The Tattletale And Julian Assange
Angelia Renae Chapter 1
Tattletale. And so it was, my nickname from as early as I can remember. I remember being a little thing, crying as siblings, cousins and the adult adolescent gang who I would be told are my parents and family would repeat this in unison, chanting it as if it was a séance ritual and it didn’t occur to me until much later in life just how much of a honor that was. My “parents” would become a preacher and preacher’s wife. That was their cover. Sadistic pedo people all have one.
With exception for my grandmother Florella, God bless her resting soul, I was placed in a family of perverted lunatics, one trying to outdo the other and apparently I was the problem child, the tattletale.
I don’t have a thing to do with them today and yet I still know without any doubt, I’m still the problem child out there telling the truth to somebody who might listen and that they keep a very close eye on every move I make, a close ear on everything I say, yet pretending I am non-existent, so not to blow their peeping tom cover.
To whoever might listen, I must warn, they, the rules based order and their criminal class of immoral sadist are waiting to catch someone paying me any attention and the controlled operators will be called in to discredit anything damaging to their reputations that I might say. This is their way to deal with problematic tattletales.
I remember sitting perched in my grandmothers room, my favorite safe place, looking on with tender, intent care, watching Florella sitting at her vanity doing her nightly routine, with a whiskey and water set next to her 10 inch black and white TV with foiled rabbit ears. She’d look at me through the mirror and smile and often with her secret wink of grace and wisdom. Out of the ordinary routine Florella picked up a full bottle of perfume my grandfather had given her a year before, Chanel #5 and on curious cue, I follow her to the bathroom and she gracefully pours the entire contents down the drain. Reading my expression as we often communicated that way, she says, “you’re grandfather is trying to figure out the perfect gift to give me, to showcase to everyone for our birthday. (We shared our birthdays every year) So I’m helping him with a suggestion.”
She glides back to her chair placing the empty bottle on her vanity, facing the door and continues with her regimen. I stared at that empty bottle, the stench still permeating in the air, pondering what she wanted me to learn because I understood I was being taught to survive. Florella was a Channel and unfortunately for our perverse captors, it wasn’t to their stinking benefit. She waited until my gaze met hers again and through the mirror her beautiful smile waited for me to catch up, and as I smile back, I give her the wink, that I understood. Florella and I received a bottle of Chanel #5 every year from grandfather warden Oscar, who was nicknamed Crocky after David Crockett, and every year it got funnier. I say, we received because we not only shared our birthdays together but also many secrets.
Florella was set to go be with the love of her life when she got intercepted by my grandfather and held captive. She tried to leave several times but she wasn’t able to escape the cult. It was her dying wish that I could find away out. Help us.
The Power of Suggestion
I imagine in prison where every move made is monitored and calculated there are clever ways of exchanging information from one fellow inmate to another. A certain knock or nod, a gesture or lending a certain book or specific letter. A relay of communication passed along like a baton to achieve certain objectives. I also imagine that most of the prisoners discover at some point that their individual and combined intellect far exceeds the people who chose to become the watchers and key holders of the captive undesirables. It’s hard to decipher who to pity more. But whoever took the vaginal, anal prob search job must have something seriously warped about them to have chosen such a humiliating task to get paid for and that needs to be said. People adapt like dogs with only three legs, carrying on even under more heinous and worse conditions. Julian Assange who I can honorably and honestly call my dearest friend told a interviewer that the good and bad parts of human behavior is that they adapt. Julian was forced to live in asylum in a small area for over 8 years without the kiss of sunlight, surrounded by controlled opposition forces pretending to protect and defend him. He now fights from Belmash prison, held captive, fighting for his right to speak and defend himself from these people speaking on his behalf without his input or for his genuine concern. My friend has paid a heavy cost and being my friend, the non-state approved tattletale ally has cost him even more as the cost of being his friend also carries a heavy price. However, the payoff of having such a pure and genuine friendship is limitless and in part we already won. Julian and I accomplished the forbidden, we broke the societal warden rules based order and defied odds against us to find a best and loyal friend that wasn’t approved, hand picked and selected by the hegemony. We’re now both being punished in a solitary confinement situation. Julian is no longer allowed to write or receive letters since the Shiptons and Stella Moris were written in the plot because that would give him access to the outside world and people would write to him about all these new revolutions that he had a wife, he didn’t marry and that can’t happen or his gatekeepers risk exposure. Anyone that’s non-state approved isn’t allowed to associate with either of us or risk the evils among us threatening torture and wicked consequences. That’s the rules based order. Entire counties that seek independent status from hegemony face the same predicament. Julian and I would set out to free ourselves from captivity working hand in hand. We came up with a plan. Control the controlled opposition that thinks they are controlling us.
Florella told me to be true to myself, keep a sense of humor and go and search for the wisest people I can and learn from them. And to that advice, I found Julian Assange.
I was in a pickle when I came across Julian’s name. My life under “the rules based order” klan/cult that thought they owned and could sell me to mobsters and sexual deviants was at its peak. My husband and his grimy friends at the time were caught coordinating and drug raping unconscious people Bill Cosby style, people who would never otherwise submit to their wicked perversions, which automatically renders you a target. I then, caught them trying to do it to me and I had to conclude this wasn’t the first time. I had to consider if my sons father was my husbands. And what about my miscarriages? Were they secretly induced with drugs, were they stealing women’s eggs while they lay drugged and unconscious? These might seem horrific radical thoughts but having the life long experience with these maniacs, nothing seems too despicable or undeniable. My grandmother had been taken from me the day before I turned 21, she was given cancer by chemicals, she revealed to me. Since there was no option of depending on family, the police, the church, and definitely no help from the government, I started investigating and researching everything, everywhere. I decided I was going to run right at these beasts because I was not scared of them, even if they attempted to kill me, and they have many times. Having been sold and captive in a Italian mob family in my twenties, I knew precisely how they operated, I learned their game. I went in search for the Kansas City mob and where they operated. I knew they had to be involved with my husband who held a senior position in the alcohol industry, his only sibling, a brother a multi-millionaire in the banking cartel. I connected all the dots, compiled the leverage I needed and filed for a divorce.
I came across Wikileaks and read everything I could and in that process discovered a man who had been forced to seek asylum with the help and goodwill of a foreign country, under the Ecuadorian leadership of Rafael Correa and Julian Assange was trapped there because of the threats against his life. At this time there was no support groups or rallies to Free Assange. This man was a captive surrounded by controlled opposition and my life experience and intuition confirmed it to myself after researching his case and history. He was one of me, a captive and I needed to confirm it beyond just my own knowing.
“What the hell is Twitter?” That was my first thought. If I was going to get anywhere I had to plug in to where the action and actors are at. This is the meeting space.
I found and followed Julian Assange closely to get a sense of who this person was. After a while I started interacting on his feed and to get his attention I would be the first to leave a comment or reply using my wit and sarcastic charm. It didn’t take very long for Julian to notice me and as a few weeks went by while I was learning Twitter and investigating who was who and such, I noticed Julian was following what I was posting because he would use a technique to evade spying eyes to answer or comment cleverly on someone else’s post to reply to my comment or question or send out a directed relevant tweet. Florella taught me to become very sly and sneaky and do whatever you can to evade as much attention and abuse as possible. She was very knowledgeable in cryptic maneuvering and I was her protégé.
This is what Julian was doing and so we began a unique friendship and danced this way for a few years, working together trying to figure a way out of captivity. Julian fed me information and taught me the cryptic ropes, who the players were and his thoughts on their intentions. I would upload videos under a pictorial code to Wikileaks for Julian to review and he would use Twitter as access to respond. Julian has a very good sense of humor and we were able to make life a little more bearable for one another for a good while. Some of the most unforgettable highlights of my life was dancing with words and shuffling information back and forth with my intelligent loyal friend. My very first authentic friend. When Julian inquired what I most desired of this life, I responded vulnerably, that I wanted a safe place to belong and a family and friends that genuinely loved me. He responded, heartfelt and with action, made a promise and without any hesitation I accepted that someone in this world loved me the way a person should be loved.
PSYOP
I was able to wiggle my way and get invited into the down-under of the QAnon cult and witness first hand the psyop unfolding. Although using 4chan, that wasn’t where the leaders of this cult held court. The QAnon cult had figured out a loophole in Twitter that gave them [anonymity]. It worked like this. Someone would start a chain tagging a group of cohorts and as long as everyone only replied to the last reply not breaking the chain of discussion the conversation vanished from the Twitterverse and they could speak and share information they likely wouldn’t otherwise. After getting approval from a self proclaimed military strategist, Johnathan Langdale, he called himself, I got brought down into the rabbit hole and because Julian followed me closely he was brought along too. We monitored this crazy shitshow for quite a long time.
The entire QAnon hoax was a military psyop and they paid men 15 dollars and hour, women a little less and some were sent drugs of their desire delivered in white non-script vans, to operate this hoax and to suck as many people into it as possible not unlike the Russiagate psyop. The key driver was to make vulnerable people feel they were part of something powerful and seduced them with silly coded puzzles empowering them to feel smart and superior.
One night after my bitter divorce, who my attorney was effectively working on behalf of my ex-husband, not surprisingly, I drove to a area called Westport. I was followed everywhere and would try my best to ditch the stalkers when I could. But eventually they’d appear again and again. This isn’t me being paranoid. Being a cult, mob, marriage dissenter/defector gets you such attention. Including installed cameras, bugging your home, car, and collecting all your pc & phone data. One in that position only has to learn how to use that to ones advantage when you can. If they were going to surveil me then they were going to watch and listen to what I wanted them to. I had a bit of fun sending them in all kinds of directions. Anyway, back to Westport.
I stopped at a bar and while waiting for the bartender I was watching the news they had on a TV. Some Russian speaking person was talking and so when the bartender approached and he asked what I wanted, I spontaneously gave him my best Russian accent broken English answer. I also got the attention of the people at the bar giving me the stink eye. It was all quite amusing. I flagged out who was most interested having just sat a few seats down from mine. The spook. They all look and dress very similar. So for entertainment value I pretend to get a phone call playing a ringtone and start a elaborate conversation with “airwaves” doing my best accent and impression. I walk outside so to hear the air better and the jug head spook follows to “smoke a cig” confirming my keen eye.
Now I up the ante, I start talking in Russian language, just making up words that sound like Russian and forming a sentence, then a question, wait for air to reply and speak a little more. This was really aggravating the spook to my delight. Apparently neither of us knew Russian. I go back in and a guy snatches the hat off my head and had to get the bartender to retrieve it. I closed my tab and head to the bar next door. I sit down next to a nice labor looking guy, he had mechanic stained hands and fingernails and I thought he looked like a safe bet. Stuck up a nice english conversation and made a fast friend.
Jug head enters and orders a drink, standing one person away. I continue my conversation in my perfect native mid-western accent telling my friend I’m calling an Uber soon even though my car was right outside. Now inebriated, Jug head listening, walks over and shows me his military badge. I give him my most unimpressed response. This angers him and he forcefully grabs my arm asking me to pull up my sleeve. I have no idea what he thinks he’s going to find, all I have is a small scar from when I was a toddler and told a dog bit me by the pedo parents, which was likely a lie, but I refused and resisted so he then attempts to pull at my jacket. My new friend steps in waves over the staff and I’m released. The staff lead Jug head out the door, unimpressed as I with his badge. I tell my new friend after a little while that my Uber is arriving, and he asked to escort me. We walk out and Jug head is waiting as I suspected. As my new friend gets into a heated conversation with my stalker to leave me alone, I get in my car and drive home. I’ve been called a Russian puppet ever since and so has Julian Assange. This was in fall 2016. #Russiagate
Controlled Opposition
Most westerners even the most savvy have a clouded view of reality. Lawyers, courts, doctors, politicians, police, insurance companies, big Pharma, teachers, military, churches and even parents aren’t put in positions to protect us. Parents often attempt to create worse versions of themselves in their offspring to be extorted if they ever step out of line. They do what their masters that pay them and tell them to do and if you are lucky enough and off the radar you might get some sense of security or co-opted for controlled opposition as a useful idiot. For countries and individuals that are declared problematic or potentially problematic it should be assumed that whoever you are dealing with in the West domain, especially if they portray themselves as friends or defenders, are not likely going to have your best interest even if originally well intended. What’s not in the interest of “the rules based order” doesn’t remain for long. Billions of dollars are paid to people to perform controlled opposition and this is eroding our rights to freedom. To quote Julian Assange- “There is no freedom of speech. There’s no right to association. Love is forbidden without state approval.”
This is the blueprint under “rules based order.”
Julian’s “acting” legal team isn’t fighting for his freedom as they pretend. They are controlled opposition coordinating with the prosecution to keep the cash cow of donations flowing while they jet around freely from any ramifications. If they were a threat to the rules based order there would be hit pieces by paid Main Stream Media, digging up every past indiscretion and propaganda to use as ammunition.
Alias Stella Moris is a paid regime change incel bride to keep the grift going, money flowing and Julian silenced and this is easily proven. If no proof of a groom wasn’t enough of a tell-tell sign, her past and inconsistencies throughout the entire scripted showcase is another. Stella was hand picked by Jen Robinson, Hollywood’s best fixer, whose best friends are the Clooney’s. Amal Clooney before being swept up by George was a (acting) member of Julian’s defense team.
Julian’s defense team head QC Edward Fitzgerald along with Geoffrey Robinson, sits on the board of advisors of The Clooney Foundation for Justice, a regime change outlet who has helped script and produce regime change with the white helmets and the ignoramus invented Assange wedding plot. It’s all very incestuous. Julian’s biological father, John Shipton is also in the movie industry as is his son Gabriel Shipton, who neither had anything to do with Julian Assange until it was profitable to do so. They are certainly cashing in now. Julian was left to defend himself from a psychopathic pedophilia cult called, “The Family ” as a kid and teen. A friend from Julian’s youth said Julian was supposed to meet John Shipton when he was 17 and John never showed and it wasn’t until in Julian’s late twenties that John contacted to meet him.
What they do not realize is that the wedding facade will be the icing on the cake that eventually destroys them all beyond redemption. All the people who well intentionally bought in to this absurd fairytale of a nightmare and poured in donations are going to be very hurt and disgusted by this betrayal of Julian Assange and the wrath that follows will be poetic justice.
The Set Up
Julian knew without any doubt his legal defense team was controlled opposition and purposely sandbagging him and he didn’t have to convince me, I know how this system of lunatics works. So what do we do? Well, you control the controlled opposition that thinks they are controlling you.
At this time Julian had lots of women wanting his affection and this included Hefner’s playboy Pam Anderson, the honeypot. Anderson went on every talk show insinuating she and Julian had a intimate relationship, fantasizing & pretending to defend him. This kept people from feeling compassion for Julian held captive in asylum under the real threat of assassination, so as long as he was supposedly banging a playmate. Everyone in Hollywood knows what Pam Anderson is, she’s their favorite Zionist sexpot.
Pam giving it her best failed to attract Julian Assange’s affections and trying to get Julian on camera, (that she knew was there) engaged in a sex act to leak to the public. This rejection wasn’t received well by Pam.
Sadistic, rules based order madam, Vivianne Westwood, who introduced Anderson to Julian had dreams of a wedding between the two. Westwood’s plan A - Anderson failed so she outfitted plan B -Stella Moris, offering her wicked services to design the wedding dress, groomsman and those poor kids and dress them in (kilts). Julian didn’t attend that circus wedding and if they somehow were able to force him to, they would have provided a semblance of proof he had. There is no such proof.
Besides that, they were set up by Julian and I to allow them to perform their fantasy performances, to expose them all for what they are, paid controlled opposition theater performers. The best way to control controlled opposition is control the people that think they are controlling you.
Julian and I can perform too, and we did. I commented to Julian that he should be careful, we know what often happens to actors and actresses that perform romantic rolls together. Julian said he was more than willing to take that chance. So was I. wink-wink-wink
Julian was gaining a lot of attention on Twitter with his newly active exchanges, which seemed rightfully out of character for him. This was during the time of our interaction. So we decided to stir up a little frenzy among the gatekeepers by deciding to perform a little flirting of our own, still trying to appear seductively discrete. I happen to be quite attractive and I say this without a ounce of conceit. With my background that only ever got me unwanted attention and it was in my best interest to remain modest. Spiteful jealously had always been a issue for myself and Julian as well. I guess that’s a price for being authentic.
However, in this case it would work in Julian and I’s favor.
A few weeks of us purposely performing some innocent flirting caused a upheaval of panic from every which way. (Mind you, I am definitely not state approved)
Julian and I were very entertained with the reaction. Julian even went on a camera and a televised interview sporting a wedding band which provoked a lot of disappointed individuals, colleagues and “friends”.
Whatever the outcome, Julian couldn’t remain in that Embassy captive forever which it seemed was their entire agenda. We had to speed up the process by forcing them to panic and make in-panic-mode spur decisions and with that comes mistakes and inconsistencies. One such glaring mistakes was that the legal team (including Stella Moris) had three months to replace Julian’s shaving kit that mysteriously got stolen and according to their own accounts they were tipped off (amazing right?) that Julian would be taken from the embassy. So why didn’t they replace his grooming/shaving kit? Could it be they wanted him to look like he did, knowing the cameras and media we’re waiting there to catch the moment for a headline? You bet your ass they did!
On my end I started telling my kids about Julian and performing some embellishments knowing they would tell their father and his lunatic Zionist family, connected to the Hilton’s- and I was very aware I was being surveilled closely. I went tanning, got a pedicure all things I don’t normally do. I modeled a slightly sexy dress for my niece and the hook was baited.
Julian posted on twitter a sequenced alphabet/numerical cryptic code and it was easy enough so a large handful of people could decode it. It’s encryption decoded was (beef) which is (meat)= meet = meet me.
From there we planned my visit to the Embassy knowing full well the utter freak out that it would cause. Remember we are forbidden the right to association and love has to be state-approved. Julian tipped me off to renew my passport, tweeted out flagging me to check my credentials. I wouldn’t have known it was expired.
Fuck Them! Run Right At Them!
March 23, 2018 I land in London and with my very large, overpacked, bright blue suitcase, I waste no time nor had I pre-booked a hotel for security reasons, I head to the Ecuadorian Embassy. In all appearances for the cameras it looked like I was ready to move in. Half-humorously, not even going to say I wouldn’t have.
The guard wouldn’t give me access but handed me a tiny slit of paper with a email address typed on it to get permission.
This wasn’t normal procedure previous to my arrival. I email and wait a couple of days for a response, go back to the Embassy where now more guards are staking post. I get the same tiny paper with the same email. Julian is tweeting out messages of contempt for my rejection but neither of us surprised in the least.
I finally get the response Julian and I were waiting for, knowing they’d never allow me in, but who would be the gatekeeper is what we wanted to know and be able to prove it. Who was it?
It was Julian’s lead legal star, Hollywood fixer, Jen Robinson who emailed me, rejecting my access to her client, citing that they were too busy working on the case to grant me permission. I uploaded the email to Wikileaks so Julian could have it.
Boom! We caught her, we caught them, we caught the legal defense playing Julian’s gatekeeper.
On March 27th, 2018, I was sitting in a cafe meters from the Embassy communicating with Julian on how to proceed and then the gatekeepers, his legal-defense lunatics had blockers installed throughout the Embassy and Julian was ex-communicated. They wiped out his ability to continue to work, communicate with me and the world as is the case today. UC Global hadn’t been hired yet the legal team would help set that up a little later. They also shut off my credit and debit card. Shortly after my Twitter account would be suspended.
I tried and attempted and got router serial number from the café across the street from the embassy trying to get Julian back online.
I took a emergency flight back to the U.S. on March 28th, although I wasn’t booked until April 1, fools day. I was covertly escorted back to the states by a US spook. I know this because I took down his information from his customs card he left in the front seat pocket when he went to the bathroom.
These same panicked legal lunatics had a hand in later installing UC Global security service working for the CIA that was caught plotting a assassination attempt on Julian. Zionist Sheldon Adelson funded the operation who happens to be Pam Anderson’s close friend and Malibu next door neighbor.
They handed everything over, all Julian’s belongings and Wikileaks over to US Intelligence/CIA without so much as a attempt to appear to resist or prosecute. This same legal team would ask Nils Melzer, the UN Special Rapporteur on torture, to “play down” his findings of torture. (24:00 min mark) Not only is this unethical but criminal. Nils Melzer had a obligation to report this when it happened. He instead claimed it was a sympathetic gesture. I guess that gives us a big clue as to the UN’s objectives. They were protecting themselves from exposure, certainly not Julian. In those belongings of Julian’s in the Embassy was a book/album that Florella made just for me before she passed on and it contained very valuable information about the cabal of pedophiles. I had mailed it to Julian just before we planned my trip there. After Julian de-encrypted the book and album he replied, “This is worse than Harvey Weinstein,”which was circulating in the headlines at the time.
A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed
In the next few years I traveled around trying to alert people in the independent media. I flew to New York, met with the Grayzone, gave Max Blumenthal some private information talked with Aaron Matè about increasing numbers and asked for help for Julian and I. I went to a Lee Camp comedy show and hand delivered him information, I travel to St. Louis to go seek out Jimmy Dore at one of his shows but Graham Elwood was there hosting and I already pegged Elwood as a rat, so I declined to pass on information to Jimmy Dore. I cashed in my 401k to travel and fight & survive the lockdown on Covid.
I attempted to reach out on Twitter to anyone I thought had courage to help. I contacted leaders in other countries. I’ve never stopped fighting for Julian and all of our rights and all I have received in return from our supposedly intelligent independent media is isolation and a coordinated blackout and written off as a non-credible person non grata. Apparently I’m not Ivy League enough to be considered Julian’s friend although I behave just like a brave, authentic, loyal friend would.
The controlled opposition team task force were sent in to discredit me and without even giving me a chance to prove our case our popular Independent media wrote me off. There will eventually be humiliating consequences to this but more importantly an outrage that they were so easily manipulated by people they assumed trustworthy and rightful vengeance for that manipulation will be poetic justice.
Be aware some friends are infiltrators. Julian Assange was hurt by the coordinated sabotage of people who pretended to be allies and still pretend to be his defenders. The Freedom of Press foundation was created by Julian while setting up a defense fund for Edward Snowden, to resist blockades and during rescuing Snowden from Hong Kong and getting him asylum, which caused the UK to cancel its talks to release Julian in 2013. Freedom of Press found success in riding on the coattails of Julian’s/Wikileaks bombshell disclosures. In 2016 Freedom of Press board members voted unanimously to refuse to take donations for Wikileaks. Who was on that board? Edward Snowden, Glenn Greenwald, Trevor Timm, Daniel Ellsberg, John Cusack, Laura Poitras.
Julian Assange was bringing this to light attempting to hold these sell outs accountable, knowing what it would trigger for others and it would appear not only do these people desperately not want their reputations deservingly damaged from what they started with financial blockades but that Julian’s silence and captivity are more beneficial to their careers than Julian’s freedom.
There isn’t a better example of controlled opposition than this that surrounds Julian Assange except for the legal defense coordinating with the prosecution and persecutors. What’s most repulsive is they make money off now pretending to be freedom of speech and Assange’s advocates. It is grotesque and accountability and consequences must take place. Jimmy Dore pretending this didn’t happen isn’t going to survive. Besides, I got myself personally telling Jimmy Dore on a Callin about this and he said he didn’t know about this and would look into it. Maybe people should help remind JD.
None of our lives will improve without accountability and consequences and these are inevitable things in our shifting world. I hope to meet some of you on the side of truth and integrity verses the liars and deceivers we’re up against. You may have to leave some “friends” behind.
The Circus Trial
I booked my ticket and hotel that stated they were just two short miles from Belmarsh prison, where Julian’s week long circus trial was to be held. The Intelligence agency’s plan was to proceed as if I didn’t exist, so to stop me would have blown their cover. They did delay my flight and I missed day one of the trial, and when I checked into my hotel that I had booked, nothing felt right. I go to the desk ask for a refund and to call me a cab. I randomly chose another hotel and for good reason. When I was quoted the cab fair I became aware I was a hour long ride from Belmarsh and to my newly booked hotel. I check in, shower and go downstairs to the restaurant to grab a bite to eat. To even my intuitive surprise there sat Julian’s Spanish attorney’s, Baltasar Garzon, his interpreter, Aitor Martinez, Jen Robinson and Wikileaks ambassador Joseph Pharrell, siping champagne and celebrating after day one of the trial. I sit close by within recording reach. I wait until Jen Robinson and Joseph Pharrell leave and I approach the table telling them I have information. Remember I already know they aren’t working to defend their client and as they confirmed they were working with the prosecution. Martinez, who speaks English joined me at my table, I give him my intel on Pam Anderson and her connection to Sheldon Adelson’s spy operations. Martinez acts shocked. It didn’t take long for the spook to reveal himself. He walked right up pulling Martinez away to have a little chat. Martinez returns and asks if I know the guy, knowing I obviously didn’t. Martinez leaves me his information, I had him write it down on a paper menu.
He takes my intel over to Baltasar Garzon and shows him. We wouldn’t hear from Pam Anderson again in regards to Julian and she deactivated her social media accounts and went off to a secluded retreat somewhere to “regroup”, before marrying a few more times. The legal team didn’t call Pam Anderson out or release this intel, they protected her because they’re all working as controlled opposition in unison to keep Julian silenced and secluded from ever exposing them.
I learned from a post about day one of the trial from Craig Murray and on the procedures to get into the Gallery. You had to be in line early and willing to wait in the bitter cold for hours to be one of about twelve to gain access, several seats were reserved for “family” and “friends of family”.
4 am wake up, I arrive at Belmarsh, still pitch black at 5 am to make my way in line. A man hears me shuffling down the cold pavement and greets me. It was Patrick Henningsen from Century 21, a nice informed guy was my impression. He shows me where to stand and we stood greeting one another and I ask questions about proceedings of day one of the trial. I didn’t have a cover story ready but when asked who I’m with, I carefully stated that I was representing... The Grayzone. I don’t work for anyone. But, after meeting with the Grayzone, I thought I could represent them and help them increase numbers, which I discussed with Aaron Mate and Max Blumenthal had recently been unjustly thrown in jail on a bogus charge , so I could at least bring awareness to that within this group of people and outlets. I did just that with Rebecca Vincent from Soros funded, NGO, Reporters Without Borders who couldn’t have cared less about Max Blumenthal or The Grayzone, which was interesting considering her job title and her organizations peculiar attachment to the Assange case and I wanted to find out their operational motives.
After standing in cue, they call it, for hours, freezing, the celebrity class shows up and cuts to the front of the line. I watch in amusement as this was an acceptable procedure. Randy Credico with his zipper down, ruffled hair, coffee stained tie and a cigar hanging from his stained teeth and Craig Murray in his daily off-white cable knit sweater and winter attire arrive and get VIP pass to cue in line 1st and 2nd. Patrick Harrington didn’t object. Both were very curious about me and I indulged them a little here and there, said I was a friend of Julian’s representing The Grayzone who I knew Credico had direct contact with. I suggested that Randy take a picture and send it to Max Blumenthal, to show that I was there, representing. I wasn’t hiding it. I wanted them to know. And Randy Credico suggestively obeyed.
I shuffle into the gallery, my heart beating in anticipation. This would be my first opportunity to see Julian with my own eyes and him me. He would see that I’m still alive and that I never stopped fighting for us. I surveyed where the cameras are and then fixated my eyes on the glass box, my heart thumping so loud I thought people next to me might hear.
Julian, having just been anal searched three times, it was reported, shuffled in his secluded box, with security at each side, uncuffing him. He takes a seat then glances up to scan the gallery and he finds me. I smile and wink. I felt Julian’s excitement and relief. Our gaze lasted for a long while until proceedings broke our silent communication. Craig Murray commented at the end of the day to me that Julian’s spirits seemed rather elevated and I replied modestly that it was nice to see. Murray was assigned to me for gathering information and controlled opposition. A pleasant but disfigured of a man who was well rehearsed in every avenue that connected with Julian Assange, his case, his legal team, his doctors, “the family”, Wikileaks takeovers. He was a conduit and I humored him with my presence watching him closely taking a record of everything he said and conveyed, especially his exceptional power of suggestion he possessed. He is a idol for all the regular protesters, some actually dressing up as circus characters, making this entire charade even that much more ridiculous.
The entire court and it’s jesters were just state-approved actors pretending to go along with scripted proceedings. Julian’s defense team was well rehearsed in trying to appear professional and genuine. The Barrister was handed her precise script to read even before hearing performed arguments, was all but pathetic, she couldn’t even care to remember her lines or perhaps she had just been given them before each morning. Julian and I sat vaguely listening and communicating using signals and sign language and humor the entire week long saga. I told Kevin Gostola, who was staying in the same hotel that Julian and I were communicating and I asked him to be a witness. Kevin Gostola was one of three people to attend from the US, supposedly to support Julian, the other two were Randy Credico and myself. I also told Rebecca Vincent which means she alerted the klan and because Julian and I weren’t hiding communicating we were merely trying to appear like we were being cautious. I knew this would rattle the snakes. Where was everybody else? This was before Covid was an excuse. Where was The Grayzone? Gostola would get co-opted and determine through the legal teams controlled oppositions power of suggestion that I wasn’t to be considered. I’m not sure why Gostola thought I’d ask him to be a witness if I were making it up, but whatever stole his common sense was effective.
I wasn’t there to pay any attention to the proceedings, I knew it was pure bullshit, the defense coordinating with the prosecution. I was there to show Julian I was alive, and to watch the actors, who was communicating with who, before, during, in between and after the circus showcase trial sessions. I also focused on Julian and what he was relaying to me. I knew about the wedding plot and Julian and I had a few laughs, even though Stella Moris wouldn’t be written in the script until the trial was over and Julian couldn’t conveniently object to such a absurd accusation. They would use alias Stella Moris and the kids plot to give the Biden administration an excuse to overrule the verdict and they all knew it, because they were all coordinating behind the scenes how to look somewhat credible while keeping Julian in complete silence from exposing the entire circus charade. The next time Julian appeared before her majesty was during Covid lockdown via zoom and he was drugged nearly unconscious and they had to pretend he had a “ Mini Stroke“ Which this was their cover-up and it made headlines all across media outlets.
It reminded me of the time they told Julian he had tested positive for Aids when he didn’t. This cruel mockery surrounding Julian was making themselves look psychopathic and eventually they will reveal themselves, their arrogance of impunity will ultimately be shown the lime-light. Hideous people make hideous mistakes. While the mentally deranged, pledged their oath to tell the truth before a court of law they lied through their rotting teeth portraying Julian Assange as mentally ill and damaged. It surprises me that people, who have heard Julian speak and who’ve met with Julian personally didn’t find this objectable. It shouldn’t have surprised me because that’s a tactic tool that has been used against me.
Wikileaks under it’s new “rules based order” administration is being edited. It’s very interesting the cable they chose to edit, which details precisely what the agenda was for Julian Assange’s future and anyone close to him. (wink-wink) The edited out “unless he works for Soro’s” which is who funds Reporters Without Borders, the NGO assigned to Julian’s case, specifically Rebecca Vincent who I got to spend the week at the trial surveying and who she was close to. She was cozy with all the players, the legal defense including Stella Moris, very close to the Shiptons, Kristinn Hrafnsson and Craig Murray. I gathered the “making him a bride in prison” was just slightly deviated by (implying) Julian wore a [kilt] made by self-proclaimed she-devil, Vivienne Westwood. The absolute absurdity of this theatrical performance is one for the movies.
In the gallery, at one point I was seated next to Kristinn Hrafnsson in the gallery and when Julian surveyed the gallery to find me he got visibly upset seeing who was sitting by my side. It was very clear what Julian thought of Hrafnsson, who was chosen by the rules based order klan as lead role as Wikileaks new chief editor. Wikileaks under his management is getting edited while they keep Julian a hostage, extorting donations to fill their bank accounts. On one occasion they performed a little side skit, making it appear that the court wasn’t going to allow Hrafnsson into the gallery. My suspicion was confirmed by my guard friend who I had friended with genuine polite conversation that guarded the gallery. He told me under his breath that there were no orders to eject anyone, he had no idea what they were suggesting. Hrafnsson had no issues further entering the gallery and I decided to place myself next to him again and get as much recorded intel as possible. My eyes watering just enough, I told Hrafnsson that Julian and I were being drugged and toxins were placed in our products. He asked why I thought that was. I responded with a “why do you fucking think” look. He clearly understood why. I then decide to tell him, true to my word as representing The Grayzone, to give whatever you have about Sheldon Adelson to The Grayzone. (They already knew I had the information on Adelson and Pam Anderson spy op surrounding Assange) Pam Anderson and Hrafnsson have “history” let’s call it. Pam’s favorite one liner is “my mom always say you can never have too many men, which sadly gets her applause every time she repeats it. That’s not what a good mom teaches a daughter and I think we can all agree that Pam proved that, yes Pam, yes you can. The Grayzone landed the story btw and their numbers skyrocketed and so did donations. You’re welcome .
On the night before the last day of the hearing, I go to the hotel restaurant for a beer and some dinner. Mr. Spook who was tailing me, is there. I order. Sip my beer waiting for my meal, strumming through social media. The waiter brings me another beer and looks over at Mr. Spook and says “the gentleman would like to buy you a beer.” I say thank you and don’t dare take a sip. I struck up a conversation with two ladies seated next to me and tell them my suspicions of this strange man and could they amuse me for a bit of conversation. They were game. We sat at watched the guy get very irritated.
We leave. And I go to my room to take a bath before bedtime, another early rise awaited me. I wake up groggy in a freezing bath that was blood-stained around 5 am. I checked my body for injuries and only discovered that I had started my period. That mother fucker drugged my food and someone in that hotel kitchen had to be aware. So I showered quickly, dried my hair, already running late for cueing, and ran down to catch a cab. The line in cue was already long but I strut myself to the front and told them I was late because my hotel had been breached and took a place at the front daring anyone to say a fucking word about me cutting the line. Nobody said a peep.
Soro’s hired handmaiden Rebecca Vincent from Reporters Without Boarders, hearing of the breach, wink-wink, decided to lecture me on some safety-tips to purchase a travel wedge for my door. What a gal! Kristinn Hrafnsson lurking behind us thanked her for being so kind. These mother fuckers!
The circus show concludes and my head an my heart aches as I don’t know when I will next see or hear from Julian, my friend who I love more than anything in this world. We all rise and Julian looks at me and signals to me to keep fighting and walks out in handcuffs back to his dungeon.
My trip to Circusville concludes with Craig Murray and drinks with the circus supporting cast. I had been invited to give a interview but it was suggested by Murray to me, why would I give them my time after being left to stand in the cold all week. I contemplated what my best angle would be and decided to go along with Craig Murray and find out a bit more about this character. Situated at the bar, Craig tells me a tall tale of how he was the one who went to the US to meet the source that handed over the Clinton emails. He said he went to several strip joints handing out twenty dollar bills and zipdrives to the dancers to send the spooks on a wild goose chase. Entertaining story and I’ve no idea if any of it’s true but what I do know is Murray has been very quite about this information that would absolve Julian Assange of any links to a Russian agent. Aaron Matè from The Grayzone said that he asked Craig Murray about this and his impression was Wikileaks people had told Craig to be quite about it. Which begs the question, why the fuck why? It certainly wouldn’t hurt Julian’s defense. So who are they protecting but themselves?
Murray’s brother and niece, showed up at one point and I had to act interested in the brother carry on for almost an hour about our only chance of survival is depopulating the people of this world and he meant it and I was quite covertly disturbed at his implied intentions and politely disagreed.
The media crew shuffled into the bar and wondered why Murray and I didn’t show up for the interview and Craig Murray smirking, answers them before I could respond that I had decided and thought it better that we go have drinks instead, lying. I didn’t correct him but gave him a look and a cocked smile, that I saw right through him. Craig recent blogs have a certain pro NATO finesse.
We all gather, some truly well intentioned among us, we perform a toast to Julian and his freedom and part ways. Covid19 would appear shortly after my departure back to the states.
Chapter 2
Stella Moris the Regime Change Incel Bride and the Navalny’s (Circus Bizarre )
Nothing about this is normal. In fact it seems very coordinated to what a NATO regime change lunatic would say.
And then you have Russia genuinely defending Julian Assange
More Coming soon
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Found this really fascinating. Left me very sad. Unsure what to make of much of it.
Why didn't you write any more? Why haven't more liked and shared? Gosh, so many questions...
I trust(ed?) Craig and Kevin G also... naturally, albeit after a while, Stella too.