Tormentor ...Part 2 ...Dark Presence
it's the second-most-common cause of so-called demonic possession.
The most common being schizophrenia.
― Stephen King
The following Monday at 2:00 p.m., Dora brought her husband with her and the two were sitting in the reception area.
I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek through the mini blinds while they waited.
I must confess I was disappointed. The husband was overweight, bald and in his late forties—he was more reminiscent of Walter Mitty than the controller or abuser I anticipated.
I buzzed Michele, my receptionist, to show them in.
The same pattern as the week before began emerging. Dora’s emotion chart was placid and perfect—so benign, it screamed abnormal.
I felt like screaming myself. It was maddening looking at Frank’s bland face.
I reread the chart again looking for an imperfection, some incongruity or oversight that would give me an opening. I saw only one—a ridiculous miniscule flaw, but I was desperate.
“Dora, I noticed when you filled out your chart, everything was written in cursive script, but your name was printed and in small letters. Why is that?”
I felt incredibly foolish. Frank looked at me pityingly as if I had completely lost my mind, but out of the corner of my eye I noticed Dora trembling. I waited. It was very subtle at first, but the longer I waited the more pronounced it became.
Then, Frank noticed.
Suddenly the room went dark. Dora’s face gleamed white in the darkness. She looked like a gull—a frightened bird. I blanked out.
An incessant buzzing of flies awakened me. My head swam and I felt nauseous. I grabbed the intercom, “Michele, please come in.”
Michele breezed in with the next file and stopped in mid-stride as she saw my face.
“My God, Martin—what’s wrong?”
“The Salomon’s” I gasped, “Where are they?”
“They left five minutes ago. I thought you were working and didn’t want to disturb you. Are you all right?”
“Cancel my afternoon appointments and get Anton Richler on the phone.”
She hesitated, but reluctantly complied, giving a brief nervous glance back at me as she closed the door. I looked at the clock in disbelief—it was seven minutes past two. How could that be?
You may not know this, but shrinks have shrinks and Anton was mine. I knew nothing more about Anton than I knew ten years ago when I first began seeing him—sixty years old, unmarried and an ex-Jesuit priest.
But he saw me within the hour.
“You were fortunate, Martin. I’ve dealt with these cases before and believe me, you were very fortunate.”
“What the hell happened, Anton?”
“You’re not a believer, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Well, suffice it to say, you stared into the abyss and it stared back.”
I stared at him, incredulous“Are you saying the man is possessed?”
“We tend not to use that term, but demonized? Yes.”
“How do you know I didn’t just black out—suffer some transient ischemic event?”
“The time gap, Martin—don’t you remember? You saw them at two and awakened five minutes later, yet you sat and interviewed them for at least half an hour. There was only a one or two-minute interval before they left and Michele came in. How do you account for that?”
“I can’t. I feel like a UFO abductee.”
“I’m not surprised. The experience of time loss is very disconcerting.”
“Look, I’m a psychiatrist—I should be able deal with this.”
“You deal with the mind and you do an excellent job. Unfortunately, Martin, spiritual realities are outside your realm of expertise.
In future, send suspected cases to me—don’t try to be a lone ranger—in this realm you are totally ill-equipped and defenseless.”
I thought a lot about what Anton said. I tried to contact the Salomon’s but was unable to reach them—I suspected as much.
I’m still not convinced about what happened in my office and I can’t get as far as to accept Anton’s version of things.
One thing I will say—I no longer counsel cases of a spiritual nature—I send these to Anton.
As for me, I’m slowly recovering and trying to keep things in perspective, but when I go to sleep at night, the light stays on.
#bilpcoin #bpc exposed #buildawhalescam #buildawhalefarm #themarkymarkscam #themarkymarkfarm #hurtlockerscam #hurtlockerfarm #acidyoscam #acidyofarm #jacobtothescam #hivepopescam
@jacobtothe The ledger doesn't lie, and neither do we. We've already exposed the interconnected web of your friends—the numbered wallets, the synchronized voting, the farming rings disguised as curation. Yet, instead of reflection, you offer only more silence and more downvotes.
Why does a "community" need so many ghost accounts to survive? Why do you refuse to admit that it is your friends and your own abusive behavior—not truth-telling—that drives people away? You can not hide the pattern, it only highlights the desperation.
We have to ask: Are you okay? Do you need some help with your mental health? Because no one in their right mind would choose to spend their life defending a house of cards built on lies, bullying, and botnets. There is still time to step back from the edge. Choose clarity over compulsion. Choose truth over the tribe.
#bilpcoin
The Sanctuary of the Builder: A Manifesto for Free Creation
Prologue: The Right to Rise
There is a sacred covenant between the creator and the soil upon which they build. It is the promise that if you plant a seed with honest hands, the earth will not conspire to crush it before it breaks the surface. It is the assurance that the gardener exists to nurture the growth, not to trample the sprout because it does not yet resemble the tree.
On the blockchain, this covenant has been broken.
We have witnessed a tragedy where the very tools meant to protect the integrity of the network—the downvote, the curation trail—have been weaponized by leviathans of power. These "whales," entrusted with the stewardship of the ecosystem, have become its jailers. They do not prune the weeds; they scorch the earth. They do not guide the new voice; they silence it with the crushing weight of their accumulated capital.
It is time to leave the shadow.
It is time to build where you are free.
I. The Betrayal of the Guardian
The downvote was conceived as a shield—a delicate instrument to deflect spam, to repel malice, to preserve the sanctity of the commons. It was never intended to be a hammer.
Yet, look at what has come to pass. The whales, those who hold the greatest sway, have turned the shield into a weapon of mass suppression. They do not downvote to protect; they downvote to dominate. They do not drive away the bad actors; they drive away the people. They create an atmosphere of fear where the creator hesitates to speak, fearing that a single misstep, a single unpopular truth, will summon the wrath of the oligarchy.
When the guardian becomes the predator, the flock must flee.
To build in such a place is to build on a fault line. It is to invest your soul in a garden where the owner holds the shears not to shape the hedge, but to decapitate the flowers that grow too tall or bloom in the wrong color.
This is not protection. This is tyranny disguised as curation.
II. The Call to New Grounds
Where, then, shall the builder go?
You must seek the lands where the soil is rich with freedom, not poisoned by fear. You must migrate to the platforms where the mechanism of suppression has been removed, where the only metric of success is the genuine appreciation of your peers.
Go to Blurt.
Here, the downvote button does not exist. There is no tool to crush your voice. There is only the upvote, the comment, the share. Here, value is created by addition, not subtraction. The whale cannot sink your ship, for there are no torpedoes in these waters. You are free to build, free to fail, and free to succeed on the merit of your work alone.
Return to Steemit.
In this older ground, the downvote remains, but it has not been twisted into a tool of systematic oppression. The culture there remembers the original intent: correction, not destruction. It is a place where the community self-regulates through dialogue, not through the brute force of coordinated downvoting cascades.
Build where the wind lifts you, not where the gale seeks to tear you down.
III. The Architecture of Freedom
Imagine a platform designed not for the convenience of the powerful, but for the dignity of the creator.
This is not a dream. It is a choice.
Every time you choose to build on a platform that respects your agency, you cast a vote for the future of the internet. Every time you refuse to tolerate the abuse of power, you strengthen the foundation of a free society.
Do not let the whales convince you that their oppression is necessary. Do not let them tell you that their downvotes are for your own good. The gardener who kills the seedling does not love the garden; he loves only his own control over it.
Epilogue: The Unchained Creator
The blockchain was born from a desire for freedom. It was forged in the fire of resistance against centralized control. Let us not forget that origin.
If the current chains of Hive have become heavy with the weight of abusive downvotes, then break them. Forge new links. Build new shores.
Build where you are free.
Build where you will not be downvoted into silence.
Build where the whales are reminded that they are part of the ocean, not the masters of the tide.
The future belongs to those who dare to create without fear. Go forth, and build your cathedral in the sunlight.
— Bilpcoin: We expose the truth, so you can build upon it.
#FreeSpeech #BlurtBlog #Steemit #NoDownvote #CreatorRights #HiveExodus #Decentralization #BuildFree #AntiCensorship #Bilpcoin
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