Blog: September 2023

Arriving at my flat, I overheard a deluded neighbour talking through her door. She wasn't subjugated partisan when I arrived here, but over time, a darkness grew inside of her. Climbing the stairwell, I felt gravely unwell, sensing the sour smell of conceited betrayal; stigmatising an alienating void hapless.


It's the last day of another month passed by, in retrospective I'm feeling despondent. It's a strange world, when spite-driven cretins, glare at you with disdain, get kicks from ethnically mutilating a soul unrecognisable by slaughtering the prayers and hopes of others. These reprobates are hidden everywhere, and they keep their silence, disabling a mechanism between cognition and conceptualisation, that is where the liberation psychological damage occurs, when a conciousness is overidden with endless rewrite tribulations.

“I step off the train
I'm walking down your street again
Past your door
But you don't live there anymore
It's years since you've been there
Now you've disappeared somewhere
Like outer space
You've found some better place
And I miss you
Like the deserts miss the rain
And I miss you
Like the deserts miss the rain”.

These cretins are revealed by observing the way they break silence with each other, upon the edge of unceasing, and chilling ostracisation. Destiny flayed, curtailed by Liberation Theory into the Society "of" Jesus (not Jesus's society) they witness a future "reformed"; consolidated down a one way track of no return. Deliberations do not factor in mental disability, and this is where their persistent winning is accomplished against the all-out loser; as those in receipt of prosperity, as subtracted rewards, are deemed ethnically disabled of prosperity.

“Out amongst the walking wounded, every face on every bus
Is you and me and him and her and nothing can replace the us I knew
Nothing can replace the us I knew”.

Socially inept displacement is a cardboard throne of this disinheritance, unchangable heartless displacement, concealed by the mist of trauma, dissipated by triggered hypervigilance, blown by unreal winds of anxiety. Peace as soulness, a void disturbed by broken thoughts struggling to recall rationalisation from a hopeless abyss. Embodiment rotting with lactic acid, a dry parched mouth, cramped stomach forsaken of ability to hunger, inconsolable, lone unholy ghost, disfigured lifeless, forlie smirking obscenity from ridiculing malcontempt.

“The castles that you built so high
Were just too steep for me to climb
And I guess these dirty streets of mine
Were just too rough for you
I wish I could've helped you see
Just one of your sweet childhood dreams
But though I tried, I could not make not one of them come true
And I wish I could have made it
More like the movies for you
Some pretty Technicolor way it's never been”.

Know how to be a surmised levelled victim, beneath the Jesus pit of Egalitarianism, from a presumed selfless contentment, focussed only upon what is given, not of which has been taken, from a despised hapless source. I would say I hate, but hatred has been surpassed by emptiness of indefinable moments, slip of hand, struggle of subjected fate. A million miles away I watch closely, as forsaken reactions are fleshed from dehumanisation to humanise another with alienated puzzles of defaced debasement forlonging.

Parce que la douleur nue me libère.

Les feullies mortes.


As muted trumpets sound upon muffled ear, the rope is long, but tethered, onto a grip of truth, who's disloyal intention will fade into hell from that timed, deceitful plunge into those wombs of darkness, yet as you continue to encroach your violations to hamper the light are you so, so sure?

Reality has been fractionalised into augmentation through symbology of muralism, making sure you never get to see the "complete picture" from collaging pictures within pictures with an overbearing agenda hidden within the light concealing fists breaking bowed branches with knuckle dusting trauma.

“At 18 I gave up Jesus for Karl Marx. I transferred my beliefs from one bearded Jew to another.“.

This is an attack on our forgiveness as they are culturing reprobates, rejecting generally accepted or fundamental aspects of human existence through steered inductions of conceptual nihilism. Stigmatising and curtailing ethnicity for "whiteness", but not exceeding length of false charity; a baited opened fist that slaps the reach of inconsolably displaced trustless.


The farmhouse garden is fluttered with red admiral butterflies, the sun radiant glistening upon graceful blades of flowing grass. Comforted by change, uniqueness of perception, as wasteful years blow away as dust of despair foreboding clarity. After all these zombified years, I am still being chased down and erased as worthless. My lineage has gone to hell, yet the interloping mother of misery still insists on ruining me hapless, go to hell decimating evil, life depriving, beast of burden. Nor are you a child, but a proportionate dwarf foretold in the horror film Orphan.

There is no Jekyll and Hyde, just a pent-up angry traumatised human being overflowing with grief, sorrow and loss, flayed raw from living souls of life inherent. Multiculturalism is a failure, announced today by government, withdraw, or you'll face consequences. Charlie has gone to bed tired and stressed, I've been shouting in the car returning from Hawick; this none-stop harassment [ethnics demanding inclusion via indigenous exclusion] is similar to Cointelpro, but much worse, turning into maggot frenzied fury of disembodiment, every month prevailing the date of 27th.

Yet have I not been always deemed the worst one, even when I was in India, visiting hundreds of Hindu families you erased me. Admits all those trauma induced phobias you endeavoured to place into my mind; because I said no, you'd exterminate me from my homeland, from this here world, as if I never existed at all. You're a monster, your people turned into monsters, mutilated by your possessive fear, loathing and envy, plague of decrepitude you are, systematic misery manifested upon billions of souls; as if you were all that mattered. No place for god amongst that contempt, not in heaven or a world after.

As for rioting Leicester, no place other than Leicestershire was I traumatised so badly that I could not stay awake, [sleeping twenty-two / twenty-three hours each day] body shutting down, a psychriatric consulation told I was near to death as this is about as traumatised as anybody can be. Yet neighbours hurled ritual / abuses at me through walls, was denied medical treatment, the woman [a nurse] who looked after me, followed and chased down, day and night. She had a brain tumour, did not tell anybody before killing herself in a hotel in Brighton. No grasp of inconcivable pain you, your cretins have caused, none.


Interloped au pairs, doves as alienable possessions, trauma hypernormalised into perpetual fear, they place their hands together drawn from inductions of hauntology, subordinated with Stockholm Syndrome, disillusioned of self, believing their captivators to be salvation. Trusting in misery church of C.R.T; obeying wolf in sheep's clothing misguidance from Purim revering predators, bastards posessed by ethnic mutilation, procuring a spite driven disinheritance cult of defacing bastardisation.


This morning we picked up sheep and took sheep back to the farmhouse. Later on, early afternoon, we went for a drive, twelve miles through a pine forest track. We came across a dead end, so had to return the way we came, bleak out there, sidewards rain, upon a wind swept Goat Hill.

Near Goat Hill.

Stopped in Langholm to fill up with diesel, but as predicted Charlie's credit card was rejected; the pump was card service only. With not enough diesel to return us to Hawick, North along the A7, we drove over the England border and filled up at Longtown. Near a petrol station we seen a stalker, finding this evil cretins registration plate recorded on dash cam; made my evening. We returned to the farmhouse via Eskdalemuir, passing through the Craik, saw many deer, hares around jaw dropping views. Uncanny, whenever we stopped, (at Langholm coop n Longtown Spar) x3 grey cars parked beside, to the right of us, quirky.


Delayed rationalisation is quite something, beyond surfacing compartmentalised thoughts, rationalisation of a predicament that besieged me, for so many years, manifests. A puzzle forming from an unknown darkness, bringing a hue of light [without elation] revealing a world unseen, and those whom are consciously present in this world. Manipulating subordinates with impunity, victims are unaware of the bigger picture, advancing their encroachment as compartmentalised puppets.

Rising from sleep, I become increasingly motivated into "having to do something"; aligned with anxiety recoil from when I chased down by these cretins. I'd rise from my tent, alone for maybe half an hour before a mechanism of disinheritance closed in. This run down from being chased down triggered an indecisiveness that wound until 10pm. Zombified, unable to cognify I endured a "pass by" presentation of alienated inherent worth far beyond mental grasp.

Lowering myself to rest with sorrow and loss, calming inner turmoil made evident by night, submerged into a desparing darkness described by the lyrics of "Morning Song", performed and sung by Eivør Pálsdóttir.

“Last night I crawled into bed
With the darkest thoughts in my head
Could not find peace of mind
The night was so long and so unkind.

Morning has finally come
All my worries are undone
Wounded, but stronger than before
Morning clears the sky once more.

Yesterday's pain and misery
I won't let it get a hold of me
I'm one with my sorrow, we walk hand in hand
But it's not who I am
It's not who I am“.

Configuration of these events formulated within London's busy "Nobody Zone", as I am aware commencing with timed visitations, at twenty-seven and forty-vice minutes past every hour, encroaching a manifestation to be seen visible within my locality. Unceasing, this phobia inducing ethnic harassment prevailed from Negroes [lineage interloping au pairs] whilst roofless, for an entire year, totalling, I counted this to be over nineteen thousand timed incursions.

I attempted to obscure and hide myself in none public assessable place, randomising locality / area, walking irregular routes, but they appeared again and again. Formulating an initiative to log these stalking events as evidence of criminality, I took pictures with a Samsung mobile phone; however, sleep deprivation along with invisible street theatre antics distracted and diminished focus, eventually abating and terminating these distraught efforts.

Before entering the "Nobody Zone" and falling upon a decagram at dusk on Yom Kapur 10/10/2010; between being revered by Hinduism when visiting India, I lived in South West London's borough of Lambeth, in the areas of Herne hill and later Vauxhall. This was where I returned aligned with the spirituality of India; with no idea of the impression of whom, or what historical legacy had continued to reside there, Dulwich Road from Railton Road untoward Saint Agnes Place.

The people I lived with were ageing Anarchists [hiding Marxist beliefs] hailing from the nineteen eighties peace convoy. Unknown to me, a section of the New Age traveller movement had maligned to Communism via peace commune indoctrination from co occupying Greenham Common air force based located in Newbury. They were financially commission to video edit for "Matt Black", member of 80s band "Coldcut", and founder of a Martinist record label named Ninjatune.

I arrived in Herne hill from East Oxford, by anarchist media activists known to anarchists in Herne hill. My introduction ex-Ruskin college graduate into the anarchist collective in East Oxford, whilst I studied Law at Ruskin College [resident at Walton Street]. Here I was threatened by black students who thought I should not be at the college, clarified by an Oxford Union debating society member who bought me a pint, fearful of an informal seated discussion overheard.

The recording "industry of soul" produces songs based on "accordance" or "discordance". Forked members of linage, cast themselves off from their inherent line, sign into contracts [sell prosterity of their embodiment to malignment by subordinating their souls], an axe to grind against ancestral harmony, as banshees procuring cognitive dissonance. If we look closely we find many artists are bastards, and/or have often renounced their fathers developing new behaviours, projections forked, X'ed alienated from direction of their ancestors.

“There's not a problem that I can't fiX 'Cause I can do it in the miX 'Cause I can do it in the miX.“.

This is then intercepted and mixed into designated, replacement linages, reception aligned via time from another recording artist. Placing ultimate trust in secret societies rather than god, whom they shun, mistakenly they view such a depthless altercation, ostrifaction of inherent trinity, as fixing problems; notably, when indoctrinated by "common wealth" egalitarianism. Zombified and psychologically surpressed au pair's become poorer, displaced homeless, vulnerable to ritual abuses [RTS]; they suffer Schizotypal personality disorder.

Trinity realignment [in the form of child abuse] is centuries old, and I surmise a secretive and sinister religious doctrine of the Church; taken from Babylon, originally developed for the succession of Nimrod. Further developed into a multi-racial context by Europhiles Habsburg and Coudenhove-Kalergi, began with abduction and transportation of Irish children [born out of wedlock]. Bastards were taken into Dublin's laundry rooms, overseen by Dominicans revering bastard Saint Martin dePorress, his black mother's occupation, cleaning clothes.

“The nuns robbed me of my life and the life I could have given to others.”.

This doctrine of detachment and displacement is visibly endemic in today's society, brainwashed into mass consciousness from Disney's [deMolay International] subliminal sexualisation of childhood, culturing repressive and partisan tolerances ensuing parental breakdown. I've psychoanalysed hundreds of paedophile hunting reels, targets subjected to programming are debased and subverted into cycles of life destroying sexual deviancy. Hunters, searching for causation, often deem apprehended paedophiles to be "wired up wrong".

Bolshevik decimations inflicting poverty, erosion of cultural norms, upon the ancestral legacy of the Germany [bestiality of geese, Ostara's vehicle] during the Weimar Republic ventured west; a historical subject rarely taught ad mist by Holocaust indoctrination in school curriculum. Transsexuality was developed by Weimar's Magnus Hirschfeld [Institute of Sexual Research procured into western culture by New School via Andy Warhol's factory] was first cleanse targeted by book burning youth. [LGBTQI+ community subjectable to RTS].

As NSDAP reversed the depravity inflicted by the Bolshevik Weimar Republic, Judea declared war upon Germany through international boycot, headlined "Jews of the World Unite" via the front page of the Daily Telegraph 24/3/1933. Louis deRothschild, an associate of Habsburg and Coudenhove-Kalergi, was apprehended and held to ransom, only released when a numerical figure totalling his entire financial capital had been succesfully negotiated. House of Rothschild link to Bolshevikism was Lionel deRothschild, Karl Marx and Vladimir Lenin.

Marx drew his manifest inside the British Museum [funded by his second cousin Lionel deRothschild] within the vicinity of the Rosseta stone. A passage to Anat is etched on this relic, contextual related to Nimrod [Tower of Babel], whose priesthood developed Trinitarian to secure Nimrods succession. Lenin handed his workers' revolution, a final solution for Russia, drawn from logs of the Britian's Workhouses [ultimately developing into mass murdering Gulag] was raised fist of Anat saluted, synonymous with globalists movements of Marxism.

Manifesting destruction of humanity, Anat [believed to be liberator of the Caanite Jews in Egypt] was champion revered as the collectivised childhood spirit of Communism. This was evident in Russia symbolised by a red scarf, given control of Cambodia by Pol Pot and embraced by the assimilating machination of Maoist China via dissemination of the four olds. In view of the greatest sin of all "inflicting megadeath" the Vatican sought to align the incarnation of Anat via the cult of logos, with Alpha, interloping perquisite return of the 2nd coming.

Anat hidden within the realms of a dormant third world, entered into the first world through a transnational movement known as "Third Worldism" present with the indoctrinating idealogy of Anat fisting Velvet Weather Underground terrorist organisation. The Weather Underground, aligned with black Maoist revolutionary movements planned to create re-education camps, and commit infanticide against American's white, capitalist children; this became themed into a film entitled "Red Dawn"; via a surmised Cuban invasion of America.

At conflict with the Cuban missle crisis American president John F. Kennedy on April 27, 1961 made a speech, wording:

“The very word secrecy is repugnant in a free and open society. And we are as a people, inherently and historically opposed to secret societies, to secret oaths and to secret proceedings. We decided long ago, that the dangers of excessive and unwarranted concealment of pertinent facts far outweigh the dangers which are cited to justify it. ”.

A mere "Six" weeks before JFK's assassination, president Kennedy was photographed inside his limousine accompanied by Third Worldism emissary and Trinitarian Haile Selassie.


What's up, anything left to sweep into your desolation pit of human waste, freezing darkness wrought by a garbage cult of melting pot cretins. How could you stir so low to evaporate so high, depthless misery church, degenerate spirituality of inane profanity.

Its not hard to fathom enforced disappearances in our country, around 170,000 people are reported missing in the UK every year; with one disappearance officially recorded every 90 seconds, as though our lives together are being intercepted and rearranged unto a "need to known", undisclosed purpose.

I'll tell you why I call them out of monsters, because they don't empathise with our loss, sorrow of grief, their only concern is how much they can flay us lifeless then disinherit us into every suffering they can muster. You cannot reason with this evil; because that which has been removed is rarely if ever seen again.

It's our ethnicity they envy, our future they loath, and ethnocentric unification they fear; otherwise why select interlopers whom look and act nothing like us, to deface us unrecognisable. Once key lineages are pulled through, they'll drag everybody else into it.


Last night we had a visit whilst we were looking at photographs on my mobile phone. We only caught them pulling out, checking the security camera I found the memory card inaccessible; as the data format on the memory card had been scrambled unreadable. Who is visiting the farm, that is demanding to be unseen? It appears what I am writing here on this blog is triggering encroaching violations upon my life, but those who have sought ostracisation. But why me?

When the church [Vatican] questions significant events, they place a question mark on the point of interest, more question marks appear, some fading whilst others reappear. The alternating repetition effect is of an ungodly tribulation, as events around you are sequenced to deliberate a significant question, a question or questions those in question are never told. This stigmatising function of deliberation operates through logos, as if waged by Sun Tzu himself.

The psychological damage cause leads to paranoia, detachment, psychosis, accompanied by severe anxiety as an alienated and detached conscious perception struggles to familair occurance. Appearing as significant threats, uninitiated subconsciousness deliberates as there is no understanding of the esoteric world manifesting these tribulations. Triggered by the manifestation of the unknown, this is launched upon any subjected occurrence relevant to marked targets.

“Jacques Derrida meditated on the life and death of truths and the spectres that haunt the memory. He explained the end of history syndrome’ by arguing that each time there is an event, it seems to be the last time. This `hauntology’ is behind the whole question of “to be or not to be”. It is all a question of repetition, runs Derrida’s argument, like the ghosts who have the habit of returning again and again.”.

Returning from being spiritually revered in India, I had no idea of what reactional consequences I could have triggered on the belief systems of the Western world; however I did fathom how bizarre what happened appeared, from reading media reports from the west. What I do know is that I was subjected to bizarre beliefs procuring inconsolable decimation via the curdling conjuring of ethnic depravities then, geographically, unknown to my person.

In hindsight, the decimations, in the form of character assassination appeared in India before I returned to the United Kingdom, as that was already in India came to decimate the aftermath of what I had been, as if my footprints were being erased. This forensic footprint continued to erase my footprints in the West. Surmising, I was presumed to have maligned a spirituality, that had wrongfully been designated, through liberation theology, to another ethnicity.

Historically, I am not the first westerner to be spiritually revered in Hinduism; there have been others after me, manifesting similar events; but the significance of my return to the western world was something unique. Traces of sinister methodology can be found everywhere in the western world. Admittedly I am not much a theologian, to a degree I've not been educated with such knowledge, but research can be deliberated and if so defined against such causation.

Initiating a cat and "mousetrap" rundown, this egalitarian mechanism chased down and maligned, besieged inherent worth in the west. Inherent worth came to pass me by, in silence, and not a word spoken; whilst I subordinated as an anxiety triggered Zombie was misdirected and compartmentalised by being psychological terrorised senseless. Interception of my lineage was themed multicultural, procuring miscegenation via the selection of interloping au pairs.

Consolidation placed au pairs into an indefinable, altercate reality; hypernormalised into unbreakable cohesion, this inherent worth was subjected to inductions of Stockholm Syndrome. Although never witnessed, I believe those who came to pass by were told to gift their spirituality, in the form of faith, to a replacement. Within captivation, consolidated subordinates, projection diminished, with a "Hell Omega are reset into a new course, an Alpha beginning.

I've observed au pairs passing in cars whilst I was hitchiking at motorway roundabouts. The non-white ethnicity usually, glares, shouts, guesturing profanity at me, they pass by to leave me behind, to aleviate their surmised predisposition of being left behind. During Cat and Mouse games, leaving a town, city, even a village, they would speed by me. Although extremity of indifference is used, au pairs have similar soft bone facial features, such as eyes, nose and chin.

In the spirit of Saturnalianism, cultural norms diminished [LGBTQI people are more susceptible to cult indoctrination, end time of ardhanarishvara?], they hold rebirth parties for this Praxis maligning replacement, rib spearing the esoteric Christi Testa Menta of Martinism, I do so solemnly attest as the Anti-Christ.

"In Christian eschatology, the Antichrist refers to people prophesied by the Bible to oppose Jesus Christ and substitute themselves in Christ's place before the Second Coming."

Along the segregation train, the one way track of the Alpha Course, in renunciation of the Omega, as ethnicity discriminating heretics defiant of established Christianity they threaded biblical verses [often reversed] with Post Structuralist Marxism [Critical Religious Theory]. Envisioning Karl Marx as God, an elderly man, behind a big grey beard.

This soft / hard power multicultural revolution, defacing with endemic concepts of alienation to procure miscegenation, into a interlocked chain, defined by Martinism into the Integra Natura. This chart of reincarnation, formulates to dispossess decreed targets [systematically renounced as racist] a god given right to nurture succession of their ancestral spirit; forking nurturing by obstructing destiny, realigning incarnation to integrity of the designated Natura.

“The production of souls is more important than the production of tanks”.

Blending Trinitarianism with the dharma of Buddhism, Martinism has sought to monopolise the souls of living people as bounty. Obscured, this heinous and insidious mechanism is hidden in plain sight into irrelevance as a children's drawing. This mural is located on a boarded church door, within London's east end. This esoteric symbolism, a "colourful" mural, was created by reverend Lucy Berry for mass migration minister Barbara Roche's, Praxis Charity for Migrants.

Described above are pertinent facts, often defiantly discriminated against via struggle sessions of political correctness. Reincarnation is real, a closely guarded secret of concealled darkness, in surmised perpetuity, held to unconditionally exploit and unduly punish our known and rationalised world with inconcievable malcontent. Host's, obscured of purpose, question what mass migration brings; failling to fathom prosperity of embodiment consummated as enrichment.


Sprawled out, mind dead, sinking upon uncomfortable edges of a fake leather sofa, vivid dreams mutilated calm with disturbia through silence of night; woken to endless messages pouring through space inhabited by thought. I believe these messages to be dissociated "think to much" thoughts, from when I was violently traumatised and sleep-deprived unto a nervous breakdown; ritual abusive years of suppression and displacement, psychologically anchored to urine scented filth of Westminster's pear dropped Nobody Zone.

I am now searching to recognise the triggers that are the causation of these replaying thoughts. Could they be events, possibly when my arm was kick broken in half, maybe it was after being deprived of sleep during the night, when a deck chair smashed over my head as I attempted to sleep through the afternoon. Rotated church Soup kitchens switched choice of food, vegetarian for meat, tea for coffee and sometimes coffee placed into tea; from stale breath my teeth crumbled, corroded from soft cheese sandwiches and powder lumpy soup.

Maybe the break occurred when I was seated on a bench, head covered in somebody else's vomit, earnestly waiting for close public toilets to open amongst a flow of onlookers. Perhaps when my chilled bones were knocking on Portland stone paving slabs, a bin thrown at me, or being happy slapped with saliva by a gang riding Boris bikes, cheering from ITV tower's balcony party. The warm glow of crack cocaine pipes lit voids of darkness ending Convent Garden passages; may have been candles, if not stoking preconceived malcontent.

Could it be generalised anxiety that snapped the spring of time, walking fourteen hours a day, accumulating triggers along central London's depraved streets. Procuring agonising Plantar Fasciitis, exhaustion relieving pain from distraught projection collapsing. Maybe encroaching shadows, that sort to ritually abuse me tore my mind apart. Yet these memories I know, but yet answers maybe with compartmentalised memories I don't know, that are prompting recall through torturous flashbanks, warped into pretense, edging factorless future.

Yet from research, along the endless paragraphs of this website I know this gave my suppressors a good nights sleep, safe inside their warm homes, loved by endearing families; how their contempt burned a surmised necessity to subject me to such appalling desolation, more than enough to return to the crime scene and gloat at their work of disparity. I've often wondered if there is art in this, as they stole my paintings whilst I was unconscious, rough white canvas as sanctity I'd rested upon from systematic turmoil of undefinable streets.

Trapped into maligning architecture, misdirected by repetitive occurrences, frozen by objects anxiety perceived as fateful omens, as hypervigilance parted an esoteric veil of an unknown world unseen. In squares, I perceived underground temples, a world underground beneath my feet, entombed, consolidated souls evaporated. Above in circular towers skulls rested upon tables, as timed shoppers made a desperate grab for fading reflection of possessions as if retail platform had elevated an item as all, upon this, here unearthly prosperity.

Radiated chapped fingertips from burning my oyster travel card hot upon buses and trains, in an attempt to shake off clown antics that disturbed my mind senseless. The night buses, journeying at length from east to south, from north to west, cramp seated amongst heated tempers, sheltered from snow outside. Oh where, oh where did I lose my definable moment, as that which was definable came to pass me by; so true yet so unreal, beyond reach of the disgrace facet of faceless decimation, cruelly sculptured contours displaying a smiling mask.

How covenanted purveyors of depravity insidious marvelled over writings of Charles Dickens, as if written word had become flesh from thirty-thousand displaced shoeless, rag children who had starved, eroded by a colonisation that had upheaved their famished parents from destitution into forced transportation, upon these towering streets during unhinged temperament of Victorian times. An erasure crevice of contempt that had removed water fountains to green the flowered gardens of those, dismayed from clouded ivory tower heights.

Sometimes I think I died on those streets, that I am stranded somewhere between worlds. The first mental health section 136 happened Hampstead Heath, awoken under snow, with no blankets; police said this was crazy and took me to Highgate mental health centre. I remained at the centre for two months, until the spring, then discharged homeless. I was detained and sectioned over seventy-four times between years 2013-15, six months of my life were taken way with hospital admissions; on acute wards I was psychological tortured.

“I hurt myself today To see if I still feel I focus on the pain The only thing that's real.
I wear this crown of thorns Upon my liar's chair Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair”.

During a two-week admission in Lakeside Mental Health Unit, I entered and turned on the shower, locked the door, pulled out a razor and slashed deep into my forearms. Feeling a dark sickness ritual abuses had placed into me, circulating, this darkness inside blood, reaching across cold tiles spiralling towards a drain to escape me. Door kicked in, stitched up at West Middlesex Hospital, two hours later, discharged homeless, I walked twisted industrial roads, subjected to darkness at dusk. So many terrible tales, but not focus, nor inclination to write.

Drained of self-preservation from wet sopping rain, dried stiff by blistering heat from a midday sun, dissociated from thirst and eventually hunger, I ejected a tired, limp body from decimation cycles of this Nobody Zone. Twenty-five miles, just beyond London's orbital, receiving a kiss of death from an Italian man I waited, accompanied by undying optimism, upon an act of kindness without fathoming, wings clipped, burdened heavy from such inconsolable depths of despair, that this tired opportunity mule, had been curse Zoned a Nobody.


Had a visit from a friend at my flat, she stayed a couple of hours then left. Charlie is working late hours bringing in this years harvest, this has been successful notabaly the silage.

Returning to Hawick from the Farmhouse we slowed down for a young Roe deer; I wish the deer has more luck with other drivers if the deer decides not to leave the roadside.


From blogging, described prolific, I have often pondered from hindsight why I have blogged consistantly, regularly with longevity. In a previous post, I have attempted to explain motives behind my exposure pages. Nobody zoned, followed by a shadow of worthlessness, from this detachment I became increasingly aware of worth within the world inherent. But because of the latter, despondent, I could not figure my own worth, as an emptied "to be or not to be" ghost obscured from affirmation of value, prempt haunted by anxieties inflicted by a world unseen.

Journey through my blog I was accompanied by perpetual disturbance, inciting my thoughts to race but self reasoning based upon envisioned humanity progress through the most unimaginable reoccurring predicament disbanded every night, year-on-year, at 10pm. Projection forked it took a long time to figure I was being zero'ed; reset over and over again as an opportunity mule, inheriting little but grief, sorrow and loss. This cultured cognitive dissonance is everywhere, smoke screened by ripple effect and set voided with hypernormalisation.

There is no doubt in my mind that our people, our land, is under occupation by incessant deliberators, procuring incursions through a cultural Marxist lexicon curtailing people(s) altercate perceptions subordinated either soft and hard power. This involves groupings, for example an individual, subjected to soft power maybe excluded from a group experiencing hard power. Together with inductions of Stockholm Syndrome, an encased perception incapable of understanding predicament, projecting empathy, and/or even deliberating solidarity.

Much research has been focussed on the Frankfurt School, yet hardly, if any, investigation has been conducted around the sociology seated in Paris, Republic of France, where progression of the year one took hold. Communist revolutions such as Iran and Cambodia were led by dictators and their accomplices that had spent time, some educated, within this city. Notably Third Worldism proponent Jean-Paul Sartre reverberating "To exist is to choose" and also New School's Jesuit Jacques Derrida whom first coined the term "Hauntology".

Perhaps, in Post-Structalism world of hard power, yet unseen subordinates to soft power; are parissian red Marxist sociologists such as Rudolf J. Siebert, Roland Boer and Warren Goldstein; preying on faith via exploiting coping mechanisms, of adherents subordinated to the misery doctrine of Critical Religious Theory.

“In Christianity, the Logos (Greek: Λόγος, lit. 'word, discourse, or reason') is a name or title of Jesus Christ, seen as the pre-existent second person of the Trinity. The concept occurs in John 1:1, which describes him as the Logos 'in the beginning' [Alpha]”.

During orchastrated religious tribulations, apparel logos [besides Chicago Bulls, Tap Out] of comic book herO's were used as stigmatisms: Superman, Batman, Spider-Man et al., adapted via Stirling Uni by Kenneth MacKendrick.


It's strange how the mind can be so troubled during none happening days, yet happening days can be calm, even restful. Today Charlie disinfected the poly tunnel with lime; he wore an improvised mask which concerned me greatly.

Hydrated Lime.
Disinfecting the poly tunnel.

Lime is a product of natural origin that has been used since ancient times as a disinfectant. As a result of its high percentage of alkalinity, it prevents bacteria and microorganisms from adhering to both interior and exterior surfaces.

Disinfecting the poly tunnel.

This will lower the incidence of wet mouth and other problems occurring with newborn lambs. In March we almost lost two cade lambs due to wet mouth. Using lime to disinfect is an old way, we took into consideration our kitchen garden in view of the water run down from the poly tunnel.

Many of these wings did I see...
during my nature dwelling childhood.

Seeing natural life in the now tempered farmhouse garden is somehow exhilarating, we have bees, attracted by a honeysuckle hedgerow and red admiral butterflies resting upon the farmhouse white wall, and green grass, that one day, been perceived, through dissipated clouds of dissociation, as nurturing home.


Today I am feeling unwell, we arisen in the morning feeling drained, we stood in the pouring rain. pumping up a flat tyre on our 4x4. Arriving at my flat I released I'd left my keys at the farmhouse, Charlie drove twelve miles there and back so I could unlocked my front door and let myself into my flat.

Huge flower on my ever growing Japanese peace lily.

I have with me my friend, Charlies sheep dog Sam; he is good company and encourges me to go outside for a walk for slimming exercise I require to retun to a healthy body weight. In my flat I was enamoured to find a huge flower on my ever growing Japanese peace lily, a result of tending to nurture.


We awoke feeling as though life had been sucked out of us. I packed and whilst transporting my belongings to the 4x4, I noticed a silver balloon with a number 10 written on it in the farmhouse garden. How uncanny I thought, today, on this date mass murderer, Rev Reverend Jim Jones died; maybe, amongst all the cultured confusion, some moment ajar with dissociation I'll mention that Jim Jones [also Chicago Bulls "player" Dennis Rodman, a friend of North Korean, Communist dictator Kim Jong-un] and I were born the same birthday.

The number 10 also corresponds to the decagram, returning a memory of stepping on a Hebrew inscribed gold decagram whilst visiting the United Grand Lodge of England (UGLE) [On National House Open Day, a national event where closed, prive places are opened to the public] during the evening of Yom Kapur, 10/10/2010, an auspicious occasion for the Jewish Community of London. Charlie stamped on the balloon, and placed the balloon as flattend rubbish into the smelly murky depths of the black farmhouse wheelie bin.

Today I have returned to my flat, the wet Scottish Borders weather has returned, most of the crops have been harvested, but Charlie is concerned about what is left outdoors. The Norman rule was an agrarian society, segregated from the Catholic Church, and Judaism. On Yom Kapoor the Jews sacrifice a Cockerel, waving the bird above their heads to inherit their sins, the Normans placed a cockerel above their churches, before God; to "top it off" cock fighting houses had a decagram roof [Truro, Cornwall had one], decimating ascension.

After the decagram my life dramatically changed, displaced and vulnerable I became side stepped and decimated from of my life, subjected to decimating beliefs from a people from a far away land unknown to me. What was known to me was the models that were at UGLE on that day, were they stepping onto the decagram also? I do know, with two suited men, there were an African women present, signalling me to walk over the decagram. Walking over the decagram, from hindsight I realisd God is flesh, of letters, and not of numbers.

UGLE founded in 1717 is "Common Wealth Freemasonry", whom I figure, were tasked by Jesuits [who formed Freemasonry from taking over the Guilds with the Templar's book of Solomon] with the all-out dissolution of the Norman Church. To clarify "all-out" dissolution we need to look no further to successive Communist Revolutions, namely Cambodia where mass murderer Pol Pot attempted to erase the memory of a nation, champion cruelties of the "childhood spirit of Communism" and formulate an agrarian society from year "Zero".

The French Revolutionists, dissolving the monarchy, attempted to reset the nation to the year "One"; Cambodia is French speaking; placing the One before the zero, there is 10. Half of my family were French, and lived in Normandy, in an area where only those related to monarchy lived. So the question beckons, why am I presented with a silver balloon with the number ten on the death day of the Reverend Jim Jones? Jones was a Communist, Maoist and Marxist, as a "rainbow" father to his multicultural disciples he also aimed to mix races.

Jonestown was Jim Jones failed "start again" attempt to formulate an agrarian society. In Ukraine, the Bolsheviks, inflicting orchestrated artificial scarcity, starved to death an agrarian society. In Ireland, the Potato famine shared a similar forensic footprint in that grain was deported from Ireland, leaving a starving Irish people with only blighted potatoes. Many more events prompted colonisation, setting sail with huge amounts of food; whilst destitute people, uprooted and displaced, received transportation for meek crimes, begging / vagrancy.

Over thirty thousand children were displaced homeless, covered in grime around the depraved streets of London. At the epicentre was Saint Martin in the Fields, propagating "Jesus in the Slum" vision of Roman conscript Saint Martin of the Tours. Much less do covenanters of Martin of the Tours know that this Martin was involved in a pagan Mithras trauma mind control cult, located underground in close proximity to London's Guildhall. Templars historically practiced their Solomonic ritual underground, Freemasons also hold rites in darkness.

Karl Marx, son of a Freemason, educated at Jesuit school received sponsorship from second cousin Lionel deRothschild to advance his collectivisation studies (drawn from Britain's workhouses) in London. Marx writen his manifesto inside the British Museum, also housing the Rosetta Stone, inscribed on the stone, a passage of Anat, a Canaanite war deity revered and worshipped by Jews "enslaved" in Egypt. Marx initated into Freemasonry with Lennin, as he passed over, with a raised fist salute to Anat, his manifesto for Bolshevik Russia.

The destructive lexicon of Marx's dialectic was proven failure, disorganised and often begrudging workers compliant with this collectivisation agenda murdered each other en masse. Formation of the Russian Republic struggling to contain this dire situation, inspired by Britain's Workhouse created the Gulag, perishing millions to concentration camp starvation. Jewish understudies (chased from the Weimar Republic and invited by Colonia Family into Colombia University) developed critical theory to illude western society of definable morality.

To champion this cultivated aggression against civilisation, the raise fist of Anat, now synonymous with Marxism, was used. Cultural Nihilism, formulated by Frankfurt School's Max Horkheimer prevailed to "tune in and drop out" America's prosperous future. The motive of this agenda? America's founding fathers had decreed, origins decimated, America as a land of opportunity for people's of European origin only. To culture a new egalitarian vision through the media, disintegration of the four olds, the Colonia Family created the New School.

The Jesuits were founded by the Massimo Family, another aristocratic family of Rome, known for influence on politics and church. The Jesuit's colours are historically Parisian red [most common colour of lipstick i.e. cupids bow] and black; they are less known as the Society "of" Jesus [not Jesus's society, they worship Mary whilst idolising Jesus's crucifixion]. Maligned to Parisian casts of Jesus in the Slum, I wondered how Italians despised more than Jewish people; then realised Jewish people were indeed chosen, not by God but by the Vatican.

Peoples Temple, Peoples Pope, Peoples Queen.”.

There are many debased, smoke screening Free masonic conspiracies; ignoring the expansion of freemasonry into the societal system through Rosicrucianism as Disney (deMolay International), esoteric Martinism et al.; are now mostly defunct [although ties remain with close guarded secrets], an ageing gentlemen brotherhood of civic administration, forwarding emphasis on charity [Rotary International] and Trinitarian/Solomonic ritualistic practice governed by the Council of the 33rd [10 Princes Street, Mayfair, London].

However the Jacques de Molay linage curse, psycho-sexualising family breakdown of Norman and French monarchy lineage prevails. The Templars returning to France, from protecting Middle East missionaries, carried leprosy and demonology contained within the book of Solomon. Philip the Fair moved to suppress them, embattled he resorted to burning the Templar leader at the stake, as witches and those spreading disease were dealt with back then; difficult to perceive the extent of paranoia, during witch hunts, in those troubled times.

As we discover our historical past, retracing our alignment, we find our shields lowered, our crests famished, from the upheaval of our ancestors. Prompted by DNA tests, and the media industry, our emancipation from conceptual alienation is hampered. Reunification of our people is subsequently side stepped, cat and mouse intercepted to be replaced by interlopers. Stigmatising ontempt of Saturnalianism the symbolism of our past times was left in place, as bait, by imposters irreversibly loyal to a disinheritance cult fostering all-out betrayal.


Feeling despondent today as conclusions manifest from compartmentalised inflictions surmising inconsolable suffering surfacing, wrought from a horrifically troubled past. Fearing retribution, they culture a wrong doing world without consequence, and renounce repentance as inconceivable, claiming consent by stigmatising those who refrain enacting from provocations of retaliation. It's difficult to perceive those arriving from foreign, unknown lands, not only racially chasing down to crucify inherent worth, but an insidious Marxist utopianism arrived to colonise us with obscene beliefs, unfathomable to intended victims.

They have come to obfuscate us from our incarnations, as replacements, believing our love will be nurtured from darkness unto them from inside mothers [who has renounced and voided their father] womb "of time". As subordinates to Saturnalian this is how they seek to "purify" us of the spirit of our ancestors, their legacy evaporated, defaced incomprehensible and reset with the "innocence" of "depraved" savages. A defacing altercation, realigned by a begrudging people whom have recited hatred into their gnome for centuries whom relished subjecting our people to artifical disparity from inciting betrayal into all-out worthlessness.

It's uncanny writing this blog, because it seems they are reverse engineering the words, sentences I write. This is to do with John 1:14 a biblical verse etched into a stone monolith immediately outside the misery church doors of Saint Martin in the Fields, located within the Nobody zone of Westminster, London. It's hard to confront these pointless, but coordinated acts when performed by strangers whom I've aptly named "cranks". Cranks believe they can create a divine solution between stigmatism of subjected cause and reaction. I was told these are the "worst ones", when assessing security with a chauffeur representative.

As a group, they procure non-stop sequential violation; mostly unseen by an unaware public, whom are often only focussed on their daily tasks and duties of profession. When I was decimated within the Nobody Zone, Jesus in the Slum cranks covertly replaced "new for old" items, and not only spoiled possessions but upscaled the possessions of those they had chosen to subordinate the subjected unto. Further away from the Nobody Zone, decimating Nobody Zoned they drove by in cars, smoking out air with filthy exhausts; sometimes garden fires would be lit smoking downwind, objective to soil recently washed clothes.


In the morning Charlie returned with a trailer loaded with a hay bale and chaff for the sheep.

Charlie arrives with Hay and Chaff.
The Chaff..
transported inside energy buckets.

The hay is to be layed on the floor of the poly tunnel, after the ground has been treated with lime.


Today we visited Gray Mares Tail waterfall, there were many visitors here, we were followed by a Black BMW our friend, who was present, often complains about. The falls were gushing vigor from a recent heavy downpour of sopping rain.

I found wo beetles aligned together in opposing directions. Our friend descends from the waterfal, edgy with vertigo, finds a different path.

The contrast between heather and rock.

The Martinist anti-christ cult upturned my smile upside down with upheaval. Sheep subjected to a celluar tower?.

I love visiting the less frequented Megget water.

Megget Water.

There is so much unspoiled peace here, I feel apprehension as I am writing a description.

After Charlie returned our friend to her home, I presented him with a delicious serving of Toad in the Hole.


Duh, after decades of using Filezilla SFTP client to upload JPG, GIF and MP3/4 files I've switched to Gnome Files; I never did like the software's frilly red square logo; Communist / Martinist cretins. Thanks, but no, thanks for all the obfuscate years I've used your "open source" software; what an abuse of ethnics, ho-hum. Our neighbour left a handwritten letter this morning, threatening to report our burning muck heap to the fire brigade. We attempted to put the heap out days ago, and thought it out after pouring gallons of water over the white and orange embers; but the heap has since relit. This morning we have spread out the muck heap and poured water over it; I get a sneaking suspicion that this has had a knock on effect some place else, ho-hum.

Muck heap spread and put out, 11:03am 15th September 2003.

There is no measure of contempt with narcissists, stated in her letter dated 15th September she has already discussed the matter with all our neighbours, but she had already talked to the neighbours when the heap was smoking days ago. The smoke has no chemical, but repulsed she views the heap as "excrement", now I'm thinking about urban people moving their contempt to whiffs of the countryside. She accuses us of lighting the heap, which is untrue. We doused the flames, using full to the brim sheep energy buckets to carry and disperse the water. Smoke is annoying, she cannot open her windows, but to first take the issue to our neighbourhood instead of knocking our door is quite worrying as covert "non-direct complaint" Judas tactics are used by Martinism, ho-hum.

Mucking out the poly tunnel is almost complete.

It seems the September, Scottish Borders heat wave we experienced several days ago has ended with fine rain, so hopefully social stability will return. Returning yesterday we noticed burning fires in the surrounding area, notably a barn, located on the Ashkirk to Roberton road, that had half melted with the heat of their fire, perhaps more muck fires we thought. Charlie is planning to complete the mucking out of the poly tunnel, I fear we're lucky the fire did not start in the poly tunnel as it could spread and possibly burned the farmhouse down, ho-hum. We like our neighbours and are formal with them, I hope these events have not lastingly impaired the mental health of our correspondence (locality consists mostly of farmers) and that of our troubled neighbour(s?).

Farmhouse incinerator, seen it's day.

Knock on effect of events have also made us self-aware of the farmhouse's smoky incinerator, although she has never complained our other neighbour (resident a thousand yards away) hangs out her washing regularly, this is not something countryside people of the Borders do but in hindsight of recent events our rusted incinerator (which is not located near any muck heaps) will not be relit but will be removed. Charlie is transporting muck to the paddock, this is becoming slippy wet making the job dangerous. Improvements to the poly tunnel include repairing the plastic trap, fortifying the structure and improving ventilation; there will also be fewer sheep this winter as we have halved the size of the flock, (than that of last years flock).

Bizarre 8 appeared on the 4x4 window screen; there also appears to be a 0. Is our car being marked, wondering if this marking reacts to ultra violet light.

We drove into Hawick through pouring rain, this is forecast till Wednesday next week. Through a steamed window screen a figure eight appeared; this did not appear drawn by hand and the placement (lower right) was difficult to gain access to draw a near perfect circle. We've never seen this before, strange. After fetching our friend we drove towards Morrisons supermarket, by N-Bridge roundabout I witnessed a dark void from a black Mini car. The blonde, female driver tee-heed cultist madness at the source of darkness, a front seated passenger attempted to hide from view; but our dash cam recorded both of them and their number plate. Next time, they'll be followed, violated with tomfoolery they for decades, instigated. This evening I'm figuring how to cook up a tasty curry.


Charlie has almost mucked out the poly tunnel, the ground is to be covered in lime to prevent formation of bacteria. Experienced a poor night of sleep due to snoring. Thinking about purchasing some earbuds; the buds might block out an onslaught of messages the head piecing tinnitus doesn't. Realised state psychological torture injured inflicts a noisy mind, thus foraying peace anywhere, unfound yet conditioned to intolerant presumption of peace everywhere.

Post-structuralism disinheriting civilisation until the civil cannot be civilised; forbade of definable morality, everything we mean and have meant to each other is being systematically torn apart, moral high ground lowered, with values and cultural norms diminished, superseded by passive dependence upon influences of savages.

My stomach churned yesterday evening, returning to the farmhouse, driving through Hawick I noticed cretins everywhere. They isolate, culturing partisan and repressive tollerances via character assassination. Culturing deformation so that every friendship made curdles, stirred by correspondence defying contempt, found with every second and/or third contact; until systematic attempts at conflict resolution exhaust the associate mind into cognitive dissonance.


My family is evil, do not want to see them again, ever.


Followed into Sainsbury's supermarket by creepy cretins; the public are beginning to notice them. If too many people realise who they are, what they are for and do, people will revolt and begin to expose and oppose them. Soon they will become the vulnerable, ostracised loners they chase down hapless. The world is subject to unique changes, no moment can be exactly the same, (every revolutionary movement has ended after terrible wrong doing, in some way or another), blindfolded lost their egalitarian fate is sealed into apathetic darkness.

Surpassing us from life, stepping into stolen destiny, as unnatural "gods" they manipulate incarnation, from forking projections. Through race they encroach themselves into definable, unilateral goals, this is an insidious movement of ethnic dissolution; fuelled by fear, loathing and envy.

Stand by who you are, alongside each other in recognition of your inherent worth. This isn't sharing, but about subjecting zombified victims into dissociate oblivion. It's not what you got, we've been alienated as strangers, because they want to be who we are, via bodysnatching our legacy, desires foreseen, demand to be us, not as us, but without us. Subjugated to propagating decimating lies, dissolved of truth, you'll die inside, castigating ancestors they despise, (lineage who suffered for you to be who you are) cast off into the abyss eternal.


Look at this old picture of Hawick's Trinity Bar I found on facebook this morning. I have found this bar friendly, and have enjoyed the time I have been drinking at this establishment. In view of this photographic I cannot help wondering what this bar would have been like back then, what clientele came here, and how they were servered beverages; it seems dancing was very popular back then.

It is believed that the Trinity Bar was constructed in the late 1880s, when Renwick & Raeburn established the nearby Trinity Mills. One of its previous guises was 'Mac's Bar'.

This website is now 5,499,617,280 bytes, that's 5.5 gigabytes in size; this is inclusive of media files such as MP4, MP3 and JPG. I first began writing HTML, CSS and PHP in 1998, mostly for the environmental movement, which today I cannot find rational or reason with. In 2009, I became displaced homeless, experiencing severe sleep deprivation, ritualised abuses and intense trauma I struggled to cope and comprehend both mentality and physically with the dire predicament I found myself in whilst roofless on the streets of Westminster, London.

“Definable precipice of blanket dissociation [cultured ignorance] is subjecting a lone, targeted individual to endless pre-judgemental tribulations, until nothing else matters other than focussing on necessity of projection to accomplish life essential, everyday processes and aims.”.

It was during this time I used Social Media to create a journal of events that were happening to me, a desperate effort to comprehend and constructively cognify a seemingly impossible situation. Due to only having a mobile phone I used WordPress, then, purchasing a laptop I secure web hosting and an independent in stallion of WordPress. It wasn't until 2017, as I began recovering my mental health, that I stopped using MySQL databases, choosing a flat file system in mind of security. Visitors are no tracked, there are no cookies, so no statistics.

“Where ignorance is bliss, / 'Tis folly to be wise'.”.

This website has been changed, from a personal view, many, many times. Frustrations of loss, sorrow, grief, loneliness, worthlessness and voided emptiness I have become have been and continue to be edited to avoid this website becoming a platform of angst. Seeking to highlight the predicament of our people I have sought, opinions left out, to write my exposure pages in historical context; leaving the reader to formulate their own perspective in hope they will release the consequences of their actions from a knowledge of history rarely taught.

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”.

Viewing, you may notice, from a sociable perspective, the absence of people. This isn't because I have left them out, although a handful of people are not mentioned because of safety concerns, but because there have been few people in my life since I returned to the United Kingdom from India in 2008. Naturally I am extrovert, approachable and I hope to think, friendly. This partisan world castigates people hapless from mere slightest inclination, an ostracising totalitarianism of contempt cultured by "all or nothing" Cultural Marxist utopians.

“Most of the harm in the world is done by good people, and not by accident, lapse, or omission. It is the result of their deliberate actions, long persevered in, which they hold to be motivated by high ideals toward virtuous ends.”.

Other than deafening silence and burning paranoia of presumption, I have not seen any change from the castigation of people that have been deemed "racist" or from those cultured into racism via cruel exploitation of irrationalised phobias wrought from targeted traumatisations. This world is on a dystopian course of sheer and utter horror; where inherent distinction has become a fear and loathing perquisite to character assassinate, a defacing debasement, focussed only on cognitive dissonance, enabling an undefinable extinction.

In 2006, Matthew Cohn, told: "all this has ever been about is control"; embrace freedom, reject acceptance through conformity, to face the unknown, to be known. Being subordinated into the insatiable wants and soul fleecing demands of possessive other is to fade away to nothing trapped inside a hapless shadow; life is not inert, as a people we are slowly being disinherited of what we are, have been and are yet to become. 911, treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, today, a dissolution of legacy, zealous, decimating destruction of mutual accord.

“I would argue that nothing gives life more purpose than the realization that every moment of consciousness is a precious and fragile gift.”.

Acceptance comes from the heart, and not of weak willed, oppressed people defaced and alienated from self, whom cannot stomach inherent inclination thus shun, factuality of history.


Transported a hundred gallons of water over the paddock hill to extinguish a muck pile fire; the neighbour was very unhappy with being smoked. We had planned to muck out the poly tunnel, but the fire took all morning to put out; the event reminded me of how my path was deliberated smoked by Martinism, how cars used to soil my washed clothes by high revving their exhaust pipes. Everything that has been Martinism has been nothing but a deprivation of spite, I utterly detest these sinister cretins; insidious they are, absolute ruin they relish.

In the afternoon we travelled into Hawick, did some shopping and picked up our friend. After half an hour at the farmhouse, we decided to go for a short walk in the Craik forest. Our friend had come with us on our first failed attempt to get to Wolfcleuch waterfall, on the second attempt me and Charlie got there, and on the third attempt we took our friend to the waterfall. The overcast sky was a heavy grey, rain commenced upon arrive, but we were not deterred, enamoured by the forest's beauty we proceeded unabated.

We noticed so many footprints in the woodland floor since our last visit, trees had been pushed over the burn and stepping stones formed; just how many people had arrived since our last visit here; this place is usually not frequented much at all. Charlie lent our friend his wellies and walked through the burn and the forest bare foot. He stopped at a picnic table and ushered me and our friend to go ahead towards the waterfall. Returning, he had laid some food and drink on the table for us. We returned to our 4x4 wet.

Loli the cade lamb.

Returning to the farmhouse all the sheep presented themselves on the verge of the paddock. Charlie prepared a barbeque, then left me to cook the food. We also invited a friendly neighbour, who enjoyed a four pack of Tenants larger. We joked how British it is to enjoy a barbeque in the pouring rain. Charlie fed the sheep then took over cooking, he covered with tin foil, the food, from the downpour. Later we watch a film titled "the road"; which covertly attempted to tell the story of how the beggar of Saint Martin of the tours became naked.