this has been the case at least since 1808, if not since the arrival of the First Fleet in 1788.)

The ABC, at Elsternwick, on that day, were in favor with the gods. They investigated and confirmed my allegations with the coppers, and..., the cat was out of the bag!

The word spread like wildfire across the state, and I have no doubt, it was another key ingredient in putting a stop to the terror which was overcoming Australia. Terror which sought to malemploy the same tactics and outright evil that one Adolf Hitler and his dangerous mob used in Eurape in the 1930s and 1940s.

Today, having given the last eight years to getting rid of GW Bush from Washington USA, via the same media of the internet and the occult, while at the same time living close to the edge fighting the tyranny of Australia's last Liberal PM Johnette Howard, to put Labor's “Our Kev” and company into Canberra, slinging-off vicious articles attacking him and his political-class mates as being softcocks, I'd much rather I could relax and either sleep for a 1000 years, or at least obtain a motorcycle and go for a long, long long, very long ride.

As neither are options, at least while I remain Defiant and Dissenting from mother's occult demands and grip, I keep fighting locals who want to snap me for being a victim, like coppers want to, keep watching the lively events I reckon deserve a slanging commentary or such, and wait............... for the NEXT full moon, which MIGHT be suitable for me to transcend this toil and folly of a life, and open my third eye to the world of magic.

To the world where I MIGHT, for the first time in my life, have some of my own mind, to myself.

To a world where I MIGHT, very well, “lift-off” and dissappear forever, perhaps to my Spirit's real Home in the Alpha Centauri constellation.

To a world, where I might exact the due revenge upon all the callous, brainless mutant pricks who've made it their passion to fuck me over, every minute of every day, for the passed ten-to-fifty years.

To a world, where I MIGHT, with journalism, take-on the whole fucking world with my acid-tongue, acid-pen, and for once, for one, and for ALL, put the evil beasts of Australia's aberant population back in their graves where they belong. FOREVER.

FUCK YOU COPPER, and Goodnight! While our police forces support the most dangerous regime, ex-Britain on Earth, which upholds the utmost corruption of our laws, they are guilty of treason, and have no authority.

-------------------
An MI-6 poisoning?
24/08/09.

Updating and continuing this little chapter of the never-ending book I'm apparently writing, I'm brought to remember another miserable period full of unjust and anti-political events.

In another incident. I was renting a lovely little flat in Bulleen, a leafy Melbourne eastern suburb, 4/2 Kandanga Grove, for a year or so in 1995 or so, just as my reputation was spreading across Australia and as it turned-out, across the world.

Into the flat below mine, of six in a two-storey structure, had moved a young nurse, Nicole Sinclair.

She was not “my type”, one because she was in her youth, naïve, and two, very demure, middle-class mainstream. But we were friendly enough to each other.

At one point the middle flat next to hers on the ground floor became vacant and was taken for a short lease, by three “interesting” males. One was a tall fairly solid rough-edged bloke, with little education is-it-were. Another was a Chinese bloke who told me he was from northern China, near the Russian border, but who was obviously western-educated at least, if not raised. He said he was an artist, which I accept, as I was invited down to their flat a few times and watched him paint quite beautiful “Chinese”-style paintings.

The third bloke, had a very solid physique, very broad shoulders, about 5-foot-8” tall, and was one of those cheeky egocentric and pushy private-school types. He was the first to introduce himself to me. I think our first encounter was when I was hanging my washing on the line out-back of the flats. He came round to the line and proceeded to “chat” with me. As we were chatting, which was more a kind of “friendly” interrogation by him, he had his apelike arms up on the clothesline wires, and was continually pulling them down onto my head and upper body. It was obviously a form of intimidation, which became more annoying as time passed.

As the weeks passed, I continued to go about the things I was occupied with, driving taxis nightshift, venturing into journalist-type writings, with a very “Philosophical” leaning, and expanding a small business I'd begun about ten years earlier - “DRYFINGEEZ” - “a truly great leap forward in motorcycling comfort” as I'd written in the product's advertising. Dryfingeez were a weather protection “muff” which straps onto a motorbike's handlebars (one each side) made of upholstery vinyl with sheep-skin lining, and were excellent in keeping-out the cold in winter. I saw the same concept when I lived and rode bikes in England in the 1970s, and as a motorcycle courier back here, I developed the concept with my own designs and ingenuity from 1986-on. When I moved into the Bulleen flat, I began making them and marketing them on a larger scale than I'd bothered before. Their demise is yet another story in the ongoing saga of my “life”.

Nevertheless, the two Australians of the three males made it their business to come up to my flat often, and the pushy one, after a few days, moved on Nicole also. One day I could hear them carrying on in her flat, and it was obviously of a sexual nature. The next time I saw her, she was rather more radiant than before, more sure of herself and outgoing. She managed to invite herself up to my flat one evening.

As you do, I made coffee, but I only had powdered milk. Nicole said she didn't like powdered milk, said she had some milk downstairs, so ran down and got it. Back she came with a “REV” 1 litre carton, and, as I'd made the two cups of coffee, she poured the REV into them.

I noticed, but as usual, made no comment, that she poured quite a lot into my cup, but only the slightest drop into hers. We drank it and soon enough she left to go back to her flat.

Well! Over the next week, I fell into the worst case of “flu” I'd had since I was a kid. All the worst “flu-like” symptons manifest - non-stop mucacious nose, fluid-filled lungsmaking me cough huge globs of phlem constantly, constant excruciating head-ache, profuse sweating (I stayed in bed with all the covers on to “sweat-it-out”) and my heart was racing at aroundand over 140 beats per minute, for four days! I found it near impossible to stand-up, falling over several times when I got out of bed to urinate etc, could not eat, and, was NOT paranoid when I was expecting to expire.

I stayed in bed for whole the time, and, using all I'd accrued in mind-control through my life, raised by mum who'd taught Yoga since I was about ten, spent near a decade attending the School of Philosophy uptil that mid-1990s time, which Taught/Teach the Best Meditation known to man, and surrendered to the Great Spirit, not caring if I was going to die.

After a week, the flu dissipated, and I was back on my feet.

The first time I left the flat after this, I rounded the balcony to the steps, and saw Nicole below just leaving and closing her flat's door. When I said “hello” she turned around suddenly in fright and shock, as if saying “You should be DEAD!” Well, that's my slant on what she thought.

Hmmmm.....

The three males? MI-6, at a guess.

In just the last few months in 2009, I went a wandering in search of some facts about my apparent lineage, my family's history, and working on their story that we have “Sutherland” Scottish bloodlines in mum's family (her father's name was Donald Sutherland Willis), I read a fair bit in “Wikipedia” I think, about the battles they were involved in in Scotland over the last 800 years or so. In the records, it seems the “Sinclairs” have been “sworn enemies” as-it-were, of the Sutherlands, for centuries. So it is quite likely that, the 3 males, being information junkies, would have inspired Nicole Sinclair to poison me with that apparent feudal war in mind.

It's so fecking typical of Humans, to carry an old and now irrelevent dispute, centuries old, all the way to Australia from Scotland, and of course, from the ongoing war in the British “halls of power”.

While the fools in those halls, whether in Downing Street, Whitehall, Buckingham Palace or in MI-6's headquarter-fortress on the Thames, continue to wage war against ideological foes, while BOTH ideologies are so fecking corrupted and in their genesis, flawed, it behoves all members of the “British Commonwealth” to reject their domination, and to do everything possible to dissempower them.

Again, I assert it is well beyond time that Australia became an Independent REPUBLIC.

Our own High Court, some time in the last decade or more ago, made the statement, perhaps the “judgement” that Britain is a “foriegn power” here, which is to be interpreted as meaning that they, the British, in being here, and in having ANY influence here, are acting NOT in Australia's interests but purely in their own interests.

If Australians cannot see that, and thus cannot act toward severing political and economic ties with Britain, and therefore with it's partners-in-global-crime - Europe, then Australia deserves baking in the 2009/2010 summer of continent-wide heatwaves and their accompanying bushfires.

While the “northern” catholic and protestant cults of the liar Christian religion are allowed to play with Australian lives and our Land to suit THEIR psychotic agenda, we will never have Good Government, and the cultural well-being of this once (pre-invasion) Fine Land will keep sliding into abject immorality and general degradation.

Indeed, if it takes a “civil war” for us to break the chains from British penal servitutde, then SO BE IT!

BRING IT ON!

Any Australians who side with Westminster politics, is in Truth, in the HARD REALPolitik Reality, a traitor to their own kind, family, children and nation.

Police, Military, Citizen, pauper, snitch, private or public persons, listen-up!

I am not interested in a violent political “Revolution” here, or anywhere on Earth, because we are all the same, and are all inherantly possessed of that most important facet of the species - Reason.

So - Australian, and if those slimy British and Eurapean backdoor immigrants want to stay here and NOT swing on the end of a rope, GET A GRIP! DO YOUR MATH! And take it to the streets, voicing fearlessly your objections to the errant policies and methods used by our policing and governing brute-forces to oppress us, and to oppress True Justice, Liberty, Fraternity and Equality!


AUM