Thursday, May 9, 2013

Spider Comes Back To Life & Kate Middleton's Pedophiles

I will be updating my last post, which is very important, later today/tonight.  First I am writing about a spider-to-life thing and next, I am writing about "All of Kate Middleton's Pedophiles".

However, I have an announcement to make:

I brought a spider back to life.  It wasn't all my doing, because it must have had a pretty strong determination, but it really looked like a goner.

I got home from a walk and found it curled up on its back in the right side of my kitchen sink, behind the empty Extra Virgin olive oil bottle.  I had two empty bottles in the sink there to wash. It was also next to this rag I use for cleaning, which I had last used in a combination of acetone and ammonia (my midnight "special") for killing fungus spores in my bathroom carpet without bleaching it out.  I sterilized this several weeks ago after some research about which chemical combination would be best for my needs.  I had since used it for other things, but I thought water had drowned it and that maybe chemicals got on it too.

When I touched it, it moved, but barely. It couldn't get itself turned over, so I turned it over and it wiggled a leg, and then I saw it had a piece of oatmeal on it and looked sort of shriveled.  When it was inside of this bottle cap, it didn't look very good.  I thought maybe I should rinse it to get chemicals off, and I filled the cap with water and poured it out on my bread board.  Even though it was quick, this looked like it had killed it for good.  It didn't move at all.  I tried to see if all different parts would move and none of them would.  I gently touched his head, stomach, back, legs, and nothing.

So it was there up against a dried vine from a beet.  After awhile, I decided to turn it over on its side because I thought maybe if it revived it would be most comfortable that way.  And then I got a piece of cobweb and put it near its head and feet to make it feel more at home.

From daylight yesterday (5 p.m. or so) until about 2 a.m. in the morning today, there was no sign of life.  I checked it right before I went to bed and thought I saw one leg up in the air that wasn't up before and I touched it, and there was no movement. 

I went to bed, and by this morning, it's gone.  I mean, it walked away on its own.  So I guess it was about 9 hours of zero signs of life, and then it revived.  I looked everywhere for it, and the cobweb is there and the beet vine is there, and there is no spider.  I checked the sides of the counter and lifted things up, and I can't find it anywhere and it didn't fall to the ground either.

The only sign of life I saw was around 2 a.m., I thought it maybe raised a leg or arm or whatever.  I actually didn't touch it at first, I blew on it, a light breeze of air and it went down.  So then I wondered if it had moved and gently touched with something and it didn't move.

I could have thrown it out at any point and it would have seemed dead.  But it really truly came back to life.

I turned it on its side because I figured spiders are on their backs when they're dead, and it might not have enough strength to turn over, and on it's side, maybe it could breathe. I guess then when it had dried out more, and I'd separated a few of its legs to a more natural "spider position", it was upright and that is when I brought a piece of cobweb for it to smell and touch in case it needed a boost in morale.

I'll take a photo of the site of disappearance.  These are taken from the angle I had, looking at it, and it was just above the cobweb facing the cobweb (from this view, facing down the screen) and a hand in it.  When I spread it out, it reminded me of setting out the angel hair, as a little girl, at Christmas.

I guess I'm surprised it came back to life.  I had felt sort of bad last night, thinking my rinsing of it must have been the final straw and it had been too weak to withstand being submerged in water, even briefly.  I guess I paid attention to it at all, because it was life and I figured there is some value in even knowing how to recusitate a spider, and I used some ideas I might have with a person, because they probably think too.  I figured some principles that apply on a small scale, also works for a larger scale and vice versa.

I swatted a fly over a year ago to kill it but it was because it was interfering with humans.  I did feel bad about it because I later thought it meant something to someone.  It was around Mike Killian, and he really didn't need to have some kind of show.  I noticed my Dad looked sad or didn't like that I had killed the fly and Mike thought it was great.  Mike is the killer-type.

The main insects I kill, or have killed since I was a kid, are mosquitos.  If there is a mosquito on my neck, I'm going to kill it.  I've never liked the whining high-pitched noise of a mosquito and they bite.  Mosquitos loved me because of my type of blood.  They went crazy over my Dad's blood.  They could smell my Dad's blood a mile away and zoned in for a blood feast.  Any of us, could get bit by a mosquito on the forehead and have blood running into our eye, and one of us would say, "WHAT HAPPENED?" and we'd say, "A mosquito bit me." 



We used the strongest moquito repellants money could buy, because of it.  I used to get bit from head to toe.  I think it's because of the quality of our blood.  We obviously have some kind of hemophilia and coagulation problem, which maybe makes it easier for moquitos to smell us and love our blood.  It is probably easier for them to get a faster fix with us, because the blood runs thinner and faster.

When I was little, I avoided even stepping on ants, on our patio in Moses Lake, because I didn't want to kill them.  They used to run back and forth over the cement patio next to the house, and I stepped around them to avoid killing them.

Being a vegan isn't really out of keeping with how I've been most of my life, but I didn't plan it.

Anyway.  I am not very much different now than I was then.  I just know more.  I'm going to update my last post, so keep an eye out for it.

I want my son Oliver returned to me.  He is not government property and he does not belong to the Avilas.

I was cut up by British, Canadians, and U.S. involved in MKUltra.

Canada sponsored electrocution of me and cutting up of my arms.  My meal at The Empress Hotel, in Victoria, B.C., was a "sending off" "Go West Young Woman" meal.  They did this to me after they had tortured me.

When one of the British Canadians came around with the petit fours cart, I still remember what he looked like.  I remember he came around with that cart and I thought it was a medical cart, as a little girl.  Why would I assume it was a medical cart, if I was never in a hospital.  I even commented on it.  When that tall and thin man came closer, my Dad looked upset, and waved him away or nodded no, and said to me, "We're ordering from the menu".

I'd like to know what is on the Lawsuit Menu for U.S. and Canadian contribution to torture of me, and electrocution.

The man who later poured my drink, when I went out with Mike Tancer, had the same sadistic expression on his face that the man in Victoria had.  Both the Mexican waiter at the restaurant Mike took me to, and the man at Bar 15 were behaving in the exact same manner and with the same expressions and I remember.  I remember the man looked at me with hatred.  He stared directly at me, before anyone else saw him, I saw him, and then he smirked in a hostile way to my Dad later.  He was an enemy to me.

If I was sleepwalking as a little girl, and leaving the upstairs of Granny's house, to walk over to the sink, pick up the washcloth and drop it into the toilet, most likely, my subconcious remembered having a wet-cloth electrocution applied.  If Granny was washing her face with a cloth, I might have seen her, as it was said my eyes were wide open, and taken the cloth from her out of concern she was being electrocuted or harmed as I was, and put it in the toilet instead.

I took it right out of her hands.

I'd like to know what the British Royal Family has to say for themselves, because they were involved.  Don't tell me I was being taken in and out of Canada without their knowledge, to a hospital that Prince Albert opened himself and which was sponsored by the Royal family.

Prince Albert was Prince George's brother, and Prince George was the father of current Queen Elizabeth II.  Prince Albert opened that hospital and other royals knew exactly what was happening to me.  It was a hospital owned by the Crown.

Not only did I later take a washcloth out of Granny's hands, as a little girl, with my eyes open, a Japanese roommate later stayed with me, in 2003, and kept a folded up white napkin on her lap and wiped her fingers on it all the time.  I believe she also knew that I had been electrocuted as a little girl.  I don't know who told her, but she knew.

When I first started going to OSU, one of the photos they featured on their site for biology and science experiments, was of a woman in Alaska, with a white cloth folded over the head of an animal lying down in the snow on a stretcher, laughing.  That same time period, there was a photo of a man with thin wire or fishing line, stretching it out.

From what I've had intimated to me, I was "wired" as a kid.  When my mother got a cat from the pound, and she always made sure I knew it was "from the pound", that cat had to be taken to the vet because of having "3 feet of fishing line in her stomach", and I was told she'd somehow "swallowed 3 feet of fishing line" and had to be cut open at the stomach, and have it removed with an operation.

The U.S. does not use "pounds" for currency, England does.  The same thing that was done to that cat, a Himalayan cat named Purrsilla (who was after a Persian named Mousy-tongue), was done to me.

Something else I have had an aversion to, probably because of the surroundings I was in when I was cut up and electrocuted, is foot traffic going in and out from doors that push open.  Rooms with opaque sliding doors in medical centers have terrified me, and being next to a door that pushes open and has people going back and forth terrifies me.  I have noticed this from when I've gone to restaurants, where I am inside and there is a "window" that shows me who is behind, and then a door that pushes open where waiters walk back and forth.  It is unlike being in a medical room where there is an observation window and a door to allow doctors and scientists back and forth into the room where they tortured me.

Mike Tancer knew about my past as a child, which is why the male waiter at the restaurant he took me to, and the one at the bar, acted the way they did.  I couldn't eat very much, even though I ate at home some first, because of it.  Mike's friend, the woman who was part of the "steel industry" also knew.  At that restaurant he told the waiter he didn't want salt on the glass.

I remember Canada and I remember what was done in the U.S.  The Canadians colluded to have my son kidnapped from me because of their illegal trafficking of me as a child.  They worked with the U.S. to commit crimes against me to protect themselves, the British government and royals, and the CIA.

How would Mike Tancer know about me?  Lets make an educated guess, shall we?  His "Dad", Forrest Tancer, worked for the Peace Corp and many Peace Corp people end up getting jobs with the CIA (look at  Mary and Edward Lee Howards bio for an example).  He knew other federal employees as well and showed up when I went out with Erica Ballinger Yuille.

As for Chris Rozollo, I don't believe he is Catholic.  He worked for the U.S. Army, he knew how to scuba dive and had that gear (which is a hobby Mike Tancer also had) and I felt he was probably Jewish.  He thought it was fine for the U.S. government to kidnap and steal my son from me.

Both Mike and Chris Rozollo did deep sea scuba diving, which is not something a lot of people get into.

The Persian cat, "Mousy-tongue" was right before "Himalayan 3 feet of fishing line".  Who is a mouse?  Mickey.  Mike.  Mickey-tongue.  So first I was sexually assaulted orally and otherwise, by individuals, including "Mike" and then they wired me.

It is very likely Katie Middleton's Dad is a pedophile "dog".  Her father, Mike Middleton, is most likely one of the individuals who used his tongue to commit pedophilia against me when I was a baby and toddler. 

This would also explain why Robin Bechtold got so mad and gritted his teeth, when I told him one of my mother's cats was named "Mousy-tongue".  Robin Bechtold was mad because he already knew I had been assaulted sexually and he didn't like the 'indicator' and symbolism of this name, when he was already working for Mike Middleton.

You notice, both the Persian cat and "Purrsilla" have "purse" in common.  "He's getting moony" as in, he's getting money.


So what did Mike Tancer tell me to order that night, in a replay of the Empress Hotel in Victoria, B.C.?  Tuna tartar.  His steel industry friend said to him, some people are not "accustomed" to it.  Mike-mousy-tongue.

Heinz's "art" that we went to see was of a bunch of white 'cones' in the shape of a vagina.

I think Katie fucking Middleton might slash someone with a knife over protecting her pedophile father.  Did her Dad get a "Visa" after tonguing me?  or did Carol have a "vision".

I just looked at the "tea lobby" for the wikipedia of Empress Hotel, and it doesn't look like what I remember, but they had done a restoration.  The room I was in had marble floors, lots of windows and sunlight, an extremely high ceiling, and was more formal than the tea lobby.  It was on the 1st floor and we didn't go anywhere else.

The Mexican restaurant that Mike Tancer took me to, looked exactly like the interior of the "tea room" as it is in the Empress Hotel.  I'm sure he chose it for the significance of impressing Katie Middleton.

I was in much more formal room, more like a ballroom, and it was on the 1st floor.  We didn't order from the "a la carte" tray, but Middleton tried to force me to accept Alvaro Pardo later, in an attempt to get me out of their way one way or the other, and have continued access to drugging me.

It is no wonder why a Canadian-born citizen like Mike Nichols, would be motivated enough, by Canadian and U.S. interests, to try to kill me, even if it meant taking his own life in the process.

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