Did the UK porn distributors and honey-trappers team up with Mike Wenham?
Was he their first true test of whether they could use online lust and porn triggers to manipulate someone into undergoing extremely risky genital surgeries and then murdering a person?
Was another test, as it were, Lorraine’s daughter?
Did the trans ideology manipulation software, aimed mainly at children, girls usually, get released soon after these successful outcomes?
My brother, post Thailand 2010, stayed in bed at 31 when he moved back in 2011, and seemingly for the whole of 2012 too, and he did not speak to me at all, not a word.
The two of them had lived together at Dominic’s flat in Tottenham until August 2011 when my brother moved back to 31.
So I went down on my own to pick up the Brita filter (I think it was originally mine even) which Robert had left there.
My guess is Dominic knew what had been happening to me for so long. My guess is probably all my brother’s mates knew, especially the twitchy one (I’ll remember his name.. had been raped in Pentonville and spoke about it a lot).
Dominic’s face was posted often on fake X accounts during 2023-2024, but I could not understand why, and because of brain damage and him being out-of-context, I wondered if it was him. So I took no screenshots of this.
Curiously, when I visited him that day, a group of young black men were standing outside on the pavement in full view of Dom’s window.
There was about six of them, and they were standing in a circle staring at each other.
It was very weird, and I thought menacing, as if they were standing staring each other down, and waiting from one of them to make the first violent move.
One night, I’m stalking people I’ve known, probably Hazel was someone I looked up.
Something comes up about Crowland Road, Tottenham, the club I had gone to with Winston May the night he raped me at his house in August 1989.
I believe something happened at the club I’m still unaware of.
Suddenly, on Facebook, I stumble onto a post where a person is saying they’d been at the club in 1989 and a young girl had stripped off naked on the dance floor, and it was such a huge trigger I think I closed the laptop then and there.
I think something did happen in the men’s toilets most likely; even elsewhere.
It’s obviously common knowledge too.
I’m guessing there’s photographic evidence even though back then people weren’t taking photos like they do today but still, Winston had already been to Denia and had the sedation training; perhaps he had spy-cam training too, the sort we can see was used with Irene.
Prior to moving back, I did a colonic fast and cleanse in Thailand.
I rent a flat in Las Rotas initially, but the woman has lied to me about their being sufficient internet so I have no option but to find somewhere else.
I find a flat in Passeig Periodista Ramon Ortega.
By the way, my mother has all the full addresses somewhere, I can’t be bothered to look.
I rented the flat from Lex estate agents so they will have the information too.
Zoe visited quite a lot as we were both writing books and exchanging notes.
One afternoon, I remember she started talking about the Pakistani rape gangs out of the blue in my sitting room. I found it a bit weird. I wasn’t thinking about it.
My dad also visited at Fallas time in 2013 and stayed about a week.
I wonder about that visit.
Did someone approach us in the Irish bar?
The only reason I have to be suspicious about my stay here - which I loved - was that I had extremely bad genital boils after that.
I remember because I would burst them sometimes and they would stain the wall opposite with blood and pus. They were really angry.
Does this mean I was being sedated and raped in my apartment here too?
I’m not sure.
When I left the apartment, I tried to sell a few items to my neighbors. A man came round. He walked into my apartment looked around, looked at me in disgust, made a rude comment, and walked out without saying anything. This makes sense if I was being sedated and repeatedly raped in my apartment here and everyone knew about it which would not surprise me anymore.
We met in Javea in the old town and we had coffee.
It was winter, coldish, I suspect late November or December.
I wanted to thank Trudy soooo much because basically A Course in Miracles had shown me the door out of hell (and I knew very well it was Jesus talking to me - often without a clue about what he was saying…)
I told her all this and thanked her profusely.
I told her about my trip to Israel earlier that year, about how I’d heard the Voice at the Wall and how it had inspired me to explain to the Voice, a mission if you will, what the liar is in the mind - because the Voice didn’t know - and so answer Her question.
But of course the Voice didn’t know what the liar is. That’s our very own invention not shared with Heaven.
But still I did my best to explain, and I still don’t know how well I did.
Anyway. Trudy.
Trudy was quiet, thoughtful, sad.
It was as if she was preoccupied by something and not communicating with me at all: 5% of her was with me, the other 95% was thinking about something that made her upset, unhappy, quiet… it was a little bit like she would have preferred not to come, but didn’t have a choice.
It was strange and very unexpected, but I didn’t think about it much at all.
Until recently when I remembered that hackers had told me repeatedly about Trudy - and I understood it to mean she had known I had been targeted by the gangs back in late 2012 but couldn’t say anything to me about it, or they’d murder her too, like they do.
On 21st December 2012, I finish my first book, The Liar, inspired by my visit to the Western Wall in Jerusalem in May of this year.
It occurs to me, today in January 2026, that I calmly and rationally describe evil in this book; how it works, how to notice it, how it’s nothing at all, how weak and feeble it is, etc.
And immediately I did this, the devil himself - offended - came after me, as if to prove me wrong.
And it looks like I got away with just a few scratches.
I’m busy with my book, and 31 is oppressive, so I stay in Spain for Christmas - I think (one year this happened so it must be this year.. or it could be 2013.. but I think probably 2012).
No-one phones me on Christmas Day.
Total family blackout.
When I do eventually talk to my mother she says Robert didn’t get up and it was miserable.
Still.
A massive sign to me.
One wonders if they all knew I was a porn-gang goner already - Robert knew from Thailand, Robert told mum, dad knew since 1989 - and they just gave up on me… apart from dad visiting in early 2013 for spoil-enjoyment.
Another year around this time I go back to London for Christmas, possibly 2013.
I signed up for volunteering at North London Hospice on this visit and did a few days and was scheduled to do a Boxing Day shift but I drank too much on Christmas Day and called in sick.
That night, Christmas night, I remember telling my brother about how something amazing was happening, and it’s gonna be big, really really big.
I remember telling him that in the garden over cigarettes, and actually I was drunk and I really had no idea what I was talking about apart from being immersed in the content of my books I was writing which was blowing my mind.
This may have been the time that the light from the kitchen cast a Jesus shadow on the back shed. It was uncannily like him. We all thought it. I thought it rather marvelous of course. Them of no faith just laughed and said, oh yeah.
