Reporter’s Note | Ramola D | 11:11 am, May 2, 2025, 12:42 pm
I learned yesterday of Flora the Roman Goddess of Spring and Flowers and Chloris her Greek predecessor or equivalent. Earlier, maybe over the weekend I had stopped in at Delphi–online–via documentary and drone footage and image and podcast and felt the incredible power of the mountains, the pines, the trees, the layers and layers of Time. Before the Greeks that is, what people say when they say Greek and speak of Apollo and Dionysus, Hera and Zeus and Sophocles, Aristotle, the white marble of the Lovers at the Louvre. All over the world, people have lived before the Others arrived, the larger, beefier ones, with the Weapons and Crimes. Someone lived in those mountains once, among Nature and ferns, pines, rills of water, mountain skies. There were Flowers. The word “Pagan” is often used, for the Natives prior to their being-made-extinct. Yet their names, their habits, their powers are revived, with new names, new pretensions.
We are in the Time of Flowers–and before Gustav Klimt there was Botticelli–and so many more…and yes, like them, the greatest artists of all Time, we can all Draw, and Paint, and Garden, adoring Flowers, and those trillion and quadrillion-dollar industries need never Rise again…
Private Print Logs, May 1, 2025:
On 5/1/2025 at 7:54 PM, “Ramola D” <ramolad@hushmail.com> wrote/sent to self then:
12:02 pm:
RF pulse hits on nose and head, strange zombie-can slam sounds from in front. Behind, white streamers of chem trails again over the maples. I tried snapping one this morning with the laptop–dismal but strikingly odd to witness, with one’s own eyes.
At 11:45 am downstairs, standing briefly by the backdoor after putting some bread outside for the birds, Was hit at my heart. Watching those thin white spires rise above the maples, feeling an electrical hit at the heart. I moved inside. Either Chen Liming shed or Mazzeo shed, both armed with weaponry, and those nsEPs on the fence. Upstairs here in this room a few minutes ago, right side probed and hit by my ribcage seemingly on a nerve. I found a stone by the Art Room and slid it over that spot, feeling their stalking pulses come close as if to find it. These men use millimeter-wave privacy-intrusion through-wall attack weaponry to “see” people, and to see arms and legs, body parts, movement so they can stalk. They have “range-finders” now which use infra-red and millimeter-wave. Look on their Hunting Animal sites and you will see what the police have, the same intruments of Terror they use on innocent animals in their homes, in the forests. These men, these terrorists, who hunt and kill animals, who run wars and partake in wars, hunting and killing people–MEN–and the women who are conned to join the military–on the battlefield, even in their homes, saying they are soldiers, these men are here now, hunting and killing civilians with their range-finders and their MMW. As I saw Chen LiMing with my own eyes start to do, on the top step of that house next door–156 Pine–on September 4, 2024, when I stood alone outside on my front walk with a cherry tree branch in my hands and I turned and I saw him, holding two things in his hand, a seeming mirror like thing, pointed at me, adjusting, as if preparing to sharpshoot a cochlear implant into my left ear–another one, a new one that is, for there is one there already, sharpshot into me on December 21, 2013 I think, when the woman with the blonde ponytail and the big dog charged past me and then hit from across the park, Andrews Park in Milton–then, seeing my turning to look at him, backing furiously onto his porch and back into his house through the door on his haunches, a most peculiar and unforgettable sight: what spies from China, the Army, and DIA do, work on their hamstrings I suppose! The point is, the Chens and the Mazzeos both are Soldiers, who shouldn’t be here in our residential neighborhood with houses, where all expect privacy and sanctuary. Third Amendment: They need to go. Ditto the Streetlings there from the Pinester abode, freefall cover for the QDC-QPD crowd–who have that spring-green bike on their deck now, and a yellow rake fallen over and a red kids bike on that lawn.
At 11:35 am, I was by the sink, there was a very loud plane overhead. Before that at 10:33 am, I was outside by the small crab apple by the gate, the one which has grown up by the side of the house and is in pretty pink bloom still, when police sirens went crazy for one whole minute. I went inside to look at the time, it was 10:34. So it must have been 10:33 and why are they keeping these times? They are Destroying these times I think, for everyone, for they are throwing a fit in public, they are vibrating the air negatively, they are sending messages of Terror to all. We are in charge here is the message? They are not in charge here. There are Millions of us on the land now, living privately, and having declared our Living selves. It is the only way to stand against those who want to maintain Lies and Underwater Living. For they call the roads Inland Waterways. They wear Blue all over the place. A blue tub on a wall of a house up the hill in front this morning. A royal blue, maybe dark royal blue SUV pumping down the Norfolk Hill a few minutes ago. Bits of blue paper scattered in our back yard. A fuel tank truck driving past with soft blue on the sides. Yesterday the new Mergel woman in soft blue–closer to robin’s egg blue–running down her poolside all the way to the back of her house to line up in my field of view when I stepped onto the back deck.
Also more red; significantly one of those Cape Cod chairs in red parked in front of the parked car at very end of the Murphy drive this morning.
When I went out just now to put the bread and apple and raisins down for the birds–we have tree sparrows now, visiting and trilling and I want to build a small pond for them for they like streams and ponds and woodland–there were men in the back of 142 Pine speaking loudly in Chinese or some similar language. At least he wasn’t squawking and squalling like they made the Ngoan Chen woman do all year last year and until yesterday here too. Can she speak in a normal, calm, aware voice I wonder. Her awareness seems to be of her own self and her ability to yell. Maybe awareness of how foolishly compliant she has been will save her. To consent to attack the woman next door at her Vulva and Bladder and Nipples takes some extreme amount of stupidity; but: Military! They tell themselves, like drunk cockroaches. We are Military! And we can do Anything! Does she say, we are CCP and we can do anything, or is it we are US Army and DIA and we can do anything? She is CCP. She calls on Quincy Police at the drop of a hat….oh yes. This morning, I was speaking to myself, ruminating on Voice and Being English and how the very sound of my Voice in English has had the English bringing out their Rakes for my Brain. I was In-Voice, I forget whose. Some older wiser almost Maggie-Smith or the stones-in-speaking lady whose name I must get. [Sounds of big trucks in front, spider radar on pie pan–I need to move. 12:29 pm, 5/1/2025.] So, right after my two-minute kvetching by the sink where the window was open and the crab apple blooms filled the wire gauze, a drone flew close overhead. Did the Chens run for the phone? Please, God, she’s speaking! Too much Talking! Get her now with that helicopter! Or drone…
Sinister people. 12:31 pm.
Tiny thuds on the basting pan on my lap. RF pulses on my nose so it feels like 5G. I visited a couple windows just now. In back, silence and quiet and green leaves and then a black police-looking car climbing the hill, an odd whitish-silver set of vertical lines in front perhaps by the front window. In front, a quiet street after a truck seemed to pull away. More SUVS on top of the hill, and down the street a small red flashy car slowly coming into Pine. Nanobiosensor probe on the tip of my third finger. Was that RF probe sent from that car, slowly creeping along? It had stopped in the middle of the road–a frequent occurrence in these parts, cars just rolling to a total stop in the middle of the road, front and back, up the hill and down, any time of day–was he sending a lance of Probing to my finger then? He seemed to gain in confidence as he surged forward, still somewhat creeping and came up to the oak and past and did a U-turn in the Mazzeo drive and slowly went down the hill and away while I speculated on what that snazzy car might be–a Jaguar? A “red car–a Luciferian”? Seriously? This is DARPA-CIA-Freakcity testing Radar and Nanobio probes on my fingertips! Grab you and get you under in a hospital, stick you all over with nanobio, then come trawling by in daytime to whack your fingertips! Then U_TURN: Yes YOU have to U-turn–do it properly! U-Turn ALL THE WAY out of my existence! 12:44 pm, 5/1/2025.
And yes, I have had my breakfast. And ONE cup of coffee. Two would have me doing the Laundry–and I am not ready, just yet. 12:44 pm.
1:09 pm: Intense hearthit by stove. Used a small shield.
1:11 pm: Intense hearthit by washing-machine right after I flung the old dishcloths in with lavender-fragranced laundry detergent from Meyers and, I hope, switched it on. Ran for shielding. This was more intense–it was electric. Mazzeo side.
1:24 pm: Time now. Shielded and cowering. When I looked out the back window before I sat down, 2 white lines soaring into the quickly fogging-out sky: nano graphene and chalk, it looks like. The US Air Force, seeking to asphyxiate us all. 1:25 pm.
Watching Phil Miller from Declassified UK run after an Admiral–https://substack.com/@jonathancook/note/c-113314200–and ask him about the 500 UK spy flights over Gaza–they had better not bomb Gaza again–it’s clear the man is MI5–being red or gingerheaded and mustached and bearded, and being let alone by the mighty fit looking UK Policeman with the Lime Neon Taser striding along with the Admiral to keep the Press from attacking the Military Maestro–now I would have been quickly tased, so that can’t be journalism as Jonathan Cook notes in his Substack, that is Pressing along with MI5! It looks amusing though and I guess I need to check in to Declassified UK for some open querying of the Older Soldiers who wear hats and speak British English in the most off-putting way-_English! It’s all about English! And The English! Why didn’t I ever think about that before? I seem to have been remarkably Dense, for most of my Life!
Which it appears some local jokers want quite badly to Take.
Well, they CAN’T HAVE IT! MY LIFE IS MY OWN, AND I’M NOT GIVING IT AWAY! 1:29 pm.
2:27 pm: Blocked from Trump’s truthsocial:
Blocked on Edge, Chrome and Brave from reading this tweet on Truth Social: 2:29 pm. https://truthsocial.com/@realDonaldTrump/1
14333659248371323
3:03 pm: A very LOUD hit on the pan at my heart–over other steelware–Could only be the Mazzeos from their grille or garage-shed, operating through holes in shielding or a means of layered larceny from their bedrooms, laundry rooms, and grill as well. Pathetic freaks! I was reading a 2006 New York Times article written in a hushed whisper alleging that a “secret intelligence operation” involving a “Belgian cooperative” had unearthed all sorts of financial crime, and 6 trillion US dollars were involved! Not Euros, which makes it instantly ennuyante!. The very many diff brokerages, banks, auditing units etc, can be seen in bright fuchsia, in cartoon colors, with dollar signs on the outside of big sacks, each fulfilling one or the other ignominiously criminal functions in the mighty business of Stealing People’s Money–and Hiding it in Plain View–but not for you!!!
More whacky hits, 3:06 pm. Oh how the Mazzeos love me!
Absurd, she has become absurd! She is a Prime Candidate for our Lavender Intercept Terrorism! Please, God, can we have her head?
Failing which, they must attack my Heart, the next best Instrument, they believe, of Death! 3:07 pm.
I think the Luciferians want to tell me: No we don’t want you–except Dead! (Another hit on shielding at my heart prior to this line)–3:09 pm.
Meaning: They don’t want me to Include me with them! (That I do go for myself.)
Meaning: We want your head! Not you! (Impossible to separate, we’re Siamese Twins, trite but true.) 3:10 pm.
3:26 pm: Thud on top of the RR roll–and at my heart. Chinese men yelling again in Chinese, as if we’re all in China here, ploughing the paddy fields. Ever think this is an English-speaking country? Get your heads out of DHS-FBI-Command-Center-Crime and speak English!
I must say, it is most profoundly relieving to have come from Darbyshire. The train did take a while, there was so much scenery. We managed though, and now there are Blackbirds! I did see one. Perched on the pelargonium, most unusual, and with feet.
Below, we now have a Brush Pile. Steadily growing, for the QPD-QDC “authorities” from across the street have taken the 3 Yard Waste Cans we had. I can hardly keep spending money, buying more. Sigh. It is Organic Mulching now, and more. Piles of twigs now decorate the space beneath the wild Northeast cherry and the Powhatan Pelargonium. Birds no doubt find much to do there. 3:30 pm.
Constant whacks on that pan over my pancreas. The Mazzeos follow my every line with rapt and breathless appreciation?
Tiny thudhit at my heart. Yes! I think that was a Yes! 3:31 pm.
4:11 pm: Continued scuffling and attacks at my heart through shielding.
Around 4:30 pm: I heard a car door bang and went to the back window to see what manner of fiend had been attacking my heart. Clearly he had been sitting in his car and sending death hits upward. Nothing, for a moment.
Then a man in all black shorts and shirt emerged from the car and ran into the house. Stocky with black beard and hair, short like the others, with glasses for they need all their accoutrements on: stick-on beard, toothpicks, sneakers, etc. First time I’ve seen a black beard here though. Scruffy like the others, Jihadist style is Jihadist style. You’re Out if you can’t fit in.
Seemed young, in his 20s I thought. Happy go lucky bearded black fiend, sitting in his car, blasting at my heart with 10 kinds of RF HPM.
He Was Pink–don’t get me wrong: they’re all pink in these parts. What Shade of Pink is the question. Well, I wasn’t looking that closely. I have no glasses and I have no contacts on. This man didn’t have props sadly. Nothing blue or green or yellow to mark him by. Just his All-Black, like an Area 51 scout for Aliens. Yesterday I saw something though. Man in possibly blue and grey, waving a huge giant pink-coral-neon inflatable plastic thing about as he leapt into his house. They’re back to Props waving, really, Covert Comms–I’m not here, my colors speak for themselves–crap. How did “Crapola” become a thing I wonder. It does sound plausible. Crapola! Of course, hardly in relation to my name. Perhaps in relation to SD’s. Hers is the more memorable: MI5 must have had a field day with that one: Now, have we Investigated that DOKTOR Sharola? Oh yes, Sir, we did, soon as she set foot in Merrie Olde Englande. And where was her first point of Berth pray? Well she did disembark at Heathrow like the Rest. Yes, and where did she scuttle to next? St. John’s Wood, Sir, I believe, reports the minion, perhaps Intern, Accomplice, Pretender, whatever they call them. That is Astonishing, I must say. I agree Sir, most Admirable in fact! Oh yes, yes, absently, and then, and where is she now, that Sharola? Back home to her home grounds, I trust? No, no sir, actually, she has snared one of Them. Them? Well, which one? Kings College, says the petty clerk, unctuously. Yes, sad but true. She took him down! I’m sure, yes, no doubt that’s right. What did you say his name was?
Now There’s a One Act Play I could write! Unctuous British men and their even more sinister superiors! I am having a marvelous time really, imagining all that English!
Well, that coral pink. Frankly, these people could give you headaches if you dwelled too long on their colors. The woman stranger who showed up yelling again some time ago with her tulips brought Coral too. Scouting about I see all the colors of tulips and lavender in the “Sequential Intercept Model” which dreams fondly of throwing everyone in jail and getting them a Spych Label for Instant drugging. Coral-pink’s one of them.
The “Sequential Intercept Model”
Image from NCJA.org–a “National Criminal Justice Association”:– from a document everyone should read (Yes, coverage upcoming): cda224_c2d5900354b8480591c30f75a5d6c847.pdf/Coral pink in those boxes promising Specialty Courts and Jail in “Intercept 3”.
Explanations of “Psychosis” and “Schizophrenia” from the Lie-Makers at the DSM Factory for the Construction of “Mental Illness”/Images from a Powerpoint posted free online, link to follow. Yes, any one of us can Construct Imaginary Illnesses, and the DSM; and Medicos choosing to rule as Underworld Kings who train in Drug Use for Crowns in Psychiatry have. Words like “Psychosis” “Psychotic” and “Schizophrenia”–Terror-inducing words–have been devised to seal these constructs.
“Schizophrenia” for Mental Health Psychos is the delusory conviction of ray-shooting through-wall, which in fact has been happening for a few decades now, and can be laid at Police, Military, Intel, and Private doors.
So do our Men in Black next door believe if they stay here and keep swilling burgers off that grill on their back deck, calling Quincy Police anytime they catch sight of me, they’re going to get to sit here forever, feasting on my Head?
One is out there now, grilling. 6:18 pm.
I caught a glimpse of him at 6 pm as he waltzed in and out of that screen door, ladles in hand. This one is gingerhaired and stockier and older with a beginning bald spot on the back of his head. Obviously not the blackbearded one, who seemed to depart quickly enough, shortly after I saw him.
What is their purpose, one must ask, changing them out like this? Gone quick as mice after attempting seven kinds of heart conditions on my heart. No one to stop them.
“Delusional” labels and “psychotic” lies and “Schizoaffective” waiting right around the corner for anyone who stands up to Radio Assassins and their henchmen, the local Black-Clad Police.
Oh yes, in Quincy we can call anyone Delusional, Paranoid, Psychotic, and Schizoid and Schizophrenic at any time!
We’re in Crazyland in Quincy!
Crazy, shout the Chens (projected sound, 6:22 pm).
Doctor, is another favorite of theirs. And: Medical, Medical! Just like in India, where those who don’t speak English throw a few words at you they hope you’ll follow.
“Crazy” is a word they all use, the “Upper Class” when they want to put you down as a “Victim.”
So, thinking about this, yes, I guess one must conclude Amaya’s mother Abi was complicit. Crazy, she said to me, shortly after I was first hit, by Alex Steffan and Rosine Afshar and Sinead Walsh, in Adams, in 2013. What was that in relation to? I forget now, although I may have journalled about this earlier. It was morning, I was early dropping Sophie off, she was entering as I was leaving, she worked in the school, teaching yoga and working in Admin, such a nice, warm person altogether. But clearly she was in on it, with the rest of them. Small talk in the morning leads to her calling me Crazy, quite festively, to herself. Sudden “monitoring” by strange teachers by the door, as the mothers pulled up to drop their children off, lots and lots of close scrutinizing and lie-telling around the school, and all the moms dropping me all of a sudden. What kind of lies, I wonder. Was there a German plot afoot? For she was married to a German.
With that same name, Steffan.
Rustlings and hits at my heart, Mergels and Chens, 6:27 pm.
A CIA-Nazi-German plot for my head? You can’t say Nazi anymore in Boston or the USA I hear: why not? When “Concentration Camp” and “Concentration Camp Guards” are both appropriate. 6:31 pm.
Headache, knees hit, a smack-hit on top of my head where I drew the flashing up on my balaclava as the plane I heard approached–maybe a drone–a little while ago, downstairs, maybe a half-hour ago. Radar hits at my ribs now. 6:35 pm.
Past nine by the Gebundo house–the little blue one–near the end of the yard there, where I was propping the white trellis from the deck this morning, I was side-swiped on my left brain from that side: Liming shed, sheds beyond. Soldiers, casual in their use of neuroweaponry and RF weaponry used on the brain, which IS neuroweaponry. They use it to send precision hits to nerves, muscles, body parts. My right knee has been repeatedly hit by the Chens and Starsiak tenants until the bone can be felt now, as if raw and opened. “Pain” says Giordano, is my new subject. I am a Neuroethicist, but I will write a book about Pain. Robert Duncan and James Giordano are Terrorists. Yes I will write more about them. It is NOT ACCEPTABLE to open up an awning in our midst and pretend it is perfectly ok to harvest people–while pretending to be whistleblowers. For that’s the crux of it isn’t it. Black and white, yin and yang, dual-use–Hey I thought you knew! We’re both, we’re Two, we’re Two in One. We’re Satan and Christ both. Any Christians listening? I think a good solid Christian kick in the butt is in order here. Demons are not angels. Gods are not Satan. And Christ has a message for you: Try Buddhism.
There IS a Right thing to do and a Wrong Way.
Those who’ve taken the Wrong Way Will be swallowed up by the Giant Serpent! Yes, I can see this happening. In fact I saw it yesterday, and it was most reassuring. The Earth will open and swallow you whole is Right and I have seen that too. 6:42 pm.
7:34 pm: At 7:33 pm, there was a strange elephant-trumpet sort of sound behind, maybe a fire engine drum-siren of sorts.
At 7:22 pm, it was police sirens, whaanh whaaanh whaanh. That’s 11 at 2, on May 1, a 6 with a 9: a 9-11 and 6 or a 2-6-9 a 2-6 and an 8. But the 8 is not theirs and never can be. The 6 is not theirs either, it is over for them. This morning I saw the darkened heart, inverted, of a redbud leaf, I thought, and the word God, emerging on that dark. Outside the redbud trees are both in mauve, exquisite bloom. Tiny heart-shaped leaves, glossy green and reddish fresh have emerged on the slender one by the red climbing rose and the new mock orange. I need to take some pics. On the phone which doesn’t work as I enter this my 699th of captivity in the country of Massachusetts, which the English have captured. I understand they have picked off the natives, one by one. Sometimes with muskets. Smallpox blankets have to be a tall tale, there couldn’t have been that many to go around–they burned their villages down. They had bayonets. The people must have been peaceful. No way to defend themselves. The Spanish came here too–I have to read some history. Somebody did the killing and disappearing: Who was it?
Perhaps the Sumerians, running around the world with their Sacrifice Thinking–fooling the Jews, who still think Circumcision is a religious thing….sad misled Confidents.
[Yes I WILL write that one-act play!]
Noting here too that sharp loud hits on shielding at my heart sounded a minute or so ago–maybe 5. 7:45 pm now. From the sheds–Khazars on Norfolk, and someone revving on that hill like they can and should–it is dusk and twilight, birds are softly speaking, Go to sleep. 7:46 pm.
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On 5/2/2025 at 1:38 AM, “Ramola D” <ramolad@hushmail.com> wrote/Sent to self then:
8:16 pm: Crazed sound-throwing on panes in the bathroom. A second ago loud hit at the shield at my heart. Direction: Sheds–Chens, Mazzeos, Mergels, and the fancy gear at 147 Norfolk. And very loud blasting of zoomers up Pine.
8:00 pm: Standing at the front window upstairs I watched a few crazed drivers plunge up and down Pine and round the block and back again–SUVs, sedans, minivans, Fords, police vans, black, white, grey, tan–lights on, quite impossibly zooming, in the dark–looking for something? Maybe my Heart was on the Menu again and they couldn’t find it? Yesterday wild screeching by Kimby J or her stand-in. Loud blasthit again–8:19 pm. What is their problem? Thud on Shield on Mazzeo side, 8:20 pm.
I wonder if May 1 means something. Yahoo or maybe Bing announced it was World Jazz Day….perhaps something else too?
May 1 is Labor Day?–International Day for Labor–no, Worker’s Day.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_Day
Interesting pre-Christian festivals all over Europe. German influencing English.
But England surely is very old, ancient. And the English too–the Angles–
1:12 am: There have been continued root chakra hits all night, draining me of energy. Facial and nose hits especially downstairs at sink and stove, fixing dinner. Heart hits from Mergels and Chens–the backyards. They take it in turns,and they keep staying here, running their weapons-ops. Outside, cloud-machine clouds, curiously “mammatus” eclipsing hovercraft. Mazzeos whacking shielding, having missed my heart earlier. I can breathe a little today, having embraced Reflectix mostly.
I haven’t been able to complete my articles, which I’ll have to post later. But I’ve returned to Dancing, and surely I will soon have my Fabulous Figure again! {From just yesterday, I mean, before the Boston FBI came along with the Boston CIA and the Boston DHS and the Quincy Pond of Handholders and Communal Liars, Armed with Guns, desperate to make my acquaintance and write me up in their hopelessly criminal databases filled with lies as “Mentally Ill” so they could hand my brain over to the Darkest Dark Ops in the CIA and NSA and DARPA and DOJ and pretend they never did: Each one of them Makes Money from each such transaction. Every Body they procure for the other’s Gain is a body they keep making money from. Cash Cows are what we have become to these people, who call themselves Just Defending Intelligent Investigative Lawful Securing of Your Safety and Everyone’s. Their acts of Treason against us are turning in on them. Their bastions are crumbling, their fortresses dissolve. [Their feet, I’ve noticed, have separated from their calves. Spikes from their hair are surely flying off.] I await their complete removal from the world as we know it. It is after all a few hours after the Day of Flora and Chloris, of Spring Goddess flowers. We are in inflected space now, and the inflections are not theirs. I highly recommend everyone take up Sufi dancing and whirl about a bit, casting your intentions into the Wind. These crimes need to end stat. And dancing does make it happen. 1:28 am.
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Ramola D
Investigative Science and Technology, Features, Literary Journalist
Publisher & Editor, The Everyday Concerned Citizen, Delphi Quarterly, Pine Haven Press
Reporter, Ramola D Reports on Bitchute, Brighteon, Lbry, Odysee, Rumble
Author: For the Sake of the Boy, Temporary Lives, Invisible Season
Member, Reporters sans Frontieres, Holding the Line, Journalists Against Censorship
Creative Writing Faculty [The George Washington University, The Writer’s Center, Bethesda]
Telegram: Ramola D, RamolaDReportsNew
Thought makes the word come into power.–Edmond Jabes
–Edmond Jabes
