Saturday, August 6, 2011

Please say, "Yes."

First things first... Just in case you are worried, Syria, that the world does not see your pain, I tell you now that we all wish we knew what to do to help you better. We see you. We know you suffer. Tell us how ever you can what you need.

Now that I took care of that priority, I am ready to make a few inquiries and requests with artists. If you are not listed here and would like to be, do not worry. There are many more posts such as these to come. I am also open to any good suggestions that come my way. That said...

Reverend Horton Heat, I know you have written me songs already, but may I ask you to write one for us to record together? I think rockabilly would be fun. If you say, "Yes," this is what I hope the song "Zombie Apocalypse" will be about...

When I sought political asylum in the UK with hopes that a governing body would enforce that my human rights would be restored, I instead found myself in a "ThunderDome." I was placed in the middle of the countryside by the UKBA and surrounded entirely by people the government had deemed expendable. The entire population had control chips in their ear canals. They used to say disturbing things about me. "We need to hush her up," was common. So was, "She needs to obey." I will never forget the patronizing, "She cannot help it. She comes from a culture that speaks up."

Even the children there were brainwashed to attack me. Pedestrians would try pushing me into oncoming traffic. Drivers would scream obscenities at me while motoring by. Most people, though, would become deeply nervous if I engaged them in casual day-to-day interactions. The city water in the Wigan ThunderDome was drugged horribly. I even reported hate crimes committed against me to the police there. The police in Wigan offered no help.

Red Hot Chili Peppers, will you write a song for me that we can record together about my being a torture victim? I know there are technical details we need to work out before we can arrange this, but if you say, "Yes," to me, this is what I want the song to be about...

They used to pump voices into my head to try to command me to do things. They would sell time as the voice pumped into my head to control me... as if I could ever be controlled. They filled me with spy equipment and sent me a medical bill for it. They enslaved me, and President Incompetent enforced it. They libeled me to make the public attack me. They drugged and raped me in my sleep for years and in three countries. They have never once allowed me any medical care for any of it... instead they call me crazy for telling the truth here in a public forum. They contracted my father to persecute me fully upon my return to the States to make sure I will never reach my human rights. I wonder even now, "Will it ever end?"

Dolly Parton, I do not even know whether or not you believe in my wings, but on occasion, certain forms of cameras can see psionic wings sprout from my back. The technical experts have spoken on the topic, and there is no way to create real-time special effects of such sophistication. The only possible conclusion is that I have psionic wings. Please consult my Sweetness if you want evidence of them. I have the same request for you for a song we can record together... but I want this song to be about my wings.

My wings do not allow me to fly... except metaphorically. According to Mohammad Ali, you cannot fly without wind in your face, so I suppose I fly all the time these days. I can feel my wings. Sometimes they hurt. Sometimes the places from which they sprout itch... usually in recirculated air. Sadly, when I am on heavy medications, I cannot feel them at all. Will you write a song for us about my wings?

Pearl Jam, how about a song for us to record together about people claiming I am crazy instead of admitting to my face that all of this is real? Are you willing to do that for me? Please?

My family, certain friends, my doctors, the courts in Iowa... they all tell me that I am deeply mentally ill and that I do not, as one example, have any spy equipment in my head. They torture me and medicate me in the name of quack medicine instead of admitting that any of this MIGHT even be real. They tell each other to tell me I am crazy. They used the truth I tell here in my blog to have me committed. The corruption has reached everywhere... but they have never once been able to make me believe it.

As for you, Gogol Bordello, wow, do you ever fight the good fight for me! I have a project proposal for you called "Dead Girls Can't Dance." Can I bat my eyes and convince you to write a song we can record together about why they try so hard to kill me?

They did everything to make me kill myself because dead girls cannot dance. First of all, dancing is how I self-medicate. It is how I meditate. I follow live music through dance trance, and it makes me well. Secondly, because of this, watching me dance is a spiritual experience. It is how I connect with the divine. For months they filled dance floors in San Francisco with people who hated me, and they all left sympathetic after watching me dance.

Finally, they have gone to great lengths to make me kill myself from raping me in my sleep and drugging me to forget it (but a body never forgets) to filling me with spy equipment that everyone is instructed to never acknowledge all in order to take away the influence that derives from my having this public connection with the divine. Oddly, their attempts to kill me made me dance for my soul to survive it all that much more... which increased my influence... which made them want to kill me more.

Metallica, I do not even know if you are in the mood to record anymore. I would love for you to write a song we could record together, but if you prefer I just record it myself, my feelings will not be too hurt. Please say, "Yes," to at least writing the song. I want it to be about my relationship with sleeping.

I sleep every night now with the camera from my hacked and broadcasting computer on me for safety. It was always in my sleep when they would sneak into my room, drug me, and abuse me. With this computer, I am safe in my sleep for the first time in years.

They tortured me to drive me mad or to make me kill myself. They abused me everywhere from Iowa and San Francisco to Mexico and the UK. They would leave bruises. They would leave scars. They would sell it to the public by calling me a whore.

I can finally survive the night by sleeping by choice with a benevolently hacked computer watching over me.

Yes, Eminem, I even have a request for you. Would you like to collaborate with me on a music project about the bubble itself? Basically, is it me or is it the public that is in the bubble? Which one of us is brainwashed? Which one of us is controlled? And why does the public choose to maintain their own ignorance? Please say, "Yes."

I also have about ten requests going through snail mail... and so many more to come in future blog posts! I am a bottomless well of song ideas these days. If you are not spoken to above, do not fret. I have mail for Smokey Robinson, Neil Diamond, and Sir Elton John types on my person as I type this.

Sweetness, just in case you had hopes I would be able to swing a trip to Los Angeles to visit my older sister, my parents have decided it is a no-go. Damn persecution! We will find a way. I hope you are having better luck out there than I am.

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