What Will Get Me?

I had a thought.

Hope is bunk.

Hope distorts reality.

Bad news.

Thinking causes cancer.

If the COVID-19 very deadly scarious genocide reset virus and it’s various varying variants do not exist, I won’t get them. If I did have any of them or have them now I might not notice. The symptoms are so like those of any post cancer treatment I would take them as just another day. A cough, a sniffle, body ache, headache, nausea, dry cough and a vague uneasy feeling of impending unwellness are with me intermittently. My nose ran for three years after stepping onto the road to wellness. Sometimes I find myself leaning and sagging to the left and wanting to run to the nearest 85-90% false positive RTPCR testing centre to have a toxic swab penetrate my blood/brain barrier. Angry red tumours of varying size and shape and texture are recurring with varying degrees of aggression and with varying degrees of toxic relief from radiation. I have reached my lifetime dose of radiation from treatments and diagnostics. More could make me more sick and kill me. 5G radiation will be the end of me whether I am infused with graphene oxide or not. Further chemo, stem cell or bone marrow transplants could make me weak, sick, and kill me. At the time of writing, I still have a choice of which available palliative treatments I take. Very soon, I will not have a choice of whether or not I have to take a lethal injection to receive ‘life saving’, ‘time buying’, injections of highly experimental drugs in order to receive cancer care.

Fuck them!

Rise up Cancer people!

If you can.

Use both hands.

If I had a virus, I would probably die. I have been attending ‘Unmasked Superspreader Events’ and unprotected Roman orgies for almost two years now. I am not dead. Sometimes I feel or look dead. At least I think that I am not dead. Somebody pinch me…but not too hard…not there. I am sensitive there and pitting edema is a thing. I may be in a parallel universe.

I digress.

I was told four years ago that I had an expected lifespan after all possible therapies, that would not get me, of three to five years. This is based on scant statistics of what is supposed to be an extremely rare form of cancer. This extremely rare form of cancer has been traced back to a type of a of sexually transmitted disease found in sex workers from Papua, New Guinea or prolonged exposure to Glyphosphate. I have not been exposed to either situation…unless it was that parallel universe thing. When I relapsed after an aggressive series of chemo therapy and a stem cell transplant I was told that I had six to twelve months to live. We tried a trial drug ominously called ASTX-660. It made me sick. It made me shit my pants.

Twice.

If the very scarious and manufactured COVID-19 Reset Virus and the Top Secret Toxic Injections and Boosters needed to fight it and keep me safe won’t kill me, starvation might. Segregation, isolation, discrimination, infrastructure sabotage, geo-engineering, food supply disruption, and fear are being used to exclude those that can or will not participate in genocide from obtaining the necessities of life. If I was coerced into complying to governmental, medical intervention and mandates and edicts in order to survive I would die sooner than if I resisted and became more self sufficient and fiercely resilient.

Something will get me in the end.

Whether it’s aggressive T-cells or toxic water, food, air, or people with lethal healing and saving injections.

All I can do is try to see that I become the master of my own life.

Or death.

This is my body to defend or do with as I please.

And hope that they might use the right pronoun if they talk about me when I’m gone.

Peace.

Either way.

“Life is not about delaying death. Life is about living.” – Dr. Roger Hodkinson

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