About the Author

I've attempted not to let Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) write this page, the infliction of BPD is very grievous, a turmoil storm of emotions raging distraught feelings of perpetual rejection from a cultivation of human failure that spitefully tore my existence in this world apart.

Blemished in dirt, and daubed in grime, I discovered the antichrist whilst displaced and destitute upon the depraved streets of central London. Subjected to sleep deprivation and increments of trauma, hypervigilance revealed to me a reanimate, cause-and-effect world unseen, constructed, and concealed in plain sight.

I found muted agendas psychologically exploiting and oppressing people socially conditioned into the direst dejected poverty. Grounded upon cold Portland stone, between distracting feckless commuters, familiarity revealed "strangers" motivating purpose with impunity through etched corridors of compartmentalisation. Methods and tactics are akin to Zersetzung used in the cold war by the STASI. Strangers, focussed ritualised abuses, occasional assaults, and vinegar sponge decimations upon my person. EXIF data from photographs revealed "strangers" arrived at timed intervals of 22 and 45 minutes past every hour, during day and night lasting weeks, months until one year, accumulating 17,000 systemic intrusions.

And I was not alone, stranded homeless people, confined by anxiety, awash with dissociation, overwhelmed by hypervigilance, and gripped by panic yet moved on, recalled by triggers. Overwhelmed, confused minds dissembled psychotic, escalating derealisation diminished survival instincts of hunger, cold, and thirst. Charity cycled this disposition, culturing "Jesus in the Slum" allegories by manipulating outreach recourse; false charity only inclusive during fundraising from the chill of winter month. Opened clenched fist of the proletariat giver; slapping inconsolable the bourgeois receiver, defining any sense of trust as not trustable. As hypervigilance developed generalised anxiety, triggered panic, spurned relentless urban walking through zones predesignated with egalitarian tribulation arranged by motivated strangers associating exoterical "omen" logos, both worn on apparel (transient) and displayed on litter (static), as an insurgency insignia.

Walking 14-hour days until exhaustion incurred an incredibly painful foot problem named Plantar Fasciitis. The police discovered me, asleep on the ground covered in snow, or in the rain, too anxious to speak, sometimes falsely reported preventing me leaving a zone; I was detained seventy-four times by emergency services using the Mental Health Act 2007. Psychological assessment diagnosed eBPD, complex Post-Truamatic Stress and Generalised Anxiety Disorders; I was not described as psychotic, psychiatrists explained my accusations as beliefs not delusions. Latent diagnosis originated from being raised by a paranoid schizophrenic, single parent mother, severity of childhood trauma was purposefully exploited.

Attacks were not always psychological, in Bayswater an assailant kick broke my nose and right radius bone in half after refusing his advances whilst I was trying to sleep in a doorway. His racial characteristics triggered panic as a traumatic phobia, finger pointed as racist or racism by whoever, whatever became offended.

Strangers returned to gloat at the dejected disparity they had cultured; sometimes accompanied by a life that had once arrived to pass me by to withhold and then present themselves to another. Containment ensued that I called the "Nobody Zone", every connection I made being altercated partisan. Nobody wanted to witness what was happening. Outreach services friended me with a woman who had worked in China as a TV presenter, she was being sexually assaulted almost every night by numerous abusers whilst sleeping by hot air vents behind the Strand Hotel. She had been deported from China for refusing to decimate the Dalai Lama; she spoke fluent Mandarin yet worked part-time as a toilet cleaner.

After sleeping more than forty nights in the night shelter of Connections in St Martins, I was placed in a "Lookahead" hostel located in Bayswater. My room was warm and comfortable, but my mind raged with flashbacks whilst my body burned from anxiety; lucid night terrors haunted me. A neighbour, too anxious to exit her room, described her Freemason father evil.

Plans to do anything fell like a house of cards, whilst at this hostel I found it hard to focus. To help, I decided to paint abstract composition pictures, using a medium of acrylic on canvas; these paintings were vandalised. Both sides of my room door, inside elongated cupboards, were jam packed with donated suits arriving from United Grand Lodge of England.

In 10/10/10, as a vagrant, I visited the Royal Courts of Justice and then the United Grand Lodge of England (UGLE) on London's "Open House" day. At UGLE I joined a tour group but became separated by a series of doors unto a gold decagram, inscribed with Hebrew, here a suited man motioned me to walk across it. As my presence neared the centre of the decagram the air violently shook around me, a feeling of falling occurred. I immediately left UGLE, but for days I was surrounded by an "outer darkness" until I completely submerged myself in water. I threw myself into the River Thames, outside M16 HQ, located in Vauxhall.

I visited this decagram on the eve of Yom Kippur (a Jewish ritual of kapparot involves waving a chicken over one's head and then slaughtering it); researching the decagram I found the symbolism used in cock fighting, customary held within octagonal houses. The Norman Church placed golden cockerels above their churches. Before all this, in 2006 I conversed with Buddhism, visiting Friends of the Western Buddhist Order, and Bodhicharya meditation groups in London. I began to interact with Hinduism, visiting Dravidian and Hindustani temples in Tooting, and Wembley, among others; accumulating into a visit to Gujarat, India.

One hundred thousand Hindus came to see me in Gujarat, I made contact with light rotating through their crown chakras. I felt blessed, they said they were blessed; the media swarmed, overwhelmed by national interest I was published on the cover of The Times of India, and nationally broadcast over Aaj Tak and Sky News channels.

360 pictures below are from my visit to India in 2018.

Upon invitation, I received hospitality, visiting hundreds of homes; overseen by Hindu Brahmin priests. Deep within Hinduism, I was requested to read a sloak before a yagna, but I refused. Hindus connected to Internal State Security claimed I was too close to God and thus tortured me with an ECT machine in Gandhinagar. These Brahmin idolised a child incarnation of four arm Shakthi, seated upon a cockerel. The temple was an epicentre of eunuchs, who were told to be men that had cursed by the deity to live as women. These eunuchs detested my presence, a plot was discovered by police where they had schemed to take my life. In Delhi my renewable "Vedic purpose" visa was cancelled, I remained in the city of Patan whilst a police investigation took place; resulting in a request (not deported) to return to London, UK, and reapply for reentry using another visa. The Indian Embassy refused me a visa and used security to forcefully eject me.

My situation had changed in the UK and thus found myself destitute on the streets of London; Hindu people (other than temple administration) within the UK, as partisan racists, ignored and shunned me. I've been of No Fixed Abode most of my transient life and could not fathom, nor realise how vulnerable I'd become. From the ages of 11 to 15 I was taken into local authority care; I was placed with friends of the family, foster parents, and numerous children homes; after fifty-two placements, expelled from two schools, this unhinged duration discharged me from local authority care as destitute homeless. Redundant, I embraced adventure. I travelled the UK sporadically, joining the "New Age" travellers; before an oppressive Criminal Justice Bill altercated me into direct activism, joining the 90s road protest movement at M3 Tyford down, A34 Snalesmore Common; aligning with activists associated with Green / National Anarchism and Earth First!

As an autonomous collective, we despised Marxism and Communism; I knew and frequented with activists that at demonstrations had attacked bandwagon Socialist workers with their rolled-up newspapers! As a climate change denier, I became a 1999 mature law/politics (halls of residence) student at Ruskin College. Here I was briefly tutored by Bob Purdey, a Christian Socialist politics tutor that had previous renounced Marxism; he was a nice guy, but I failed to focus on my studies. Students had much disdain over my presence at the college; alone, despondent and detached, I was befriended by a founder of Corporate Watch magazine. Whilst at Ruskin college, I qualified for life membership of the Oxford Union debating society; I enjoyed the debates and found the students and tutors of Oxford University interesting. The housemaster bought me a pint, embarrassed by his assumptions, he'd overheard table threats against my life made by Ruskin students.

Life membership for Ruskin students was cancelled by the Oxford Union that year; the college disbanded, choosing to lecture via distance learning course. Leaving the college long before graduation, Bob told me "Don't slam any doors behind you"; meeting his stern glare, for a moment, realising the strength of contention. Eleven years experiencing extreme detachment, I endeavoured to research the internet for any information concerning my predicament, years later this led to the creation of this website; I believe the people of the world have a right to know they are being insidiously subjected, with impunity, to depthless inhumanity. Early mid-eighties I became involved with the Council of British Druid Orders; I instructed Gorsedd and Eisteddfod at Avebury, Glastonbury, and Bath; performing handfastings/naming ceremonies. Founding a Druid Order I attended a formal COBDO meeting above the Atlantis Bookshop chaired by Douglas Lyne.

Thousands of people have entered into my life, during my travels, many are deceased, most estranged; and some driven to insanity by prolific harassment. Retrospective discovered, concealed in plain sight, the Druids had an association to a Fifth Monarchist movement involving Hallie Selassie, unknown to me at that time. A portion of the "New Age" traveller subculture became Communist, collectivising as a "peace convoy" from the Greenham Common protests. These "New Age" Communists had formulated a cultural convergence between themselves, the Sadu and Rastafarian communities, between Goa, India and Kennington, London. Before my trip to India I had lived in Herne Hill, Lambeth, after visiting India I lived within Saint Agnes Place, Kennington. The New Age travellers I lived with in Herne Hill worked commission for a record label named Ninjatune located in Kennington, the director Matt Cohn (Coldcut), travelled to and from Goa often.

Rastafarian International was located at Saint Agnes Place, between the Oval and Brixton cricket commentator and Comintern writer C.L.R James collaborated with Bob Marley, co-writing many Wailers lyrics. James, a comrade of W.E.B duBois was also edited by Noel Igniatiev, editor of Race Traitor magazine. Number 60, was the house I lived at with Jane, in Saint Agnes Place, she worked at Connections in St Martins, until she got sacked for bringing her client, a terrorised man that tore down her home with his rage. There was also a travelling circus parked in a compound, the entire street had been condemned to demolition. The red string linked from place to place, but I was still puzzled, why me, what was my unwitting role. With all these strangers manipulating and controlling life around and about me. In 2017 after receiving the results from a DNA test I learned my ancestry to be clan MacDuff; historically the clan crowned Scotland's kings.

I picked myself up from London, and walked to Brighton, across the South and North Downs, along the Ridgeway, over Dartmoor, around the Cornish coast, over the peak district, living at my time and pace healed me. Today enduring horrific auditory hallucinations, a negative voice in form of thought, endlessly describing dismal failings, described as self perpetuated. The effect on my life has been horrendous; released to my mothers address from amber ward (three-month admission at Highgate mental health unit) I was stalked and harassed by a two thousand member Facebook "spotting page", members hurled abuses taking hundreds of pictures; perpetually chased down, slandered, provocations photographing reactions.

A woman who read my blog about trauma contacted me, she met me in Loughborough and counted over thirty confrontations in the duration of three hours. Fleeing the county with advice from the police I relocated to Nottingham, my body began to shut down from trauma, flashbacks and panic attacks left me catatonic and bedridden for months.

My brother has refused to speak to me for ten years, I do not know my niece (brother's daughter), I've never spoken to her. I was not informed of either my mother's or father's funeral; I have no other immediate relatives. Fourteen years outcast dead, dispossessed and alone, shunned by pervasive partisan tolerances. He was not much of a brother to me, his friends taunted me as "freak" and "alien" whilst he laughed or at best looked on; one afternoon his friend, after watching clockwork orange film, entered our kitchen and slashed my hand with a box cutter knife, ripping flesh from my thumb to my index finger, I was thirteen years old when he grabbed my hand that day.

Father devoiced mother, she a single parent through an extramarital affair. I was made to wait outside, on his wedding day to his new wife, excluded from witnessing his vows because I appeared miserable. His new wife, my stepmother, unhappy with our presence, denounced me and my brother as "zombies"; we were traumatised from our mother's mental illness. Mother was originally diagnosed with depression, and committed to the Towers mental hospital, given electroconvulsive therapy until she could not remember who I was to her. The shock of her rejection and immense turmoil of detachment, was deflected by another psychiatric patient becoming uncontrollably disruptive and violent toward us during our brief visit.

Two uncles and aunties tried to help us between mothers frequent hospital admissions; when she was well she attempted to hold down jobs at hosiery factories, unwell she was bed ridden or paranoid and manic, with wide eyes that would stare straight through a person. Emaciated as the second smallest pupil in school with the second worst attendance record. Every member of my family worked hard, father a printers clerk, then a book rep, mother a linker, other than my miner uncle working at Whitick colliery my ancestors were coal miners, in Yorkshire and Tyneside. I am the only member of my family that has not "officially" held a job, working informally on fruit farms, or taking on commission work within the IT industry.

Whilst being chased down, throughout various towns and cities, I attempted to get myself rehoused and hopefully into work. In Sheffield, I was accommodated inside a shoebox flat on West Street, women screaming late at night to the early hours of the morning, and drunken men urinating against my window wreaked havoc with generalised anxieties. Next door, a machine hummed against the wall, making me feel unwell to the extent I slept outside again; luckily inheritance from my mother's estate came through, effectively taking me off the streets and into the shelter of four-star hotels for two months; before money ran out I purchased hiking equipment, however harassment tactics again deteriorated mental health.

Trigger panicked by Kabbalah bracelets and Black Panther apparel, I walked out of Sheffield and over miles of windswept moorland toward Castleton. Dressed in only a linen strappy dress I trudged barefoot through ice and snow until a yellow and black police helecopter encircled me, warning over a megaphone to stay away from the edge of a rocky hillside slope. The helicopter, from Wakefield, land and a police officed talked to me for ten minutes, after offering Kendal mint cake he let me continue my walking. I walked through Hope, Castleton by collapsed with hypothemia near Winnats pass; thereafter an ambulance took me to a hospital in Stockport where my tempreture was elevated and thus became discharged.

I cannot recall how many instances my life was in imminent danger whilst I was targeted, even when the harassment ceased, enough psychological damage had been done to incur further risk to my state wellbeing. After leaving a hotel bar in Kinlochbervie at dusk I hiked a broken path to Strathan Bothy, forty metres stray of this path I fell into a river. My backpack kept me afloat as I pulled myself out hanging onto protruding spines of long grass, in the darkness of midwinter I shook hard whilst crossing a broken bridge. Digital maps had been stored on my broken phone, I scrambled the wilderness until I discovered the bothy, as a faint white impression cut into a distant hillside. Inside a four pack of lager and burning peat.

At sunrise I hiked to Sandalwood bay via a visit to Strathcailleach Bothy; I envisioned walking around Cape Wrath but returned south to Kinlochbervie due to suffering symptoms of exposure. Even in this remoteness I was followed, most profoundly up the southern path and to the summit of Ben Nevis, these "strangers" co-occupied bothy's such as Allt Sheicheachan, Invermallie and Greenskyes; other bothies, such as Achnanclach and Strabeg were seemingly too remote for them. Harassment along the highland coastal path between Buckie and Peterhead was severe, worst still in the town of Banff, but the Brock was endearing. Intensively followed along the length of Malvern hills, my father lived in Malvern.

Perhaps the cruellest disparities were inflicted by homeless charities run and/or overseen by Catholic nuns. Abuse around the streets of Derby was desensitising, bruises in the form of clench marks appeared on my upper and lower arms with self explaination. On a cold winters day I handed The Padley centre my only clothes to wash, they were returned soaking wet and dyed blue; shortly before I was told to leave. I was accomodated in a hostel in Leeds, surrounded by a high metal fence lined with razor wire. Men would frequently arrive at the gate requesting fellatio from female residents in exhange for money. I was placed in a flat, but muslims attending a mosque confronted me with unfounded accusations of snooping for MI5.

During the COVID-19 Pandemic, I was emergency housed (pandemic legislation) at a caravan park near Goonhaven. Being homeless (a rough sleeper), six months from the start of the pandemic was an unhinged and alienating experience. Within three months, I was transferred into supported (due to ailing mental health problems) housing accommodation in Truro.

Exercise has helped me greatly, to get through generalised anxieties, around and about this small city I purchased and customised a BMX. Blown off course by anxiety triggers iniating panic I would peddle 20-30 miles, often to the coastline without any want or reason to be there. I also endured many accidents, common in people who suffer cPTSD.

Whilst resident in Truro I endured an eight hour operation that took several months to recover from; during this time I was harassed by a narcististic neighbour who threatened to kick open my wound; despite ignoring his insults he wrote many letters that resulted in me being evicted (as lockdown restrictions withdrew) from "safety" of supported housing.

Others endured a hard time at this supported accomadation, including a vulnerable resident who was sexually exploited by a self professed Satanist. Another disturbed resident, who had tried to kill himself at the age of twelve, had slashed his face before being relocated to Cambourne. Everybody housed at this address had moderate to severe life problems.

I was chased about Truro by enablers, I believe residents were also externally manipulated by a local baptist church; who were known to come to the supported housing often; noticing that outside of my window was leaflet bombed on Valentine's Day. Out of the eighteen months I resided there, I failed to make one sustained friendship without religious interference.

There were many Kings and Queens in the "United Kingdom"; many thousands of descendants exist today, knowingly and unknowingly are regicide targets of Martinism; trauma conditioned and anxiety trigger reanimated as opertunity mules, as they cultivate systematic failures unto us. These street pictures appeared whilst I was living in the Cornish city of Truro, 2020.

I occasionally drank quite heavy to relieve flashbacks and panic attacks, this resulted in an upper gastric haemorrhage vomited into my toilet. An ambulance was called, an examination at Truro hospital discharged on the premise of an endoscopy appointment. Whilst in Truro, I was also diagnosed with Pernicious Anaemia and prescribed B12 injections.

Without a move on accommodation, I packed my camping equipment and took a train (ticket paid for by supported housing that evicted me) to Chippenham, Wiltshire, and walked the length of the Ridgeway footpath. At Avebury the enablers were waiting, and henceforth followed, chasing me down around the country, eventually into Scotland, about the Highlands.

I have since resettled from sporadic travelling, over thirty-seven years of existing as no fixed abode. Today I reside within the Scottish Borders, UK, where I live with my partner Charlie; he's a farmer. Animals are mostly non-judgemental, assisting the farm, i.e. looking after sheep, lambs and cows is healing and often rewarding.

Somehow I knew they'd reincarnate me into the image that flayed me hapless when they stated "you will be our antichrist" whilst I was terrorised selfless upon the streets of London. But traumatising catatonic and reanimating me with panic triggers was only part of the evil they grievously committed against my person. As cognitive function hazed, and process recurrently collapsed, they arranged the world about me to manipulate me an unwitting opportunity mule; dispossessing me of life inherent. These sadists had large families, warm homes and successful careers, as they spitefully decimated me with diabolical disparities. They would drive by and soil my clean clothes with smokey vehicles, light fires ahead of me, leave grass clipping in my path to dry my eyes red (Karl Marx and Jim Jones had red eyes) from knowledge of an allergy to fresh cut grass I'd suffered with as a child. This is human hunting, genocidal crime of ethnic substitution.

Even after they fleshed me of life and soul they persist on reanimate controlling the environment around and about me; as if forsaken dispossession was the only valid thing I had to offer our world, a perpetual state of hollow emptiness, a hapless spectacle to all those who refuse to be violated and raped by indelible sin. Writing this "about author page" has helped me accept that my estranged brother is evil and that his legacy now continues through his daughter, who is quite possibly more evil than her father is. Throughout my dissolved life, generalising it would be fair to state that this world has shunned and detested me until I didn't believe I existed.

Nothing else mattered other than giving my cuckoo interloper whatever she wanted; irrespective of distraught loss, inconsolable misery and systematic deprivation. Nobody is allowed to refuse, to say "no" because she has been aligned by Marxian priesthood, as the childhood spirit of Communism to flay "father" Jesus Yeshua from our lives as if we never mattered. But, irrespectively this is about us, our projections, and where we align those projections, consensual choice aligning with truth, without being anxiety triggered steered by manipulative psychological coercion into a collectivisation of self-denial. There is nothing more cruel than ethnically mutilating an identifiable people unrecognisable with a phobia of inadequacy.