Gangstalking Chronicle: February 2010

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Wyoming / My Story, Chapter IX

Ok... so I bolted from Chicago. I think the first stop I made to sleep was in some small Nebraska town. The temperature was about 8 degrees there. Nothing else interesting to report.

I noticed something about New York while I lived there. Movies and popular media in general don't do it justice. Of course, they are accurate in regard to the general character of the city, but they're no where near to capturing the scope. When I stopped in Wyoming, I realized this is probably true of any place or region that is specifically unique in its general character. Sure enough, the barrenness of the landscape in Wyoming is just what the movies depict, but amplified about 5 times. For a second there I thought maybe I took the wrong exit and landed on Mars. I had to drive about a quarter of a mile on a bumpy, semi-paved road to get to the little general store and gas station, which you could see from the exit. Like every other time I

got out of the car while in Wyoming, the driving wind blew the door back at me before I could touch Earth. As I crossed the parking lot, whisps of dust and snow skipping across the ground, I paused and turned about 180 degrees to get a panoramic view of the desolate scene. It was a scene the movies could never get right--not without the relentless wind. It was like being in Mad Max, or Damnation Alley (Seen here.), or maybe a Tom Petty video. (I warned you in an early post I wasn't going to worry much about good writing in regard to the prose. Plus, at the moment, I'm quite sleep-deprived.) The flat-roofed building with it's sagging overhangs looked as if a pig had made it out of sticks, but somehow the shanty stood firm among the never-ending gusts. There wasn't another sign of civilization within eyeshot in any direction. I'm not sure that the place even had a name.

Inside, a woman sat high behind the counter with feet propped up on something and reading a book the title of which I didn't catch, but now wish I had. (The quality of a story is in the details.) She hardly moved. There were some horse collars hanging on the wall and I believe a saddle or two may have been mounted nearby. The store was well light by the muted-white early winter sun. The only food they had other than snacks were those plastic wrapped burgers and sandwiches in an upright glass-door cooler case near the entrance. I found a double cheese burger or something and warmed it up in the nearby brown, late-70s vintage microwave. I asked her if there was anywhere to sit and she pointed out a table at the other end of the room. The table and chair, with it's decidedly western look, stood out among the depressingly generic scene. It was one of those chairs made of thick would with a semi-circle that made up

the horizontal frame of the backrest with carved horizontal posts going through it. (Seen here) There were some brass rivets holding vinyl covered padding in place. There was a checkered table cloth. I couldn't help but being reminded of saloon scenes from any western you can think of.

As I was finishing my burger, a guy walked in with a very clean look, dark hair in a crew-cut, and a blue waist length, kind of sporty jacket. He got a snack and as the lady rang him up he made an exaggeratedly loud comment about what he got--chocolate and peanutbutter or something--and it being "my favorite." in kind of a baby-like voice. That's a main tactic of my perps--talking in an exaggeratedly loud voice, plus, he thought he was identifying something that is my favorite and therefore reminding me of my complete lack of privacy. He was actually wrong about that--I'm ok with peanutbutter and chocolate, but it's not that high on my list. I wonder how they got their wires crossed on that one.

It is common knowledge among those of us familiar with gang-stalking that it is done under the guise of community-policing, which is done in conjunction with Fusion Centers, which collect information and conduct surveillance in cooperation with the private sector. Throughout my experience, I have identified various private companies that are taking part. Nearly all of them use plain white vans emblazoned with their logo. Cintas is a major player. Otis United Technologies is another. Before I left the midwest, when I was still working at the plant, I recall some Otis guys coming and going. The next time I saw an Otis pick-up truck was when I saw two of them parked directly outside the shop as I exited a hair salon in downtown San Fransisco after getting a haircut. They were not there when I walked in and I wasn't in there long at all--less than 30 minutes total. (I didn't wait at all.) When I walked out of the last-chance, middle-of-nowhere choke-and-puke in Wyoming while Mr. My-Favorite was checking out, I wasn't surprised at all to see a plain white van with one word in red letters on the passenger door: Xerox. Not that it really matters, but it wasn't the new logo you see at the link--it was the old Xerox logo. He was a perp...out in the capital of easily accessible nowhere...at just the right time. Wow. Often I wonder what they hope to accomplish by such actions. The only way it affected me at all was its being a reminder that he was part of it. Big deal.

I post this pic because it's clever and funny and somehow came up when I googled "wooden saloon chair". It has nothing to do with my story. Something might be wrong with Google.

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;

Monday, February 8, 2010

Happy Bunny / My Story, Chapter VIII

CHRISTINE FARANDA, Attorney, Cleveland, Ohio

Part 3

Somehow, I almost forgot about Happy Bunny. Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio had an array of Happy Bunny products including a note pad shaped like Happy Bunny displaying both middle fingers (Seen here.) She had various refrigerator magnets and maybe a button or two. I seem to recall Laura McCormick (formerly referred to as Lauren

(Seen here)), my sub-operator who made the "Either you're with us or you're against us." comment and said something about "re-wiring my brain" having a Happy Bunny hat. I also vaguely recall Laura alluding to some kind of mistreatment she received from a man (maybe her father--I don't recall exactly.) as a child. From just a couple conversations, it was clear to see that Laura was harboring some of the same issues as Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio. Add in her clear role in my stalking, plus Happy Bunny, and it become difficult to accept the notion that the two of them are not connected somehow. And of course, Laura was closely connected to my main operator, whom I'll call "Leo" for now. Did I mention that Laura turned to Leo one day as she left the cafe at the Book Store where we all met and said, referring to me, "Keep an eye on him. It's his day off."? I think I did. Sorry for the repeat. File it under, "In case you missed it." I think the thing that was most disturbing about Laura McCormick, though, was the fact that her husband seemed to be completely emasculated. I thought he was gay at first.

Laura offered to "help" me out by referring me to a Portland, Oregon writing service called Accredited Writers, run by her friend, Mary Ann Cincotta. Laura mentioned she's got friends on the west coast. We traded a few e-mails and Laura talked up my writing ability like a good girl. This was before I knew exactly what "gangstalking" was, but of course, I was suspicious of just about everyone I encountered. It does that to you. It's unavoidable. One thing I noticed was that in addition to nearly all being right-wing extremists, all of my stalkers, especially those that engaged me directly and including the ones here on the west coast, have some kind of military background. I don't have anything against the military, but the severe, ongoing violation of my civil rights had been noticeably marked by a heavy military presence. So, I was compelled to check out Laura's friend, Mary Ann Cincotta. Sure enough, her years working in the "Defense & Space Industry" add up to 10. I'm not good at math, so somebody check it for me. I count 10 years divided into 3 stints with Unisys, "a worldwide information technology consulting services and solutions company." I blew off both Accredited Writers and Laura McCormick.

Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio recap:

Her father beat her mother...regularly.

She was on 6 different psycho drugs plus Chantix.

She owned a small collection of books about serial killers including one about cannibals.

She owned both the movie and the documentary about Aileen Wuornos, serial killer of men, and quite a few other movies featuring blood and gore.

She rooted for her cat to destroy it's scratching thing, to "tear one up and move on to the next."

She made various subtle comments indicating psychotic tendencies, less than good intentions for me, and a connection to my brother.

She was comfortable sitting with large spiders cavorting only about two feet from her face.

She liked bragging about how sharp her knives are.

She lived in the most remote unit on the top and twelfth floor of a building which had a trash compactor fed by chutes leading from every floor.

This was her favorite Happy Bunny item:

The day after she asked me if I was "makin' plans", I called U-Haul first thing in the morning and arranged to pick up a truck. That day, while Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio was at work, in a situation exactly matching Kaitlin McGaw's description of the inspiration for one of her original tunes, I packed my stuff and left without saying a word. Can ya blame me? Actually, I did leave her a note. Remember when I dropped her off at the airport before the Alaska cruise? Well, I took a sheet from the Happy Bunny, double middle-finger notepad and used it to leave her the same message she gave me before as she entered the airport: "Enjoy the solitude." A mere pittance compared to what I've been through, but it seemed appropriate. With the building superintendent's permission, I moved into the vacant unit next door to Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio for the night. It was the morning after that that I picked up the U-Haul and packed up and bolted.

I'm sure more bits and pieces regarding Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio are going to come to me over time. For ease of reference, I'm just going to add them to this post:

1. Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio would get irate at the sight of a mother with a baby in a stroller or small children out in public. If they were slowing her down coming out of the grocery store, look out! She would make some kind of comment about how badly she hates kids.

1-a. I just read somewhere about how motherhood being so closely linked with being a woman is a major point of contention for radical feminists. It's all coming together.

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

Sunday, February 7, 2010

"So...makin' some plans, huh?" / My Story, Chapter VII

CHRISTINE FARANDA, Attorney, Cleveland, Ohio
Part 2

(When I first moved to New York, I stayed with friends in Long Island City. Not Long Island. Long Island City. Long Island City is a Queens neighborhood not far from Manhatten. After that, I moved to Hell's Kitchen. I walked back and fourth to my first TV job at CBS.)

I should note here that after figuring out what my family had done to me, especially my father and my brother, I saw where Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio was coming from when she said she didn't care about what might happen to her sister. The steady stream of subtle mental and emotional abuse my dad subjected me to over the years, while preaching familial obligation pretty much put me in the same frame of mind once I figured it all out. At the time, I was living with him--keeping him out of a nursing home (Those are nice places, right?)--so it was an odd situation. Once I completely figured out the unseen negative effects of the years of verbal abuse, naturally, in the name of self-preservation, I decided that it was critical to avoid him at all contact with him for the remaining months I had to live there while saving money in order to escape at least the harassment at work and get away from the intense public stalking I was subject to. I get the feeling that people think I stopped talking to him to punish him. That's not it. It was a self-preservation and healing response. I'd tell myself, "Go up and talk to him. Go up and talk to him.", but having become aware of the systematic abuse inflicted upon me by him and my siblings, I absolutely could not do it. The mental abuse and attacks on my self-esteem went on for years. So, naturally, after figuring all that out, the thought of his death became more of a pleasure than a bummer. I understand you on that point, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio, and you know it's true. You saw it.

So...shat haven't I covered about Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio? She had a couple cats named Vinnie and Rufus. Vinnie was pretty much in his prime and Rufus had two paws in the garden. Fufus didn't use it much, but Vinnie loved that cardboard scratching thing (Seen here). He'd be on on top of it dragging his claws across it like it was the last time he'd ever get to do it. All things considered, I didn't mind Vinnie or Rufus for that matter. They were both good cats. Then, on one occasion when Vinnie was tearing away at that thing, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio walked over near him, bent over slightly, held out her fists and shook them tensely while saying, in probably the most psychotic of all the psychotic tones I'd heard her use, "That's it Vinnie... fuck it up! Fuck it up, Vinnie. Tear one up and move on to the next."

Early in the time I was living there, she went on an Alaska cruise. I got up and drove her to the airport. When she got out of the car, she said, as usual, in psycho voice, "Enjoy the solitude."

Remember that part about the grapefruit tree and the Hummer? After leaving that place--I think it was Cracker Barrel--she wanted to stop of to pick up some nitrus from a local record shop. (It just dawned on me... I can just let my lawyer read these posts instead of having to explain it to him.) There was a little turning tower of novelty refrigerator magnets on the counter. Most of them were kind of 50s retro with clever

little acidic jokes and messages. There were 2 guys behind the counter. There was one magnet with a woman's face who kind of looked like Rosie the Riveter with the text, "Get in there and clean up the kitchen." or something like that. (Seen here. (Not the specific magnet, but you get the idea.)) Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio pointed it out and cackled like a witch from a class-b horror movie. The guys behind the counter gave me an odd look. Every instance like this was still a bit of a shock and still difficult to admit, but I was still in the process of adding things up.

While I was living there, various aspects of my life just happened to start going bad. First, the radio got stolen out of my car. Then, because of a couple speeding tickets I got before I moved in with Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio--when I was making the 90-minute drive to see her a couple times a week--I got a notice of suspension of my driver's license. We discussed it and throughout the discussion she maintained a facade of concern. As people naturally do when discussing a document, I looked at the document occasionally as I held it. Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio must not have known that while I was looking at the notice I could see her with my peripheral vision. During one of those instances, in the midst of a conversation in which she was so concerned for me, I saw a wide, toothy smile flash across her face for an instant--less than one second--before returning to her usual sad look. She thought I didn't see it. She did the same thing when the head gasket blew on my car.

What else?....Oh, yeah... we were coming home from somewhere and she turned left in front of oncoming traffic and intentionally applied the brakes, I presume both to merely show the oncoming traffic that she could, and to cause me a little anxiety. It dawns on me now that I accredited certain incidents in chapter VI with being "major" points, or the "first" this or the "first" that. The fact is the whole thing was something that had to be added up, the characteristic which makes it largely invisible. All the little instances indicating Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio's pyschosis were just as bad as any others. The first major sign, though, was indeed the repeated bragging about the knives' sharpness.

Again, we were in the car and she need something out of the console between the seats. I had my arm on top of it. She grabbed it and tossed it off violently.

Why did I take all this? My car had broken down. My license almost got suspended. Every time something new went wrong for me, she would increase the mental torture.

On her birthday we went to an Italian restaurant that she hadn't been too even though it was 2 blocks away from her apartment. (I'm an expert at sniffing out not so well-known restaurants with rockin' food.) I believe it was called Venezia and I got the Bolegnese with shredded pork. (Seen here.) It was so good, it tasted like something my grandmother would have made. My car had just broken down, and for some reason I had to get my license updated to include her address. She complimented me for pulling it together for her birthday. Awwwe... isn't that nice? I told her I'd gotten the address changed on my license and she asked to see it. I handed it to her across the table and as she looked at it the psycho look slowly spread across her face, crescendoing until peaking as she handed it back to me.

(This is going to be a really, really good film.)

Oh, yeah...the spiders on the balcony. Have you ever known a woman to like spiders, or not despise them for that matter? I guess I come from an extreme experience because my mother was an arachnophobe, but still, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio is the only person I've ever known who not only wasn't viscerally effected by spiders in a negative way, but actually seemed to like them. Her balcony was barely deep and wide enough to hold about 3 or 4 of those basic plastic outside chairs. She had two of them out there with a bench made out of half of a log. There was a railing spanning the front of the balcony of that top-floor apartment. During a serious breakdown one morning, she mentioned that she didn't know how she keeps herself from taking a dive off of that balcony. Anyway... there were spiders--good size spiders--taking up house-keeping on and around the balcony. The railing was covered with their webs. She would sit there, just a couple feet from them, like it was nothing. We talked once about why she doesn't kill them or take other steps to keep it clean and she seemed confused, sad, even.

As I said, Christine Faranda of Cleveland, Ohio's libido was out of control. She's a lawyer. She made it clear once that she has no reservations about performing a sexual favor to get what she wants and specifically mentioned judges in that regard. I didn't confirm until much later how she was eavesdropping on my calls. It turns out there is computer software anyone can buy to both track and eavesdrop on anyone else's cel phone.

While there, when I finally had everything added up and decided I needed to escape this psychotic man-hater, I called my uncle and asked him about jobs back in my hometown and told him I might need him to come pick me up. I'd suspected that there may have been audio and even video surveillance in the apartment, so when I made that call, I went out in the hallway outside her apartment.

That night when she got home from work, she packed a bowl, plopped down on her bed, to a big hit and said, in her usual psycho tone, "So...makin' some plans, huh?"

Christine Faranda, Part 3

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

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

"These knives are very sharp." / My Story, Chapter VI

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