Gangstalking Chronicle

Monday, June 13, 2011

Green-eyed Black Women and Silly-looking Smokers

I'm not sure what else to do other than document here the details of this stupid little game. It is designed so that once the subject is completely isolated from normal human contact, before he's aware of the little insulting attempts at manipulation, he is subject to all of this "coincidental" input simply because he has no ongoing set of normal human contact. It's a human interaction vacuum and these self-righteous, not-so-smart folks fill it with predetermined input that they deem necessary for behavior modification. It effectively destroys his conscious mind. There's no magic to it. It's just very complex, insidious psychological manipulation perpetrated by very, very sick people.

Once I became aware of this game and broke the induced habit of looking intently at every single person I passed on the street--which normal people will find offensive, thus helping to perpetuate the isolation (Yep--I see it all.)--especially all those women doing the model's runway walk, awareness of the other little tactics fell into place. Being conscious of it all defeats it. I guess it continues because I have not yet made this clear. I see exactly what's going on and as long as it continues I will defy each and every attempt simply on principle. Most importantly, I see the emotional manipulation, the mesh-work that ties it all together, also rendered ineffective once you're aware of it. So...for the record...I am not effected by any of this intentional covert manipulative input including, just to name a few recent examples:

The appearance of beautiful, non-brown-eyed black woman. I see it. It is no longer effective and hasn't been for quite some time.

People acting like idiots while listening to music on a computer at the library. I know I don't look like that.

People walking toward me with a clownish gate, smoking a cigarette with stupidly exaggerated gestures. I know I don't look like that. I'll continue to smoke at the frequency I please regardless of these silly things.

I swear, it's like pounding a nail into a piece of steel. Pay attention: I see all. I was mothered once quite properly (other than the NBA delusion) and that was more than enough. I will always, always defy these patronizing, insulting attempts at covert manipulation. I will continue to share my story in explicit detail with people in the news industry, including my E.R. room experience.

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;

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Kayla Marriott

Just to be sure... each suggestion of immaturity and other perceived personality defects suggested by you self-important, mostly female psychologists, etc., is a joke more absurd than you are collectively. I was playing "with the big boys", right where I belonged, while most of you were still working on your Bachelor's or maybe in even still in high school. Unfortunately, the folks closest to me whom I thought I could trust were playing a psychological game meant to plant self-doubt and make me think otherwise. All the time, I was in exactly the right place. In spite of it all, I attained a certain level of success, prompting shocked looks from those folks and the comment, "I don't know, Joe--he's immune to it." So...they had to resort to framing me for some terrible, terrible things, which all you "smart" folks fell for--hook, line and sinker. The games children play. And if you super smart "social engineers" are so upstanding, why must you constantly lie?

I do not recognize any suggestions that any of this has been beneficial to me in any way. It's been nothing but an ongoing insult apparently inspired mostly by a combination of jealously and below-average mental capacity. Every single person who has attempted to do so has an over-inflated, self-important perception of themselves. Again--my behavior is just fine, has been for many years, and is none of your fucking business anyway.

Kayle Marriott thinks she's pretty smart, dropping into Peet's and talking to me in a patronizing tone, etc. Fortunately, she stopped in with a friend and when I asked her for her name right in front of her, she had no choice but not to lie. Bad move, Kayla. Or is it Kelly? Whatever. Ms. Marriott lives on Bush Street between Franklin and Gough. Yep, that's right--I got a name. I also have her friend's license plate number.

And Wayne--I am positively not your "bud." Don't make me embarrass you.

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

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!

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;

Friday, June 3, 2011

I haven't seen anyone laughing or smirking today...

Am I going to get shot in the head to fulfill all the threats? Please...the sooner the better. I'm long past thinking living this way is worth the time.

I din't ask for any of this shit.

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

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Maybe I didn't make myself clear...

Attempts to downplay the magnitude of what I've been subject to or to make me think that it has somehow been beneficial by having people sit next to me and cry about their problems is positively futile. It will never work, just as attempts to make me doubt my own sanity will never work either, particularly ones by burn-out wanna-be rock star sell-outs from Philly. Now that I've come to the realization that the whole thing goes back 20 years, I can say unequivocally:

I fully understand exactly what's going on and every little different part of it, including the mind control and veiled suggestions. I repeat: I recognize every attempt and my mind is officially and permanently closed to suggestion.

My behavior, which is just fine and has been for quite a few years, is none of your fucking business. I'll behave as I please. I've identified what I've been through in chapter 7, "Brainwashing," of Brave New World Revisited. It's amazing what an accurate description it is. One must be sick to participate in such a thing.

I don't give a fuck who's pissed off at me. I have every right and very good reason to be pissed off myself I will continue to be so at my personal discretion until justice has been served. I have no "anger issues" and I am not "potentially violent." I positively do not need covert therapy as has been attempted repeatedly. My anger is well-focused. It occurred to me recently that my story adds up enough that at least one of two things will likely happen: my asshole brother will end up in jail, or I'll end up with a pocket full of cash. I'm going for both.

I don't give a fuck about anybody else's problems, none of which compare to vast set of false allegations, character defamation, and covert manipulation and undermining that has been perpetrated against me.

I will never be fooled into thinking it has been beneficial or made me stronger or "helped me to grow", or in any way justified to the least extent. I was doing just fine in New York before my family started using covert, abusive Nazi mind control tactics on me. Fuck them the most. It occurred to me recently that the reason I'm dedicated to the unadulterated truth is that I come from a family of scumbag fucking liars.

I found the right lawyer and he will hear my story--in its entirety.

I have contacted a major, major investigative news outlet and it has been indicated to me by reliable sources that they are, in fact, investigating.

Fuck every one who has participated in my persecution--every one.

On a more specific note, it is my x-gf's father, Reverend David Plank, who fingered me for CIA sleeper-slavedom. He once made a comment out of the blue about "having friends in the CIA." (My memory/recall has just fucked the whole thing up the ass quite nicely, hasn't it? Everybody thought they were real smart when they dropped all those taunting, veiled hints--real smart.) Ironically, it is my psychotic bitch radical feminist biological mother, Kathleen Kashay, who, a few years later and, as far as I can tell, unrelatedly, signed me up for the Secret Service. She and her sister hinted at it as she caressed her brand new copy of The Audacity of Hope. I'm a fan of Obama, but Kathleen is nothing more than an angry, white male-hating bitch. I never applied, signed up for, or otherwise expressed interest in any such position by my own choice and cognizance. Any signature by me that permits any of this treatment is invalid as it was obtained under heavy psychological trauma or maybe a drug-induced semi-conscious state. I've never been interested in security work and I'm still not. It will never happen. I'm not high-level--or any level--security or intelligence material. My mind is closed to suggestion. It's done, so please, stop trying. I'm talking to TV friends in NY as well as that news outlet. My story is out there.

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

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Freedom Isn't Free

I keep seeing this message. If a person has been the subject of covert manipulation and Nazi psychological abuse by political/religious extremists--as have I--for 20 years, has that person beeing living "free?" Obvisously not. Please--spare me your stupid-ass "Freedom isn't free." bullshit. My persecution started long before I had a single unpaid bill.

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

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Emergency Snow Removal by J.C.

For the record...

I just want to let everyone know that I've figured out the big picture of all this, which actually dates back some 20 years. Apparently, because of a mixed relationship my family found out about from my first couple years of college, I have been the subject of covert persecution and manipulation by self-righteous far-right Christians and racists ever since. This includes several covert attempts to ensure that I marry, or more specifically, breed with no woman other than a white one, highlighted by the attempt by the family of a woman I lived with for 3 years and very nearly married. Add in my immediate family's inferiority complex, lead by the Florida Flunky's intense envy, and you've got a situation marked by ongoing, very subtle, multi-faceted psychological and emotional abuse and, of course, a cloud of very serious defamation and misinformation. They take even the most remote opportunity to portray me in as bad of a light as possible.

The other thing I've come across in my research is that there's a network of envious folks whose only common interest is intense envy of people they deem to have physical and/or mental attributes that give them an unfair advantage in life, and apparently height is a big part of it. I could see where my brother would be part of this group. I'll be direct: if you can't deal with my stature and combination of talents, go fuck yourself.

I've figured out that I've got at least 2 tracking and mind-reading implants in my body, including one in a root canal I got from some right-wing asshole Dentists named Patrick Daulton in Columbus, Ohio.

So, the situation has morphed into one in which various pyscho cults and some high-level agencies are exploiting my desparate situation and playing a manipulation game with me that, again, involves intense psychological and emotional manipulation, and ongoing harassment and stalking. As I said, it has subsided for the most part, but something came up again last night, prompting me to write this post. They're all playing by the same rules with the goal of keeping me destitute and having a good laugh along the way, I'm sure.  It's tough when Schadenfreude just rains on you. It has nothing to do with any of the things I've been accused of, all of which is nothing but a joke of a scam--it's all simple envy.

Though much of it has stopped, I still get harassed and taunted occasionally, including by some North Bay asshole who showed up right on time-- about 10 or 15 minutes after me--last night at Max's on VanNess. He made an obnoxious arrival and was even worse to the bartender and, of course, used a ruse to slip in a comment about behavior. Indeed, it's been indicated to me that the primary goal of gangstalking is "behavior modification" and/or, even more horrifyingly, "thought reform."  Some idiot from the steel mill actually told me to behave once.

I see the Orwellian nature of what has transpired and how it is facilitated by forced isolation. I see how it begins with planting self-doubt through constant disagreement on any and all issues that come up, which will logically, in turn, lead one to be open to suggestion. Once the openness to suggestion has been established, the barrage of subtle, varyingly veiled insults with the intention of destroying the self-esteem begin to take hold, which further perpetuates self-doubt and openness to suggestion. It's a self-perpetuating cycle conducted by pathetic talentless people who have no idea what it means to be productive, let alone creative, all by themselves. They don't know anything but group think. It's sad.

I see how you do things to provoke anger and then accuse the person of being "potentially violent," another of the main allegations used, jumping on the slightest display of anger to perpetuate the lable you created in the first place--again, a self-perpetuating cycle, which, with help of the Patriot Act facilitates constant surveillance. Fortunately, I am confident with the fact that a display of anger does not automatically translate to potential for violent action. One doesn't need a Phd. in psych. to see that the opposite is in fact true: it is holding anger in that creates potential for violence, which of course illustrates how attempts to coerce the person into anger while using manipulation to prevent them from expressing it epitomizes another main aspect of the mind control process: double binds. Yep--I see all. I am secure with the fact that I'm nothing close to "potentially violent."

Fortunately for me, the recent revelation that the whole thing goes back 20 years and is predicated on a mixed relationship--something that is nobody else's fucking business--completely frees me from any of the many ridiculous insinuations and contrived allegations that have been leveled against me. The sheer audacity and self-righteousness required to think that my behavior is any of your business is beyond description. I see how you use the network to defame and persecute someone, making it difficult to find work, and then accuse them of laziness. It's a pathetic game played by pathetic people. In hindsight, I recall several instances while living in New York in which a couple of people would sit near me and have an obnoxiously loud conversation for the purpose of harassment, something I've learned is a major part of the treatment. I had a strong enough mind then to avoid it and the only reason it worked now is because you fucks used the defamation to isolate me. I remember the RAT saying to my brother during that time, "I don't know Joe--he's immune to it."

That said, let me assure you, that I positively do not give a fuck what anyone thinks of my behavior, which has been perfectly fine since about eighth grade. In 7th grade, there were easily a half-dozen kids in the class that were much, much worse than me, but since I was the tallest, the principal labeled me the leader of the bad kids and put me through a positively humiliating ordeal in front of the class, after which several classmates, out of support, commented that they couldn't believe they did that to me. (Fuck you, St. Stephen School--especially Judy Conti, you frigid, under-sexed bitch, you.)

Furthermore, I will continue to think exactly what, and exactly how I please.   I don't need any advice on how to dress, how to act, how to speak, or how to deal with women. It occurs to me that with all of those covert operative girlfriends, I always had an instinctual awareness that something wasn't right, and that was likely the reason I was not really very aggresive about marriage--something that is my business to take part in if and when I please. It's not that I'm against marriage in general, but as I said, I always knew something was wrong with those women. And, yes--if there is any conspiracy in this country is is against free men. The point is, I am officially and permanently closed to suggestion and I will remain a free thinker. The level of intrusiveness into my life is beyond description. My life has been violated to an extent I didn't think possible.

By the way, one of those covert attempts by right-wing female operatives was by a woman named Cynthia Green. Our relationship ended abruptly when I laughed at the following story which she told me on one of our first dates: The night her mother went into labor with her there was a blizzard and the car was stuck in the driveway, unable to get past the snow drifts. No one was available to clear the way. Then, out of the hazy darkness, appeared a bearded man in a white hooded robe and carrying a snow shovel. He proceeded to clear the way for Cynthia's mom to leave and, of course, make it to the hospital in time. Yes--I laughed out loud at Cynthia's insistance that the man was Jesus Christ.

I will find the right lawyer.

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

Monday, February 14, 2011

"How'd Ya Blow THAT One?"

For the record...

If the Florida Flunkie hadn't tauntd me--taunted me, with cryptic hints along the way, I never, ever would have figured it all out.

"Enjoy...I am."

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

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Monday, June 13, 2011

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Saturday, April 23, 2011

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Monday, February 14, 2011