Real Red Queen hypothesis

"I need a pig here."

No one is more arrogant toward women, more aggressive or scornful, than the man who is anxious about his virility. - Simone de Bouvoir

Maybe I should call you the Tooth Fairy.

Except I doubt you'll leave money under my pillow.

I'll wait and see, and if it's not gone by tomorrow, "there'll be Hell to pay"!

;-)

I'm not messing around, boys. Tired of your shit. I mean it. When does this happen?
Today? Tommorow? I'm waiting...

Best,

Anya

The Idylwild Group/Former Whatever Hat

 Wacka-wacka. These are the yolks, folks.

You know what: I just wrote the kind of frothing-at-the-mouth "why don't they give me credit" whiny blog post the CIA loves about how they have both been appropriating my story and experiences without giving me credit, but I'm too tired and sociopaths don't care one way or the other if it happened to me or not.

Here's the deal: I was the first to write about "John Barkley" and "Roan". I've been writing about them for years. But apparently I am too plodding to add a colorful flourish to anything like these guys can, so apparently I am not getting the buzz on the blogosphere that they do. To which I say "whatever". I could care less about the attention. I just want the facts to be straight and to not turn my experiences into an urban legend or myth, like Babe the Blue Ox and Paul Bunyan or something. I'm not Americana wackiness at it's finest, kids. I'm a human being with really strange things happening to her. I never said I knew definitively what was happening. But here it is, happening nonetheless. I guess me sending original emails of John's interactions with me to Former White Hat when he asked were nothing more than creative license for Former Whatever's Name and his "totally not connected to me whatsoever" band of merry Whatevers at the Idylwild Group.

Shame on me if I am being duped. And another giant shrug and "Whatever" if it's served to further the truth somehow. I don't know what to make of it. Maybe it muddies the waters and in doing so in a bizarre way makes things clearer for people somehow. I don't know. I just know that something weird's been happening to me for years and it's not stopping, and for several of those years/encounters, it involved people who later told me their "names" were "Roan" and "John Barkley", and that one I ***supposed*** (never confirmed, necessarily) was from Procyon who just as it so happens fits the description exactly of "Roan"/"Mongoose" from Former White Hats blog and The Idylwild Group's blog too, and that a lot of Former White Hat's information about "John Barkley" comes from me directly. He sure hasn't added much info about the man other than what I have told him, and he/she/it acts like it's TOTALLY NORMAL for someone to be a telepath liaison for a secret space program-- and that there's dozens, nay, hundreds, nay, thousands of us lying around in a stock room somewhere (never mind I am the only one stepping forward saying I am a civilian telepath liaison who is in touch with Space Command, et al).

Never mind any of this. It's the fiction that anyone cares about, right? They don't care about facts. They want sizzle, not steak. They want fantasy. Whatever, I don't even care anymore, this is the first appearance of Roan, from an encounter I had on December 19th, 2007 in Manhattan. If you believe it, fine, if you don't, that's fine too. I don't care anymore. I am just tired of lazy journalism and shoddy writing that doesn't get the facts straight but adds endless flourishes where absolutely none were necessary in the first place. This is hardly the time for gilding lillies, gentlemen.

http://hiddenexperience.blogspot.com/2010/01/police-sketch-artist.html

John Barkley's all over this blog and some interviews I've done. Just research it. I'm too tired to find it all and document it here. I thought that was what I was doing the first thousand times I documented it. If anyone cares.

My one concession to badassery.

Today.

Sitting at the computer. 

Astral agent swoops in from nowhere/somewhere and takes my hand. I have asked only those who love me and come in love and the highest intention to do this. (You will know why in a moment.) 

Agents "in the field" on all sides potentially have access to my bioenergetic field to access the "living library" of knowledge that I have. And if you want it, you can have it too. But only if you come in love. Genuine, true, faithful love that harms no one.

If not, this is what happens and what will happen to you when you try to access knowledge from my data bank from now on:

Agent: I don't love you, but I have come to take information. (Grabs my hand)

Me: Congratulations, you have just been infected with a nanobot tracker that will monitor and locate you and your every move. Now get the fuck out of my house, bitch.

And scene!

You can thank the silent partners behind this for that clever invention. And yes, this technology I am referring to is vast and yes it accesses even the Akashic field. Don't ask me how it works, but it does. I have no idea of the mechanics of it consciously.

He reacted as if I had just lit his hand on fire. Of course he called me a fucking bitch (I take the epithet as a compliment coming from someone like him) and fled immediately. Now he will be tracked ruthlessly, repeatedly and continually as I have by people just like this man. He will be tracked and identified now by some of the world's scariest people and if necessary, hunted down like a dog and taken out if he continues to be a bad boy. At the very least, he will continue to be interrogated and hunted like I have been for years now. He will in fact, get a taste of his own medicine. And his colleagues and their colleagues as well are now suspect to these preliminaries as well. God help him if he is to be interrogated by these wildcats. For they are as fierce as they come. I liken it to prisoners not taking kindly to the kiddie molesters in jail. Those types don't tend to last long. 

Anyway, any more takers?

The only thing I asked of my friends behind the scenes (and some in front of them) is to not show me how the sausage is made. (And make no mistake. This man who came to me was a ruthless spy killer who has done in many, many people and who would not hesitate to take you out for a little money or even less. He has also repeatedly tortured me and others like me in the astral plane for goofs and giggles many a time. He drinks beer and watches TV while he does it.) 

 I told you that this would happen. I told you that it would not be me who does the deed, either. I told you that you would have to answer to someone other than myself. I told you. And you wouldn't listen. 

Access my living library if you must, but only with the true and pure loving intention of the highest sort. 

Otherwise, you too are ready for The Cleaners.