You triumph through “the blood of the Lamb and by the word of [your] testimony”, it promises in Revelation. In other words, you don’t need to sacrifice a child to Baal; the ultimate sacrifice has already been made. Nor do you need to wage legal war on the enemy; the principality owns the courts. No need to advance, no need to retreat: hold the line by telling the truth, which has a power of its own.
No matter how much the Bible has been massaged and modified over centuries to suit hidden agendas, it cannot help but reveal timeless wisdom. What immediately strikes me here is that my testimony can only be handwritten (typed!) by me. I cannot outsource it to generative AI. It is “the truth” insofar as it faithfully and accurately represents what I perceive and experience.
I woke today, after a broken night’s sleep, to the White House posting a video of plugs in the back of a TV, the analogue fuzz of a signal arriving, and the VCR-era “Channel 3” and “Channel 4” once used for gaming consoles. To someone steeped in the Q communications grammar, the encoded message is clear enough: a new signal is about to be plugged in, and normal programming displaced. The numbers appear anything but accidental: Q drop 34 and “My fellow Americans…” — the Republic restored.
Similar, if less urgent, hints at activation of the Emergency Broadcast System have circulated for weeks and months, likely surrounding the alleged 2020 election fraud as cover for an attempted coup. Inference and intuition tell me that whatever may be coming around the 25th anniversary of the 2001 attacks could be off-the-scale, with no preparation wholly adequate. Anons have been drilled for years: faked WW3 to get everyone home and wake the normies; collapse of the old system; destruction of its icons; revelation of a new financial system and hidden blessings for humanity.
I cannot, obviously, personally testify to the veracity of claimed plans by a multinational military alliance. My remit extends only to the message I perceive and its effects on my own life. The experience is an oxymoronic “joyful crushing”. On one side are endless tangible signs, as I see them, of a benevolent reset displacing a failed dystopian one. You don’t need to look far to see profound changes underway in the financial system, for instance. On the other is the daily lived reality of siege — albeit a perplexing and unusual one.
The category error is to compare conventional physical siege warfare directly with the invisible domain of cognitive battle. In a real sense, this is a meta-war: the covert machinery that organised and financed previous wars is itself being exposed and dismantled. Participants therefore have an unusual sense of the stakes, and of how much better things might become. The prize is multi-generational peace once the usury machine funding endless war is gone. None of which lessens the immediate pain and angst.
The public phase of this conflict did not really begin until 2016, with Donald Trump’s first candidacy for President — of whatever slightly ambiguous legal entity that office was by then occupying. Rumours circulate that the Lieber Code and Civil War-era martial-law arrangements never entirely came to an end. I certainly did not understand at the time the significance of what was unfolding. It was the self-evident sophistication of the Q drops in 2017–18, and their plausibly deniable synchrony with officialdom, that made the conflict — and Trump’s totemic leadership within it — legible to me.
By the summer of 2018, on holiday with my family at the Baltic seaside, I went “all in” with my best-effort synthesis of what was going down: WWG1WGA: The Greatest Communications Event In History. My task here is neither to defend nor deconstruct those past prognostications. What interests me, from a historian’s perspective, is the reaction they caused.
The obvious and immediate consequence was the end of my tech career. Once publicly “out” as a Trump supporter, I was 100% persona non grata. But perhaps more revealing was what happened in private.
One American friend wrote that I “support Trump and the Q people”, wrongly believing them a force for good that was patiently and lawfully displacing a corrupt system. I had apparently overlooked that Donald Trump was racist, misogynist and homophobic, while his administration was making life hell for disabled people.
What bothered my friend most was that “you are not bothered by all this”, while looking forward to some kind of awakening. No true awakening, I was told, could come from a racist, misogynist and homophobic leader hostile to diversity.
My article was “trying to make a point about people having their heads up their asses because they can’t believe the enormity of what’s going on”. Yet it was I who was ignoring important facts, notably Russia. How could I claim to understand events while failing to grasp Russia’s role?
The message closed:
Your behavior worries me. It has worried me for some time.
I hold no grudge. We have not spoken once in the eight years since. I offer this simply as an exemplar of what many of us faced socially: disagreement over propositions had already become concern about the person holding them.
I hear your anger and concern. I have a different perspective, as you know — and came to different conclusions. I believe your values are great ones, whilst I struggle to relate to the specific beliefs and data you are working from. For instance, Russia has a role — although not the one being pushed — and the real villain meddling in elections seems to be the British establishment. But that’s a longer story.
My best sense of the situation is that horrifying information is going to reach the public in the relatively near term (1-2 months) — including the truth of 9/11 by this autumn. We will all be grieving for lost icons and pained by betrayal, no matter what prior attachments or beliefs. It will perhaps provoke everyone to re-evaluate where they stand, and find more common ground.
In the meantime, I send you goodwill and best wishes from Lithuania.
Note the timescale: one to two months. How wrong I was! Even if I am eventually vindicated on the direction of the vector, I was massively wrong about its magnitude.
I did not know it then, but my cognitive backpack only held supplies for a short psychological siege, not one lasting eight years. I assumed the war would be over quickly once the new powers had publicly tipped their hand — however obliquely — as to a plan to save humanity from evil.
I had no conception of the scale of what we were confronting: a ruling cult born of ancient cataclysms, whose domination reached back millennia and, in its outermost telling, extended off-world, across species, and beyond time itself. “Bigger than you can possibly imagine” was — and perhaps remains — literally true.
“World War Weird” has been absolutely bizarre to live through — especially as a prominent member of the “peculiar forces” recruited into its digital militia.
I hardly need to state that the siege conditions intensified dramatically over 2020–21, with Covid lockdowns, medical tyranny, and deep societal fracturing. I was personally deplatformed over and over; to this day, I do not have a YouTube account. I await compensation from Mailchimp, Patreon, GetResponse, ActiveCampaign, Medium, Bandcamp, Amazon, ConvertKit, and Barnes & Noble for their past wrongdoing and participation in criminal schemes.
It was a terrifying period because I never quite knew how deep the world might sink. Predictions circulated of billions of short-term deaths.
That, thankfully, did not transpire. But the psychological injuries — even for those who bypassed or recovered from the bioweapon ones — are real and present. I struggle with long-term trauma. I dislike travelling far from the safety of home. My body remains in a kind of permanent fight-or-flight, and each contemporary reminder of an anticipated EBS activation triggers anxiety and self-protection.
I would love, for instance, to take a railway loop from near my home at Darlington: through Newcastle to Carlisle, down the famous Settle line, then home via Leeds. Yet the thought of being far away and dependent upon public transport is too much. I drive, or I don’t go. For years I have habitually filled the fuel tank on arriving home. Just in case.
Yet amid all that woe from real danger and repression, there was also solidarity among those resisting, with considerable sharing of resources and support. Each time I was deplatformed, I invited patriots to counter the economic attack by supporting me directly. It was a legitimate countermove: the enemy wants to starve me out, so help me shop at Waitrose instead.
They can denounce me in Newsweek, the Financial Times, and the Evening Standard, but they cannot take away my tiramisu and sun-dried tomatoes.
At that level, the experience could hardly be less like the starvation of Leningrad.
But at another level…
When you look at the history of the infamous Siege of Leningrad, the burdens were far from evenly spread. At one extreme were the elderly and those who lost access to rations through the death of family members. In the middle were factory workers; above them, privileged party members. Others had access to black markets, smuggled farm produce, stolen supplies, or useful connections. Nobody was having a party, but neither was everybody starving equally.
The “it had to be this way” election shock of 2020, where the fraud was “allowed” and tracked, was a profound psychological setback for many of us who had already spent years in a “push on through just one more day” mode of existence. Yet even this setback was, in its own way, time-bound by the four-year election cycle. We remained under a political and military-supervised siege, yes, but it was now obviously terminal in nature for the other side.
Yet this was also when the burdens began to diverge.
I could speak first of my own experience, but perhaps it is nobler to point to the whistleblower doctors, nurses, and care workers. I recently met one who watched her dementia patients being murdered by state protocols, and who has been professionally exiled ever since. Meanwhile, many others returned to business as usual: padding their savings and pensions, taking foreign holidays, and carrying on as though nothing fundamental had happened.
My own sense of persecution compounded mightily with what went down in a North Carolina family court in 2024–25, which I have documented extensively — to the point of driving away around 10% of my readers. The “QAnon” smear was imported into an otherwise unrelated custody matter, transforming the constitutional standing of the participants and providing court-endorsed cover for criminal conduct.
I still await remedy. I increasingly regard it as a Restoration matter, not a personal one.
The point is that where there were exigent circumstances and proven emergencies relating to shared concerns, it was still possible to make progress and find the resources necessary to continue life. The paradox of this siege is its “reverse Leningrad” nature — nearly everything intangible is being repressed, leaving at least basic access to heating, lighting, and food. It is absolutely real to those experiencing it, yet invisible to their own neighbours and family.
My 2018 correspondent, deeply brainwashed by propaganda, likely still believes the same tropes. We are dealing with cognitive prisoners of war, in a conflict whose terrain is conceptual and even metaphysical. Once you can see the mechanisms by which people are entrained into accepting evil, the resulting despair is hard to describe. Life becomes a long, slow, grinding grief for souls held captive by lies.
The present moment is marked by a near-total disparity between current circumstances and anticipated change. I struggle to make my rent each month while continuing to pay court costs. My water bill direct debit bounced, and I am considering simply not paying it any longer; they cannot cut me off, and I no longer care about my credit score. I have a large plastic bag stuffed with “souvenir” penalty charge notices for clean-air-zone-type quasi-fines that I likewise ignore; there is no money to pay them anyhow.
Don’t ask about my tax filings. I have suffered chronic taxnesia since Covid.
So life currently resembles comfortable peri-homelessness and pseudo-bankruptcy. I am a free man, and I will not voluntarily return to the debt-slavery system. I haven’t even responded to the state’s demand that I register for the electoral roll. Given past overt electoral fraud and mass treason, I do not consent to the present system of government.
Words like “pension” and “retirement” make me laugh. I physically could not make myself return to any kind of corporate job; I would rather sit outside and freeze or starve. Even the threat of imprisonment for non-compliance with “the system” barely fazes me. If it ever happens, it will be another life experience.
I don’t care any more, provided I harm nobody.
Once you see the fraud, murder, and even genocide, there is no going back. I pass no judgement on others who make necessary compromises. There is little honour in pointless martyrdom.
And yet, it can all change overnight.
On the bad days, I am motivated to keep going because I know it really annoys my enemies, and my collapse would only cheer them up. On better days, I can see how my work on the “safety case” for the legal system could have transformative societal benefits. No matter what great plans the “white hats” already have in place, my unusual personal background puts me in a position to make a genuine contribution to a brighter future.
One day you are struggling at the outer limit of your credit card ceiling; the next, all such debts are gone — along with the currencies they were denominated in. History would not look kindly upon anyone who persevered through years of siege only to give up voluntarily on the eve of liberation and prizes worthy of eternity. So you keep going, one day at a time, facing challenges as they become real rather than fighting imagined threats from the future.
I would have liked to be in London today for a wellness appointment. I cannot afford the travel, so it will be done virtually. It isn’t ideal, but neither is it the worst. The siege is permeable. Resources do dribble through. Support does turn up. Some escape to liberty. And the sense of final relief — of this thing actually ending — is palpable.
I know that I have fought in a real war, even if I have no idea what the final verdict on my efforts might be. The cognitive terrain has been won by those allied to truth and righteousness.
It isn’t exactly Leningrad — the crucible of the Bolsheviks.
But I guess that’s the point of breaking humanity’s cognitive meta-siege.
We won’t be having another Leningrad.
Or any more Bolsheviks.
🙏
Thank you Martin. I needed that encouragement today. Your post resonates so much for other personal struggles as well. Thank you
"Render to Caesar that which is Caesar's, and unto God that which is God's" not necessarily in that order, but good advice ... we can't fight the whole war, we must each pick our battleground. Martin has chosen to be an extraordinary beacon of light in a world we didn't imagine could be so dark. Now to hold the line with what patience we can muster ... Godspeed!