November 27, 2012

Sexual Abuse & History Repeating.

I feel that people need to take a step back from the whole black and white thing when it comes to Satanic & Ritual Abuse.  What we are trying to expose here involves activities so evil that it happened beyond the scope of human memory processing abilities and so insidious that is corrupts everything and everyone it came across.  Feel the anger, express it. Please do not believe that 'justice' can be resolved with quick fixes or long term investigations that bring very little in the way of real consequences for those who gained the most or improved opportunities  for victims to find safety and healing. After all what we are taking about here is people being routinely and expertly forced to do things that were totally against their conscience and everything they held true.  Then to do these under order or suggestion and then out of preference.

I am not saying all pedophiles are victims to, or that there is any circumstances when it is justified.  I just want  people to be more aware of what actual Satanism, as experienced by me and many others involves.  Abuse your own or someone else's, rape or kill, you do it or we will and we will never stop.  Things did not just happen. People were held against their will for hours, days, weeks at a time, drugged, terrified, injured, starved, tortured and traumatised in an unbelievable variety of ways and by people who were very skilled in what they were doing.  The 'abusers' had always (as far as I could tell) been through exactly what they put you through, that's what makes them (us?) so good at it.  You knew they would be back and everything you had done in the mean time would be scrutinised, judged and punished.

There needs to be some separation between the rage and any ideas about how any of this can be put right.  We need to know what we are dealing with and think clearly.  Otherwise we are just behaving exactly as we are intended to.  We are not dealing with something on the fringes of society here, this went to the heart of every powerful institution; cultural and economic not just in the UK but across developed economies.  As for developing, indigenous or hunting and gathering populations were affected by it I'm not so sure.  But I think there might be some clues in my genocide dreams.

I understand why people give up on the police but we have to keep trying whenever it is safe.  Take as long as you need but keep talking to them until you find either find someone in the police who will listen or someone who will make the police listen for you.  There are police out there who have heard of similar things from witnesses they considered reliable but have also seen what attempting to investigate it has done to their colleagues careers.  They have to listen to us, we have to make them take us seriously if we are to be taken seriously in the courts.  Police, social workers (dare I say!) judges are people to.  They have families that may have been threatened or hurt.  They have orifices, essential organs, nervous systems and survival modes just like everyone else.

And as for compensation.  Its not their money its just 'the' money. These institutions are capitalist the only way they can be hurt is financially   In the unlikely event, whenever it is possible take them and everyone they know for as much as you can get.  Give it to charities  research, refuges, whatever if you dont want it or cant keep it.  Money is power, the rich can only treat the vulnerable like that because they rich and well connected and the vulnerable are not.  Our bodies, our skills, our intellects were used against us for the pleasure and profits of others, recognise your value and take the money back. 

November 19, 2012

Give us time.

'Give us time.' The policewoman had said. I'd been talking about Savile when he was still alive.  We knew nothing would could happen when he was still alive and that I was too ill to give them much in the way of details that can be investigated, that the nature of his offenses and the cover up goes much further than groping girls and people turning a blind eye.  'I've got Savile's porn', Ferris had said in that bar.  I almost spilled my pint.  I guess I should be grateful and amazed that I still respond emotionally to anything and not hate myself for still believing what people say.  During it all, I had to cling to anything resembling hope even if I knew it was bullshit because I needed it to get through, the next day, the next minute, the next year.  Can't seem to turn it of now even though I have a safe home and an child that is with me and isn't being raped.  Where did the belief that deep down most people want to do the right thing come from? It certainly wasn't what I experienced, another part of the programming I guess.

The support over the net has been so good, the comments, the DMs, the tweets but feeling like part of the human race, part of a community has its downside after so much brutalization.   The past starts to become real, events start to matter again and not just as the sort of shit that happens to people like me.  Keep thinking about Henry, he was mine, that's what the look in eyes said; 'Mum'.  He wasn't the only one of my boys sent to Wales.  There was another one, an older one, our eyes met when I was part of a squad sent down to silence them.  The betrayal, the not surprised but still disgusted at what I was part of, of what I had been turned into, in total contrast to his brother but just as devastating.

I half see baby hands, I half cry, I half hear their voices on the phone talking about their lives in those homes, that home. I don't know what happened to the older one and as for the Henry, I can finally mourn him and feel that bond.  The bond between an abused teenager and the life made by me, to finally look into innocent eyes and know love is real to.

Watching the goddam press preview on Sky I saw myself strangling McAlpine with a cord or something with great determination.  I'm not convinced it was just a fantasy.  I don't generally have this much hate and disgust for someone whose politics I disagree with.  The cults, the rings usually involved families not just individuals with a shared interest.  I read something somewhere about an art collection, that rang a bell, 2001?.  I suspect that if he is involved he is no bit player.  Don't know, maybe he is just a victim to although he isnt acting like one.

Today, tomorrow, the next while isn't about him though, its about the boy who was happy to see me as I killed him and his brother who saw his only source of hope turn out to be just like everyone else.

November 16, 2012

Old Notes

Looking through notes from 2004 trying to find the names of some of the people I talked to when in refuge.  I knew it was unlikely I would find any, I'm far too well trained to remember or write down peoples' names.  Did find one, written at the back followed by 'CPU' will mention it to the police when I speak to them.  There was a mention of a policeman who 'was good with ritual abuse victims' hmmm.

Also found this poem, I guess it should be called 'All in my mind'

There's a dead baby over there
It might be me
I sing to her and she sings back
But it could all be in my head.
There's a big heavy cross on my back
Everyone's shouting things at me,
In a while I will be lifting that cross above my head
I'm in a lot of pain
But it might be all in my mind.
Their placing bets on who will win
The murdered or the rapist
Neither of us wants to be here
But its probably all in my mind.
I know you,
You've comforted me, I've cuddled you
You saw what people do
But its probably all in my head.
My dads in my bed again
He might send my sisters in afterwards
I'm in a lot of pain
But it's probably all in my mind,
There's a dead baby over there.
I woke up on the phone again
I don't know what I'm saying
My brains all fuzzy
There's voices and footsteps outside my door
I never know what happens next.
They're trying to convince me my dads dead again,
I wish.  He'll get up and go to work tomorrow
Like he always does
So it must all be in my head.

November 09, 2012

Due Process


Haut de la Garenne on the telly again, not for Bergerac
though this time.  On my knees in front of the BBC,
new carpet but and a crawling drooly infant.

I felt my hand still gripped rock hard until I opened it
and saw those bloody broken roots in my small palm,
dark dampness and a violent face.

They didn’t dig up much, just words scrawled in cellar,
a concrete bath, ashes in an improvised fireplace
and lots of teeth. Your not a bad boy.

But you left more in the damp earth, concrete pits, lakes
and spreadsheets we screamed in. Something still burning
when those that ate the evidence are getting promoted

and buying bigger houses. Something permanent
and recoverable in the meticulously crafted torture tools, tarpaulins
and fallacies of ritual abuse: the dark energy of the human sciences.

Definitions: exclude human foot soup or marinating foetuses
minorities and neighbours crushed under crosses
and put through the mincer.

November 07, 2012

One reason why there are not enough witnesses.

One of those big spinney kicks I think people call them round house.  I came back just as my foot is about to connect. I'm in my 'normal' Scotland clothes; jeans, a Tshirts and the boots that I wore to school.  The men in suits and rich clothes siting around the edges of the room are laughing.  They know I have come round.  They know I was aware, that I had seen what I had just done.  The kid was already injured, bloodied.  I don't know if it was me that did that.  I have the echo of one of their instructive voices in my head but I don't what he said.  The knowledge came like it was supposed to, input processed, assessment reached; fractured skull, broken neck.  This four year cute blond boy wasn't going to scream in agony or have his hopes purposely raised to be destroyed again.  He was nobodies' toy now. 

It was his face that helped a lot to keep me floored during the months and years after.  I just couldn't get passed it. He wasn't scared.  Like he was glad to be with me even though I was about to kill him.  A look of respect almost like he was surprised I had it in me. It might of been a kid I used to call Henry. Some said they were glad it was me who was going to kill them.  Some said they rather that than anyone else, some really seemed to believe they were privileged because I was 'special'.  One or two more were a bit more down to earth about it all said it didn't make any difference and they didn't care.

 It came back again after watching the North Wales stuff on the news. Another big old oppressive building that I cant look at for very long. I think a group of us were sent there as enforcers during the mid 90's.  To give the inmates a scare so they wouldn't talk.  I beat them but others went further.

Thinking about it today.  Its his eyes I'm desperate to see but can't.  Where they dark? Like mine, like wee man's, like Petey's.  Was he mine? I was definitely around my mid teens when it happened so its possible.

Have I told you this before?


November 03, 2012

Hard Evidence

Pretty hard to prove historic sex abuse, pretty hard to prove sexual abuse that happened 20 minutes ago.  Your word against theirs and abusers have a sixth sense for the vulnerable.  They know people don't want to know, don't want to believe, would rather accept things 'the way they are'.

There was plenty witnesses to many things that happened in Partick from November 2004 to March 2005.  Most of them have criminal records and already have complex relationships with the police.  My mate kept calling me a Brit coz he saw me talking to Blair.  This pissed me off considerably as he had also seen me talking to IRA members.  Not that I think blowing up civilians achieves fuck all but I've spent my live trying to escape the clutches of British institutions. 

There was stuff in the press about me around then I think, I could never see it.  Definitely a few occasions where there was heaps of journos outside the bar.  Couple of locals told them I was a prostitute I said I didn't have any comment about that. We were damaged, drunk, drugged by others and by ourselves to try and make it through the night, we all betrayed each other for 5 minutes of not being the victim.  We are multiples, disassociated, been betrayed by everyone we know and programed to act against our own best interests with no idea where we have been or where we come from.  There is no who, when, where, for how long and what with.  Just severe depression punctuated with patches of pure hell.  The same faces that are on the telly talking civility and equality standing a few feet away giving it 'Hail Satan' over some bairn, some prostitute, some criminal, some poof, some mangled pile of blood, shit and bones.  Cant be true.

The police? Well at best they cry for you and your evidence has they bin it.  At worst they will have a go as well and hand you over to their mates.  A cute PC asked my name, I spelled out 'Trouble'.

'Hard evidence' - its such a received phrase, defined by those in power, those with the money and contacts.  Those with the loudest voices, who are rarely asked to prove anything.

First I was told no one would listen, then I was told whoever I talked would be hurt and they would hurt me, then they said there was no evidence, then they said it was out of their control.  I talked to a lot of people, I don't believe they can silence us all.

 Our existence is proof and things are not quite like they used to be.

Think I need to talk about St Andrews but there is no rush.