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Ruffled Feathers

Updated: Dec 7, 2022

I've had an attempt made on my life three times in the past two months. It's been troublesome. I think I'll just jot down the circumstances. I have bigger things to worry about, although I felt it ok material for a short diary post.

The first time was along the road by the back of my house. There's a quiet, wooden stretch in-between the new traffic camera on the corner and the wide-view CCTV pillar on the road leading down to the Ferry Port and the Railway Station. I was walking back from my friend Dave's house, on the left-hand pavement, approaching the bend. I was wearing my British Army Mark IV (60s) helmet at the time, and some kit-bashed camo combination, with my headphones draped around my neck so as to allow me better situational awareness. Not the most subtle get-up, but I like to test various items now and again. I had been listening to Symphony No.6 by Sir Arnold Bax. I felt the low rumble of an engine behind me and turned round to take a look. A grey BMW estate was bearing down on me, leisurely, having mounted the curb. The windscreen was tinted. The driver didn't seem to be in any great hurry, but he wasn't slowing either. There was nowhere for me to go as I was backed up beside some piles of brick and garden refuse. I made a "stop, I'm right in front of you!" hand-gesture but was ignored. I wondered if there were problems with the breaks. Within a couple of seconds, the car was right on top of me, brushing my calves. I banged on the bonnet in annoyance. Still, he continued to power forwards, pushing me along a little, into the brickwork. I undid my helmet and chucked it hard at the glass on the driver's side. It didn't shatter, but there was a resounding "thunk!", and the car finally ground to a halt. I stared at the windscreen for a second in annoyance and then edged over the bonnet and disappeared back around the corner up the road to my house. When I went back later the car (and the helmet) was gone. I would have thought, had it been a genuine car-accident, that the driver would have reported it, or at least got out to see what was going on. Since I wasn't reported either for flinging a helmet at his car, it leads me to wonder if there was some nefarious intended conclusion. I let the matter be. I'm not well liked around here. The feeling is very much mutual.

The second time was more easy-going. Lax, even. Walking back at night from the local shop another car drove right into me, coming down the road in my direct, and veering in, mounting the pavement a foot past the tips of my boots, and causing me to leap out of the way clutching my shopping. A grey hatchback this time. The car proceeded to reverse and sped off on the same trajectory. It makes you wonder sometimes. I'm not in the habit of utilizing the 'services' of the corrupt, sinister UK Police, as I have as much contempt for them as I do for most everyone else around here.

The third time took the biscuit. Another night-time walk taken down to the shops. Approaching a side street junction, I heard steady acceleration down the main road through the village. Another hatchback, dark blue this time, coming from behind me. He drove past me as I was crossing the side-street, then stopped at the rim of the junction some metres ahead. I peered in and met eyes with the driver. He didn't look very pleased. He stared back for a second, and then began to reverse, accelerating the car around the corner, and back in my direction. As the car was about to strike, I side-stepped out of the way, missing the rear bumper by inches. The momentum carried the vehicle past my right shoulder. I figure the impact would have at least knocked me down and broken something. The car was set to run me straight over. I decided not to look back as I heard the tyres skidding off, and just continued my walk. Having returned from the shop, I had a little think about all this, and then decided it wasn't worth worrying too much about. It's not the first time someone's tried to take me out. I doubt these sporadic "road-rage" moments will be the last. There were some locals milling around outside the chip shop. They'd noticed the attack, but were too busy staring into their shared smartphone, drinking Frosty Jack's and listening to hip-hop on YouTube. I've noticed that the proprietors don't like me either. The frequency with which they get my family orders wrong is stunning, and portion size is somewhat diabolical given the price. I'm wondering if my comments on Christianity - which seems quite popular locally - and Jacobin politics might have rubbed them up the wrong way. Ever since I attempted to shame a local Conservative politician with fierce letters of detailed COVID-19 anti-NHS criticism, and noted that the district council delights in withholding Green/Smart/Global/Rockefeller area plans from the public, discussed post-consensus at their dreary question and answer sessions, and invite-only social club soirees, and with the full propagandistic support of local agit-prop newspapers, all of a very Fabian and Marxian tone, gushing nepotistic Lower Middle-Class Statist praise for the Establishment and for the System, I have sensed that I am no longer welcome around here. I was hardly welcome in the first place. It's like walking into a Lovecraft-themed Potemkin amusement-park set up by the Tavistock Institute. A real sense of cold, windswept decay. Sussex University's former "technetronic" future-shock research facilities are not all that far away after all.

Police came to my door recently also, as if anything I needed something like that, yes. As I was passing the industrial shopping estate, I came across a Black man walking in front of me. He'd just stepped out, getting totally in the way, and seemed intent on dawdling along oblivious to the surroundings. He had a visible walking abnormality, something I would call mild-moderate "bandy-legs". On a frustrated whim, I asked him if he was familiar with the Game of Thrones Unsullied, and whether his predicament was in fact brought about by his prior castration. He had the Middle-Class Liberal look about him, unlike the 3rd or 4th Generation Nigerians lounging outside the supermarket, smoking their suspicious rollies, cans of drink tucked nicely away in black parkas, listening to yet more asinine hip-hop, making a lot of noise to their friends in their upmarket vehicles, and scowling at passers-by. He didn't respond. I take it he's unused to that question. A pity.

As I reached my front door the two female PCs were standing there. A twenty-something and an older woman, both with blonde hair. I immediately got up onto my step. They were both looking up at me intently. I was informed that a member of the public had reported a racist remark and requested a welfare check as he was aware that I was mentally unwell. Great, I thought. Since when is asking someone if their walking stance is dictated by their lack of testicles any character slur against their race and ethnic group? Also, though I don't doubt or deny that I have bouts of ill-health, often poorly distinguished from genuine eccentricity, artistic and creative moments, a wild, wide set of interests, and a politically persecuted anti-Establishment bend, when's the last time anyone genuinely concerned for a person's wellbeing ever requested a welfare check from Statist forces, given the gross institutional negligence and sadistic, family-wrecking power-play of Police, NHS, Psychiatric, and Social Worker minions and assorted bent accomplices? As it stands, they left me alone, bar, one assumes, the obligatory write-up later for governmental surveillance micro-management. I stated to them, as I do every time, that I'm engaged in amateur research, albeit of an often historical, political, and scientific bend. They stared inquisitively at my partner, who confirmed that I was ok. I've noticed the female-centric trust and evaluation long-term, at the full expense of anything I have to say on the matter. I'd shudder to think what would have happened if Abby had been in a bad mood at me for whatever reason, and decided I wasn't ok. Later, I wondered if the two blonde women were single, or, if not, if they were in mixed-race partnerships, or indeed lesbian mixed-race partnerships. I can't imagine so. They looked pretty single. It's interesting to consider though, and would certainly bias their viewpoints a little, for obvious reasons, even before the daily barrage of official narrative State-media and institutional Freemasonic ideals for a progressive, diverse, White-free Global future totally neutered them against the native citizens of their own country.

I returned to my garden. The radish crop has not taken well. I'm glad the olive tree is beginning to flourish though. I had not expected that. The rest of the fruits, roots, and vegetables are nestled down. I phoned Ali and tried to talk to him about the long-feared propositions for upcoming Central Bank Digital Currencies and Environmental Social Governance acting as a Carbon Neutral social credit system to deny energy and natural resources to citizens whilst stripping their finances for 'wrongthink', reducing their ability to produce and trade, and using constant shame and the threat of social exclusion and exile as a traumatic marketing tool to maintain total obedience, just in time for land grabs to take their homes from them and force them into Smart-cities, and about the need for contingency plans, and resource management with an eye to developing new underground trade networks and supply depots to counteract this gross, totalitarian behaviour monitoring and social engineering system. He brushed me off though. "I'll deal with it if it happens, Ben". But what if it's too late, Ali? Do you not think informing yourself in advance and adjusting your decisions based on long-term trends, global public-private partnership announcements, and worrying data patterns might be of some use? "No", came the sullen reply. "If it was anything to worry about, they'd say on the news". I gave up at that point, and we just talked about his recent cricket adventures and his complaints about his salary. He occasionally asks me what I think of certain politicians, or who I intend to vote for. Sometimes he forgets that we're in the UK and seems to fixate on American politics. I tell him I'm not interested in any of that. I'm more worried by the UN Agenda 2030 'Great Reset' and all Global Governance schemes, much as Covid-19 vaccine fallout, and mass immigration compound the problem. I was glad he avoided vaccination himself. It didn't seem to be on account of any worries about totalitarianism, or medical fraud, or a crippling excess death rate, completely covered over and denied, or a huge, anti-citizen hate campaign by a worthless media, or any thought as to how it would tie in to all these 2030 ideas, and the deliberate destruction of the economy. No, he just doesn't like going to the doctor, and has a disdain for socialized medicine. I can't blame him. I've focussed recently on just repeating to him, as often as I can, that the elite and political classes in the West don't have any regard for their citizens whatsoever, and are, regardless of political affiliation, unanimously working to wipe the vast majority of us out, and eternally subjugate the rest. A One World Government has little interest in nationalist concerns, or human life, and simply requires dumb, rootless, compliant slaves, to be indoctrinated from birth by a gross, shoddy education program, and then worked to death for the benefit of a tiny group of ruthless technocrat oligarchs. I can't say I'm used to getting through to people, all so complacent, and so thoroughly demoralized and insular. They just drift along, totally oblivious. In general, I never feel prepared enough.

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Officer Fullbore snuffled delicately, twitching his broad moustache, and absentmindedly rubbing a smooth, pink, elfin hand down the inside of his right trouser leg. His back, sweating slightly, rested

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