Gangstalking Chronicle: Patriot Act

Showing posts with label Patriot Act. Show all posts

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Emergency Snow Removal by J.C.

For the record...

I just want to let everyone know that I've figured out the big picture of all this, which actually dates back some 20 years. Apparently, because of a mixed relationship my family found out about from my first couple years of college, I have been the subject of covert persecution and manipulation by self-righteous far-right Christians and racists ever since. This includes several covert attempts to ensure that I marry, or more specifically, breed with no woman other than a white one, highlighted by the attempt by the family of a woman I lived with for 3 years and very nearly married. Add in my immediate family's inferiority complex, lead by the Florida Flunky's intense envy, and you've got a situation marked by ongoing, very subtle, multi-faceted psychological and emotional abuse and, of course, a cloud of very serious defamation and misinformation. They take even the most remote opportunity to portray me in as bad of a light as possible.

The other thing I've come across in my research is that there's a network of envious folks whose only common interest is intense envy of people they deem to have physical and/or mental attributes that give them an unfair advantage in life, and apparently height is a big part of it. I could see where my brother would be part of this group. I'll be direct: if you can't deal with my stature and combination of talents, go fuck yourself.

I've figured out that I've got at least 2 tracking and mind-reading implants in my body, including one in a root canal I got from some right-wing asshole Dentists named Patrick Daulton in Columbus, Ohio.

So, the situation has morphed into one in which various pyscho cults and some high-level agencies are exploiting my desparate situation and playing a manipulation game with me that, again, involves intense psychological and emotional manipulation, and ongoing harassment and stalking. As I said, it has subsided for the most part, but something came up again last night, prompting me to write this post. They're all playing by the same rules with the goal of keeping me destitute and having a good laugh along the way, I'm sure.  It's tough when Schadenfreude just rains on you. It has nothing to do with any of the things I've been accused of, all of which is nothing but a joke of a scam--it's all simple envy.

Though much of it has stopped, I still get harassed and taunted occasionally, including by some North Bay asshole who showed up right on time-- about 10 or 15 minutes after me--last night at Max's on VanNess. He made an obnoxious arrival and was even worse to the bartender and, of course, used a ruse to slip in a comment about behavior. Indeed, it's been indicated to me that the primary goal of gangstalking is "behavior modification" and/or, even more horrifyingly, "thought reform."  Some idiot from the steel mill actually told me to behave once.

I see the Orwellian nature of what has transpired and how it is facilitated by forced isolation. I see how it begins with planting self-doubt through constant disagreement on any and all issues that come up, which will logically, in turn, lead one to be open to suggestion. Once the openness to suggestion has been established, the barrage of subtle, varyingly veiled insults with the intention of destroying the self-esteem begin to take hold, which further perpetuates self-doubt and openness to suggestion. It's a self-perpetuating cycle conducted by pathetic talentless people who have no idea what it means to be productive, let alone creative, all by themselves. They don't know anything but group think. It's sad.

I see how you do things to provoke anger and then accuse the person of being "potentially violent," another of the main allegations used, jumping on the slightest display of anger to perpetuate the lable you created in the first place--again, a self-perpetuating cycle, which, with help of the Patriot Act facilitates constant surveillance. Fortunately, I am confident with the fact that a display of anger does not automatically translate to potential for violent action. One doesn't need a Phd. in psych. to see that the opposite is in fact true: it is holding anger in that creates potential for violence, which of course illustrates how attempts to coerce the person into anger while using manipulation to prevent them from expressing it epitomizes another main aspect of the mind control process: double binds. Yep--I see all. I am secure with the fact that I'm nothing close to "potentially violent."

Fortunately for me, the recent revelation that the whole thing goes back 20 years and is predicated on a mixed relationship--something that is nobody else's fucking business--completely frees me from any of the many ridiculous insinuations and contrived allegations that have been leveled against me. The sheer audacity and self-righteousness required to think that my behavior is any of your business is beyond description. I see how you use the network to defame and persecute someone, making it difficult to find work, and then accuse them of laziness. It's a pathetic game played by pathetic people. In hindsight, I recall several instances while living in New York in which a couple of people would sit near me and have an obnoxiously loud conversation for the purpose of harassment, something I've learned is a major part of the treatment. I had a strong enough mind then to avoid it and the only reason it worked now is because you fucks used the defamation to isolate me. I remember the RAT saying to my brother during that time, "I don't know Joe--he's immune to it."

That said, let me assure you, that I positively do not give a fuck what anyone thinks of my behavior, which has been perfectly fine since about eighth grade. In 7th grade, there were easily a half-dozen kids in the class that were much, much worse than me, but since I was the tallest, the principal labeled me the leader of the bad kids and put me through a positively humiliating ordeal in front of the class, after which several classmates, out of support, commented that they couldn't believe they did that to me. (Fuck you, St. Stephen School--especially Judy Conti, you frigid, under-sexed bitch, you.)

Furthermore, I will continue to think exactly what, and exactly how I please.   I don't need any advice on how to dress, how to act, how to speak, or how to deal with women. It occurs to me that with all of those covert operative girlfriends, I always had an instinctual awareness that something wasn't right, and that was likely the reason I was not really very aggresive about marriage--something that is my business to take part in if and when I please. It's not that I'm against marriage in general, but as I said, I always knew something was wrong with those women. And, yes--if there is any conspiracy in this country is is against free men. The point is, I am officially and permanently closed to suggestion and I will remain a free thinker. The level of intrusiveness into my life is beyond description. My life has been violated to an extent I didn't think possible.

By the way, one of those covert attempts by right-wing female operatives was by a woman named Cynthia Green. Our relationship ended abruptly when I laughed at the following story which she told me on one of our first dates: The night her mother went into labor with her there was a blizzard and the car was stuck in the driveway, unable to get past the snow drifts. No one was available to clear the way. Then, out of the hazy darkness, appeared a bearded man in a white hooded robe and carrying a snow shovel. He proceeded to clear the way for Cynthia's mom to leave and, of course, make it to the hospital in time. Yes--I laughed out loud at Cynthia's insistance that the man was Jesus Christ.

I will find the right lawyer.

Joseph C. Zoccali, Clearwater, Florida; Rick Wilson, Niles, Ohio; Christine Faranda, Cleveland, Ohio; Len Spector; Marc Greece, A&E Networks; Reverend David Plank, Palatine Bridge, NY; Carrie (Plank) Bruno, Queens, NY; Cynthia Green, Tech Recruiter; Sioux Logan, Red Stream Technologies; Mike Tricario, MTV; Sean Newman, Columbus, Ohio; Jim Reed, Columbus, Ohio; Zynga; Marty Eggert, Cleveland, Ohio; Kathy Haxton, Cleveland, Ohio, St. Joe’s Medical Center, Warren, Ohio; Coleman Professional Services, Warren, Ohio; Laura McCormick

Kathleen Kashay; Erica Agyeman; Darcy Estes; Alison Victor; Tracy Dietz; Kaitlin McGaw;

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

"Yeah...We can read your mind, too." (My Story / Chapter II)

When I started this blog, I wanted to cover my pre-midwest town experience in a nutshell first, but now I'm thinking it's too compelling to just burn through without at least some attention to the prose and detail, and I want to cover my post-midwest town gangstalking experiences, which are starting to accumulate, with as much detail as possible. Plus, a big gangstalking tactic is directed conversation with a long, drawn out confusing story that is meant to add to the mental mess they try to make for you. I've already experienced one of these since I've been here. While I knew what the guy was up to and basically called him on it right to his sad face, I still want to cover these post-midwest events before they really start to pile up and I experience more tactics like that crazy, fractured, impossible story. In short, I'm going to jump around a little.

When I was working in television there was a great cartoon that got passed around regarding the industry. It depicted a pair of surgeons in the midst of an operation. A monitor displaying a human skull and brain could be seen in the background. The surgeons stood on opposite sides of the table, one with his back to you and the other facing you. The one facing you is clearly jittery with a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead toward eyes touched by anxiety. The other guy says, "Relax, man. It's not television." That's the great thing about my crazy story. Once you understand all the elements, players, and motivations involved, it's not really that difficult to connect the dots, at least not for me. In truth, My story, Volume I isn't nearly as good from a prose standpoint as I'd like it to be, but I do need to get it done, so... it's just not going to be the best writing.

When it got down to the final weeks before I left town, I considered looking up hotels and making a reservation or two on-line, but I knew that they were (and still are) watching all of my internet activity. That's been a common thread of principle for me throughout this process: the whole thing is such an egregious invasion of privacy that if nothing else, I would fight for every shred of privacy I could along the way. It was one of the few things I could do. Of course, one of the many catch-22 aspects of this post-9/11, Patriot Act paranoia-empowered right-wing fundamentalist campaign against civil rights is that if you defend, or even show an interest in maintaining privacy, they are going to twist it into "having something to hide" and therefore and indication of possible guilt. (One of the central goals of the psychological control aspect of gangstalking is making the T.I. feel guilty.) It's not as bad as the extent to which they've exploited the word, "patriot", but that's a book in itself. (They're so blatant in their twisted rhetoric that it is truly insulting.) Anyway, since I've been made to feel that my livelihood has been directly threatened and that escaping that town effectively was task #1, and for privacy's sake, I decided not to book any hotel stays on-line.

It turned out they knew I was leaving anyway, as was indicated to me by the Starbucks employee in that town who was one of my main stalkers. After I filed a complaint with the company's website, he did tone down his rhetoric a bit. The direct insults with intimidating tone such as, "Hey, man. What's up? Chillin' like a villain?", stopped, but he continued to drop hints meant for me to overhear, as he did that drizzly morning when he said very loudly to a drive-thru customer after he'd indicated to me that he knew I was leaving, "Yeah, we can read your mind, too." (I've got all the details. All of them.) Of course, my sister is a cop and she'd been to the house lately and surely noticed the boxes of my clothes and things I wasn't taking, and that a lot of my personal things weren't in my room.

It is common speculation among T.I.s that gangstalkers use video and audio surveillance in the T.I.'s home, which wouldn't be much of a stretch at all in my case since sis had easy access to my room. I was living with my ailing father who was also part of the big plan. Did I mention sis and her husband are both cops? Toss in their motives and all the hints regarding things that occurred in my room that had been dropped to me both my co-worker stalkers and my public stalkers and it becomes pretty obvious that I was under constant video and audio surveillance there. During my mother's illness, my sister actually said to me...me... in the midst of an argument, with the venomous, melodramatic, theatrically exaggerated, borderline psychotic, angry tone and twisted expression that only she could muster, "I could crush you." I mean, she half-hissed it. Alllllright sis... cool your jets. You've done well.

Oh, yeah... there was also an "intake person" from the local sheriff's department living across the street (She moved in right around the same time Wilfred Brimley joined the security force for something to do at midnight.) watching my every move as well. It was cute how she acted like she didn't know my brother-in-law was a cop in town when I was talking to her one day and he pulled in my dad's driveway. She was cute, and kind of resembled my x-girlfriend. Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not. And when I say "resembled", I mean in regard to very general features like skin tone, hair color, and build. I would never, ever, if someone asked me to describe sheriff's intake girl, say that she was like Gwenyth Paltrow with a touch of Sissy Spacik, as I used to do with Carrie. This girl wasn't even in the same league. Not...even...close. The point is, she surely noticed that over the course of the week and a half before I left, I'd been carrying one cardboard filebox out to my car at a time. I had my stuff in those boxes.

So, anyway, it's not as much a mind-reading thing as it is exploitation of illegal surveillance and just one aspect of the outright abuse of power that enabled that Starbucks-employee stalker guy know that I was on my way out of town that morning. (I need to take a moment to make sure I put "Starbucks" in the labels for this post.)

Well... this post turned into one digression after another, but these are things that are pertinent to the story. My mom loved that word... pertinent. I'll be sure not to miss anything pertinent.

Kathleen Kashay; Erica Agyeman; Darcy Estes; Alison Victor; Tracy Dietz; Kaitlin McGaw;

Sunday, January 10, 2010

"Huh... you made it?" (My Story / Chapter I)

It is a difficult thing to admit that your family is conspiring to destroy your life. They rely on anybody you tell about it thinking you're crazy. That stuff doesn't happen. It's all a part of our culture of denial. If you're not in denial, the culture can become quite hostile. My gangstalking experience is such a twisted mess that, though I've got it figured out, it's difficult to know where to start. It wasn't until during the time that I was being mobbed at work and stalked in public that I figured out that my family, specifically my issues-laden brother, is behind it all. I saw all the little things, but didn't see the big picture. I was in denial. Big bro alluded to that directly a couple of times. He liked quoting from "American Beauty" right in front of me to my sister who was also part of it, "Denial is a strong emotion." He once whispered to me on Christmas Eve--it all went down on Christmas Eve--"Something's wrong and you just don't know what it is." More on that later.I took a job as a security guard with a private contractor at a midwest manufacturing plant in July of 2008. I was relieved to obtain work as I had been unemployed for over a year and just starting to recover from the portion of my gangstalking conducted by a angry, psychotic woman who's out to destroy men with whom I lived briefly during the summer of '07. She asked me once if I saw the movie, Gaslight. She was part of it too. Possibly the source. More on that later.

Will got "hired" as a security guard, I believe about a month after I got hired. When he pulled up in his new, shiny black Trailblazer, I had to wonder why this guy would be working a midnight shift at the rattiest gate at a recently idled manufacturing plant for $9.50/hr. On top of that, he turned out to be a retired Sheriff's deputy. He said midnights were the shift he was accustomed to working. Will wasn't very tall, about 6', I'd guess. He was slim and in good shape, in his early 50s with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper horseshoe circling the base of a highly polished age-spotted dome. He sported small, wire-rimmed country-style specs that hung low on his nose and a bushy mustache that varied in neatness of trim from week to week. Think of Wilfred Brimley about 40 pounds and 20 years ago and you you're looking at Will-- just another high level drone.

Will was the head guy in the mobbing I experienced at work. He's not the one who framed me, but he was clearly the head guy orchestrating the systematic psychological abuse I was subjected to at work. On that first night, when he walked in and busted out the 8x10 glossies of the car accident in which he badly injured his leg, again, I couldn't help but wonder. I've seen Law and Order. Who hasn't? In regard to getting to know each other, it was a little heavy right off the bat. Will, when you get after a legitimate suspect, please remember this.

It was in November when I mentioned to him that I was considering making a trip to New York for New Year's Eve. He walked up close to me, kind of got on his tip-toes but maintained a firm stance, blew up his chest like a puffer fish and said, in his biggest, baddest, deepest, most intimidating cop voice, "That would be a good opportunity for a terrorist attack, eh, John?!" Up to that point, the directed conversations and veiled hints indicating that I was under investigation hadn't really bothered me that much, because I was and am guilty of nothing. I've never been arrested, let alone charged with even a misdemeanor and I was thinking that in time this will all blow over. But this exact line of questioning made me think, "Woah! Hold on a minute, Tiger." At the time, I answered him with the exact thought that came to my mind: "Well, yeah, but I'd say Obama's inauguration would be a bigger one, wouldn't you? I'd say it's the biggest security event of all time." It was an unnerving moment, to say the least. I'd heard about the attacks on the civil rights of innocent people with illegal surveillance and harassment since the implementation of the Patriot Act, but I had no idea it had just landed on me.

It was over the coming weeks, that while pondering why Will would make such a comment with such a tone that I was reminded of three past occurrences. First, a trip my mother and I made out of state to visit my brother, a earlier trip my brother made to visit my girlfriend and I, and my brother's later insistence upon purchasing a computer for me as a gift.

My mother was diagnosed with ALS in April of 2002. ALS is a disorder of both the voluntary and involuntary motor nerve system that slowly paralyzes the victim. It finally gets you when it gets to your diaphragm and prevents you from exhaling. At the end of 2002, I had been considering leaving New York, and made the decision to return to the midwest, in part with the intention of being closer to home during this difficult time. I ended up staying home and acting as a primary caregiver during mom's illness. During that time, we made 2 or 3 trips to visit loving brother.

On one of those trips, upon arriving at the security gate before departing the midwest, a female security guard approached my mother as she sat in her wheelchair and did nothing less than molest her, feeling her all over, sticking her hands between her legs, lifting her breasts. I, along with many people waiting in line behind us, was in shock. I was frozen with my mouth hanging open as I turned my head in slow motion to face the other security personnel in search of an explanation, or at least acknowledgment. None came. I was in such shock over the illegal frisk, that I didn't see the significance of the 2 sheriff's deputies standing at attention with the arms folded and looking as intimidating as possible. I had no reason to think anything of it. The emotional impact of the insult my 72-year-old paralyzed mother, a champion, model American, dying of a horrendous disease which she'd already watched 2 of her older siblings succumb to, had just suffered at the hands of this overzealous, badly mis-lead, clearly lesbian, security guard was bewildering.

It took a few minutes, until after I'd been made to take off my shoes and was wanded by the intimidating deputies, that the shock wore off and I realized that what had happened was wrong and started to wonder, as I wheeled her down the tunnel, why we were being singled out. The fear induced by the intimidation tactics and the shock of the egregious violation of my mother's personal privacy made it difficult to assimilate the situation. Then, as an attendant helped me carry my paralyzed mother to her seat, I noticed a man sitting about 4 row behind our seats. He was in his mid-40s, with graying hair in a military style cut and he wore a dark gray suit. He was visibly shaking and sweating as he glared at me as we fumbled our way to our seats. After the attendant helped me get my paralyzed mother comfortable, I turned to look at the guy, and he maintained his glare. Still shaking. Still sweating. Because there is no legitimate reason for me to be the subject of such treatment, I wrote it off to profiling. I'm not pale-skinned with blue eyes and blond hair.

After we landed, one of the pilots assisted me in carrying mom to her chair. As we did this, the guy sitting a few rows behind me stayed in his seat. I couldn't help but look in his direction. When I did, I happened to catch his visible, obvious sigh of relief as the pent-up air left his lungs. It was all so unnerving and happening so fast that it was difficult to add it up at the time. Shock and awe, right?

Before the flight, they also took my mother's wheelchair and gave us an airport wheelchair. I figured this was normal and maybe it is. It wasn't that big of a deal. After landing and arriving at the baggage claim, upon receiving mom's wheelchair, I found that the handles for the handbrakes were missing. They're basically metal sticks covered in chrome with rubber handles and they are designed to be removable. When I inquired at our airline's service desk as to what happened to the brake handles, they curtly responded that they'd lost them. I'd had about enough at this point, so I curtly responded, "Well, you need to find them." They did.

Here's the good part. We got our baggage and went out to the street to meet my brother. He pulled up right on time. He got out of the car and walked around the back of the car to the passenger side where we waited. He stopped, paused, and looked at me with a mock air of surprise in his eyes, and said, with a mock tone of surprise in his voice, "Huh... you made it?", as in, he was surprised that I'd completed the trip successfully. Why? Then, as he rubbed his chin the look changed to one of intense, semi-psychotic, semi-angry concentration, like he was trying to figure out what went wrong and/or what he needed to do next.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew there was significance in all of this, but it was my first flight since 9/11 and other than the molestation of my mother, I thought maybe it wasn't all that out of the ordinary. I was glad to see they're on the job and kept telling myself that when they latch on to legitimate suspects the job will get done, something I've been telling myself for months now. And of course, as my brother knew full well, I was unaware of what the combination of his intense envy toward me and his other deep-seeded issues had done to his mind. An angry con artist with a grudge--it's a bad thing.

Kathleen Kashay; Erica Agyeman; Darcy Estes; Alison Victor; Tracy Dietz; Kaitlin McGaw;

Pages

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Emergency Snow Removal by J.C.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

"Yeah...We can read your mind, too." (My Story / Chapter II)

Sunday, January 10, 2010

"Huh... you made it?" (My Story / Chapter I)