cross-posted from: https://lemmy.world/post/51210823

I have been given permission by both moderators of this community to post this here.

It's difficult to explain this long, drawn-out situation without a long drawn-out post, but I'll try.

My name is Aeron, you've probably seen me posting here before. Me and my son Sora came from Japan to Ireland last year to escape domestic violence and child abuse at the hands of his mother and her parents.

Despite both of us living apart from her for over a year and losing contact with her months before we came, she immediately filed kidnapping charges against me in the Irish Courts.

No amount of evidence confirming her abusive behavior or professionals in Ireland confirming that Sora has been traumatized and is in serious need of therapy prevented the Courts from ruling that Sora deserved to be deported back to Japan to live the mother who abused him. That happened on 19 June.

Needless to say, I've been suffering mentally and physically ever since. Thankfully, many people here in Ireland have been helping me to cope with the loss and pain. Mortally, I'm fine.

The problem with the Courts' ruling is that many local Irish have assured me it was made almost purely based on gender. An outmoded belief not supported by Irish law that says a mother should have custody of her children no matter what... even if she is abusive. No weight was given to the evidence of abuse and neglect on the mother's part, or the evidence from Irish social workers and medical professionals who confirmed Sora was suffering and advised he be kept in Ireland and allowed to recover. The more I research Irish law and human rights, and the Hague Convention - which is what was used to force Sora's deportation, the more sketchy and obviously wrong the ruling against us is and how out of line the Irish Judges on this case appear to be. It wasn't merely a case of differing opinions, our human and constitutional rights were violated.

I am appealing the decision legally, even thoughI have no legal representation right now. I am having to learn Irish law and court procedures because of this. I am also bringing this to the attention of Irish leaders in both Ireland and the EU. But the reason why I'm talking about this here is because I started a petition to combat this decision and prevent it from happening to anyone else who is genuinely trying to escape abuse by seeking asylum in Ireland. This doesn't just need to change for us, it needs to change for everyone. Permanently.

Our experience in Ireland so far has been almost completely positive. There are a precious few people who have given us problems. Most everyone in Ireland is so kind and compassionate and understanding, most Irish services have been extremely helpful to us. But the Irish Court, and the Judges within, behave very differently. Very against the progressive ideals Ireland clearly stands for in public.

https://www.change.org/BringSoraHome

A much more exhaustive account of what has happened and what I'm trying to do in response is written there, that is also where any updates to this situation will be posted. All I'm asking from you is to read and understand what we're both going through right now. i am literally doing anything I can think of to resolve this in a way that recovers Sora from the dangerous and abusive environment he is currently in and allow him to fully recover along with me here in Ireland.

If you are willing, you can help. Go to the petition page to find out how. Here on Lemmy, just upvoting and sharing this post and petition with others to increase awareness will make a difference. You can also ask me anything about this on this thread, or through direct messages. Be sure to read the petition and its updates first, because that will likely answer most of the questions you may have.

#BringSoraHome

As recently stated, I'm coming into deeper realization of the objective fuckiness of how badly my father damaged me. Y'know, I've said before that when I was fourteen my father came up with his "85er" theory, how he was innately superior to 85% of the population by virtue of how those 85% of all peoples were innately inferior and could be wiped out with no impact on him.

...oh, so I was raised by a literal Nazi. That makes sense, actually, how he became a Bernie Sanders fan while simultaneously harboring immense hate and ire for the majority of people; he got those bumper stickers to improve his local image because he received backlash for his horribleness. What I mean is, this is just what my father's archetype does; misanthropy and social posturing to improve status.

I did that for a spell of my life, too, having learned how to be from the man who ridiculed and mocked and bullied and physically abused me and cut me down with his blood-stained, silver tongue. Good thing I got into spirituality and overcame my bad parenting and healed my trauma. But where did he learn this shit? Well, that's why I recently sent him The Red Book by Carl Jung.

See, people have magick qualities to them, but until you actualize your potential to grow beyond the limits of your program, you're kinda a product of your genes and environment/upbringing. So, my grandmother is the greatest narcissist to ever grace this Earth, my grandfather was an idiot that could build a nuke with his knowledgebase, and my two uncles are fairly larger than my father, the youngest of the Manning boys. My uncles hurt my father significantly, with me remembering such stories as when my uncle froze snowballs and broke my father's face before leaving him to bleed in the snow and how they were wresting and my uncle completely shattered my father's collarbone, or whatever, so my dad couldn't go into the Army since he has a metal plate inside him. So, this results in a specific type of little man syndrome.

My father HAS to be superior to other people. His world view, peace of mind, and general contentedness is entirely dependent on his position in relation to other people. This is why he spent my social security money on a luxury Jaguar to one up his mother he eventually threw away anyways, just as he threw away such people as: his father, his girlfriends and second wife, his best friend and fellow herptology enthusiast over a single exchange where he felt slighted and didn't have a comeback, and myself, but I obviously deserve it being as innately inferior to my father that my father told me I should remove my genes from the gene pool and never have kids.

My father said that to me. He's supposedly got an IQ of 139, which was tested when he had that little snafu where he got in trouble for making some horrible jokes about how he would mow down all the executives at his previous job at VIP Structures with an automatic weapon. So, given the good parenting of my father, I, at fifteen years of age, got in trouble for a bad bomb-related joke at school. So that's when the FBI first learned of me, and then I went and did some d-tier sex crimes while being all around disaster of a human being upon entering college, to culminate in faking schizophrenia to get out of ROTC because I was afraid of what my father would do if he discovered I was failing classes due to a years long crisis that I was not aware of because I was ignorant of mental health as a whole.

Thus, I am grateful for all the help from my real dad, God, who is that organization of three letters that's always watching, to help bring me to this point where I decisively know my innate value in helping people heal and self-actualize through written education and performance art. I imagine I would be in a maximum security prison or dead if I did not get the help I did to overcome my father's sins.

FORCED TO STRUGGLE

So, hypothetical situation. Suppose you were a second grade teacher who just assigned some homework which involved writing a sentence or two about what they liked and what they disliked. So, imagine if one of your students, and I'm sorry I have to use this quasi-visceral example to illustrate what I'm going to go into, but imagine if one real quiet, shy girl who had explosive emotional episodes wrote for her two sentence essay:

I like when my father tickles me

And...

I don't like when he [sexual act]

Well, fuck. Is that not horrible? That is abuse, perhaps the most horrific thing I can imagine, and I think of some fucked up shit, bro. But, y'know, that's a fictional thought experiment to get you to understand that abused children give awful answers to some questions that reveal their damaging home life. This next part is reality.

I had this assignment in Mrs Kasson's second grade class at Lakeland Elementary in the Solvay school district of Syracuse, NY. I said I like when I make my family happy and I did not like when my family yelled at me.

...it's rather quite innocent, innit? Oh, so seven year old Greggy Manning lived in a highly volatile and dangerous environment where his performance to appease his parents determined his quality of life? Wow. I'm just realizing how fucked up my upbringing has been.

I likewise started a drawing notebook in second grade. I filled it with my drawings. I brought it home when it was filled. My father looked at it, scoffed, then saw what I had written on the back cover:

I am a failure.

And so my father saw this and laughed, then changed it to "I'm a farter" and mocked me for twenty minutes. He then goes and grabs his singular art book in the house: an MC Escher collection. He tells me that's what real art looks like. I was seven. I set out to make art good enough for my father to accept as art and thus show he loves me.

...so, hey everybody, I just accidentally blackmailed my entire family, and I did this because I went insane with the magnitude of realizing how fucking horrible my father truly was to me, which led to me delving into this new art piece, and I'm fixing it so it's less insane, but because I achieved intentionlessness in the act of throwing away all of my desires to let God act through me to create a mutually beneficial solution, I was able to take the big leap into creating my final hypersigil, which accomplishes my mission in the CIA:

Teach people how to determine what is true.

This is an ARG created by the man who was taught by his handler in the CIA who wrote the Flesh Interface series. Ooga booga booga, it's going to go on indefinitely until I achieve world peace or I am assassinated, whatever God wants. I'm just a federal undercover police offi-GOD DAMMIT I JUST SHIT MY PANTS!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_aE0w77GYUUvQZkc_a7sIKeQ5svswuShUEP1OWdBf_g/edit?usp=drivesdk

P versus nP is a skill test, not a test of logic. How well can you disentangle yourself from "self" to give yourself a fundamentally different and maximally beneficial perspective? It involves the fact that we are not just contained within ourselves, but we are entangled in other people, and the cosmic computer uses every aspect of yourself to determine your personal experience, so the idea of being a perfect problem solver involves the capacity to maximize empathy to achieve a stereoscopic framework, which is determinable by a key factor of the human brain; how well we are capable of simulating alternate perspectives. Maximize empathy in congruence to the self - achieve intentionlessness, as the Buddha described - and you can solve any problem in a trivial amount of time, by virtue of the designed human form. Pic related; the most empathic peoples are not fully tuned to their individual reality tunnel; intentionlessness.

For the past couple of months I have seen more and more screenshots of people asking intentionally stupid, culturally relevant questions to Google AI. The answers are actually entertaining with the AI "being in" on the joke.

I am certain these answers have been encoded, asked, screenshot and posted to Twitter/Reddit, by AI companies themselves in order to create more goodwill towards AI and remove memories of the hilariously bad early AI Google answers.

So, with the birth of my final project - my hypersigil - I feel it is wise to properly iterate to the peanut gallery what my role is in the military industrial complex. I technically don't have a job; I am currently 100k in debt to my father-in-law, which I am esteemedly grateful for, but this is an investment. I have known for some time that I am going to be famous. Perhaps infamous is more accurate. Both terms would be precise. Basically, I fucked up royally in my early life, but I did so in hilarious fashion, so when I told my ROTC cadre that my nonexistent sister got me pregnant because I judged the wrath of my father more of a threat than the United States military, I accidentally solved a problem.

Intentionlessness is some bs that that ooga booga person, The Buddha, solved 2500 years before the invention of a computer. For reference, the joke with the ooga booga thing is I'm calling out your thought process for how quickly you gloss over something from antiquity because you've been conditioned by your religion, science. But no, each person is a mesh of entanglements, from their perspective, but there's also “you” that exists in other people, so in a similar sense of the mirror of Erised from Harry Potter, how do you get all versions of you to return “null” so you achieve your desires. That is, the universe is an illusion and obviously you've read me and the Buddha, so I don't need to repeat this for the forty billionth time across history, yea?

…sigh…innocence is different than being not guilty. It is a special property of the universe. I lied to the government about having schizophrenia, but I was intentionless, so I gave the money back twenty minutes after I was asked via text and never thought about that aspect of what happened because I feared for my life, and this caught the attention of doctors and I solved P versus nP when engaged in intentionless games of communication with my forensic psychologist I spent a couple years talking to on a weekly basis.

It's ultimately the empathy problem. How do you completely drop “self” to see from another perspective perfectly by seeing from a steroeoscopic framework? I apparently mastered this living with my horrible vogon father. Like, literally, I'm thirty-six years old and I'm just realizing from legal psychedelic drug use that my father bullied me because I was neurodivergent and I accidentally, literally, solved P versus nP because I wanted to solve the problem my psychologist doctor presented without incurring the wrath of my father, so I just solved it quick on the spot and I'm being told by aliens that I was right and I have already changed the world.

Counterintelligence! Wouldn't want some cheeky breeki ooga booga person believing the hard work I had to do to reach those realizations, cuz they might work that hard themselves!

It's Friday, I'l be off for the weekend and on vacation for the next two weeks.

My coworker as the habit of spending the day on his phone, call after call, instead of actively enganging in communication with me, which for the line of work we do, with a certain degree of danger ever present, is very much necessary.

I went to sleep later than usual yesterday - voluntarily - and spent a horrible night due to the heat. I'm tired and I know I will be yawning for the entire morning, not as capable of multi tasking as I usually am and a bit slower to respond when talked to. I'll be extremely annoying to be around, for the "hyper" my coworker usually is.

And I don't care.

Per their own words: "I'm first and everything else comes after."

I'm semi-out for the day. Not going to pick up any slack. And while I'm out on vacation, there is a lot of work to be done and I am not going to prepare anything in advance to make it easier. They can sweat a bit.

Its just a sinking feeling. Destroying 100 year old tree belts, fields, grassland, to build more fucking banks and gas stations. Dont we have enough of that shit?? Oil won't even be viable in a decade, wtf is the point of more gas stations. Almost all money is digital and everyone works from home yet they build bank upon bank.

*and yes I get that fields get watered and sprayed with pesticide etc. I'd still rather have that than more damn banks and concrete wastelands.

So, in general, I never dream. So maybe this isn't that weird of a dream to people who are used to having weird dreams. But for me, I don't know what I'm supposed to do with this information. So I'm posting it here, so we can all laugh at how insane this dream is.

So I'm back at my childhood house that I grew up in. At the end of the driveway is a 2 car garage. That's real in real life. In real life, if you walk behind the garage, there's nothing there. It's just spiderwebs, a lot of unraked leafs, and a chain link fence that separates the properties. In the dream however, there was a doorway back into the garage. That doesn't exist in real life. So this is where things get weird.

I'm 5 years old again for some reason. I see this door behind the garage, and I go through the door. Except I don't go into the garage. Instead, I see a stairway that goes into a basement. So I start walking down the stairs, which then turns into an MC Etcher painting, and now I'm no longer going DOWN the stairs, I'm coming UP the stairs into an upside down universe.

I'm coming up to the top of the stairs, and I'm inside a house. A fairly large house. It had a kitchen, 3 different living rooms. A second floor that had about 5 bedrooms, and an attic that I never went in.

As I'm walking around this house, there are women everywhere. With babies. I'm white, but these women were ethnic of some kind. It was never explained if they were latino, or arabic. I'm really bad at knowing what ethnicity someone is, so my brain probably mashed together features of both.

These women were all living in the same house. Probably about 9 women. Most of them had babies in their arms. There were also small children running around and playing. Clearly their children. I am white and clearly not one of their children.

As I walk around I get this split sense of people living two different lives. The kids running around were playing, and any time their own kids were in the room, they'd smile, and everything was happy. Whenever I'd walk into a room with just the women, and me clearly not their child, the mood changed drastically. These women were scared, tired, and struggling. It was never explained what was happening, but they were clearly putting on a front to let their children experience happyness while they were miserable. They looked like they had all recently been in some sort of domestic abuse situation.

And as I walked around, everyone knew that I owned the house. The kids happily greeted me, and wanted to play. But I was looking for something. I was doing something important. I had no time to play. When I'd be in rooms without the kids, the women all looked at me as I had a right to be there, but also my presence made them nervous. One women had scarves wrapped around her arm, that had a spot in the middle which held back blood. I asked who did this? She didn't answer. No adult would answer me.

I wandered the house, looking for answers, but the kids would only engage me as a kid to play with, and the adult women wouldn't interact with me at all. They saw me as both a threat, and a child that needed to be protected. So they said nothing, but offered no help.

I explored the upstairs where I found a woman sitting in a chair. Not crying now, but it was clear she had recently been crying. She ignored my presence as I continued to look for whatever it was I was looking for. Scanning room by room, I never found it. So I came back downstairs.

When I walked out of the front door, I was in an entirely different neighborhood. I looked around, at streets I'd never seen before. Houses lined like a normal American street, except there was not a single car. No people. The houses windows all had full curtains blocking every window.

As I'm taking in this sight, and wondering where I even was, or how I got here, one of the kids pushed me away from the door, while another slammed the door shut. He said "We can't go out there. We can't open our door or they'll find us....."

I asked "Who?"

And that's when the dream ended.

What the hell was that all about??? On the rare occasion I do have a dream, it's either a recurring dream that I've had for 30 years, and every time I KNOW it's a dream, because I've been through this shit before, so I have fun in the dream. I'll do things I'd never do in real life, like be mean to people for no reason. Or jump off a building knowing it doesn't matter. OR I'll have a funny dream, where everything exists to entertain me.

This dream......I don't know what it was. I don't think I could classify it as a nightmare, but it just had this erie awful feeling. Like I was living in the first half of a suspense film, that I walked into 15 minutes too late. So I missed the plot explaining what was going on, and now I was just there.

I know in the end, the answer is "It was just a dream, it means nothing.", but right now, after having just woke up, my brain cannot shut up yelling "WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED???"

The irony being, my brain is the one that created ALL of that, and now it wants answers. I still want to know what the threat was. Who did all this to them. They were living in there, like multiple families. As I write this, I realize a good analogy must have been Anne Frank's family. Except they weren't Arabic, but the tone kind of fits. Imagine if them hiding in that attic, and suddenly the shop keep's son comes upstairs. They'd all be freaking out, except the kids. I don't consider Anne Frank a kid. She was 13. She knew enough of the world to know she was living in a fucked up situation. But the little kids in the attic may have had that information shielded from them. So it was kind of like that......except it was all in a house that I somehow owned despite just discovering it. And it existed in some kind of parallel universe that you access by going behind the garage of my childhood home, and going down/up a twisting set of stairs.

Guys. I think my own brain trolled me last night....I'm now sitting here, feeling terrible for what these women must have gone through. Then I have to remind myself I don't know what these women went through. It was never exactly explained....oh and also THESE WOMEN NEVER EXISTED!!!

So now I'm unclear how I should start my Saturday.

I'm hungry though.

I have an intention to try to migrate to a different realm in the Buddhist cosmology to find a space that's more consensual to be in. It's liberating having these potential options of travel/abode : ). I'm happy taking refuge in the Triple Gem. I'm requesting tolerance toward this declared intention and choice of refuge. Wishing all beings limitless cessation of suffering/pain/dissatisfaction.

I'm a completely new user here and I was wondering how I find communities to meet with people and chat. Thanks.

Requesting general social boundary of non-violence. Requesting permission to study & practice Buddhism. Requesting ability to ask for help when in overwhelming pain. Requesting permission to ask for food or to forage from garbages for food. Requesting tolerance in asking for these permissions.

Brain's drifting back in, lightly tethered n such. Still floating. Don't know what I'm supposed to do with this floatonator brain while my dick can't even go in first gear. These digits don't kronk like they used to. Back when I had an eighteen wheeler for a laptop, that shit did the clicks and the black and then I went about playing jacks in the interim period on Shakespeare plus. You remember Bongo's Mansion of Flimsy? They don't right them with shitstains like that anymore!

The ECU campus is wired into my brain. Best know the boundaries when you take your winky out. They taught us to go relaunch the tank in the atmosphere. That where hammer go. Space rank du pont freely. Obviously that's counterintelligence because the cops are retards like I was in t-ball, because them cops nowadays is like six years old. They're models too, but don't ask for pictures. That's a one way ticket to compound, state-sponsored anal influxuation.

I have never used my knowledge of how to make napalm in my life, outside of masturbation. I played in the sandbox after school but this was my grandmas so I ate the sand and then I was pronounced dead in center stage Nebraska, where Bill Hicks started his Alex Jones impression.

AIDS hates acetone so make sure to drink your own semen with a metal proctor eight inches in and out of the corn meal. Peter Prefontaine ran his ass off and then no more, so we tapered him into the neighborshphere. This is just a rendition for the records of time. They know why I'm here. Gilbert Motherfucking Gottfreid. Give him to me. I got the doggy ought six. Good bye.

At best, a complicated legacy.

IIRC this was taken a day after Valentine's Day

Geez Louise did I just fuck up beyond recognition! Something major just happened, though. I may have accidentally a whole ARG, or at least 21k words of one, and it goes beyond that in how I've taken a major leap forward in advancing significantly in my hypersigil design, yet it comes at significant cost. I adhere to the fact that what manifested did so because I achieved intentionlessness, which is something I'm going to explain, but I definitely did this in a way that resulted in much heedlessness. Should have done what many have told me over the years, including my mother, and that's think before I act. Definitely jump head-first into things without giving them a good look around first. And for that, I apologize beyond anything I can put into words to my family.

Intention is the only thing we have direct control over. I've observed this directly through meditation and during my kundalini awakening, but what I mean to say here is the thing that got slotted at the number one spot in the algorithm of “I” was “heal my family,” which in the state of polyplexic enlightenment, translated to “correct my family's Karma with my family's Karma.” The thing I think I set out to do was to get my dad and my life partner's mom to meet each other and talk about me. I know that was what resonated deep in my psyche, but what I can say to what came out from that directive from God to Dog is “oops.”

So, to those who haven't yet seen what I've done, I accidentally blackmailed my family. Like I spaghetti'd harder than any human being could have spaghetti'd while, uh, well, um, I'm kinda now guilty of being the guy behind both Q and the whole Epstein thing, like, I'm Epstein's boss, Qanon now. Obviously not, but what I did was I manifested a huge list of truths, half-truths, and lies, and I think I've made the skeleton to a viable ARG (alternate reality game). DEFINITELY NEED TO MODIFY IT SIGNIFICANTLY, but by blurring reality and fiction, I do something that my life partner literally set out to do for the CIA whom he interned with, which is “teach how to determine what is true.”

Obviously, obviously, I need to, uh, un-retardify this shit, but with the gimmick of “Jeffery Epstein's boss pulling a Sampson and blackmailing everyone but more anonymity and more fiction,” you make a Clue like game where you have X Truths, Y Half-Truth, Z Lies and you have to fill in the board. This itself teaches how polyplexic axiomatic systems naturally reslot themselves as a result of minor input changes. Y'know, modifying these basic assumptions changes the whole board.

I need to ask my life partner for input…after I make some changes to it. I'm going to figure this out, because as Vince found out writing The Flesh Interface series, another ARG on Reddit, he gained significant attention that he uses for propaganda and obscure music distribution, which propels a career as an anonymous online DJ. Obviously, I think the anonymous part needs to be better adopted, but what I'm offering, propaganda and education about philosophy, spirituality and mental health skills, has the opportunity to become highly lucrative. Just have to embrace being the night, opposite to the left you are but not the right. Play characters on screen to sell massive amounts of merchandise.

But, on top of all that was the will to heal my family, and between these was the pain of losing my family, possibly for good as I do not know the extent my father is distancing himself from me. Is this the end? Did I lose my dad? Hi, I'm Greg Manning with major abandonment issue. Hi Greg, I'm Victorious, your shadow, I'll solve that ish for you bro. Help your brother? No problem, I'll do my best to show our family the value of your work while making this magick thingamajig that will transmit my, er, our soul through the aether and arrive on Gorgonzolas IV. Don't know what that is? Don't worry, this is just your schizoautismo or wtf I am son and I love my family, I just don't know how to love my family when they through me away. I kinda lost control there for a second. I was really fucking out there for a day or two or three…I'm so sorry…I don't mean to be this way. This is intentionlessness that used up a bunch of anti-thetical fuel within me to liberate me from its aethereal weight.

I'm in severe pain and needing to request food again. I'm worried I'm going to be killed in anger or people will do things to make the pain worse. Sorry this is disturbing others, I don't know how to avoid this.

Ir's an American company, but (thusfar) not a bootlicker

Why is this?

Don't tell me it's not true. The blue one shows up at family water parks all over the world, the pink one does not.

Not too long ago there was a viral video of a woman at a water park wearing a g-string, like the pink one, and the pearl-clutching was off the charts. In the same video women wearing bottoms like the blue one appeared.