Speechless

It is 1:30. It is with very heavy heart that I prepare myself, in vain, to drag myself over to Shayne's house. I have just tried to reach her on her mobile phone--impossible as usual, only Voice.

I tear myself away from my research on Phillis Wheatley, who was an ancestor of George Washington Carver. The darkness of this environment I live in here prevents me from having time to complete the research, as it did my research in mathematics, on magnetic bubble computers and fast digital Adders.

Not in. And no sign of life. Coincidentally, someone walks up to the building just the moment I am there. We stare speechlessly and intensely at each other. She snaps her head and turns the key and I resume ringing Shayne's bell.

After returning home, a huge argument breaks out with her father. I say, "There never was a year (before this last year) when Shayne didn't come over for at least ten minutes during the Xmas season." Her father has decided to see "nothing going on" and to clear himself of the scandal and ordeal by accusing me of being "paranoid," while very loudly and excitedly evocating the social workers to come back and to interview me. He claims to know why Shayne is never home. "She won't come back, until I have the social workers come and examine you!" he screams. "She told me that she wouldn't come over here again, until I have the social workers examine you."

A cowardly tactic and a brass lie.

Shayne had said to me, that she wouldn't come over to her father's house again, until the social workers tell her its okay. Which social workers? Apparently, the ones she spoke to when I was desperately looking for her during her "missing year." All along, the persons at Mentrum referred to conversations they had had with Shayne, but I told them I didn't believe them, as I never found her at home or could reach her on the telephone. Eventually, I assumed they had found her at her apartment, shortly after my petition to the police.

But for months, I could not find her at work or in her home. When we did see her at home in June (?), we saw her for only 20 minutes and she had friends (or assistants) helping her arrange her things in her house. We had bought over a large table with a center leaf. I helped her to assemble and move it and to put the leaf in the middle. But one of the friends objected to the table being opened all the way up. Obediently, Shayne put the leaf underneath. (The table has been removed and replaced by a small couch.--as seen through a crack in her curtain)

We saw her for one half hour and then in August we were informed by mobile phone from the airport that she was just about to step onto a plane to China. Since her return, I only glimpsed her one minute, as she opened the door. After her father parked the car, we rang the bell again, but she never opened the door. Although neither of us said anything about it at the time, deep in my heart, I knew that, despite all signs to the contrary, Shayne's behavior was a plea for help. Was she a hostage of some sort? Why hadn't she let us in?

This was about the umpteenth visit I had made to her house since her return from China. But again, on Dec. 24, no sign of life. Usually, I report what was odd about her house to Shayne's father and always the next attempted visit, the flaw would be remedied. The bike would be back outside the house or the shoes will have been rearranged differently or the mail would have been picked up off the floor or the curtain would be completely closed, so no more peeking in was possible. It was as if our at-home conversations (and even our thoughts) were continually being monitored. The "little elves" would listen to our complaints and then rearrange her quarters in such a way, that the complaint was no longer valid. Always, just like clockwork.

But it has occcured to me that they still made an error. Something was out of order at her house this last visit.

It should be mentioned that attempts to reach Shayne at her work have been made several times. It used to be easy and friendly to talk to colleagues of her, when I couldn't reach her by cell phone. But the year, it has become more and more difficult. First of all, there is no central office or authority usually. Secondly, the people are often rude and no longer offer assistance about her working hours. Her father went to the M---- in person and was treated rudely.

She told me in a brief phone conversation, when I reached after she arrived back from China, that she had a souvenir to give me and that she was going to work at the M ---B. After many weeks of not being able to reach her since then, I tried calling the M--B to locate her. They were helpful and told me that from the roster, she would be in the following week for an hour.

I called and certainly got someone who sounded like Shayne. "How can I reach you?" I asked. "I don't know" is what she answered. Her father also called the M---B but could not reach Shayne and he was told to try again the next day but he didn't.

I called the office the next day. I was told a day she would be in. Even though there was someone ringing the doorbell, I was determined not to be prevented in calling Shayne. Letting the doorbell ring, I dial the number and a voice similar to Shayne's answered and I said, "I would like to speak to Shayne!" Then the person said something to the affect, "But I am Shayne..." I said, "I would like to order..." But then the person said, "Don't call me at my work."

I called back and got a man and told him I was trying to reach Shayne. He said he would put me through. But after some minutes, the phone went dead. I called again and repeated my request, the man said, "Shayne is not in. The truth is, she is really not here." I said, "She really is not there? But I thought I heard a voice similar to hers. I want to order tickets." The man answered, "You want to order tickets? You can order tickets from me." "For what date?" "For the 26th." "For 3:00 in the afternoon?" "But," I objected, "I am put off. I want to order tickets from Shayne." "Yes. Tell Shayne I want to order tickets that is all."

I have tried to reach Shayne on her mobile unsuccessfully. She hasn't contacted me. I have just returned from her house, which looks unlived in.

Meanwhile, my visitors had left their card: "Mentrum."

Ever since a new technological solution appeared on the stage this decade, a number of problems have appeared in our lives: red-tape problems, money problems, missing person problems, lack of central laws and government problems. Yes, the Internet and the Call Centers. They have caused thousands of new grievances. After selling the Amsterdam University, the ING bank (and hence the Post Office), the stores, the mobile phone industry, etc. to China and installing Call Centers at the hub of every business concern, nothing has been the same.

It is my belief that a large part of the community here targeted Shayne and she suffered illegal seizures of her Postbank money, illegal deductions for charitable causes from her Postbank account. And so have I and probably many others.

The problem with Call Centers is that they leave a company unaccountable for any mistakes it makes. A consumer can never get through to the same person or even to the management. What is more, via the Call Centers, the costomers details are put into a system, easily accessible by many different persons. We have suffered unbelievably red-tape problems the last ten years. The "Call Center" construct also provides an opportunity for hackers to modify emails and telephone connections. One's navigation through the Internet can also be controlled via them.

I know from my personal research that some workers installed at the Postbank have a connection to the biowarfare departments of the universities in Holland. Following a clue from one of their letters, I discovered a webpage with the names and addresses of workers in biochemicals and biowarfare.

There are persons working at various institutions, like the universities, the banks and Post Offices and other places, all in league, to target an individual and to work together for the detriment of that person. Their deductions off bank statements are fairly easily verified completely unauthorized. Sadly to say, Amsterdam is a community of conspirators, doing this sort of crime altogether.

And where can one turn? On the Internet, there is information about reporting crimes of theft but no mention is made of crimes murder, kidnapping, hostage taking, impersonation, etc.

The cells at Mentrum may be modelled after the Philadelphia Experiment. Where is Xmas, with such things existing beside a law-abiding, civilian community?

If by some miracle, Shayne could still be alive, it would not erase the atmosphere of conspiracy, provocation, deliberate threats, suggestions and aggression used by the community here and the wider community of the media, Internet, etc. Up to now they have tested our responses and used them, only to improve their strategy and tactics. It is my belief, at the moment, that my daughter, Shayne, is, if not already deceased, in great danger as is the rest of us in her family. To me there can be no community more despicable than one like this that contrives, in mass, to harm a person and to prevent anyone from mourning her.

Shayne was born at home in Amsterdam, in a rascist environment, where ethnic cleansing has taken place around the clock, since 1988. Now at the end of this sad anniversary day of human tragedy, I know, that there has not been one day since Shayne's birth 25 years ago that the Dutch society, under CIA authority, did not fail to work for one end and one end alone: to make her birth as meaningless an event as possible. For twenty-five years the Dutch community has worked towards this end: To terminate her life in a hurtful way.

New World Order

In the Post Office yesterday, after the lifting of the Heathrow fog, a lot of English-speaking tourists are standing around. They look Dutch until they open their mouths. Also yesterday, on the media were the obligatory references to "Shayne" (Warner) and "Higgins" (bike) in a Xmas movie about polio, where a young boy sees his sibling die on Xmas Eve, before he could give her a magnificent angel doll he earned for her.
The reality of another Xmas without Shayne begins to sink in. The day before yesterday, two visitors from Mentrum (the padded cell facility) left their calling card and a note in my mailbox. It's been almost a year since I last talked to them. I was sent to be examined by them, I guess because I was so disfigured and because I said in Dutch to the police "The walls have ears."
Their facility gives me nightmares. It is something out of the "X-Files" inventory. At night I can't sleep, imagining how a person could be thrown in a cell and completely evaporized or gassed or freeze-dried without anyone knowing. Is this the reason we are kept in quarantine, isolated from our daughter, and the outside world? Is this the reason many of the packages sent to me from my mother (two T-Shirts, a coat, plus others) are held up indefinitely by Customs?
What is more, I also fear picking up and breathing in many biological agents within their facility.
My recurring nightmare is that my daughter, Shayne, has been killed and may be buried in the walled garden, which glass doors from her bedroom, lead directly onto.
Is she there? Content to be forgotten, while the whole world thinks her an ungrateful, spoiled child, when possibly her life could deliberately have been ended in a country, in which there are no longer any viable laws and order?
A new world order has come to Holland. And the boss of this order keeps his judgements to himself. If he is biased or extreem, there is no monitor to intercede for the target victim. He could not have come into such power without the help of millions of people who work for money alone and close their eyes to the laws and who are disinterested in the fate of others, etc.

Atlantis

The less I do, the more "they" work themselves up. Today they stormed the outside of this apartment building, took down the old street number sign and installed a street lamp onto the brickwork of the outside building, just beside our window. On the other wall of my living room, someone began drilling and pounding, putting in--who knows?-- a see through wall camera, perhaps? Most of the world is unaware of the type of innocent-looking technology they have these days to destroy people's lives. Coupled with Global Positioning apparatus and biological agents,* they can cause you to have exploding bosoms or paralyze you with pain. Most people don't know this. Only a case like that of the murdered Russian spy, Alexander Litvinenko, gives them a hint as to what might be going on.
When a similar light was installed a few years ago, next to boat house in front of our house, I was stabbed with pain, while sitting on the couch, looking at TV after a brief flash of whitish light emanating from the direction of the boathouse. This led eventually to a complete mutilation of my body, a technological beheading, which almost took my life.
Since then, I have heard about others who have suffered the instant, immediate, stabbing, unbearable pains in their stomachs or chest regions. In fact, a friend of my ex-husband apparently died of the effect.
Such technology is what ages people, causes impossible gain of weight, sudden pains and biological skin diseases, etc.

*The biological agents are microscopic insects--in all their multidudinous phases and metamorphoses.

The Ghost

A month later, I learned, over the cell phone, that Shayne had returned safely from her trip. I have only viewed her about one half hour, since her disappearance last September. It is impossible to reach her on her cell phone and there is no real sign of life at her address. In fact the whole neighborhood is deceptively unused. At night, when her father and I drove by to see if we might catch her in, we noticed that the surrounding buildings and apartments are mostly unlit and apparently unoccupied. It's a neighborhood consisting of mostly time-share housing, and second or secondary homes.
I have visited her a total of about 12 times since seeing her briefly last June (?), and only twice did she answer the door, standing in it for a second, then closing it. For all these months, there has been no sign of real activity or life at her address. Quite a contrast to previously, when she could always be found at her address or someone there knew where she was.
I find the new neighborhood where she lives distinctly "hostile" This is because, whenever I ring her bell, various persons seem to have to come out and start talking real loud right beside me, even making comments about me, which I can overhear, such as: "Oh, the doorbell doesn't work. That's why she is tapping and calling." Once I had to worm my way through a chair party with a couple of barking and wrestling dogs. Then again, once at night, as her father let me out on the empty street, while he looked for a parking space, 4 men suddenly came up and stood beside me. "See, " I told her father, as he appeared around the corner and the 4 men dispersed into the gloom. "See how people gather around, when I'm ringing her bell?" Someone had turned a bare ceiling light on in Shayne's living room (the chandelier and her large table were apparently missing), we could determine this through the slight opening at the side of the closed curtain, but there was no sign of life inside the apartment.
Another time, recently, we tried to visit her again and I was depressed when I saw that the curtains had been closed in such a way that not even crack of light could shine through. I looked through the square of class at the top of her door and was disturbed when I saw that a pair of shoes had been placed deliberately and neatly in the front of the door but facing the inside of the house. It was very unnatural and deliberate-looking, as if someone had arranged them that way to give a sign to viewers peeking through her window.
Later, I knew why I had become so heavy and depressed. When they threw me into the airless cell with the video camera and (I have learned since) with the electromagnetic instrumentation built into the ceiling, I had had to walk across the concrete floor in my bare feet, as my boots were deposited in front of the door of the cell in just the same way as Shayne's shoes were poised in front of her door.