The next book…

5:31 am


“A rabbi accused of secretly videotaping nude women at a Jewish ritual bath recorded more than 150 women, prosecutors said during a meeting with victims, the first specifics they have given on the scope of the man’s recording.”


See more at:


This rabbi is my father.  This rabbi is those Baptist missionaries my father supports, those men who take others’ money to spread the gospel… then rape little girls and force them to confess to adultery.  This rabbi is George Bush and Jimmy   Savile.  This rabbi is  Warren Jeffs.  This rabbi is the NSA.  (Actually, the NSA is more like Bill Cosby than the Rabbi.  This rabbi can only DREAM of dis-empersonizing people like that.)  It should be unnecessary to say this,  but:  OTHER PEOPLE DO NOT EXIST FOR OUR ENJOYMENT.   However,  the more power a person has, the more he depends on others to provide his jollies.  The royals and elites and priests KILL CHILDREN!  (Look it up.  Do not be stupid much longer.)  They kill children for fun, abortion kills children for Satan and our hands are stained with blood we’ve refused to defend.

People seem to think that spying is about security; it is only ostensibly so.  Surveillance is about PEOPLE WITH MORE POWER THAN US…GETTING THEIR ROCKS OFF AT OUR EXPENSE.  Although they manufacture purported motivations, it’s a farce.  To ANYBODY WITH POWER, humanity is one great big peep-show. Everybody wants to get his rocks off; we know we lack something and we go for the gusto.  The  Wal-mart-minefield of made-in-China perversion-options increases with each payraise.  Shit, if you get rich enough, you can do whatever you want to anybody!  Perverts at the peak of our panty-sniffing populace plunder their pick of the goyim.  We are chattels, and we are viewed as such by each succeedingly “higher” level.  When I was being raped, it was obvious that my violations were in nurturance of some dark soul.

Through perverted impulses and “requests” I learned many things.  My evidence will be valuable in a true court of true justice.  I RECORDED  those things, along with my objection to the corrosive notions and vulgar vocabulary… and the “pictures” and the MANIPULATION… (and the feedback.)  I screamed my fingers off about how FOREIGN it was for me to think vulgar words.  (My children were not permitted to say “fart.”)   I know what I’m talking about…and I recorded it.  I recorded things I heard… and also my surprise at their INTRUSION INTO MY SANCTIFIED MIND.   My affidavit asks, “Why does it always have to be from behind?”  I accused the haunting of “liking to look at parts of my body.”  (That’s because they can see through your eyes, then they comment about things.)  (IF YOU ARE CONSCIOUS, and you TRY  VERY HARD TO NOT JUDGE OTHERS…you KNOW that you would not normally notice or comment on those things.)  Before the “haunting”, 1) I did not think about sex except with my then-husband, 2) I did not use words like “cock” or “cunt”, 3) I did not have SPONTANEOUS ORGASMS, and  4) I did not believe in Santa Claus.

The world is a giant sex-cult, I’ve written about it numerous times.  Look up the symbology of all the accoutrements of the holidays we celebrate…they’re all sex-oriented.  People are ALL dissatisfied and seek to self-medicate.  The common prescription  is,  to 1) live a life of self-indulgence and its corresponding defilement with no pain of conscience, 2) suck  NECESSARY, SUSTAINING  innocence from others,  and 3) keep the others quiet about it all.  We were not intended to suck the life-blood of others to provide what is missing within ourselves.  We are intended to be so full of the Spirit of God that we 1) GIVE OUR LIFE BLOOD for one another, 2) are enabled to have healthy relationships, that 3) fill the emptiness we all feel.

Don’t believe in mind control?  I can prove it.  Don’t care?  Nice knowin’ ya.


Signed, Linda Goldthorpe  2/13/15   4:04 am  (References upon request.)

7:45 am

Bump to the top, from three years ago this week.

My father read my book and I thought he was going to tell the truth.  When he realized I didn’t know all that he’d done, the gangstalking began in earnest, and the cars and the motorcycles going the wrong way towards me with lights as big as a wading pool.  Then he took my house and said lots of things (when other people were not around) that I recorded.  Excerpts from my second book:

“I’ve been trying to listen to a tape Growmaster made.  He wrote on the case, “Shit my dad did.”  It’s taken me weeks to get through the shit his dad did.  They lived really far in the woods, and when Dad left for the day, they were completely isolated.  I had a hard time with the story of how their father held them by their ankles outside a second-floor window.  (This was not a fit of passion.  He held each of them, in turn.)  When a gunshot went through the bed, I turned off the tape-recorder. The bullet passed through a wall and a dresser on the other side.  (Growmaster’s sisters were in that room.)   He remembers going to school for a couple years, here and there.  Growmaster still takes his baby to visit the old man.  It’s 100 miles, one-way.  I get to see that baby too, tomorrow.”


“My dad apologized last night.  He said he was sorry he’d been a “bad dad” and that you don’t get to have your babies over again.  I told him that I’d like to be his friend.  He said I was “scary”.  Whatever.  He’s said that before.  One time I asked him, “Why can’t you just let me love you like I want to?”  He said, “It’s scary”.   It was scary for me every time he woke me from the bedroom door, pitching a shoe at my head, so I guess we’re even. “
“He made three trips bearing leftovers from a Halloween party.  He brought huge tubs of ice cream and 1/2 gallon of hot fudge.  I was so amazed at his second trip, that I cracked a joke looking around for hot dogs in his car.  He went back and got some. (Maybe he even stopped to buy some, they didn’t look like a commercial package.)  My dad does things like that.”
“He’s always the first one at an accident, and he saves people’s lives.  He’s the most generous person I know, other than George and Isaac I guess.  He loved his mother very much and every year gave her roses, on his birthday.  The best presents ever, he takes people places all the time.  He researches cool things. (If he and Isaac ever got to spend much time together, they could teach each other a thing or two.) “
“Isaac reports amazing smart things that Wonderful tells him.  It surprises him how many principles of business stewardship I already understand.  Wonderful knows I do.  I listened to my dad, even though he wasn’t talking to me.”
“My dad was not a bad dad.  My dad was a lonely dad, and it made me lonely too.  I always wished he would yell. He wouldn’t slam a door, he closed  them with static precision that stole my air.  He’d walk very softly, still does, as though he must defend each footstep.  I’ve seen him bite the nipple from an exquisite European truffle and throw the rest out the window.  To prove he was in control.  (Sometimes chocolate calls him.  He told me that.)  It’s a hard way to live.”
“We were watching family videos the other day.  I wanted my babies to be perfect.  I had waited a long time and was jaw-set to do things right. (I cried in a Big Boy parking lot because my mother commented on how much food we got on the floor.)  This video though, was gorgeous boy-baby, lying on his back and refusing to perform.   My hands were in his face the whole time.  I was tapping his cheeks and demanding:  Smile!  Smile!   I was just like my dad. “


“I just charged thirty dollars worth of books to my son’s credit card.  We share passwords.  The Younger however, says I’m a buzz-killer, and he doesn’t even get high.  I don’t know how to connect with this person so different than myself.  He’s genius.  He’s brawn and brains.  When the boys were little, my son would take me aside to ask why the Younger was smarter than the rest of us.  We all recognize this today, but I can’t ever hardly hear him.  This is a unique situation for me, I hear unspoken things, all the time.  I hear strangers who can’t talk.  I want to hear him.  I’m somewhat fearful of what it will take.  He writes poetry.  He’s dreamy.”
“The atheist has no ground to seek.  There is no cover.  It’s apparent.  He has no pictography for success.  He can’t visualize “win”.  Even if he “wins” he’ll never know if his victory is secure.  He won’t live to see it.  Pity.  Pain.  Why bother?  If I drew my final breath this moment, I’d still win.  There’s minimal pleasure in that knowledge.  Does Jesus feel like this when he considers atheists?  He loves them so much.”


“The critical perspective towards magical realism as a conflict between reality and abnormality stems from the Western reader’s disassociation with mythology, a root of magical realism more easily understood by non-Western cultures.[31] Western confusion regarding magical realism is due to the “conception of the real” created in a magical realist text: rather than explain reality using natural or physical laws, as in typical Western texts, magical realist texts create a reality “in which the relation between incidents, characters, and setting could not be based upon or justified by their status within the physical world or their normal acceptance by bourgeois mentality.”[38]
Magic Realism, Wickipedia
4:11 am
I spoke to an editor yesterday who is interested in working on “Hearing from God in the Mind Control Matrix.”   I didn’t have an editor on the last book and Chayla thinks this one should be better.  Me too.
11:59 am
                          My collaborator is badass. When she learned that we inhabit a mind control matrix, she took drastic steps. She got her own 501(c)(3) and set up shop. She experimented with imbeds and sound bites. She watched uniformed men with handheld devices immobilize the herd at a Costco store. Everybody stood still. She’s seen an entire lane of cars pull onto the right shoulder at the same time. She fills in my gaps of understanding. I am like a small child, Jesus holds my hand. I don’t dare open my mouth unless he tells me to. He gives me words above my pay-grade. My collaborator has earned her right to speak.She cooked for me, her grandma’s turkey-melts. Black olives and pineapple. Magic. My collaborator is currently my most respected human. I’ve seen the scar from when she committed hari-kari. It is golden and very beautiful. I saw a vision where my scars glowed gold too, but mine were only lion-scratches. Hers are very deep and they will dazzle us.
7:05 am
                         It feels so unnecessarily narcissistic to talk about my “feelings” all the time.  I do, however believe that it is important that I  express what I experience.  Some, one person may hear me and recognize something that saves his life.  I’m OK with that.  If I could save a life, this would have been worth it.  I’m continually embarrassed by saying all this stuff, but all I’m doing is recording a life.  We all get one.  Some are lost.  That’s the real waste.  I don’t want mine to mean nothing.
                         I’m on a treadmill, though, with this food preparation.  I’m not gonna be able to keep up one day.  I don’t get a day off; they always eat.  Even when I’m gone, I have to prepare ahead, and I’m hardly ever able  to be gone.  This is gonna hit a wall and then what?  Manna in the wilderness.  I’d love to see it.  I don’t think I’d get bored with the same fare every day if I didn’t have to cook it.  Must I become even more destitute and decrepit to see more of God?  It always seems that way.  I miss him.
                          I miss the guy, too.  I love him.  It got so twisted and impossible, but it was real.  It was really, really OK.  I never knew anybody like him and I recognize value.  For some reason, despite my summers in the river with blood-suckers clinging to my legs, I saw a different world.  I saw different people, then I found one of them.  I’ve found others since, but I still miss him.  He’s far better than this world.  Maybe if I quit hurting for him I could quit hurting?
                         Geeze, when I went to get my cigarettes I sounded really weird.  I looked weird.  I can’t help it.  The “squatter-woman” looked down her nose and told me how much her college-boy misses her.  He misses me too, I don’t have to be told.  I sounded really weird.  I talked about memories and nostalgia.  I should never, ever go out.
                         My son thinks everybody should write a book.
7:36 am
Hearing From God in the Mind Control Matrix:
a Madness Aversion Manual
God put Chayla and me together for a reason.  We both preach, slept in our cars, and suffered electronic mind-control efforts.  We desire to expose the existence of directed energy weapons and the extent they are deployed against civilians around the world.   We record our experiences to provide hope for those who suffer the mental trauma  perpetrated on a “Targeted Individual.”    We will free those so abused, and (miraculously, somehow…) engage the stupid among us, who serve the system that gave us taxes and microwave weaponry. The same system  gave us Hiroshima and Fukushima.  They gave us dead babies and refugees.  They’ve stolen peace from the planet, they will no longer steal it from our very souls.
This is a battle between good and evil, and we both figure it will be our final one.

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