As I mentioned earlier, it appears that posting the story here is having a positive effect to some extent, despite the egregious unconstitutionality of what you are doing. This is a copy of an e-mail I just sent to some "friends":
It's become obvious that these Brave-New-World behavior adjusters (who are going to learn to mind their own business) have made me the subject of little false scenarios meant to test me and see how I react. They use actors and through a kind of innate sense, I can tell, in what I suspect to be nearly every instance, that these situations are, in fact, charades. At some point, it became evident that they were setting me up with encounters with blind people including one very early upon my arrival in SF at Peet's at Vaness and Bush where the manager there named Wayne and a woman named Kayla Marriott both harass me. At some point along the way, someone made a direct comment about being mean to blind people.
In 1994, I worked as a bartender at the BW3 bar and restaurant on south campus at OSU. The chain is now called Buffalo Wild Wings and the exact location where I worked no longer exists. The manager there was a guy named Matt and, like many of the people I now know are involved in the situation, was always an ass to me and I didn't know why. As I look back, it's clear that of the "good ol' boys" involved, he was by far the most "good ol' boy" of them all. Ditto for the head manager, a guy named Paul. They were country-boy buds.
One night a guy came in to the bar who was blind. He was with a woman. I didn't see him come in and I had finished dealing with another customer when I looked over and he was already standing at the bar. He wore no glasses and pressed himself very tightly against the bar, which I thought nothing of at the time. Like any other customer, I focused on his face. He already had a bill on the bar underneath his fingers. When I approached him, he leaned forward . His left eye was clearly distorted, but, as I recall, the other wasn't nearly as bad. It was striking and impossible to not notice as his face was unusually close to mine. It was slightly disconcerting (the reason blind people tend to wear shades), making it nearly impossible to notice anything else. I had no idea whatsoever at this point that he was blind. I believe the bill was a 5 and he asked for 2 beers. Whatever it was, the bill he had ready was insufficient to cover the cost of what he asked for. It may have been a 1, I'm not sure. The point is, I had no idea he was blind and I thought it was some kind of short-change scam so I kind of sarcastically said, "Come on man, that's a five (or a one, whichever) you're giving me." He then said very loudly, "What, can't ya see I'm blind?" and may have added, "I have my cane right here!" I looked down and saw pressed into his stomach as he hugged the bar, the cane's handle and maybe and inch of the shaft visible above the edge of the bar. I was positively mortified. (I have a witness, motherfuckerrrrrs.) But there's a more important point...
Matt was standing right behind me and when I turned and looked at him, he actually made a sarcastic, exaggerated feigned look of surprise before mockingly waddling over to the CIA secret persecution file book to "write me up." This happened right as I my shift was ending and my replacement, Ron, was behind the bar and saw most or all of the incident. When Matt headed for the book, Ron followed him and pleaded for me, saying, "Oh, come on, Matt--it was a mistake. He didn't know." Matt waved him off and smiled the whole way through. I don't know whether Ron knew at the time that it was a scam, but he knew the truth about my end of it and my reaction. I snuck out the back-door completely distraught and have felt terrible about it ever since.
If he didn't have a system for identifying his bills, as most blind people do, why didn't his friend help him? Presenting money at a retail establishment was a new experience to this guy who was at least 35 at the time? I doubt it. He distracted me with his uncovered eyes by pushing his face forward while at the same time using very, very non-blind body language and actually concealing his cane. Nevertheless, as I look back, it is Matt's reaction that's key, here.
There was also an employee there named CJ or DJ or JD or JC. I'm pretty sure it was CJ, but I'm not positive. He was originally from West Virginia and he didn't like me either. The blind gentleman looked a lot like CJ. I noticed this and had a sense something was wrong with all of it, including Matt's reaction, but I had positively no idea what was going on at the time and didn't see the setup, plus, I was just really, really upset about it.
End of e-mail
Now, then, would be an excellent opportunity to point out that everything you've been doing for that past few years, or who knows how long, is quite unconstitutional and that my situation is an absolutely perfect example of part of the reason the 5th amendment exists and why we have courts where you have to prove stuff beyond the word of one guy in one instance. (There's another thing called "preponderance of evidence" I intend to cover here as well.) You're justifying what you've done because you "heard" I had been "mean to a blind person" going on the word of one man, who it turns out was part of a scam to fool you into harassing me. As of yet, I have not officially been able to plead my case. Pay attention, especially all you upstanding, super egalitarian, peaceful, social, highly educated and intellectual San Franciscans taking part in my persecution: you are going on the word of the racist manager of a midwest hole-in-the-wall wing joint that is actually the product of a scam perpetrated by him that is in turn part of a much larger scam conducted by a network of racists. HOLD THAT THOUGHT! It's absolutely amazing how good an example this is of why the title of this post is included in the 5th amendment.
Here, I will add that some folks have implied that none of this is anything new and that it goes on all the time, implying that I shouldn't complain or try to resolve things. 2 points: If someone's around with a similar story to mine (you haven't heard the best of it yet), I'd absolutely love to get together and compare notes; and if you've been the subject of such treatment and just laid down and accepted it without fighting it every way you know how, that's your fault--not mine. In fact, I did try to "just forget it and move on" by volunteering at a non-profit in the hopes of networking and starting over, but I wasn't treated so well, there. I've been left with no choice but to pursue a legal solution, as unlikely as it may seem, and to continue telling me story. If this is the "American way" and something that is accepted and I'm just being quite naive, then cut me a check for my 20 years of trouble and I'll be most happy to be on my fucking way.
I also find it worthy of note that in a story of blacklisting stemming from an interracial relationship, here we are talking about blindness. Gnaw on that one and get back to me.
There have been many death threats. As long as I'm breathing, I will continue to pursue justice. My behavior is none of your business. I see how you send "thugs" from different "mobs" in response to my "private" e-mails. It is my goal to get back in with the tall, smart good-lookin guys mob and I promise you that when I do, you will want no part of me. And just for kicks, I should cover this now: I positively do not care what any women or any one thinks of the fact that I lead a promiscuous lifestyle between the ages of 18 and 25, when most normal guys do it, and I never will. (You'll understand more after the next post.)
(I know, I know--the scam involving the blind person is a pill that's very difficult to swallow. Tell ya what: in my next post I'll provide you with a nice, fat case of Fuller's 1845 to wash it down.)
I recently had an encounter with yet another mislead, self-important individual who for some odd reasons think I am in need of insulting, patronizing covert suggestions of little things about life like "responsibilitiy", etc., which is an absolute joke. Here are the links she sent me:
I'm not sure what this guy's angle is, but he's got something to do with it, and as long as I figure out that you're following me around and not saying anything, you are guilty. He comes from the direction of the corner of Eddy and Laguna (I know because he intercepted me one morning at the corner of Turk and Gough and I saw him on his way.) on a black bicycle with bold white lettering on the diagonal bar and he almost always wears the same thing. I can't get the HTML embed code. I don't know why. I think it depends on the computer...
I see all the set-ups or tests meant to bait me into a situation with the goal of portraying me in a bad light and I will continue to defy them on principle. I pegged the guy on the bus yesterday the second he opened his mouth. I didn't have to wait for him to later mysteriously jump up from his seat in the DMV waiting room to come sit right near me to confirm his role. It was also interesting how those 3 people in line behind me left after quizzing me about DMV procedures, enabling the guy from the bus to stand nice and close directly behind me during that hour-long wait in line. Yeah, and I was on to that CIA/FBI cunt who get on the bus at my stop while she was crossing the street.
Because of the emotional and mental abuse I've been subject to, and the ongoing interrogation that has gone along with it, when a complete stranger on the bus who reeks of alcohol asks me "Do you live here?," I am quite rightfully inclined to answer, regardless of the condition of his face, "It's none of your business," and will do so again.
A major, major part of the mind control I've been subject to is emotional manipulation including a barrage of traumatic images that are part of the PSYOPS and thin thread being used to psychologically torture me. By and large, it's meant to keep the subject depressed and unable to function. Another major part of it is inducing severe emotional swings from good to bad. Some of it, though, is innocuous, simply meant to get your attention. Unless you've been through it, it's very difficult to grasp, which is exactly how they want it. They establish a pattern and stretch it out over the course of weeks or even months and it's something no one else will notice. For a while, it was people wearing orange shirts. Recently, it was people wearing green shirts. They enter your proximity and make strange gestures to get your attention. Right around the time I figured out and started to break the mind control, they started sending people at me walking briskly, theatrically swinging a large paper grocery bag in each hand from opposite starting points, each nearly going horizontal at either end of the swing. They make it obvious to the subject. It was during that one that I learned to just look away. Those are just a few examples.
As I mentioned, the main point is to keep the subject "under a spell," as one op directly inferred to me, and to keep them depressed mainly through a steady stream of traumatic input. It's exacerbated by the denial of all comfort and normal, positive human interaction, all meant to keep your life as miserable as possible. They kind of make you a robot, or as yet another op directly mentioned, "a zombie." The public application of traumatic images mainly occur when I attempt to do enjoyable, social things, with the goal of spoiling everything I do. I joined a Euchre meetup group in town and while standing outside smoking a cigarette, a guy came by and asked to bum one before volunteering the info that his daughter had her face ripped off by a pit bull. I have to think it was a lie. Those cases aren't difficult to win, plus a precedent was recently set, but the comment has its effect. Sometimes I think another goal of such planned incidents is to devalue the level to which my life has been violated for so, so long--something that will never happen.
The latest pattern is about as far as I go and aptly illustrates the length to which these demented sickos will go. Believe it or not, it has become evident, lately, that I have been subject to a noticeably abnormally high frequency of close encounters with people whose faces are disfigured to varying degrees, including a recent one while I sat at a restaurant bar trying to eat an All-American sandwich on the fucking 4th of July. Their situations are clearly heart-wrenching and tragic, and when you're the subject of ongoing abuse and isolation as I have been with no "outside frame of reference" (as Jesse Mills so aptly pointed out the night after he invited me to a hole-in-the-wall diner where a striking black model struck up a conversation and then made a reference to getting shot in the head or having the back end of hammer buried in it. Oh, and she coincidentally showed up to say hi to me at Jazz fest, effectively reminding me of our conversation. I was able to beat that one down, though.), nor any authentic human interaction, these ongoing encounters are very effective in being nothing but traumatic and depressing. Indeed, the whole treatment is dehumanizing. I get the feeling that part of the rationale behind this is to simply expose me to such things. If so, look up my cousin Andy. He was born with water on his brain. My brother used to mock him openly at family gatherings. The ironic part is, that while I've been portrayed as such a monster, they're doing it because they know I'm by and large a compassionate, emotional person. You are bunch of sick, twisted fuckers and I don't work for you by my own will or awareness and never will. This combined with the street-punk ops making out in front of me is a bit too far.
These guys have all the most important major points and names involved in my story.
In light of thse recent developments, I'm going to start working on getting in touch with this guy.
If this little secret network of folks is so damn powerful then you can get to all those folks and buy them off, so I'll just keep sending e-mails. CBS has a little coin sittin' around, though. But why not just kill me to fulfill all the threats...please?
I also mention here that while they had me deep in the mind control early last year, no matter where I went, I had people suggesting I join Toastmaster's. One guy asked me if I'm a leader. I was constantly surrounded by political operatives and some folks I ran into at a job-networking club turned every meeting he had to politics. Mind control......Toastmaster's......constant political talk. You add it up. And since I have no "outside frame of reference," how could I possibly confirm to myself all the outrageous things that have been suggested? I have no choice but to chalk it all up to PSYOPS. As I exist on, with broken teeth and a partially numb foot, I have to play it that way. I'm not really interested in politics and I see exactly what's going on. The goal of making it impossible to trust anyone has been successful. You isolated me to the point where I have no confidants, or at least didn't for a while. Someone can talk to me openly and directly. Why not send me something in the friggin' mail? You can trust the U.S. Post Office.
You've done nothing to make me strong or benefit me in any way and you'll never fool me into thinking otherwise. Indeed, you've made quite the fool of me and destroyed my life completely. I guess the fortunate thing at this point is that I've got nothing to lose, but I will not sit back and be subject to the pattern of folks whose faces have been sadly, tragically disfigured being trotted out in front of me, something that when compounded with all of my abuse I've absorbed is strictly depressing. I'd rather be dead.
I am not joking--about any of it.
Also, I'll mention again here that there's apparently a little network of "powerful," psycho radical feminist women in on the scam whose intention it is to coerce me into marriage. (Ya know--maybe their not necessarily all radical feminists. It occurs to me that the overweight angry women are quite possibly a little sect of their own, which might include the shrink from Boston. Who knows?) Not only do I see every attempt, but I'll go against it just on principle. But if it must continue, at least let it be ones who are in the friggin' league, for goodness sakes. I know they can't all be in the ball park, necessarily, but the Boston psychologist at Chevy's who tried to intimidate me and imply that she can have me arrested doesn't come close. I mean--I very nearly laughed out loud when she hinted at...her??....and.... me??!!...together????!! Bwahahahahahaaha!!! That is a very funny joke, kids. So funny, I almost puked. Send back the tall, extremely attractive black girl in jeans I saw once sitting in Peet's sideways in her chair with her legs spread while fiddling on her laptop and sucking on a pen who I made it a point to ignore. She is the one and only exception. And btw, hammerhead chick from Munch Haven ain't that great.
Actually, I would consider Brooke Coollie, but I'm slightly turned off by the rapid-fire, probing, mind-tilling questions meant to facilitate mind control. All of the attempts at manipulation through guilt and fear and mind control I find to be very disconcerting. It turns my stomach and I want no part of it. I figured out exactly what Brooke was doing that night: Use repetitive, probing, confusing questions to make the subject think real, real hard, always asking the next one while he's still wondering about the current one, thus making the confusion and wonder accumulate, effectively digging a hole to the subconscious before burying whatever info it is you want to. It's an apt metaphor. Yeah--figuring that out that night was key. And then the dental supply salesgirl at the night club, actually saying, "You have to be open.", as if I might have fallen for that at that point. And Brooke and all her bullshit about her boyfriend. And Leah with the insinuations of guilt as she nonchalantly moved in her toothbrush and shampoo! The bummer is, I don't need to be tricked into paying attention like that.
"You think you've flown before, but baby, you ain't left the ground..."
I'll tell ya what: San Francisco is a fantastic town. It's everything you'd expect and more, from the social diversity to the breathtaking views everywhere you look to what just might be the greatest non-changing weather on the planet. After about a year or so, it occurred to me that the way to "get in" for someone who came for reasons such as I did is to volunteer. It makes perfect sense in many ways. You get to meet people while providing a service and even if there are no jobs available there, networking opportunities will surely arise. Plus, I just happened to overhear someone say something about networking recently.
So, I started digging around on Idealist.org and eventually settled on a small, struggling environmental-type group here in town. I thought, okay, this a way I can't lose and get to do some good work and meet some good people, etc., etc. Part of this whole isolation thing I've been subject to is that it's very difficult to socialize when you don't have a job, which is yet another reason volunteering makes sense. You get to be social in a setting where the social aspect isn't as demanding. It's perfect.
The position they advertised was "Communications Intern." I'm a little old for that title, but whatever--it's not that big of a deal, all things considered. Things started out okay, but I sensed that all of these absurd things that have been so meticulously manufactured about me had indeed followed me there. Sure enough, one day out of the blue, Marcy, the head of the department, a clearly sex-starved, approaching-the-top-of-the-hill feminist who has no idea how incapable she is of effectively hiding her struggle under the cumulative weight of years of loneliness accompanying her life of "empowerment," (extremism is a disease) insinuated that I am a rube by telling the story from which the term originates. Of course, I shot it down by explaining to her how most baseball stories are hybrid myths and topped it off with the itty-bitty whittle piece or wet-o-whic I've been using thwoo-out: "Don't believe everything you hear." It's always effective, even at the muffler shop--one of the earliest uses.
She made another comment referring to my situation that I laughed off, but later, she made another one out of the blue. Something to the effect of, "If someone's gotta keep an eye on ya, I guess I'll do it." This one was a bit of a double-shot. Not only was it another in a string--or should I say "thread?"--of patronizing insults like the Rube comment, but it also illustrates the Orwellian (I hate to use that word so much, but it's very accurate.) surveillance-state I've been subject to in which nearly everyone I meet acts as an extension of that surveillance.
Despite all of this, I stuck around for a couple of months and did some decent work. They let me do some writing. Some was good, some was bad. I also copy-edited a thing they were passing around in congress that was a nightmare of a mess when they handed it to me. Fixing it up was fun and was a great example of a way I could contribute right away, because if they're passing something like that around, it's no wonder they're not not making an impact in DC. The thing was a mess--something about the U.S. Export-Import Bank approving loans for fossil fuel-burning plants in Africa. It was very complex and it was obvious that the guy who wrote it clearly had a firm grip on the situation, but was nothing more than a tiny nozzle holding back a reservoir of information and just didn't have time to neaten the thing up. I guess their having to lay off 2 people didn't make it clear to ol' Marcy how much they should have appreciated free help from a guy with my kind of experience and skills. Oh, but, lest we forget--I'm a rube.
But wait...there's more...
In addition to writing, they had me help out with promoting some events they were working on. One was a screening of an Oscar-nominated documentary about an environmental movement by a small village in China. (What is the big hoo-haw about Macs? I know--they're great for graphic design-type stuff, but not being able to right-click positively sucks. Yes, I know--use the control button. I figured that one out. It sucks. Having the option to right-click is a good thing. Deal with it.) Again, despite Marcy's comments, I got on the phone and, using their directory of local calendar listings and digging up a new source or two, applied a little NY hustle. Though I'm sure no one there would ever admit it, the place was packed due in large part to my efforts. A reporter from a China newspaper even showed up. The venue was the perfect size (I did that research, too.). All in all, it was a smashing success. Some actress playing Chiang Kai-shek's wife in an upcoming independent film even showed up hoping to make a connection with the organization. Quite ambitious, she was, all done up in her stage make-up and everything. She also insisted on showing me several of her beauty pagent pictures on her nifty little iPhone before using it to snap a few shots of me. At some point in there she asked the probing, uncomfortable question that might make one think real, real hard, "What's your dream?" Maybe she thinks I have acting potential. (I don't.) It was all very strange. Anyhoo...
I even did some grunt work for them, taking a couple days to file some crap and sort through a few monstrous stacks of mail returned from prospective donors. No complaints; all free of charge. Many days they asked me to stay beyond the 4 hours a day they mandated early on. Some days, I stayed without being asked--volunteering on top of volunteering, if you will. It was quite clear that they needed the help. Oh, and I shouldn't forget to mention that they were also in the process of building a new website and had tons of copy-writing to do.
What's most confusing is, as I mentioned before, there are folks involved who are clearly aware of the gross injustice I've been subject to, sometimes indicating it, seemingly with sympathy. Still, though, no one ever addresses it openly. You know why? Because the whole thing is illegal, what, denying someone due process and all. Anyway... One of the other department heads there was one of these. I got good vibe from her early on, though, ironically, she came off as the most likely radical feminist of the bunch. But, no--there was a definite sensibility in this person, so it should come as no surprise, then, that she was more on her game than anyone else there. She was always nice to me. At some point after I'd been there for about a month and half, I guess, she summoned the to 2 women in my department for an impromptu chat. When the ladies returned, they both gave me a kind of ominous, and maybe concerned look, but didn't say anything. Our relationships where tainted after that, of course. The bummer is, I could tell that their little pow-wow was to discuss that she indeed was aware of how I'm a "target" for some unscrupulous folks. Nevertheless, none of them addressed me about it, which just perpetuates the anxiety of the whole thing, which is absolutely unhealthy for me and and something I will continue to avoid. Because of that last incident and the preceding patronizing insults from Marcy, I was compelled to stop going there. It was a bummer, because I was starting to develop a good working relationship with one of the women in the department. After I didn't show up for a couple of days, she sent me an e-mail with the obviously sincere subject-line, "Are you okay?" She and I'd even come to an agreement about how disrespected the Communications Dept is there--a very strange dynamic considering that that is pretty much all they do and one of the main perpetrators was a department head who indicated to me herself that she is not proficient at writing English!! I mean--I was only there for a couple months and it was obvious. They don't make door-stops or any other kind of widget. They aren't running a restaurant. They aren't providing any kind of entertainment. They beg for money and use--wait for it--communication to make a political impact. It's really baffling.
While there, I also came up with a couple promotional ideas and offered to share them with Marcy and the director. The director said she didn't have time and to discuss it with Marcy, which I know, of course, put me at a disadvantage because Marcy would be able to steal it or bury it. I know that game, too. So, Marcy and I had a little scheduled meeting. One of the ideas was pretty obvious, super cheap, and an excellent promotional tool. I believe her excuse for not having already done it was something about "not having enough bandwidth." Hmmm... The other idea was way outside the box and, admittedly, likely a little too high profile for a non-profit. It was sexy. But who says a non-profit can't be sexy? Why not be a mold-breaker, a trend-setter? Nevertheless, Marcy's face once again betrayed her as I told her about it. Though she went straight to the too-high-profile excuse, it was clear that she was hot for the idea as she stammered at the point where it hit her like an arrow to the heart that such an idea never drifted anywhere near her mind during all those years in marketing. (Do you like insulting me?) I thought she was going to cry.
And, of course, after the film-screening I offered to walk her and the other ladies, including the director at the time, to their cars. The others pealed off and when Marcy and I got to her car in a parking garage, she offered me a ride up to the street, likely with the intention of saving me some shoe leather. Uh...yeah...anyway... Though I knew it was a bad idea--since I didn't intend to ask her out for a drink, as she was clearly hoping I would--I accepted and said "Ta, ta." before hopping out when we reached the sidewalk. Once again, I thought she might cry. I must have been feeling a little rube-ish.
Finally, Another point worthy of note that came out of Marcy's and I's private promotions meeting is her assertion that the organization has been short of funds in recent years because those funds have been diverted to natural disaster response organizations that would, not surprisingly, be on the same benefactors' radar. It's possible that Marcy was spewing a little piece of rhetoric there, but as I said, they had just laid off 2 people and were clearly struggling. If true, that situation is like writing on the wall, peops, not to mention further evidence of how bad of an idea it is to insult the volunteer. (I want to make it clear, here, that accept for one or two other girls who gave me some dirty looks, everyone else there was mostly pretty cool to me.)
Shall we review? I volunteered at a struggling non-profit working on environmental issues. I contributed in a number of different ways in which is was clear they were desperate for help. I'm not saying my work was spectacular, but despite the early patronizing insults, I continued on for a while, and getting the kind of help I was contributing for 12 hours a week for free is a rare commodity, my friends. I will not--I will not subject myself to patronizing insults--particularly from some marketing wash-out who can't manage to keep her nose clean--while providing help for free, regardless of the potential benefit for me. The anxiety created by being surrounded by people dropping hints meant to do nothing else but fuck with my head is positively unhealthy. It causes me undue anxiety. I won't do it.
(I know--I should have done the "Lisa Takes Up Photography" post a long time ago, but as each vague memory comes, it takes a while to confirm it, the whole story is so incredibly outrageous. As I said, I didn't actually confirm that one until I wrote it.)
So, if I can't provide free help to a struggling non-profit without getting harassed, I'm not sure what else you want, you big bad ol' world of perfect people, you. You wonder why I keep trying to re-establish connections with old NY colleagues? After my experience with Marcy, why wouldn't I?
About being a rube...
The story is about a major league baseball player from way, way back who was originally from a small town. Either while playing for a team in a big city or playing against one at their field, the story goes that while running to home plate from third base, he was distracted by an attractive woman in the stands holding a puppy, the insinuation being that he's a "country bumpkin," maybe, who's easily distracted. This is a great opportunity to share a perfect example of what's been happening to me for 20 years and put this stupid-ass rube shit to rest.
As I mentioned in a recent post, I am the subject of black-listing and covert persecution by racists because of an interracial relationship from 20 years ago. I didn't figure out how far back it goes until this past February. All of what they do is meant to be invisible and a major part of it is a covert psychological abuse that is akin to subliminal messages in advertising. I noticed these things as odd and mean along the way, but just kind of blew them off and plowed ahead. They keep it spread out over time so it's difficult to recognize the pattern.
That mixed relationship happened when I was 19 or 20 while in Louisiana. It's possible it actually started with someone there, but I know that my family found out about it very early on by finding a photograph in my bedroom during the following summer I spent in my hometown. There's also a reason I know they actively took part way back then which I'll cover in a later post. I later transferred twice, finally to Ohio State. I was working as a bartender at BW-3 on south campus there. (I'll cover another incident at BW-3 in a later post, as well. (That's right--it was part of the scam. (I see all.))) Again, this is the earliest occurrence I recall. This would have been in 1993 or 1994. One afternoon while I was working, early in the shift, a girl came in by herself and sat at the bar. She aggressively struck up a conversation with me and quickly indicated she was interested in me. The content of the convo was normal and part of it was talking about our majors, mine being Communications. I could tell there was something odd about the encounter and I didn't find her attractive so I didn't reciprocate her interest. She left and later in the shift came back with a friend. (They were both white, btw.) There were very few people there. They sat at the bar and had an obnoxiously loud conversation featuring a discussion of what a worthless major communications is. I had also mentioned in the earlier conversation that I was considering moving to NY. One of them made a comment, clearly by its tone intended as an insult, about moving there being for people who are lost or don't know what they want to do. I just blew it off. At the time, I figured they were just mad because I didn't return her romantic interest, but of course, now I know different. That's exactly the kind of shit they do.
They point is, that was only the first in a loose string of such incidents occurring both in Columbus and NY that I plowed my way through, undistracted and undeterred, while completing my degree and achieving a moderate level of success in NY before running smack-dab into a Neo-Nazi who harassed me into losing my last television job. (Not Atlas. I did 2 stints at another place and leave the last one off my resume because they actually had me feeling guilty.) The problem is, despite my accomplishments, that string of hidden self-esteem attacks accumulated and I didn't see the toll it was taking. It worms its way into your mind. It's all quite insidious. It's meant to make you afraid to be social, marginalize you, and slowly nudge you into isolation. It's self-perpetuating. The other really bad part of it is that they immerse you in it so that when you have a healthy relationship, you think something must be wrong. They make this kind of abuse an ongoing reality. Yep, that's right--I see all. I should mention here that I appreciate the fact that people are gaining an understanding of the reality of this insidious Machiavellian schem I've been subject to. From a psychological standpoint, though, I must point out that simply seeing the whole thing is 75% of the recovery. It really is. Being busy and having normal human relations makes up the bulk of the remainder, which is what bumms me out most about what happen during my attempt at volunteering.
As I look back, even in NY, I recall being out at bars and restaurants and wondering why groups standing near me were having these loud conversations that often, and coincidentally, I assumed, where insulting to things about my life. Often they'd say things like, "Television is too difficult of a business to crack. I wouldn't even try." I tried and cracked it wide open all...by...myself, bitches, and the only reason it ended is because I ran in to some Nazi who had me isolated and intentionally baited me with harassment. The boss either fell for it or was in on it. (More on that later. I have already conveyed that story, in explicit detail, to my closest former NY colleagues, plus a few other interested parties, btw. I'm sure it's spreading nicely.) I was getting the same shit at home from my family. My brother loved to devalue my degree. It was one of his favorites.
So...I am quite good at functioning and progressing despite a mostly invisible, intentional, group barrage of potentially very damaging distractions. In fact, I'd have to say I'm better than most at focusing despite distractions. It's important to note that subjects of what I've experienced are meant to never figure it out, let alone achieve some of the things I did despite it. As I said, my brother made many cryptic, taunting hints over the years. He was dead-on correct when he whispered in my ear: "Something's wrong and you just don't know what it is." And in regard to the ongoing reality of it, I'll remind you again that my when I arrived home for a family gathering not a depressed basket case, my brother looked at me with an angry, shocked look and then turned to my Nazi cop brother-in-law with an inquisitive look which prompted him to shake his head and say, "I don't know, Joe--he's immune to it." God damn right, he is.
I'm reminded of another NY story when a college friend and a new friend of his visited me in Manhatten. The new guy was, shall we say, an ambitious small-time thrill-seeker. I mentioned something to him about it being good to be aggressive in NY. Maybe I shouldn't have...or maybe I should have. Anyway...
We were walking down the sidewalk three abreast, me on the buildings side, old buddy in middle, aspiring gangsta, curbside. As we a approached a sidewalk peddler seated behind a table full of trinkets with his back to the street, in the blink of an eye he jumped out from behind the table, switchblade drawn in the direction of wannabe gangsta kid. I may not be nearly as quick (obviously, the scale of my experience is a little different), but his words apply here:
I see your game, motherfucker.
Furthermore, then...
I do not need to be babied or coddled. Nor do I need to be constantly supervised. I've taken on more daunting challenges than most, again, all by myself. My high school basketball coach, who I played for for 4 years was a big-time Woody Hayes disciple which probably had a lot to do with me progressing despite the old blacklist psychological harassment. (Ironically, I'm sure he's not a proponent of mixed relationships.) He was a football coach before he switched to basketball. He was a lower-division college football standout at linebacker and it is my understanding that in an NFL tryout for Philadelphia he lasted until the final round of cuts.
Our high school football team had these handheld blocking dummies, kind of like these, but as I recall, they were longer. Apparently, we weren't beating on each other enough under the basket for Jazz (that was his nickname. No one called him "coach." It didn't matter.), so we did drills in which a guard would pass us the ball in the low post. We'd make a drop-step and as we went up for the bunny, he'd beat us over the head and arms with the dummy and then shove us with it on our way back down. You don't see the value of those things at the time. I also recall practices that included a suicide for every point we lost by in the previous night's game. Of course, that was only when it was a large margin. The time we lost by 17 stands out. That is not an exaggeration. I also recall his little speech at the end of a New Year's Eve practice: "Gonna go out and drink tonight, are ya? Alright--go ahead and drink all you want. In the morning we'll sweat it out of ya." I believe the practice was at 7am that New Year's Day and we all expected a heavy dose of running. But Jazz was more creative than that. My teammates and I drove through the dark wee, wee hours of the year to find the gym in sauna-like conditions. He must have had the thermostat set at 80. "If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all have a Merry Christmas, baby."
I do not need to be constantly supervised and every patronizing conversation meant for me to overhear is just another insult. I'm a normal, sane human being. Both times I returned home after my time in NY were in large part to help care for my dying parents, respectively--another little tid-bit I had to pry thanks out of my siblings for. During my first 2 years in New York I surpassed several--several situations that would have sent many folks running home to mommie, so let's drop that one too, shall we?
Competition doesn't scare me a bit, but this group effort against me is a little over the top and I'll continue to fight it until it all stops. Since it seems to be effective, I will continue to air my story here--among other places.
(I ran into an old lady from New Jersey, once. We chatted a while, and when Frank Sinatra came up, she snapped, in nasally Jersey-ese, "He's a punk!")
I am a non-religious person. I respect others' lifestyle choices and the truth is, I'm really not that far from mainstream. Truth be told, I'm quite moderate, but fanatical folks who think their way is the only way get carried away with their own self-righteousness and portray others who are different in an extremely poor light, exaggerating and often manufacturing faults. I've always been a live-and-let-live kinda guy, but recent revelations have made it all too clear for some 20 years--20 years--I have not been afforded the same courtesy in return.
It's weird how you get to be able to identify these folks the first time you see them. They just show up and look at you with that condescending, above-reproach kind of air. This guy gave me that look repeatedly while he hovered around me for a few days, in addition to looking at my computer screen.
Sure enough, he confirmed my suspicions when he started talking out loud to someone else next to me about Jesus, today. We exchanged a few words. I left, and upon returning, attempted to engage him in a theological discussion. He made some kind of sarcastic comment about "just being the product of sex" as apposed to having been produced by a superior being. I thought, "Ok. That's sounds interesting." But when I asked him what church he belongs to, he did exactly what I expected--stammered and tried to changed the subject. I asked again and he got a confused look on his face and didn't say anything. Remember what I said about extreme portrayal in a bad light? He also insinuated that if you aren't Christian, you must be a Satanist. I found this intriguing, so I approached him and told him I was interested in what he had to say. Why do you suppose he ran away? ...
This may mean something or it may mean nothing, but I just can't avoid the fact that he has very, very similar features to a guy I used to work with who moved from LA to NY to work on the same TV job with me, sitting right next to me. Hmmmm...
Though I'm sure some of you inferred it from the analysis in my last post, I feel I should mention that mob mentality plays a heavy role in what you do. It's generally indicative of an inability or maybe even an unwillingness to think on your own. The root causes are beyond my limited expertise, by first guess would be a penchant for narrow-mindedness.
In regard to the covert therapy session at Peet's today, I should clarify that these folks weren't just having a random discussion about grammar. The guy nearest me clearly made a statement about not being able to tolerate poor grammar, an obvious reference to recent tongue-in-cheek, grammar-critiquing posts on my other blog, before the group made an odd topic-switch to the frequency at which people smoke and drink. Sigh...it's so insulting.
Next time we'll talk about laziness, looking for a job, and networking.
Do your homework and stay out of trouble.
Oh, and I almost forgot to ask: being patronized just sucks, doesn't it?
Well, kids...I feel you've made considerable progress over the past couple weeks. I might even say by "leaps and bounds." Let's see if we can take another giant step today. Please...try to stay with me.
First, though, a little food for thought: There are lots of great stories about Woody Hayes. I'm reminded of a rather short one. Legend has it that during practice, ol' Coach Hayes would go up against his lineman in "full-go" drills, them in full gear, him in a t-shirt. Hayes would emerge with his head and shoulders bloodied. Gnaw on that one for a while.
Anyhoo....
When all this bullshit started, the guy at the plant who made the comment about "tough love" shook his head at me the day after I sent a letter to the ACLU (or tried to anyway--who knows whether of not it actually got there.) and told me little joke:
A couple guys were walking down the sidewalk and saw something on the ground in front of them. They bent over and took a closer look. "Hmmm...looks like shit.", said one. The other took and sniff. "Smells like shit." Then the other guy swiped a piece with the tip of his finger and tasted it and said, "Yep...tastes like shit. I'm sure glad I didn't step in it."
I see that a key part of this scam is to have veiled hints dropped that insinuate the different accusations, baiting me into addressing them. Then, since none of it's ever "official," you can turn around and say, "But, how did you know? It must be true since you addressed it." Yep--I've been on to that one for quite some time, kids. But as things have unfolded, I've been left with no choice but to address each item. Fortunately, it appears that my ability to articulate here the reality of each aspect of the situation in clear and direct language has, in fact, had a positive effect to varying degrees. Therefore, now that I've turned you around on the big, big stuff, we'll move on to some periphery items that are equally as absurd that you super smart folks fell for just as well. But first, I feel we should briefly review the overall picture and its main causes:
I am the subject of a vast and varied campaign of character defamation because of core fundamental politics that starts with my right-wing fanatic family, particularly my Scientologist brother, who are sick with an inferiority complex. My completely insane, alcoholic, extreme radical feminist biological mother has played a key role as well. Has everybody got that? .......Very good. Ya know what?--Get out one piece of filler paper and a #2 pencil. I'll give you a few minutes to write that down. It will sink in better that way. Kayla!!--Stop picking your nose! Wayne!! Sit up straight and put that GameBoy in your locker!! If I see it again, it's going in my drawer!! Okay--now, write...
(That's right--I am mocking you.)
....................................
Okay--eyes up here, children. Pay attention.
In regard to things you do, in addition to the methods I outlined yesterday, I also see the one in which a group of people sit next to me at a coffee shop and have a conversation for me to overhear which is meant to secretly influence me and adjust my "behavior." You bait my attention by making a comment about something that interests me, such as, oh, I don't know, grammar, maybe. Yep--I see all. (Like I said--it's like pounding a nail into a block of steel.)
Pay attention:
I am not now, nor have I ever been anything close to, an alcoholic. How do I know you believe this other than that conversation a minute ago at the table that just happened to be next to the open one I luckily found during that busy hour at Peet's? Well, there have been hints dropped before that, but there are two other reasons I've known for some time. First, while I was living with good ol' pops, I overheard him making a comment with a sigh to someone about beer bottles in the trash. What can I say?--they aren't real big on recycling there. I had to put them somewhere.
As I mentioned, my psycho feminist bio-mother is an alcoholic. Partly as a creative project to keep busy after escaping from psycho-bitch lawyer, and partly (HEY!!Pay attention!!) out of kindness--I repeat: out...of...kindness--to her, I embarked on a little t-shirt design project she wanted to do for her A.A. friends. They--I repeat: they--have some kind of big outdoor hoo-haw in the area every year. We talked about selling them there and a website, etc. Of course, when I realized the truth of this whole scam, I contacted the web-image hosting service I'd used for a couple of those designs and had them delete my account.
Other than one--one exception which is the direct and intended result of the loneliness that results from the isolation created by the covert psychological abuse to which I've been subject for years, I have always been addiction-free. Indeed, I am non-addiction-prone by nature. Just because it's a prominent phenotype in wacko Kathleen's makeup does not mean it must be in mine. I don't know anything about my bio-father, but it's a very safe guess that he is non-addiction-prone as well. I've always been an off-and-on casual smoker and casual drinker and will remain so at my sole discretion.
So...though one should never do it, I feel it must be safe to assume that you highly educated, well adjusted, upstanding pillars of society must be open to a little analysis yourselves. There is a direct and parallel relationship between your progress in realizing the number of different ways in which you are wrong about me and your level of denial of that awareness. Why? Because you have a self-inflated, self-important view of yourselves so deeply seeded, both individually and collectively, that you couldn't possibly bear to admit that you've been chumped by a sick two-bit con-artist with an intense inferiority complex and all his friends who can't stand intellectuals just like you. This state is further compounded by the narcissistic joy you experience from covertly manipulating other human beings. (All that from one Abnormal Psych class. Hawwww, hawwww.) Maybe you should get some help.
I know, I know--the truth hurts. But don't you feel better now?
Ya know what? I feel like a cigarette.
(Burn, burn, burn...(I can't stop listening to this. It's just so satisfying--in every way.))
