Alice in Amsterdam: Surveillance, Quantum Computing, and the Internet’s Dark Questions
This rabbit hole has a paywall.
I’m writing this because I’ve been trying to understand my own trauma — and where the connections I’ve made, even in my most insane states, actually land in reality.
Not every thread I pulled here is “proof.” Some of them came from a brain half-lit by grief, paranoia, and drugs I didn’t consent to. But some of them? They have teeth. They match patterns you can source, map, and name.
This is me taking those moments — sane, insane, symbolic, literal — and saying them out loud so I can see what’s mine, what’s systemic, and where they blur. Because the thing about “crazy” states is they don’t make you wrong. They just strip your filters.
And when your filters are gone, you see the whole ugly stage — and you can’t unsee who’s pulling the curtains.
Welcome to the Rose-Tinted City & the Tower of Eyes
I went to Amsterdam for two things: a workspace and a party.
The workspace was in the A’DAM Tower — a vertical puzzle box across the ferry from Centraal Station, with far too many doors, winding staircases, hidden rooms, and surveillance cameras tucked into every corner like they were part of the décor. It was my third or fourth trip there to stay at the Sir Adam in the tower. By then, I’d been in love with the city for years — but this time, the rose tint faded completely.
The party was ASOT Rotterdam — a trance cathedral in a mega-warehouse where tens of thousands of 35+ strangers moved as one. I had a delightful time with these wholesome dubstep dudes I met on my plane that were from Denver. I danced until my calves ached, I met a cute Italian man, and I lost track of time in that half-fun, half-ominous way.
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have gone. My grandmother had just slipped into dementia. I’d moved my kids in with my parents overnight. An old best friend had just stolen my money to throw a yacht party on the Red Sea in February. My body was fried from months of holding grief.
And still — I went because some part of me had to. I just had to open Pandora’s box. But when I stepped into A’DAM Tower this time… I had the sense they’d already opened theirs on me.
The King’s Bow and the Vaulted Secret
At ASOT, I had this purely symbolic feeling: Armin van Buuren was taking a bow to let new talent in. Passing the torch. Adam Beyer B2B, Eli Brown opening — I feel like the silver lining is there and sweet. Like Armin is choosing not to be the Black Swan who clings to the spotlight until the bitter end, but instead embraces new talent and new collaborations.
A few days later, I told this to someone I’d arranged a business networking meeting with in A’DAM Tower. He looked… slightly offended — which, after reflection, makes sense. The Dutch have deep pride in what’s theirs — music, architecture, systems. My American audacity in suggesting their trance king might step aside? I probably sounded like a circus clown.
The Meeting
This wasn’t a random run-in. The meeting came from a casual conversation on one of my previous trips to A’DAM Tower — a genuine networking chance I’d built up in my head. I wanted to sound sharp and make an impression.
Yet… I was running on fumes, and my brain was getting clumsy. It showed.
He, in contrast, spoke with surgical precision. Elegant, yes — but targeted. He used Alice Through the Looking Glass language, and I couldn’t shake the feeling it was deliberate. Like he’d done his research, knowing exactly how those words would land on me — which was eerie as hell. Note: I also carry a tiny plush white rabbit in my purse. I had it with me that day, and I still carry it.
I felt like our meeting was good overall, with some moments that set off alarm bells. This man told me Holland was one of the richest countries in the world. He said he knew Tulsa very well (hi, I’m from there). And he warned me to “blur the lines of good and evil.” But nothing stood out more than him saying this:
“Don’t talk about quantum computing.”
It wasn’t said in the manner of nobody cares or it’s too complicated. It sounded like it was classified — as he continued to say how “nonsensical” it would be for me to discuss in a public space.
That line hooked into my brain like barbed wire. Why can’t I talk about it? In his eyes, it wasn’t casual tech chatter — it was a vault. Not for public lips. Which makes you wonder… what exactly is in this theoretical vault?
Breadcrumbs, Blue Coats, and the Alley That Ate the Man Following Me
After that, I met a friend at a pub and had a genuinely great night. I even got a delightfully cliché Essex girl encounter that made my Love Island heart squeal.
But I never brought up the static in my head to my friend. I started getting firewall blocks on my bank accounts, slowed-down cellular data, and a growing sense that I was being watched.
As we left, my friend said: “Go straight till you can’t, turn left, and you’ll see Centraal Station” — near my ferry to A’DAM Tower in Noord. I appreciated the heads-up because I had my Beats Pro over-ear headphones on and needed a reminder.
When I looked behind me for the first time, I saw a man in a blue puffy coat following me too closely. The second I noticed him, he turned and disappeared down an alley.
Spidey senses fully engaged at this point. Stress overload. Paranoid? Absolutely.
The Spiral in the Tower
Back at Sir Adam inside A’DAM Tower, I was mid-tax research and music research — trying to find an angle to impress this man who’d promised to help me.
Then my credit cards started declining. My bank accounts were firewalled.
My brain hopped into gear. I quickly took my phone off Wi-Fi, and my bank and credit card apps opened — but my data slowed to a crawl. It felt targeted. PayPal still worked, which told me there was a different firewall architecture at play. I started screenshotting everything.
The firewalls kept hitting. My cards kept declining. I started to notice large bruises on my inner thighs I couldn’t explain — memories I had been blocking. The amount of information in my head was coming too fast. I became flooded, and my judgment took a hard decline.
And then, without realizing it, I fell into a drug-induced psychosis — later confirmed as cocaine and fentanyl in my system, with the blackouts suggesting possibly GHB. I don’t know who. I don’t know when. I don’t know how.
The 4–5 Days I Can’t Fully Account For — Cards Declined, Data Deleted, and Days Erased
CONTENT WARNING: This section discusses non-consensual drug use, rape, human trafficking, and psychosis episodes.
I got scared and decided I needed to get out of the tower. As I was getting ready, I was listening to music on my computer and saw an admin page pop up with a script that started deleting all my files. Factory reset. Get the fuck out.
I remember going into a bar but not leaving it. The next thing I knew, I had been missing for 4–5 days, with only fragments poking through:
Wandering the streets in my old navy leopard slippers, exhausted, crazy, and helpless
Being denied entry to every hotel and hostel — except one, where I clutched my Cotopaxi backpack like it was life itself and thought I heard someone masturbating outside my door
Having no money — cards declining, no food, freezing cold, dehydrated
The sense of being hunted — human trafficking scenarios playing out in real time throughout my remaining days in Amsterdam
It was madness. Half my brain gone, rebuilt into a nightmare I didn’t consent to. And through it all, the one line that kept cutting through was:
Don’t talk about quantum computing.
Somewhere in my drug-induced psychosis haze, I also kept hearing about “the Alice in Wonderland experiment.”
The Alice in Wonderland Experiment – When Physics Teaches Reality to Lie
In my psychosis, I thought it was a South African TV show. I obsessed over it so much I asked ChatGPT about it later — and found something: the Mirrored Alice in Wonderland Experiment, a physics thought experiment used to explain quantum concepts like superposition, entanglement, and mirrored realities.
The tie-in hit me hard: if quantum computing is advanced in secret, then it’s not just encryption at risk — it’s the shape of reality online. Which version of the truth is “real” depends on who holds the computational mirror.
From Personal Glitch to Global Question
Theoretically, that’s not just a darknet problem. That’s a reality governance problem.
If quantum computing is as advanced as he implied — and hidden — then:
Today’s encryption is a joke
Whoever holds the key can retroactively open decades of “secure” files
Control shifts from watching now to owning the past
Suddenly, the people I kept coming across in Amsterdam with no online profiles started to make sense:
Under-the-radar professionals
Criminal networks
Dynasty stock insulated from public exposure
Intelligence operatives built to thrive in shadows
Tulsa: Oil, Old Money, and the Club You’re Not Invited To
Look — this man knew Tulsa well. That’s not random for someone born and living in Holland. You don’t just “know Tulsa” unless you know someone, something, or you’re plugged into a web that connects it to bigger, older money.
Tulsa isn’t just a dot in the middle of America. It’s a layered wound:
Black Wall Street burned down — one of the most prosperous Black communities in US history, destroyed in 1921, its survivors silenced for decades
Indigenous land stolen and repackaged — treaties broken, tribal land parceled to settlers, turned into real estate portfolios (even Ree Drummond’s farm sits on stolen land)
Oil money greasing gears for a century — the 1900s boom minted dynasties whose grandkids still run the city
Media deserts — limited local coverage, now set to be gutted further with Trump’s 2025 CPB cuts, killing public broadcast news
And then there’s the Dutch connection — not a coincidence:
Givt, a Dutch fintech startup, set its U.S. HQ in Tulsa
Historical trade links between Dutch banking channels and U.S. oil have been running for decades — the players know each other, and they don’t just meet in boardrooms
Which brings us to the country club layer — Tulsa’s real operating system.
These aren’t just golf courses. They’re walled gardens for oil heirs, developers, bank execs, and political donors. Membership buys you exclusive access — whisky, golf, and deals in between.
So, when a powerful man in A’DAM Tower — in a country with the world’s most sophisticated trade networks — tells me he knows Tulsa well, my brain doesn’t file that as coincidence. It files it under: global old money talking to local old money in a language the rest of us were never meant to learn.
Why It Matters to All of Us
My Amsterdam trauma isn’t isolated — it’s one node in a larger network where grief, technology, media, and money overlap. Blackouts aside, the questions I came home with are worth asking.
If this “vault” — and quantum computing — is real and more advanced than we know, then the internet isn’t what we think it is. It would mean:
Today’s encryption is child’s play
Decades of “secure” files, including the Epstein case, could be unlocked overnight
Digital history becomes editable and reality itself negotiable
Evidence trails could be rewritten or erased entirely
Deepfakes indistinguishable from authentic recordings, making “proof” deniable
Blackmail archives selectively altered to protect certain names
Whistleblower drops swapped for fabrications
Darknet trafficking networks moving invisibly, laundering data like money
Court-sealed testimony altered to remove witnesses or shift blame
Historical journalism back-edited to favor the winners of the present moment
Meanwhile, public broadcast — one of the last bastions of free, local news — is being defunded. Billionaires are consolidating infrastructure. And the people with the keys aren’t using them to solve climate change or cure diseases — they’re using them to control narratives, elections, and erasures.
My trauma may have been the trigger, but the questions it left belong to all of us. The lines between good and evil aren’t just blurred anymore. They’re programmable.
The Rabbit’s Burden & Why I’m Speaking Up Now
Writing this is part of my healing, but it’s also a public service announcement dressed as a personal story.
Of course it sounds crazy — because it is. It’s a deep, dark rabbit hole. And I had to look. I saw something.
There is proof — screenshots from my desktop and phone, photos of my laptop taken with my phone, medical records, police reports. They exist, but they’re scattered and buried — layered between evidence and the distorted fragments of psychosis. Picking through it is like rebuilding a burned house from ashes.
The truth is, I’ve been so traumatized it’s been hard to even get online. I dropped my work. My finances tanked. Getting through to my banks and credit card companies has been near impossible. My credit’s in limbo.
I’m still in recovery. I still need stability — even just a regular job — to keep my mind working. But I also know I’m meant to keep writing. And, that’s why I am here.
Your Survival Kit: How to Keep Proof When the Story Can Be Rewritten
The rabbit hole isn’t fake. It’s just expensive to enter. Whether you’re in leopard slippers or under a billionaire’s wing, the same rules apply:
Keep your receipts.
Screenshots, printouts, voice memos — don’t trust cloud storage alone. Encrypt and duplicate on physical drives. Proof can be messy, especially when tangled with trauma.Know what’s real, mark what’s symbolic.
Journal daily. Timestamp everything. Track moods alongside events to map both memory and manipulation.Watch the silences.
Notice who disappears online — and who’s never had a profile at all.Learn the infrastructure.
Know which companies own your ISP, news outlets, and payment apps. They’re the unseen gatekeepers.Get fluent in disinfo defense.
Train your eye for deepfakes. Learn reverse image search and metadata basics. Fact-check tools help — but they’re not immune to bias.Decentralize your lifelines.
Don’t rely on one bank, one platform, or one social network. Spread your resources so one shutdown can’t strand you.Stay human in the loop.
Tech moves faster than laws, but human relationships are harder to delete. Build trusted offline networks.Remember the vault question.
When a story is too clean or too one-sided, ask: What’s in the vault I’m not being shown?
I’m still piecing my life back together. The evidence I have is real. But my reality at the time was fractured by psychosis — and both those truths live side by side.
This isn’t about chasing conspiracies. It’s about survival literacy — knowing how to see the strings when someone’s pulling them. It’s about speaking up when the rest of the room has been programmed into silence.
If the internet is already programmable, then reality is next. And neither you nor I get a seat at that table unless we drag our own damn chair over, plant it in the middle, and demand a call to action.
