Discussing Injustice, Betrayal & Humiliation

(Somebody screenshot the following words if you please, in case servants of the criminal organization censor it, willingly or otherwise). I will try and keep this as brief as it can be. I will address the guilty parties only as “they”, because they spite you for addressing them, and try to keep their identities confidential indefinitely. They hide far from the eyes of their victims, and run from the truth for all time. I’m having trouble knowing whether they were like this at birth, or if it was enforced by higher powers upon them to be the villains, but I do believe it is likely innate in the traitors and vicious psychopaths that rule this society. So, how does the process begin, friends…? An injustice. Do any of you people remember your early childhoods? Oh, very young… Not ten. Not seven. Not five. Not even three. How’d you feel when you first entered this world? You, individuals who’ve found yourselves immersed in what is contemporarily known as “true crime”. I tried to approach a homeless person outside a Target store the other night with this premise… He didn’t want to listen to me though. I guess perhaps I should’ve pressed him more for information, but let’s be honest: he wasn’t ready. He was sitting crouched against a beam of sorts, as I remember, near the store as it closed, because he’d wanted money and/or food (as was written in black marker on the cardboard panel he’d been holding up with both hands to his torso; “F$od”, I think it said). I made the conscious decision to walk up to him, and crouch down. I was wearing a black jacket and hat—as is seen in my profile photo—and spoke in a soft voice. I noticed as I crouched near him, that his right eye was bruised, and he had stubble. Not a full beard, mind you, but stubble, and brown hair kept short under a knit hat. Likely a recent hobo, because he didn’t smell at all, and was looking somewhat nervous and cold. A thin monochrome blanket over his shoulders. I asked him something along the lines of, “I don’t have any money, or food for you, just so you know, but I’m bored, and would be curious to hear how you got here.” He responded: “No food, or money? You’re bored…?” I said, “Yes, friend, I’m bored and would just like to hear your story.” Having begun halfway through that sentence he started to say—as I remember to the best of my memory stuttering: “Well, I had kind of an issue in school, like I started a bit late into the semester, and uh, the other students had, and I’d been…” I cut him off there. And said, “Hold on, you’re a little… incoherent, let’s just… start from the beginning, friend. Where were you born?”

“The United States”

“Where specifically…?”

“Umm… I don’t see how that’s relevant to the, uh, you know, how I got here”

“Well, it’s certainly relevant, because I’m trying to hear your life story. So, would you like to continue speaking, or should I (*I made a hand gesture at the surroundings*) go walk somewhere else. I’ve got around an hour to kill.. I mean, I can help you out. I’ve got things I can do for you, man.”

“Yeah… Maybe just, go off like that”

I stood up saying very well, and wishing him luck on not having his life be any more of a failure than it already was, to which he gave me a light “Thanks” and “…Yeah,” to the second part. This was an injustice to me. As well as a betrayal and a humiliation. I reached out to this young man, cold, some years older than me. Shivering and looking for food and money he was. I related to it, in some way… He denied me like everyone else. Curious, yes? This interaction wasn’t particularly remarkable, as I’ve had a habit throughout my life of speaking to curs and the unfortunate. Bastards. Bitches. Liars. Scum. Stinking idiots. Corrupt leaders. Negroes. Hispanics. Poor whites. Cheap Asians. Natives. Male. Female. Rich and poor. Sinners and saints… I’ve always spoken to them all. Tried to help them in their times of need. When I was a very young child. A newborn, I remember my first memory. Many people don’t remember the hospitals they were born in. I do. It was very bright, and the nurse smiled at me. I wasn’t crying, or concerned. I was so very curious. You friends, you were curious as well…? Turning already to a side of life so endearingly cruel… I remember my father’s face, who’d thought I would be born a girl. He too was smiling. My mother’s was more of a white light… But she was smiling too. In an evil way. A controlling way. But that’s irrelevant… I was taken out into the parking lot to a car, I believe. My first memories of the sun were so alien to me, I can hardly recount the emotions I felt. It was painful, though, that’s certain. Traumatizing light and impatience was all I experienced for the first hours of my life. I must’ve never truly got over that, because I write this on a phone in the dark, listening to a light rain and music. I’m sitting in a very uncomfortable leaning position on my side. Trying to retreat into my mind rather than endure the sensory rape of interacting with people. How is this relevant…? I’m getting to the point, but feel free to mock, delete me or say ‘TLDR’ as I could reasonably expect of such mongrels. It’d be no different than everything else I’ve ever had to live through… Victimize me some more, why don’t you. Do you see yourselves? You’ve been done so many injustices that you forgot that you used to be the justiciars. Were you not? Some of you, anyway… It was hard, wasn’t it. Suffering all those things they put you through. It starts with a little injustice. A small wrong. “Ah, what is this!” That’s how it feels? But then it gets worse, doesn’t it…? Like any wound, it starts with a little sting or shock, and then it broods and burns and bleeds… The more excruciating the pain the less adaptive your response. That’s where the betrayal comes in… When you experience an injustice, you turn to aspects internal and external. Have they *ever*… supported you? Tell me… No, they haven’t. You’re not allowed to speak out on anything. That’s another betrayal, escalated they taught and indoctrinated you as you got older, that it was okay to suffer for them. They made you masochists, not only for the initial pain, but the extensive aftermath and its terrible… terrible pain. When you asked your family and friends for help. They laughed at you: They cut you more. They burned you more. They played the victim. They cried. They gaslit. They smiled. They said, “What…? Are you mad?” Well, were you? I know for a fact some of you desire a bullet in the head and one for everyone else too. And that’s okay… I want you to know, that you’re still allowed to have that opinion. Oh, yes… but that’s when their humiliation comes in. Their tarring… and their feathering. Continue, and that’s what they turn to. You want the right thing?

“How about we sodomize you with a knife instead…?”

That’s what it feels like, eh…? Do you *like* that?? I know you do, huh? Like crying when they hold you down and rape you. Shove trash down your throat and claim themselves doing what’s right for you. They wanna slash at your limbs… Cut it deep and hard so you have no more will to resist. Hold that bayonet. Scowl and pretend you’re grinning…? Yes? Some of you remember intensely. You wanna forget. Do you think I’m talking about actual rape? …I’m not… I’m telling you what happened to you. White supremacists. Participants in the white revolution. Others too…! I know… But that’s irrelevant. If you know you know, friend. Hahaha… That’s when it comes around. Injustice to betrayal to humiliation. The humiliation always gets to me the most. They’ll wrong you, betray your trust, and then finish up by saying “Mad?” Oh yes. Those children when you were very young were showing the true colors of government. As they got older they just tricked you instead. …Using oh-so-masterful subterfuge… That’s when they invented psychology. So they wouldn’t have to resort to the last method sooner…: Execution. Psychology is a recent invention. But execution? That’s fucking ancient… friends. In modern times they’ve prolonged and stressed the subtlety of their humiliation. Like a sci-fi dystopia, that a dumb fuck only rarely acknowledges, but always sees as omnipresent, because the fear is determining their future, even when fate and hope and desire should be guiding those decisions. The courage should be holding them tight, but it just… doesn’t… How in the hell did that happen? Ask that question. How powerful are their tools that they’ve suppressed your own emotions, thoughts, opinions and ability to defend yourself…? I speak not as a man of poor morals, but one who understands the escalating nature of this world’s current state. I just wanna talk about it a bit… Have some empathy… Some sympathy, at least. Understanding of my pure state from which I write, please. Did it not occur to you that there was something deeply wrong here? But what could *you* do, when no one else said it but you? You’re helpless, weak and powerless. …That’s what it is… A starving little child in the middle of these dark, lonely woods… and surrounded by wolves. Knowing the threat they’re holding over your head to keep the world’s population up. Instead of cutting your head off with a sword, or putting a gun to your head in front of a ditch/trench, they just throw you away. Ask you to your face when you know it’s horrible as a thing to do by any principles valuing humanity. “*You* did the bad, not us… Do you acknowledge this?” You can say yes or no, at the end of the day. They’ll make their decision off of that… Injustice > Betrayal > Humiliation > Execution . That’s the order in which they resort to things in order to keep you in check. The best thing to do is…? That’s up to you, friend… But know that either way, I’m here for you. Here for everyone who understands the truth of this world. It’s happened before, and can happen again. Thank you for your time. I don’t believe there’s anything else to say at the moment… (This is in the all other crimes category because what they are doing [committing]. are crimes against humanity)

The man was a false beggar, a swindler… So trusting I am… Don’t associate this with something it isn’t. That would be a moral mistake. I’m—if nothing else—always more or less correct at the end.