Gangstalking Chronicle: scientology

Showing posts with label scientology. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Lisa Takes Up Photography

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'm sick up and fed!

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, June 6, 2011

Falling Down

My mind is takin' photographs

Of every little thing

Exhibit #8...

Don't be late

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?

You crept in

Underneath the radar

Livin' in a glass house

Sleepin' on a glass bed

My mind has taken photographs

Of every little thing

Honey turn around

And the shame remains

My logic and details will continue to cut the lies to fucking pieces.

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

Amendment to "Bye Bye, Dude"

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.

Stay tuned...

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

Sunday, June 5, 2011

''Bye Bye, Dude."

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.

Are we having fun yet?

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

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Wayne from Texas at Peet's on Van Ness in San Francisco

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.

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

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

E.U. / My Story, Chapter X (X = ten(10), right?)

Different E.U... The E.U. I refer to here is the Experience Unlimited section of the California Employment Development Department (E.D.D.). It's basically a job and networking club for professionals who have different qualifications than those who usually pursue skilled labor or similar jobs through state employment agencies. Many of the people in E.U. San Francisco are technical professionals. Some are in communications-related fields or

accounting. My background is in television production and so far I've only met one other person in E.U. with such a background. Alison Victor (seen here) sports one hell of a video/film resume which includes a variety of production experience and various awards and nominations. She has been recognized by Oprah Winfrey and The Today Show. She put together exactly the kind of career I would like to have, but unfortunately, my immediate family's intentional, systematic, envy-driven abuse directed by my brother succeeded in destroying my self-esteem (The truth is, not knowing their full intentions, I semi-consciously allowed it in the hopes of non-hostile relations. How stupid. Familial loyalty has ruined my life.) to the point where I had no idea at the time the that was exactly the kind of thing I could have and should have been doing, despite the moderate level of success I reached in the capital of the planet. Carrie, you and your folks were so right. (Of course, I did produce a pretty cool sports commercial just for kicks. It was wayyyy too long and the audio sucked, but the concept, camera-work, and editing all pretty much rocked.)

Part of my stalkers' M.O. is that they manufacture a reason to approach me and once they do, at some point early in the initial meet-and-greet, they hit me with a short series of questions delivered in a very matter-of-fact, business-like style. The questions always seem to be meant to confirm 2 or 3 things about my personal history. It was when I experienced this with Alison that I came to a conclusion about the nature of how the radical, psychotic feminists stalking and harassing me operate. Basically, they've got an internet database, probably on one website or a small group of sites that share the same info. The database is a list of guys who have been targeted for whatever reason. I imagine the database probably lists the "infraction" perpetrated by the guy. The radical psychos check the database regularly for targets in their area and then execute the stalking/harassment protocol without directly consulting any other radical psycho regarding their personal actions. The rapid-fire questions about the subject's past delivered in the initial meeting are simply meant to confirm that the person they're talking to is indeed the person in the database, which must include at least an overview of a biography in addition to the supposed infraction. It's safe to assume that this scenario is akin to, if not exactly the basis of what has been called the "lone wolf" status of many right-wing extremists. By simply consulting the secret database and never directly discussing the individual subject with other radical pscyhos, in text or through oral speech, they're all safer from possible incrimination because of the minimal evidence.

Alison isn't my only radical feminist stalker at E.U., though. After my run-in with the Kaitlin McGaw, when I realized that I was indeed being stalked by psychotic radical feminists, I did a little internet research on feminist stalkers and came up with a couple sites that associated female stalkers with yoga. I thought, "Wowww... Kristen, psycho-lawyer chick was into yoga." During my initial orientation meeting for the club, there was a total of about 12 people in the group. The person conducting the workshop commented on what a large group it was. (After realizing the room was packed with my harassers, I skipped the rest of the week. When I came back to complete the 4 remaining workshops, there was a total of 4 people in my group. The largest group I've

noticed since had about 6 or 7 people in it.) I sat directly across from a girl named Stacy Dietz. She mentioned that she does massage therapy for couples. I looked her up on the good ol' internet and it turns out her name is actually Tracy Dietz (seen here) and her service is called Thai Yoga Massage for Couples.

Also in that initial extra-large orientation session where several folks with military background who brought obviously prepared speeches for statements we were assigned to write during the workshop about our personal skills and attributes. A big part of my stalking is my stalkers attempting to damage my self-esteem by one-upping me in any way they can. In all of their speeches, these folks mentioned all the people they supervised and the multi-million dollar values of the projects they were associated with. Of course, being modest as I am, I didn't mention the combined advertising revenue associated with the television programming for which I played a major role in the successful production of. The problem with working in TV production is that it makes you a perfectionist. Everything must be right and decisions are made and changed on a minute-to-minute basis. If you add it all up, the ad revenue gained for the programming which I played a major part producing most likely totals more than the gross sum of all the fake numbers these planted phonies spouted in their pre-written bullshit speeches at E.U. (This is just one of the many effective exercises in the excellent E.U. Workshops.) I personally produced teases and bumps, with quotes of my choice, when Clinton was impeached. I handled production of video-cover for anchor narration when Princess Diana was killed, just to name a couple. Often, these tasks are performed at the last minute and with 6 other things to do. I had nights working in breaking news when I literally did not have a chance to take a piss for 6 hours straight because I was so busy. Talk to the people I worked with in TV. I defy you to find one who would call me lazy. The only reason my career at CBS ended was because I was sleeping on some crack-head's floor (I'd be

awoken by the scchhick-scchhick sound of a Bic lighter (seen here) at 3 a.m.) during the final weeks before cancellation of the show I was working on, and Russ Sarnoff found out I was rolling in late. I didn't realize at the time that I could have gone to him and told him my story and likely gotten a favorable response.

A couple of the phonies at that orientation meeting even mentioned at the outset that they weren't supposed to be there. One of them, a guy named John, showed up yesterday, March 1, 2010, to relieve the person working the desk at noon, the time the shift change usually occurs. It turns out he wasn't on the schedule, though and I found out today that yesterday he only stayed for about an hour. Of course, when he came in as I was leaving, he alluded to his military background in the same tone he made similar comments directed at me during the orientation meeting. In regard to serving the country, I applaud you and thank you, John...or whatever the fuck your name is. In regard to the attempt to intimidate me, I couldn't be effected less.

Here are the names I have of the stalkers from that Orientation meeting:
Tracy Dietz
John Cannon
Suzanne Kirk (I imagine she's a combo conservative fundamental extremist/military/feminist--the worst of all worlds.)

There were many others there, but I was unable to identify them by name. The Asian woman sitting with John the one-hour-at-the-desk guy is the one that makes me wonder. U.S. intelligence? C.I.A.? Who knows. Either way, she didn't fit. Feminist, maybe. She looked like a scientist making observations, but who knows? It just occurred to me that the military/government-related folks harassing me are probably all using fake names. Alison Victor brought a couple buddies I saw in passing, but I haven't been able to identify them.

I will.

A point for the psychotic feminists: back in the early 00s, my brother, a sociopathic liar who's extremely angry because of myriad issues from his past, took great pride in maintaining intimate relationships with 3 different women simultaneously. I believe part of the reason he started his campaign of defamation against me is because one day I told him that I could no longer lie for him to maintain the charade when I would encounter any of the three. His "main" gf at the time is named Lisa who lived nearby. One of the other two was name Mirabelle (Did I spell that right?) who didn't live far from him either, and the other was a less than moderately attractive bartender from an adjacent town. I can't recall her name, but it was easy to tell that she probably was the best of the three in the

sack, as Joe had indicated. I don't recall the name of the restaurant, but it had a long bar inside, a good-sized patio out back with a square-shaped bar backed up to the building, and tables with umbrellas. Since this description could apply a lot of restaurants in that area, I'll say, strictly for the purposes of identification, that this bartender girl had a centrally oriented facial feature that pronounced itself more loudly than most. The only other thing I remember about the place is that it was situated at the corner of an intersection and that during one of our visits there, I introduced my nephew (who's probably more fucked up by my Scientologist brother than anyone else) to the Flaming Doctor Pepper (seen here).

Also remember, psychotic radical feminists, that it is a common tactic to accuse a rival of something you are guilty of. I suspect my brother's anger toward women stems from the fact that he caught his high school sweetheart and another guy in the act while they were living in college together. Of course, he's also quite jealous of my success with the opposite sex in addition to other things. If you're doing this because of something this monumental asshole said, please...wake the fuck up. He's fooled you just like everybody else. Maybe you should be stalking him.

Now... I just read something on the internet suggesting that radical feminists stalk the guys who simply don't cave into their abuse. If that's the case, I guess I'll just have to continue on course to fix this shit the way I know I can. You see, there's this thing about investigative reporters--they love 2 things: 1.) A compelling, dramatic story with a lot of twists and turns, particularly if it involves politics, and 2.) Investigating things.

My buddies at CBS are going to LOVE this shit.

Chapter 10 Amendment

I forgot something important. Back in the early 00s when my bro was covertly maintaining relationships with 3 different women at the same time, my sister, who had the audacity to make a comment to me about "respecting women's feelings", was fully aware of what he was up to. I bailed on the charade before she did...if she ever did. There's a strong woman for ya.

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

Pages

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Lisa Takes Up Photography

Monday, June 6, 2011

Falling Down

Amendment to "Bye Bye, Dude"

Sunday, June 5, 2011

''Bye Bye, Dude."

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Wayne from Texas at Peet's on Van Ness in San Francisco

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

E.U. / My Story, Chapter X (X = ten(10), right?)