News Report | Ramola D | June 30th, 2025/Interrupted/Completed July 3, 2025, 11:48 pm, 11:53 pm/Note at end added July 4, 2025, 7:22 am
Last week, the two playing Cousin Nalini and Sister Sharola showed up again After the Notice to Family was published. [Their earlier exploits & pics are noted in Reporter’s Notes 100 and 101.]
Briefly: One set of women showed up Thursday afternoon, June 19, and sought entrance. They weren’t the same set who showed up later. The first set who showed up spoke only in Thamil except for a few words–the bit about needing to “take her credit card”–and the woman playing Nalini had a round face. The other one seemed darker than my sister, but turned lighter in skincolor–after the Mazzeos relayed my Thoughts to her perhaps–as she came round the side to take a picture. Then they returned on Friday evening–that was the day I took the pics of them, now in Reporter’s Note 100. They came back on Saturday and on Sunday as well, after my reports and my Notice to Family on Friday June 20th. The last time they came back they showed evidence of having read what I’d published.
Notice to Family: No Doctor Sister Nor MPH Cousin nor Any One Else Is Permitted to Visit Currently Without My Actual Spoken & Written Invitation/June 20th, 2025
They were dressed better, they said, shouting out this tantalizing information from the front yard. “We wore our best clothes,” said the one playing SD–who is a famous doctorista in the United Kingdom and must care deeply about her Reputation–but apparently not so much about mine. [What am I after all but a lowly Writer?]
It was evening again, Sunday evening, and they came by and yelled again from the front. I went down to the art room to take a look. Both were in jeans it looked like and tops–weren’t they hot? I didn’t stay for they had started to look up at the Art Room and point.
But I wanted to find out who they were. The Nalini one still looked like Nalini, a much younger version of her. The Sharola one also looked like her but younger. [Unless these two have been jogging on the beach and then running to hair salons overnight, these two are Not them, my actual cousin and sister.]
The C-Fake SD (C for Central, I am fairly certain these are CIA productions) came to the front door and started saying things about promising Papa she would come and visit and needing to see me so she could take a message back to him all is well.
I had written to my father and sent him a birthday card the week before. Why exactly would he need to rely on Her for news of me?
I didn’t say a word.
I was listening for her voice and I have to say this time she did the Voice slightly better than before, but not quite convincingly.
As a matter of fact: My sister WOULD NOT come to see me after her visit in December 2023–when she DID display ignorance of Emergency Department criminality (yes, Doctors dear: that is CRIME you are practicing in your EDs and ERs, and I am not going to stop writing about it) and DID call her pal Shubha and DID evince craven allegiance to her DOCTOR TRAINING in absolute, unvarnished IGNORANCE OF REALITY–because I let her know she could not. My NOTICE TO FAMILY also spelled this out in unmistakeable terms. Absolutely NO ONE but a LUNATIC run by a MAZZEO-CIA-MANIAC would disregard that Notice and come again to my house and start banging again on my Vintage Mailbox! Absolutely NO ONE.
And how did the Mazzeo-CIA club miss that Nalini and I are not on chatty friendly terms and she is absolutely not going to leave her snazzy job working for a Major Defense contractor in DC and come up to Boston and hang about for 4 days, begging to be let into my house–by yelling outside like a maniac?
Nalini has a name too, she is a MPH and an Ambrose, which in our family means something. My father’s eldest brother’s daughter, which means she has quite a Vision of who she is and why on earth would she stoop to coming here to see me without speaking to me, calling me, telling me she had a conference in Boston or whatever, first? And where is Ron, her fancy Irish-American husband?
Especially after the Moloch reunion in Myrtle Beach in–ok I forget, maybe 2017, I’ll have to look for my email to my US cousins who all fell for the (I imagine)”NSL”s then and engaged in weird Gangstalky things against me, and I DID THINK about keeping quiet about it, as my mother would say, but I COULDN’T, it is IMPOSSIBLE to pretend I am something I am NOT, and ended up WRITING To them all instead.
And there is NO WAY that my sister would come back with the intention of behaving like she did in 2013, with syringes in her backpack, seeking to Haldol me and call an ambulance and set in place another manic “Medical Grab for Brain” moment. I don’t know all that transpired in 2013 and she has still not answered my email with the 20 questions for her and Nalini. She cannot therefore speak to me. Not unless she sends me the truth in a letter or an email–and what is stopping her from writing me an explanatory, Please Forgive Me letter? USPS is still functioning. The CIA reads emails now through the envelope, and pre-reads and post-reads by steaming I am sure, so there should be no problem: she COULD send me a handwritten letter by Postal Mail. She COULD send me the truth of what she knows and has seen. For she has met a few of the clone-sister and Clone-brother duos as well.
But remember, the Nalini one did something very odd. After they both landed, on Thursday afternoon, they began to send voice messages to my answering machine on our landline. Nalini did not mention she had come with my sister (Because she hadn’t, and she wasn’t Nalini really.) Those messages were all about herself and just incidentally dropping by. [Then why persist, so many times?] Furthermore, she appeared to be learning things, from my Reporter’s Notes and Notices. Perhaps on the third night, the message from the hotel room went: I did try to call you last week before I came and the phone just keep ringing . [So she just came, anyway?] Then later, a message showed up with a pre-date from the week before: Hello, Ra mo la, it said chattily in Thanjavur Princess accents, chummy and Thamil (Panyaarams and Pongal dripping, in that voice). “I am just coming to Boston next week and I would love to see you. I am looking forward to it.” How clever is that FBI–sorry CIA–Nalini!
Voice morphing is definitely a thing, and they are taught to keep amping it up, over yon at Langley (and Harvard).
The one playing SD, who revealed herself the third day perhaps, with a phone call of her own, is not so good at it.
That last day they came by and walked around the house and up to the kitchen window and shouted, the one playing Nalini was quite noticeably assertive. You can yell at us if you like, she said, striding down our private way onto our front walk. Just come and open the door.
Now clearly she had been given my “mind read-out” from the Mazzeos. As if this is Nalini, I had thought idly to myself that first day, encountering the mumbling and low energy. Nalini has so much energy, she is the vocal kind, she would be just so much more buoyant.
And so she was, now.
The SD-player was oddly silent until she came to the front door herself. We have to tell Papa how you are, she lied, We have to see you!
The Nalini elaborated further on how hot it was and how SD was suffering heat exhaustion and I had to let them both in. Then she started saying things like she knew “my work helped some people.” This is close to what all the fakester spies playing “Victim” have said to me, some online, some to my face in a pre-podcast conversation. “You’ve helped thousands.” “Unknown to you, thousands.” A way of avoiding having to say “Journalist.” Or “Your journalism has exposed the Truth of what is happening, what the criminal Agencies and Police and complicit Doctors are doing–what they cannot do, and what they are going to be stopped from doing as their funds are rolled up and their contracts ripped away from them–they are going down in a Big Way because of Journalism–and Whistleblowing.”
Note, my work is what I apprised her of, and SD, and Shubha, back in 2013, my work Reading, and learning the Military and the Agencies were battering the people to death with Radio weapons–which is what I was being hit with too. The Reading progressed to writing, and I moved steadily back to Journalism as I sought to surface the subject and quell the attacks on me.
Now, “I know your work has helped some people”. As if, tired, she had to acknowledge I might have a distant point?
And why would she say this? She is attempting to mollify me into opening that door for her. Insistent: Please open the door. Open the door.
In the notes they left behind the day before and the day before: Please open the door so we can say hello.
And “Your cousin Nalini” signing off the letter telling me she had moved to Raleigh to be close to her daughter’s family. And what about Ron’s son’s family? None of my cousins has written me a letter signed that way. Would I need to be reminded they are my cousins?
This Nalini seemed younger, her voice younger, her Thamil accent unrecognizable. After a while, pauses as she came back to consult with the Sister one. Then back to the window again–I have an idea, she said, proceeding to elaborate. You can open the front door and stay on the porch. You don’t have to open the gate for us. We just want to see you. Does that sound good? Come, open the door! This went on in a harassive way for a bit. Meratifying. She was speaking to me as if I were her fifteen-year-old daughter who was locking her out for a week. Or fourteen. I was doing other things upstairs but kept hearing this for a while. And when were they going to leave?
They did, eventually. This last time they left a green apple on the metal shelf.
The night before it had been a red apple and some Christian literature from a bookshop in London. And some Indian goodies–mixture, ribbon pakoda, sweets from Arya Bhavan. The first day the laddus and a sultana cake–echostalking my soan papdi reports of sultanate confections, plausibly. Spies playing AI games are predictable. [The birds got the sultanas.] Notes written in a non-Sharola and non-Nalini hand. Voice mails left on the answering machine, saying the same thing. Neither sounding like Sharola and Nalini. In one, SD was eating and speaking. In the other, adenoidal like she had a cold. She couldn’t say my name right.
Well I must conclude they were not SD and Nalini. I wrote to them and a few other cousins and no one answered. Then a pretend Darren id. [Darren is married to Sharola.] Would I hear from Ron next? [Ron is married to Nalini.] A pretend Reuben id, saying things Reuben would not say to me. [Reuben is my younger brother–who frequently acts like I am his younger sister. But he has been cloned too.]
The first day they were here and left and I did not open the door two helicopters crossed over the house. This was the day the little boy across the street wore 12 on his blazer–or shirt and the hulking teenager-looking type across, from the Murphys, either playing Aidan or Aidan himself–that family may have been cloned for all I know–wore black over medical blue, giving me a heads-up re. what is going on, a sign that those two women were keen on ERs and strapping-down, not cousinship and sistership. A Heist had been planned–and yes, I saw it at the end, I must have sensed it early, I knew not to open that door.
***
When I think about this now, I see this was an elaborate Arrangement. Many were in on it. It was Fraud at its base, and Attempted Kidnapping and House Grab as well. Not to mention Credit Card Grab and Financial Invasion. It was an attempt to invade my privacy, to use strangers pretending to be my family, to force me into another “Section 12”–which is what the Mazzeos “want” and the Chen Limings “want” because they can want my Repeat Traumatizing and False-Psych-Labeling, they think?
Like other of these Set-ups and Psy Ops which have been continuously thrown my way here since April 2022, it appears that the Planners believed this was foolproof, I was going to fall for it.
Who would go to such lengths to study one’s family–stalk it really–and work on morphing their voices onto paid cutouts’? The CIA or the FBI? The CIA–and Mazzeos–have been working hard to attack me to disappear the writing and journalism. The FBI wrongfully watchlisted me and sold me into CIA Black Ops projects–and won’t remove me from their lists despite my asking them–and Governors and Mayors to.
They’re both culpable and I suggest they be dissolved and all their funding removed and given to MFAs (and MAs and MScs and PhDs and MBAs) so we can start our own Creative Writing & Art & Natural Science Centers and run creativity workshops for the next generation–who are being told there is no future here, Israeli spies and CIA freaks–and Dutch “testers”–are going to be studying their Brains for life while pointing Terror Radio weapons at their Bladders and other private parts–and blasting their backs with heat from Millimeter Wave Weapons while breaking their knees with Electrical Pulses from a pulse generator. They will turn gray at 30, they’re told, and many will succumb to cancer by 32. Radiation will drop their hair, and their chests may cave in too. This is the future the Agencies have planned, and the Military too, with its endless contracts, and it is absurd.
C-Fakes and Clones can be used against us and against each other–and that is what is going on today. Disguising voices–and mimicking others’–seems to be an acknowledged part of IARPA’s projects with its ART program; will they confess to setting up C-Fakes with voice morphing skills?
Letters to family regarding this and other matters are being maintained at Select Personal Letters to Family.
7:03 am, 7/4/2025: They almost didn’t let me finish writing this one. The white car the Mazzeos drive–with the “4” license plates–they have 2: 2SLP60 and 4SLP60, sneakily pretending to be 1–showed up at the very head of the drive and they proceeded to burn my back as I wrote from several directions. I realized I could not sleep downstairs on the couch, with all that MMW Burning going on. I went upstairs and finished the report. Just past midnight I switched off and I had already been hit. But the intense attack at my Core went on for a while. Intense, insane, Burning, Core hits. From both sides: Mazzeos and Chen Limings. What part of what I have published here has led them into such Insanity? When you have Bodyburn MMW weapons in your hands and installed in your car and on the sides of houses and can shoot upwards, downwards, and sideways, you apparently Lose Perspective. These people run Torture Operations without batting an eyelid–and American policemen and women are “protecting them” [pinprick on left thumb, 7:08 am]. I used my baking sheet pillows to shield as best I could and my Reiki hands over burning skin, I slept. Obviously there is some Major Disclosure here these freaks next door didn’t want me to publish.
I heard fireworks after I closed the laptop–as heard the past few nights. Midnight, and loud bangs.
A helicopter swept over the house at night I think and one came by early this morning–perhaps at exactly 3:33 am. I woke at 5:05 am and could recall the reverberation. Perhaps it was 4:44 am. It is the Fourth of July. I am going to spend some time with Prayer and Intention, I think. My Intention is for this incredible Spectrum of Crimes to be stopped, absolutely.
Last night, they spent some hours putting “Synth” into the room so they could project their Techno Ampo at peculiar low and high frequencies from household sounds so their “victims” they believe will rush around saying, The broom is talking. The water is talking. There are voices in the shower when I run the shower. VOICES are their desperate focus. They want people to report VOICES so they can be labeled “Delusional” and “Schizophrenic” in their Austrian-Skinner cult called “Psychiatry” where, if you are really really stupid in medical school–and college–you will rush to “Qualify” yourself. It’s an easy degree I’ve heard, and they mainly teach you about Drugs and Dosage. Also strapping down, and these days, exactly where to insert it, so the “Victim” faints and you can call the Security Guards to help you strap her down, then lie in the “Medical Record” about such a Combative Moment, it was.
Don’t forget the main point here though: Psychiatrists and the Voice-Experts: CIA Sound Technicians are working together to Make Voices Happen with Techno Techno. They have a 100 ways of doing it, and they are Obsessed. All that nice Italian money–or is it all just Fiat, Mint–goes directly into fattening those CIA coffers of VOICE TECHNOLOGY. They want people telling doctoras “I hear voices”, and TECHNO TECHNO has got to do it. This is what –among other things for they are Creative –they call “PSYCHOSIS.” They want a certain number of the populace labeled “Psychotic”: Dangereuse. That’s who they are, these Techno Criminals, and Everyone should be exposing them. 7:19 am, 7/4/2025
Happy July Fourth, 2025, America: We Must End This.
Of note, and to be repeated, so the criminally-behaving Kibbutz’ers in that Mazzeo house get it:
Notice Regarding Spouse-Impersonator and Mazzeo Crimes on Garden, Life, and Property, March 11, 2025
They have run a series of “scenarios” involving non-spouses and non-brothers and now non-cousins and non-sisters coming here to try to break into the house and “control” me–so my work doesn’t get done and they can, they think, silence the journalist.
No one is permitted to run simulations and war games on me, nor dangerous “scenarios” involving impersonators of any kind.
No one will be permitted to enter my house by showing up out of the blue and knocking on my door and demanding I open it. Family included. –Ramola D, 3:04 pm, July 4, 2025.
