I'll spoon-feed it to you:
It has become evident that at least one, but more likely a few, U.S. Government investigative agencies are interested in my services. While I am not lost on the fact that the core reason behind this interest is to "absorb" a "free-spirited" man they've failed repeatedly to "lop off", and whose politically independent, accurate writing is something they just can't have; while I am aware that my life has been hijacked and violated to a degree that is impossible to quantify; while I know that many individuals have experienced great joy from seeing me suffer; while I know that many of the FBI agents who have harassed me over the past years knew damn-well I was innocent and that all of it was part of a politically-motivated campaign of defamation; while knowing that they tried to label me insane for the sake of marginalizing me and destroying my life; while knowing all that plus more about which I'm sick of writing, I can safely say that those things are not the reason I wouldn't be caught dead working for the U.S. Government in ANY capacity.
Nope, the reason I'm looking forward to the joy of saying no is something I mentioned in the earliest days of this blog. Since the significance of it has apparently been dismissed by all you folks who somehow have enough fucking audacity to look at me with those smug smirks insinuating that I have no choice in this matter, I will repeat it here:
In 2003, while I was acting as primary caregiver for my mother, we made a trip to Florida to visit my brother. On the flight, some official lookin fella was in his seat when we boarded before everyone else. We boarded first because my mother, suffering--dying very, very slowly, in fact-- from ALS, was wheelchair-bound as she gradually became paralyzed by a disease she'd already seen take 2 of her siblings. Mr. Federal Agent was seated about 3 or 4 rows behind us and maybe a seat or 2 to the left. I noticed when I first sat down that he was looking at me very intently. When I looked back again, he was still looking at me with a very mean look and was sweating and visibly shaking. This continued throughout the flight.
As a pilot helped me carry my mother to her wheelchair after landing, I glanced over and saw the agent let out a noticeable sigh. When my brother pulled up to pick us up at the airport, he came around the car, looked at me with a theatrical expression of puzzlement and said, "Huh--you made it?" He then rubbed his chin and acted like he was trying to figure out what to do next.
But again, all that is STILL not the reason I would NEVER work for the U.S. Goverment. Nope--getting fuckin' chumped by con-artist Scientologist angry at the world because of his "short"-comings is something I can look past. My brother's very sick. That doesn't mean he's stupid.
The reason I will never work for the U.S. Government is because at the security checkpoint before boarding the plane, as a couple monstrous sheriff's deputies stood with their arms crossed (black guys, yet) giving me the hardest, most intimidating looks they could, a security guard completely molested my dying mother as she sat helpless in her wheelchair. On top of that, the guard was clearly a lesbian. My mother was in tears. I was in shock and many people in line where aghast as well. My mother was as good an American as I've ever known an the insult from that day is off the chart. The bitch stuck her hand between her legs.
I love my country, but something has gone seriously wrong.
This is the last time I'm going to say this: cut me a check for my "training" (years of tortuous hell which included intense psychological abuse and several attempts at entrapment) and I'll be happy to be on my way and I promise I will NEVER come back.
Since I recently had confirmation of the last little bit of the puzzle I was wondering about, I feel I should repeat something I think I mentioned before.
I've spent roughly 15 years feeling bad for people who openly express dismay because of a feeling of envy in the face of what they perceive to be my "unfair" combination of personal attributes. I felt like I was being this great person but didn't see it chipping away at me. I was surrounded by it with my immediate family but it includes many others along the way as well and I know its' a big part of the motivation for the scam being perpetrated against me, in addition to core fundamental politics. I didn't see the game. I see it now.
I am not obligated to feel bad for anyone. I've done way more than enough of that. I don't care how you think, what you look like, how much you weigh or anything else. I don't see anyone feeling bad for me, and quite frankly, I don't recall asking anyone to. I've pursued help from organizations I suspect to be interested to almost no avail. I'm being targeted just for being me. I recognize no justification for what has happened and I have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I've been the subject of harassment/blacklisting for 20 years. When you folks, whoever you are, started messing with me on the internet a few years ago, someone (maybe it was my brother), dropped the note, "Life is competition." As that fella said to me in the elevator one night, "H-o-o-o-okayyyyy."
I'm not sure how I missed this until now. Psycho bitch lawyer I lived with was more than in good enough position to own a home rather than live in that very remote top floor apartment with a trash chute leading to a trash compactor, and--you guessed it--an open balcony. It's not like NY or SF where everyone lives in apartments/condos. Cleveland's not even close to that way. If you can, you live in a house. She said she liked it for the convenience of having a maintenance guy around. Of course, she's since moved into a house.
I think I may have mentioned previously that one of the many little things these people, whoever they might be, did to fuck with my head was to have people walk at me while theatrically swinging a large grocery bag in each hand. This freak-show's one of them:
Today he popped into Peet's with a buddy and announced to the room, "What are these people doing here? None of them work?" Considering he's a bag-swinger, I can only assume he was making a reference to my joblessness and the insinuations laziness that have been rained on me to make me feel like shit about myself as part of this thin thread of PSYOPS. Please...keep this guy away from me. He's fuckin' weird.
I keep hearing people say things about taking a side. I thought I said this before, but I'll repeat it: My number-one, non-negotiable goal is regaining and maintaining a normal level of personal autonomy free from covert psychological manipulation and the resulting mind control. That's pretty much the bottom line for me. Nothing else matters. I'm not talking about institutionalized things like TV and strict enforcement of conventionalism. I busted that a long time ago and the fact is, I'm not really that far off mainstream anyway. I just take each decision individually and not as part of a political ideology. I'm fuckin' weird that way, huh? I'm talking about me being a direct target of individuals or a group with the goal of systematically and anonymously preventing me from being independent and living a prosperous life. If there's a "side" of people who agree, then that's the side I'm on, but if you're just showing up on the street and not making your inentions known and clearly there to show yourself to me, I count you the enemy. My mind is clear. If someone on my "side" can figure out how to approach me, please do. Some people have also insinuated some things about being a "rebel." Pursuing justice and freedom and peace of mind makes one a rebel?! If so, then, please--cut me a check for my trouble and I'll be happy to be on my way. My debts are a joke compared to my persecution so spare me that shit too. The blacklisting harassment has been going on since before I had a single one anyway, a piece of knowledge that keeps my mind nice and clear.
Ya know, I forgot something. Bag-swinger left with a guy in red Honda, 5AWU309.
Did you think I was kidding? It's really difficult to explain what these guys do. There's no demographic similarity among a certain group of the people harassing me and anonymity is key to what they do. Like I mentioned before, what they do is establish patterns that only the subject recognizes. I have to assume that the people who walk at me really fast around corners are FBI. They actually kind of move like Ninjas, sneaking around corners and peaking out at you. It's all just to fuck with your head and, of course, make anyone you might tell about it think you're insane. It's a sick fucking game. I don't think much of it and I think that in order to take pride in or get fulfillment out of it, as many of them seem to do, one pretty much has to be a bit of a prick. After rushing at me with a kind of sick smirk on his face just as I exited the elevator, this guy showed up again promptly after a tweet of mine the other night:
I think I said this before but it certainly bears repeating since I believe I've heard some folks mention something about trust, etc, recently, implying that I'm being tested or trained for something: To be sure, I have no clear recollection of willingly or even knowingly signing up for any process such as what I'm being subjected to. I'm not pursuing you, whoever you are. You're pursuing me. If I expressed interest, then obviously some wires got crossed. I couldn't care less whether or not "you" trust me. Maybe I don't trust you. I'm not the kind of person who takes having his life hijacked and ruined lightly, and since I've figured out it's been going on for 20 years, what do I have to do but pursue justice? Also, I am well aware of the fact that the whole thing is a scam and, at its base, is politically motivated and be done mainly with purpose of controlling my mind and denying me freedom. Johnny no wike-ee. And also, if the great, great things implied are truly on the way, then nothing I do, say, think, or write here should have any effect on it, now should it?
I posted last week about a woman who banks with I.N.G. who for some reason last Thursday acted like she was my boss, clearly under the delusion that she possesses some sort of authority to grant me permission to take the computer she'd just vacated, the same way she did with a guy she stood with. I should mention here that what's significant about that woman and the guy, is that they did not sit on the bench that is the usual waiting line, the one in front of the library database-only computers. He sat on the bench directly in front of the computer I was standing at as she stood facing me before giving him the nod when the computer came open. By the way--and you've probably figured this out--an easy way to I.D. her use of computer #301 is that it came immediately before mine.
This morning, I noticed some folks sitting at the most distant table from me, the one wayyyy off to the right nearest to where employees enter and exit the counter. There are 2 reasons I find these folks to be significant. The first is that I noticed the woman in this video turn head to look directly at me. Secondly, and more importantly, was that while she was waiting for the rest room, the guy at their table, who was facing the right side of the shop and therefore had is back to me, turned completely around, looked directly at me, and turned back. Most importantly though, how did she manage to get so confused finding her way back to her table? Right after I clicked off the video, she headed right back across to her table and they got up and left.
She was the passenger in the car. The other girl drove. There was someone in the back, but I'm not sure if it was the guy at the table or not:
This was between 10:00 and 10:15am. It's a light blue Mazda.
You know, I just love my morning coffee at Peet's. For some reason, I like the crowd there. You get to know the faces. The vast majority of the crowd is made up professionals working nearby that don't seem all pent up with a whole lot of anger. It's refreshing. This morning, right around 10am, I noticed a face that stood out for some reason:
Why did she block her face? More importantly, how did she even notice I was shooting video of her? My camera doesn't even look like a camera. What's most inexplicable, though, is that she walked up to the window and snapped a shot of me with her phone between separate displays of her middle finger. LOL! Take as many pics of me as you want and go home and look at 'em while you enjoy your dildo. What are else are you going to do with it? Photoshop my face into some incriminating pics? It's already been done to a very serious degree and failed. But if you love spinning your wheels so much, go ahead and give it your best shot.
In regard to yesterday's significant surprise event, I would like to mention a few things. I get the feeling that maybe I saw another of Paola buddies walk by me with a look of satisfaction with Paola's reaction to my camera. Please--allow me once again to free you from the chains of delusion.
We'll start with a lesson about motion picture. Please, pay attention, ladies: In film and video, what you're seeing is a series of still images, each depicting a single instant in the ongoing action. As they flash by at a rapid rate, an illusion of motion is created. In film, there are 24 individual photos, known in the biz as "frames," that run by in one second. The rate in video is 30 per second. Wild, huh? Therefore, to say that one second is enough to identify someone, would actually be a bit of an understatement since the truth is that one thirtieth of a second would actually suffice.
Secondly, the first journalism class I ever took was a journalism law class that talked about privacy and photography. Basically, on public outdoor space a person is allowed to take a photograph of anything else in public that they choose. The rules are different for celebrities, but I don't recall anyone I've caught on camera existing anywhere near that realm. The crux of the argument of photo privacy hinged on a suggested scenario in which someone on a public sidewalk gets a shot of inside someone's home with a telephoto lens by peeping through the "crack in the blinds." Now if Paola was completely innocent and I concocted a bunch of crazy, absurd stuff about her, she might be able to go to court and have a chance. But her actions on camera undeniably suggest she's got something to hide, not to mention the fact that nothing I wrote about her is inherently defamatory. Too bad, Paola. Plus, we were both on outdoor public space. Please, ladies--take me to court so I can spank your asses right out in the open.
On a separate note, upon leaving the library at the end of the day yesterday, I went over to the nearby BART station to drink in the social defiance that sets San Francisco apart. Over a year ago, when I first started living out of a van, I was showering at the Salvation Army in the T.L. While mingling through the Anonymous semi-fracas, I ran into this guy who used to show up nearly every morning at the gym to harass me with Christian rhetoric:
Black, white, yellow, green, male, female--if you're harassing me, we've got a problem. I'm agnostic and I'll stay that way.
I suspect it's possible that I've been inaccurately blaming all radical feminists for what's going on. I'm trying to be fair here. I certainly don't have a problem with feminists in general; just the ones that for some odd reason think everything--or anything, for that matter--I do is their business. I get the feeling that the women still paying the most attention to me might be a separate little niche--the angry, "kind of heavy set" niche--just like Katlin McGaw, just like pscyho lawyer bitch who accused me and the vaast majority of the women who stalk me. At the demonstation, I ran into a woman interning with The Recorder. She was taking some photos, but I think she said she's interning as an editor. As we chatted, a "kind of heavy set" girl tried to step between us and say, "Hey, what's going on?" as if she just wanted to talk about the event. She's lucky I didn't get video of her. I learned long ago that the goal of these women is to prevent me from having a relationship with a woman. I saw Ms. Activist give the photographer a little nod and a gesture with her hand out of the corner of my eye before she nearly ran off. She was speed-walking, big-time.
I came to S.F. expecting a fair shake. I made an attempt to start at the very bottom where my skills might come in handy, volunteering for a struggling non-profit. I didn't get a warm welcome there.
I get the feeling quite a bit of precedent has been set in this state regarding photographers and videographers being attacked in public. Again, unless you're a celebrity or can prove I'm using your photo to make some kind of financial gain, ya got no case. Here's the deal, ladies: Either forget I exist or I charge Paola with assault. It's that simple.
P.S. As I said earlier, I would love to keep on playing this game with you, but I've got some pressing physical concerns that I don't want to get too far out of hand. Also, if it wasn't for Subway and the quart of milk I drink every night, I suspect that the amount of BK and McDonald's in my diet would have killed me months ago. Let's see if I can't bring this thing to screeching halt once and for all:
That video of Paola is quite telling. Add in the fact that another of your operatives just happened to be there at the right time yesterday, add in the fact that she revealed herself by making the "sex offender" comment, add in the fact that she logged into a computer, and add in the fact that Paola went berserk* in the library in front of a bunch of witnesses, and you've got blockbuster event in the evolution of this whole atrocity. To that end...
Yesterday, after publishing the post, I headed out for lunch. On my way back to the library, I crossed Larkin at the northwest corner of the library's little block there, with City Hall behind me. When I hit the sidewalk and turned right, a guy stepped in front of me and continued to walk at my pace about 10 feet directly in front of me. He was medium height with a somewhat stalky build. His hair was parted conservatively and neatly on the side. He wore dark glasses, a dark blue blazer and stone or tan Dockers. He walked confidently. You might even say he was swaggering. In general, I would characterize his demeanor as serious, business-like, official. I swear to you, it was like he was escorting me. How narcissistic of me, right? It must have been one of my schizo episodes, because if he was escorting me, he would have completed the job. Instead, when we got to the bottom of the pretty curved staircase, he took a sharp right turn and headed straight into the security office.
P.P.S. Thanks, Paola.
Go to the Youtube page and check out the first comment under this video:
*The real beauty of the Paola video is in the fact all along I have been portrayed as a violent person and subject to various attempts to bait me into lashing out at someone to get me arrested. How's that workin' out?
