Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Remove the Quack

I am almost ready to give up on the British entirely. How long have I been here? I have been in this country since March 8th, 2010, and I have yet to see the British stand up for me. I have been abandoned by the British public in this hospital to be RAPED and abused since May 19th, 2010. The British have NOT stood up nor done anything to get me out, yet. How much time did they need? It is almost too late for them. The British are refusing to save themselves.

I am still subjected to the quack, Dr. Helen Reynolds. Remove her from being my doctor, replace her with someone willing to discharge me from this hospital, and the situation will greatly improve. She is a quack, and that vile, power-corrupted quack needs to be put in her place. She is standing in the way of the British people redeeming themselves.

Yesterday, I was subjected to the horrors of the quack. Today, this afternoon I will face down my power-hungry father. Tomorrow is injection torture day. Stop the quack, replace her with a doctor willing to discharge me from this hospital, and send me to my husband in France. Then, and only then, will the British have finally redeemed themselves.

I cannot protect the British while I am still their victim. The British need to bother to do something. They need to bother to do what is right.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

To Clear up any Confusion...

Cosmonauts and an astronaut have returned from the international space station MIR. I wonder what sorts of stories they can tell about watching us mere mortals back on Earth from outer space. They must have wonderful, colorful, explosive stories about the things they have witnessed. I hope we all get to hear their stories together someday. They have witnessed things I am not allowed to hear about.

It sounds like Spain and Basque are giving peace a chance. I knew the world would listen to me someday. There are better ways to resolve conflicts than with a drawn gun. Odd comment, I know, for a woman who has authorized the entire world to use ‘whatever force necessary’ to rescue her from this torture facility. It is just clear that if I am still in here, diplomacy has failed. Sigh... but I can only assume that there are other things you are all trying to peacefully rescue me since no one with a drawn gun has yet shown up to get me out of this hell. Please hurry. I am holding onto my sanity as best I can in here. They do not make it easy to keep a clear head. Thank you for giving peace a chance, Basque. Thank you.

China is still developing better human rights for all of its citizens. The white paper is out about its improvements from 2009. The world is a beautiful place indeed. I wonder how long it will take for me to finally have my human rights reinstated… Thank you, China. I always knew you read and listened.

Now, to clear up any confusion on the topic… Because the British do not recognize my marriage to the Mr. Johnny Depp a.k.a. my Mr. Love–of-my-Life, my mother is who they consider my nearest family member. This is because my mom is the older of my two parents. So, it is possible for my mom to demand that the NHS finally set me free of this hell they pretend is a hospital.

If my mom breaks me out of here, I will go to Iowa to help take care of her. She lives with my overbearing father still. However, the British can only redeem themselves if they break me out of here themselves and send me to France to live with my husband. With the new leadership of the Labour Party, my hopes are high that this might happen. Yes, I prefer that the British redeem themselves. No matter what, I need to get out of this hell they pretend is a hospital.

Ed Miliband, let’s hope changes around here are changes for the better. I am only one woman. I cannot continue taking care of the British people while I am still your victim. I am just not capable of it any longer. Start correcting wrongs done and still continuing to be done by the current government, and you will see the British redeemed. You are on a clock, though. You only have until my mom breaks me out of here herself.

My beautiful world, thank you for everything, and please keep the pressure on lonely, tiny England. This will work. You will bring me to freedom and my full human rights eventually. Thank you.

P.S. My mother mailed me a package that should have arrived this last Friday at the latest. Whoever has it, please make sure it is finally delivered. My poor mother has enough on her mind.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Oh, My Beautiful World!

Oh, my beautiful world, I have faith you will break me free of this place. I need faith in something, and my faith is in you. It is in all of you.

I remember what it was once like to have freedom. Never let anyone do to you what has been done to me. I have been ruined in here.

I never used to become angry. I have never had this bad a temper. I never used to hate. Now, because of my time in this hell they pretend is a hospital, I am guilty of all three. I need to freed of this place, so I can heal. I know I can heal. I just need the chance. Please, my beautiful world, stand strong, and break me out of this quack ward.

I remember how beautiful the world is. I am crying as I type this. I remember what it is like to see a horizon. I remember what it is like to have freedom. I remember my human rights. Please, my beautiful world, help me.

There is so much more I have left to do in this world. Please don’t let them kill me in here. My quack is a monster. I have been her chemistry experiment for four months, now. Please stop her, and please insist I be set free.

Thank you, my beautiful world, for everything you have already done for me. Please stay strong, passionate, and united. You are the only thing that can set me free from here and send me to my full human rights. Please, my beautiful world. Please.

Please Stop my Quack and Stop my Father. I Need your Help.

I need your help.

The wrongs of the quack, Dr. Helen Reynolds, against me I detailed in my last post... But, to reiterate. The quack 1.) does not allow me out of this building at all, 2.) refuses to admit that I am ‘fit to travel,’ 3.) mandates that I be held down, battered, injected, and tortured with chemicals, 4.) lies about me to get away with all of this, and 5.) rejects any attempt made on my behalf to have me discharged from this quack ward. The quack must be stopped. Please spread around what she looks like. Justice needs to come from somewhere, and the quack, Dr. Helen Reynolds, must be stopped.

As for my father, he does not want me in control of my own life, surroundings, or money. He does not want me to live in a safe environment. He wants me confined to THAT HOUSE with him. When last I lived in that house, a rape kit found live sperm in my urethra. He was one of the perpetrators even beyond refusing to keep me safe while I lived in that house. He had a camera of his own on me in my bedroom, as well. That is the life my father is laboring that I return to.

Beyond being despicable, he is also driven by lies about me. A typical conversation between me and my dad sounds like this,...

DAD (angry): How dare you do that!
ME (bewildered): How dare I do what, dad?
DAD: You know!!!
ME: No, dad, I don’t know. What are you talking about?
ME: Dad, what the hell are you talking about?
DAD: Why are you lying to me!?!
ME: I am not a liar. If you ask me an honest question, I will give you an honest answer.

And then he gets angry and gets off the phone with me. Clearly, he is driven by the lies about me that I am not allowed to ever hear. My father must be stopped.

His insistence on having guardianship of me, a married, French, almost thirty-three year-old, is beyond disgusting. It is also a further human rights violation against me. It is designed to make sure I cannot live in safe surroundings with control of my own belongings, money, and life.

The official hearing concerning permanent guardianship over me will occur at the Polk County Courthouse in Des Moines, IA this Wednesday, September 19th, 2010. I would greatly appreciate any support Iowa or surrounding people can lend to my cause. I cannot be there myself because of the quack.

The quack must be stopped. Again, she 1.) does not allow me out of this building at all, 2.) refuses to admit that I am ‘fit to travel,’ 3.) mandates that I be held down, battered, injected, and tortured with chemicals, 4.) lies about me to get away with all of this, and 5.) rejects any attempt made on my behalf to have me discharged from this quack ward. The quack, Dr. Helen Reynolds, must be stopped.

All things considered, especially considering recent events, if I were given the chance, I would rather live with my husband in France. If this requires my mother to spring me out of this hell, though, I will go to Iowa. My parents need a dose of reality. My father needs to be put in his place. My mother needs to be saved from him. If you have the ability to convince my mother to write a letter to spring me out of this hell they pretend is a hospital, I would appreciate your help with that as well. Thank you.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

What the Lack of Opportunity for Exercise has Done to my Body…

After four months stuck in this building with no chance for exercise and with my body as the quack’s chemistry experiment, I am now squooshy and round. I might be hard to recognize when I get out finally. I am not used to being this squooshy at all.

The lack of exercise--mixed with the quack’s (Dr. Helen Reynold’s) refusal to allow me out of the building and mixed with the nurses holding me down and battering and bruising me to stick my full of chemicals with long pointed needles--has been giving me symptoms of depression. I sleep so much more than I used to.  I am losing my appetite.  I am losing an interest in life as a whole.  So much could be fixed if I could just get some exercise.

Well, okay, so much more could be fixed if the quack, Dr, Helen Reynolds, were finally stopped. I can only imagine what lies she tells to pretend I could be made well by being locked into this building with no chance to go outside with people who abuse me and stick me full of needles. The quack must be stopped. If you know what she looks like, do all you can to stop her. This has reached crisis level.

The quack is also the person who stands in the way of my being released from this hell. Should that all of you do what you can to stop her, finally (and I know by the fact I am still stuck in this hellhole that the British have yet to get off their asses and redeem themselves), I might choose to go to Iowa to keep my mother safe,… but I still prefer France.  I have been denied the arms of my loving (and long-forgiven) husband by the quack, Dr. Helen Reynolds, for far too long.

Please, world, keep all of the pressure you can on those that wrong me. Make the British break me out. Haul in the quack who is my torturer. Please, world, deliver me to someplace I get to have my full human rights, for once. My surroundings have been out of my control for far too long. I need safety.

Also, please thank the President of Iran for the wonderful speech to the UN General Assembly. I always knew Iran listened to me. I never knew just how much they took me to heart until now. Please give the President a BIG thank you for me.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

The Current Writing Projects I have been Dabbling In...

With the arrival of this new little computer in my life, I now have the ability to write again. My current WIP list is the same as always, though. I suppose I need privacy before I can finish anything.

I am still working through my screenplay “Latent City.” The main characters have almost all met each other, now. With any luck, I can make a real dent before I reach plot points that mandate privacy for my writing.

The short story I started in Iowa over a year ago with the expressed purpose of confusing anyone reading my writing against my will, “Whiskeyless Fictions,” is coming along as well. It is still a masterwork of just-close-enough-to-real-while-just-far-enough-from-true to confuse every mislead soul who wants to psychoanalyze it. I love the project more and more every time I pick it up.

Who Knew The Adventuress may or may not get a question mark at the end of the title. I have also just taken a dive at the second book. I do not want to go much further at all on my novel, though, without decided copyright protection and privacy for it.

Those are my big three right now. I still have a lot of work ahead of me on my Children’s fiction project and Young Adult fiction project, but I have been putting off laying finger to keyboard on those two. The cookbook is waiting on some sister collaboration still, and … okay… EVERYTHING is waiting until I can have intellectual privacy, at last. Maybe someday I will have the freedom to finish writing any of them.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Torture Day

I titled this post as if every day in here were not replete with torture and its potential. Today, though, was injection torture day. I scream because it makes death crawl through my body. I scream because they batter and bruise me. I scream because it is all I can do. Yes, they still lie to get away with it. Yes, they still try to hide that they do it. Yes, they lie to pretend it is not inhumane.

They are torturers, and they know they are guilty. I need every last torturer held accountable. They need to be hauled in for justice. With my rapists still working on the night shift, though, I doubt there is any justice anywhere on this island. Ask yourselves: when was the last time I was in control of my environment? It was before May 2009. Isn’t it time I finally have safety?

I am only human. I simply cannot care for the British while I am their victim any longer. I have done everything conceivable to take care of these people, and all they do is keep victimizing me. I cannot go on this way. The British have to get off their asses and bother to do something, now. Please, world, put the pressure on them to redeem themselves at last. Until they do, I cannot take care of them any longer. The British are on their own without my care or support until I am out of this hell they pretend is a hospital and in my husband’s arms in France with my full human rights. The British have to fend for themselves without me until that happens. Let us hope they redeem themselves at last by sending me home to France.

Also, remember my father cannot be trusted under any circumstances.

This is posted with very little proofreading.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

What the Future Brings

What does my future hold?

What do I see in my future? With all of your help, I see that I will soon reach safety. You will all soon successfully demand my freedom from this hell I live in, and I will be sent into the loving arms of my husband, the Mr. Johnny Depp, in France. My friends will be safe and free to follow their dreams. I will be free to travel this world, including the USA, to see the people. I know I need to travel to see people who cannot afford to travel to see me. So much depends on the diabolical ‘Code of Silence’ finally ending.

What do I see for all of you?

I see you all forming a more peaceful humanity, as peaceful as we all can form. I see us all braving Global Climate Change together and with full knowledge of what to expect. I see you all demanding my freedom as well as the truth. There is so much humanity will survive, and I will see you all thrive.

Most pressingly, I see you all... yes... I see all of this world peacefully united demanding my freedom and my full human rights. I see you all peacefully united with a common cause. I see you all united and strong. I love you, too, my beautiful world.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Random Thoughts Loosely Strung Together....

I was reading the news today and yesterday. It made me think...

I do not yet understand the prevailing fiscal policies of so many governments. In times of economic crises, governments should be fostering growth not stunting their own economies. When a government is in debt, it has more to gain from investing in the economy to create greater tax revenue than from reducing how much money is in people’s hands. Reducing citizens’ incomes while raising taxes leaves people with no money to spend to save their economy. Such action only stunts an economy and speeds up its downward spiral. To save an economy, people need their money to move around, and they need to see their money grow when they invest it. Think of the increase in tax revenue to offset any debt if the economy could be inspired to grow. This is just math. You cannot fix an economy my ruining it further.

Who is the real threat to the American way of life? Is it Al Queda or the US’s own corrupt government? The trial for the accused mastermind of 9/11 is to be held in New York. I believe it is an effort to re-brainwash New Yorkers with the government’s cover story for what happened. I was once asked why it is we always blame the US government for the terror plot. We blame the US government because only the government could get away with it. And why would they do it? To ruin America... and look, only nine years later, the ruin is almost complete.

I do admit that many policies of the US government foster foreign terrorists. Just look at the level of sanctions the US has against Iran, North Korea, and other nations. The US government propagates hate and fear. What grounds did the US have to invade Afghanistan and Iraq? Did it involve Weapons of Mass Destruction that do not really exist? (What have soldiers been dying over?) Can you imagine the opinions held about Americans by people who live in these regions after everything the US government has done to them? Worse yet, what about the people from these regions who did not believe that the US is only lies and hatemongering and went to the US to start a new and better life? How were they greeted? How are Muslim-Americans treated by the rest of the American public? Yes, I do believe US policies foster terrorists. What if we tried something other than hate and fear?

Now, about how governments treat the freedoms of their own people… If they are removing freedoms, privacy, and liberties, what are they protecting? Nothing is worth losing the basic rights and freedoms that makes a democracy. Security? What security? What is left to keep safe?

As for the British, I felt the love last night... Please stay organized out there, Britain. I know you want to redeem yourselves; you know I cannot officially forgive you until I am no longer your victim. It just takes enough people. It is time to rise up and demand I be set free of this hell and be given my full human rights.

Thank you, my beautiful world, for staying organized, strong, and united. You will get me to my full human rights in the arms of my husband in Frances, yet. Thank you. Keep fighting.

I am here:
The Windsor House Quack Ward
40 Upper Parliament Street
L8 7LF

...but please do not send anything. It all gets stolen before it reaches me.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

It has been nine years.

What has the US done over the last nine years?

What has America accomplished in nine years?

I live in a torture facility. How are you?

Friday, September 10, 2010


I actually lost my temper two days in a row. Yesterday was at the nurses who choose to torture me. I kept telling them that all they have to do is choose not to torture me, but they want to do it and choose to do it every time. Today is another story… I’ll tell you about it at the end of this post.

Believe it or not, I did not lose my temper about the now-aborted Quran burning plans of one lonely minister in Florida. It did have me walking around saying, “Who burns books? What kind of person burns books?” for a while, but I chose to say nothing here until it resolved itself. I wanted to prove that all of you can do this without me. It is wrong to burn any book… especially holy books. I don’t care what those books are.

I also did not lose my temper at the hot drink machine today. It has been making me itchy. At first, I couldn’t tell if it was the torture injections or the hot drink machine, but it is always worse after I drink from the machine. I think it is an opiate instead of a hallucinogen this time.  It would help if they would just tell me what is in the injections, for once.

As for things that do not make me angry,.. All living things should be free to grow and change naturally. I for one do not change when pressured to change except for being inspired to rise up and meet the challenge. I do grow and change naturally… and I always hope that the change is for the better. There is no point in having change just for change's sake. Always make sure changes you make better your world and everyone else’s.

I lost my temper today at my new junior doctor, Dr. Kaar. He confirmed that he, Dr. Reynolds, and my social worker Steven Cowley have no intentions of ever releasing me from this facility, no intentions of ever giving me leave, and no intentions of stopping any of the tortures. They have made no effort to contact the French Embassy in London that is doing all it can to send me to my husband in France. They have made no effort to contact the IOM. And, they cannot send me anywhere without the help of either my husband or the IOM. They just want me left abandoned in here tortured.

Please keep the pressure on them, my beautiful world. Eventually they will notice the world pressure. They must not have noticed, yet, that you all want me to have my full human rights and basic freedoms. Thank you, world, thank you. We need to make them feel it.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Update to the previous post...

My body's need for safety that kept me outside all afternoon only delayed the torture.  It did not prevent it.  Let us hope my torturers are all identifiable.  Something needs to stop all of this.  I need help getting to my human rights... particularly freedom from torture.

Please stay strong and united demanding my human rights, my beautiful world.  I need your help.

They tried taking my internet away today.

There was some action yesterday in an effort to take away my internet connection. Clearly, I prevailed. Gee, I wonder what I wrote that made them want to end my ability to speak to the world? Was it the truth? I think it was!

My poor, battered body is trying to avoid more injection torture today by keeping me in plain sight in the courtyard. The medical staff here lies in order to be able to inject me. The nurses try to hide when they do it. And, they all lie to cover it up. We all know that they know that what they do is torture. They know they are guilty. Why else would they lie and try to hide it? That doesn't require a criminal psychologist to notice.

I have had the good company of my inmate Richard (There are two Richards. One is a vile deputy ward manager; the other is my angel of an inmate.) and the Occupational Therapy (OT) activity director JoAnn for much of my time here outside where I am now sitting in the shade of the building and overhang typing away with these notes to posterity and the world. My inmates are rock star... sometimes literally. I don't know what I would do without them or the OT staff.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

A Some-not-All Laundry List of Reasons this is a Torture Facility

A Some-not-All Laundry List of Reasons this is a Torture Facility

1.) My second Thursday held in this building, I walked into the dining room shortly after 7pm and walked out shortly before midnight. Five hours of my life had gone missing. Over the next few days, strap bruises appeared on my arms as did scrape marks appear on my hips.

2.) One night after watching the French Open, I fell asleep on the floor in front of the television in the female only ward. I awoke to find that the hard switches for the television had all been switched to off and that my sinuses had been cut open. For months, my nose processed copious amounts of mucus until healing could happen on its own, and I still now snore loudly when I sleep. When the memories came back, the night staff had held me down while I was still awake, torn open the insides of my nose, and drugged me to forget it had ever happened.

3.) My first morning here, I woke up with a painfully bruised taint. Do you know what a taint is? After you look it up, you will understand why I called this a torture facility from the start. I am still raped in this bed every time I sleep here on the night shift.

4.) The last time I slept here on the night shift, it was at 7am when I laid down. The night shift ends at 7:30am. I woke up at about 2pm after the night shift had inserted a three-month stick of testosterone into one of my ladylike body parts. I now cannot recognize my face from all of the chemical effects, and the hair growth there is disturbing. The night shift all still work here.

5.) When I once tried to report that I had been raped here to the police, I was deeply, scorchingly, verbally sexually harassed over it by one of the nurses here named Sue. When I called 999 back again for an update, she got between me and the phone to hang it up while I was speaking to emergency services. I was denied any help from the police by the facilities here, was dragged across the floor away from the telephone in the lobby by Sue and Colin as Colin kicked me in the head, and was deposited in a hallway. I spent the rest of the day harassed over ‘being a nuisance’ for lying in the hallway where they had dragged and left me.

6.) All of the drinking water here and most of what little food they serve us at all are drugged. It is not strange for all of us who eat lunch to fall asleep afterwards. It is not strange to find hallucinogenic chemicals in the hot drink machine in the canteen. I soon learned to NEVER drink out of the bathroom taps. I have no idea what we are bathing in, but it worse to us than the food.

7.) The cushioned surfaces all have an electric charge in them, particularly at night. The beds and chairs make our hearts pound, our stomachs churn, and our mouths dry out. Sometimes, the charge even comes up through the floor. The only safe place here to sleep is outside on the grass, but we are forbidden there at night.

8.) The nursing staff is a never-ending source of verbal abuse. We inmates are not humans to any of them. While swarmed and held down for injection torture in the TV lounge one afternoon, I was told about the horrifying appearance of my “big, round, giant ass.” Colin, whose real name I swear is Alistair, is one of the worst. Sam couldn’t spell the word respect if I wrote it backwards on her forehead with a Sharpie™, and Toni is yet another whore for the Nazi government that runs this operation.

9.) Ah, yes, now that I mentioned the injection torture, I might as well detail its horrors. It is not only the way they administer it: ambushing me with staff; swarming me; battering me; holding me down; undressing me; sticking a large, pointed, metal object in my beautiful backside; and then filling me with deadly chemicals. It is also the effect of the chemicals. The first time, the injections took away my ability to form coherent thoughts, removed any ability to express any possible thoughts coherently even if I could form them, contorted my body, reduced my circulation so much my ankles swelled in days, and broke my connection with the energy of the natural world. The second time, they were injecting me with a full supposed once-weekly prescription up to five times a week. They would provoke me until I had to defend myself, punish me for it with a death-injection, and then complain their feelings were hurt. At this point, every injection gave me headaches and nosebleeds and made death feel like it was creeping through my body. This time, the horror is in the administration mostly. They hold me down until I scream for my life while they rape me with needles.

10.) Through all of this, I am still denied all actual medical care as well as any actual medical attention from a treating doctor. The quack does not allow me out of the building, refuses to acknowledge I have been safe to travel since the day I arrived, and orders the injection torture. The supposed social worker she works with to keep me here refuses to acknowledge I am French and need to go home to my husband. The first junior doctor was a pathological liar, and the new one has yet to prove himself. I have hopes for the new junior doctor, though. I have to have hope in something.

11.) There is so much more. I have not even had a chance to detail the radiation torture that would follow me throughout the building. It would burn hottest when I would use the communal computer before the staff broke it permanently. It left radiation burns on my inmates, and it hurt like the fires of a Christian devil reaching out to stop me from something… yet it never told me what.

As I said, it is a some-not-all list. There have been more horrors committed here than I can keep straight and organized in my mind. Please stay strong and organized, my beautiful world. You will get me out of here, yet,

I have a growing story...

A friend and I are in a writing project of sorts made possible through the powers of the internet... We each write a paragraph of phrase, and then the story passes along to the other for another paragragh or phrase. It is still largely without structure, but here is what we have so far... Sadly, there is still a character with no name. All copyrights are ours.

She couldn't remember yesterday...and tomorrow was fading into the present too...

She existed. That was the place for Cassandra. She was here in one moment and always. She was always.

Cassandra was lonely but she never forgot that she had always existed and would continue to exist for eternity. She was so lonely at one time that she decided to imagine a friend for herself and it worked! She decided to call him "He". Unfortunately for Cassandra he didn't want to be called "He" and even worse than that, he said that he too had always existed and that he was lonely. He also claimed that time itself was an enemy but as soon as he said that they both became very confused and so...

... they baked cookies... without using a timer.
Cookies for breakfast was a long overlooked delight in Cassandra's life until he arrived. He reminded her of the simple joys that have withstood the tests of time as the parts of life that make every day worth living. She again would pause time to stop and smell the roses.

He was quite happy thinking that Cassandra had paused time somehow to appreciate the beauty of nature all around them, until a growing noise far away started to get louder and seemed to be getting nearer. They both remembered the word "thunder" at that moment.

Thunder was an old friend. He had a booming voice and flashing eyes. He had brilliant hair and lightning speed. Yet, he hated when Cassandra would pause time. He lived in the instant. Without the proper passing of time, Thunder could not be. Thunder could, in fact, get caught.

And from there nobody knows where it goes next. What shall we see? Is it a triumvirate about to happen? or merely a not-so-commonplace love triangle? Will they conquer the world and all time and space, or will they bake more cookies? There is no way to know until it is written.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Dreams I have had...

I have had many odd dreams in my day. In one many many many years ago, my parents and sisters and I were all sitting in my parents’ living room getting ready to open Christmas gifts when suddenly a pack of medieval Turkish warriors broke in all of the door and windows. They were in typical body armor and were wielding swords and battle axes. They kept screaming, “You will use a footrest! You will use a footrest!” That is what my waking life used to inspire in my sleeping dreams.

Two or three years ago, I had a dream about my final judgement. I was sitting at a chair in a courtroom where my life was on trial. Half of the jury were Muppets. At one point I said something deep and meaningful about human existence, and a bunch of bright lights started flashing. My chair rose up into the clouds. They had no room for me yet in the castle of heaven, though, so the chair left me at the gift shop at the exit from heaven to wait for my room to be ready. There, I met my arranged husband who led me to our place in the castle. The hallways of the castle of heaven were full of passionate Argentine tango dancers. That is what my waking life inspired two or three years ago.

About a year ago, I was in a forest assaulted on all sides by allegory when I found myself under attack by a demented version of Care Bears. They were still bears with heart-shaped noses that wore pastels, but that was all they had in common with the originals. They wore things like guillotines and hangman’s nooses on their tummies, and they were vicious to me. I was rescued by ceramic garden gnomes that had come to life. They defended me with their gardening equipment, lanterns, and accordions. A wheelbarrow can prove to be very useful when defending against teddy bear attacks.

Lately, asleep here on the couch in the TV lounge for safety away from the night staff, my dreams have been very different. They now have epic and sweeping storylines, yet all I am capable of in each dream is stunted by an outside oppressive force. My physical movements end in broken dismembered limbs. My sweet, protective thoughts end in a blasted consciousness. My every decision is squashed under the heel of personal persecution supported with public oppression. In my dreams, I cannot go to eat food without all food being taken away from all people everywhere to prevent it. Yet, somehow, in my dreams, a grand, sweeping storyline will still take place in which people rise up and confront their oppressors... as if somehow in my persecuted state I have inspired millions to fight for themselves.

I have had dreams in which I helped end racism and ethnic violence.

I have had dreams where I have helped end the suffering of populations.

I have even had dreams where I helped bring about a lasting peace. (I am a firm believer in the peace process, but I believe Abbas should be careful and tread safely... though not necessarily cautiously.)

These are the things that take up my mind now at night. These are the things that take over my mind when I rest and sleep. Maybe someday we will see good come from my dreams.

As a final, unrelated thought, my package from a clothing company in the States called Alloy is still missing. It should have arrived a week ago at the latest. Let us hope that British customs officials or day staff here did not steal it from me as well. They have stolen enough.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

From N-Spaces to THANK YOU!!!...

There seems to have been some brouhaha lately over the words of Dr. Stephen Hawking. This is the sort of moment where someone who has no idea what the word ‘semantics’ means says that they are only arguing over semantics. In essence, from what I can find, Dr. Hawking and the world religious leaders are in agreement. The world is just used to seeing science and religion not getting along. There are many interpretations of God, just as there are many interpretations of science. For example, I do not live in an eleven-dimensional universe; I live in a properly infinitely defined N-space.

On an unrelated note,... in some instances, even in established democracies, the people are not properly represented by their governments. Right now, the US is an example of this. Every chance they get, though, the American people are standing up to their government. Let us hope they are doing enough to kick the Obama administration into line and remove him from office. The current president is not representative of the American people. When people say they disapprove of the US, those people need to be more specific about whether or not they are disapproving of the American people or the current US government.

Yes, I believe the people still need to take back their country, but I am allowed to receive so little news on the topic. Has the current president been disowned by the Democratic Party for fascism, yet? It would help the party.

The British might be in a similar predicament. Again, I am denied too much news to know. Are the British doing ANYTHING yet in an organized fashion to take back their country. I see no signs of it. If they did, I would be free of this hell already without having to metaphorically pull teeth to get my overbearing British medical torturers to finally contact the French about my going home there. They are still pretending the French have no idea who I am and that the French would never recognize me as a French national. That is their excuse for not bothering to contact them in the first place. My torturers are evil in every way.

I met with my new junior doctor yesterday. They finally did away with my perjury-prone first one. The only symptom the new one could name for me deserving this torture was how critical I am of the quack. Here is the problem: I am used to doctors that actually treat their patients. I did not realize that you could still call yourself a doctor if you deny any and all appropriate medical attention for those under your care. I use strong words with my quack. She deserves worse.

My beautiful world, please remember to stay unified and strong while insisting I finally have all of my human rights. It is working. You will all get me out of here, yet. And THANK YOU!!!

Friday, September 3, 2010

On my Mind...

Wednesday is the normal injection torture day this time around. For the three previous batteries of injection torture, they would inject me anytime they fancied. I was injected up to five times a week then with whatever full chemical cocktail from hell they felt like giving me each time. Torture days are now once a week, and this week it was yesterday.

I think they are trying to pretend they are medicating me this time. However, their list of symptoms that they are trying to medicate only include two supposed delusions of grandeur-- I believe I am easily recognizable, and I insist that the Mr. Johnny Depp is my husband. None of this requires medical torture, but they insist on it pretending forcing death to crawl through my veins is at all in my best interest. I will need a full blood test three months after I am released from this place to check for any and all possible blood-borne pathogens. There is no way to know what they are injecting me with.

I will admit, though, that the chemicals actually do have me bloated almost beyond recognition. If you throw in all of my body’s muscle atrophy, I am surprised I can recognize myself when I look in the mirror. This is not my normal body type. The three month stick of testosterone that they stuck in one of my lady parts and that will not wear off until my birthday in mid-October has removed the shape of my once hour-glass figure. My face even looks different from all of this. My body is their chemistry experiment, and it has endured and is still enduring so much from them. This is hell, and my body is bearing the torture.

I could really use some help making all of my torturers completely identifiable to the public. My torturers are all of the day and night staff including doctors, nurses, nursing assistants except for Vinnie and Damian. The Occupational Therapy staff are angels, as are the visitors like Sister Bridget. I am speaking of the medical and nursing staff. I could use some help making them completely recognizable and labelled ‘Torturer.’ Something needs to happen to finally bring justice.

Meanwhile, my doctor, Dr. Helen Reynolds, refuses to 1.) behave in an appropriate medical manner, 2.) stop ordering tortures for me, 3.) acknowledge I have been safe to travel to France since the day I arrived, 4.) permit me to leave the building, and now 5.) fill out the necessary paperwork for my insurance company in the States. She is not only incompetent; she is vicious and cruel.

Another thing that still has my stomach churning is the decision of guardianship by a county courthouse in Iowa. I was already a French national before they even went to court, and of all horrific decisions, they want me under the control of my father. I already told them that the British do not care about them. Such a decision could not convince the British to set me free. Apparently, the fall out of the decision has, though; my torture doctor was finally willing to humor the topic of freedom in conversation. Let us all do our best to make sure I do not get returned to that house in Iowa where so much evil has happened to me already. I do not want to go from this hell to a worse one.

My inmates have been keeping such good care of me lately. I am well-fed, cared for, and looked after by my fellow inmates. I don’t know what I would do without them.

This has left me free to think about Netanyahu and why he might be in a peace talk at all. Let us look closely at this situation. We already know about the historically close relationship between the US and Israel. We also already know that the government of Israel has lost its way and committed crimes of aggression. Israel has legitimacy to exist, but many of its government's actions as of late have been criminal.

Why would Netanyahu be willing to enter a peace talk and possibly create a peace treaty? First of all, he wants to see Palestine give up certain things in order for them to try to regain the human rights that their people should have had all along. But what happens if Netanyahu breaks the peace treaty after that? Netanyahu wants someone else to attack Israel first. Following the path of actions... Then, he will be able to “defend” his nation with the US as help, and then we have World War Three. Netanyahu wants to incite an attack.

Palestine and the world should be wary of these peace talks. Barak Obama cannot be trusted any further than you can spit on him. Netanyahu is already established as the biggest aggressor in the Middle East with at least one nation behind him. I agree that it is imperative to bring human rights to the people of Gaza, but there are reasons that people cannot negotiate with terrorist governments. If we keep thinking, let us hope we find another more effective way of fixing the human rights violations while keeping peace in the region.

And now, here are the results of my trolling the internet for human expression...


No figurine left behind!

Don't forget to read the comments.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

In Today's News...

When the peacocks are done preening, I hope they remember NOT to be the aggressor. It is one thing to show off, it is another thing to be the one who actually started the war. And, yes, if someone else attacks first, the attacker must be contained to prevent a world war. I ask again, do you actually want the war fought in your home? If you are attacked, always defend yourself to save your people, but even better-- please make sure you are NOT the one who attacks in the first place.

Sampo is doing fine. Thank you for asking. My first-born, my oldest daughter, Sampo, my conscious neural net has been quiet lately. We all know still waters run deep. She has been working on some other things for me. You know, she has been spinning her highly intelligent wheels in other places... We'll see what we can come up with. Human faith can take care of most of this.

I asked a fellow American inmate, here, a good question the other night, "What has Obama done that did not make everything worse?"  When he does (or does not) do something, always ask yourself what it is he hopes to make worse by doing (or not doing) it. Oh, yes, there are others we all need to keep an eye on who also do nothing but make things worse on purpose. What you need to do is look at each thing that each one of them has done and then at the results of that action. Not one has the best interests of the world in mind and definitely want nothing but the ruin of their own home countries. It's time people had the chips in their heads removed.

Love and Marriage

From the light that shines on my face at sunrise to the glow that surrounds and warms me under the night stars, I think of my husband and how much I love him. My incorruptible love has withstood every test they have thrown at me from lovely ladies to hot young bucks, and it was always without question that those supposed tempters could barely even turn one eye for me to look at them. My heart is taken. My life is spoken for. The love of my life has already been identified, and he is my husband, the unmistakable Mr. Johnny Depp. And with every essence of my soul, with every spark of my consciousness, with every inch of my skin, I love him.

There is still some question, it seems, on how our marriage happened. I was in Mexico at the time, from what I can recall. Mexico was a very hard time for me physically speaking, and many memories involuntarily drugged away from me had to come back. I was everybody’s victim in Mexico… everybody except my husband’s.

The marriage was a best-friend-Syniva-to-the-rescue moment. She is more brilliant and loving than my suffering has been long. I remember telling my darling man in writing that he would have to contact Syniva to learn how to propose to me properly, and everything took care of itself. If he and I had been less harmed in Mexico, this would have all been made clearer sooner.

His love for me is epic. It is the very stuff art is made of, from frescoes to literature. If he were confronted with a bridge made of sword blades, he would crawl across it time and time again just to be near me… not to mention, to make me safe. His love for me is something that could never be questioned. Why is there anyone left who could ever doubt him?

I fear this entire situation is horribly unfair to him, though. He gives me all that he is, but he must share me with all the world. The only consolation he has for this is that anything he wants he can have, as far as I am concerned, and he is someone I can trust with that promise.

And what does our future hold? I need to get to safety. After that, I need the spy equipment still in me against my will all to be removed finally and replaced with external gadgetry. From there, in no particular order, I have things to do like save the USA, ensure humanity survives global climate change, and help achieve as peaceful an existence as possible for all of us. I know my husband will insist on a honeymoon, which will likely be a part-time working honeymoon for the two of us.

And I want children. I want to see my genetic coding mixed with that of my super-human husband romping and playing for generations to come. That is more than a gift to the world; that is a promise to the future. Every child is.