The Lion, the Writer and the Homeless Shelter

When August 1, 2023 came, my eviction from my apartment of 8 years came about without ado. I was 4 days short of my 51st birthday, and well over $135,000 in debt. Though to be honest, I stopped caring about that back in late 2020 – even as I was only around $100,000 in the hole with still an operating hope the United States would right its proverbial ship.

Most of this total came from decision made in the summer of 2011, shortly after my mom died. I decided to go back to school for an MBA. This was done to escape one’s reality lived since 2005, that of overnight delivery of 300+ papers while starting a rebuild of my motivations and my life after prison. The remaining amount (35K) was just credit cards I tapped like Hunter Biden did when his CCP-CEFC buddies came bearing credit card gifts – see: email.

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To some, in our country (and world), this crisis (personal or societal) does not exist – the US isn’t spiraling out of control, it has the adults back in charge, etcetera. This is clearly a banshee scream, coming from the media-medical-military-intel-academia corporate spin room, or (3MIAC), as if we need more acronyms to quickly discard from our overstuffed brains.

For those of us, less well off, but with background and history to go off of, we know this is a big, fucking lie. Though, we know as well: “Tell a lie long enough, loud enough, and the more detached from reality it is, the more people will soon enough quote it as the gospel truth.”

One spent the last 3 ½ years attempting to create a meager legacy on this Earth – writing, investigating, publishing, making movies and narrating them too (lol) – in order to provide one’s perspective regarding the World at this pivotal point in history. This was not done for the LOLs or the grift; it was to do my part, to sacrifice whatever I could (non-confrontationally) towards awakening (or red-pilling the population) that would stopped by my corner of “internet” reality.

Not many stopped by. Until just the last 8 months. I thank Citizen Free Press – because without Kane’s traffic – well, one’s psychological casino chips would be gone.

I am a flawed individual. If you are reading this, you likely know a lot about flaws and how we all overcompensate, deflect, project and feign competence when we should just admit we are well out of our depth. If only we had that humility (yes, that’s it!) – often, I am guessing, that would solve most of the conflicts between the rational and common folks. The greater portion of the world’s problems lay in miscommunication (invariably).

In one book written, I, of all people, think marriage pillars off 4 things: sex, time, money and communication. Most marriages fail around one (or all) of those things. But I suspect the biggest hijacker is the inability to communicate clearly what each wants and each needs. And a marriage, built on the good feels acquired from sex and spending money, invariably destructs when reality hits one (or both) people. [That me talking, not from having been married, but having a half-dozen friends that unburdened themselves to me about their divorces. It is easy to assess what is wrong outside of it – the Monday morning QB take, BTW.]

However, this particular analytical method doesn’t fix the biggest issues we to face at present: those that have made it clear they [Globalists Elitist Parasites (GEPs) – the ones that have Climate, Covid and Humanity as THEIR ISSUES for the next 25-50-1,000 years] aren’t really interested in our opinions or our knowledge bases. (Those issues are not real – but a military propaganda machine needed to do what they really want: control all of us and make sure we know who is boss. COVID was designed for old people to die [by various means]; and propagandized to scare compliance from the young and susceptible to hypnotic insistence, the mass formation that has taken hold of roughly 1/3 of the population.)

For the GEPs, the world is simple: those with power, prestige, and the most financial largesse, and a fair amount of sociopathy (coming from a non-psychologist), don’t need any of our input, and really, never wanted it to begin with. They make the rules; and your lot is to comply to those rules (even as they change them to make you suffer) or die…softly into that good night, but rage, if you will, against the dying of the light.

I’ve had an interesting ride as of late. For the first dozen days of the dog days of August, I learned how to be on the street. Luckily for me, the place I am at – West Lafayette - is not crime or drug-riddled (yet), but there are plenty of homeless folks. I see them very clearly now – repeated sightings – showing how easy it is to be a rebel without a home.

For those that are asking themselves this: I do have friends – just not the close personal kind that I wish were nearby. I didn’t even tell the one or two nearest folks to my location about my homelessness yet.

Whether it’s embarrassment, shame or just knowing they too are being Bidened, I didn’t make too much of it. (One is in an acrimonious custody battle and doesn’t need my unnecessary problems on his mind.)

At present, my closest friends (who understand what we are up against) live the furthest from me – and we have never met ‘in real life.’ They hail from continents I have never set foot on. From their substantial efforts, they even attempted to relocate me to Miami (Beach), Florida. I spent 17 days in Florida after flying to the top vacation destination and one of the most affluent areas in the United States.

The goal was a fresh start. Job, or sans that, live homeless in the sunniest climbs that the U.S. has to offer. I have to admit it wasn’t bad, until I realized how far afield that place was for me, mentally and spiritually.

One can discuss the number of homeless people I saw there – legions of people I ran into daily – and also, how I felt (that gnawing feeling one gets that this will not do). I did apply to a job in engineering. I sought public services. Though I didn’t go to a Pentecostal church at one friend’s suggestion. That may have bothered him – sorry friend.

I didn’t go to God because: sometimes, one doesn’t feel they are worthy of either pity, or help, even as you get it.

One place I found loaded with the homeless was the Miami Beach Public Library. I went to the library from the hostel I was at ($25/night) to continue my work on the final book series I’ll ever write. Arriving at 10AM, there were 10-15 men in the library, all rough-looking and hungry. There was an armed security guard patrolling inside – doing 15-minute circuits as if this was max security prison, and not, a library where they promote a “gender fluid” program in a special second floor area for teenagers only, but bump the age up to 21.

A Miami Dade County police cruiser was parked outside every day with an unusually fat black chick in a cop uniform standing around (at least the times I saw anyone at all). She looked more like Stacey Abrams than the new girl playing Bond’s 007 replacement. The cop was just minding the homeless as they trekked in from their beach haunts. No mission protocols issued directly from MI6 or the CIA.

What I am getting to is: my own demoralization, and yet, a gnawing and obsessive desire for taking real actions to defeat these pedantic, pontificating Globalists parasites (GEPs). One knows I have to live to fight on – like being at the World Series of Globalist Poker (WSOGP) table, folding and losing antes, while winning a meager pot here or there, to just be at the final table, fighting the biggest motherfucking stack of chips ever acquired in human history.

I can’t see any logical reason to make efforts towards a routine 9-5 or 11-7 knowing that the meager job will be soon sucked into the maelstrom of AI-Robotics or deemed useless (for us “eaters”) by these GEPs. The GEPs call “exercising” as “supremacist-like” via their intel-media clowns. And some people will undoubtedly believe that insanity.

I did apply to multiple custodial jobs at Purdue – yep, I came back to a place I’ve often detested, Indiana – just to be passed over for “better” candidates. Not really wrong, if you think about it.

For those that say, “you’re lazy” well, no. I started working in 7th grade, delivering papers daily for 3 plus years. I mowed lawns, detasseling corn, shoveled shit and fed the horses on a farm while playing baseball as most teenage boys do. (I actually enjoyed the farm - Nick Ruge (former local Bank Chair) was a solid guy. He let me drive his Chevy Suburban without a license. He filled a male void left by my grandfather Clark who died in 1986.)

On the day I turned 16, I became a $3.35/hour dishwasher at an Italian restaurant: Dante’s. I worked 25-30 hours per week (5-11 Sun-Thurs, 5-1A on Fri-Sat for a chintzy cocaine addict) while also fucking up my H.S. GPA as Advance English was my 1st class in morning. I never could get my homework done after work and the teacher was a C U Next Tuesday. I achieved two D- semester grades; and realized how shitty my English was, and still is.

I worked then so my mom could pay our bills – rent, electric, food, and we didn’t have a phone until my senior year of high school in 1989.

My employment CV thereafter is a myriad of failed detours into dead-end jobs until I graduated college in 5 ½ years with a 2.07 GPA. I admit I am not people-friendly. I didn’t choose wisely regarding industrial engineering. But fulfilled my mother’s wishes more than my own – which is probably why I have written (and published) more words in the last 3 plus years than a fair number of top-tier writers. (Not saying better, just word volume.)

Hunter Biden’s still secret connection to exporting LNG to Europe & Asia

There was an ample excuse (because that what it is) why that path began badly – my lack of respect for authority figures that root causes back to my father. He went to Ft. Leavenworth in 1988 for 9 ½ years for a heinous crime (after committing similar crimes against my mother in 1982-3). When he was about to get out, he wanted to see me on his birthday. (That didn’t happen.)

From 1983 to his death, I saw him once, and had sporadic contacts with him by phone, until my mom’s death in June 2011. Less said the better, but his death on Hitler’s birthday (2018) almost seemed: fated.

[I did let go of my anger towards him many years ago – but I don’t forget the situations that hijacked my immature thinking back when Reagan was still President. If I dove into all the gory details, you might comprehend how highly-intelligent psychopaths operate.]

Again, my feelings are: I did a great deal in nearly 40 years of being a worker bee for the New World Order. My gaps in employment were not idle times. I got more substantive things accomplished in the more recent gaps than anything I desired to do in my work ever at Corporate America, LLC/INC.

[I’ve added a few more positions: Amazon, Tutor.com, UPS to get by since the start of the Plandemic. Tutoring would have worked but for some interesting things that are going on regarding that system. It is what you think it is.]

One may consider this: others have lost everything as well.

Their livelihoods, their family members, their businesses, their sanity, or their own lives taken due to the 5^th gen warfare endured from March 2020 to the present.

I’ve faced depression before. I attempted suicide in March 1999 while in the U.S. Navy. (Not due to the Navy or its duties.)

At present, I managed through my homeless shelter (pictures below) when not in public areas.

A room without a view, my shopping car, laundry mat, sleeping quarters

I don’t talk to people publicly.

So far, I can keep up adequate hygiene that most are none the curious. I get stared at when I do my laundry outside in a public place.

The local food pantry reflects the consequences of Biden’s policies. I see more and more people there; and the quality of items, such as they are, is going down. (I have accessed this resource for the past year.)

Most college kids live in their bubble.

Though it is interesting to hear many talk about people or places, not events or ideas. Some do hit an idea – usually about technology, AI, was a conversation overheard recently. But most just prattle on about their latest relationship; or what some professor assigned; or when the next social event is occurring. Innocuous and inane, at the same time, if one thinks about the Great Reset Agenda and all the GEPs pushing for all of us to eat ze bugs, use their digital money, and hand over all our inalienable rights to them.

I am homeless, and not happy.

But I still have my words – as dwindling poker chips.

Just realize: Humanity is just 9 meals (or another worldwide kinetic war away) from being homeless, hungry, and not at all happy.

Exactly how many of us are going to be at the final table of WSOGP?