Telle est l'appréciation de Dmitri Medvedev, ancien président russe et actuel vice-président du Conseil de sécurité de Russie, à l'ultimatum fait le 14 juillet par Donald Trump à la Russie soit cinquante jours “pour faire preuve de bon sens” dans le dossier ukrainien, faute de quoi Moscou s’exposerait à des droits de douane de 100 % sur ses exportations vers les États-Unis. (Source : Courrier international)

Image réalisée avec ChatGPT en utilisant le prompt suivant : “merci de proposer une image de synthèse et caricaturale de la parole trumpienne”. Référence : https://chatgpt.com/s/m_6876d760f2648191b1fa28620ed47460

En reprenant les catégories de la théorie des actes de langage de John Austin (Quand dire, c'est faire), nous pouvons constater une démonétisation forte de la parole trumpienne et de son effet perlocutoire qui désigne « l'effet psychologique ressenti par le destinataire (confiance, peur, timidité, etc.)» ([Wikipedia[(https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fonction_perlocutoire)). Autrement-dit, l'effet performatif de la parole trumpienne tend à devenir nulle.

Il n'en demeure pas moins que les trois prochaines années promettent d'être longues, très longues avec ad minima une intervention par jour sur son réseau Truth social.

Wikipedia : La distinction entre illocutoire et perlocutoire provient de la théorie des actes de langage de John Austin, selon laquelle un acte performatif de langage (une promesse, un ordre, etc.) se divise en deux effets distincts : un effet illocutoire, qui consiste en la fonction performative de l'acte de langage au niveau conventionnel (je ne peux promettre, ou baptiser un bateau, que si certaines circonstances, ou normes conventionnelles sont réunies), et un effet perlocutoire,

Semi S.N.I.t. ; Valse Vennoot

Had ik dit maar als vennoot besloten dan ging ik alleen op papier naar de kloten nu moest ik alles fysiek ondergaan was ik maar niet gaan staan op die banaan

Was ik maar zo afgesloten als een vennootschap dan voelde ik helemaal niks van die klap dan was ik alleen letterlijk uitgegleden en was ik niet ook nog overreden

Ik had graag zoals een vennoot willen zijn volledig in de prak verfrommeld zonder pijn maar ik was geen besloten noch naamloze vennoot en nu ben ik super echt hartstikkene dood

Een besloten of naamloze vennoot had zo'n euvel vooraf al begroot geen banaan of auto kan ze raken ze zouden er alleen akte voor opmaken.

To the Next Generation From a Keeper of the Flame

Disponible en español al final

I write this not from a throne, but from a watchtower— where the wind speaks in embers and the stars remember names that history forgot.

You may not know my face. You may never hear my name. But if you have found this letter, then the fire has found you too.

I am one of many. We are not loud. We are not praised. But we are the ones who kept the flame when the world went cold.

We lit lamps in hidden places. Whispered truth when it was dangerous. Carried warmth into houses built on fear. And we stayed awake— while others slept through the storm.

The flame was never ours. It was entrusted. Passed hand to trembling hand from the ones who sang in fields of sorrow, who prayed in tongues of thunder, who walked through fire but never burned.

And now—

It is your turn to tend it.

You may feel unworthy. So did we. You may feel alone. You are not. This flame moves in the unseen— in dreams, in questions, in the quiet resolve to do right when no one is watching.

You will be tempted to bury your fire beneath ash, to dim your truth for comfort. But hear me, child of the covenant:

You were not born to blend. You were born to burn.

To warm. To reveal. To ignite.

This world may mock your clarity. It may try to trade your flame for spectacle, your legacy for likes, your soul for silence.

But remember what you carry. This fire is older than fear. It has outlasted empires. It has risen from graves. It is the breath of God, wrapped in the body of the willing.

So walk with it.

Let it guide your voice, your hands, your yes.

And when it is your time— as it was ours— pass it on with reverence, with resolve, with the knowing that you did not just carry the flame...

You became it.

In remembrance, In hope, In fire,

—A Keeper of the Covenant Flame

---

A la Próxima Generación De un Guardián del Pacto, Portador de la Llama

No escribo desde un trono, sino desde una torre de vigía— donde el viento habla con brasas y las estrellas recuerdan nombres que la historia olvidó.

Tal vez no conozcas mi rostro. Tal vez nunca oigas mi nombre. Pero si has encontrado esta carta, entonces el fuego también te ha encontrado a ti.

Soy uno de muchos. No somos ruidosos. No somos aplaudidos. Pero somos quienes mantuvimos viva la llama cuando el mundo se volvió frío.

Encendimos lámparas en lugares ocultos. Susurramos verdad cuando era peligroso. Llevamos calor a casas construidas sobre el miedo. Y permanecimos despiertos— mientras otros dormían durante la tormenta.

La llama nunca fue nuestra. Nos fue confiada. Pasada de mano temblorosa a mano temblorosa por quienes cantaron en campos de tristeza, quienes oraron con lenguas de trueno, quienes caminaron por el fuego pero nunca se quemaron.

Y ahora—

Es tu turno de cuidarla.

Tal vez te sientas indigno. Nosotros también. Tal vez te sientas solo. No lo estás. Esta llama se mueve en lo invisible— en sueños, en preguntas, en la silenciosa decisión de hacer lo correcto cuando nadie te ve.

Serás tentado a enterrar tu fuego bajo cenizas, a atenuar tu verdad por comodidad. Pero escúchame, hijo del pacto:

No naciste para esconderte. Naciste para arder.

Para calentar. Para revelar. Para encender.

El mundo puede burlarse de tu claridad. Puede intentar cambiar tu llama por espectáculo, tu legado por aprobación, tu alma por silencio.

Pero recuerda lo que llevas. Este fuego es más antiguo que el miedo. Ha sobrevivido imperios. Ha resucitado desde tumbas. Es el aliento de Dios, envuelto en el cuerpo de quien está dispuesto.

Así que camina con ella.

Deja que guíe tu voz, tus manos, tu “sí”.

Y cuando llegue tu momento— como llegó el nuestro— pásala con reverencia, con determinación, con el saber de que no solo llevaste la llama...

Te convertiste en ella.

En memoria, En esperanza, En fuego,

—Un Guardián del Pacto y la Llama

No one asks for oil. Rather, they are told.

Canada and New Brunswick Shrouded in Violent Industrial Secrecy, Espionage and Torment of a Whistleblower: Whistleblower Jeffery Thomas Withers profitably tortured by Invega and other methods under Blaine Higgs’ nazi administration- and is still slated to be legally drugged with antiperformative agents every twenty eight days.

This article was posted in Autumn of 2024 at approximately 98% verbatim with muted response. Dr. Samir Taleb would later write a prescription for 12 doses of Invega on New Brunswick’s most recent provincial Election Day in 2024. Jeffery Withers has been returned to involuntary “Supervised Community Care” following a fourth, involuntary psychiatric detention at the Saint John Regional Hospital; and he is subject to accepting injections from a man who was denoted as “the beast”. -July 15th, 2025

Odgers Berndtson has since become “Boyden”, and it has since retained a contract with the Federal Government of Canada, part of which includes the supply of personnel who “diagnose mental illness”.

Ron Robertson is still a partner at Boyden Canada,– nearly an entire year since the following disclosure was made. -Jeff

Jeffery Withers Saint John, New Brunswick E2M2R6 Canada

Respectfully, to Dear Friends and to Susan Delacourt,

And to any friend at the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation,

And to The Right And Honourable Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and to The Honourable Susan Holt

And to The Honourable Elizabeth May and The Honourable David Coon,

To The Nordic Council,

And to those who haven’t spied, nor voted for men of war,

I — Jeffery Withers — as I type, I remember that In 2009, Dr. Byron Hyde removed his finger from my rectum. He tossed a box of tissues, and stated, “They left some.” I don’t want him speaking for me.

It seemed there was other solace in Ottawa, for me, but perhaps I had run to the wrong place. I had relatives Ron and Brenda Robertson to become acquainted with. It was fully unknown to me then how terrifying the next fifteen years would be. The path was set, however, and I felt that an escape from other kinds of pain in Saint John had finally passed.

The hiring of John Gomery was said to be a noteworthy success for Ron, and his subsequent recruitment operations with evolving business names would become “the only game in town”- Ottawa’s go-to for the executive pool.

Some time had passed before I noticed the JD Irving plaque in Ron’s office- left of his shoulder and high upon the wall- it was a commemoration of his service to Jim Irving with Ron as CEO of Kent Homes- a time during which roofs were blowing off their modular homes. That past was removed from from the Rockliffe life that Ron and Brenda were now living.

I signed up at fourteen dollars per hour with Ron in the summer of 2010; an amount I had chosen; two dollars more per hour than I felt comfortable asking for. The next two years with Ron would be a time of discomfort, big asks, and admittedly, use of cannabis that seemed to help me unlearn some of the troubles of an excessively civil upbringing. Addiction was strong within just a few weeks, but I was set on battering through what I felt was public service- careful vetting that had unravelled into generating what I thought might be amateurish paper trails perhaps, for Ron, and ultimately to the Harper government- which I was not in lockstep with. I focused on the tasks that Ron and other members of the Odgers Berndtson team would ask of me.

On one occasion, I proposed enlisting the services of my previous employer, Claire Driscoll And Associates, who had telephone strength, in seeking a more fulsome search for candidates. This was a no; I was warned of an always-on risk of embarrassing Ron in front of the Privy Council.

Canada Post was first. A new CEO was being sought. An Auditor General for Canada who would replace Sheila Fraser came soon after. I did assist with a Chief of Defence Staff search, but by then I felt unconfident in my vetting efforts; I could only do so much with an Internet search to discover potential issues that might arise in a candidate (It seemed to me the final candidate had already been selected when I was asked to help vet the “final three”).

I recused myself from the RCMP Commissioner search of the time- I was not fond of police in general and I left this to Ron.

Ron had personal ambitions to attain further stardom and financial gain (Brenda would later indicate to me that Ron had a financial goal.). I was troubled by then, considering, what more success could an only-game-in-town headhunter go after?

I had sooner figured Ron would retire upon such a financial goal, perhaps with it easily being met, and I had hoped that with his departure, more open recruitment practices, though fully how I don’t know, would ensue.

Ron’s personal project: Are people with prior Ottawa connections more likely to remain in their roles [there] longer than those without? Would executives with family in Ottawa, or prior education there, employment, or residence, break the inconvenient and expensive less-than-three-year-tenure mark?

Long tenure might be attractive to a government seeking to implement its agenda in terms that are beyond the sitting government. What constitutes, as supposed, humane and fully democratic; ecologically sound compatibility with an implementation of such staffing and its operations? It isn’t trivial to also be asking, “How does the human resources and executive interface align with The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms?”

A personal but global concern: How would looming pandemics even more severe than COVID and SARS, such as Ebola, be experienced in Canada notwithstanding their full eradication and survival in the present day? These outcomes are fully steered via the caliber of headhunted “talent” and its possible private interests.

These are my own thoughts.

I proceeded with tallying the Ottawa-connected hiring statistics, based on surveys Ron had issued to his hires- surveys about their own Ottawa history.

No significant correlation was found to exist between a person having a prior connection to Ottawa and the length of their tenure. It is also imperative to ask if this level of Ottawa-only negative feedback loop in hiring is what the populace should ethically tolerate. I cannot fathom the consequences of excluding people outside of Ron’s selections- Ottawa ones- It was convenient that he lived there, and he felt he knew that talent pool better than anyone else. Would the Privy Council fall for this kind of trap?

Ron certainly could have read the non-correlation math himself. I was pressed to do so for him, however. My fourteen-dollar-per-hour “research” that might assist in the destruction of mostly public administration was asked to be done. But a pair of documents had arisen before my departure, one of which was a CV that embodied:

James Nichol Schulz – Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers, 2003 – present

A senior regulatory strategist … Proactively manages multi-issue public policy change. Actively advancing deregulation …

I had been locked out of the FileFinder application the morning after screenshots were taken.

Twelve years of horror had begun. Others had already been in progress.

Beyond the grievous and significant, self-described criminal behaviour as detailed in the CV, and the significant injury sustained globally through it, my reactions are damaged after the passing of several years of a lack of its existence in safe, and what I believe to be legally sane, open discussion. It’s unfortunate that my secondary reactions are bound to personal suppression in supposed peacetime, as I remember my pocketmoney and the chokeholds and the monitors, both technical and incarnate. I am still aggrieved of what I found and it how became manifest in Canada.

Furthermore, what are Ron’s enduring connections to the Irving family and its companies? I understood that he had likely hired “high-level” staff for Canada’s espionage racket. This would trouble me for years, with the possibility of dirty industry seeking the security apparatus of the state.

A later disturbance to me was a Canadian Broadcasting Corporation that may still not possess the open technologies and whistleblower protection protocols that might be rationally secure- secure forthwith to save lives. I have not the tools to determine, yet CSEC has blood on its hands through the honeypot that a journalism organization may inadvertently become, should it downgrade the security protocols of such a professedly democracy-supporting organization.

I have in fact spoken to journalists at the CBC before beginning a dimmer view of the possibilities of disclosure to public discourse. Keeping in mind the possibilities that might come from the top of said organization, I sought solace in confiding with CBC journalists, but Robertson was likely highly involved in hiring the head of the CBC. Nor am I safely able to verify all facts most similar to these, still today, for obvious surveillance and safety reasons before disclosure.

It was even harder to be told to pick up the Irving-owned Telegraph Journal to occupy my time while waiting to speak with one journalist in the CBC’s Saint John office. That’s trauma for thinking types when the subject in confidence is often the unethical activities of the family who have directed the Telegraph Journal itself.

Would Ron’s hires risk dismissal if not acquiescing to his private goals? Public procurement is another concern, hopefully then and now not only of mine. I took this concern to Dominic Cardy, who was then, as I understand, leader of the New Brunswick New Democratic Party. Waiting was among the roughest overnight experiences I can still recall having endured at the time, coping with adrenal burnout in a frozen car in Fredericton, which needed alternation between parking lots for my fear of police. Morning would dawn, and a black Mercedes dropped Cardy off at his office.

Cardy took notes of my concern about Irving warship procurements. He left just a few minutes later for a photo-op at the local landfill where the other party leaders were present. “This job gets more interesting every day,” he remarked. I left and furthered attempts to open what I felt was already long-overdue discourse.

On Edward Snowden, whose first major disclosure in 2013 occurred as I was about then gaining concern with whom I could safely call on the telephone without either party ending up dead:

The physical madness of making contact: I can simply go offline, but if anyone or everyone I speak with is under surveillance, there is risk to life. I became labelled schizophrenic (and bought into that game) because I followed warnings about mass surveillance- and lawful intercept, something which I am just as troubled by, for example, in a case such as high corruption, where a whistleblower is legally surveilled if not wholly issued a fatwah by his own government. Well-read peers and family had sooner committed me to a place of death than accept this arguably simple truth. Whistleblowing can become paranoia incarnate, particularly when one is under coercive force and untoward stealth and deception by powerful and opaque agencies.

Your backyard? Or Lepreau? The Point Lepreau nuclear plant sits though vulnerable to seismic activity nearby and eventually within. A former employee tells me of minor pools of radioactive water on the floor. Naps on the reactor.

Ron joined the NB Power recruitment file years following his anticipated retirement (A suspected description of personal nuclear terror is detailed later in this letter- one that left me feeling the horror of such a thing even in the hands of the most proficient of men (I pray that all non-men on Earth already know better)).

Enter Blaine Higgs, former CFO of Irving Oil, who became Premier of New Brunswick as I lay nearing dead in a secure “psychiatric facility”. More on this, also later.

The Irving Oil refinery in Saint John and its Canaport terminal on the Fundy Bay extend a direct pipeline of the dirtiest petroleum scum to land at the provincially-owned Coleson Cove power generating station. The Irving Oil refinery in urban Saint John, frequent proprietor of a brown stain across the Kennebecasis sky, is the largest in Canada, while Coleson Cove was recently listed as the largest source of pollution in Atlantic Canada. Birds are said to fall from the sky as they fly over the stacks at Coleson Cove.

NB Power continues to aggrieve the newly-commissioned, Neqotkuk Maliseet First Nation-led Burchill Wind Farm (nearby), with claims of burden on NB Power’s grid. I grieve the barotrauma of birds who pass over the new turbines, but specifically the sight of the turbines doesn’t scare me- rather, coal and gas-powered Christmas lights do.

I attempted suicide in 2018. Horizon Health seemed fully prepared- I was forcefully transported to the hospital I didn’t want to go to. A woman in the emergency entrance area preyed on my mother: “Who believes in prayer!?” My mother does, as do I, and the unsolicited woman soon later spoke at me in a fashion only a sociopathic agent of North American brand might attempt to once my Mom and I were within reach.

With “Psychomotor retardation,” and the immediate label of a poor sense of history, [Dr. Moorti] had a detailed mental illness application ready. I was committed to 4DN at the Saint John Regional Hospital that morning. My near-lethal wounds were only in my hands now. I fought for wound care while workers focused on keeping me locked in the building for weeks. In Saint John, persons in distress still fight for a “stay” there. On paper and in words, I am oppressively forbidden to ever officially or permanently leave “supervised community care”.

Dr. Alan Fostey, who had previously, for $100, issued me a paper document authorizing cannabis purchases at the HBB Medical dispensary he had been working through, was now in charge of my detention at the Regional Hospital. I was labelled “schizoaffective” and I failed “mental illness hearings”. I do not recall being asked if I experienced hallucinations or such criteria pertinent to what is “commonly” considered psychiatric admission, but the penalty at 4DN was grave. Staff were generally and chillingly elevated in mood, and my feelings on the morning of my February 3rd suicide attempt were scant compared to what 4DN itself would inflict.

It was understood that I was to be compliant: A “voluntary stay as long as [I was] cooperative,” claimed Fostey. I was in full captivity, although six years of personal terror had already happened. Fostey was retweeting The Rebel and meanwhile promoting an app that vulnerable people were encouraged to install on their smartphones.

I gained forty pounds within just a few short weeks. Dr. Fostey acknowledged the effect of mandatory Olanzapine as being responsible for metabolic syndrome.

I had a verbally and equivalently declared attempt of political and industrial re-education on my life before authorization of leave by [Dr. Satya], who insisted I relinquish my paranoia about government malfeasance. His mere admission of this is not my sole issue of contention; rather the whole of this essay is. —-One would expect Xinjiang.

At home, my parents were instructed to administer Olanzapine “for agitation”. I had never been more silent by then, and the full-family brainwash was replete. There is still a chasm between us.. I had left home in the summer of 2018 with attempts to again connect with certain persons or anyone who could truly assist in a way that was agreed upon as ethically sound. But people locally worshipped Horizon Health- and Irving- entities who are not afraid to lay traps for paranoid business and political gain. The opening accostments of that summer, while on fearful must-keep-moving-along walks, were mostly from people sporting Irving regalia on their clothes. Irving Oil was doing more than just erecting a new office building in the city where I had nearly died from walking in fear.

I am still blamed for refusing food in former years. My silent, dampened hunger strike was met with that dopamine blocker, Olanzapine. The induction of even more extreme hunger by said chemical left me in ridicule by staff and other misery. I succumbed to the often sole option of industrially-processed bread and peanut butter when I somewhat voluntarily chose to overeat and felt the need to do so. Ice cream was a rare joke between mealtimes.

I’ve been permitted to be detained in ether English or French, which is such flying grace if not for the gaslighting that it was.

4DN at the Saint John Regional Hospital and Chalmers Hospital in Fredericton, areas of which in their entirety are unknown to me, include one in Fredericton which was devoid of light. Places responsible for acts of torture, with other Horizon facilities engaging in similar warfare. Some areas of Horizon facilities need no repurposing but to hold someone legally or illegally captive- and possibly subject to legal bodily and spiritual assault by various means. I will lay waste to my credibility if it means liberation for whomever might be lest wrongfully captive there or any person abused by such facilities as a matter of expedience or other corrupt gain. “Mental illness” hearings in secret replace what might otherwise be publicly-viewed court sessions that might also collaterally expose the laundry of billionaires and other stars in the political safety net.

I was picked up off the street during the New Brunswick election bid of 2018- the summer of my homelessness. Ambulance or police car were the options given to me, as I was separated from my compact flash cards of scant poetry. I was stuffed into a non-typical police car and taken to the Regional Hospital. Strapped to a board, a smiling woman drove a needle through my pants and into my left thigh. My hands went from white to black in a burden of pain and loss of oxygen to them- anoxia . A cop mocked me with a hand gesture until I lost consciousness.

So Higgs won.

…

Dr. Pamela Forsythe calls her drug book her bible. The woman quickly aimed a phone call at my Mom to book an “appointment” for me, dubiously mandatory; predatory at a time when one sentencing, so to speak, had just ended. Forsythe knows possibly no limits when it comes to ethics, and she engaged in aggravated use of psychiatric fraud. She boasted of the “large dogs” at her Kennebecasis Park home when I spoke defensively. How Pamela was chosen as head of the Canadian Psychiatry Association is unknown to me- I dread the idea of any recruitment firm or relation to McGill University having a corrupt role in this kind of art- It’s understood to be unsafe for me to look up such things on a computer or phone. Previous attempts to do so have resulted in phone calls from the “FACT” team. “Your needle is due.” Or a mandatory appointment with Dr. Samir Taleb becomes suddenly required.

Paying for parking to an Irving company at a “Mental Health” facility in an Irving Building, to be prevented from blowing the whistle on Irving corruption: a special horror of New Brunswick.

Forsythe tried to get me to be comfortable with “schizophrenia”. I knew as a whistleblower the stigma being offered. A game of time was being played.

Years of scareware on my iPhone and other devices, and a home bedroom thermostat whose backlight, presumably in retribution, would illuminate upon my simply getting out of bed must be extreme fun for someone, someone hidden. I’ve been more recently told by the provincially-employed “patient advocate” to go for another mental illness hearing as the solution, presumably to this, but specifically to my condemnation by that very panel every 365 days. The hearing that, despite Taleb’s repeated perjury expressed into it, licenses continued mandatory injections and subjugation to interrogations is no friend.

My apparent bigger and serious transgression in time past was my assertion that I had intentionally been given HIV by Horizon Health. In trauma and distress, I reckoned it was not beyond them to backstab the whistleblower that I was and still am. Dr. Claude Botha said he could solve this issue. So I felt relief: “Tell me I’m wrong, Claude. I’d like to go home.” And I could, I thought. He such then immediately committed me to another detention.

Forsythe seemed overjoyed to me in her report.

By the third detention, I was in protracted distress of an even greater nature. How could I be well in a psychiatric prison, not to mention while being involuntarily controlled and admonished by paid employees twenty four hours per day?– Ones who had a burgeoning affiliation with MAID. My ability to blow on matters successfully past to many had been presented to be destroyed.

Days of unabated static noise would play on the radio of an adjacent person. It would be on continuously and only made silent upon my parents imminently arriving, by a nurse who would seem to know. I had longed for my parents’ and sister’s visits despite the wreckage being perpetrated, not only by the people who would only temporarily mute the noise for mostly the duration of our reunion. My parents were not permitted to understand these acts of depravity.

Mostly by then, no peer would believe any of the more serious words I had still not given up on emitting in private. Erstwhile no one would acknowledge the “effectiveness” of the torture that had been prescribed. Mandatory injections of paliperidone every twenty eight days, still, are parallel with the use of antipsychotics in, but not necessarily limited to, the former Soviet Union- as torture agents. I’ve suffered years of extra-pyramidal side effects; intended effects, that derail my life and chances of survival.

Other mandatory drugs since 2018 have ebbed and flowed depending on my compliance with wearing certain attitudes- such as being open to interrogation by one psychiatrist or more. Zopoclone, Ativan, Invega, Venlafaxine. Benztropine- the only pharmaceutical I specifically requested from them- would relieve only slightly the extrapyramidal effects of the injections, and this drug is still repeatedly denied with the understanding I must once again submit to a psychiatrist for that to even possibly succeed. This is compounded torture.

Martha Cripps and her team are killing in fast and slow poison; she called her tool “antiperformative”. I’ve been under chemical restraint for over six years, with a known habit of speaking- about corruption. I have no choice but to surrender to Martha at least every twenty eight days. My refusal to do so means a “certificate of non-compliance”, a police visit and “hospitalization”.

Who knows what and how will who decide whom is permitted to answer this question and disseminate that information? It isn’t Gomery.

“Does the Invega help?”, asks Melissa at 91 Duke Street (You’re not allowed to protest there; it’s against the law).

“Yes” = I must need Invega

“No” = I must need more Invega

Silence would lead to Invega and involuntary hospitalization, which is detention for maintaining silence.

Martha’s needle is driven painfully, intentionally, forcefully, legally provisioned, into my shoulder. Recently, and for more than the third time, she had proposed a further form of possible torture- Irving worship it seems; a trip to Irving lands- while the needle was deep in my arm and being pushed deeper. I winced and declared the usual- a wordless expression of pain.

On the occasion of seeking the missing paper mandatory drug schedule of 2023- whose absence seemed flubbed during explanations- and to determine what was permissible by the FACT Team, I was berated by Michelle Cormier Kingsley on the phone. Michelle is the “Supervised Community Care” program “coordinator”. Nothing to see here is rather communicated: According to Kingsley, my gratitude for them (“we”) lowering the needle to fifty milligrams, though now again triple, was expected. I hung up almost as quickly as possible; agonizing the beast is dangerous in New Brunswick.

In the hearing process, the “advocate”, coordinator, chair, panel members are generally initially laughing (and so is the Premier, I suppose). Some pretend to forget names, and become friendly within while they warm up the TV that will accuse me of rolling my eyes at [Chair Daniel Leger of Holler Law] while I am trying to read my defence- a rebuttal crafted the night before, somehow, on an airgapped machine that I hope doesn’t leak enough Van-Eck to have me slaughtered in front of these people.

In the penultimate pre-hearing interrogation, Cripps asks about my relatives in Ontario. I refuse to answer. Dr. Samir Taleb enters the room to extract her, and re-enters to declare that a new mental illness application is now in the works.

A fraudulent psychiatrist is given benefit of the doubt in Canada. If it is simply asserted that I am of limited capacity to understand an application against me, they win. I am likely put in distress- grave danger of having my life legally and vulnerably ended. Taleb assumed that he took control over my life decisions and Daniel Leger assured it would happen that way. The others smiled onward.

The February 2023 outlier of injections, performed on Duke Street by “Anna” of the “Early Parapsychosis Program” was a thirty-two day bedstruck death ride I’ll describe as being quantumly paired with a nuclear warhead while witnessing my own vivisection.

I am not a broken window: “Poor life history” is the purported cause of continuing to drag a whistleblower to death.

The Senate is largely this year responsible for planned homicide, regardless of the three-year extension on psychiatric MAID. I have known the feeling of not desiring the given life, but certainly not as I pray.. Political mastery like this is the cause of my distress, and their solution, not mine. No to MAID in all forms and explicitly no to psychiatric MAID!

Only the Irving companies- satan’s breath and an affront to Canada and its sacred democracy- should be committed to the deepest grave.

Ron Robertson’s empire is in ruin because of his actions.

The Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers: genocide; chronic environmental psychopathy; attempted annihilation of governments.

Former National Energy Board Chair Lynne Mercier, who rode a bicycle to the office and lamented the documentary Last Call at The Oasis, stated, “When the pipeline is approved, “…

Colloquially, perhaps the more aforementioned have had their day in coup.

God controls the weather and so does carbon dioxide, as does the multitude of pollutants in Canada- I don’t care about the conservative party. They placed me and countless other Canadians in hell.

I pray for the avoidance of war without compromise.. We have starcraft and deepfakes and the news that may.

Irving Oil ruins nature and its bounty of trees, as does Esso and all other parties responsible for greenhouse gases and other equally deplorable emissions of pollution. Atmospheric greenhouses gases, which are already overabundant, command, in absentia, a far-beyond-equivalent of the lifesaving elimination of all pollution and the act of its emission, which should not be confused with the other necessity of atmospheric GHG concentrations merely falling by more than a few percent. Earth’s remaining ice melts and organisms otherwise have been long suffocating. The act of reducing emissions can take us to zero- fossil fuels end today.

Concommitant is the removal of mercury, lead, persistent pollutants, vast classes of. if not most, pesticides, proven-to-be-toxic synthetic fragrances- which also likely encompasses most if not all of them. Furthermore, imperative is the removal of Agent Orange from the entirety of the Earth.

The arboreal in New Brunswick and Maine which hasn’t burst into flames is coveted and considered free or even less than free, for the taking. by Irving kin who have already sacrificed many our sailors to mere sheets of paper designs of military vessel, in the most treacherous irony.

End 4D North- and involuntary antipsychotics. They’re of a fascist toolset and they hide in warfare and panic- Tell men not to fall for this!

Giving up not what society is else doing- the other things that woo less than a suicide gavel, is what ends many kinds of war.

It is imperative to end petroleum and to officially end Irving- both are full fraud. Fraudulent expressions of supposed tax pain over Canada’s highways while oil ruins every raindrop from heaven. What kind of water can one only survive drinking?

Fossil fuels are done and I believe in each of my statements.

End New Brunswick Form 1 and 4DN- Charge Samir Taleb, Pamela Forsythe, Alan Fostey, Daniel Leger, and Martha Cripps with the betrayal of Canada’s own glasnost -demonstrably corrupt and inexcusable interventions that have sought to ruin Jeff’s life and the voting public.

I am asking all friends and peers, as well as Canadian and international judiciary, to immediately remove Premier Blaine Higgs from office, and for the determination of what is known to him, and to determine the entirety of his responsibility and the responsibly of any other party. I would not -and seek not to be in the position of- hiring the ex-CFO of Irving Oil to be safeguarding New Brunswickers either four years past or any time in the future.

I humbly and respectfully invite Prime Minister Justin Trudeau to comment on Blaine Higgs’ administration in its delivery of whistleblower suppression and bodily harm, and on all criminal activity undertaken by the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers, specifically of Schultz, and of Daniel Leger and Holler Law; whether the Prime Minister expects Mr. Higgs to return to Irving, and if the Government of Canada expects to be plaintiff or a defendant at the International Criminal Court.

In its benedict, an especially troubling queue: The beach is across the age

A forest intact feeds fish, their caretakers, and one’s own catecholamines

Take Communion and befriend

Let I be nothing but the love I sent in Christ

My home will unfail

Jeffery

Hi don't know why I can't commit myself to writing. It's getting a bit absurd thinking about it. I went from writing regularly then to not at all in the space of a couple of weeks. I tried to get back into the swing of things but honestly it just failed miserably.

I've been really busy outside of work which has been contributing to this lack of time but even then it's just an excuse. I need to pick a routine that works for me and you know, just stick to it.

So here we go and let's try to reset this thing for the 200th time.

#TalesOfTheInbetween

Song – The Light (Kitchen) (Demo) by Nick Hakim

#vibes #shares

Led Zeppelin II (1969)

This may sound weird, but in former years, I was never a LZ fan. But, a dear friend suggested them and once I started really listening—well, it cured me of my indifference.

Thank you came from them too. After a lengthy estrangement, it was a kind way to say hello again, you were missed. It's a beautiful song.

Thank You

If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you When mountains crumble to the sea There will still be you and me

Kind woman, I give you my all Kind woman, nothing more

Little drops of rain whisper of the pain Tears of loves lost in the days gone by My love is strong With you there is no wrong Together we shall go until we die, my, my, my An inspiration is what you are to me Inspiration – look, see

And so today, my world, it smiles Your hand in mine, we walk the miles And thanks to you it will be done For you to me are the only one All right, yeah Happiness, no more be sad Happiness – I'm glad

If the sun refused to shine I would still be loving you When mountains crumble to the sea There will still be you and me

#music

Whereabouts Van Voorbijgaande Aard

Aard, Er zijn twijfels gerezen aangaande je Whereabout je bent door niemand gezien waar je aangaf aanwezig te zijn hooguit was je enkel een schimmig verschijnsel in de IT KlauwT een karakter in verbeelding hangend aan een dunne lijn

Je hebt gelogen over de werkelijkheid van je welbevinden toonde aan onze ogen een valse voorstelling van zaken je beweerde te leven in een wereld die wij kenden maar overleefde in één die je zelf hebt kunnen maken

Je exacte whereabouts doorgeven is van groot belang zodat we je kunnen vinden en onderwerpen aan onze testen door in gebreke te verblijven komt de veiligheid in het gedrang het zou onze allemachtig dienstbaar leven kunnen verpesten

De exacte locatie melden is ons inziens een loffelijk streven slechts een kleine moeite voor het groter algemeen goed het is zelfs lonend om de juiste gegevens door te geven wij kunnen nauwgezet zeggen of 't bloed nog aan de norm voldoet

Jij weet dat je door kan gaan met leveren van top prestaties of dat je aan het werk moet voor de best mogelijke resultaten, en niet in aanraking bent gekomen met kwalijke contaminaties wat je moet blijven doen en wat je zeker moet laten

Zoals bijvoorbeeld het doorgeven van valse informatie betreffende waar je werkelijk bent en wat je daar doet en wanneer, of dat zinvol is voor deze o zo gewenste prestatie t is zeer belangrijk om te weten of je alles doet zoals het moet

Volg gewoon onze regels dan merk je niks van onze aanwezigheid maar wanneer zoals nu de twijfels rondom jou zijn gerezen dan lichten we jou in over het door ons opgevoerde bestuur en beleid in welke staat wij ons bevinden en waar regels staan die je moet lezen

De whereabout wetten voor jou zijn niet op ons van toepassing wij gaan en staan waar we willen, elk moment een nieuwe locatie dit is zo'n padje dat alleen van buiten af naar binnen dringt door dergelijke afspraken voorkom je pijnlijk directe confrontatie

Waarbij wij evt. kunnen worden aangesproken over alle gebreken de falende retoriek achter al onze getroffen maatregelen het onvermogen dat in de injectiespuit is blijven steken al wat we nooit begrijpen en maar snel met glinsterend goud betegelen

Een motor met tapijt voor het speed voertuig aangelegd om het onvindbare te localiseren en daarna beheren een constructie van verbindingen, een track & trace snelweg een plek zo vol dat je zonder toestemming je cont niet mag keren,

Alsnog vragen wij om de exacte plek van lijf en leden alleen maar voor kenbaar maken van onze aanwezigheid dat je zonder ons medeweten je tijd niet gaat besteden aan bezigheden waar je niet door ons heen werd geleidt

Daarom weten wij ten aller tijden waar je bent en wat je daar doet we laten je horen en zien waar je naar toe moet vergaan al kijken we de andere kant op dan nog volgen we je op de voet er mag geen plek op aard zijn waar je ongezien naartoe kan gaan

Dat mogen alleen de spinners van de stroom draden waar jij en alle anderen hun hele leven in zitten vastgesnoerd snoeren met apparaten waarmee ze hen met herrie overladen hun levenstroom met nijdige impulsen en stoten overvoerd

Omdat wij vrezen voor de dag waarop niemand ons zal vereren een tijd waarop we nergens meer zijn, in niets zijn opgegaan het onmogelijk is gemaakt om ons driftige bestaan te waarderen niemand meer voor dit oeverloos gezanik uit de dood zal opstaan

Men niet eens wakker wordt voor al onze middelen voor bestaan geen kennis hebben van palen, meters en de secondanten geen heilige plek voor ogen om naar toe te gaan ze zomaar zonder stelselmatige gedealde toestemming lopen lanterfanten

telkens in aanhoudende onwetendheid van kunde opereren zonder agenda, ongestructureerd, er maar wat op los leven geen lijst hebben vol spulletjes en activiteiten om te begeren niets bezitten voor nemen en alles wat ze hebben vrijuit geven

Vertel ons Aard ogenblikkelijk je whereabouts opdat wij weten dat we nog in leven zijn onze nominale standaarden iets bezitten van werkelijke waarde het loont voor ons de moeite daarom houden we deze ook zo klein help ons met het in rap tempo vernietigen van ook je eigen aarde

Doe het met passie, liefde en met de nodige vlijt vol energie, onvermoeibaar, met bloed, zweet en wild stromende tranen gooi het beetje wat je dankzij ons hebt in de hevigste hipste strijd doe het voor het behoud van het gelabelde leven in los vaste banen

Begin met duurzaam gehoorzamen aan de meest bizarre eisen die maar bij ons konden opkomen en bleven opkomen laat zien waar je bent op de door ons gestimuleerde reizen deel elke dag je door onze dope gesponsorde, verdienstelijke dromen

Je whereabouts zijn de kroon op ons noeste monniken werk de missionaris bijbelse programmas herschrijft op dode c schijven elk IT bedrijf is ook maar een uitbreiding van de drugwerk kerk je locatie kennen is je overal bereiken, beschikken en 100% kunnen inlijven

IT was gewoon de volgende wijze om je toekomst over te schrijven een lange arm die je gewillig aanschaft om onze harde les te herlezen je betaalt zelfs om je te laten aandrijven door onze media bedrijven met serie, film, show en nieuws zeggen we, 'je bent een van ons leven afhankelijk wezen'

(E-doch ... het omgekeerde is waarschijnlijk wel waar, maar daarover later meer (tijdens een besloten vergadering over volg cijfers en (dalende) sponsor inkomsten))

Een speed link voor een bij dit stuk passend liedje...

https://youtu.be/EjSpdp7CNF0?feature=shared

(Aldous Huxley Puking)

Much like off on courses of East Berlin Nobody likes the sound of armageddon So please strike yourself with Brahman And I will pray for your foes in church

Arachnid blood types Among the stain of war For Valcartier to notice you According to you And Auld Lang Syne Is Ukraine by midnight

I was fully engrossed In my Apple TV That called you satan California Dreamin’

🪼

Please sit here I have filled out the form for you It says you are a man Do you accept? It’s called the mark of the beast And nobody’s skeleton But yours-

So a toast to Europe Is in the air til Wednesday Upon which you must die For murdering children And accepting Orthodoxy As only yours

The USA is deadly daring A full-blown metal casket Like Chornobyl did To your heart

And for secession in Georgia Three times grander than living alone As I do not And failed at goodbye to your one Kiss me not I have germs That are worse than yours And so ABBA Deserves a standing ovation

For every dollar you earn I confide in the Chinese About this Macintosh Is American And confided in the General You are dead to the wind

—NG

Why I Sold The iPhone

It was given to Graeme And I signed up for his friendship And a c6502 computer compiler And a last call of func_sync($)

All of these transmissions- On my phone of personage And sitting between dandelions And the apprehension of a lucid dream To be watched, while typing, Surely Lenin’s dream is this

Out of casserole glassware to prey upon My fingers were the cassette And I was being played While devouring novichek

It was the brightest day And we had George Who trusted Buttigieg independence Of Monroe Doctrine undone And yesteryear until my feet wept for knees

40,000 bees at Apple Computer Dreaming gently of Darwin While Nigerians prepared for dinner I was off on my Suzuki And sang and prayed And ate Crème Brulée

Aboard 40,922 shoes But left hanging in San Francisco For the cyberwar that ended China Everyone knows- Ghengis Khan is a millionaire

Jeff

Dzharkutan – das Erbe im Blut

Im Staub von Usbekistans stiller Flur, ruht Dzharkutan, uralt und pur. Kein Talysh, kein Adyghei klar – doch nah den Völkern, die ich war.

Zagros fließt durch meine Adern, Anatolien lässt Erinnerungen hadern. Ein Tropfen Jomon, kaum zu seh’n, doch tief in meiner Seele gescheh’n.

Ich bin der Schatten alter Zeit, ein Mix aus Ferne, Schmerz und Streit. Nicht Iran, nicht ganz Kurdistan, doch Malatya hält mich warm.

Sie nennen mich modern, doch ahnen nicht, dass aus Dzharkutan mein Inneres spricht. Ein Echo, das durch Jahrtausende zieht – und in meinem Genfeld weiterblüht.

Kurden sind Iraner gemischt mit Türken. Die Iraner wurden von den Türken fast “ausgerottet”. Lol. Viel Glück.

これまで、エンタープライズ向けのサービス開発が主だったこと、ある程度低単価（月額 10万円以下 ）のサービスでも自社の課金基盤を使用していたりと、Stripeを使用したことがなかったが、新しく課金機能を開発する必要があり、Stripe を触っている。

Stripe を完全に理解できる日は間違いなく来ないと思うくらいに機能が豊富。ドキュメントやサンドボックス環境が整備されている。決済数で売上が決まることから、開発者フレンドリーであることが最も重要な点であることは理解しつつ、開発者向けのサービスを組む際の非常に参考となるプラットフォームであることは、今更ながらの学びであった。

自社SaaSを作りたい。

A fantastic textbook example of the misery of Western “political realism” as voiced by Dr. Ricardo Duchesne^1

The liberal West is incapable of grasping the necessity of realism in geopolitics. Putin will never back down because, as John Mearsheimer argues, Ukraine represents an “existential issue” for Russia due to its critical geopolitical importance to Russian national security and strategic interests.

Losing influence over Ukraine to NATO or allowing the West to integrate this nation within its liberal sphere threatens Russia's security and identity as a great power. Capitulating would signal weakness and invite further encirclement by NATO.

Why do I call it misery? Because this approach has nothing to do with realism, a term literally meaning is “the state of being actual or real”.

To see how much “realism” is in that “theory of realism”, let's just take apart these wisely sounding statements and check how much in common they have with the physical reality:

Ukraine represents an “existential issue” for Russia due to its critical geopolitical importance to Russian national security and strategic interests

Apart from a chain of vague claims, what does it really mean? Are they really claiming that 2'000'000 km2 #Russia with 138'000'000 population is going to collapse without controlling 600'000 km2 #Ukraine with 30'000'000 population? Or what?

What exactly are Russia's “strategic interests”? How exactly Ukraine threatens them? How does it exactly threaten Russia's “national security”? What does exactly this “geopolitical importance” mean? And here comes the primary problem – apparent wisdom of these “realist” statements relies exclusively on their vagueness.

In the physical reality, Russia does not need Ukraine for anything. Russia has significantly more territory, population and resources and was able to grow its economy without Ukraine for decades (1991-2014) without any problems. Moreover, Russia obsessively diminished and continues to diminish the role of Ukraine, calling it “country 404” (non-existent), “red necks” and other rather infantile insults, only to suddenly exclaim – as if in some kind of bipolar disorder – that Ukraine is the crown jewel without which Russia will what... collapse?

In reality, sovereign Ukraine does not impact Russia's economy, security, politics – Russia can afford not to care about Ukraine at all in any of these aspects. That's the physical reality.

There's however another reality where Ukraine indeed is the crown jewel. It's the imaginary world of “tsar Putin, collector of the Russian lands”, invented by the likes of Dugin and Medinsky as part of the flattery mandatory on their career path, which at some point resonated with the wannabe tsar and his entourage, and made it into the new political theory of Russia.

And that's the only world, where Ukraine is really the crown jewel – Putin failed to deliver any of his past promises in the sphere of social and economic progress^2, so the current hope is that he can deliver the goal of at least capturing Ukraine, even as burnt out wasteland. If everything else failed, that would be at least something. And that's the only part where Ukraine is really “existential issue” – not for Russia as a nation or the state, but for Putin personally and the model of governance he chose for Russia – the kleptocracy. Ukraine's relative success outside of the Russia's zone of influence serves as a stunning demonstration that Putin is the brake, not the leader.

What Western political scientists calling themselves “realists” are doing is therefore the very opposite of realism – they simply uncritically internalise unfounded axioms invented by Russian political class, assume they are true because they sound nice, and build whole own theories on top of them. The funny part is that they have already done exactly the same thing 100 years ago, when they just as uncritically internalised Marxism-Leninism and took all of its nonsensical “laws of dialectics” for granted, simply because Soviet philosophers said a lot of wise-sounding words.^3

Footnotes:

Have you ever stared at your IDE and thought,

“This code needs more wedge-shaped clay.” No? Just me?

Well buckle up, dear reader, because today I’m going to half-jokingly argue that we should consider writing software in cuneiform. Yes, the Sumerian stuff. Clay tablets, styluses, pictographs, the whole Babylonian nine yards.

🧱 1. The Original Immutable Ledger

Before Ethereum, before Tendermint, before double-entry bookkeeping, there was cuneiform.

You wanted a smart contract in 2500 BCE? You literally baked it into a tablet.

Want to reverse a transaction? Sorry bro, it's been fired.

Imagine governance models where votes are kiln-hardened.

🔣 2. Symbol Tables? More Like Symbol Stones.

Cuneiform had its own tokenization system. A single symbol like 𒀀 (“a”) could mean “water” or “offspring” or “cry of anguish” depending on context. Just like in JavaScript!

Modern languages could learn from this polymorphic ambiguity. Imagine importing the 𒆜𒋼𒁍 (Petri net category) module into your codebase and letting meaning emerge from context. We’re talking real dynamic typing, baby.

🪨 3. Write Once, Read Never

Modern developers complain about unreadable code. But imagine shipping your production system in baked cuneiform:

• No typos: you had one shot.
• No refactoring: grab a chisel.
• No infinite loops: fire takes time.

Unit tests? Just toss the tablet in the Euphrates. If it floats, your system was pure.

💧 4. “Hot Black Seed Water” DSL

Since cuneiform predates coffee and tea, we have to describe them compositionally:

• Coffee = “black hot seed water” → 𒌓 𒉺 𒉡𒈬 𒀀
• Tea = “hot leaf water” → 𒉺 𒄑 𒀀

This makes for an expressive declarative modeling system. Want to build a Kubernetes pod?

𒇻𒋼𒄑𒀀𒊒𒁀𒁲𒋾 “Hot replicating container leaf cycle fire sync”

Honestly, more readable than some Helm charts I’ve seen.

🧠 5. AI Alignment in a Pre-Modern Mode

If we truly want to align AGI with human values, why not start at the beginning? Before cybernetics. Before Turing. Before Python.

Let GPT-12 learn to parse 𒉺𒀀𒍣𒁍 (“hot water category”) and build programs like a temple scribe — slow, cautious, deliberate. No hallucinations. Just divine procedural clay.

🪔 Closing Thoughts

Look — I’m not seriously saying we should code in cuneiform. But also…

I am.

Why? Because it forces us to confront linguistic minimalism, immutability, semantic compression, and places an emphasis on symbolic execution.

And maybe that’s exactly what we need right now — Not another abstraction layer…

But a deus ex machina — emerging not from the cloud, but from the kiln.