Gangstalking Chronicle: surveillance

Showing posts with label surveillance. Show all posts

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.

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

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.

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

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Goodbye, Chicago. / My Story, Chapter V

I'd like to get in a pre-departure post here, but I'll just finish up the Chicago stuff since the remaining pertinent events don't require highly descriptive writing. After the Skokie affair, it became clear that politics were the base of the reason for my being targeted, thus diffusing any further attempts by my perps to keep me confused on that point. I've read about how the lowest level foot-soldiers are blackmailed into taking part and therefore may be of various ethnic backgrounds, thus explaining the small percentage of my perps who are not conservative extremists. If only they knew.

Fact: All the perps who have ever engaged me in conversation directly, and nearly all who conducted a conversation for me to overhear, have been conservative extremists in one form or another, some masquerading as independents or blue dogs. If that changes tomorrow, it won't make a difference. The guys at Thad's make me concerned that blue dogs are nothing more than Republicans infiltrating the Democratic party with the goal of at least weakening it, if not with bigger plans.

I discovered extended stay hotels on-line while I was at the Holiday Inn, which though reasonably priced considering the quality, cost way more than I needed to be spending considering my situation. So I moved on to an Extended Stay America in Rolling Meadows, another suburb of Chicago. They had a quite cheap weekly rate. You hardly get any service at all, but the room has a small kitchen. Of the other people staying there, a certain portion did appear to be legitimate business folks looking to save a buck or two. Another type appeared to be folks who were living a lifestyle or otherwise taking part in activities that aren't quite so above board. Good for them. I don't know how long these places have been around, but after noticing more than one family residing there, it soon dawned on me that these places likely commonly serve as temporary, or maybe not so temporary havens for the thousands of American displaced from their homes by the mortgage melt-down. After the head manager and the daytime manager both made comments indicating to me that they had been notified of, and were participating in my gangstalking, the thought crossed my mind that such places would serve as logical stop-offs--again, in varying levels of permanence-- for T.I.s. I didn't notice any other T.I.s though.

I don't recall what the female day manager said that was perpish, but I do remember what the general manage said. We were talking about whether or not I was going to stay another week. I think he started the conversation by saying, "So, when are you checking out? Never?" I was still somewhat in denial of the fact that the stalking was following me, so I didn't really do anything. When you're still hoping for it to go away, it's still a surprise when someone you don't expect to hits you with such a comment. Once you realize and accept that it follows you everywhere, it's not that big of a deal. (The Heartless Bastards is a bad-ass band! I am currently listening to "Brazen" from their second album. Lots of different influences in these folks. I hear the Pixies. I hear Smashing Pumpkins. I hear Social Distortion. And maybe even a little Built to Spill. Good band.)

It was cold as hell there. I believe it was below 20 degrees almost the whole time I was in the Chicago area--another good reason to move on. I spent some time at a local mall--very nice mall. I had a few drinks at restaurant bar there. I think it was a Red Robin and I didn't notice any perps inside the mall. But one night when I left, there was a car parked facing mine and one spot off to the right with the engine running, the lights on, and the driver sitting inside. I believe that was my first hint of perping in Rolling Meadows. I drove around the corner and immediately returned to drive back down that lane. Sure enough, that car was gone.

I almost forgot about Hooters! One of those freezing nights, I stopped in at a Hooters for a drink. I'm generally not a fan of Hooters, but I figured, "Why not?" David sat down at the bar near me and--surprise, surprise--we ended up talking politics. He looked like he might have been on the street, but he claimed to have a phd in political science and that he worked as a political consultant in addition to teaching at a nearby small college. He claimed to be independent of party affiliation and showed me an e-mail he sent to congress with a suggestion for solving the budget crisis. I can't remember the exact suggestion. It was in regard to an issue I hadn't been following closely, but nevertheless, it seemed like a good idea. He then referred me to a website for the Concord Coalition, a supposedly non-partisan group focusing specifically on solving our fiscal crisis. The conversation was engaging and interesting, but I couldn't help but suspect the guy. I guess it must have been because of his comment associating Democrats with subversiveness. Yeah, that's it. Here's a copy of an e-mail I sent him the next day:

It was great talking to you last night. I was having a hard time keeping up with your mastery of our domestic fiscal situation, but the conversation was both interesting and enlightening, and I think I got the gist of where you're coming from. I dug around a little more in the Concord Coalition site this morning. It's good to know there is an organized non-partisan group focusing on fiscal reform. I'm generally drawn more to social issues, but I try to keep one eye on economic events. I'm still not convinced that a public option is going to destroy private health care companies, but I see your logic.

While discussing health care, we didn't touch on a few key issues that don't get a lot of press: skyrocketing physicians' malpractice insurance caused by frivolous lawsuits, for one. Another thing I meant to mention but didn't is that the Cleveland Clinic is one of only a few hospitals in the world that does not pay its doctors on a fee-per-service basis. Their doctors make the same amount in a week regardless of how many, or what procedures they do. I think making this standard practice is key to solving the health care problem as it will lower costs dramatically, but again, its not something you hear talked about much. I read about both of these issues in the New York Times, of course. The third issue is the high number of unnecessary procedures. Did you catch the piece in the Times from a couple years ago about unnecessary angioplasties? The procedure is the premier cash cow for physicians, with a Cleveland cardiology group leading the way by a long shot over the next most egregious perpetrator. How much would health care costs go down if these three issues were rectified? Sometimes I think the issues that are presented in the media are intentionally meant as a distraction from addressing the real problems. You might consider this crazy or naive, but I truly believe that on most issues we focus too much on money and that if we would identify the key components of an issue, like these three, and rectify them, the money issues would fix themselves. The money issues in health care, for example, are not originally a cause, but rather a result of problems like the three I mentioned. But the money issues then become a cause and then naturally demand all the focus in our money-obsessed culture, thus distracting us from the core problems. It's about the forest and the trees.

So I'm still not clear on your politics. I get the feeling you're a Republican masquerading as non-partisan. Being against the public option is a major Republican stance. I've had problems with right-wing extremists of late, and I can't really trust anyone. Your comment about pissing off both parties did catch my attention though.

I still wasn't positive if things were going to stay unfriendly in the Chicago area, but that changed when the extremists showed up at Carribou Coffee where I'd been spending a considerable amount of time. First a guy came in and sat right across from me and slowwwwly rubbed his bald head. I relocated to the other side of the store. Then 2 others stopped in and sat near me. Their exaggeratedly loud conversation, which I tried to ignore (I hadn't yet purchased these headphones), included a comment about "No forgiveness." I took that to heart.

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

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Pick a Card. Any Card. / My Story, Chapter IV (Roman numerals...nice touch, huh?)

The Skokie Affair

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.)

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

Thursday, January 14, 2010

"You look confused." / My Story Chapter III

I'm going to stick with the post-departure stuff for now. As I said, I want to record all of those incidents with as much detail as possible since the fact that the situation has followed me across state lines makes it a federal issue. There are other, bigger OS issues I'd like to cover, but I'm finding good opportunities to cover various key aspects of OS as I go along.

I left without anything close to a concrete plan and was so tired when I got to Chicago that I decided I should find a place to stay there, though I wanted to press on. I guess it's somehow fitting that I ended up in, of all places, the Chicago suburb of Skokie, Illiniois, of "The Usual Suspects" fame. (Kevin Spacey's been in some great movies. My intellectual egoism still makes me think I'm the only one who saw the hole in that film's plot, though I know that couldn't be the case. I can't remember the exact nature of it, but it was related to the shot late in the movie in which the guy was standing behind the white van with the doors open. Of course, it was my brother with whom I discussed it. He didn't see the hole.) Hoping to just find a place by driving around didn't work out, so I looked up the nearest Holiday Inn on-line and sure enough, there was one right down the street from where I was. It was one of the nicer Holiday Inns I've been in, though the jacuzzi was a little too hot.

The room was great, the staff was great. For the price, it was a very nice facility. There was one odd little unexpected twist though. The nightstand in the room contained a Que-ran (sp?) as well as a Gideon Bible. Woah. How could that possibly happen? I mentioned this in passing to someone and they informed me that the proprietors were of Indian heritage. Strange coincidence.

Happenings in Skokie get better, but the first post-departure OS experience had slipped my mind until just now, so I'll relate it here since I would like to go chronologically as much as possible on either side of the departure. The incident was so brief, I nearly forgot about it. But first I need to mention a common OS tactic: having various stalkers use the same phrase or sentence. Over time, OS evolves to the point where all they're doing is letting you know that they're part of it and that there right there in your life all the time--constant reminders that you have zero privacy and that your every move is being tracked. Using common, yet obscure sentences that don't apply to the current situation, place, or conversation in two different places by two different people or groups of people is an effective way to do it. The farther apart the locations, the more effective the tactic will be.

One of the main guys delivering veiled death threats to me at work was one of my direct supervisors. I'll call him Dick. Dick had been married and divorced something like four times and his anger at life and everyone around him was pretty evident. Our veiled-threat-filled conversations were usually strewn with his knowledge of, and affinity for, World War II Nazi Germany. He loved to rail against the federal government (a point on which I don't completely disagree with him) and, of course, President Obama couldn't do a thing right if you asked Dick. He was also gay, so... there was a lot going on in that tiny little brain, which is probably why he regularly came to work high and/or drunk. Exploiting his grandfathered-in authority (The head boss, Sally, explained to me once that she keeps him on because she feels bad for him and because he'd been there for so long.) to abuse his subordinates seemed to be his main source of life satisfaction. I guess when you're completely lacking in any other notable attributes you're bound to be that way. The guy who referred me to the job used to hide whenever Dick came to his gate.

Another guard there, Jimmy, a young man working midnights who had just completed police acadamy training, passed his state test and was networking for a job, had warned me about Dick's issues and that he was out to burn everyone, anyone, any time he could. Jimmy was a good guy who was trying to achieve something--and did-- so naturally, the "in" clique among the guards had somehow managed to label him as a bad guy. What... a... joke.

I'm glad I picked up a book about non-fiction writing by Ayn Rand before reading any of her other crap. She was on the money, though, when she talked about how society is designed to destroy or at least hinder the best, most talented people. Bourgeois mediocrity... they fight for it. A quote by Lisa in a recent episode of the Simpsons I caught validated my suspicions of Rand's politics by her claim that liberals want to have a dictator. How does one manage to associate people mainly known for fighting for civil liberties, particularly freedom of expression, with fascism or totalitarianism. I fail to see the logic. Someone's going to have to show me a Venn diagram on that one. So, rock on, Jimmy. You were a diamond in the rough there and I applaud your pursuit of higher goals despite the nonsense rhetoric leveled against you by those nonsense people, especially Dick.

Anyway... any chance Dick got to use a subtle, verbal OS psychological torture tactic on me, he did. I'll cover more of his comments throughout this story, but here I'll mention one of the last things he said to me while I was still employed there: "You look confused." The cool thing was, I responded, "No, I'm not confused at all."

So... as I was traveling through the great state of Indiana, I noticed a sign for the "largest Big & Tall outlet in the world". If I haven't mentioned it, I am exceptionally tall. 6', 9" to be exact (My brother is about 5', 6". More on that later.), so naturally I had to stop in Elkhart to check out the proclaimed global mecca of Big & Tall apparel. It turned out the only thing that was really worth the trip was a shoe selection with quite a few big names in my size and in styles that appealed to me, which is rare. Unfortunately most of the dress shoes had higher than normal heals, so I didn't get anything. Other than that, the place didn't impress me much.

While I was walking around, I noticed a couple guys and a girl come in. They looked to be in their early to mid 20s, I'd guess. The guys were of Latin descent and the girl was Caucasian with blond hair. I kind of suspected them for some reason. It gets to the point where a T.I. can pick stalkers out--kind of an instinct thing. Though that awareness is a good thing in a way, it does add to the effectiveness of the OS campaign-- the paranoia of it. What if they weren't really stalkers and I just thought they were? Actually, I've considered this dilemma and found that I'm correct about 90% of the time. Nevertheless, I didn't want to be paranoid, so I blew it off.
Later, when the three of us just happened to be standing near each other while browsing, one of the guys said to the other two, "He looks confused." and laughed. There was no one else within earshot of the comment. I was immediately remind of Dick's comment. This was my first indication that the stalking had followed me out of the state and at the time, it was greatly, greatly depressing and unnerving. Despite what I'd read about OS following the T.I. around the country, or even the world, I was hoping against hope that I would leave it behind me. No such luck. I ended up departing the store before them, so I hovered around the intersection to see if I could catch them coming out and identify their car. It didn't happen though, so I left. Then I went and had a burger at Dairy Queen and a guy and his wife gave me a dirty look there. Man, did that ruin the rest of the trip to Chicago.

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

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pages

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

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

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Wyoming / My Story, Chapter IX

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Goodbye, Chicago. / My Story, Chapter V

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Pick a Card. Any Card. / My Story, Chapter IV (Roman numerals...nice touch, huh?)

Thursday, January 14, 2010

"You look confused." / My Story Chapter III

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

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