I am a non-religious person. I respect others' lifestyle choices and the truth is, I'm really not that far from mainstream. Truth be told, I'm quite moderate, but fanatical folks who think their way is the only way get carried away with their own self-righteousness and portray others who are different in an extremely poor light, exaggerating and often manufacturing faults. I've always been a live-and-let-live kinda guy, but recent revelations have made it all too clear for some 20 years--20 years--I have not been afforded the same courtesy in return.
It's weird how you get to be able to identify these folks the first time you see them. They just show up and look at you with that condescending, above-reproach kind of air. This guy gave me that look repeatedly while he hovered around me for a few days, in addition to looking at my computer screen.
Sure enough, he confirmed my suspicions when he started talking out loud to someone else next to me about Jesus, today. We exchanged a few words. I left, and upon returning, attempted to engage him in a theological discussion. He made some kind of sarcastic comment about "just being the product of sex" as apposed to having been produced by a superior being. I thought, "Ok. That's sounds interesting." But when I asked him what church he belongs to, he did exactly what I expected--stammered and tried to changed the subject. I asked again and he got a confused look on his face and didn't say anything. Remember what I said about extreme portrayal in a bad light? He also insinuated that if you aren't Christian, you must be a Satanist. I found this intriguing, so I approached him and told him I was interested in what he had to say. Why do you suppose he ran away? ...
This may mean something or it may mean nothing, but I just can't avoid the fact that he has very, very similar features to a guy I used to work with who moved from LA to NY to work on the same TV job with me, sitting right next to me. Hmmmm...
Though I'm sure some of you inferred it from the analysis in my last post, I feel I should mention that mob mentality plays a heavy role in what you do. It's generally indicative of an inability or maybe even an unwillingness to think on your own. The root causes are beyond my limited expertise, by first guess would be a penchant for narrow-mindedness.
In regard to the covert therapy session at Peet's today, I should clarify that these folks weren't just having a random discussion about grammar. The guy nearest me clearly made a statement about not being able to tolerate poor grammar, an obvious reference to recent tongue-in-cheek, grammar-critiquing posts on my other blog, before the group made an odd topic-switch to the frequency at which people smoke and drink. Sigh...it's so insulting.
Next time we'll talk about laziness, looking for a job, and networking.
Do your homework and stay out of trouble.
Oh, and I almost forgot to ask: being patronized just sucks, doesn't it?
Well, kids...I feel you've made considerable progress over the past couple weeks. I might even say by "leaps and bounds." Let's see if we can take another giant step today. Please...try to stay with me.
First, though, a little food for thought: There are lots of great stories about Woody Hayes. I'm reminded of a rather short one. Legend has it that during practice, ol' Coach Hayes would go up against his lineman in "full-go" drills, them in full gear, him in a t-shirt. Hayes would emerge with his head and shoulders bloodied. Gnaw on that one for a while.
Anyhoo....
When all this bullshit started, the guy at the plant who made the comment about "tough love" shook his head at me the day after I sent a letter to the ACLU (or tried to anyway--who knows whether of not it actually got there.) and told me little joke:
A couple guys were walking down the sidewalk and saw something on the ground in front of them. They bent over and took a closer look. "Hmmm...looks like shit.", said one. The other took and sniff. "Smells like shit." Then the other guy swiped a piece with the tip of his finger and tasted it and said, "Yep...tastes like shit. I'm sure glad I didn't step in it."
I see that a key part of this scam is to have veiled hints dropped that insinuate the different accusations, baiting me into addressing them. Then, since none of it's ever "official," you can turn around and say, "But, how did you know? It must be true since you addressed it." Yep--I've been on to that one for quite some time, kids. But as things have unfolded, I've been left with no choice but to address each item. Fortunately, it appears that my ability to articulate here the reality of each aspect of the situation in clear and direct language has, in fact, had a positive effect to varying degrees. Therefore, now that I've turned you around on the big, big stuff, we'll move on to some periphery items that are equally as absurd that you super smart folks fell for just as well. But first, I feel we should briefly review the overall picture and its main causes:
I am the subject of a vast and varied campaign of character defamation because of core fundamental politics that starts with my right-wing fanatic family, particularly my Scientologist brother, who are sick with an inferiority complex. My completely insane, alcoholic, extreme radical feminist biological mother has played a key role as well. Has everybody got that? .......Very good. Ya know what?--Get out one piece of filler paper and a #2 pencil. I'll give you a few minutes to write that down. It will sink in better that way. Kayla!!--Stop picking your nose! Wayne!! Sit up straight and put that GameBoy in your locker!! If I see it again, it's going in my drawer!! Okay--now, write...
(That's right--I am mocking you.)
....................................
Okay--eyes up here, children. Pay attention.
In regard to things you do, in addition to the methods I outlined yesterday, I also see the one in which a group of people sit next to me at a coffee shop and have a conversation for me to overhear which is meant to secretly influence me and adjust my "behavior." You bait my attention by making a comment about something that interests me, such as, oh, I don't know, grammar, maybe. Yep--I see all. (Like I said--it's like pounding a nail into a block of steel.)
Pay attention:
I am not now, nor have I ever been anything close to, an alcoholic. How do I know you believe this other than that conversation a minute ago at the table that just happened to be next to the open one I luckily found during that busy hour at Peet's? Well, there have been hints dropped before that, but there are two other reasons I've known for some time. First, while I was living with good ol' pops, I overheard him making a comment with a sigh to someone about beer bottles in the trash. What can I say?--they aren't real big on recycling there. I had to put them somewhere.
As I mentioned, my psycho feminist bio-mother is an alcoholic. Partly as a creative project to keep busy after escaping from psycho-bitch lawyer, and partly (HEY!!Pay attention!!) out of kindness--I repeat: out...of...kindness--to her, I embarked on a little t-shirt design project she wanted to do for her A.A. friends. They--I repeat: they--have some kind of big outdoor hoo-haw in the area every year. We talked about selling them there and a website, etc. Of course, when I realized the truth of this whole scam, I contacted the web-image hosting service I'd used for a couple of those designs and had them delete my account.
Other than one--one exception which is the direct and intended result of the loneliness that results from the isolation created by the covert psychological abuse to which I've been subject for years, I have always been addiction-free. Indeed, I am non-addiction-prone by nature. Just because it's a prominent phenotype in wacko Kathleen's makeup does not mean it must be in mine. I don't know anything about my bio-father, but it's a very safe guess that he is non-addiction-prone as well. I've always been an off-and-on casual smoker and casual drinker and will remain so at my sole discretion.
So...though one should never do it, I feel it must be safe to assume that you highly educated, well adjusted, upstanding pillars of society must be open to a little analysis yourselves. There is a direct and parallel relationship between your progress in realizing the number of different ways in which you are wrong about me and your level of denial of that awareness. Why? Because you have a self-inflated, self-important view of yourselves so deeply seeded, both individually and collectively, that you couldn't possibly bear to admit that you've been chumped by a sick two-bit con-artist with an intense inferiority complex and all his friends who can't stand intellectuals just like you. This state is further compounded by the narcissistic joy you experience from covertly manipulating other human beings. (All that from one Abnormal Psych class. Hawwww, hawwww.) Maybe you should get some help.
I know, I know--the truth hurts. But don't you feel better now?
Ya know what? I feel like a cigarette.
(Burn, burn, burn...(I can't stop listening to this. It's just so satisfying--in every way.))
I'm not sure what else to do other than document here the details of this stupid little game. It is designed so that once the subject is completely isolated from normal human contact, before he's aware of the little insulting attempts at manipulation, he is subject to all of this "coincidental" input simply because he has no ongoing set of normal human contact. It's a human interaction vacuum and these self-righteous, not-so-smart folks fill it with predetermined input that they deem necessary for behavior modification. It effectively destroys his conscious mind. There's no magic to it. It's just very complex, insidious psychological manipulation perpetrated by very, very sick people.
Once I became aware of this game and broke the induced habit of looking intently at every single person I passed on the street--which normal people will find offensive, thus helping to perpetuate the isolation (Yep--I see it all.)--especially all those women doing the model's runway walk, awareness of the other little tactics fell into place. Being conscious of it all defeats it. I guess it continues because I have not yet made this clear. I see exactly what's going on and as long as it continues I will defy each and every attempt simply on principle. Most importantly, I see the emotional manipulation, the mesh-work that ties it all together, also rendered ineffective once you're aware of it. So...for the record...I am not effected by any of this intentional covert manipulative input including, just to name a few recent examples:
The appearance of beautiful, non-brown-eyed black woman. I see it. It is no longer effective and hasn't been for quite some time.
People acting like idiots while listening to music on a computer at the library. I know I don't look like that.
People walking toward me with a clownish gate, smoking a cigarette with stupidly exaggerated gestures. I know I don't look like that. I'll continue to smoke at the frequency I please regardless of these silly things.
I swear, it's like pounding a nail into a piece of steel. Pay attention: I see all. I was mothered once quite properly (other than the NBA delusion) and that was more than enough. I will always, always defy these patronizing, insulting attempts at covert manipulation. I will continue to share my story in explicit detail with people in the news industry, including my E.R. room experience.
Just to be sure... each suggestion of immaturity and other perceived personality defects suggested by you self-important, mostly female psychologists, etc., is a joke more absurd than you are collectively. I was playing "with the big boys", right where I belonged, while most of you were still working on your Bachelor's or maybe in even still in high school. Unfortunately, the folks closest to me whom I thought I could trust were playing a psychological game meant to plant self-doubt and make me think otherwise. All the time, I was in exactly the right place. In spite of it all, I attained a certain level of success, prompting shocked looks from those folks and the comment, "I don't know, Joe--he's immune to it." So...they had to resort to framing me for some terrible, terrible things, which all you "smart" folks fell for--hook, line and sinker. The games children play. And if you super smart "social engineers" are so upstanding, why must you constantly lie?
I do not recognize any suggestions that any of this has been beneficial to me in any way. It's been nothing but an ongoing insult apparently inspired mostly by a combination of jealously and below-average mental capacity. Every single person who has attempted to do so has an over-inflated, self-important perception of themselves. Again--my behavior is just fine, has been for many years, and is none of your fucking business anyway.
Kayle Marriott thinks she's pretty smart, dropping into Peet's and talking to me in a patronizing tone, etc. Fortunately, she stopped in with a friend and when I asked her for her name right in front of her, she had no choice but not to lie. Bad move, Kayla. Or is it Kelly? Whatever. Ms. Marriott lives on Bush Street between Franklin and Gough. Yep, that's right--I got a name. I also have her friend's license plate number.
And Wayne--I am positively not your "bud." Don't make me embarrass you.
She's a real go-getter, that Lisa is! A Jane of all trades, by golly!
Well, kids--I get the feeling that maybe we made a big jump recently. It's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. My brother thinks he's pretty smart. I hate to speak too soon (but then, what difference does it make, really?), but it's possible that, one way or another, we're over the hump. There are one or two things I don't know for sure, but I'm force to deduce the most likely realities in those cases, mainly because I don't know what else it could be that's causing all this. I was going to put this off, put I can't find a good reason to.
While we're parked by the side of the road, enjoying a panoramic view of a beautiful sunset from high atop this mountain, please--allow me to grease the wheels for the downhill run:
My brother's girlfriend took up an interest in photography some time during the years in question--some time between 2001 and 2006. At one point, I believe during my last visit to Clearwater, she also mentioned that she was learning website design. This was the same visit in which "In Enemy Territory" was the one movie from his collection my brother suggested I watch and may have been the same one at which he stuck me with a couple implants. Interesting, no? (In truth, I don't know if both implants from him came on the same trip or not. I just recall waking up with a sore heal causing me to limp and him saying, "I wouldn't worry about it."--the same thing my dad said when I told him about the airport security molesting my mother (his wife!).)
Anyhoo...what would you say if I told you that--once again during a visit together at the folks' place--at her request, I allowed Lisa to take photographs of my face from different angles? She knew I was into photography and what reason could I have had to decline? She said it was an assignment for a photography class she was taking. (An interesting note: The identification of incidental details is what confirms many of these vague memories for me. Because it's a better word in that context, I was going to use "exercise," but I specifically recall her saying "assignment." If I hadn't typed "exercise" first, though, I may not have confirmed that!! I re-read it and thought, "Nope--that's not what she said. She definitely used the word, "'assignment.'" Fascinating!!)
Photography is very interesting. Working in television and dabbling in the t-shirt business, I gained a decent layman's knowledge of identifying fabricated photographs and video. What you do, see, is you look for inconsistent lighting on different elements in the pic. You identify the location of the main light source and then look for discrepancies among the various elements. Another way, in an instance where, say, for example, someone's face/head was attached to the body of another photo, you would look very closely at the skin tone and whether or not it matches the hands, etc. In such case, there would be two common cut-off points for the inserted face: the point where the neck meets the collar, or the border between the bottom edge of the jaw-line from a side angle, or the chin from a front angle, and the neck. Even if the lighting is right, you can usually tell there's just something wrong at the neck/jaw cutoff. In television they say it looks "hokey"--you can just tell it's off. Also, if the person is wearing a hat, you can tell something's wrong there.
But here's the best giveaway, if it's available: the outline of the person's hair. Unless the person has perfectly straight hair, there's way too much detail and variance in the shape of that outer outline for consumer level programs to outline it very accurately. For a graphic artist to do it manually any more accurately than that would require a lot of time and energy. Again, you can just tell that the shape of the edge is unnatural.
Of course, often times, these details can be very difficult to identify for a novice. If you're having a hard time confirming such a thing, you can always go to a television editor (You wouldn't believe the things they see.), or a film special effects editor or a magazine graphics and design editor, etc. Hell, there are lots of experts out there who can identify such things that the average person may not be able to.
Also, someone mentioned something to me in passing about a year ago about using facial recognition software to identify the orginal source photos used to create a fabricated image on the internet. Hmmmm. I bet that works pretty good, too.
I wonder how ol' Lisa's doing with her photog work and website building?......NOT.
I was living with good ol' pops from the time I escaped from wacko radical-feminist in September of '07 until the next escape in December of '09. As I've mentioned before, things got real bad right around the time I'd started my blog and had told a friend or two over the phone about Kristen (I'm not sure why I don't just name her at this point.) and her connection to my family. Kristen had dropped hints about knowledge of my phone conversations. It's not that difficult to add up. Anyway...try and follow me:
The bathroom at the house is one of the smallest bathrooms I've ever been in. Once through the door, you're in a small walking space maybe three feet wide between a wall on the left and floor-to-ceiling cupboards on the right. Take 3 steps and on your right is a sink that's either even with or jutts out slightly further than the cupboards. There's a space about 6 or 8 inches wide between the right side of the vanity below the sink and wall that is the left side of the cupboards. Immediately beyond the sink on that wall is the toilet. There's barely enough room for a small waste basket between the sink vanity and the toilet. On the opposite wall is the tub. I'd say there's less than 2 feet between the front edge of the toilet bowl and the tub. It's a terribly cramped space.
I believe it was in early '09 when my father started falling down. All together, during the time I was there, I'll take a somewhat wild guess and say he fell roughly 15 times. I made it a point to notify my sister most of the times it happened and often she mentioned that he had told her already. I didn't call her every time because it got to the point where she was aware of the frequency and there were never any injuries. Most of the time it was in the living room, but at least 3 of the falls occurred in the bathroom. Guess who was there to pick him up every time? Me. Except once...
I believe this was some time in mid '09. I came home from Borders one night and found him sprawled out on the floor in the office (formerly my sister's bedroom, the middle room in the back of the house.) in nothing but his briefs, which he had soiled, and his t-shirt. Hmmmm. I picked him up and lead him by the arm to the bathroom. He undressed himself and I helped him into the tub and he seated himself on the bench he had been using which was left over from when my mother was ill. I turned on the water and used the handheld sprayer to spray off his back and his butt--all of this knowing what I described in "Bye Bye, Dude." I then handed him the sprayer to finish himself.
The next day I called The Area Agency on Aging to notify them of the event and suggest that he may be ready for Hospice care. I notified my sister of this and she indicated she would call them and schedule an in-house assessment. I knew what my family was up to, so I skipped this meeting.
I understand the psychology of his situation, that it's possible that some of those falls were a cry for attention from a dying man. But I find it undeniably odd that a 79-year old man who'd had repeated surgery on his feet could, indeed, fall that many times without suffering a single serious injury--not one broken bone, not one internal injury--especially in that bathroom, ready-made for such injuries. In fact, each fall in the bathroom was near the toilet which is of course right near the corner of the sink and the tub. It's an elderly person's injury trap. I believe on 1 or 2 occasions he ended up with a black and blue mark, which, again, my sister was aware of. In fact, while all of this was going on, another guard at my post at the plant said something to me--once again, out of the blue--about how one can seriously injure a kidney from such falls. He also made out-of-the-blue comments about "tough love" and "respecting your elders." (The extenuating circumstances of my situation permit me to suggest where he shove both of those. I am in no way, not in any kind of bizarro world you can conjure up, obligated to respect a guy who secretly played an active part in ongoing and repeated schemes intended to ruin and even end my life.) Furthermore, after I'd notified dad that I'd contacted the Agency on Aging, guess what happened? He never fell again during the several months I remained living at the house. Most importantly, though, I find it especially notable that out of all those falls, exactly one occurred when I wasn't present in the house and just happened to include the aggravating circumstances I mentioned.
Here's a diagram of that bathroom that's extremely close to accurate scale. If it's off at all, I'd say it leans a little toward the generous side in regard to floor space visible from this angle (My first time using Powerpoint. Not bad, huh? It must be all that time I wasted in messing with graphic design while dabbling the t-shrit biz):
So, I was left with the following 3 options: stay home and have conversations with him during which he could deliver subtle, stabbing insults, etc.; stay home and not talk to him and be accused of mental and emotional neglect; get out of the house as much as possible, be stalked by Nazis and be open to accusations of not being there in case he fell down. A common method laying the ground work for mind control is a double bind. This one was a triple. I battened down the hatches and avoided conversation with that cat with zeal. Don't like it? Too fucking bad.
I'm no math wiz, but I can add 2+2...+2...+2...+2: they were intentionally setting me up for allegations of neglect. You scoff? If so, considering what I told you in "Bye Bye, Dude" and most everything else in this blog for that matter, I have only one question for you: Who's being naive now?
It occurs to me that I forgot to re-enforce one critical point in "Bye Bye, Dude.":
While I was trapped in my father's house and being stalked by Neo-Nazis, they had me isolated and the only human interaction I had was negative or otherwise manipulative, thus further necessitating minimizing contact with my father who was taking an active part and had been for some years.
Also, despite the logic of my argument, despite undeniable explicit details of my story, despite the crispity, crunchity clarity of my prose, I am concerned that I have failed to completely communicate the reality of the situation by omitting some important details supporting my argument. Indeed, since I have been denied due process as part of this vast campaign of political persecution to which I've been subject, I am compelled to air the details here--as explicitly as possible. But first, I've got a couple posts I need to bang out real quick on my other blog.
I've been portrayed as quite the monster in this multi-faceted campaign of character defamation. I thought I'd already covered this, but comments by some folks following me around indicate that apparently it didn't get through. I'll spoon-feed it to ya:
Part of the ongoing mind-screw my family was applying to me over the years was to repeatedly insinuate that I'm condescending and think I'm better than them--all part of their group inferiority complex. Some time over the years, I had made a comment to one of them about eating with their mouth open, something that is normally frowned upon at pretty much every level of civilized society. In 2003, while I was acting as primary care-giver for my ailing mother, saving the rest of my family much, much trouble and time, a notable event occurred on Christmas eve. Both of my parents, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law, and maybe even my nephew were at the table as usual. At some point during the meal, I looked up to see that I was the only person at the table not chomping with with my mouth open in an exaggerated fashion. In hindsight, I can say it was par for the course--in more ways than one. I looked at my mother and she sighed and slumped, seemingly on the verge of tears.
A major part of what my brother did was to use a facade to maintain my trust with the intention of exploiting it. He even exploited the fact that he knew I just wanted peaceful relationships with the family. I believe it was on the last X-mas eve I spent with them, which would have been in 2006 (the timeline is somewhat blurry) when everyone else in the family had left the room one by one. My brother entered and sat next to me. He said, "Hey, I want to show you something." He'd always been into magic and little parlor tricks, so I thought he was just going to some little trick. He put the palm of his hand on one side of my face and with his other hand, kept all the fingers straight, pressing their tips together so his hand was shaped like a beak or a cone. He then held it up next to my head and pointed it at my temple and said, "Okay, hold still." He then jabbed me firmly with the point of the beak, got up and said, "Bye, bye, dude." as he walked away. He peaked into the hallway and said, "It's done." The rest of them then entered the room, my sister with one of her signature super dramatic looks on her face. My father sat down and took a deep breath.
Open wide, now, Joey. That's it--niiiiiice and wide...
During 2009, during the time when I was just coming to the knowledge of what was going on and being stalked, I saw a segment on the Spike show, "Manswers" that described exactly what my brother had done that night. It's a martial arts move meant to cause an aneurysm that will burst sometime in the future, killing the subject and leaving no traceable evidence. I'm not sure if it was that night, but at some point my brother-in-law said, in yet another of the many out-of-context, cryptic taunting hints, something about "sacrificing the one for the many."
I'm not passing this on as a quest for sympathy. The point is that in the spring of 2009 when I was being stalking and made the subject of veiled death threats, my research lead me to a revelation about covert psychological abuse. This explained the loose but steady stream of veiled insults and constant adversarialism coming from them over the years, including my father with whom I was living at the time. At the time, he was the leader. The incidents above combined with this as undeniably concrete confirmation that he was part of a pre-meditated group plan to destroy my self-esteem for the purpose of undermining my life in general and ultimately drive me to suicide, or to kill me somehow.
The moment I realized this, it was a hardly conscious decision to reduce contact with him to an absolute minimum regardless of any other circumstances. I was under a secretive life-threatening siege based on core fundamental politics. Avoiding him at all costs was an instinctual reaction of self-preservation that I neither regret nor apologize for--and never will. Nor do I care how any one else cares to spin it.
As I alluded to in a recent post and earlier, what's happening to me is a social engineering and behavior modification project conducted by self-important, delusional folks in, ironically, psychology and sociology, and aptly described in Chapter 7 of Brave New World Revisited, "Brainwashing." Sometimes what they do is quite overt. Other times, it's done very covertly after a very friendly address. They try to slip in little insulting, patronizing suggestions about little life lessons that I am positively in no need of. I'm more mature than most of you fuckers combined and have been for some time. As long as you continue to insult me, I will continue to chronicle each and every instance here, naming each and every person and establishment involved. I will also include these names in the tags to this post and forward them to my attorney and the major news outlet I mentioned.
Another thing they like to do is make me feel like I'm always surrounded by the enemy, sending a lot of Michigan fans or other recent marquee adversaries of Ohio State, such as, oh, I don't know, Texas maybe. They establish patterns that only I will recognize. It's a baby game played by babies--like Wayne.
(Of course, Michigan fans can now rejoice in the fact that maybe, just maybe, someday they will be able win a game against Ohio State now that Jim Tressel, who has dismissively spanked them year in and year out during his tenure, is gone. I recall watching the OSU/Mich game from, I believe, Tressel's 6th year as coach with a friend. We both noted how it got to the point where the Buckeyes strolled off the field after each win like it was not that big of deal. Indeed--it had become business as usual, which is why I don't mind running into Michigan fans one bit. It's a nice reminder of OSU's complete and rather nonchalant dominance of them over the past decade.)
I've suspected Wayne for quite some time. Considering my recent posts here, his super friendly approach today with a copy of the most recent issue of Sports Illustrated featuring in-depth coverage of Ohio State Coach Jim Tressel's resignation amid serious NCAA violations, and his slipping in a comment during the ensuing conversation about college teaching a lot of lessons, including being on time--something these stupid folks have insulted me with before--I was able to confirm that Wayne, who claims to be Texas grad having majored in kinesiology is part of the insulting attempts at covert behavior modification to which I am being subjected.
I know you're reading, Wayne. I advise you to stop insulting me.
Am I going to get shot in the head to fulfill all the threats? Please...the sooner the better. I'm long past thinking living this way is worth the time.
