Paris Times Three
January 21st, 2025 / µ
Taxes & Lies
They say life happens when you are busy making other plans – well, that may be true, but sometimes life stops when you are busy living. The world keeps spinning along; you are still breathing, but something got in the way of your life.
My life, which I once thought I would live out in Paris, has been a long series of stops, and three of those were in Paris.
First, due to financial horror stories, when someone my brother knew well—who at the time called herself a legal tax expert (*skattejurist) and I believed it—told me that I should leave France as soon as possible due to double taxation, which I had no idea what was. If I didn’t, I would be taxed in both Denmark and France on my income.
The above was not true, but in 2009, I wasn’t accustomed to socializing with people who find lying socially acceptable, so I didn’t have my read-people-antennas up. Instead, I trusted what was said and left behind the life I had made for myself, which was a good life, in order not to pay 90% in taxes!
When I realized that I had been lied to, I was devastated. I had worked hard to build a life for myself in Paris, with a small business and an apartment in the 7th arrondissement between two parks so that Gavroche could have a great little terrier life.
Back Again
What was worse was that I had nothing to come back to in Denmark. So, after a few months of being laughed at and belittled by devoted Jante-worshippers, I decided to do it all over again – Make the money, get the apartment, and get on with my life where I felt at home.
I moved back to Paris in 2011. My former landlord offered to rent me the apartment I had left in December 2009 from spring 2011. And I was back with a much more interesting life and future projects.
But an interesting life often comes at a high price.
By 2014, I had gotten myself into so many messy stories, putting myself on the radars of some dangerous people. By July 2014, I was so afraid that I left Paris with the intention of relocating to England after having licked my wounds at home with my parents. Then shit happened, as shit does.
Paris, The Third Time Was Not The Charm
In 2019, I went back to Paris to get away from the Danish monsters, who had been hunting me like prey since 2016. I had trusted that in Paris, they would be arrested for their crimes. As mentioned earlier on this blog, that didn’t happen. Instead, the Danish monsters teamed up with their Parisian buddies and continued their madness. So, my new plans backfired, and things turned very extreme. You can read about that here.
I left Paris again in November 2019, emotionally and in every other way bruised, and in what I would say a state of shock – Me and the world, it was over. I was done with human beings, done with all of it. After so many years and so many deaths and nightmares, I had finally had enough. I swore never to set foot in Paris again for as long as I lived!
I temporarily renounced my former decision because, with this court ruling and what followed, I knew I was onto something huge. You can temporarily take away my will to live among human beings, but never my will to live and work. And what is worse, it seems neither can anyone destroy my love for that rat-infested, overpriced, garbage-filled fantastic city called Paris, which I will, however, never set foot in again because I risk being killed if I do.
After years of physical and sexual violations against me and what today seem like minor transgressions – robberies, libel, cyber-stuff, surveillance, etc. – I know these criminals are without boundaries or conscience, and their connections seemingly make it possible for them to break every law there is and walk away from it. Therefore, I have concluded that their death threats should not be taken lightly.
However, given that the story is so vast and involves multiple EU countries, criminal networks, extremist groups, and corruption, I will not stop; I will continue working on my story from a country where I, unlike Denmark and France, do not risk getting killed by criminals.
Looking back today, I know that had I gone back to Paris in 2011 and continued to look into working conditions in language schools and such things, translating and writing this and that, editing for various news outlets, being less openmouthed about specific situations, I would probably still be living in Paris, and none of what has happened over the past 12 years would ever have happened. But it did because:
I was never one to say no to an exciting opportunity.
I don’t get scared easily.
I was never one to turn my back on people who needed me.
Women are, in certain social circles and classes in Europe, considered second-rate human beings and treated like garbage.
The Danish monsters and certain criminals in Paris knew each other, and both groups seemingly wanted to get rid of me as a witness to their criminal activities.
I also know that if I hadn’t crossed paths with the Danish monsters in 2016, had they not been chasing me for all these years, they would have victimized other women during these years, who may not have persisted and endured as I have and would never have had the means to tell the truth, because the monsters, to my knowledge, usually hunt single women on welfare.
One of the primary monsters has continuously justified me as a target with the lie that I used to be a welfare client. He sees women who have been on welfare as human garbage he can do with as he pleases, judging by his own statements.
He gets away with this because Fyns Politi de facto supports him by refusing to stop him and his equally sick-minded buddies.
Today, there’s a certain amount of anger and frustration among the monsters that I am not dead yet.
The fact that I am alive means there is a witness to their crimes, someone who knows their setup, who is not dependent on the Danish state, who can tell the truth, tell who they are, and document what they have done to me.
In this context, it is thought-provoking that regardless of whom I turn to in the Danish judicial system, I am ignored.
Over the past almost nine years, it has been made very clear to me that the Danish system and the people working in it equate your human worth with a pig on an industrial farm if you are or have been on welfare!
However, I am still alive, and I am not and have never been a welfare client. But I am angry and filled with hate and the need for revenge.
What the monsters and their buddies did to me in November 2019, when I was alone, outnumbered, and vulnerable in a studio with just one door and one window, has lingered in the back of my head for years, and kept me from moving on.
But even that is fading away now, a distant memory of how the human race is when it is at its worst – and I believe that I am stronger and tougher for it today.
But the fact remains that had I stayed, had I taken one more chance in November 2019, I would more than likely have been just one more woman gone missing in the EU in a country not her own. I would most likely have ended my life in some forest outside Paris, buried in a hole in the ground, never to be found. And the monsters and their Parisian buddies would have walked away from it with one witness less to worry about.
After 2019, I found safety in numbers in my mom’s house with my mom. The house is secured as if we were stocking nuclear weapons – we are not, by the way – so that the monsters and their buddies out here in the sticks cannot break in or enter the garden anymore without getting caught on camera, nor can they get into our house without being detected.
The fact that the monsters are linked to Funen Police (Fyns Politi), who have de facto deprived me of my human and civil rights by letting this group continue the hunt for soon-to-be nine years, plus the scope of the monsters’ network, within the public sector as well as without, I can never be safe in Denmark on my own ever again.
For now, I keep the monsters at bay by not living alone – so there will be a witness to any violent crimes against me – and with security equipment to keep them off the property.
However, I cannot live the rest of my life in my mother’s basement!
Fact Box
Approximately 10.000 human beings go missing in the EU every year. To my knowledge (read: experience!), the systems don’t care if a woman disappears in an EU country, of which she is not a citizen.
Human life does not hold much value in Europe.
But then again, that shouldn’t come as a surprise on a continent with a history as bloody as that of Europe, a mentality that burned women at the stake by the thousands, and created hells like Auschwitz, Belsen, Dachau, and Sobibor.
2025
So, what to do when you have, due to a police force and a system granting some rights beyond the law, beyond the constitution, to hunt humans like prey for years on end, reached your end of the road in your birth country and on this continent? Well, I have decided that there is only one thing left for me to do:
Tell the truth.
This year, my keyboard will be mightier and more destructive than years of libel, threats, high-tech surveillance equipment, and monsters housed by the intelligence-challenged and primitive suburban bottom-dwellers on Fyn (Funen) who seemingly are in it for the loot! Or, to put it into words, the retards will be able to understand:
You stole my life with lies. I will crush yours with the truth.
Some people warned me against that, and others have told me it is the only way. By now, I have tried everything else, banged on every door, appealed to the morals of countless Danes (evidently, they have none), reasoned with retards, and dealt with devils, and I am done.
Oh wow, I made it through the third anniversary of my dog’s death without wanting to hide away in a dark room with gloomy classical music and pictures of Gavroche. I would say that that is a good sign.
Have a lovely 2025 – hopefully, it will be less war-ish than 2024. Until next time, remember to get your facts straight and that whatever good times you have will never come back as bad times,
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Fact Box 1
Complains About the Police
In theory, one can complain about the police and their conduct to the DUP, but evidently they can decide to return the complaint to the precinct in question, which means that the precinct complained about gets to determine if the complaint is valid. This way, they can bury any complaint without questions being raised.
In theory, you can complain about this, but it is better not to. In general, in the not-so-enchanted kingdom of Denmark, it is better not to question and criticize:
The Royal house
The authorities
The networks (e.g., VL – www.vl.dk)
Denmark is a nation of networks, clubs, fraternities, and people networking in the shadows. Too many things happen behind closed doors in Denmark, and too many people know each other too well in private.
Leaving that aside, this was how my complaint to the DUP about Fyns Politi’s unacceptable conduct in 2018/2019, as well as how Fyns Politi had treated and ignored me since 2016 ended up on a desk at Fyns Police of someone who should have been declared ineligible in this context.
When asking lawyers what I could do about this de facto burial of police harassment and unlawful conduct, the answer was:
Nothing!
That aside, given Fyns Politi’s longstanding professional relationship with certain of the primary monsters and specific employees at Fyns Politi’s private friendship with the same people, my situation as a whole should have been turned over to another police precinct and district as early as 2016. It wasn’t. Instead, something that should never have happened in a democratic state ruled by law happened.
Fact Box 2
*Skattejurist is a title not protected by law in Denmark; anyone can call themselves a Jurist (Eng: Legal Expert) in Denmark.
In Denmark, you have Jurist (Legal expert) and Advokat (Lawyer), which is the term used when a Jurist has earned the title Advokat - the very short and highly inadequate version!
Advokat is a protected title; Jurist is not. However, when people call themselves Jurist, I used to assume they had a law degree, but that is not a given.
My brother’s friend called herself a Skattejurist and thus did not break the law. But she lied to me when presenting herself as an expert on a matter of which she knew absolutely nothing, and she later, by a slip of the tongue, made it evident that she did so deliberately.
But it was my bad; I trusted someone I barely knew without questioning her credentials because she worked in a fancy firm and was a good friend of my brother. That was naïve. That was stupid, and that ruined my life for a while.
