In Lourdes, at the Acacia, where anyone can enter my room at any time due to lock health-and-safety rules, and one of the trumpet teachers is turning up regularly and accessing the room next to mine, I start to have a strange experience.
I’m sleeping and I start to shout in my sleep.
I’m shouting for a reason, something’s frightening me in my sleep.
I wake myself up from the shouting.
Everything is completely quiet.
This happens frequently.
I find it so strange I start to record my sleeps for noise.
There is never anything untoward on the recordings.
Another weird thing that started happening was my headphones would make an extremely loud mechanical noise that hurt.
I’d have to remove them extremely quickly.
On other occasions they would click, but at such a high decibel it was also painful.
This was on a MacBook using proper headphones.
I believe this was the porn-gang hackers, possibly the second man who was always around at Lourdes, messing with me in the way that abusive men do to the women they hate, as if it’s a funny game.
Like the bullfight.
It also means they hack right down to controlling hardware and peripherals, and I have never been able to remove their access.
As quick as I reformat, or buy a new machine, or change my passwords and accounts, they’re back in.
In February 2026, they started doing the same loud and painful clicking again, on a Windows machine.
I suspect they’re annoyed they’re all heading for eternal infamy, and not in a good way.
No doubt Ugly’s mate was up to something in my apartment whenever I was out praying at the Grotto.
I used to always smile and say hello to the French men, even though they were a bit rough and unruly.
I thought they were decent enough chaps and they always said hello to me too.
Turns out, Ugly’s driver had told the French boys what they had been doing to me and what their plan was for me long term; how I was to be set up in a spy-cam infested apartment live-streaming onto pervert networks, how millions would be watching every day and have paid access to me via fake social media accounts, how I’d be brain-damaged with poisons so that I was unable to recognize people, eventually unable to work, learn new things, or perform simple tasks, how I’d end up in hardcore porn or on the streets, running around a field naked after a horse, then live-stream murdered and fed to the pigs with thousands of others, with countless examples of female and child DNA you can find in the same field… while making someone very sick and very evil millions in the process.
About how every police force in the entire world protects all this…
The poor man was shown something with me in it already, and examples of the rest of it with some of the other hundreds of foreign victims in Las Marinas.
He was angry, furious, incandescent; but he knew he could do nothing for me without putting his own life at risk.
So he sat outside so I would see him, and he showed me how he felt.
I wonder if Ugly’s friend told him about my father too?
I wonder if that was one of the clips my French friend had seen?
Did he know about the mass pedophilia and baby-rape industry down there?
I bet if he had’ve known about that, Ugly’s friend might not have made it out of Lourdes so intact so easily.