Okay...I've neglected this blog for long enough. I really need to keep up with events! Unfortunately, the writing's going to suffer, but who cares? Nobody's going to read it anyway. It's not like I've marketed the blog or something. The only way anyone other than the select few people I've told about it could possibly be aware of it is by spying on my internet activity. And if those people happened to be some of the characters in my story and they had some kind of problem with it, how would they know it was me? I haven't identified myself. There are a lot of Johns out there. Hell, in 1900 it was the most common name in this great, free country of ours. It's just got to still be in the top ten. And since everything I say is true and rather harmless anyway, what's the difference? That's the thing... I haven't said anything defamatory about anyone and none of the instances in my story were gleaned by way of illegal surveillance. So...
It seems that the new big thing with my stalkers these days is loud, clearly-forced laughter, breaking bar glasses and acting like it's an accident, and reading speeches, pre-written by someone else, in job placement workshops. I was impressed with the quality of the reading aloud by a couple of you, though. You know who you are. Your "military background"... as if. LOL. "John Cannon"? LOL!!
Alright. Were was I? Oh, yeah... Skokie, Illinois. So I check in to the Holiday Inn and I believe it was the first night there when I headed down to the lounge for a highball. It was a pretty nice lounge. The bar was straight with a marble or granite top and there were about 12 chairs. Donna was seated near the middle of the bar. I sat in the second seat from the end.
When you're a T.I., they find out every little fact about you that they can--your likes and dislikes, things you say, any characteristic down to the smallest idiosyncrasies. While I'm not strictly dedicated to them, I am partial to brunettes. (I'll take the blonde next door--like the girl across the street back home. I can't remember what I changed her name to and I don't feel like looking for it, so I won't say it here. She worked in "intake" at the local sheriff department and moved in across the street around the same time Wilfred Brimley got hired at the plant.) They know that. Donna was a brunette of average skin tone. She was lean and shapely and quite attractive overall, though, ironically, her jaw and mouth had a slight kind of monkey thing going on, which isn't a bad thing at all--it was endearing. She wore a zip-up sport-sweatshirt kind of thing zipped to the optimum level--showing just a hint of cleavage. (The smart ones, like psycho-lawyer chick, know that's the best way. (I can't wait to see how much I see it in the coming weeks.)) Of course, later on she did squeeze 'em together a few times which was...um... good and bad. I'll say no more.
We didn't talk at all for at least 20 minutes after I sat down and when we did, it was a brief exchange followed by another lull--perfect, Donna. Perfect. There was a Bulls game on TV and I think sports was the subject when a conversation finally got going. And the convo went on for quite a few hours as the drinks flowed. There were two things that made me suspicious of Donna when she said them, but one other thing was the kookiest thing any perp's said to me yet. She actually had a half of a tear in her eye when she told me about her late first husband. (At least she didn't say first late husband, that would have been creepy--Psycho-lawyer-chick creepy.)
He died young. He was a small-engine repairman and apparently he and Donna--smokin'-hot-but-a-little-past-her-prime, Donna--lived near the freeway. Repairing go-carts (seen here) was a big part of his business. Next to their home--where he did his work, of course--was a little hill that lead up to the freeway. One day while working on a go-cart, he was driving it in the yard when the accelerator stuck. The cart went out of control, ran up the hill and bounded out onto the freeway where he was run over by a semi. I wish I could write that well. It was an odd story, but it didn't really tip me off. I figured it was possible no matter how unlikely it seemed. Wow... it just dawned on me that this woman is kind of a brunette version of my sister, except thinner. (This reminds me of a day during the span of years when my family actually had been gaslighting me without my knowledge, but before my overt OS experience. It was the first time I'd seen my sister in quite a while. I think it was around '04, maybe. She was doing cartwheels in her front lawn after having quit smoking, and gaining back enough weight to make her look normal--big-boned with healthy skin-tone, her face not gaunt, and bouncy hair. I will never forget how fucking happy I was at that moment. She was back. Of course, I was still in denial at the time, particularly of her, "I could crush you." comment.)
I'll listen to any kind of music other than contemporary country, any kind of hip-hop (What do they have in common?), or bubblegum pop such as Brittany Spears or Celine Dion. (though Celine Dion is quite a singer.) Lately, I've become partial to jazz, but I'll always like classic rock, early-90s rock/grunge, and blues-rock and blues. There was a time when I was more into the blues than I am now, and I know this is something they would know. They would also know that when I go places, I have no interest in the touristy attractions, like the Hard Rock or something. I want the best, local places with the most character that aren't touristy. These are the best places in town, but you usually have to know a resident to find them. This is all exactly the kind of thing they would know. The Russian Vodka Room in Manhattan is a great example, right, Joe? (Ooops! Oh wait... acknowledging that reference would acknowledge your visit to New York, now wouldn't it? Hell, just acknowledging the blog would confirm your connection and in turn lend credibility to this blog's contents. There is no way you or anyone involved for that matter could find out about this blog otherwise, now is there Mr. Marketing?)
Kingston Mines is billed as "Chicago's oldest and largest real blues club." When you go to the site, go to the history page. Near the old radio, a little flag will appear, which reads, "The Artists who have Played at the Kingston Mines". Included on the list are Willie Dixon, Howlin' Wolf, Koko Taylor (The opening act of the Madison Square Garden final show of Jimmy Page and Robert Plant's 1995 tour (What a concert that was...belly dancers, each wearing a different solid color, during Kashmir finale.)), Pinetop Perkins and a guy I'm not familiar with, but who I'll mention just because of his name: Biscuit 
Miller (seen here), of Biscuit Miller & the Mix. Yep...it's a Who's Who of the latter half of blues history and the venue is apparently the best blues club in Chicago, which would, in turn, make it one of the best, if not the best on the planet. Google "Chicago Blues Club" to see that it's the third overall listing after a citysearch directory (which ranks it #1), and Buddy Guy's club. Centerstage Chicago lists about 40 Windy City blues clubs. Besides that, there must be quite a few good rock, indie-rock, and jazz clubs in that tawdlin' town. I'd never been there before and even I'd heard of the Double Door. But, if you're entertaining a client in Chicago--or trying to change someone's mind--you don't take them to a rock club. Ya take 'em to a blues club!
So... when Donna invited me to the Kingston Mines, I thought, "Wait a minute. She's just my type and, out of a couple hundred clubs, she invites me to the best blues club in Chicago?" Of course, the isolation of being a T.I. makes you eager for any non-suspicious contact you can get. That's part of what they do--make you starved for human contact and then manipulate you--or attempt to, anyway--with their own. So even after I went back to the room and looked up the Mines (I bet that's what locals call it.), though the information on the site piqued my suspicion, I held out.
There's one other thing from the first night's conversation that made me suspicious, though. I mentioned that there were two things, right? Pre-departure, one of my sub-operators (One of them indicated to me recently that they refer to themselves as operators, insinuating at the time that I should thank him for something. What a fucking joke that is. Anyway...I know that in my O.S. Hierarchy post I called them "controllers". I'm not going to change that post, but starting now, I will refer to them as "operators".) named Lauren, who happens to be a psychologist and was working in close conjunction with my lead operator, held a couple very lengthy conversations with me before I figured out that she was part of it. (Whatever it was. This was long before I'd heard of OS and done any web research. Hey...I just remembered something...I've got an e-mail from her, so I can figure out nearly the exact date we had our "conversations".) She was one of the two people who said, "Either you're with us or your against us.". She also insinuated something about "re-wiring my brain." I'd heard the same comment at a Landmark Forum orientation meeting, which I let Carrie's parents, of all people, rope me into.
Anyhoo... (Candy used to say "Anyhoo". Ask her about my orientation.) in one of those conversations we were talking about me (our usual topic) and I mentioned to her that I'm a communications person and that I "communicate better in print." Those were my exact words.
When Donna--or whatever her name might be--asked me what I do for a living, I made up some kind of bullshit. I think I said I'm a freelance writer and that I do mostly business-to-business stuff on the web and I told her that I'm a communications person. She replied, "Yeah... I can tell you're a good communicator, but you communicate especially well in print." We had just met, so how could she ever have read any of my writing and therefore how could she know whether or not I communicate better in print than any other media? It's the same as the "You look confused." scenario...exactly the same. I wanted it to be a non-OS situation so badly that I just kind of carried on the convo, (I'm now reminded of Psycho-lawyer chick saying, "I like to hold 'em close while I turn the knife." She lo-o-o-oved to brag about her knives, baby. Think ya know people with anger issues? This girl takes the cake. I know someone else who likes bragging about their knives. Who could it be? It'll come to me.) and of course, if I'd said anything, she would have suggested I'm crazy. That's a big part of the Catch-22. On it goes.
So we traded a couple phone calls the next day and made plans to meet at the hotel lounge at the Skokie Holiday Inn and head out to the Mines. The lounge bartender was a
highly squirrely-lookin' kinda guy named Simon from Czechoslovakia (Hey! I spelled that correctly on the first pass! Props, baby!) or something like that. I got to the bar about the time we were going to meet and she hadn't shown up yet. I waited a while and I had a hell of a hangover, so I had a Cobb Salad (seen here) and passed the time chatting with Simon. During our conversation, Simon, with a half-cocky smile, hit me out of the blue with a question to the effect of, "So why'd you leave your hometown? Something happen there?" "Ok", I thought, "I'm right about hot Donna and she got to Simon with the defamation." I still had to confirm it though.
Sure enough, just as I was finishing my salad, Donna showed up and boy, oh boy, was she lookin' hot!! She was like an angel on Earth with her tight, non-low-rider jeans, her 1980s vintage thin gold belt and her red button-up shirt revealing an amount of cleavage not dissimilar from the previous night's look. She should have switched it up and gone with a snug turtleneck or something, but then again, her type aren't too big on variety.
She sat down and ordered a salad. At this point, I've got a total of 5 things on my mind: the ultra-kooky go-cart story; Kingston Mines; the communication-in-print comment; Simon asking me about something going wrong back home; and Simon's reaction to card trick I'd done the night before. That previous night, Simon did a card trick. I don't remember exactly what he did, but it was a very cool trick. He then handed the deck to me and I did the only card trick I know, to which he replied half-mockingly, "Ooooo, that's so deceptive." Something struck me wrong about that comment. Any card trick is deceptive. That's the point. I couldn't help but think that Donna had already told whatever lie it is these people are telling about me and it includes something about being deceptive. Talk about the pot and the kettle! Christ!! But, after all, that's a common tactic, is it not...accusing the other guy of what you're guilty of, kind of like Psycho-lawyer chick calling me angry. This chick wrote the book on angry.
Here's that "deceptive" card trick, which, ironically, I learned from by brother (My brother who once said that all people in law enforcement and the military are rednecks, knowing that I would passively agree just to ease his insecurity in the hopes of having good relations, though I positively don't think that way. Never have. Never will. He'd practically break out in tears any time I'd disagree with him. He knew that and that was his intention--to rope me into agreeing to something I didn't want to, and that he knew I didn't mean, so he could dis-credit me with it. Of course, his saying that was no surprise, considering I'd heard him say such things previously. Yeah... that guy. (It's amazing how much I remember, huh?) Oh, yeah...It was also around that time that he lied to me to get my social security number, saying he needed it to make a change in dad's will and that if I didn't give it to him, I would be left out.): You fan out the cards and make the offer, "Pick a card, any card." After they pick it, you have them set it on the top of the deck face down. You then put the deck behind your back and flip that top card over so it's facing up. After that you bring the deck around to the front and hold it up in front of your face, showing the bottom card of the deck to the subject while you are looking at the face of the card they picked as it sits flipped on the top of the deck. You then ask of the subject, "Is that your card?". Of course, they say no. You act surprised and put the deck back behind your back and re-flip that top card so it's once again facing down. You then reluctantly say, "Ok... let me try something else." and hand them the deck and ask them to shuffle it. You take the deck back and fan the cards out and half-jokingly rub the corner of various cards, indicating how warm you are until you identify the actual card. Big deal. (I wish I could remember what card it was that night.) But I digress.
Ok...second night...Donna just showed up and she's chompin' on a salad...I've got the clues in mind along with a hangover... Donna's little purse is sitting on the bar between us. (I believe the ladies call those strapless jobs a "clutch".) (And is there any kind of etiquette regarding where on the table or bar a woman sets her purse? Any time I've been out on such a date, I seem to recall the woman setting her purse on the side of her opposite from me. Ahhhhh, I'm just being paranoid, right? Forget I said all that.)
Now if you've read my previous posts, you know that I'm mainly focused on OS's verbal harassment tactics rather than the electronic harassment aspect of it. I believe it's possible that I have been the subject of DEWs or ADS (seen here), as I have experienced
some of the symptoms, but I am not conscious of any actual burns or other injuries that I've suffered and the symptoms I have experienced can be attributed to the anxiety caused by non-EH psychological tactics. That's not to say they aren't, but if they are hitting me with them, there's nothing I can do about it anyway, so I'm sticking to what I know and can counter, even if only minimally, which is the verbal harassment and stalking. I have done a little reading on EH along the way though, and I did see something in more than one source that said they have small EH transmitting devices that can fit in your pocket, or maybe even a purse.So Donna's chompin' away and my hangover is really starting to kick in. I'm not really up for going out and I think I know the answer I was about to get, but I was in denial. Finally, I asked it: "So, what do you think of President Obama?" Sure enough, she turned to me and said in a smoky whisper, "He's a muslim and a terrorist." and went on to equate being a supporter of President Obama with supporting terrorism. Of course, since I was the only sane one taking part in the conversation, I disagreed.
Now, I've had some bad hangovers in my day, but the dull pain in my temples was starting to make my head buzz and I was actually feeling a little dizzy. At that point, maintaining the smoky near-whisper, Donna made some kind of comment like "Where to now, John? Where's next?", clearly alluding to the fact that I've lived in a few different places. I was really disoriented at this point and felt that I might pass out. Finally, I apologized and said I'll have to bail on our date because I really was not feeling well. She nonchalantly replied, "Oh...well that's understandable."
Her clutch sat on the bar.
(Now, why would I believe any of you guys' bullshit hints about the reasons this is going on, while you're going to such lengths to covertly infiltrate my life and change my mind politically? Kingston Mines? I mean...really. Also, I know psycho-lawyer chick is directly involved as well. When I got here, my intent was to let it go, which I did for about 2 weeks. After 4 or 5 incidents, it became clear that is was continuing. Then I got cornered in a dark bathroom in some dive bar and that was pretty much it. The horse won't be dead until you are out of my life or the situation has been otherwise rectified in my favor. Until then, I will pursue the source/s.)
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
An
Pham, anpham1111@gmail.com; Anna Stepnova, stepnova@aol.com; Barbara Anne Wolf, wolf.barbara.anne@gmail.com, (415) 812-4926; Brian Montague, jetbpm@aol.com; Charles
Crites, critesfam@sbcglobal.net; EHSOH, lovycera@gmail.com; Elizabeth
Nicolosi, elizabethnicolosi@hotmail.com; Kristy
Guertin, guertk@spu.edu; Meagan Franz, meaganfranz@hotmail.com; Miyako
Abe, mtea2006@yahoo.com; Nora Salah, nsalah01@yahoo.com; Teresa Keller, teresa@rtwwithus.org; Natasha
Warder;
