About

Anastasia Theresa Baron Von Schlechtleitner Zu Wangg

X could tell her story countless ways, but they don’t know your dialect.

X was born into a tradition of [something wicked] run by [wicked men] with [wicked means] for [wicked purposes]. Something, something, coercive control, high focus group, ritual abuse, mind control, human trafficking, human engineering, organized abuse, mk-ultra, something, something. The very practices of trying to tell the tale and trying to discern certainly what ought be told are trauma nearly enough to keep them from being propelled by the trauma of why it must be told anyways. This is a mere example of the confounding confines of paradox that find them spread thin across everywhere and everything while imprisoned to the mind that is always overspent in it’s reaches.

She lives everyday as though it were to be her last. She has for a long time. It’s not much of a life at all but a freefall freezeframe in the tunnel between the life and the light. Every word she writes is a eulogy, every symbol is a clue. She clutches to a life she mourns, hands clasped over it in a prayer that her suffering might mean something, might help free the others, while she is soaked in her catholic guilt over her obsession with the only way out she can trust will work.

This site is a collection of ever-departing thoughts from a decolonizing mind as it spirals closer to being lost forever the more it comes to grips with the possibility that without what they have done to make her, there may be nothing left. You will find here what evidence remains of herself and the many lives she has lived, which has not yet been stolen and/or destroyed.

You are welcome to print and share and quote my work respectfully.