Infinite Book Series Blog
Pinned Entry 1: San Luis Obispo and Me.
Pinned Entry 2: Missing Cat Saga. For Switch.
Pinned Entry 3: Medication, Marijuana, and Me.
Pinned Entry 4: infinitedot Manifesto. To be expanded and published again as IB8.
Pinned Entry 5: Reality on Auction.
April, 2023
Entry Five: Last year, after feeling uncomfortable enough at my Boeing job to feel the need to quit, I started to lose hope. Like, for serious. During this time, I indulged (not a lot, but still too much) in edible cannabinoids. This increased my tendency to think delusionally. However, I was still capable of distinguishing between my delusional and my reality-based thoughts. That's an important fact about certain types of delusion. I say this, because in reality I was being harrassed by my neighbor with intermittent knocks on the wall. Out of desperation, I did something probably not legal. I posted a public Facebook video about it, where I demonstrated some just-waking-up confusion re: the fire alarm sprinkler heads and directly mentioned my home address and therefore the home address of my neighbor. I had spoken with management (Liz Thomas) before this, asking her to ask my neighbor to stop with the noise. She wrote back that she spoke with my neighbor but that there was no reason to believe they were responsible. Or that chemical dosing (which she misinterpreted as "micro-dosing," which makes no sense) was something the neighbor was responsible for. I didn't bother explaining to Liz that I had not said that my neighbor was responsible for the dosing, only that dosing was also happening. You know, with networks of criminals, more than one person is to blame. Anyway, maybe a week or two after I posted that video, my neighbor stopped with the knocking. I never heard any knocking until recently, and on April 2, I for my first time confronted my neighbor. I knocked on his door. The conversation was stupid, because he lied about the knocking. After that conversation, I was resigned to not worry about it so much, but then on April 8, I kn0cked on his door again to let him know I knew he was lying. I recorded that conversation (illegal, I know, and see below). Turns out he says he's moving. "Because of my shit." Fascination how blame works in this world. So, to sign off with all of this, because I have legal problems now (see below) - legal problems I do not believe to be surmountable in any way by me - I would just like to repost the video and attendant documentation (also below). Have fun, world. I really, really hate how my life has been. And, still, I feel bad for having grabbed that waitress. It was something I would never normally do. But that was after my delusions had gotten the better with me, and all hope was lost. * Also, this really has next to nothing to do with my tormenting neighbor ... and everything to do with the moneyed interests who have assaulted my well-being since college, if not before. Christina Wertheimer, Pomona College class of '93 ( ? ) comes at the top of the list, of course. And here's what little I have of IB4 at the moment. Click here: Infinite Book 4: Recovered Dreams (truncated due to the hacking of both my computer and my life).
This video above is me being an "American Idiot," and the audio below is me committing yet another crime, because apparently I am a criminal. Hopefully, whether I am incarcerated or dead, someone looks into this shit and fixes things. But who am I kidding? The world has NEVER been about justice.
And here's my detailed list of some of the knocking from 2022: Blood Pressure. And note, after all that time with high blood pressure in 2022, when the knocking stopped and for the first few months of 2023, my blood pressure was peachy keen. Thanks, dicks.
Entry Four: Way more conversation about me than with me. It might be nice for things to be said more with accuracy than with malice. Or not.
Entry Three: The money involved in my life-long abuse has been considerable. Evil people.
Entry Two: Someone said to me in 1992, "Don't let them get to you." * "Okay," was my ignorant reply.
Entry One: Indeterminate. I am a bottle, with a message of ... ?
March, 2023
Entry Twelve: "It's difficult to carry on, when every dream I own is but carrion for the crows of human cruelty." - Something I might have drawn on a notebook when I was a teenager. Instead, I type it here, now. Same difference. * This is me, wanting to write and publish IB4, and not wanting to write and publish IB4, at the same time.
Entry Eleven: Uh, yeah. * Wait, what? * What. Exactly.
Entry Ten: Since my birth, all I ever wanted was to be a good person. And, despite the many ways in which this may appear to have been compromised, I still am. A good person. Whatever that means in a world of lies. And that is why I experience what I experience. Because I am what I am, and everything and everyone else is what it and they are, and right now it is not to my liking. Oh well.
Entry Nine: So, if you type "site:[website]" into Google Search, you get a rundown of what Google has indexed from your site. I did this as per the image below, and for whatever reason (gee, maybe people protecting themselves via paid hackers?), the only PDF on Infinite Book Series is Missing Cat Saga. Never mind San Luis Obispo and Me. Never mind Medication, Marijuana, and Me. Only pay attention to the fictional stuff that doesn't expose, you know? Sheesh.
Entry Eight: Explaining how I have been so expertly skewered throughout my life is both impossible and ineffectual. Still, with nothing better to do, I write what I can and hope someday it matters (in a good way).
Entry Seven: According to my hosting company, the reason I'm no longer tracking in search results is due to the nature of my websites. They apparently don't have enough pages and have been composed using a platform Google doesn't like. There's also a problem that has something to do with https. So ... I'm going to have to redesign my websites if I want to be searchable on Google again. Ugh.
Entry Six: The following is quoted from Judith Lewis Herman MD's Trauma and Recovery (p. 438), Basic Books, Kindle Edition. I quote it because I myself am dealing with past sexual abuse, sexual programming, and pornography ... among other things. "Gaining possession of oneself often requires repudiating those aspects of the self that were imposed by the trauma. As the survivor sheds her victim identity, she may also choose to renounce parts of herself that have felt almost intrinsic to her being. Once again, this process challenges the survivor's capacities for both fantasy and discipline. An incest survivor describes how she embarked on a conscious program to change her ingrained sexual responses to scenarios of sadomasochism: 'I came to the point where I really understood that they weren't my fantasies. They'd been imposed on me through the abuse. And gradually, I began to be able to have orgasms without thinking about the SM, without picturing my father doing something to me. Once I separated the fantasy from the feeling, I'd consciously impose other powerful images on that feeling - like seeing a waterfall. If they can put SM on you, you can put waterfalls there instead. I reprogrammed myself.' - Saphyre, quoted in Bass and Davis, The Courage to Heal, 264."
Entry Five: I have removed IB4 fron the pinned entries above, which have themselves been placed in a new order.
Entry Four: Here is what is up on KOIDUST, now that I have given it up. * "This site is no longer active, as the pen name KOIDUST no longer serves. KOIDUST is an anagram of two nicknames: SUKI and DOT. SUKI was my lover/should-have-been-wife. DOT was me. Together, we intended to write a number of young adult stories and novels. These were some terrific ideas. Unfortunately, SUKI passed away in 2016. I thought I might carry on and write those stories anyway, in memory of her. However, I no longer have the energy for KOIDUST. Therefore, this URL is now just a reminder of what was lost."
Entry Three: Me at a party: "Criminals control my life. How about you?"
Entry Two: Spent some of today re-arranging my web presence. I am no longer pretending to be interested in doing anything with either Stoney Tarot or KOIDUST. This leaves me with infinitedot, Infinite Book Series, and ... 22 Series Books? That last one is a horrible title and/or URL. A few years back, when I was looking to acquire a URL for my novel 22 Stories (and any subsequent novels), I did a search and found that 22stories (dot) com was already taken ... supposedly by a media couple in Florida. If you go to their website, however, you may agree with me when I say that this media couple can't be real. The site is too quirky and the timing of the taking of 22stories (dot) com too close to when I was thinking about getting that URL myself. I mean, maybe 22stories (dot) com is a legitimate business enterprise (and I just don't get it), or - more likely - it's just another slap in my face. But never mind. Whatever. Oh well. Now I am in the process of moving my legitimate 22 Stories website from 22 Series Books to 22 Stories Fiction. * And, BTW, there is also a 22-stories (dot) com by someone else entirely. It has a hyphen in the name and seems to be legit ... unlike 22stories (dot) com. [ ... and when I just now (on March 16) took a peek at 22stories (dot) com, it automatically redirected me to an Instagram feed ... to which I say, "Okay ... " ]
Entry One:
February, 2023
Entry Twenty-Two: What you want dictates what you do.
Entry Twenty-One: Way too many people living in poverty, whether they know it or not. Money is a shiv shoved in the gut of equitable living.
Entry Twenty: "If the truth will prevail, then let's define truth, shall we?" * The fact that I can even say such a thing gives me pause.
Entry Nineteen: IB3 and IB4's Isabella was eventually diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). She wrote me a series of letters when she was in a psyche unit in Ventura in March of 2009. They are clear evidence of dissociation. They are also, in my mind, not-so-clear evidence of mind control. But making such a case will require me to draw connections well beyond one woman's chemical crazy. Anyway, here they are. Letters Unseen. Misspellings are intentionally left as is, and the falling out mentioned at the end of the last letter never happened to my recollection. At least not then.
Entry Eighteen: Exposure Therapy for addiction treatment? That's an interesting approach I'd never heard of until I thought of it on my own and looked it up. Something to explore in both IB5 and IB6, assuming IB5 and IB6 ever get written.
Entry Seventeen: Me? I'm just a worthless person. Don't mind me. And, seriously, you've probably got other things on your plate, so, again, don't mind me. Do, however, mind those who abuse others. They might, somehow, be abusing you.
Entry Sixteen: Know something funny/not funny? Everything I write is like the suicidal scribblings of a prisoner on death row. I shouldn't be here, but I am. I shouldn't write, but I do. I want those responsible to be labeled appropriately. And yet, the system isn't interested in setting me free. Instead, my captors take delight in my confinement, and the ineffective fruits of my labors. Because, as my world collapses, so too do my chances of breaking through the powers that surround me. And then there's the simple fact that my problems are my problems, and the world's the world's. They are not the same.
Entry Fifteen: Have you noticed the way things seem ... concerted? You know ... planned out and performed on different levels? Even when "they" seem to be letting up? What? You don't get me? Sure you do. I'm talking about the way politics and the law and those more personal things, too, how they all get echoed strangely enough through the flavor of the morning air, the sound of the spoon stirring the coffee in the cup, the ache of your muscles, and those still-remembered snippets from last night's dream. I'm speaking of course of everyone and everything, even those set against the others, like it's all one big party trick played by the genius buffoon we all sometimes like to call God. Have you noticed? And if you have, have you asked the question, "Why?" Because someone needs to ask that question and come up with some answers. Why? Because the genius buffoon doesn't. The genius buffoon never asks. The genius buffoon only does … or does not.
Entry Fourteen: "What is Heaven?" * "Your next life." * "That sounds like reincarnation." * "Maybe it does. Maybe it's Hell. Who knows?"
Entry Thirteen: I remember some time ago researching the term "targeted individual." All I could find at the time were examples of "crazy" people talking like they were in need of a tin-foil hat. I read an article just now, however, that demonstrates that targeting is quite real (albeit the article in question does not list the government as possible perpetrators of said targeting). Anyway, this article is on point. "The website that wants you to kill yourself - and won't die" - Mother Jones.
Entry Twelve: Back in 2009, my computer was hacked in such a way that one of the computer techs I knew refused to believe it was even possible. It had to do with remotely installing a list of unvisitable sites in my web browser - a list that was impossible to remove. I know I have been hacked in other ways over the years, but the most notable was recently in 2022, when my computer login password was remotely altered, which rendered me incapable of accessing my computer in any way, shape, or form. This happened shortly before my local Apple store 86'd me without explanation and effectively stole two laptops of mine, as well as some other items - which of course would have nothing to do with my mistreatment at the hands of the San Luis Obispo Apple store, or "the hack of 2020." Fascinating, the world in which we live. Too many uncool people with too much power.
Entry Eleven: Beauty seems to be the cherry on top of the ugly. Is this how it needs to be? * Something to be elucidated maybe in IB7 and 8.
Entry Ten: Here is an excerpt from my current draft of Infinite Book 4: Recovered Dreams. The events described took place in 2000. * "YOU'RE AN EXPERIMENT" * Not long after I was let out of the hospital, I visited Steven, the guy I'd performed with in my high school play, and the one I didn't trust (like so many others). At the time, Steven was renting an apartment with a gay friend of his named Ray. My visit lasted all of one evening, and it proved to be more than a little disorienting. At the time and as per how I was raised, I said "sorry" a lot. It was my go-to word in social situations when I thought I'd made a mistake or made someone uncomfortable. I mention this, because one of the first things Steven told me about Ray, who was not home at the time, was that he was extremely sensitive to the word "sorry." "Don't say sorry to Ray, okay?" was Steven's unsolicited admonition. * The rest of what Steven had to say was similarly unsolicited yet equally prescribed. While I never directly asked Steven about his sex life, he volunteered said information anyway. According to Steven, he was getting laid and having fun with porn, too. He even showed me the beginning of a porn film starring a clown, and Steven knew I hated clowns. Then, when it came to applying Steven's lessons to my own life (for Steven would years later become an acting coach based out of Arizona), he suggested I get used to casually chatting people up, like my neighbors or anyone, because, according to Steven, sex is simply there for the taking. * After confiding in Steven my frustrations (sexual and otherwise), he told me, "You're an experiment." That's what he said. I didn't know how to respond to that. What does one say when they are told something so existentially meaningful as to be conversationally meaningless. I mean, really, where would our conversation have gone from there? I could have accused him of knowing things. I could have demanded he tell me the truth. He could just as easily tell me he didn't mean it like that and that I was being crazy. And here I was thinking I was simply visiting a friend, rather than showing up for a psychological checkup courtesy of my controllers. * The night ended shortly after Ray came home from wherever it was he'd been. Even though I'd been instructed not to say "I'm sorry" (or perhaps because of this), I let the phrase slip. "I'm sorry," I said, either habitually or according to my programming (if there is such a difference). Royce retired to his room. Steven made no mention of my maybe mistake, and I drove home to my parents', never to see Steven again. * A couple of facts that might be of interest. One, Steven's father was loosely connected to the US military. Two, our acting instructor in high school was similarly connected. This one and this two add up in my mind to something having to do with "the military-industrial complex" and a little thing called MKUltra. I had no reason to suspect such things at the time, but in less than twenty years I'd find it difficult to convince myself I was not a tool of something not unlike (if not identical to) the Deep State. Whatever the fuck that is.
Entry Nine: What is "sensitive data" and what is "privacy?" The answers, I wager, are more complicated than meets the eye, and will be (maybe) topics to be covered in IB5 and IB7.
Entry Eight: A maintenance worker at a place where I lived once told me, apropos of nothing, that he once learned that a person used to be illegally imprisoned in a house he used to pass by on his way to work every morning for years. I wondered why he felt such a story was appropriate to share with me at that time. That is, I wondered for about two seconds. Then I remembered the nature of the world in which I live.
Entry Seven: You know, it's a real drag to read back over something I have written and posted, only to discover an error I failed to edit out. *whine*
Entry Six: There is an art to this, this keeping within the outside of the limits of privacy, as if the legal is less than the powered decrees of those decision makers making decisions outside my understanding ... until I understand ... and see the art ... but perhaps appreciate it not. What? I'm just saying how fascinating are the things (of) which I am made ... to endure.
Entry Five: This article about sex and biological communication is about six years old, and it was around that time (after the passage of Isabella of IB3 and 4) that I began for whatever reason to be made aware of the possibility that sex was a form of communication, even to the point of something not unlike telepathy and/or mind control. Was this information merely an hallucination on my part, or was there something to it? Either way, it is a topic to be covered in IB5, if I ever get that far.
Entry Four: Old news, right? MKUltra.
Entry Three: Google seems to have lost track of me, much more than I would have expected. Does this surprise me? No. Maybe I've been shadow banned. After all, with enemies like mine ... [although, according to my hosting company, the reason I'm no longer tracking in search results is due to the nature of my websites. They apparently don't have enough pages and have been composed using a platform Google doesn't like. There's also a problem that has something to do with https. So ... I'm going to have to redesign my websites if I want to be searchable on Google again. * added March 17, 2023]
Entry Two: I have studied much. I have practiced some. My life is not as I would have chosen it to be.
Entry One: "There is no evidence that we've been placed on this planet to be especially happy or especially normal. And in fact our unhappiness and our strangeness, our anxieties and compulsions, those least fashionable aspects of our personalities, are quite often what lead us to do rather interesting things." - Ronson, Jon. The Psychopath Test (p. 271). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
January, 2023
Entry Thirteen: *edit*
Entry Twelve: Equal representation before the law is clearly not afforded every person. I know this because there have been a number of times in my life when legal representation would have been helpful but was still unavailable. Like when images of me were placed in the collage art of two CD's (TAFKAP and Green Day), or when my nose was broken by overzealous mental health workers (twice), or when I was roofied at a party and who knows what happened (although there's probably video of it somewhere), or those times when I was harassed where I lived (multiple occurrences in multiple locations). But I am not equal to my abusers in the eyes of the law, because the law works for those in power, and I am not the one in power.
Entry Eleven: Did a little research for IB5 - Sex and came across this wealth of information. While the linked content is not about sex, it does underline the money behind prisons, which leads to my belief that sexual criminals are planted, grown and harvested, not for the benefit of society, but for the benefit of those monied interests involved in the sex trade. Of course, the war on the sex trade is like the war on drugs. It just doesn't work. But there is still money to be made by waging fake wars, I guess.
Entry Ten:
Entry Nine: Yeah. Right. - Woah. Quite the echo.
Entry Eight: I'm not a fan of Alex Jones. However, I do believe it is accurate to say we live on a Prison Planet.
Entry Seven: *edit*
Entry Six: So many people living in prisons ... whether they know it or not.
Entry Five: It's been done to me enough times that I know this to be true. It is possible to bring another person to a state of madness. It is also possible to bring oneself to a state of healing, as well ... all things considered.
Entry Four: I used to think I knew how the world worked. Funny, that. And I did know how the world worked, when I knew it did not work for me. But that damn hope thing. It hurts.
Entry Three: Pinned Entry 6 is now up. Medication, Marijuana, and Me.
Entry Two: Just started reading this one. Looks like a good book.
Entry One: New year. Heavy number. Hopefully I manage to write what I want to write. As for the rest, fingers crossed is best.
December, 2022
Entry Twelve: Just because a number of conspiracy theories are straight up crazy does not mean all conspiracy theories are crazy. Also, while a conspiracy may be crazy, the theory doesn't have to be crazy in return.
Entry Eleven: I am a functioning schizophrenic, however that may be defined by others. Sometimes, I don't function. Always, there are reasons for my condition that are not (typically) espoused by my mainstream mental health diagnoses. I know I have been victimized by powerful people. To say that I am simply crazy and leave it at that is a disservice to the truth of my situation.
Entry Ten: I told a man my story once, about the time I felt controlled to make a choice and - after struggling - made a different one. "So we can change things?" he asked. The sound of hope in his voice gave me pause. He sounded too relieved, like he'd been thinking about that one for some time now. That's when I realized the answer to his question. "No," I was not brave enough to say. "We can't change anything."
Entry Nine: Me? I am just an example of what not to be.
Entry Eight: Working on a new essay to be posted here as Pinned Entry 6. It will be a current assessment of my experience of mental health in America against the backdrop of my life so far. In other words, it will be a summary of what's in store for IB4.
Entry Seven: Overheard several months back. "You think he's gonna jump?" That was a funny one.
Entry Six: That's not me in the bottom left-hand corner of this collage. The picture was not taken of me while I was asleep in the back of my station wagon in Joshua Tree by "friends" of mine from Pomona College before 1991. The man playing the violin at the eye doctor in the background is not a reference to my father. The monkeys have nothing to do with the nickname I later aquired. And the book in "my" lap has nothing to do with the fact that I majored in English. * How did I learn about this? When it came out, the younger brother of my best friend (and a friend of said younger brother) showed me this collage, pointed at the likeness of me, and said it WAS me. My friend went into instant denial. His brother and his brother's friend laughed and left. Everyone I knew at that time in my life were unwilling to acknowledge or address what was being done to me (beyond messing with me). So that was a fun decade of media-inspired social harassment that eventuallly led to my suicide attempt in 1999. Because people are fun. And cruel.
Entry Five: In 1988-9 (my freshman year at Pomona College), I got drunk one night and scribbled the following on a 3x5 card I taped to my shared dorm room door. "Oh Well. Whatever. Never mind." That became a Nirvana song lyric, from a song released on September 24, 1991. In 1991, I was randomly (?) stopped on campus. Someone I did not know very well told me I should get that album. I did. I listened to it a lot. I assumed (incorrectly) that that song lyric was nothing more than coincidence. * Around 2011, I met someone in Santa Maria, CA. He was a younger man than me who used to work for the Sub Pop record label (Nirvana, again). * Now, having been lured here by an online scam, I live in Seattle, WA, which happens to be both the hometown of Nirvana, as well as located on the 47th parallel north. 47 is a key number in Pomona College lore. Also, I went to a bar here at a local Meetup where supposedly Kurt Cobain had last been seen drinking before his April suicide (?) in 1994. * But don't worry. Nothing to see here. It's not like IB4 will serve to reinforce these connections in any way, shape, or form. Because magick and mind control are never real, and music is nothing more than a gentle tonic to the soul.
Entry Four: I have no reason to be angry, right? I mean, it's not like I've been targeted by monied bullies most of my life. It's not like I've taken more than my fair share of the blame for my situation and worked my ass off trying to recover from what has been done to me. It's not like that at all. So why should I be angry?
Entry Three: I wonder. The why of me. Not just the why of my actions. Not just the why of my placement, or the why of my resources. Rather, the why of me. My central why. The question asked, of which I am the answer. Why me?
Entry Two: Action and understanding are not the same thing. I have learned this (and continue to learn this) the hard way. The greater the correlation between one's understanding and one's action, the higher one's functionality. The lesser, the lower.
Entry One: "When did you tell me that? I don't remember. And why would I listen to you in the first place?" said the wanderer. Because, by definition, one who wanders has no anchor any more than temporary. * It's a conundrum. Meaningless? Perhaps. Real? Unknown. And still ... there is this, and there is that. What we have is what we have. You dig?
November, 2022
Entry Twelve: I was recently in jail, and later in an emergency room on suicide watch. Both places lied about me. The emergency room said I rushed at a nurse and a security guard. The jail said I was disorderly with the cops. Both stories are fabrications. I was angry the night I got arrested, but with the cops and the emergency room staff I was calm and low-key. Of course, having a mental health diagnosis - this time it was Schizophrenia, Unspecified - doesn't help my side of the story. Never mind I've been lied about before. So sick of so much. And sorry to the person I was inappropriate with before my arrest.
Entry Eleven: Sometimes I think I ought to make amends. Then I remember I'm rarely in a position to do so.
Entry Ten: Recently deleted two or three earlier posts from this blog. Been feeling derailed, which is nothing new. Maybe I'll put one of those posts back. Maybe not.
Entry Nine: You know what really sucks? Knowing people know what's been done to me throughout my life but not telling me or helping me out and instead holding against me my mistakes, which wouldn't happen if I wasn't constantly messed with.
Entry Eight: My brother, who doesn't give a shit about me, told me once that I was "in Hell." This was well before my suicide attempt in 1999. Regardless of timing, I'm pretty sure he was right.
Entry Seven: Woe is me. It's a theme here, I guess. Oh well.
Entry Six: It's a real drag having had my life manipulated as skillfully as it has been. I'm not smart enough or strong enough or whatever enough to stay afloat without the say-so of my controllers. It's funny, too, how paranoid that sounds. Why funny? Because it's true. I do have controllers. I have been (and continue to be) manipulated. I'm considered paranoid because I think some people are "out to get me," even though those "some people" ARE out to get me. Additionally, I have been programmed to make decisions that play into their agenda. What that agenda is, however, is still a question in my mind. Why? Because I'm still alive. So, I keep plugging along in the empty that surrounds me. Do things get better for me? Maybe. Time will tell, I suppose. Or not.
Entry Five: My experience of "what do you call this? life?" is something I wish was different. My experience of self is much the same. Frighteningly, I have no way of knowing that anyone or anything truly exists outside my self. For all I know, I am nothing more than a man cursed with the endless hallucination that is my experience. Sometimes I think the word "cursed" is too strong a word. Sometimes I think it's not strong enough. Always I ask why.
Entry Four: Yes, I've made mistakes, I've done things I've later regretted, and I've miscalculated my situation (or situations) a number of times. I've also been victimized quite a lot, by persons difficult to identify and in ways difficult to prove. My abuse has been sometimes so underhanded that even the people who support me don't know whether to believe me or not. Especially when you factor in my history of mental illness. It's a petty stew, really. One I'd rather not be involved with in any way at all ... even though I am.
Entry Three: Let's pretend religion has managed to close your mind. So, when a child asks you the question, "Why does God let bad things happen?" you say, "Free Will," or some such BS. Seriously? STFU. This young child clearly has a mind more mature than yours. Because if God is good and omnipotent, then bad simply should not happen. You dig? Now, take your religiously overindoctrinated mind and go away until you can see things more clearly. * I write this because I am bitter about how Christianity has managed to ruin my life ... like, constantly ... even after I stopped believing it ... because nonsense like that never heals.
Entry Two: My computer got hacked again. Was even 86'd from the local Apple store for no good reason. This hack happened almost two months ago. It involved rewriting the access code to my Mac, so I couldn't get into my computer. Then, all of my writing files were deleted from my iCloud account, as well as my school records, which I might use to find employment. I've been abused for way too long in way too many ways.
Entry One: Went off-line for a while. Mind-hack/Life-hack, to mirror my Computer-hack. Working on IB4 these days, however "windmill-tilting" that may prove to be.
September-October, 2022
No entries.
August, 2022
Entry One: "Photo of the Day"
July, 2022
Entry Fourteen: Arrest me, for I am guilty of truth.
Entry Thirteen: Question. What if, when the reality show that is this "lie of a life" ends ... it doesn't?
Entry Twelve: IF * Malkuth splinters Yesod and * Kether crowns the teeth of Daath * Then the wrath of Ain Soph Aur descends * Upon all that “Trump” has wrought * [multiple interpretations on this, of course] * [I know mine]
Entry Eleven: *edit*
Entry Ten: And here's a book. Haven't read it yet, but I intend to ... finally.
Entry Nine: One of the first signs I ever had that the internet is ... porous? ... was when I had my computer in my hospital bed in Santa Maria after wrecking my S-10 (when I still had access to my Yahoo! account). I was on the Yahoo! homepage and for no understandable reason positioned my mouse pointer in a specific place in the white background a little above and to the right of some logo or other (probably a Yahoo! logo). I clicked. Next thing I knew, I was on a page, the details of which I do not remember very clearly. If I remember right, it was like a search engine page that listed a lot of pornographic links. They seemed to be connected to children based either on pictures (which weren't graphic) or the words (which would have been suggestive of kiddie-porn). I did not click. Not sure if I surfed much more that day, or ever again on that computer, but I do remember I did a very unusual thing. Afraid of what this computer might possibly implicate me in, when I was moved from that hospital to an open inpatient mental health care facility, I deliberately went out to the parking lot, found a drain in the parking lot, raised the grate, and dropped my laptop inside. Then I put the grate back in place and went back to my "life" at the time. That was quite nerve-racking, really. Not an hallucination, either. Not by a long shot.
Entry Eight: Salem, The Inquisition, Montségur. * Nothing to see here, I assure you. * All hail Trump. * SMH.
Entry Seven: This book seems worth reading, too.
Entry Six: If there was a church I'd be willing to join, I'd need to know they truly stood by what they preached. Also, they would never look down upon safe and equitable sex work or responsible pornography. They would, however, call out and help prosecute anyone who abused anyone, especially the disenfranchised, whether they were in the sex trade or not. [And it's not all about sex. There is much more to life. It's just I'd like to see sex used less as a tool for social control, and more as a safe and enjoyable form of self-expression and personal development.]
Entry Five: Even though I have read much re: "the occult" and have had experiences that might easily be described as "occult" in nature, my research is aimed at understanding how things work. I am a truth-seeker. I am a learner. * Raised a Baptist Christian in Southern California, I took the Bible as the Word of God very seriously. However, as I grew older, I began to notice not only ways in which the Bible fell short of the truth, but ways in which believers themselves fell short of the same. For example, here are a couple of verses I consider dangerous at best: "For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God's glorious standard. Yet God, in his grace, freely makes us right in his sight. He did this through Christ Jesus when he freed us from the penalty for our sins." (Romans 3:23-24, NLT). * Sorry/not sorry, but I do not like how these words, especially when taken out of context, may be interpreted to mean that Christians have a free pass to commit illegal acts on account of the fact that God killed His own Son on their behalf. Say what? I'd call that evil. * Anyway, that's essentially why I started to read beyond the Bible. What I have learned is that all books (the Bible included) have something to offer ... until they don't. At which point I turn the page, close the cover, and find another book. What am I hoping to learn? Ways to be in the world while experiencing a minimum of suffering for self and other, that's what. * And here's an excellent book about an important "occult" topic.
Entry Four: My abusers (and they are just as real as they are "manifold") are wrong. Whether or not they are victorious, that does not change their "wrongness." Unless they are truly on my side, in which case they are not my abusers. So, again, I say, "My abusers ... are ... wrong." Even when I fall, I am not as weak as I may seem.
Entry Three: About a week ago, I awoke from a dream in which my cat Switch (the one stolen from me in San Luis Obispo, CA in 2020) snuggled up to me and then fell down. I have no way of knowing why I had that dream at that time, but it may have been due to his passing. Anyway, he was the kindest of cats. He deserved better.
Entry Two: Since I likely will never be afforded the opportunity to fully publish either IB4 or the final version of IB3, I'm going to go ahead and let at least one cat out of the bag right here, right now. IB3 contains only a handful of fabrications, one of which was the following: the man in the BHU (which was City of Angels, BTW), who I said was Argentinian, was actually Russian. That fact makes much more sense to me these days than it did way back in 2009. Also, while it is not stated in IB3, somewhere along the line I became confused and thought that I had been delivered to City of Angels from Riverside when "Isabella" was delivered there from Santa Barbara/Lompoc. What actually happened at that time was this. I was delivered to City of Angels by car by "Jess," as described in IB3 in both versions presently published.
Entry One: From René Daumal's Mont Analogue (in translation): "Keep your eyes fixed on the way to the top, but don't forget to look at your feet. The last step depends on the first. Don't think you have arrived just because you see the peak. Watch your feet, be certain of your next step, but don't let this distract you from the highest goal. The first step depends on the last."
June, 2022
Entry Eighteen: Apparently, my abusers feel the need to make an example out of me. Neat.
Entry Seventeen: Something I recently shared over instant messaging that I thought might deserve a larger audience. * Schizophrenia also gets confused with hearing voices which is in my opinion a state of receptivity more normal than the literature is willing to admit. All our history of telepathy and hearing angels or spirits or God or whatever, or comm[un]ing with animals, all of it gets thrown out the window in order to declare a[-]functional "schizophrenia" a disability that cannot be worked through and needs to be medicated. It's like ... is a functional alcoholic really deserving of that label? And who determines function in a society run my selfish money interests anyway? Etc. Etc. Rant. Rant. Rant. Honestly, Trump's approach to politics exposes the beating heart of patriarchal abuse to a tee. * And I blur politics and addiction and mental health because I am ta[l]king about the common thread that runs through each of them.
Entry Sixteen: Eventually, I lose all words. Quite the joke, that one. * Oh, and I figure it is much more entertaining to watch video of me (fabricated or not), rather than to read my words. Right? * I mean, can you really say I have a persecution complex when I've been 86'd like I ... am?
Entry Fifteen: Near as I can tell, I am being used as an unwilling example to covertly/not covertly sort people into teams. Then my abusers can eliminate those on my side (or turn them against me) before ... oh well ... whatever ... huh
Entry Fourteen: [this post intentionally left blank]
Entry Thirteen: Kind of a drag how my stories prove prophetic. Guess I should write happier stuff.
Entry Twelve: "Careful near that cliff edge!" shouted the guide. * Could he not see? I had already fallen. I am falling. Again and again. My life. My dive. My drive.
Entry Eleven: Make me out to be what you want to make me out to be. Whatever THAT is, I am still ME. And that is "just a little more dangerous" than you realize. I promise you that.
Entry Ten: A snippet from IB4, about my time at home either in late elementary school, or maybe junior high. * TUNING IN * My home was quieter than most. Unless friends were over, I was pretty much alone most of the time, either in my room reading or in the den watching tv. Even when my father worked at home, it was still like having the house all to myself, which I enjoyed. But I got used to it, which increased my tendency to be uncomfortably introverted in loud groups and busy environments. * As a sensitive (or slow-burn schizophrenic in the making - if you like that psychological clap-trap), I remember when I was very young two unusual awarenesses of mine. Bored at home, tired of reading and disinterested in my friends, I sometimes sat down and simply stared at my surroundings. You might call it "zoning out." One of my favorite things to stare at was the wooden door leading to the stairs to the second floor bedroom above the den. Softening my focus, I'd get to watch the lines in the wood shift, as if the door and I were breathing in sync. The experience was remarkable. I didn't do it a lot, but when I did, it always left an impression. * The door breathing was a trick of the eyes, while the voices in the vacuum cleaner were a trick of the ears. Chattering away in the white noise the vacuum made, the voices seemed distant. Their tone, however, was angry, demeaning, and immediate. Not hearing specific words or phrases, I still felt threatened. It was like listening to a host of demons squabbling over how best to make my life a living hell. * But that's just crazy-talk, right?
Entry Nine: Current reading. * Plus, something somewhat related I wrote in high school, here.
Entry Eight: It is a tricky thing to determine the ways in which disparate layers of reality overlap and intersect. Sometimes.
Entry Seven: Hearing Nick Quested talk about Proud Boys from AZ wearing orange hats/helmets and orange armbands on Jan. 6 (as opposed to their usual black and yellow), I remembered speaking with my now deceased and former fiancé (who was likely a victim of human trafficking throughout her life) about colors and their meanings. She said there was no color she hated more than orange. Also, in terms of the tarot, orange is associated with XIX - The Sun, which card is tied to the secret school central to the southern side of the cube of space. So, we have orange associated maybe with Proud Boys, human trafficking, and Mason-level secret society. Coincidence? I dunno ... * "During the 2021 attack on the United States Capitol, the Proud Boys shifted to wearing blaze orange hats and all-black attire." - Wikipedia.
Entry Six: When my spirit makes a promise it is more than words. When my words are understood, my promises are defined. When they are honored, my promises are fulfilled. [Cryptic much?]
Entry Five: They keep me tired and distracted. They take. Is that all? Maybe. Maybe not ...
Entry Four: IB4 will avoid overly naming names. However, those names I have named have been named. No take-backs. Doesn't mean they don't deserve to be treated fairly. Hell, everybody does, if you ask me.
Entry Three: Where do socks go? To Heaven, or to Hell? I do not know ...
Entry Two: Traffic delays, missing props, and various displays of ridicule, aggression, kindness and affection. Well performed, I guess. This Thursday gets a 4 out of 10. Any day my controllers offer me something more in line with my tastes and not theirs will be worth a 6 at least. Y'all know what I like. Do it right.
Entry One: Going out on a limb grants a nice enough view, I guess. And if the branch breaks, well ... it breaks.
May, 2022
Entry Fourteen: This is a loose map of how I've been targeted by some extraordinarily powerful people. 1. I was socially ostracized at Pomona College from 1988 to 1992 (and beyond). 2. Subsequently, high profile media was used to humiliate me (Warner Bros. and others). 3. Unable to find lasting employment, I attempted suicide in 1999, after which I was misdiagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia. 4. In 2000 I attempted to earn a degree in accounting, only to meet that next year people who, pretending to be my friends, manipulated me in various ways. 5. From 2006 to 2009, "Jess" of IB3 involved me in an affair and further derailed my recovery from the mental illness I never should have been diagnosed with in the first place. 6. From 2009 to 2016 I was handled by "Isabella" of IB4, who also manipulated me in a number of ways. I was also hired and used by Transitions-Mental Health Association in Santa Maria and Lompoc, CA. 7. After the death of "Isabella" in 2016, I moved to Upland, CA, where I was again manipulated by the same "friends" from #4 above. Then I was falsely arrested for resisting arrest, and inducted against my will into "The Woods." 8. In 2017 I picked myself up and applied to AmeriCorps, where I was monitored and messed with from 2017 to 2018 in Prescott and Prescott Valley, AZ. 9. In 2019, I moved to Peoria, AZ, where I was chased out of a new job and a new apartment and had to flee back to CA. 10. From 2019 to 2021 in San Luis Obispo, I was now a client of Transitions-Mental Health Association, who messed with my sanity ... as did others clearly connected to organizations involved in drug and human trafficking (at least). 11. In 2021 I moved to Seattle, where I continue to be messed with by what I call "The Cartel." Fun times? Not really. And if I go crazy, it won't be because I'm "mentally ill." It will be because I'm being fucked with and [edit]. "Just sayin'." * Oh. And here's how I told My Story to T-MHA in 2020.
Entry Thirteen: "Here those digital screams? That's the sound of the news. That's the sound of the world dying." - A Boy Called Disdain
Entry Twelve: At my most recent set up of a job, I shared a little about my troubles with a coworker, who later asked me if I ever thought about what I'd done "to deserve this." My answer was honest and vague at the time. But now I have a better one, months later. I should have said, "I don't know. But it sure as hell must have been amazing!"
Entry Eleven: Since my computer is hacked (not was hacked, is hacked), nothing I do is guaranteed to remain as I leave it. I am a toy for these people, which is something I definitely do not like. Not that it makes any difference. So, just be aware that my presence online (like my presence IRL) is insecure at best. * [edit - these edits, BTW, are very much in the interest of the questionable integrity of my web stats].
Entry Ten: Sickening Southern Baptist Convention sex-abuse cover-up.
Entry Nine: My life. Curiouser and curiouser. Always. Even when it appears to be going ... nowhere.
Entry Eight: Now, why was my Facebook account phished from my control and my Apple iCloud account hacked in the cherry-picking fashion it was in 2020? Because my abusers in California (in particular, Claremont, L.A., San Bernardino, Santa Maria, and San Luis Obispo) and Arizona (Prescott, Phoenix, and Peoria) all wanted to cover their tracks and chase me off to Seattle, where I continue to be (by certain persons and organizations at least) monitored, harassed, and [edit]. Because ... well ... evil.
Entry Seven: I hear the shifts in the soundscape. I taste the information spilled. I wait for the world to waken. I wait to see the bill.
Entry Six: Our Father on Netflix. In case you'd like a little insight into at least one aspect of the Fourth (Christian) Reich entrenched and growing in Amerika. I for one would like to uproot this s**t. Can't do it alone, though. Cannot do it alone.
Entry Five: Here's an insight into the relationship between language and reality, to be explicated more fully in IB7. The Hebrew name for Jesus was Yeshua, which, translated, is the English Joshua. However, Christians don't call Jesus Joshua, they call him Jesus; and an interesting thing about the name of Jesus (who is considered The Great I AM), is how uniquely reflected it is in the French phrase for "I am," which is "Je suis." * Now, if you look this up on Quora, they will tell you this is simple coincidence. To which I will add this little poem of mine from Infinite Book 2: Poems. * 30. Something True * * The Universe is * Founded on * Coincidence * * Everything * Coincides
Entry Four: Had a psychic read me maybe 12 years ago, and this is what she said: When you start to look at having your own space and really defining your life and your vibration and your path for yourself, a lot of green lights up in your aura, and it's a real healing for you, like suddenly your space, you just begin to heal and release energy. * Rose, blue, sapphire, robust. Formality. You've been incarnating on the planet for a long time. At least four baby beings hanging out with you. Pale yellow, almost white, which is fear of "God" - like a duty picture. What you have to accomplish is enormous. This energy is pretty old, going back several hundred years. Comes from some kind of a code, like a knight's code, that you took on in a previous life. * Outside of family agreements and dutiful energy, you find mystical information (blue-purple), centuries of esoteric information, including both white and black magic. Plus a lot of green in your own space. Also, a lot of goddess information, magenta in color, understanding of female spirituality. Lifetimes in matriarchal religious or spiritual settings. You have access to the power of the earth. You have a healthy reverence for the creative force in life. You know how to grow things and cultivate things. * Programmability gage: 85%. You are very open to new information at this point. You have not been in a mere survival stage for lifetimes. Then collecting, and you are now at the beginning of the sort through it and check what works for you. Mostly at this point you are sorting through information in order to find what resonates with your truth. * Body space: confusion, light brown, dealing with spirit to body. Your mother gets in your space about how you should take care of your body. But you know how to run your body. You lose touch with how you want to run your body. Stress cycle, get sick, then recover, going back and forth. * Mental health issues is due to the fact that you are so open and sensitive. You are a brave soul, needing to be disciplined and honoring of your limits. Your tendency is to be too open, taking in perhaps too much. But you need to let go and call your attention back to your true self for healing and consolidation. You look for new stimuli in reaction to the constraints of your family energy. * 1st Chakra = light brown, little kids going around on a merry-go-round, feeling safe there with an ability to ground. There's also a sense where it's not that real. There's a stupid picture that your dad put there, where you expressed your competence regarding money or jobs or finances and he whacked you, calling you stupid, basically because he was in competition with you. I see a picture of a foot stamping down really hard and fast. You have to feel the hurt to move that energy out of that space. You wish to set this chakra at a clear deep blue. Running that energy in your first chakra you will accomplish a lot in your life. You've pretty much already cleared your father's energy out of that space. You feel guilty about material accomplishment, to a large extent. Once you feel comfortable with what you are doing, you will be taken care of by the world. You will have the material abundance necessary to create what you want to create while you are here. Although material abundance is not specifically your goal. Your mother is angry at your acceptance of material satisfaction. Your mother was a younger brother or sister of yours in a past life, so there is some competition there. * 2nd Chakra = you tend to hide this one, out of relationship with your mother. "Put that away, I don’t want to see that!" Purple-pink color mock-up to get a healing out of that. There is a girl in your life (past, present, future?) whose female energy is "rad." Being around her reminds you of your own space of female energy. When you run your own female energy, it clears your mother energy from that space. Trust what you are attracted to. You may spend your time with an attractive female running your own selfish energy, rather than flowing all your energy over to them. If you stay in your body, and spend your time based on what is activated in your own space, disinterested in what is going on over there, you will become insanely attractive. "People cannot be attracted to you unless there is a you there running energy." * 3rd Chakra = orange, and you love basketball. [this is a stretch, although it does make some sense, considering I definitely loved basketball around 5th or 6th grade] You heal yourself when you're playing sports. [martial arts, for sure] * 4th Chakra = needed healing in heart chakra, yellow and green, all the yellow energy is like streaming out from the top. The healing energy that appears is a sparkly lilac. Your heart chakra is running a beautiful sky blue, healing yourself. You are taking a big step breaking free of your mother's energy and the agreements you have made. You are taking a lot of steps up in terms of giving energy to yourself. * 5th Chakra = cool picture in here, blue and green, somebody throwing something attached to a rope into the water at somebody else, not in distress. I don’t know what to make of that image … or, maybe, space of creativity, you have the greatest no-effort space there, creating is like breathing, very uncomplicated. Writing through your arms, communication. * 6th Chakra = magenta right now, but your real color here is like a flame orange. Somebody's system is bullshit, so not you. Agni Yoga? This is maybe the magenta, which is a really intellectual study of "Oneness" and some-such B.S. This is what you use or show as your spiritual information, but it is not YOURS. It is interesting, but not owned by you. Your real perception of truth, your clairvoyance and imagination is (right now) a fiery orange-red like a flame, which is anger/self-assertion, male and really strong. That is how you find what you know and what you see. There's a nice/not-nice dichotomy here, but when you are unapologetic you are in your space, a space you find in your writing a lot. * 7th Chakra = indigo, really deep purple, almost black, seriousness. You have intimidating seriousness, which you use professionally. The only pitfall is when you start to take yourself seriously. You are in a growth period about how you want to set your 7th Chakra, how you want to present yourself in terms of your aura. There is a little bit of hiding here, not because you are shameful, but because you are still working on your space inside. Right now you want to set your 7th at blue and golden yellow.
Entry Three: Finally. This should have been addressed decades ago. Still, I am glad to see it is being addressed now, at least. Better late than never? *sigh*
Entry Two: I heard someone say it will only get worse. Tell me something I don't know.
Entry One: You know, I do have a notion how this might end. With the level of shit leveled against me, more likely than not I am being groomed to be tortured on live-stream as a warning to (or entertainment for) the masses. I mean, seriously. All the crimes committed against me that I have tried to expose continue to go unaddressed. For the first (1) decade of my life, I was raised in a lie of a religion. For the second (2) decade of my life, I was shown just how little I mattered to other people. For the third (3) decade of my life, I was forbidden to reap the rewards of my college education. For the fourth (4) decade of my life, I was victimized by the Amerikan mental health system. For the fifth (5) decade of my life, my writings were minimized and ignored. And now, for the sixth (6) decade of my life ...
April, 2022
Entry Thirty-One: Screenshot taken from the IC3 Complaint Referral Form submitted by me on 4/14/22 and verified by phone with the Seattle office of the FBI that same day. - PS - I will be visiting CA for three days (from May 1 to May 3) on account of my recently deceased father's memorial service. I would appreciate it if I wasn't harrassed. I would also appreciate it if I wasn't falsely arrested, like what happened to me back in Upland in 2016. Not being poisoned would be nice, too. I'm just looking to pay my respects and return safely to my place of residence, where I will continue to work on IB4. Because, you know, what else is there for me to do?
Entry Thirty: Trump. America's abusive husband, who never gets arrested.
Entry Twenty-Nine: "Props to those who value truth and kindness. Fuck all to those who don't. Like when someone says they're giving me a fair shake, when a fair shake is the opposite of what they're giving. Because lying liars lie so well it almost sounds like the truth, especially to the undiscerning." Then he stepped off the platform and let another shout at the crowd in his place. * Echo chambers of the mind and of the soul.
Entry Twenty-Eight: As for me, what I really know is what I like. I like accomplishing something important, something helpful, something kind. I like being permitted the peace and quiet in which to savor such things, especially with someone I love. It's why I choose never to forget my lover's head on my chest, snuggled there, knowing that - for a moment at least - her nightmares would cease, and she be allowed to dream.
Entry Twenty-Seven: It's fun knowing my enemies have an all-access pass to every aspect of my life. It's fun knowing I have no property or privacy to call my own. It's also fun to know that, when push comes to shove, everything I have written online can be altered in an instant. DEEPFAKE LIFE. That was a t-shirt I used to wear, once upon a time.
Entry Twenty-Six: A liar's confession is often just another lie. True facts.
Entry Twenty-Five: Inhale. Exhale. Gonna take a break from this blog for at least a week, to focus on other things.
Entry Twenty-Four: Oh you have got to be freaking kidding me. I was wrong. The white sticker actually was there so the carrier knew to forward any mail addressed to the previous tenant of my apartment. It would be nice if this fact were a little more transparent. Plus, I had to search way harder online to find an answer to this question than I think I should have. Also, when I spoke with the postal woman over the phone later, it would also have been nice if she had mentioned that that was policy, rather than leaving things unresolved on my end. And, yes, the appropriate response from me would have been to call the post office and inquire first, before jumping to conclusions. Although, the previous tenant did move out more than eleven months ago. Anway, egg on my paranoid face. Still, I stand by my belief that I suffer from SCPTSD, and not Paranoid Schizophrenia. And, as a matter of record, the previous account of my experience follows. * Okay. Here's a long-winded account of my recent "tizzy" regarding the Post Office (and the FBI). * On Wednesday (April 13), Informed Delivery told me I would receive mail from TTW and AAA. I never went down to my mailbox that day to check. * Super early Thursday morning, I went out for a walk. When I returned, I checked my mailbox. My mail from TTW and AAA was not there. Only an unaddressed advertisement was. This sometimes happens. Sometimes Informed Delivery is off by a day or two. However, I also saw the sticker in my mailbox showing the name O____ H________ followed by my address. I then assumed that my mail had not been delivered on Wednesday because my mailbox had been assigned to O____ H________. [According to my research, a change of address is handled at the postal sorting facility. This means a carrier should not even be carrying O____ H________'s mail to my address. Therefore, a sticker informing the carrier to not deliver mail addressed to O____ H________ at my mailbox would be redundant. Plus, the wording on the sticker did not seem in any way to suggest that O____ H________'s mail was supposed to be delivered somewhere else. So, "tizzy." I took a picture of the sticker. Later that morning, I wrote a note for the carrier telling them I wanted my "missing mail" and that my mailbox was mine, not O____ H________'s. * Sometime after daybreak that day (still Thursday), I went online and reported the problem with my mail. The reporting selections available to me did not address my specific situation, so I said my mail had not been delivered for 3 days (not true) in order to explain in the notes what was really going on. Around 10 am, I went to my doctor to get my second COVID booster shot. On my way into my doctor's office, I received an email supposedly from the post office. This email was odd, however, in that it said it was sent from someone who works in San Diego asking me what the problem was and if I received mail in Apple Valley. Assuming this to be bogus, I did not bother to reply. * After receiving my COVID shot, I went in person to the post office to file a complaint. I was given the phone number and address of the local postal annex. I drove home. Now in my apartment building, I opened my mailbox and found yesterday's mail from TTW and AAA. I removed the sticker and my note. Returning to my apartment, I then called the postal annex to report what I believed to have been some kind of fraud. They told me to call the national postal fraud line, which I did. The national line told me to report to my local office, and then transferred me to some other number. I was given no information re: this other number except that it supposedly was in Seattle. Anyway, it rang for almost 30 minutes before I hung up. * Then, I called the Seattle FBI to attempt to connect this apparent postal fraud with the hacking I experienced in San Luis Obispo in 2020 and reported online to the Seattle FBI's cyber division in 2021. The man who answered got fed up with my inability to talk in actionable specifics and hung up on me. I never even had the chance to request that I be given the opportunity to unfold my story (either in writing or in person - because what I wanted to report was not so much a report as it was a tip). So. I called back. A woman answered. I told her about my online cyber report from 2021 and asked her if she could tell me if anything was being done about it. She checked the database and said there was no such report to be found. She also told me that I should have had a confirmation number emailed to me after I had originally filed that report. I told her I didn’t remember ever having a confirmation number sent to me. She then suggested that I resubmit my report from 2021 and call her back to verify that it had been received. * After all of that runaround, I found my printout of my 2021 report. It listed no confirmation number of any kind. Then, I dutifully typed it into the FBI online cyber reporting system and hit submit. After a little bit, I called. The woman answered and said it was received. I explained to her that the system again only gave me the opportunity to print my report and that no confirmation number of any kind was ever mentioned or delivered. Finally, I explained that I understood that my report was too nebulous to be actionable, but still asked that the information reported at least be sent to someone who might make use of it in maybe some other investigation. And that was the end of my conversation with the FBI. * A little later, due to my dissatisfaction with the postal service, I went online to the FTC and reported that email I had received mentioning San Diego and Apple Valley even though my concern was in Seattle. * Friday was a nothing day. * On Saturday, I received Informed Delivery notification that the mail forwarding letter concerning O____ H________ was to be delivered to my mailbox. I did not examine the image carefully enough at that time to notice it said O____ H________'s mail was now being forwarded FROM my address. Then I received a call from the person who sent me that questionable email supposedly from the post office. She helpfully expressed her own confusion at having received my online complaint, since she handled Apple Valley and I was in Seattle. After I explained my situation, she composed an email for me and my Seattle post office. When I got this email, I replied to it with a pic I had taken of the sticker that had been put in my mailbox (the sticker that started all of this, and that seemed so strongly to suggest that O____ H________ was a new resident of my apartment rather than a previous tenant). * While one might say I had a “tizzy” for no good reason, and while I can see how it might appear that I overreacted, I still think the way things played out against the backdrop of past and present traumas not only makes my concerns understandable, but maybe even valid, as well. * Sheesh.
Entry Twenty-Three: Deep breath and good news. My journey from the MISdiagnosis of "Paranoid Schizophrenia" I received in 1999 to "Schizoaffective Disorder" to "Bipolar Disorder" to "Severe Depression with a history of Psychosis" is finally (after two years of "Paranoid Schizophrenia" bullshit courtesy of San Luis Obispo) arriving where it belongs in 2022: CPTSD or SCPTSD. That's either Complex PTSD or Severe Complex PTSD. Because, trauma.
Entry Twenty-Two: Censorship. WTF. Out of context, this might seem like hate speech. Within the context of the article my post was linked to, it was not. Anyway, at least Facebook backed off and didn't restrict my account.
Entry Twenty-One: Search engine censorship is way more systemic than Google China censorship alone. It reinforces dangerous blindspots in our social discourse. For example, in my research for IB4, I googled "sexual competition and social shaming" and got articles on slut shaming instead. I was looking for the ubiquitous role of shaming in social settings, largely on account of sexual competition, not a bunch of patriarchal bullshit about how men are entitled to sex and women aren't. Also, porn use by those who "can't get any" is considered shameful, even though porn is not only a form of sexual "training" (however compromised said training may be); it's also "practice" both in terms of skill development and simple mind-body regulation. One big fly in the ointment of porn use is of course the toxicity of a lot of porn (and the toll this toxicity takes on the lives of everyone involved, from actor to consumer and everyone in between). And on top of this there's the problem of porn-shaming from a society unwilling to respect the benefits of porn. Yes, I said benefits. * Also, searching for "federal investigation of pornography" requires that I add "-child" to these search terms to sidestep the issue of child pornography. Otherwise I get nothing but an endless slew of links to articles decrying child pornographers. But even if I explicitly remove "child" from my search by adding that minus sign, I don't get what I'm looking for. Instead, I end up with nothing having to do with the "federal investigation of pornography." Because apparently Google thinks HOW the feds are dealing with child pornography is way more important than anything else, like ties to human trafficking, porn shaming, the criminal underground, and numerous distortions to the social conversations surrounding pornography in general. * SEARCH ENGINES CENSOR. * NB: Yeah, yeah. I can (and will) spend hours refining my search terms to get what I'm looking for ... but, really, a good search engine would assist the searcher in narrowing down their search terms, rather than simply shrugging it off and saying, "I dunno. No one cares about that stuff." To which I say, "Really?" * And from Wikipedia: Ungoogleable - In 2013, the Swedish Language Council included the Swedish version of the word ungoogleable (ogooglebar) in its list of new words. It had "defined the term as something that cannot be found with any search engine". Google objected to this definition, wanting it to not only refer to Google searches, and the Council removed it in order to avoid a legal confrontation, and accused Google of trying to "control the Swedish language." * I first posted this entry on Facebook, but Facebook kept glitching on me so I couldn't edit it like I would have liked. Was that an AI-censor-hack? It couldn't be! I mean, it's not like we're living in some kind of sci-fi horror movie ... right?
Entry Twenty: My personal paradox? Being equal parts judgemental and empathetic. When it works, I am discerning and caring as fuck. When it doesn't, I give no fucks at all. Careful, now.
Entry Nineteen: THIS ... is an incredibly important article, IMO. It covers a ton of stuff in very few words. And, the words quoted below I quote because they concern something I find particularly key. Human beings (and that includes children) are sexual creatures who are all too often given neither the space nor the time necessary for their own personal sexual development. Instead, their sexuality is defined by others. It is either encouraged or minimized not for their comfort, but for the disproportionate and often toxic comfort of others. That is invasive, traumatizing, and generally not cool. * "I understood very quickly, even as a 13-year-old, that if I were to express myself sexually I would feel unsafe and that men would feel entitled to discuss and objectify my body to my great discomfort," she [Natalie Portman] added.
Entry Eighteen: To do is to learn. What did you do today? What did you learn?
Entry Seventeen: Notes for Infinite Book 6: Drugs (IB6) * And what is not a drug? * Nothing is not a drug. * Alcohol as a "social lubricant?" - Yeah … more like a spiritual lubricant, if you ask me. They don't call alcoholic drinks "spirits" for nothing. * Addiction - to be addicted is to be ordered, commanded, or "told where to go." Addiction is "the discourse of control," and the study of addiction is the study of control. Latin, addicere "to assign," from ad "to" + dicere "to say."
Entry Sixteen:
Entry Fifteen: My karmic accountant looked at my books and said, "You have cost many much. Your regrets are real in that regard. Still, the tally of those costs and the tally of your regrets may or may not balance, depending on the integrity of our ledger." * So. I breathe as I wait, and I wait as I breathe. May these reckonings be true ... and just ... and kind ... in accordance with a spirit that never bankrupts ... but instead invests in the love of self and other.
Entry Fourteen: When it comes to "conspiracy theories," the big ones raise an important question. If, as many of us know from personal experience, few people are capable of maintaining the functional secrecy necessary to bring even the simplest of conspiracies to fruition, how can one honestly believe that we live in a world where conspiracies abound? As transparency increases, so does the need for subterfuge. To assume reality is simple is a disservice not only to our understanding of reality, but to reality itself.
Entry Thirteen: Jesus was one martyr out of many, and his martyrdom was turned against itself by Christianity, a religion that celebrates his past sacrifice as payment for future gain. Because, you know, if you accept the sacrifice of Jesus (as evidenced by your willingness to devote yourself to Christianity while you are still alive), you will be rewarded (in Heaven ... after you have died). This is why I am not Christian. At least not in the traditional sense. You know? * And this image was a t-shirt design I came up with years ago. Is it offensive? Maybe. Is it meaningful? Very.
Entry Twelve: In a sound bite nation, Orwellian Newspeak wields furious power. * This autological slogan is brought to you by Autological Slogans, Inc. - "One voice. Many mouths."
Entry Eleven: Here is a one-title/one-sentence poem: Sirens in the Distance * Someone is doing something.
Entry Ten:
Entry Nine: Truth in Spelling: Every god has its say: the solitary “o” in the middle of the word. This empty space of creation is filled with (and defined by) the will of the god concerned. This is limited creation. * That which is good, however, is like two gods in one. The two “o” letters together form a lemniscate: limitless creation. * And this is why I prefer my gods to be good.
Entry Eight: Morals are personal. Ethics are societal. When people confuse the two, freedom is constrained.
Entry Six: I hear nitrous oxide is 300 times more damaging to our climate than carbon dioxide. Gives new meaning to the phrase "die laughing," if you ask me. Gallows humor. It's a thing.
Entry Five: I knew this guy, once. He said to me, "Sometimes I think there's something everyone knows but me," and I thought, "Yeah. That sounds familiar."
Entry Four: Am I maybe a little complicated? Uh. Yeah. When I'm reflecting, that is. * Huh?
Entry Three: So. Yeah. What I write and what I don't, what I do and what I don't ... it doesn't really matter. My life was ended before it began. *meaningless edit*
Entry Two: *edit*
Entry One: Der Narr.
March, 2022
Entry Fifty-Eight: A Google review I left after my non-wonderful time in AZ, when I was living in Peoria after Prescott.
Entry Fifty-Seven: Oh. One last (well, a few last) things for today: There are certain people in power who would like me to be homeless. There are certain people in power who would like me to go crazy. There are certain people in power who would like me to suicide. There are certain people in power who would like me to be murdered. There are also certain people in power who would like me to be tortured. I don't like these people. I really don't.
Entry Fifty-Six: Not that you necessarily care, dear reader, but there is an error in IB3R. In it, I mistakenly attribute how I was attacked through CD insert media (courtesy of Green Day and TAFKAP) to 1993, when, in reality, it was 1994 (for TAFKAP) and 1995 (for Green Day). Lovely, hateful people. Although, frankly, I do not believe Prince to have been responsible for the doctored image of me that appeared in the CD single of "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" (which was NPG Records' first release - not Warner Bros.'s). In fact, I would not be surprised if Warner Bros. was not somehow responsible for tainting NPG Records' "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World" due to Prince's extreme displeasure with Warner Bros. at the time. "Color me paranoid."
Entry Fifty-Five: Privacy laws. "Shush. Don't tell. Or we'll put you in prison." Goodie. Although suing me prematurely might call unwanted attention to certain criminal enterprises not yet ready to reveal themselves "at this juncture."
Entry Fifty-Four: I remember hearing Derek "Deke" Greco weep outside my dorm room window my senior year at Pomona College (1992). He said, in between sobs, "Why him?" two or three times. * I figure this was after he was made aware of whatever the fuck it was the Pomona College underground had planned for me and my sick joke of a life. * MUFTI? Maybe. It's hard to put a finger on any one particular party. So many are to blame.
Entry Fifty-Three: Watched The Matrix Resurrections and was impressed by its take on choice and free will. This might seem hypocritical of me, since I seem to take an opposing viewpoint on choice and free will with the underlying metaphysic of 22 Series Books, which goes like this: "Choice is real. Free will is not." It's not hypocritical, though, as these two viewpoints are actually quite complementary. Here's how. In my metaphysic, "Choice is real" means that when a choice is made, it manifests in the physical and becomes real. "Free will is not" means that the mind's ability to choose freely is essentially "above the real." * The Matrix's metaphysic considers (free) will to be the driving force behind (or above) the choices we make. In other words, will determines choice, and therein The Matrix and I agree - provided I have not misinterpreted The Matrix's metaphysic in this regard.
Entry Fifty-Two: Graffiti: "QBALL" (with a little halo over the A). * Worker: "Wake up!" * Sure. Any suggestions? Not that I'm listening. Not that I need to. Not that I could do anything about anything anyway ... right?
Entry Fifty-One: Hate this place. Used to work for them. Then they paid me in betrayal. Neat. Read Pinned Entry 1 (above) if you'd like a brief overview of a few of the things they've put me through. * You might ask yourself, "Why doesn't Dave just leave these things alone and move on with his life?" * I would answer, "Because that's not an option. It's really not."
Entry Fifty: I have this really stupid "socialist" notion. What if everyone received a more-than-substantial living stipend? And what if education and employment and volunteerism were combined in such a way that we were all "assigned" (with some element of choice in the matter) to a variety of positions throughout the first - let's say - twenty years of our lives? These positions would cover a range of social work experiences requiring a range of skills in a range of settings, all resulting in socially aware individuals ready to specialize in fields for which they are qualified, or simply to continue learning and dabbling for the benefit of self and other, all the while working to earn various perks on top of that aforementioned living stipend - which stipend would guarantee healthy living, adequate privacy, comprehensive healthcare, a reasonable allowance for discretionary spending and travel, and maybe some other stuff I'm just not thinking of right now. But this idea is, of course, stupid. Because nothing is better than feudalistic capitalism soaked in commie tears blown dry by fascist rhetoric, right?
Entry Forty-Nine: Is this true? The letter is real. What it concerns has never been verified. * Hello Mom and Dad, * This is really big news and may be upsetting … but I assure you it has a happy ending. Please read through everything carefully. Thanks. * It turns out Suzzanna [IB4's Isabella] was pregnant with my child back in 2010. It also turns out she gave birth to a healthy baby girl on July 18, 2010 and gave her up for adoption to a loving, well-off family. They paid for all of Suzzanna’s needs up to and a little after the birth. Suzzanna named the child Caroline, as a nod to you, mom. So, the child's full name is Caroline Anne Parker. Her parents are named Jon and Jocelyn. They have previously adopted two other daughters: Lily (13) and Margot (7). Jon works in computer security and Jocelyn is a stay at home mom. * Because Suzzanna and I had split shortly after she became pregnant, she did not wish to saddle me with a child. I didn't even know she was pregnant until much later. We have waited until now to tell you about this for two reasons. One, Suzzanna was ashamed to tell even me. And two, recently the status of Caroline's open adoption was in question. We had not heard from the Parkers for a very long time … apparently because they were afraid I might try to interfere with their adoptive parental rights once I had re-entered Suzzanna's life. * Here are some of the facts about Caroline: * 8 lb. 2 oz. 21 in. at birth … and a toe-head. * They now live in Les Cles Sous Bois (a Paris suburb). * Even though she is not yet 5, she is already attending her second semester of 1st grade in a French-speaking school. * Fluent in English and French. * Reads at a 5th grade level. * Been playing piano since 3, and just started violin lessons. * Photographic memory. * Blonde hair, blue eyes. * Precocious. * Open adoption. Suzzanna’s former psychiatrist was the sister of Mr. Parker. * Can play a musical piece on the piano after just hearing it once. * Taking Spanish in France. * Can play four piano concertos perfectly. * She's adorable … pictures to come. * Love, * David and Suzzanna
Entry Forty-Eight: Notes on me and IB4's Isabella: I think she sometimes felt betrayed by my inability to completely immerse myself in her world. Movies she watched alone. The pot she smoked in the other room. My failure to pick up on the permission she gave me to read her diaries when they were right there, in the space we shared. My plate was full. She knew that. Still, I wish I could have been more for her. But I wasn't. Besides, the deck was already so stacked against us it's a wonder we got to share the love we did. And for that love I am grateful.
Entry Forty-Seven: 47. It's not just whimsy. Trust me. Or don't. I'm right, either way.
Entry Forty-Six: Here is a funny (?) self-dedication to me composing IB4.
Entry Forty-Five: Oh. BTW. Back when I had access, I noticed a shit-ton of Pomona College alums living in San Luis Obispo. I'm sure that had nothing to do with my experience in that town, though ... right?
Entry Forty-Four: Plausible deniability? That's why we crosscheck with intuition.
Entry Forty-Three: When someone says someone else is paranoid, the question arises in my mind, "Does this someone else have reason to be paranoid?"
Enty Forty-Two: Just south-west of Bosbyshell Fountain, Alessandra (sp?) stopped me my senior year and said, "Don't let them get to you." * Cute. * Later, Deke warned me about her. * What's that called? * Oh. Yeah. Good-cop, bad-cop? Yeah.
Entry Forty-One: Even though I am essentially unopposed to guns and pornography, I cannot help but recognize how both have been used (and continue to be used) to tighten authoritarianism's stranglehold on human equality (or compassion ... or empathy ... or whatever other word might suggest something a little less predatory than the way things are). * Because, by nature, we are predatory. * I wish we weren't. * But, we are.
Entry Forty: Infinitedot Manifesto was not a direct request for further social bullshit. It was more a complaint in the interest of turning down the volume of said bullshit. Oh well.
Entry Thirty-Nine: Silly me. Wanting to live a life in which I am not harassed, in which I am allowed to maintain a job that pays a living wage, in which I am properly compensated for my writing (because IB3 is kinda important, IMO), and one in which I am allowed to have a love life that is simple and not orchestrated by others. Silly me. Because, instead of living that kind of life, I am forced to become what I hate. I get to "harass" my abusers. I also get to dig into information and experience that brings my free will and good intentions into question. Oh well. I'm still here. Always have been. Always will be. Here. Targeted and trafficked. Maybe not as clearly as some, but targeted and trafficked all the same.
Entry Thirty-Eight: "Such-and-such should be banned. And those who read such-and-such should be shot or put in prison or worse." * Ever wonder why those who read such-and-such do read such-and-such? Maybe there is a cause closer to the root worth addressing, in the interest of not harming those with whom we disagree? Maybe? Or maybe we just enjoy feeding off the suffering of others.
Entry Thirty-Seven: Me. In a certain woman's dorm room in 1990 (?). Thinking I was having fun. Posing for silly pictures, one of which would be altered and placed in the collage of TAFKAP's CD single, "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World." Because ... funny is fun ... right?
Entry Thirty-Six: A setup is a setup. * We do what we do. * And criminals work through the legal system to undermine the disenfranchised. * So much love.
Entry Thirty-Five: I haven't really read enough about the topic of hypnosis/brainwashing/mind control to know what it might feel like being "Greenbaumed," but I suspect the way certain memories of mine stick out like bookmarks in my mind (trigger phrases, mostly) may signify this very thing. Anyway, just did a quick web-search and found a PDF worth reading: here.
Entry Thirty-Four: Me? I'm kinda looking forward to my ending.
Entry Thirty-Three: "The manipulation of religious sentiments for political purposes is a mainstay of American life." - Bain, S. K.. Most Dangerous Book in the World: 9/11 as Mass Ritual (p. 196). Trine Day. Kindle Edition.
Entry Thirty-Two: I will amplify this statement in IB4. But, for now, I feel the need to say the following: "To ask that you get a 'free ticket of silence' because you have a wife and kids is straight-up bullshit. If you have done wrong, you DESERVE to be called out on it. Also, if you have done wrong, those who are made aware of your transgressions ought to evaluate you fairly. In other words, just because I call you out on your shit publicly DOES NOT MEAN the public has the right to treat you (or your children) in ways you (or they) do not deserve. So. Do NOT blame me for what irresponsible others do on account of MY TRUTH. Your kids are not you. People should respect that. Regardless of how you may have misbehaved in the past, your children deserve a fair shake. Period. I am soooooooo sick of those who refuse to take responsibility for what they have done." * And, whether you admit it or not, I have paid more than my fair share in this question of a life.
Entry Thirty-One: Here's a little bit of Thomas Pynchon esoterica. Before I had even applied to Pomona College, I sat in on an English class taught by one Brian Stonehill. Stonehill was discussing Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49. At one point, he suggested that the novel's fictional Southern California city of San Narciso was actually an oblique reference to Claremont, CA. How so? Well, Narcissus fell in love with a reflection of himself. And, oddly enough, Claremont is in a sense a reflection of (or reflected by) the neighboring city of Montclair. Clear mountain. Mountain clear. You see? And the suggestion that San Narciso was emblematic of Montclair/Claremont struck me as strangely prophetic on a precisely personal scale. Because, well, here I was, about to graduate from Montclair High School and apply to Pomona College, Claremont. Kinda freaky, if you ask me. Or not. Because, you know ... I'm crazy.
Entry Thirty: None of it is true, BTW. What I say. None of it. What others say, however, is always, always true. Truer than true, actually. Always.
Entry Twenty-Nine: Having been denied so many things I thought were mine in this my life, I can at least take almost-comfort in the power level of my enemies ... my abusers ... my handlers. * Oh well. Whatever. Always minding. * Careful now ...
Entry Twenty-Eight: Practical Conspiracy Thinking, 101. Yes, social distancing increases our dependency on electronic currency, bringing us one step closer to the "cashless" society Christian fear-mongers love to shout about as a sign of impending apocalypse. Frankly, I'm not so concerned about the tools of the "New World Order." I'm way more concerned about how they are being used, and to what purpose. You feel me? * I mean, if it's an NWO run by Care Bears, it might not be so bad as one run by Crypto-Fascist Jesus Freaks on a mission from Yahweh. * And if you really want to know what I think about Yahweh, maybe you'll get to read about that in IB4 (and IB7). * Or not.
Entry Twenty-Seven: KGI.edu. Nothing to see here. Not in terms of bio-pharmacological mind control, anyway. Because I am not an experiment. First given LSD and mushrooms at the Nappie cabin around 1992, then altered ecstasy at an off-campus "X" party post-graduation. Later medicated to treat the psychiatric misdiagnosis assigned to me in 1999. Then slipped something not unlike Rohypnol in Long Beach in 2001/2002. And environmentally dosed from time to time. Because I am not an experiment. * Claremont über alles.
Entry Twenty-Six: IB4 Notes: "Mistakes - conscious mistakes performed with superconscious intention. Baiting and karma. Pretty noose."
Entry Twenty-Five: If I ever get to write Infinite Book 5: Sex, it will explore the psychology of sex, with special emphasis on control: self control, body control, social control, and straight-up mind control. Obviously, a ton of this has been brought into practice through online pornography, which uses audio/visual stimulus-response as it shines a light on social censure and isolation, interpersonal communication and manipulation, as well as the relationship between pleasure and intention. The psychology of porn is image based, but certainly not limited to image alone - especially when understood according to the quantum nature of reality (i.e., consciousness). * Another aspect of IB5 will be the psycho-spiritual effects of certain sexual practices. Because nothing and no one is ever truly disconnected from the other. * But, you know me. I'm just a worthless jack-off who never would have been a decent father to the children I never got to help raise. * Bitter? Yeah. Bitter.
Entry Twenty-Four: Giggles from a video (now removed) originally posted on September 11, 2011 by corbettreport. Because Hell is fun.
Entry Twenty-Three: An interesting factoid from my time with Suzzanna (Suzzanna being the woman I call Isabella in IB3). Suzzanna's mom (Linda Moreno, I think) hated Suzzanna and me. At one point, maybe around 2014, Suzzanna said she'd gotten word that Linda had died. This was a relief to Suzzanna. Later, after Suzzanna's passing, I was contacted by Suzzanna's oldest daughter (whom I had never met before then). Suzzanna had said she worked in IT. Anyway, this daughter calls me because she wants me to get stuff out of the apartment Suzzanna and I used to share before I moved out and broke things off with Suzzanna on account of Suzzanna's continued refusal to be honest with me about her drug use. But that's beside the point. Here are the two key take-aways. 1. What I wanted from Suzzanna's apartment were her diaries. They were never given to me, even though I know Suzzanna wanted me to have them. 2. In my presence, the daughter had a cell phone conversation with her "grandma." Now, maybe that grandma was on the daughter's father's side of the family. Or maybe, just maybe, it was Linda Moreno, Izzy Moreno having been Suzzanna's step-father who worked for NASA and through whom Suzzanna learned how to box, work on cars, and ... hack computers. Does any of this sound maybe just a little orchestrated?
Entry Twenty-Two: And, of course, I wouldn't know jack shit about mental health, religion, or reality. Not that it matters. Because I am just another example of how those in charge control our lives. * When you are a plaything to be tortured by the military-industrial-academic-pharmaceutical deep state (or whatever you want to call it), it's kinda difficult to feel in control of much of anything. * And how did I put it in IB3? "Illuminati-Deep State-New World Order-Zionist-Reptilian-Santa Klaus Konspiracy Klub." Goodie.
Entry Twenty-One: Trumpism isn't about stolen elections or insecure borders or anything, really. It's about "winning."
Entry Twenty: And I might as well mention two more names from Pomona College. They betrayed me, too. Maybe unwillingly. Maybe not. It doesn't matter anymore. I might have the spellings wrong, since so much has been taken from me over the years, but here they are: Donald Claude Morest and Derek "Deke" Greco. Just rattling more cages before things get worse. Nu Alpha Phi.
Entry Nineteen: Well. THAT job was bullshit. Just as I suspected, really. Another setup. * And did you know the four primary planes destroyed on 9/11 were made by Boeing?
Entry Eighteen: A true statement: "I haven't had local friends since 2001-2003, and I haven't had good local friends since 1988. Isolation sucks." * Woe is me pity party? Not exactly.
Entry Seventeen: Well. Let's see how this plays out then, shall we? * That question is rhetorical, BTW.
Entry Sixteen: You know, when I worked nights at the Fish Bowl on the Pomona College campus, the television was often on. There were three shows that got played a lot in my presence: Twin Peaks, The Late Show with David Letterman, and Saturday Night Live. * No black magick involved, I assure you.
Entry Fifteen: A statement (supposedly) made by British-intelligence, according to Michael A. Hoffman II, in Secret Societies and Psychological Warfare: "This demonstrates one of our simpler methods. Realizing that our activities will sooner or later come to light, we structure our activities so that as conspiracy researchers unravel them, they will release information into the public consciousness in such a way that it mirrors our initiatory procedure. In this way, the more we are investigated, the more masses of people are psychologically processed by the very people who seek to expose us. The meme that constitutes our essential structure is then successfully mimicked within the consciousness of those who investigate us. Success can then be measured precisely to the extent that our work is 'exposed.'" * NB: Unlike Hoffman, I myself am not a Holocaust Denier. I see no reason to question the reality of those horrific events. Rather, I am sharing the above quote because it rings true to my ears, however factual it may (or may not) be.
Entry Fourteen: Mirzam. That's me, remember?
Entry Thirteen: Trigger words dropped into an empty cup. What will rise?
Entry Twelve: I dunno. * Do you? [ ... this last question is multivalent ... FYI ... ]
Entry Eleven: Dear Rupublicans. Fuck off and change your ways. Please. I (and maybe more) are seriously sick of your evil shit.
Entry Ten: Honestly, I do not wish torment even upon my enemies. I guess that doesn't work, though? Yeah. * Anyway. Anyone want to show me how to change realty? Honestly.
Entry Nine: Yeah. Whatever. Although I would really rather contribute to myself and others in a much more postive way than seems to have been ordained.
Entry Eight: What I do, and what I intend are carefully crafted. By whom? Well, that is a question.
Entry Seven: For IB5 (the second book I may never get to write): Years ago someone told me that porn actors despise their viewers. Well, while that is certainly true of some porn actors, it cannot be true of all porn actors. So, what's the percentage? I don't know. However, it does seem to me in the best interest of everyone involved to reduce that percentage by de-stigmatizing (responsible) pornographic consumption. Similarly, I would like to see a reduction in the percentage of porn consumers who despise the actors in the product they consume. Fuck. People need to be nice to people. Sorry if that seems puerile to the "sophisticated predators" among us. Not.
Entry Six: Oh. By the way. Mind control is NOT limited to the media. Mind control happens ALL THE TIME, at EVERY LEVEL. This is the nature of "the matrix" of our reality. Fun times. Still, it is wise to play normal. Otherwise you get arrested, one way or another. You know?
Entry Five: "The Fourth of July 'Conjunction' is a term used in positional astronomy and astrology, and means that, from a particular geographic location (say, New York, for instance), two celestial bodies appear near one another in the sky. In the modern era, the date on which Sirius conjuncts with the Sun, which esoterically is considered the embrace of our physical and spiritual Suns, is ... July 4th. The inscription on the Statue of Liberty's tablet is not, then, simply a reference to the founding of America (or even of the Illuminati), but, far more importantly, is an encoded tribute to Sirius." - Bain, S. K. - Most Dangerous Book in the World: 9/11 as Mass Ritual (pp. 98-100). Trine Day. Kindle Edition.
Entry Four: Oh. And one other thing. I am neither racist, nor do I have a "kink" for any particular race or races. People are people. Good is good. Evil is evil. We are a mix of both. As for me, I tend toward the good side. More than a little. Who we are is who we are.
Entry Three: Machiavellian, narcissistic, psychotic, and sadistic. I am none of these by nature. But I sure as fuck will learn their tools in order to defend myself ... as well as others who are kind at heart. Stage two of enlightened selfishness. Maslow's hierarchy was never my missive.
Entry Two: Of course. You are right. I am wrong. *facetious voice*
Entry One: Notes for IB4. * My best friend from Jr. High had this to offer me when I was out of college and seeking his support after discovering I had been attacked in the artwork of at least two music CDs, one released in 1994, and the other in 1995. * In summary: "A. You're crazy. B. If you're not crazy, you need to laugh it off. C. Finally, if you continue to argue that you are being targeted (not his wording at the time), then you will be to blame for being targeted because you will have made yourself a target." * Primo "blame the victim" bullshit! * With friends like these ...
February, 2022
Entry Thirty-Seven: "Oh well. Whatever. Never mind." - I wrote that on a 3x5 note card and stuck it on my shared dorm room door freshman year (1988-89). That was before Nirvana's Nevermind came out. Kurt and Dave. Great minds, I guess. * Oh. And then there's this. In my senior year, when Nevermind came out, a female student I did not know terribly well stopped me outside The Fishbowl and suggested I get that album. * Nothing to see here, right? * PS - Clearly, I was targeted BEFORE I pranked Wertheimer (and others ... like the most beautiful woman-dressed-as-a-hot-dog I ever set eyes upon at a party freshman year). Those I pranked were chosen at random, of course, but nothing I say in my defense defends me. Because, "Some people just don't get it."
Entry Thirty-Six: Bush. 9/11. Trump. 2024. No connection, I'm sure. NOT.
Entry Thirty-Five: And all I wanted to do was write some books. lol
Entry Thirty-Four: Of course, there's no reason for me to take this personally, right? SMH. http://www.22stories.com. Pricks.
Entry Thirty-Three: Because I have to. Just a little shout-out to the Masons.
Entry Thirty-Two: BTW. Based on personal experience, I am fairly certain that when I am scared, I am DANGEROUS. Episode-Dave is not Safe-Dave. Not for Dave or for others. * I have no intention of doing anything violent or stupid in the near (or even far) future, but I do think this little fact needs to be underlined right now, considering all the ways I am being messed with. "Good day, sir!"
Entry Thirty-One: Calls to expel Republican Marjorie Taylor Greene after speech at white nationalist event * Clearly, there is an underground movement in the US that is preventing a lot of Republicans from calling a Nazi a Nazi. But I wouldn't know anything about that, now would I? You know ... abused by the underground? No. Not me.
Entry Thirty: Here's a quote from a book that points to something sinister in Amerika, if you ask me. Which is why good people need to look out for each other. * "What can you tell me about Mickey Wolfmann?" * If she took even a second to breathe, Doc didn't notice. "Westside Hochdeutsch mafia, biggest of the big, construction, savings and loans, untaxed billions stashed under an Alp someplace, technically Jewish but wants to be a Nazi, becomes exercised often to the point of violence at those who forget to spell his name with two n's. What’s he to you?" * Pynchon, Thomas. Inherent Vice (p. 7). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition. * Here's a little rundown as to why I am concerned with White Supremacy, Thomas Pynchon, and Hollywood. I decided to enroll at Pomona College because I sat in on a lit class on Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49. Pynchon writes about conspiracy, and a later writer comparable to Pynchon (David Foster Wallace) eventually came to teach at Pomona College (after I graduated) and later died by suicide. * In 1992, I played a prank on the student body and randomly pranked one Christine Wertheimer. I was later told she was related to the Hollywood Wertheimers. After that, I became targeted by several Warner Bros. artists in various ways, and in 1993, C. Wertheimer personally handed me an altered ecstasy pill at an off-campus Pomona party. * As for white supremacy, that is clearly a national problem, as well as a personal problem for me most notably since being supposedly inducted into the Woods in Rancho Cucamonga jail against my will in 2016. * This shit is foul.
Entry Twenty-Nine: And for those who have made sacrifices, I say, "Thank you." * Unless the sacrifice is me.
Entry Twenty-Eight: BTW. One of the most important things you can do in terms of "mental health" is become aware of which thoughts of yours are yours, and which thoughts of yours are not. Just a bit of advice. But we're too advanced for that, right? Unlike you, I got held back a few lifetimes.
Entry Twenty-Seven: Whatever. I'm amusing, right?
Entry Twenty-Six: So. Ron Howard directed Solo: A Star Wars Story. Almost makes up for A Beautiful Mind. But not really. * Sorry. I have a mental health chip on my shoulder bigger than ANYTHING.
Entry Twenty-Five: And - Oh look! Yay! - The Valley of Death!
Entry Twenty-Four: FUCK TRUMP and the Nazi resurgence at home and abroad. 24 my ass. If I am powerless, then I suppose I will be tortured endlessly. However, IF I have power of any kind, it will be used in the interest of truth and the well-being of self and other. "Other" being those who are generous and concerned with the well-being not of the predatory, but of the kind. * And - yeah, yeah - maybe the Nazis are good and I'm just confused. ? * I'm definitely seriously tired of my life so far ... and the curses bestowed. * Oh. And in "tarot speak," "24 my ass" means whatever you want it to mean, 24 signifying "XIII - Death" (as well as "X - Wheel of Fortune" and "III - The Empress") ... because the root word of all language is apparently what? Torture. * Curses back at ya.
Entry Twenty-Three: And in summary ... The Most Dangerous Book in the World: 9/11 as Mass Ritual by S. K. Bain.
Entry Twenty-Two: What lies outside of Plato's cave? Truth? Or more lies? Asking for a friend.
Entry Twenty-One: "You are what you eat." Really? Consumption is tricky business, considering how foundational to reality it just so happens to be ...
Entry Twenty: I'm experiencing health matters. Pretty sure it's poisoning. Which, of course, would have NOTHING to do with my enemies. Right? I am a fool in a box.
Entry Nineteen: A predator is coming to consume me. I might as well piss it off.
Entry Eighteen: *edit*
Entry Seventeen: I've been hacked, dosed, roofied, and otherwise compromised throughout my life. Just now someone removed my "Writing" folder from my Safari bookmarks. Fun times. I am so sick of my abusers. But being sick of something doesn't make it go away. So, I endure ... for now.
Entry Sixteen: "Silence is Golden? When it serves. Exposure is Golden, too. When it serves. And whom does it serve? The Trickster God, a.k.a., God. So, do what you do. I mean, it's not like you (or I) can do any different. Follow the script or don't. The movie gets made either way." - "Post-Suicidal Crib Notes For Angels" by D.C.L.
Entry Fifteen: Am I a plaything to cartels in Hollywood? I guess.
Entry Fourteen: I am not in control. Who or what is in control is not me. At least not in ways I would like.
Entry Thirteen: Fraternities. Sororities. If only they were NOT invested in the destruction of others.
Entry Twelve: I'm in favor of transparency, BTW. Fuck lies.
Entry Eleven: I've said this before, but it's worth saying again. "Regarding this world, the bullshit is strong with this one." It's why I would have been a forensic accountant if Prof. Shalchi (sp?) hadn't screwed me over in my MBA program at Cal State San Bernardino - which program I entered AFTER fleeing an Accounting degree at USC. Sorry. Sorry for having principles beyond personal self interest. It's called ENLIGHTENED selfishness. Whatever.
Entry Ten: In a recent IM conversation, I wrote, "Gotcha. I no longer believe in coincidence. Haven't for some time. I now view life like a 'social' version of The Hunger Games. And you're right. You do have to pretend it's not actually orchestrated by God or demons or something else, because then you get called crazy. Life is a nonstop experience in gaslighting, if you ask me. And that's a key message for IBS. You know, the series I doubt I will ever finish ... unless I end up imprisoned on an island somewhere for a couple of decades with nothing to do but write. Instead I get to work jobs that make no sense to make money to 'survive' while leaving me unable to accomplish what I think I need to accomplish. And if I don't have a job, something else fills my time because there is no such thing as free will. Or if there is it is constantly under siege by the powers in control of reality. Anyway. We must do our best to be aware of how the world works while simultaneously playing dumb. Ugh."
Entry Nine: "Ritual murder is mind control." - Michael Hoffman, Secret Societies and Psychological Warfare * Bain, S. K.. Most Dangerous Book in the World: 9/11 as Mass Ritual (p. 13). Trine Day. Kindle Edition.
Entry Eight: If corruption is business as usual, then any conservative movement - despite appearances to the contrary - is in fact invested in the conservation of corruption.
Entry Seven: So. Yeah. Torture. It is the root word of every language. Near as I can tell.
Entry Six: Whatever. I know my heart. The fact that it's tasty to you for all the wrong reasons only sickens. But I guess that's the plan? * Again. Whatever. * I'm not "playing" the victim, BTW. I am the victim. Unless I have the opportunity to strike back. In which case, the wrath of God will pale in comparison. * But I'm "delusional." * Move along. * Oh. * And now that I have declared myself the victim, feel free to blame me for ... well ... everything.
Entry Five: I'm not sure when, but sometime around 2009 (?), I went on a hike in Joshua Tree with a woman whose first name started with J. We met through online dating. We did not meet by accident. It was definitely arranged by someone in power. Anyway, as we trudged along over some rocky hills, she said something I wasn't expecting at the time. She said, "It's like you're walking to your own cross." Oh. Goodie. Another Jesus reference.
Entry Four: I am always grateful for the kindness of others. Even if it doesn't seem like it. You know?
Entry Three: IB4. The scope of this thing just keeps growing. Sheesh.
Entry Two: *edit*
Entry One: Petty evil. Fun times.
January, 2022
Entry Nineteen: IB4 will include an essay on my definition of criminality. Why? Because what's criminal on the books isn't always criminal in truth ... and vice-versa.
Entry Eighteen: When you know overwhelm, you know what's not.
Entry Seventeen: I am tired, BTW. Worn out. Pretty much exhausted. It would be nice to feel hopeful for a change. It really would.
Entry Sixteen: I'd rather write fiction than live it. Oh. And backchannel piracy sucks.
Entry Fifteen: Liars gonna lie. Haters gonna hate. Those who want a better world need to put them in their place.
Entry Fourteen: After I'm done with Missing Cat Saga, the next one likely on my agenda will be The Tooth The Tooth Fairie Forgot (for KOI DUST). I'll have to start from scratch though, because everything written previously was stolen in what I like to call "The Hack of 2020." Fun times.
Entry Thirteen: Gaslighting. For fun and profit.
Entry Twelve: You know where there's a ton of corruption? The helping services. Particularly those informed by their so-called Christian concern for the "outcasts" of society. I've seen it in a number of places, both inside and out - me being one who used to believe in and work toward the social fable called "recovery." Having good intentions is a losing proposition in a world run by criminals; which leaves me shit out of luck, I guess.
Entry Eleven: Those who idealize the past do poison the future.
Entry Ten: It's not easy knowing I will probably never work again. Not because I am incapable of work, but because an 86 has been deep-stitched into my reputation for at least three decades now. Sometimes, I add to it myself - although root causes leave my level of responsibility in that regard open to debate. Anyway, I do what I can to live and write and offer my story to the world. That's IB4. It's what has been assigned. [editorial note: I did land a job in February of 2022. So that's nice. * Except it proved to be a set-up. So that's not so nice ... and why I quit in March of 2022.]
Entry Nine: *breathe*
Entry Eight: *edit*
Entry Seven: Wow. Watching Ancient Aliens, I have noticed a fascination with a number of right-wing pundits. I noticed this with a separate alien disclosure movie and Q-Anon. I also saw the gradual decline into fascist rhetoric that happened on an alternative news site I used to visit frequently. It's depressing how fringe wisdom turns into fringe extremism that seeks no longer to educate the mainstream, but rather to destroy it. I mean, I get it. Being fringe means you get kicked around - sometimes A LOT - and "the establishment" is NOT to be trusted. It's not to be "overthrown" either. It's to be wrestled with in hope of non-violent reform. Otherwise we cater to the destructive predator within us all and throw civilization to the wolves. Some people want that. I don't.
Entry Six: Statutes of Limitations. Put on the books by criminals in control. "Because holding grudges is wrong."
Entry Five: I'm not smart. I'm not stupid. I simply am.
Entry Four: Certain graduates of my alma mater Pomona College have known all along what Amerika is to become: a feast for monied authoritarianism. Reminds me of the threat I received in the form of a question from one Heather Graham in '95. "You're not planning on leaving America, are you?" Heather, BTW, was the one who took the "playful" picture of me around '91 in Oldenborg that "somehow" ended up in doctored form as part of the collage on the back of the CD-insert to TAFKAP's first single, "The Most Beautiful Girl In The World" (1994). [editorial note: all the dates in this entry were originally off by a year or more. I'd forgotten I'd taken a two-year "break" after graduating in 1992 before enrolling at California State University, San José in the Fall of 1994, which proved an embarrasing fiasco that got amplified for me when I bought that TAFKAP single at a local music shop.]
Entry Three: *edit*
Entry Two: The more violent the revolution, the more regressive its philosophy. If we are about nothing more than feeding our bellies and shooting our guns, then count me out. Violence has its time. Violence has its place. I know this. If that time is now, if that place is here, then shoot me first; I'd prefer never to partake.
Entry One: Well, okay then.
December, 2021
Entry Thirty-Two: The early roughs of the first few chapters of Missing Cat Saga have been pulled from this blog in hopes of future publication.
Entry Thirty-One: Who tells who what ... and why. Inquiring minds want to know.
Entry Thirty: Did a very little work on Missing Cat Saga earlier today. Hopefully will do some more this afternoon. While there are times I need to force myself to write, I have learned over time that sometimes what feels like writer's block is really writer's prep - meaning my writer's mind is busy working on what I really need (and want) to write.
Entry Twenty-Nine: Do I think people "owe me?" Hell no. Do I think my abusers owe me? Hell yes. Within reason, of course. It's called justice, not revenge. I blow whistles, point fingers, and endure. After that, what happens, happens. I can only do so much.
Entry Twenty-Eight: "I like horror," she said. With those three words she managed to sum it all up. Every last bit of it. How the world is a stage. How the play performed is at times undeniably horrific. And yet ... there is play within the play ... and that is why ... we play.
Entry Twenty-Seven: I've had to undergo a number of eye surgeries for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was my self-inflicted orbital laceration that happened in 2005. The worst of all of these surgeries, however, was criminally abusive in nature. It happened in 2019 in Phoenix, AZ. I was living in Peoria at the time. My eye doctor was Dr. "A." I came under his care in 2018 while still living in Prescott. The surgery in question I do not believe to have been performed by Dr. "A." He only assessed the surgery after it was over. When my bandages were removed, the nurse expressed surprise about the amount of bruising around my eye. Dr. "A" himself expressed surprise at finding a suture in my eye, which he said should not have been necessary. The young a-hole who was responsible for my surgery was Dr. "B." What was criminal about that surgery? Well, the most evident crime committed then was the chemical depilating of an X-mark on the right side of the front of my throat. I didn't notice this for quite some time. Not until I grew out my facial hair and discovered I had been marked. As for the suture in my eye, I believe it to have been indicative of an unauthorized lens transplant. Previously, I had had cataract surgery so that one of my eyes was nearsighted, and the other farsighted. This is called monovision. It allowed me to function fairly well without glasses. After this surgery performed by "B," however, my farsighted vision was gone. Now I was nearsighted in both eyes and in need of glasses most of the time. Another doctor told me shifts in vision like that are known to happen after some surgeries. To which I say, "Really?" Also, as a contextual aside, I remember that while waiting to be seen by Dr. "A" in his Prescott office in 2018, I overheard another patient - an older gentlemen - loudly accusing Dr. "B" of mishandling his own eye care. Apparently, medical malpractice is business as usual for Dr. "B."
Entry Twenty-Six: Lies are power moves. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Entry Twenty-Five: Just because it makes me smile does not mean I believe it.
Entry Twenty-Four (fuck Trump): Ancient Aliens. I used to joke about this one, not because I thought the information offered wasn't feasible. I just thought one of the presenters was too wonderfully quirky in and of himself not to be funny. Watching the series now though, I see more clearly some of what my sister must have wrestled with before her suicide. She was always a Christian believer. At the same time, she had a reasonably open mind. She used to joke about "Jesus in a space suit." Why? Because that was her way of retaining her Christian biblical bias in the face of copious and convincing evidence suggesting an alien agenda at work in the world. She was smart and curious and confined. I miss her, and wish her well, wherever she may be.
Entry Twenty-Three: Well, I'd respect me.
Entry Twenty-Two: Wertheimer. Do I know who's who? No. Do I have some ideas? Yes. [ ... and being dosed at an X party was FUN ... ] - Nu Alpha Phi truth or misdirection?
Entry Twenty-One: Have I been through some shit? YES.
Entry Twenty: Posted on Facebook, despite the loss of my original account in 2020 (love you, San Luis Obispo - and Russia?): Even though Facebook is often my only outlet for social interaction, I HATE Facebook. And that's why I consistently tell most ads on Facebook I no longer wish to see them with the explanation of it being "IRRELEVANT" because it (Facebook) essentially IS. Why? Because it is nothing more than a social experiment promulgated by a useless (as a human) Harvard grad. And, BTW, I hate Harvard almost as much as I hate my alma mater Pomona College. Petulant? I sure hope so.
Entry Nineteen: Skill sets? I have a ... few. Let's just say.
Entry Eighteen: If I am marked by Mirzam, then "Isabella" is (was) marked by Sheratan. Or so I have been "told."
Entry Seventeen: Alone In The In Crowd: Alone in the crowd? * Not so much. * For when I am surrounded by others just * As unwashed as I, * I do not feel so - quite so - * Alone * As when * In the In Crowd, I am * Surrounded by Others * With no sense of * Us in them. * For they are they * And they do take * Away * From me ... * From us ... * From all the reasons why ... * I ... * Might not die ... * Again ... * Alone ... * Again.
Entry Sixteen: "Isabella" and me, back when we thought maybe the world was an okay place to be.
Entry Fifteen: Religion, particularly Christianity, has been used as a cover for evil since its inception. Fun times.
Entry Fourteen: I never asked not to be judged. I only asked - and will always ask - that I be judged fairly. It's how I judge others, after all. To the best of my ability.
Entry Thirteen: This article I think describes something beautifully humane. In 1999, I - quite logically, IMO - decided I no longer wanted to live. When my suicide attempt failed, I was subsequently burdened with a mental health mis-diagnosis as I attempted to come to terms with the fact that I was both still alive and still targeted by hateful, powerful individuals who had (and have) been making my life a living hell since well before 1992. When I read this article just now, tears fell from my eyes as I imagined how wonderful it would be to painlessly - even euphorically - exit this mortal coil. But, alas, simply reading this article has not afforded me the exit I so deeply desire. I'm no longer suicidal in the practical sense because I have no faith in outcomes. But God I wish I could say goodbye to this world and everyone in it in one of these capsules and finally, finally, finally be at peace. Truly at peace.
Entry Twelve: Hateful gossip is the best! Not. Gang stalkers in training.
Entry Eleven: Even though Entry Ten below is in support of what MoveOn is trying to do re: the likely demise of American democracy in 2022 and the resurgence of authoritarianism in 2024, the writing is on the wall, as can be seen here. It is yet another one-two punch from the rising fascist deep state. The Democrats are part of it, too. In the mini-series called "The American Dream," the Democrats and Republicans both play cops on the same team - one plays good cop, the other bad. In the end, America gets revealed to have been Amerikkka all along. There's a reason Jesus was crucified - and it wasn't to save his true believers - it was to serve them up alongside himself on a meat tray for the delight of a ravenous, lying God. I am not Christian. I am Gnostic. And it sucks.
Entry Ten: Here's a slightly edited email I received today from MoveOn asking me to DONATE: Dear MoveOn member, In bombshell news, the congressional committee investigating the January 6 insurrection has obtained a 38-page plan—circulated inside the Trump White House on January 5—for Trump to declare a "National Security Emergency," invalidate electronic voting in all states, and seize ballots in an effort to install himself for a second, illegal term. (1) * Thanks to safeguards in our electoral process that Trump allies are aggressively dismantling, Trump's coup failed. We might not be so lucky next time. * Right now, Trump and his allies are methodically enacting a plan to place some of Trump's most ardent supporters in key offices, including secretaries of state, tasked with overseeing elections at the state level. In most states, secretaries of state oversee the counting of the votes, have the power to certify—or decertify—election results, and declare the winners and losers of elections. * As The Atlantic reports, "If Trump's plot succeeds, the ballots cast by American voters will not decide the presidency in 2024. Thousands of votes will be thrown away, or millions, to produce the required effect. The winner will be declared the loser. The loser will be certified president-elect." (2) * That's right, the voters will not decide the outcome of the 2024 election. It may have been outlandish before Trump, but it's a sober analysis today. * Once described as "apolitical," secretaries of state may now be the most crucial officials standing between democracy and authoritarianism. (3) * Which is why MoveOn is doing something we've never done in our 23-year history: We're launching a powerful, multimillion-dollar effort to defeat Trump-backed secretaries of state across the country and elect individuals who will count every vote and ensure fair elections. * David, before this year, Trump had never once endorsed any candidate for secretary of state. * It's no coincidence that as he masterminds a plot to steal the presidency in 2024, Trump has already endorsed several secretary of state candidates in key states—and these candidates are nothing short of terrifying. (4) * Indeed, several Republican candidates for secretary of state deny that Biden won the 2020 election. (5) * But the lies don't stop there. * In Georgia, U.S. Representative Jody Hice, Trump's pick to be secretary of state, voted to overturn the results of Georgia's election and proudly proclaimed the January 6 insurrection to be "our 1776 moment." (6) * And a number of other Republican secretary of state candidates say that once in office, they would fight to restrict voting by mail. (7) * This comes on top of Republican lawmakers' efforts to make it harder for Democratic-leaning voters, including people of color and low-income people, to cast ballots. * The esteemed journalist Barton Gellman writes, "The prospect of this democratic collapse is not remote. People with the motive to make it happen are manufacturing the means. Given the opportunity, they will act. They are acting already." (8) * Who will protect democracy? It will be us, the American people. * Thanks for all you do. –Chris, Brieanna, Gabi, Sandra, and the rest of the team * Sources: 1. "Nothing is more important than Team Trump's January PowerPoint urging a full-blown coup," The Philadelphia Inquirer, December 12, 2021, https://act.moveon.org/go/159803 * 2. "Trump's next coup has already begun," The Atlantic, December 6, 2021, https://act.moveon.org/go/159804 * * 3. "Secretary of State races become fundraising cash magnet," Axios, December 14, 2021, https://act.moveon.org/go/159805 * 4. Ibid. * 5. "How Trump-backed secretary of state candidates would change elections in the United States," The Washington Post, December 1, 2021, https://act.moveon.org/go/159806 * 6. "Trump endorses challenger to Ga. Secretary of State Raffensperger," NBC News, March 22, 2021, https://act.moveon.org/go/159807 * 7. "How Trump-backed secretary of state candidates would change elections in the United States," The Washington Post, December 1, 2021, https://act.moveon.org/go/159806 * 8. "Trump's next coup has already begun," The Atlantic, December 6, 2021 https://act.moveon.org/go/159804 * Want to support MoveOn's work? The GOP is launching an all-out campaign to take down the Democratic majority in Congress and reinstall Mitch McConnell as Senate majority leader in 2022. To defeat the GOP, MoveOn is going all-in with TV ads, a nationwide grassroots organizing campaign, and more. * Will you chip in to power our effort to defeat McConnell and the GOP in 2022? * DONATE.
Entry Nine: I find this article of value, considering how influential Billie Eilish is. I'm also curious about the specific context of her statement that porn "is a disgrace." The article suggests she might be anti-porn across the board these days, while I suspect (or at least hope) there's still some nuance to her position: that while a ton of porn these days is disgraceful, it is not disgraceful in and of itself. Anyway, it's a big topic, the influence of image on human experience.
Entry Eight: I have chaneled all sorts of energies. I have respected most of them, if not all of them. Nevertheless, these energies do not define me.
Entry Seven: Still working on this one. I think I have all the chapters down though. * Missing Cat Saga * This is a story about the tying up of loose ends. It is a confusing story because the loose ends are many. But the story ties them all together anyway. Even the missing ones. Like Carl's cat. A cat on a mission. * Chapter One: Bleearrrgh! * Chapter Two: Spellcat * Chapter Three: Paw Prints in Black * Chapter Four: Card Problems * Chapter Five: Serendipitous Research * Chapter Six: Crossing Roads * Chapter Seven: Money Matters * Chapter Eight: Creekside Chat * Chapter Nine: Tailing Winestock * Chapter Ten: Skull's Skeletons * Chapter Eleven: The Foie Gras Incident * Chapter Twelve: Big Rig Boom * Chapter Thirteen: Base Recon * Chapter Fourteen: Elsewhere Plans * Chapter Fifteen: Denim Wah!
Entry Six: Disappear me. It'll be fun.
Entry Five: You know, back in the day, when I thought I would be allowed by "The Powers That Be" to have an accounting career, I wanted to become a Forensic Accountant. I joked it was because I wanted to be an "accountant with a gun." In all honesty, what I wanted was to shoot corruption in the fucking gut. And that's why Rancho Cucamonga PD lied about my Wet and Reckless Offense in 2001/2002 (?) and my Internati0nal Finance Instruct0r at Cal State San Bernardino flunked me on a technicality, rendering me unwilling (and incapable) of finishing my MBA (with an emphasis in Accounting). Thanks Pomona College and your Hollywood Cartel connections! Chalk another one up for Queen Bee and Warner Bros.
Entry Four: Another from my FB (despite the fact my former FB account was pried out of my control in 2020 - Hi, San Luis Obispo, Russia, and human trafficking!): One last "rant" for the day. If there is any good in this world, that's what I fight for.
Entry Three: "Writing is a job," they say. * "Not if no one buys your books," comes my reply.
Entry Two:
Entry One: You know what's dumb? Expecting dysfunctional systems to bring succor. But when no functional system is available to you ... well ... what then? You lose.
November, 2021
Entry Fifteen: I write what I write about my life not so much for the sake of revenge and/or justice, but as a warning to others. I teach lessons. Some of these lessons I learned long ago. I know them well. Some are new to me. Some I may never know. But teach them still I do through the sharing of information - sought or unsought - as long as it be true.
Entry Fourteen: Poisoned candle, burning bright. Tea cups chipped. Sight.
Entry Thirteen:
Entry Twelve: I suppose it doesn't matter what I know. I suppose it doesn't matter what I do. Because, you know, evil. In control.
Entry Eleven: Marjorie Taylor Greene. One fucking idiot out of many.
Entry Ten: Amerika. Shithole central. * Am I wrong?
Entry Nine: Because I'm a horrible person. That must be why, right?
Entry Eight: And on the eighth day, God said, "WTF."
Entry Seven: The best books, IMO, are written by someone who values truth and love (the key components of goodness, also IMO) so much that they present to the reader a panoply of perspectives - some good, some evil, many neither - all to afford the reader a fair opportunity to come to their own conclusions regarding the nature of truth and love. IMO.
Entry Six: Notes from IB4: SOTT of the Cassiopeia Experiment gone Right Wing. Satisfaction was proposed to me by a shooting star that fell past Mirzam. Does this mean I am satisfied, or my enemies? Also, if I am a herald of Sirius, how does that play out? Will my body adorn a flagpole as the “4th Reich” comes to power? Or will I herald the upending of that evil embraced by uncompromising nationalism? Or maybe I will not matter at all. Although, I kinda think I do play at least one of two roles. One assigned. One chosen. I choose truth. I choose love. Do they match? I do not know. But everything I do is under the belief that they must.
Entry Five: Who am I? The dumb one in the corner waiting to be broken. The stubborn one hoping for Nothing. The puppet on so many, too many strings.
Entry Four: More from IB4: My [ ... ] Uncle Jerry called himself "The Walking Bible". His gimmick - which I believe was real and not a gimmick - was an ability to quote scripture as needed. Some say he had a photographic memory. Some say he was inspired by God. I say it was the latter, not because he's family, but because my experience of hearing voices makes it easy for me to believe he was under God's control. I imagine that when Jerry felt led by the Spirit it was similar to how I have felt in other states of possession - be they spiritual, chemical, or even technological in nature. This overlay of experience was brought screaming to my attention recently by a book, The Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy: The Conspiracy and Coverup (2006) by William Turner and Jonn Christian. This book spends a lot of time trying to figure out my uncle's supposed role in the senator's assassination in 1968. See, according to what Jerry told the LAPD, he had met Sirhan Sirhan a few days prior to the event, having picked him up as a hitchhiker who wanted to buy a horse. Since Jerry had horses to sell, Sirhan asked him to bring a horse to the Ambassador Hotel before midnight the night of the assassination. Turner and Christian question the hitchhiker bit, and in so doing suggest that Sirhan Sirhan was already an acquaintance of Jerry's through the horse trading business in Southern California. So, Jerry likely lied about how he met Sirhan Sirhan. After all, he was a Bible thumping televangelist with a background in Hollywood horses and boxing. He had to know people, and knowing people means you know criminals, and knowing criminals means it's easy to get involved in criminal things. Does this mean Jerry Owen was part of the plot to assassinate the senator? Probably not. But his involvement does beg two questions: the question of intention, and the question of control. Just as Sirhan Sirhan was more likely than not a Manchurian candidate programmed to assassinate Robert F. Kennedy against his own free will, so too was Jerry in over his head, regardless of what he did or did not know. And this, by extension, suggests that all of us - no matter who we are - do what we do because we have been programmed to do it. Don't believe me? Read the rest of this book [IB4]. Then we can talk.
Entry Three: Oh. BTW. The first time I published IB3, I was chased out of a job. The second time I published it as IB3R, I was chased out of a town. The job and the town both had to do with Transitions Mental Health Association. My truth, my bad.
Entry Two: Testing now ...
Entry One: SLO Smiles, "Family Dentistry" - San Luis Obispo, CA - an outfit just as toxic as the town, took the time to send me a mailer at my new address in Seattle. Subtle threats are the best. Fuck the evil in this world.
October, 2021
Entry Twenty-Six: Here are a few rough paragraphs from the current draft of IB4: But the rumors had started. I wasn't the talk of the campus [Pomona College, Claremont, CA], of course, but those who did talk did so with the cruelest of intentions. I didn't know it yet, but I was somebody's game. The first sign of my knew status came in the form of our freshman dorm [Wigg] t-shirt. It had a picture of a young couple kissing in profile above the slogan, "Some People Just Don't Get It." A few people said I should get one. * Playing dumb, I did. I even wore it a few times. Then it went missing. Someone stole it from my laundry. Why it got stolen, I may never know. Maybe the person who stole it felt bad for me. Maybe the person who stole it felt embarrassed because I didn't - feel bad for me, that is. Whatever. I shrugged it off. After all, I had classes to attend and papers to write. In short, I was busy with college, even if I wasn't getting laid. * There was a secret society [MUFTI] on my college campus. They posted stickers around campus, on walls or under stairs or maybe near a door or two. The stickers were placed in the middle of the night, and the next morning curious students read their cryptic messages. Difficult to decipher, the messages usually had something to do with an incipient event within the student body. Abstruse warning shots, they caused some students and faculty to look over their shoulders, aware that "someone" was watching, someone with power. * The stickers were but one of their tools. I heard rumor there was also a secret underground library, one with dark spell books on its shelves. And let's face it: powerful colleges have secrets. At the time, I wasn't worried about it. I was still a recovering atheist, so I had no reason to fear anyone or anything, provided I treated others with respect.
Entry Twenty-Five: "The whole secret lies in confusing the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our real intent." - Sun Tzu, The Art of War * This statement is as complex as a Zen Koan. Depending on the situation, one's "real intent" may be out in the open all along. "We are going to make you suffer." That's as unequivocal as it gets. However, how one is made to suffer will inevitably involve certain amounts of confusion ... depending on the situation at hand.
Entry Twenty-Four: [edit], Apt A, San Luis Obispo, CA. That's where I used to live while being harassed by numerous persons connected to Transitions Mental Health Association and the drug underground - definitely tied to pornography, human trafficking, and "The Woods" as well. Anyway, lots of stories for me to tell (hi, Cathie Ortiz!), but the most concerning in a lot of ways was the nature of the apartment at that location. It was on the ground floor, underneath a second story apartment that had control over my air quality. What do I mean by that? I mean that the stucco ceiling of my apartment was so extraordinarily porous that the residents of the apartment above me were capable of dosing my air through their floor and my ceiling. Chemical agents were used that induced in me excessive diarrhea, dehydration, as well as difficulty controlling my movements and thoughts. To deal with this, I used an air quality monitor and an air purification unit. None of it really did the trick, so I had to live with windows open and fans blowing air through the unit as best I could. My upstairs neighbors, by the way, liked to go surfing and were "dude-bros" of sinister proportions. Anyway, when I got chased out of that town, my ability to find a new place to live was so badly hampered by underground real-estate "word of mouth" that I wound up in Seattle of all places. [edit - three sentences at just after 4:09 am on October 30, 2021 have been removed - the same night this entry was originally written and uploaded - maybe for legal reasons]. Fun times.
Entry Twenty-Three: Behind every "crazy" there is a reason. This reason is more likely trauma than "a chemical imbalance" in the brain - despite what Big Pharma and the Amerikan Mental Health system have to say about it. * Corruption. * Root causes are key.
Entry Twenty-Two: "The experience of being gang-stalked appears to be a widespread phenomenon that has been subject to little scientific examination." - source. Why? Because social isolation increases the effectiveness of gang-stalking, and it is easier to socially isolate a target if society in general is kept blind to the reality of gang-stalking. Of course, historically speaking, gang-stalking is nothing new. The term is new, though. A term that undermines those "crazy individuals" tormented by "nameless enemies" by separating them from the continuum of stalking that ranges from solitary jilted lovers to cliques in schools to neighborhood meetups to church groups to fraternal brotherhoods to organized crime. * I recently had a conversation with someone about organized stalking. She said that in her experience, people are too disorganized to work in concert "like that." Really? What about the fucking KKK? What about the Nazi Deep State? What about The Mafia? What about the cartels involved in the trafficking of drugs and weapons and humans beings? Huh? What about that?
Entry Twenty-One: Here's a funny story. In San Luis Obispo, CA, shortly before I moved to Seattle, I had coffee with a woman involved in "civic improvement" who pretended to be my friend. Conversation with her was bogus and banal. However, of note was the following. As we chatted, I saw behind her five or so white individuals all staring me down. Just staring. Like from the movie Vanilla Sky when David (what a coincidence) meets tech support for the first time. Clearly, the goal was to unnerve me. I blew it off and did not skip a beat in the conversation I was having with my fake-ass friend. Then she gave me a hug goodbye, and I never saw her again. Fuck I hate these people. They seem to be a super cartel involved in drugs and human trafficking and God-knows what else. Or maybe they're just the 4th Reich, waiting for 2024 to reveal themselves completely. I don't know. And to an extent I don't care. After all, when I was much younger, I hated the lie of God so much that I stated, quite truthfully, that if God really was the POS I thought him to be, then I would flip him off all the way down to the very pits of Hell. Even if He cut off both my middle fingers, there would still be one in spirit straight up his ass for all eternity. Hopefully I'm wrong about God. The jury's still out on that one.
Entry Twenty: [Edit - although the pic remains]
Entry Nineteen: A man once told me my lover was a whore. It might have been true. It did not make me love her any less. But for him to say such a thing sans explique, well ... rude.
Entry Eighteen: Watching How It Really Happened S1 E5: Prince: The End. A Pomona College "friend" of mine once told me I had offended a girl connected to Warner Bros., back in 1992. She was a woman he used to call "Queen Bee." She was also a woman who later slipped me a dangerous drug at an X party the summer after my graduation. * My "friend" told me other things, too. Pointed things. Unsettling things. He made seemingly off-hand comments all too carefully crafted and delivered. He was a "Nappy" - a member of a fraternity that for some reason or other got removed from the Pomona campus years later ... maybe in 2006? Anyway ... * What does Prince have to do with me? Nothing, personally. Everything, in terms of circumstance. Considering his first TAFKAP CD single The Most Beautiful Girl In The World (1993) had a doctored photo of me in it. And also considering how Prince tore himself away from Warner Bros. in 1995 ... only to cozy up (?) to them again in 2014 ... and then die of an "accidental overdose" of fentanyl in 2016. It's coincidence, I'm sure, that my lover (Isabella of IB3) - who had personal ties to Hollywood - also died of an "accidental overdose" earlier that same year. * Of course, Prince was Prince. His life and his music were not about me. But Prince had to know things. Like so many people know things ... about what has been done to me.
Entry Seventeen: Hope. It's what keeps the suckers sucking.
Entry Sixteen: It's (almost) funny to me that people get all worked up over the use of questionable algorithms by platforms like Facebook, when really I'm pretty sure "they" are already tracking everything we do from browser history to eye movements across the screen to thoughts not yet even thought. Because for some dumb reason we talk like the tech that's out there isn't as all-pervasive and AI-directed as what any good horror movie might have to offer. But don't mind me. I'm crazy. Fun times.
Entry Fifteen: I am not all that. Pretty much across the board. lol
Entry Fourteen: Here's an article about society's debate re: sex work. https://www.vice.com/en/article/88nwwb/hasan-piker-brothel-sex-work-twitch * And here's a link about Hasan Piker. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hasan_Piker * I post these things because I want to live in an equitable society. I also post these things because they cover topics central to IB4 and IB5. But, you know, I'm a weirdo. *snicker*
Entry Thirteen: Three short stories of mine are worth listing here: 1. Blood of the World - probably my best short story; 2. The Talking Pen - definitely my favorite short story; and 3. Ball - my most brilliant short story, stolen from me when my Apple account was hacked in San Luis Obispo in 2020. Thanks, people.
Entry Twelve: "I'm sorry for the pain I caused you. I'm sorry for the world and all its lack. I'm sorry," says the gentle side of my tired soul. Then all of me asks, "How much of me chose this?" No answer follows. No answer at all.
Entry Eleven: Fun Fact. In 2016, when I attended a training in Spiritual Emergence in Ojai, CA, I made mention of Infinite Book 3: My Truest Fiction. The leader of that training retreat, as well as a few of her prominent cohorts, dismissed the topic of my book as if a) they already knew what it was and b) they didn't like it. When I asked the leader point-blank whether or not she was interested in having a copy to read, she declined, saying she was more interested in reading the unfinished sequel (IB4). W.T.F.
Entry Ten: Worth reading. https://www.cnn.com/2021/10/14/opinions/adolf-eichmann-trial-anniversary-honig/index.html
Entry Nine: My sister told me that, as a young child, I liked to run around naked with my arms out and shout, "Suuuper Naked!!!" * Sometimes I wonder if anyone truly understands how dangerous a thing transparency is.
Entry Eight: "Gee whiz, Jesus." - Disciple Doofus, lamenting the nature of reality.
Entry Seven: I see the * Funny in you * I see the * Tender in you * I see the unsustainable in you * The * Screaming giggles that rip your roots * From the soil of * Us * I see the * Isolation * I see the * Togetherness * I see the need * To smother-touch the emotions of the * Other * I see the triumphant failure of the * Self * I see these things * Seen and * Sensed and * Sought and * Savored and * Lost * I see how blind I truly * Am * How blind I truly * Was * When I saw everything and * Knew I * Had to * Let you * Go * ... * Go * ... * Gone
Entry Six: I know a lot about my (supposed?) fate. It says so little about me, and so much about you. Glad to be of service. (Not.)
Entry Five: Q: How would you describe the world? * A: In two words? Quintessentially toxic.
Entry Four: In a mechanistic universe, is anything not a machination of some kind? I think not.
Entry Three: "Reality On Auction: Particles Of Consciousness." * A theory on the way of things.
Entry Two: GPS * Gone, Pointed, Sold * Everything monitored * My fishbowl existence * Who said my abusers aren't at least ... creative? * I. guess.
Entry One: Remember * Remember the smell * Of that paperback book that'd * Sat in the sun for weeks * Before being put * Away * Way back in the back * Of the attic so icy in winter that * The edges of everything felt * Crisp * Until the spring stumbled in * Through the blinds and across the room * To light upon * The cover of * That book * Whose pages smelled then * Like lavender * Like ink * Like wood * And tears thinly shed * Over words too permanent * Ever to forget * Or forgive? * Remember?
September, 2021
Entry Twenty-Two: I have a tendency to catastrophize. I don't like that about myself. Why do I have this tendency? Because my life has been filled with a number of personal upsets that have felt pretty gosh-darn catastrophic. Also because I live in a culture that tends to see things through a catastrophic lens. From the news to entertainment, the more apocalyptic things are, the better. And that fascination with apocalypse bleeds over into everyday life in the form of anti-vaxers and anti-fa and anti-communism (or anti-socialism if we want to be de jour) and anti-anything lurking in the dead of night. Thing is, what lurks in the dead of night is real. The Holocaust really did happen. People are killed and tortured for reasons that are, quite frankly, despicable. [Curious how the words despicable and despot seem to echo one another]. So. Yeah. This world is ridiculous. Which makes me sometimes cry wolf when maybe there is no wolf ... but sometimes (often) there is. A wolf that is. Waiting for the cries of its victim to lose all meaning before it may pounce and devour with impunity.
Entry Twenty-One: I can do only what I can do - what I am allowed to do, and what I am forced/encouraged to do. I choose what I choose only within the confines of whatever choices have been given me. There is no other avenue before me ... or before you.
Entry Twenty: Why did my lover do drugs and have trouble sleeping and watch tv all the time and feel the need to sell herself in different ways? Because she was targeted. Because there is no safety in this world. At least there wasn't for her or for me. And what I say really doesn't matter. Because no one's listening. No one willing and able to help, that is. Not really.
Entry Nineteen: "It's funny 'cause it's true!" - Wesley Hattan, Long Beach, circa 2001.
Entry Eighteen: In case you needed a "pick-me-up," allow me to offer you this bit of depressing: Kali Yuga. Only 426,878 years to go ...
Entry Seventeen: From Infinite Book 3: My Truest Fiction, pg 129, fn 102: "Why didn't he [James] ever kick your ass?" - Jim Karis * This question never really meant anything to me, as I had answered it for myself many times already, and well before this book was first published in 2013. James didn't kick my ass because my abusers had bigger plans for me, and there was no need for James to get his hands more dirty than they already were. Duh. * Well, actually, the question DID mean something to me. It was a red flag. So I asked myself a different question. "Why would Jim want to say that in my book?" And I had an answer to that question pretty much right away, too ... which answer was confirmed for me numerous times before Jim and I finally stopped pretending to be friends in 2016. * But, you know, people are nice, hacking doesn't happen, and there is no video underground. * SMH
Entry Sixteen: Privacy. I forget what that was like ...
Entry Fifteen: Let's see where this goes then, shall we?
Entry Fourteen: Well. Let's talk about that. "Rat!" someone shouted. Oh. So what am I supposed to do with that? Feel to blame? Really. How the fuck am I a rat when I call out my attackers? A rat is someone who calls out something that is not their concern. I am my concern. Therefore, I am not a rat. So, what then? Was it supposed to make me feel threatened? Well, duh. Get in line. I've been manipulated and betrayed by many people throughout my life, so how the fuck is your threat anything new? Remember. I am post-suicidal, and ready to be tortured. Like, shipped overseas and never heard from again. Does this just not make any sense to you a-holes? And to those of you who are decent human beings, "I wish you well." As for me, my life was over before it began. Der. Narr. Der. (There. I even spelled it right.)
Entry Thirteen: Children's stories: backhanded primers on how to grow up and be predatory. * "Say it ain't so, human. Say it ain't so."
Entry Twelve: "But why didn't you just [do something you were prevented from doing] instead of [doing what you could, especially since it pissed people off]?" - A question asked by gaslight.
Entry Eleven: Reality on Auction. A presentation online and in person. October 4. Long-range plans. Click the image below.
Entry Ten: Killing me softly. *giggle* (Dust sprinkles are FUN!)
Entry Nine: You know, I'm almost pathologically honest. Except when I am threatened in the middle of the night and I assess that honesty will only result in harm to myself. Clear enough? Just a little note for those in SLO. And, gee, sorry for the case of mistaken identity. I honestly did not know that I was speaking to anyone other than my previous a-hole neighbor. Let's not get comfortable in evil, now. $!#@.
Entry Eight: A reading from the end of this June, using one of my favorite apps: The Tarot of Vampyres. "Just saying." lol?
Entry Seven: From Infinite Book 2: Poems: 8. Mark My Words * Veils are being lifted All around * And what was hidden Is becoming known * Soon we will see More than we ever Dared to imagine * And it will be Beautiful * Again
Entry Six: So many people are brilliant. They shine. Everyone does. Provided the light is right, and one's eyes are open.
Entry Five: I by my nature am due what I am due. I receive what I receive according to the ways in which my environment is or is not conducive to my nature.
Entry Four: From IB4: There's a hidden joke in this book's subtitle, "Recovered Dreams." It's about dreams "Recovered" and "Re-Covered.” Both are true. Together, they point to the paradoxical nature of my (and Isabella's) lived experience. "Recovered" speaks of resurrection, while "Re-Covered" throws a burial shroud over everything we thought was living. That was our story. We clutched our hopes and dreams, only to have them snatched away at the end. It was like God and The Devil had decided to work together to do us in. Which meant nothing was off limits. Mental illness? Sure. Spell casting and spirit possession? Absolutely. Technological mind control? Why the Hell not?
Entry Three: Life is like being Tarzan up in the trees. There are only so many vines to choose from.
Entry Two: Because the Fourth Reich is gonna be FUN!
Entry One: Hold, please ...
August, 2021
Entry Twenty-Five: No amount of anything at all is going to change what needs to be changed. On account of evil. Well. As far as I can tell. Still. I try to make a difference. Even if I do get middle fingers for help and knowing smiles from the lips of paltry passers-by. * Some people are noble of intent and deserve my kindness. Others deserve ... well ... let's just say, "something else." Kind to kind. You follow? Kind to kind. * Having been volatile in the past, I know my future to be ... well ... variable ... and ... unknown. It will be fabricated, of course. * I wear a t-shirt that reads "DEEPFAKE LIFE" for a reason.
Entry Twenty-Four: The level of bullshit in this world is straight-up INCREDIBLE. Fuck. This. Noise.
Entry Twenty-Three: It's because I'm weak and stupid. I assure you.
Entry Twenty-Two: "Do the gods place bets?" asked the student. * The teacher replied, "On us? What do you think?"
Entry Twenty-One: Facebook funny.
Entry Twenty: Someone who was never a friend of mine once said a phrase that I then applied to myself, because I knew it was true: Weeping Demon. My tears are dangerous.
Entry Nineteen: Children of God (1994). This was aired almost 30 years ago ... and what do we have today? QAnon idiots who think that pedophilia is something they can fight by dressing up and running amok in the U.S. Capitol Building. SMH x 1,000.
Entry Eighteen: Poison? Okay. Old-skool but effective. And, you know, nothing to see here: unrelated.
Entry Seventeen: In the Fall of 1988, I moved into my freshman dorm. One of the first co-residents I interacted with was a beautiful woman whose last name you wouldn't believe if I typed it here, so I won't. We never talked after that. Why? Because now I know she probably knew things. She probably knew it wasn't safe to know me. But she did take the time to make a stupid joke ("Hiya!") about something important to me, and in that way prepared me for what was to come. * There's a lot in this world I have yet to take care of.
Entry Sixteen: A section heading from IB4: REALITY ON AUCTION. It's how I think things work.
Entry Fifteen: So. What do I do here besides complain? I think. I think about the why and how of things. I think about the why and how of reason. I think about the why and how of thinking. I think about ... mostly, now, these days, what it is I will leave behind in terms of Infinite Book 4: Recovered Dreams. Will I finish the thing? Will I publish it? Will anyone read it? And if the answer to these three questions is, "Yes," then I must consider what it/I will say. And that is why it is taking so long to write. Because I am still learning what it is exactly I have to say. I do not wish simply to say a lot of things about a lot of things. I wish to say one thing, thematically speaking, about a lot of things ... so that all these things can be viewed through a lens of perception of which I need not feel ashamed. Tall order. But I've never been one to aim low. Except when I do.
Entry Fourteen: It was never their intention to give me a fair shake. You might have thought it was, but it wasn't. Betrayal games on-campus and off, flipping my switch since '88. But it's not all about me now, is it? It's all about you and you and you and you. Too.
Entry Thirteen: Stockholm Syndrome. Fun times.
Entry Twelve: No topic may be successfully examined without first defining the nature of reality itself. But don't mind me. I'm just a masturbatorial putz.
Entry Eleven: Sometimes I wonder how deeply things are known. By _____. About _____. Because _____. Sometimes.
Entry Ten: * August 26 Edit: Turns out Google now has a way to remove a blog one no longer has access to, so the blog mentioned below has finally (after about four years) been removed from public view. * I've had a number of blogs I have deleted. Because their time was through. There's one blog, though, that hung on for years. Why? On account of the loss of my old primary emails (Google and Yahoo!), and both Google and Yahoo!'s unwillingness to remedy the situation on account of me no longer having access to the phone number I used as security for said emails. All because, you know: hacking. And mind control. And my enemies wanting to turn one of the last posts from this blog against me. * My life. Such a delightful setup. * I tried numerous times to get this blog deleted, but was denied every time. Until now. Anyway, here's the (now-inactive) link: http://renderrandom.blogspot.com. * And never forget: IB4 will hopefully either be the death of me, or it will work as intended. * Yippee.
Entry Nine: I'm part of a secret society so secret not even I know a thing about it. True facts.
Entry Eight: Here's a rough draft of the foreward to IB4: Foreword * This book is an indictment. It is a reversal spell of sorts. It is a casting back at the puppet masters of my life. Will it work? Probably not. * I am a targeted individual. What is a targeted individual? A targeted individual (or T.I.) is a victim of gang stalking. According to Wikipedia (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gang_stalking_delusion - August 8, 2021), to experience gang stalking is to be delusional: "Gang stalking" is a term used by participants in the "targeted individual" (T.I.) fringe virtual community, which is sometimes described as an internet subculture, to describe the characteristic manifestation of the persecutory delusion reported by these individuals. They report being stalked by many individuals in some coordinated way, by which their lives are disrupted. Many online discussions of the idea are by people who report distress due to their perception of being a victim of such stalking. [links and footnotes have been removed] * This definition is shortsighted and stigmatizing. While any given targeted individual may be delusional, to apply the term to all targeted individuals is disingenuous at best. Common arguments against the targeting of individuals come in the form of three primary questions: 1. Why would anyone do such a thing to another human being? 2. How would they avoid getting caught? 3. What would they gain from it? These questions might be difficult to answer, but that is the purpose of this book: to answer these questions through the telling of my story.
Entry Seven: Me? I'm alive. For now. I really don't want things to turn out as poorly as they so often do. Not for me; not for anyone. Still, we get what we get, because what is is. There are no shoulds in the fabric of fate.
Entry Six: A classic, par moi: Give respect. * Lose the lie. * Pay attention.
Entry Five: Hypocrisy is determined more by intention than by action. Parse my words.
Entry Four: No. I am not all that. I am this, though. Through and through.
Entry Three: Fuck. People are evil. "Just sayin'."
Entry Two: *edit*
Entry One: Shh. We don't talk about that.
July, 2021
Entry Twenty-Nine: When we realized we had fallen into the trap, many of us panicked. The rotating blades that - when turned on - would puree anything and everything in the vat (us included) - these blades were somewhat covered by a loose fabric of a sort. So, a few of the men took to tearing it off, hoping to reveal some way of escape. As more and more of the fabric was torn away, the clearer it became that there was indeed no hope of escape. The men stopped. All but one of them. This man, quickly and methodically, tore every last remaining bit of fabric away from the gleaming blades, which he pushed into a pile toward the edge of the vat. "What are you doing?" asked one of the men who had stopped. * "I am clearing the way." * "But why?" * "To know what will kill me." * "Again, why?" * The man chuckled. "Why not?"
Entry Twenty-Eight:
Entry Twenty-Seven: infinitedot Manifesto – First Version Final Draft, Copyright 2021, David Christopher Lawrence [preface: This version of my manifesto is merely a beginning. It is a marker re: my life up through the year 2020. In 2020, I was 50 years old. Half a frickin' century of der. Therefore, this first version of my manifesto is both a lament and a pause. It is a regrouping. It is a holding place from which I intend to move forward … in time. There will be a second version of this manifesto, but I will not write that one for a few years. Probably not until after I have completed and published Infinite Books 4, 5, 6, and 7 (under the name D.C.L.). In fact, the second version of this manifesto may very well be Infinite Book 8. Please note: this final draft of the first version of my manifesto still needs editing – but I do not need to make this version "perfect." Rather, I will leave it as is, flaws and all. Like, for example, the misspelling of Der Nar. The German word, as a fellow writer kindly informed me, is Der Narr. But that muddies something else in the story, so I'm just gonna leave it for now. "Have at you!" – The Black Knight, Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)]
Entry Twenty-Six: "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." - Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
Entry Twenty-Five: I am weary. I am worn. Really? There's more?
Entry Twenty-Four: When I got to the lake, I saw my friend there. "I have an idea!" I excitedly shouted. * "What's your idea?" asked my friend. * "How time is real and not real all at the same time!" * My friend coughed. * "You don't believe me?" I accused. * "No, no. I believe you. I just don't see why you're so excited." * I paused. "Why not?" * My friend took a deep breath. Then he whispered, "Because your notion is new and not new all at the same time. I mean, I'm glad you got excited. I hope it was fun. But for me, I've got something else to think about." * I squinted. "Do tell." * He grimaced. "Well, what puzzles me is how time gets away with it." * I grinned. "It gets away with it because it's TIME." * Then we both stared into the lake like newborn idiots laughing quietly to ourselves. It was a good day.
Entry Twenty-Three: Here's a college story of the random variety. I believe it was Jane's Addiction at [edit]. It was small. Standing room only. And the band was up on a portable stage. It being the early 90's, and me being clueless (as per usual), I decided to stage-dive. I mean, other people were doing it, so why not I? Well, when I got up onto the stage, I had no friends down below to catch me. Still, I jumped. Pretty sure I was headed for a bad landing. But that's when this amazing guy (tall and very strong), grabbed my right ankle with one hand. I hung from his grip only briefly, before he set me lightly down. I rolled to my feet and said, "Thanks." He went back to enjoying the show. A little embarassed, I probably left after that. Anyway. Good band. Good Samaritan. Good karma.
Entry Twenty-Two: The American Conservative is conserving ... what? Inequality? *Neat*.
Entry Twenty-One: My favorite video from an artist who, curiously enough, performed at an Applebee's (of all places) in Santa Maria, CA the night of my FINAL "episode" - an episode I will chronicle in IB4, as it occured a few years after 2009.
Entry Twenty: My alchemy is word-based, my intentions egalitarian. Need I be more? If so, then show me how.
Entry Nineteen: Question. How is an American consumer of online adult entertainment legally liable for not reporting suspected underaged actors when their ages are listed as 18+ AND the legal age of consent in some countries being accessed is 16+? Asking for a friend.
Entry Eighteen: As I continue to ease myself into the writing of Infinite Book 4: Recovered Dreams, I am also taking notes for IB5, 6, and 7; which book titles read together are: Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll.
Entry Seventeen: I think about Things Whether or not I ever Accomplished them I think about things that have Transpired Like a secret told hobo to hobo in The underground I think about things like That Like how it is that a Kindness can become a blade of limitless de-Ception How the slick and The slice and The slide Do cut the ends off all the things post-Due And you? Whatever happened to you? Did I destroy you? Did I destroy me? Did we die already? And, if so, when? Hold on, now Keep it steady Unlike us For we Were never Ever A constant Thing Not by a long shot No
Entry Sixteen: *removed*
Entry Fifteen: First, it was fear. Now, the lesson is control.
Entry Fourteen: While I do lie from time to time, I do so for good reason. As far as I'm concerned, anyway.
Entry Thirteen: Why I'm a wanna-be Gnostic: Because Gnostics know "God" is a sadistic shit, while Christians think He's a "good guy." True. Facts. [n.b. - God is in quotes there. No offense intended to those Christians who know the difference between true gods and false ones.]
Entry Twelve: Oh. And when was it, exactly, I was EVER protected by the likes of you? I. Call. Bullshit. Keeping *your* livestock safe until slaughter is no protection for the animal now, is it? [Prove me wrong?]
Entry Eleven: [uncredited street art]
Entry Ten: Switch! was the name of my cat. I asked him what his name should be - because Larry was a lousy name - and he said, with a switch of his tail, "Switch!" And so he was named. I don't have Switch anymore. He was the kindest, kindest cat I have ever, ever had. And now he's gone. Why? Because I broke a promise. Because I could not keep another one (another promise, that is), and ... Because ... I'm pretty sure ... someone took him. Yes. Someone stole my cat. But that's more on them than it is on me, because I knew Switch enough to set him free. Is that me rhyming a lie? Not as much as it is me rhyming a spell - a spell of words, cast out now - to fell the notion that his forever home was ever anywhere but wherever he chose (or didn't choose) to be. Circumstances. They happen. So, I remember my cat and carry on. Is he home? He is, indeed. Wherever that home may be.
Entry Nine: The Amerikan way has nothing to do with truth or justice. It has only to do with power. May America rest in peace. (Or rise up and take names!)
Entry Eight: I've been places. Not always appropriately. But I've been places. And definitely do NOT consider WHY I d0 what I do. Just blame me. It's easier that way. (Arbitrary is arbitrary.)
Entry Seven: Maybe We're NOT * The dream we meant to be * Maybe we're not * You or * Me * Maybe we're not enough us to be * Anything vs. anyone especially * Them * Because "they" are exactly why * We dreamt the dream of us * To begin with * Something about becoming something-someone * Anything * Not. * Us. * Not because we were not happy * Not because we were not who we were meant to be * But * Because * We were NOT yet Naught * And Naught is the pivot point * Of existence * Limitless void * Because what we were not was NAUGHT * The invisible doorway to ... * Everything * Everything * Everything * [and now I feel the need to squeak an apology from the corner of the middle of the circle of the zero all around me that goes something like this: "sorry for the promises I could not keep. sorry for meaning the impossible. sorry."]
Entry Six: Some maybe-paranoid ramblings from a Facebook Messenger conversation I recently had: SELF: The male protagonists of both films (Conspiracy Theory and 12 Monkeys) are kinda similar... and both get diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenics. * OTHER: Yeah. I really wish they'd figure out what causes the mental health problems and how to test for them, rather than using psychology and meds to just make patients tolerable to others. It just irks me that schizophrenia gets over used in films when there are plenty of other reasons to blame the craziness on. Also, what if we just don't try to label people and let them be? * SELF: There's actually a number of movements ostensibly headed in that direction, like Hearing Voices Network (USA and WorldWide). Unfortunately, the para-military shadow government that actually experiments on us through these types of experiences infiltrated efforts to mitigate these problems from the get-go ... and will continue to do so until their agendas (whatever the hell they are) are met. Or they are no longer in power. But, yes, I agree with you that it would be best for us to be consider[ed] equal before doctors and society (etc., etc.) so that each individual's specific issues might be addressed in ways least harmful to all involved. But that would require accountability AND genuine concern for the welfare of others, which, typically speaking, the ruling class RARELY exhibits. And that's why they're the ruling class.
Entry Five: “The truth is rarely pure and never simple.” - Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
Entry Four: From The Myth of Mental Illness by Thomas Szasz: "The medical theory of witchcraft ignores two obvious social determinants of the belief in witches and its corollary, witch hunts. First, a preoccupation with God, Jesus, and Christian theology cannot be arbitrarily separated from a belief in bad deities and their cohorts, devils, witches, sorcerers. Second, concern with the sexual activities of witches and devils was a counterpart, a mirror image, of the officially antisexual attitude of the Catholic church. The torturing and burning of witches must be viewed in the light of medieval man’s theological world view, according to which the body is weak and sinful, and the only goal worthy of man is the eternal salvation of his soul. Burning human bodies at the stake was a symbolic act which expressed adherence to the official rules of the game. This dramatic, ritualized affirmation of the faith insured the continued existence of an important social fiction or myth. Burning accused witches during the witch hunts may thus be compared to destroying confiscated whisky during Prohibition. Both acts gave official recognition to a rule which few people followed in their actual conduct. During the Middle Ages, sexual conduct was, actually, exceedingly promiscuous, if measured by our current standards. In both instances, then, the law expressed high ethical ideals to which most people had no intention to adhere. Their goal became, instead, to evade the laws, to appear as if they were law-abiding, and to make sure that there were suitable scapegoats available to be caught and punished. In situations of this sort, it is the scapegoat's social function to play the role of the person who violates, or is said to violate, the rules, is caught, and is duly punished. We might thus view bootleggers and the entire class of so-called organized gangsters - all of whom came into being during Prohibition - as the scapegoats who were sacrificed at the altar of the false god of abstinence. The greater the actual discrepancy between prescribed rules of conduct and actual social behavior, the greater the need for scapegoat sacrifices as a means of maintaining the social myth that man lives according to his officially declared ethical beliefs."
Entry Three: The flip side of "nice guy."
Entry Two: Moral Misstep * I paid another visit To the marketplace of Surfaces only to see Reflected in her face the Bars of the Cage of Empty * Invisible bars wrapped around the invisible Soul of a woman too tired to try To tell the difference anymore Between the Surface of the glass and the Soul of the drink Quaffed in a bar just as barriered as Me * These divisions Flex * They blur and let Pass * They tighten and Trap * Who goes There? * Who goes Where? * When the center of things is hiding * I saw her face only briefly * I wanted to make things better * Instead I took a twostep misstep and did the Watusi * A flailing failure of a dance that serves only Sand in the Eyes of the Lonely
Entry One: In a mechanistic universe, experience necessitates ignorance. It's just how the game is played.
June, 2021
Entry Eighteen: Filthy? Boy, my shit is cleaner than your soul.
Entry Seventeen: My enemies want me in prison, for starters. This I know. It's what happens when you're targeted by the media underground... among other things.
Entry Sixteen: What would Obi-Wan say about planet Earth? * "The BS is strong with this one." * Nerd-core.
Entry Fifteen: Freedom is, as a concept, so cute it is almost adorable.
Entry Fourteen: Pornography: A tool for self-control used to control others. * What do I mean by that? Well, you'll just have to wait for IB5 before I answer that one...
Entry Thirteen: "Super Naked!" was something I used to shout as a child. Even then, I knew the importance of transparency in politics.
Entry Twelve: Privacy is just another privelege people like to flaunt.
Entry Eleven: I was the tiniest of nuggets, wishing to be gold.
Entry Ten: The controls are in place. The scene is set. What will the actors do? Follow the script? Well, that depends on the nature of the script. Huh.
Entry Nine: That's me. Parade of one. Tug my (invisible) leash. Sorry, JH, I have nothing to say to that but, "Whatever." Because I cannot do what I cannot do.
Entry Eight: JULY 11, 2009 [Isabella sent me this one over email. My computer was in the dining nook. Hers was in the bedroom. Modern love.] Diva Cobwebs sparkling, mirror ball mimicking - she was shining rubbish never looked so chic wild mane of hair teetering heels wrapped up tight in the ruse was the bruised beauty who saw herself as nothing.
Entry Seven: A rough draft excerpt from IB4, 2009: This next wave [of trouble] happened one morning while we were sorting through Benjamin's boxed belongings in the living room. Isabella suddenly excused herself to the restroom. Later, I heard pained sobbing. Calling out in concern, I was answered by Alice telling me to keep out. I waited. As time passed, I heard the strained sounds of physical and emotional distress. Then Alice stepped out. "David," she said. "I don't know what to do! Isabella miscarried, and there are two fetuses in the toilet. What should we do?" I seriously had no answer but the most practical. "Flush them down," I said. Fear and sadness and confusion colored my voice. Alice stopped. She didn't like my answer but saw it was the only choice. "Do you want me to do it?" I asked. "No. Don't look." She went back into the bathroom and flushed the toilet. Alice stayed around a while. She said Isabella didn't want to come back after that, that she needed time. She also told me why this was so hard on her. She told me that Benjamin had forced himself on her in that very bathroom maybe three months before, and that this was the result. I did my best to keep Alice company until she transitioned away. When she did, Isabella was bewildered and shook. I told her as gently as I could what had happened. She took it well enough, but now I was starting to crack. With Isabella spending extra time in the garage communing with Isabel alone, I grew distrustful, fearful even. And because neither Isabel nor Isabella told me what they were discussing, I was left with little to do but fuss and worry. Jess had told me to keep things simple with Isabella; but Isabella was the opposite of simple, and my need for her too great. Enmeshed in this adulterous affair with two kids and a house, I was forced to admit I was in over my head. So, I snapped. Here's how ...
Entry Six: Infinite Book 4: Recovered Dreams is the book I now must write, to the exclusion of all others. It's too important to be put off any longer. There. I said it.
Entry Five: Here's a quote from some heavy reading that somewhat suggests what I have suspected for some time now, which is that Conservatives aligned with Q-Anon are way more inclined to pedophilia and incest than they say they are. "In any culture, the greater the degree of male supremacy and the more rigid the sexual division of labor, the more frequently one might expect the taboo on father-daughter incest to be violated. Conversely, the more egalitarian the culture, and the more the childrearing is shared by men and women, the less one might expect to find overt incest between father and daughter. The same logic applies to particular families within any one culture. The greater the domination of the father, and the more the caretaking is relegated to the mother, the greater the likelihood of father-daughter incest. The more democratic the family and the less rigid the sexual division of labor, the less likely that fathers will abuse their daughters." Herman, Judith Lewis. Father-Daughter Incest (p. 80). Harvard University Press. Kindle Edition.
Entry Four: Deepfakes are fun. Not.
Entry Three: And to think I used to think the world was fair. Der. Nar. Duh. It made no sense to think that way, and yet I did ... even when I didn't. I guess it all has mostly to do with ... perspective?
Entry Two: *edit*
Entry One: My science-fiction novel, 22 Stories: Falling Up, just got reviewed on LoveReading. Read the review here, and visit 22 Series Books for purchase links here.
May, 2021
Entry Fifteen: *edit*
Entry Fourteen: (The Darker Side of (the New (Old) Age of (the Magick of))) Social Networking (and Engineering)) Now Where was I ... Oh Yeah That's right On the dot That central one on Your target Right? Right But still my Question Is Who is the Arrow? Who holds the bow? Oh Same difference (and Not) Because All of it is Invisibly directed Out in the open With little nods to action (Sometimes onscreen Sometimes off) Always on Target Now How does that story go ... Oh Yeah That's right When the courtier Did his Dance He held his left hand Just so And from it Flowed A whirlwind of Consequences owed and (So) His networks jumped to arrange The end of all his Enemies On account of their Atrocities (Real or imagined It Mattered not) Because he and she and those and these had all already determined That Anyone on that target was Meant to be There and Meant to be Shot (Except for maybe those chosen few who Get (Got) to star in torture-porn videos to prove that ... "The authoritarian revolution will be televised!!! ... Filmed in Hell!! ... Viewed in Heaven!" ... [edit]
Entry Thirteen: I turn it off. It stays on. I turn it on. It stays off. A puzzler for the inverted. And what was accomplished? Feeding.
Entry Twelve:
Entry Eleven: Since ALL of my work for KOI DUST got hacked and stolen last year, I've decided to post a short story there that almost belongs. Click here and scroll down to the bottom of the poem to find the link.
Entry Ten: Because everything I do is wrong. * Wait, was that me being petulant again? * lol
Entry Nine:
Entry Eight: Cyberpunk's death knell was social censure, as demonstrated by this excerpt from Wikipedia on Cyberpunk: "Bookending the Cyberpunk era, Bethke himself published a novel in 1995 called Headcrash, like Snow Crash a satirical attack on the genre's excesses. Fittingly, it won an honor named after cyberpunk's spiritual founder, the Philip K. Dick Award. It satirized the genre in this way: '... full of young guys with no social lives, no sex lives and no hope of ever moving out of their mothers' basements ... They're total wankers and losers who indulge in Messianic fantasies about someday getting even with the world through almost-magical computer skills, but whose actual use of the Net amounts to dialing up the scatophilia forum and downloading a few disgusting pictures. You know, cyberpunks.' The impact of cyberpunk, though, has been long-lasting. Elements of both the setting and storytelling have become normal in science fiction in general, and a slew of sub-genres now have -punk tacked onto their names, most obviously steampunk, but also a host of other cyberpunk derivatives."
Entry Seven: "The worst problems for people," says primatologist Dario Maestripieri, "almost always come from other people." [Angier, 2008.] Simler, Kevin; Hanson, Robin. The Elephant in the Brain: Hidden Motives in Everyday Life (p. 30). Oxford University Press. Kindle Edition.
Entry Six: I have a purpose or I don’t And IF I have a purpose then That purpose is Fulfilled or Not Because purpose and its satisfaction depend on something other than Who I am * What I want and What transpires Are not The same Thing
Entry Five: I don't know about yours, but my life consists of banging my head against walls and rattling cages. It's something I don't particularly recommend. What I mean by that is that I'd rather live a different life. But the choice to live differently was stolen from me long ago, so I live the way I live because it is the only way I can ... live. For now.
Entry Four: The Power of Not Knowing - There are books and speeches with this title, and they are probably all worth at least a Google.
Entry Three: If I'm just me, then my enemies win, right? Whatever.
Entry Two: This is a quote from a book I'm reading in relation to Enlightened Selfishness. "Here is the thesis we'll be exploring in this book: We, human beings, are a species that's not only capable of acting on hidden motives - we're designed to do it. Our brains are built to act in our self-interest while at the same time trying hard not to appear selfish in front of other people. And in order to throw them off the trail, our brains often keep 'us,' our conscious minds, in the dark. The less we know of our own ugly motives, the easier it is to hide them from others. Self-deception is therefore strategic, a ploy our brains use to look good while behaving badly. Understandably, few people are eager to confess to this kind of duplicity. But as long as we continue to tiptoe around it, we'll be unable to think clearly about human behavior. We'll be forced to distort or deny any explanation that harks back to our hidden motives. Key facts will remain taboo, and we'll forever be mystified by our own thoughts and actions. It's only by confronting the elephant, then, that we can begin to see what's really going on." - Simler, Kevin; Hanson, Robin. The Elephant in the Brain: Hidden Motives in Everyday Life (pp. 4-5). Oxford University Press. Kindle Edition.
Entry One: Oh. BTW. Transitions Mental Health Association of San Luis Obispo, CA is corrupt. I should know. I've worked for them in a number of positions in a number of locations for a number of years, and have also been a client. This is not petulance. It is aggression. Fuck. This. Shit. Because why? Because, "I'm already dead."
April, 2021
Entry Twenty-Three:
Entry Twenty-Two: Okay. Breathe. I'm taking a break from this blog as an exercise in restraint. I've dug enough holes here, and won't post anything more until I have something worth saying. And when I do, I promise to turn the petulance down at least a notch or two.
Entry Twenty-One: If Free Will is illusory, then the basis of blame is practical, not intentional.
Entry Twenty: Where am I going these days? You. Tell. Me.
Entry Nineteen: Denied Desire When Everything sought is lost And Everything unwanted is inflicted only Then Will I know the depth Of God's despair
Entry Eighteen: "Do you know how much you've cost us?" * "Quantitatively? No. Qualitatively? Not. Enough."
Entry Seventeen: Descending definitions of "squeeze box" ... 1. A musical instrument ... 2. A calming device used to relieve stress ... 3. A calming device used in the slaughter of animals ... 4. Fun times.
Entry Sixteen: "This, then, is the essential communicational dilemma in which many weak or oppressed persons find themselves vis-à-vis those who are stronger or who oppress them: if they speak softly, they will not receive a hearing; if they raise their voices literally, they will be considered impertinent; and if they raise their voices metaphorically, they will be diagnosed as insane." - Thomas Szasz, The Myth of Mental Illness: Foundations of a Theory of Personal Conduct
Entry Fifteen: Gaslighting. Because head games are fun ... ?
Entry Fourteen: In The Crusade Against Pornhub Is Going To Get Someone Killed, Samantha Cole writes (VICE - April 13, 2021; 11:57 AM) as follows: "Sex trafficking is a real and tragic issue, but anti-trafficking groups frequently equate the entire adult industry, including pornography, with exploitation and paint sex workers as victims in need of rescue. 'Anti-sex trafficking' is a topic that's easy to gain political backing, fundraising, and popular support for. By couching the conversation as being against 'sexual slavery,' it’s easy to shut down the more nuanced and difficult conversations about the ways that politicians, businesses, antiquated laws, poorly written sex trafficking legislation, and an anti-sex-work culture more broadly have hurt and killed people who are working in the consensual porn and sex work industries. No reasonable human is pro-trafficking, but anti-trafficking groups use the issue to advance legislation and policies, and real-world stigma against sex workers, to further their cause. Frequently, these 'anti-sex trafficking' groups want to end the entire adult industry altogether."
Entry Thirteen:
Entry Twelve: Us vs. Them. Rest now from your struggles. Sit here with me on the ever-shifting sand of self-delusion. Here. Have a snack. Us in Them. Them in Us. All things consumed.
Entry Eleven: Fetch. Scrape. Play. Is that my face Or Someone else's? Now Did we do such a Thing? I 4git. I really really (never) do. Forging ahead anyWay huh? Yep.
Entry Ten: When every element of EXISTENCE is aimed against me, I. will. be. re. defined. "Fuck everybody!" - Francis, Mr. Right (2016), me included ... not that THAT's anything new.
Entry Nine: It took almost 30 years, but now I really know why DG wept the words "Why him?" outside my dorm room window in '92. It was because CW (and other certain persons of influence) wanted to destroy me in the worst possible way. My demise has been long. It has been slow. And it still ain't over yet. "Don't let them get to you," said A. Yeah, right. I hear Hell is nice this time of year. Oh. And nice pic, HG.
Entry Eight: What did my 2020 consist of? Romance scam. Apple hack. Instagram fakery. Facebook (lack of) customer service. And a whole lot of threats and lies - too numerous to list right here. Being 86'd by powerful people is "fun."
Entry Seven: "What movies do you like?" I asked the girl. "I like horror," she said. "So you like watching the news?" was my reply.
Entry Six: [removed]
Entry Five: Turn a blind eye. Everybody else is doing it! That, or take a gander ...
Entry Four: Mental Health in Amerika. Creating experts in denial.
Entry Three: An old poem of mine: Seven Questions - A Singular Sin * Can we curtail this wind? Make it not turn 'round To become ... A tornado bent On breaking All the things we hold dear? * But what if what We hold is No thing of value but The center of the cyclone As yet Unborn? * What if the tower longs To fall? * What if shelter lies Outside? * What if certainty is the last illusion left for us to tear away? * What if? * And all I can think is how much I miss ...
Entry Two: And the meaning of life is ... ____ __ _ .
Entry One: *edit*
March, 2021
Entry Twenty-Two: Sucks to be me.
Entry Twenty-One: Oy! Not only has it taken me YEARS to only occasionally dig into the writing of IB4, but when I do, I find myself rewriting what I have written many times over, because I don't write right the first time, or the second time, or even the third time. It's like my brain is a classroom full of precocious, selfish children, who don't like to work together, but still got assigned to a group project they all have to finish together ... otherwise no one graduates!!!
Entry Twenty: Agency: I motion that the Next item on this Agenda be Motive, And after that, Means, About which this court of Kangaroos will Most assuredly prevaricate Through the deeply seated Misrepresentation of the facts Currently at hand. Let us begin with a question. Why did he do what he did? I ask, Asking a question that is itself A lie. For how does anyone choose To do Anything at all when all Agency Has been stripped? I mean, surely, If the subject chooses, If the subject exercises Choice, He does so always Within the confining limitation of Aging agency, Diminishing advocacy, and Shrinking influence. Why? * * * Because control has no need to be Fair.
Entry Nineteen: Sometimes I post things I think are suicidal. FYI.
Entry Eighteen: In my senior year at Pomona College (1991-92), I spent one year on an Independent Study of the works of Thomas Pynchon. My teacher for this study was Brian Stonehill, who died in a (IMO mysterious) car crash a few years after I graduated. Stonehill, while still alive, was kind enough to recommend me to the University of Chicago's combined Masters/Ph.D. program in English Lit. I was honored, but unfortunately too burned out with study to pursue the degree even after I was accepted into the program. Now, I mention this because I was going through my scanned papers just now and was humbled by the following words by Stonehill noted on my Vineland paper: "I can say that it's a terrific paper: smart, articulate, thorough, attentive to detail, careful in its handling of secondary material, incisive, witty ... all in all: excellent work - having more room to move around in helped you: this is far more coherent, less impacted (to use a dental term?) than your V. paper - you've taken the independent study in general very seriously & with real independence & responsibility (rare, I think, in this institution) & fully deserve the grade." Now, isn’t it interesting that Stonehill made light of Pomona College student dedication, which was something I poked fun at through my Student of the Day prank that same year? Also, please note that the BRILLIANT author David Foster Wallace committed suicide while teaching at Pomona College - which reaffirms for me my belief that that college is a conservative cesspit of evil. But I'm just being paranoid, right? Not!
Entry Seventeen: Pornography was a topic of IB3: My Truest Fiction Redux. It will also be a topic of IB4: Recovered Dreams and especially IB5: Sex. Now, even though the IB series of books is more concerned with my personal takes on reality than anyone (or anything) else's, I would still like to know what is out there on subjects I intend to cover. But, even when I go online - where supposed treasure troves of information exist - I still find myself stymied. For example, when I Google the following: "Pornography AS A TOOL OF Social Control," I end up with BS articles about the social control of pornography, as if pornography is a wild stallion that either needs to be tamed or put down. Thanks, Google. I guess no one has anything to say about the ways in which pornography itself is used to influence individuals in society, or how this intentional influence is connected to things like human trafficking, social control, and mental conditioning (i.e. mind control)? Case in point, back in the '90s, I volunteered at The Center for Media Literacy (Los Angeles), and was quietly disgusted to learn that pornography simply wasn't considered the "type" of media people ought to be literate about. Yeah. Right. Of course, there are ways to get Google to almost go where I want it to go, which is to use phrases like "how pornography influences (or impacts) society." Still ...
Entry Sixteen: Another snippet. This one from "Pt. 7 - Social Media and COVID-19" of infinitedot Manifesto: "So. You're a writer?"" the woman's voice conveyed something close to genuine excitement. "Have I read anything you've written?" - "I dunno. Have you?" - "What have you written?" - "A series of fiction books and a memoir ... among other things." - "Oh! Are you David?" - "Yeah." - "Heh. Then I HAVE ALMOST read something by you. Just online. Saw snippets. Got a giggle out of the commentary." - "Commentary?" - "Yeah. You REALLY don't know?" - "Depends on the level of knowing, I think." - "Oh. Right. They said you were particular. Stupid." - "Me or what they said?" - She let out a stinky giggle-burp that said, "Both." - "Oh." - "Well. I have friends." With that she excused herself.
Entry Fifteen: Some rumors land by chance in eager ears; others must be planted with a bang and a clatter.
Entry Fourteen: So. Yeah. Fourth Density and Media (Reality) Manipulation. Destruction and Consumption. What (re)Builds? I. Have. [No]. Idea[s].
Entry Thirteen: This one can be tricky to dissect, but it remains true nonetheless: TRANSPARENCY GRANTS AGENCY.
Entry Twelve: Another snippet from infinitedot Manifesto, this time from "Pt. 9 - Beyond Victimhood": The thin old rail of a man coughed. Then he turned to me and said, "You know what I am? I'm a souse. Know what that is?" - "A drunkard?" - "In certain circles, yes. But in others it simply means I'm all wet. 'You're all wet!' they yell, they being derogatory to drunks and contrarians alike. Know what a contrarian is?" - I grimaced, but continued to play along. "One who does not agree?" - "Yeah. Close enough. So, anyway, before I step out and take a piss, I want to share with you a thought. It's a long thought, though. Are you ready?" - "Sure." - "Okay. Here goes. Once we admit that free will is an illusion, we are no longer required to feel responsible for, well, anything at all. However, there are still consequences. What we 'choose' to do produces effects, effects pre-chosen by our actions, which actions are invariably predetermined in an infinitely variable universe, because infinity and variability inevitably cancel each other out. It's only from a point of ignorance that chance and choice are real. See?" The old man's eyes went wide. - "Yeah," I said, looking away.
Entry Eleven: A snippet of online conversation from yours truly, regarding the fact that the archive of the investigation of the assassination of JFK is ordered not to be opened until 2039: It occurs to me now that sealing such records over such lengthy periods of time gives those in control the opportunity to monitor and influence external opinions on (or even fabricate evidence of) related "conspiracy theories," during which time - assuming the appropriate controls have been put in place - those very records themselves may be altered internally to serve any given agenda at the time of their unveiling. It's called "COINTELPRO".
Entry Ten: Here's a short snippet from "Pt. 8 - Lab Rats of the Mind" from my eventually forthcoming infinitedot Manifesto: "You know what you need, David?" - "What?" - "You ... need ... to stop blaming everyone else for what's wrong with you." - "Oh."
Entry Nine: I am here because I had nowhere else to go. I am here because certain persons in power thought it would be funny to put me here. I am here because I could not kill myself. I am STILL HERE because you give me nowhere else to go. And the local says with a dirty look at a cop on the street, "Why isn't he in jail?" Because choice is an illusion. Because resentment is felt by many. Because all we have to do is too much. Because you and I and we are hungry. And the local says in one unconcealably whispered word, "Why?" Because the dinner rolls are still cold. The dinner rolls have yet to be served. The dinner rolls must never roll off the plate and onto the floor. Because the dinner rolls are dinner rolls for dining at dinner not breakfast, sir. "Anyway." I am STILL HERE. I am angry. I am kind. I am waiting for something not so terrible to happen. Probably I will be disappointed. I am here. I am here. I am here.
Entry Eight: Me, I ... do a thing or Don't Intend a thing or Don't Choose to express what you Don't (want to) see In me My simple desire to Lessen the harm of All of it for Me first (sure) but always with You a close close very close Second(s) are a-ticking And I know the Labor laid out across this Birthing table of existence is Fraught with Too much Too much selfish Greed round too many Points too small to know (or be known) Or ... you could always tell me all About the gold inside the Egg inside the prize inside the ... never mind
Entry Seven: *edit*
Entry Six: No comment ... now. Many comments to come ... check it.
Entry Five: My consciousness is like a pachinko ball, its reactionary choices random to many, its predetermined course known to few. How ... about ... you?
Entry Four: This was never meant To be outside Or Underneath and yet That is exactly what Must be Denied When desire is taken Rather than given Its proper weight and place on The scales of all the You's and Me's Strewn across the lying Highways lying in wait From desert mountain streams streaming Forced condolences delivered On A Plate - like oyster pastries tucked and bothered none ... what?
Entry Three: Because, you know, I'm just the American Idiot for you to play with, so it's okay that you've tortured me my whole life so far and threatened me with more to come. It's okay. No. Really, you psychotic fucks. It's okay.
Entry Two: Yeah. I know. You don't want to know. Not really. I know.
Entry One: *edit*
February, 2021
Entry Eighteen: Every situation is unique. Even the redundant ones.
Entry Seventeen: Locks don't keep enemies out. Locks determine WHICH enemies get in.
Entry Sixteen: MUFTI. Neat. Or is our little/big/little secret society going by some other name these days? - PS - FU ... because everything I stand for has been raped.
Entry Fifteen: Stoney Tarot Idea Bin - Vonage Visual Voicemail - 3/17/2011 - "Andy it's Dave. Just calling to say that I got I got planning on coming up anytime soon but if you do when you do or whatever. There's trashy pressure on. If you need to do so yeah. Yeah otherwise I just calling to say hey and also I'm tripping because I call your phone and sometimes I get Becky's boys doing the message and and Michelle I got like this mailbox number blah blah blah. Any idea why that happens random like. Anyway not nothing important just take it. So yeah. Talk to you later. Bye."
Entry Fourteen: People.
Entry Thirteen: Prisoners rattle cages to break guards.
Entry Twelve: Betray - Middle English: from be- 'thoroughly' + obsolete tray 'betray', from Old French trair, based on Latin tradere 'hand over'. - So, what? To betray is to serve up on a dinner plate? Probably.
Entry Eleven: Here's a snippet from "Pt. 4 - Food for the Gods" from my eventually forthcoming infinitedot Manifesto: Suddenly, I was on stage … and naked. I had an erection, which was nothing to write home about except it felt like it wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. Then I saw them. My hands. My right hand held a blue sock puppet that was just a red mouth and two white buttons for eyes. On my left hand was a pink sock puppet with a black mouth and no eyes, just a yellow ribbon on top. Pink: So tell me … Blue: Tell you what? Pink: All about … Blue: All about what? Pink: Free something. (looking down at my erection) Blue: That’s a stupid joke. Pink: Just cut the Y and you’ll see inside. Blue: Huh? Pink: Too fast for you? Sorry. Here. If the joke is Free Willy, and you cut the Y, what do you end up with? Blue: Free … Will? Pink: Bingo. And notions of control. Blue: Oh. Of course. You mean you’d like me to tell you all about the nature of Free Will set against the backdrops of Theism, Pantheism, and Panentheism, right? Blue and Pink together: Right. Pink: Don’t be rude. Blue: Whatever and anyway, if we have Theism, then the hands and the puppets are separate. If we have Pantheism, then the hands and the puppets are one. And if we have Panentheism, then the hands are the puppets … and more. Make sense? Pink: Not at all. Blue: Good. Then we’re ready to move on.
Entry Ten: When the game is a foregone conclusion, does it really matter how I play? Because a false peace offering isn't really a peace offering at all now, is it?
Entry Nine: I don't know about you. I'm just trying to figure out how I've been programmed. Experiments in mind control are "fun?"
Entry Eight: Footnote All it took To become a footnote to My own life was To offend the right (Wrong) Persons in power - Not - Necessarily persons Of power - Noted? Or not It doesn't really matter I suppose ... considering ... How I was told years ago How I was told over the years How I was told by someone caught "You upset someone in power ..." With not much else in terms of Explanation No shovel for the excavation of My grave Where I live and breathe Snorkling death from above and Below No key to unlock The door A door that really only Revolves anyway A footnote passageway back To the same non-life I've always ... Lived? (Whatever)
Entry Seven: *edit*
Entry Six: "Fun," by the way, is the reason for every evil. Hahaha. Just kidding. Not.
Entry Five: Rohypnol in Long Beach. That was "fun."
Entry Four: The Manifesto is taking its own sweet time. Like everything in this disgrace of a reality. And where will this Manifesto be posted when it is complete? infinitedot.com.
Entry Three: Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock-knock. "Who's there?" The changing of the guard. "Go away!"
Entry Two: Depo-Provera as an aerosol. Social-sexual morality at its finest.
Entry One: One of my other author names has a new book out. 22 Stories: POV.
January, 2021
Entry Seventeen: If you base your life on self with no ultimate regard for other, then I have nothing to offer you but disrespect.
Entry Sixteen: ROTAte the cypher wheel and read the message hid. Is that human flesh on the rotisserie of my mind? I think. It is. Sophia made flesh in the mouth of God.
Entry Fifteen: So many approaches. What is true? I think I remember what purpose felt like, once upon a time. Now, I'm not so sure. When I was at the center of things, the angle never mattered. Now, I come to an idea and do not see any sign that it is mine. Why? Because it isn't true? No, nothing so specific. Rather, because I have lost the sensation of truth altogether. I mean, if I believe a thing for decades and it proves to be a lie, then why repeat the same mistake again? Truth is temporary. What is true now is now true. It serves for now. Afterward, who's to say? The future is hollow. It is empty. It is a blank screen.
Entry Fourteen: Repeat after me: "Mind control isn't real." Now, don't you feel stupid?
Entry Thirteen: "I'm sorry. My enemies have power and I should simply respect that." Not.
Entry Twelve: "Der! Nar!" That was a funny joke, "C.", and now I get it ... 30 years later. And it makes me wonder why I was ... anything at all.
Entry Eleven: Still working on infinitedot Manifesto. I'm now taking a more storybased approach: Pt. 1 - An Introduction The sign outside the local tavern made my stomach queasy. “The Marie Antoinette,” it said, painted in bloody red brushstrokes alongside the image of a severed head with x’s for eyes and white fancy hair all lit up in the glow from miniature stage lights tacked to the bottom of the board. * “What’s your number?” asked the bouncer, his oiled mustache glistening above teeth of porcelain blue. * “Huh?” * “86,” he whispered in my ear behind a raised hand, feigning a need for privacy. * “Oh. 86?” * “Ya got that right.” Bunching muscle over muscle, he folded his arms and bobbed his beanie-wearing head to the music streaming out through the establishment’s open door, a vertically sliding sheet of metal angled along its bottom edge in such a way as to scream guillotine! “Have fun! And don’t forget the little lady!” * “Huh?” * He pointed.
Entry Ten: We are Indoctrinated - Before being given the chance To truly taste Freedom The gods of Our lives Have already absconded with Everything's purpose Leaving us bereft of Will and screwed Into the wooden board of Life By controllers just as controlled as we - Told to Tell those beneath them to Tell those beneath them to Tell those beneath them to Tell themselves How best to give berth to those unavoidabe events Dropped out of creation Into our daily routines like so: Make coffee Call the plumber Get a hair cut Show up for work Write a play Assassinate a warlord Undermine bitcoin and Find a place for dinner for the kids - Even the unexpected is in the routine. The routine is unexpected. Fatalism at its finest.
Entry Nine: "No, I don't have COVID. I'm being dosed." This is not a political statement. It is a practical statement about the quality of the air I breathe. Not in terms of virus, but in terms of particulate. A-political practical particulate sprinkled down on me. You know, where I live. But don't mind me. I'm crazy.
Entry Eight: "Does it taste good? Yum! Does it taste bad? Yuck! This is my double-edged sword of judgement!" So sayeth the Lord. * Simple dualism. * Better than all the rest.
Entry Seven: Well, mine has been an extremely slow public execution. Good to know evil wins. Or maybe I'm just delusional.
Entry Six: Here's a fun word for fun times: psychophagia.
Entry Five: End-line. I see the cheery hatred hardly hidden in the countenances of my colleagues who have betrayed me, and know they know what they have done.
Entry Four: Where do my words go, I wonder? Because I sincerely doubt my web stats or my book sales tell even a sliver of the story.
Entry Three: Gearing up: infinitedot.
Entry Two: *removed*
Entry One: Pages 173-189, from Infinite Book 3: My Truest Fiction Redux (2019) * End Note * This edition has been edited. A lot. Even my diary entries have been edited. All of these edits have been made in the interest of easier reading and making the material a little less confusing and/or offensive. I’ve even toned down the language some. The subject matter, however, remains mostly the same. When this book was originally published in 2014, it was my attempt to turn trauma into gold. It was raw and a-contextual. I called it “shock education.” But for all my writerly hopes, it became a noose around my neck impossible to remove. Someone once said, “You’re brave to publish this.” I wasn’t brave. I was stupid. I knew my book was a shiv deliberately shoved in the guts of maybe a handful of people, but I was still in denial regarding the nature of my enemies. Others may accuse me of playing the victim, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been manipulated and abused in some pretty remarkable ways. It’s like I’m a freaking brain in a vat, and that vat has been labeled like so: “Denied Desire,” “Psychological Torture,” “Etc.” And, yes, “Etc.” would be the third label stuck to the side of my vat, meant to indicate everything else I’ve had to endure. Anyway, when this book was first published, I was in “recovery,” and working for a mental health organization more progressive than most. Despite my recovery, very few people openly acknowledged what I had written. Overall, I’m pretty sure people were offended by it, or ignored it altogether. Some were specifically instructed not to read it, while others took it upon themselves to isolate me at work. Then, tragedy struck. Someone I loved died, and my world constricted. I quit my job and experienced a sixth episode (which was nothing like the previous five), after which I attempted to stitch my life back together through employment in another state [AZ]. During this time, I lived in a holding pattern. I never talked about my book, and later pulled it from publication. However, this did not stop the rumors from spreading. And they should have spread, considering how I behaved during that sixth episode of mine... not to mention my previous five. Still, it took me a while to realize just how much of a social chew toy I had become, because NO ONE was willing to admit that THEY KNEW IT, TOO. If they did, they’d break the rules of the game. So, tired of keeping quiet about the social abuse I’d been forced to endure for well over TWO DECADES, I published the following online on my Infinite Book Series Blog (http://infinitebookseries.com/Blog.html): * November, 2018, Entry One: Allow me to just put this out there: I was a quiet, introverted, sensitive and gentle child. I was also emotionally abused. So, my life became defined by getting good grades, some creative endeavors, and very little else. No girlfriend in high school. Too socially stunted. Then I was accepted into Pomona College, a prestigious West Coast college, and I thought I had it made. Was going to pursue my academic career until I could teach master’s level English and write novels on the side. But this rich college proved to be my undoing. I labored through four years in relative isolation. I had only a handful of friends. Who were abusive in different ways. Plus, still unable to attract a girlfriend, I became the campus jack-off, near as I can tell. I didn’t understand how people could be so cruel as to define me in that way. But I guess it was never really a stretch. Then I made the unusual mistake of playing a prank on the student body. I thought it would be funny to create a completely random Student of the Day award to deliver to other students in their mailboxes. Then, after one week of this, I published their names in the school newsletter. I see now in retrospect that I failed to take into account how this might impact either their lives or my own. At the time, all I intended was to make a comment on how grades seemed arbitrary, even at Pomona College, so I gathered a list of the student body, assigned numbers to each name and rolled dice to determine the award recipients. I never meant to harm anyone. But, as fate would have it, I rolled up one or two powerful and vengeful students, who decided my life needed to end. Thing is, I’m pretty sure my life was already slated for the trash bin three years BEFORE I played this prank. So. Yeah. Masturbation is evil and socially irresponsible. It is a crime against humanity. And people like to talk and belittle and reinforce the isolation of the masturbator, right? Even though, in my opinion, masturbation is simply one part of life. And I have had girlfriends. I even almost got married. But that’s too complicated to get into just here. Anyway, social castration has been my lot in life. Fun times. And my enemies. Seriously well-connected and vengeful. While I have made mistakes in life, I find it difficult to take the blame for what I believe has been done to me. I even tried to escape it all through suicide in 1999. But I survived my suicide attempt and thereafter felt forced to do what I could to make a life for myself. Of course, that was more than a little hampered when - after my suicide attempt - I was misdiagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia and put on antipsychotic medication. This made employers unwilling to hire me, and it was the antipsychotic I didn’t need that when I stopped it introduced me to my first full-blown psychotic episode. It’s more complicated than that, though, as my psychotic breaks were more than chemical in nature. They were also spiritual. Among other things. But I won’t get into all of that right now. At one point, I made “friends” - friends who abused me in a number of ways. One drugged me and did something with me of a sexual nature, the exact details of which I am unable to recall. Suffice it to say, this further stigmatized me… probably because there’s video out there of who knows what. Another group of “friends” played with my sanity in some insidious ways… and there was a romantic affair that was nothing but bad news. I thought my life was turning around at one point. I thought I was going to get married and work in the mental health field. But I published a recounting of my psychotic experiences only to have many of my colleagues hate me for it. And my wife-to-be eventually overdosed and died, ending a relationship that was fraught with tremendous challenges. After her passing, her mother stepped in and stripped me of closure. Then I tried to regroup, only to have my life fall apart yet again. I acted out in some ridiculous ways, and in the process made even MORE enemies. Oh. And I’ve been in jail a number of times. A few times because I deserved it, but not always. And I NEVER had legitimate recourse to legal representation. Especially this last time, when I was arrested for resisting arrest … but not for any other crime. I was put in general population and given NO phone access. Other garbage was done there to try and break me, but I endured long enough to be seen by a judge. I pled guilty to get out. Then I was homeless, for reasons even more complicated. But what that boiled down to was I was being made out to be a pedophile by another crew of enemies. Even funner times. Eventually, I landed a sketchy job in another state, where people knew about me and talked about me and isolated me but never ever had the decency to have a straightforward conversation about me or my situation to my face. And now I live in isolation because people hate. I have a psychiatrist who is convinced I’m going to crack, no friends, and lots of unkind souls all around me. Some people I think are nice, but it’s difficult to be nice to someone like me. You know, a social outcast victimized by wealthy haters. So. Yeah. End of rant. If I ever finish IB4, all this garbage will be carefully delineated. But I doubt my life will ever be smooth enough for me to do so. Over. Out. * The truth of my experience mixed in with the lies of this world have created a story from which I may never escape. I grew up believing things that ultimately aren’t true, whether other people believe them or not. It’s like when I watched Bewitched in grade school, and I “knew” witches and magic weren’t real; and if they were, then they were no more real than science and religion would allow. I “knew” newscasters told the truth, and that comedians didn’t really mean to hurt people’s feelings. I “knew” my world was safe because people were basically good, or kept in order by police officers or other authority figures whose intentions were even gooder. Until I learned that everything I “knew” was wrong. I’m pointing this out because it made me an easy target for others to gaslight. “Some People Just Don’t Get It” was my college freshman dorm t-shirt, with a picture of a couple kissing. I knew it was sexually insulting, but I bought one and wore it anyway. What I didn’t understand was that it had been designed specifically with me in mind, and that it insulted my intelligence, in addition to my lack of social game. It said, “Hey, this idiot thinks people are nice. He doesn’t understand social power and abuse. He has no idea what’s in store for him.” What was in store for me has been going strong now for more than three decades. Because haters hate, and human cruelty runs deep. I won’t cover ALL the BS my college had to offer, but I will point out that a fellow student warned me toward the end of my senior year, when she said out of nowhere, “Don’t let them get to you.” Them. Who’s them? I thought she was joking. She wasn’t. “They” were F’ing real. Anyway. Moving on. I did not commit the acts described within the pages of this book because I am “psychotic,” or “bad,” but because I’ve been manipulated by forces and circumstances outside of my control. This book should give readers who pay attention some sense of how this might be the case. And IB4 will take the time to explain even better how personal responsibility is difficult to pin down when people are put on parade through mind control and the careful manipulation of social stigma. Yes, I have acted out in ways dangerous to self and other. Some of it I am responsible for. As much as I can be, anyway. The rest of it, well ... not so much. I am not psychotic. Neither am I normally a threat to anyone, in and of myself. In fact, as far as humans go, I’d wager I’m one of the nicer ones. Genuinely kind and considerate at heart, I prefer to see the good in others. Except when they take pleasure in belittling me or those I love. And even then I usually just take mental notes and walk away. When I do fight, I prefer it be on my own terms, like with this book. Even if it backfires. Even if I manage only to harm what I hold dear. Because justice is about truth, and in speaking truth I hope to right at least some of the wrongs that have been committed. And if I don’t, well, to Hell with it. I was the third child of a Christian couple deeply convinced that the Bible was the unassailable Word of God. Raised in the Church, I was just as committed as they were until a precocious Asian in middle school challenged the logic of my beliefs. He argued Atheism. I argued Christianity. He won. Although, in retrospect, I now believe Atheism to be just as dangerous a lie as Christianity. After our argument, I lived in a constant state of sublimated cognitive dissonance. My Christian suburban middle class lifestyle was so seemingly safe that it stole from me the ability to acknowledge the suffering of others on anything more than a superficial level. A lot of this had to do with being raised on TV as a passive consumer of fantasy packaged as fact. I trusted others and the world around me. I believed in social progress. I believed it was inevitable. I also believed in Biblical Evil, which I did not understand, as I could not reconcile my shallow perception of Evil with my sense of Good. This inherent naiveté made me an attractive social target for others to abuse ... over ... and over ... and over ... again. I trusted everyone and everything. I trusted no one and nothing. And my toggling between these two states created a friction of sorts ... one that stripped away my denial, layer by layer, over the course of my fifty years (so far) on this earth. If I were an onion, I’d almost be down to the pearled center of my truth. Almost. I will now address the following topics to better contextualize some of the events and concerns described in this book. These topics and others will be explored further in subsequent volumes. * GLORIFICATION OF PSYCHOSIS * One complaint I’ve heard regarding the first version of this memoir is that it glorifies psychosis, which is a big mental health no-no. Thing is, grandiosity is often a symptom of psychosis, which means the person experiencing psychosis will tend to glorify his or her actions. Because I wanted to show readers my experience of psychosis from the inside out, it would therefore naturally follow that my words would be grandiose. Still, it might be argued that I ought to have tempered my words with more frequent and subdued contextual cushioning. I didn’t, however, because I didn’t want those cushions getting in the way of things. IB3 was, and IB3R still is somewhat, “shock education.” If reading it feels safe for some readers, then they are already ready for IB4. And if reading it doesn’t feel safe, then it has served its purpose as an introduction to the fear and confusion of ego-death. IB3 and IB3R are both about the tearing down of personality, which experience is essentially devoid of context because self-destruction has no edges. It is an implosion. IB4, on the other hand, will be about spiritual renewal, which is the expansion of awareness from self to Self. Assuming, of course, I’m allowed to write the damn thing. What I have attempted to do here, with IB3R, is to lessen the sting of the original, so that maybe, maybe, may-be more people will benefit from reading it than will cast it aside in disgust. * WORDS * Another item people had a right to complain about in my memoir was its use of language. Besides the swearing, my use of stigmatizing words and phrases maybe weakened the potential for effective advocacy. While I have attempted to clean up most of the language that’s not politically correct in this Redux, some of it remains, either due to ignorance, or because I think the “wrong” word carries baggage that NEEDS to be in a partic[u]lar sentence. Anyway, if someone points out to me a shortcoming in my choice of words, I most likely will do my best to acknowledge and address it whenever and wherever possible. I’m not perfect, but I do do my best. Most of the time. * VICTIMHOOD * One word with a ton of baggage is “victim.” There are victims, but victimhood is risky business. If society doesn’t agree that someone has been victimized, then they are merely playing the victim, and that will not stand. As for me, I have been both victim and victimizer. When seeking restitution for my own victimization, I often end up victimizing others. That is the dark side of justice. Eye for an eye, and all that. Which is maybe not what I would prefer. What I would prefer is that perpetrators make amends whenever possible, as well as learn better, more socially responsible ways to meet their needs. However, some people’s needs are straight up Evil, in which case I don’t really feel too bad about exacting justice for my own ends. It’s just I’d rather not, especially considering all the collateral damage revenge so often brings to the table. * WRESTLING DEMONS * The Evil I have done, or felt compelled to do, may be best understood as wrestling with demons. I have not written this memoir to glorify rape, or any other form of violence. What I have written is sensational only with the intention of sharing my experience. Because my experience of Evil was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Exhilarating because I felt empowered. Terrifying because I felt controlled. So, the purpose of this memoir is not to say, “Hey, look at how exciting/dangerous/disgusting this was,” but rather to afford readers the opportunity to put themselves in my shoes. That having been said, allow me to make this very, very clear. Demonic energy, in my opinion, is real. Founded upon anger and abuse, it is strong. It is wanton and unfettered. And that is why magicians so often BIND demons. Because demons do not bind themselves. Or at least that energy does not like to be bound. I’m not going to bother writing about “black magick” here, though, as that will be discussed in IB4 and IB7. The nature of Evil is complex, and is to the human soul not unlike what manure is to plants. * SHIT EATING * Even though this memoir spends time on the topic of fecal matter as “food,” eating shit is not something I do. It is something I did. Not because I enjoyed it, but because I was programmed to do it. It was mind control, yes, but it also led to understanding. Eating shit is symbolic of the philosophy of non-exclusion. This viewpoint detests the notion that there is anything allowed under Heaven that is intrinsically unacceptable. Seen in this light, what I did with my tongue on the floor of that holding room after having terrorized my parents in their home was an act of universal acceptance and submission. All other attempts made by me to eat my own shit were due to confused magical thinking (magic without the k). Those attempts, while embarrassing, are not something I think much about. Other people, however, have fixated on them. I even got called out for it once in a Walmart. Thing is, I was not so much humiliated as I was made aware of the cruelty of others. When that man called me out, I did not overreact, because I knew I could channel worse if need be. * RAPE * I am not a rapist, nor do I hope to become one. In regard to rape, attempts have been made to program me and elicit responses contrary to my basic nature. Like when Jess tried to wrestle with me in her home. This was not the scene I have described in this book. This was just a time when we were alone and I decided to get frisky. Her wrestling, though, was far from playful. It was another attempt at manipulation. When it didn’t work, she lost interest. While rough sex can be “fun,” violence doesn’t turn me on. Sex does. Which is why the line between sex and violence is important to me. There were other times, which I will describe in IB4, when I was set up by my “voices” to appear ready to commit rape. Thing is, when I realized how I was being manipulated, I always backed down. It made me look stupid and dangerous, of course. But it also made me look like a wannabe rapist, when I wasn’t. Because rape is a twisted combination of sex and violence that I find inherently repulsive, on all sorts of levels. * PEDOPHILIA * Attracted to the opposite sex as early as pre-school, I almost got sexual in 3rd grade, even though my body wouldn’t have been able to do what I would have wanted it to do. Anyway, it was obvious to me early on that sex was something a lot of people experience well below the age of 18. In high school, I remember the way an attractive female student toyed with one of our teachers. The power dynamic was as fascinating to me as it was disturbing. I didn’t have the vocabulary at the time, but I knew even then that society’s approach to sex was schizophrenic. Young women have sexual power and appeal, of course, but society ruthlessly attacks anyone who looks at them “the wrong way.” At the same time, society backhandedly endorses pedophilia in everything from children’s cartoons to Sunday school classrooms to lurid reports on sex trafficking. I am not a pedophile, even though underaged women may at times appear sexually attractive to me. I do not, however, spend my time fantasizing about young women, nor do I value my sexual satisfaction over the wellbeing of others. There was a situation in 2016 when I skirted the line of pedophilia. Sort of. But I won’t be able to fully explicate that situation outside of IB4 and IB5. What others say about me is on them. I don’t control their words, only mine. For the record, I believe the age of consent is more than a number. It is an agreement between two individuals whose care and concern for one another takes into account the social context surrounding them and their relationship. * PRIVACY AND ONLINE PORNOGRAPHY * “Bad, Bad Zoot! Oh, wicked, bad, naughty Zoot! ... Oh wicked, bad, naughty, evil Zoot!” - Zoot’s identical twin sister, Dingo, “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” (1975). So much is available to stream online it renders the relationship between media and mind impossible to ignore, particularly in terms of privacy and pornography. It isn’t obvious, but if you watch the movie scene quoted above in its entirety, you might find it enlightening regarding both privacy and pornography in terms of human sexual misdirection. What? Exactly. Anyway. Online privacy is a joke. It has been pretty much since the inception of the Internet. This joke, however, has been well played on a somewhat unsuspecting public for a very long time. I say “somewhat unsuspecting” due to how this same public is complicit in their own deception through willful[…] ignorance and/or denial. This ignorance and denial is of course aided and abetted by an endless array of products and services all intended (maybe) to safeguard online searches and seizures - I mean, downloads. More recently, hacking has become something just about anyone with the right app and the wrong incentive can do. You don’t have to be a computer genius to snoop on your neighbors wi-fi. Add to this the questionable privacy ethics of Google, Facebook, and your local ISP, and it should become obvious that an awful lot of people like to root about in other people’s cellars. But what’s so dirty to be worth the time and effort it takes to get it? Dirty used to be anything prurient. Now it’s video of unwilling subjects, often defined as unwilling due to their age. There are other taboos, of course, but age is a big one because it calls into question very clearly the power dynamics at play. I mean, how consensual can it be for a young child to be videoed singing intimately into a flashlight under a blanket in a darkened room with a cell phone in the hand of some unseen adult? Allow me to repeat. I am not a pedophile. However, I have performed a number of online searches with terms suggestive of child pornography. What I found was something I did not expect, not that my expectations were particularly well formed to begin with. I was exploring, not anticipating. Anyway, there are sites out there that collect images of children almost always wearing clothes but still in sexually suggestive situations and/or poses. The images are 100% legal. Their sexually charged context maybe not so much. Nevertheless, the one site I visited of this nature was not something hidden on the Deep Web. It was reached by me without much effort using the Google search engine on a browser set to default. So. It seems to me that child pornography is nowhere near as walled off and controlled as many of us would like to believe. Furthermore, other types of pornography are becoming more rampantly relevant. This is due to a number of factors, including the ease and universal accessibility of video recording and transmittal technologies. The game of who gets to hook up with who has been changing due to technology, and that must meet with resistance. Why? Because the game is not really just a game. “All’s fair in love and war,” right? The number of available sexual partners is a limited resource that has been fought over since the dawn of humanity. Add to this battlefield relatively free access to images (legal or not) that may be used for masturbatorial self-satisfaction, and suddenly you have a potential game[-]changer. Which is why the sexual gatekeepers of our society do their best to humiliate and isolate anyone who gets their kicks without paying their proper dues through proper channels. It’s about power and control, and that’s my point. People can be petty, and petty is often on point. You get me? And this pettiness is made even more precise through computer programs with access to decades of social control research compiled by agencies like the CIA, etc. There’s a lot more to talk about on a whole host of subjects related to privacy and pornography, but that conversation will have to wait. IB4 will explore some of the more practical ways these issues have impacted my life, while IB5 will get to dig into the real meat of the matter: the meaning of sex itself. * SIGNS AND VOICES * My experience of signs and voices has been as a receiver of information. I responded to the information I received as best I could, according to whatever it was I thought I knew. At first, these messages overwhelmed me. Fearful of what I did not understand, and desperate to repair my damaged life, I lost the ability to choose. It was as if God Himself were ordering me to act out in ways I’d never act on my own. Fear and mind control made me a robot, and that was terrifying. Now, having endured the trials of IB3 and more, my ability to handle fear has increased. This means I am able to respond to the voices and visions I receive in a variety of ways. Still, mind control is at times incredibly difficult to override. My circumstances are unusual, but they are not unique. On the contrary, I believe every human being is controlled in all sorts of ways, whether they know it or not. Whoever or whatever is doing the controlling, it is accomplished through a number of methods: technological manipulation, magickal spell casting, religious ritual, musical entrainment, sexual abuse, spiritual possession, visual patterning, chemical and physical conditioning, and psycho-social head games, to name a few. We are all puppets. Some more so than others. If there is a way to break free of this control, I believe it involves the growth of will through observation and the exercise of intention. Beyond that, I really don’t know. Will I ever? Maybe. Maybe not. * STIGMA * There’s a saying in mental health circles, “Break the Stigma.” This is accomplished through lessening the fear and misunderstanding that can surround those diagnosed with mental illness. A lot of energy gets spent on combating the belief that people so diagnosed are dangerous. My memoir goes against this grain, however, as it unapologetically reveals that I was dangerous, and rather dramatically so. But all of that is in my opinion beside the point, the point being that stigma of any kind is simply another weapon in the armory of class warfare. Those of us who live “normal, respectable lives,” would really rather not associate with those who don’t. And if we do, we do so with the intention of transforming those who don’t into those who do. Being diagnosed with a mental illness or otherwise falling short of “normal” often puts a person in the “other” category. It is this toxic dichotomy of “us vs. them” that helps us overlook the fact that these divisions are more social than scientific. Labels like “mental illness” can be used by those in power to disenfranchise those unlucky enough, either through biology or the experience of trauma or both, to find themselves on the fringes of the human herd. In fact, there is a long history of people being intentionally “driven mad” in order to remove them from society, often for reasons of money, power and revenge. So, to sum up, breaking the stigma of mental illness is paramount, but also rooted in the struggle against other stigmas, most of which have been around a lot longer than the psychiatric defin[i]tion of mental illness. Class warfare is real, and stigma is used to wage it. Whether based on “mental illness,” sexual preference, the color of one’s skin, or any other classification, stigma marks the other as something to be integrated or eliminated. There is no middle ground. * POSITIVE THINKING * The cherry on top of the pie slice of stigma is IMO victim blaming; telling someone they’d be better off if only they were more positive about their situation. While there is truth to the power of positivity, that power is limited. Having a positive mindset does not prevent the chicken headed for the slaughter house from being served on a plate in time. Only removing the chicken from the meat packing industry does that. Still, even if the chicken is to be slaughtered, a positive attitude might make its experience of confinement - until the moment of its death - a little more enjoyable than it otherwise might be. * ALL APOLOGIES * So. Yeah. I’m sorry for every time my actions have caused unnecessary harm to others. I truly am. I am not sorry, however, for when others have magnified the impact of my mistakes. For example, when I played the Student of the Day prank, it should never have been much of a problem for anyone UNLESS other members of the student body gave grief to the people I gave those awards to. In other words, talk kills, and I detest that. Immensely. I also resent that I must live knowing it’s maybe not safe to get to know me, because I’m a target. Still, I carry on. I’ve been threatened. I’ve been harassed. I’ve had to endure a lot of uncool stuff. Why? Well, because I’m pretty sure I was selected years ago for reasons unknown to be made into a spectacle. It might be simple revenge. But, really, I kinda doubt that. Anyway, something happened in 1993 I feel the need to mention. It involves the megalith that might have once been called “Hollywood.” Which is probably why no one, not even my “friends,” ever admitted it was real. What it had to do with was that I believed altered representations of me had been put in compromising positions in the CD inserts to both Green Day’s “Insomniac” and TAFKAP’s “The Most Beautiful Girl In The World.” At one point, I went to a lawyer, who laughed at me for thinking I could ever afford to hire a lawyer willing to take on Warner Bros. Records. True or not, all of this did a number on me. Not so much because I was being made fun of in high-profile media in back-channel ways, but because friends and family told me I was insane for thinking it was happening in the first place. This upending of my reality steadily eroded my ability to function in the world, until my suicide attempt in ’99, after which I was misdiagnosed and given drugs that would really bring on the crazy. Still, I don’t like to blame anyone or anything unnecessarily. I also don’t like to come across as unwilling to take responsibility for my actions. Unfortunately, some things I’ve done cannot be apologize[d] for, and some things people think I should apologize for I didn’t do. Truth is the issue. Finally, here’s a little story. It’s a metaphor for my life, I think. I remember, maybe my senior year, I was stationed for my on-campus job in a big lobby with lots of windows called “The Fish Bowl.” It was there that a co-ed I never interacted with before or after snuck up behind the couch I was sitting in. She made me aware of her presence by curiously touching the hair on my head with her hand. I froze, anticipating what, I did not know. Then, she left. I was a specimen, in a lobby with a name that fit the world as well. “The Fish Bowl.” I can blame an awful lot of things on cert[…]ain vengeful, monied interests connected to my four-year attendance at Pomona College (Claremont, CA), from 1988 to 1992 under the birth name David Lawrence Meeks. But it would be silly of me to blame everything on those four years alone. Because MK-Ultra, human trafficking, and a few occult secret societies have also played their roles. But you won’t get to read about all that stuff until IB4, when I’ll do my best to map out the displaced heart of my controllers, a.k.a., the “Illuminati-Deep State-New World Order-Zionist-Reptilian-Santa Klaus Konspiracy Klub,” or whatever they like to call themselves these days. Until then ... www.infinitebookseries.com
December, 2020
Entry Seventeen: So. Who watches who watching what ... and why?
Entry Sixteen: If God spoke truly to me, this is what he'd say: "There is evil out there, my son. Don't go out unarmed. Stay here and learn how to ... be evil too ... and more importantly ... learn that you are what you are ... which is ... a victim. No recourse."
Entry Fifteen: I don't even need to be a conspiracy theorist to know that this nation/world/reality is corrupt.
Entry Fourteen: Pretty sure I have a decent approach to life... except for the fact that the controllers of my life want to (and do) derail everything I do.
Entry Thirteen: "Isn't he scared?" Of course I'm scared. And numb. And stubborn. And sick of this world.
Entry Twelve: *facetious voice* It's so wonderful to know I am surrounded by betrayers, or at least good-old-fashioned evil a-holes. This includes upstairs neighbors (two different apartments, BTW), who steal (or even kill?) my cat and knock on the floor from time to time. I feel the love.
Entry Eleven: Picking up where Genesis left off: "And on the day before the Apocalypse, God sighed."
Entry Ten: You know, I have done things that I regret, things even of which I am ashamed. The only trouble with my shame is that when I balance my wrongdoings with the myriad ways I've been socially sacrificed over the years, I have a hard time feeling bad about a lot of it. Still, I would apologize to those I have harmed who are deserving of apology. To the rest, well, sharpen your knives and enjoy the coming feast. I'm sure I will be served well.
Entry Nine: A quote (see citation at the end) ... Ralph Nader. In 1961 a young man named Frederick Condon crashed his car. Back then, sharp edges and no seat belts were considered stylish in car interiors. But the sharp edges turned Frederick Condon into a paraplegic. And so a friend of his - the lawyer Ralph Nader - began lobbying for mandatory seat-belt laws. Which was why General Motors hired prostitutes to follow Nader into stores - a Safeway supermarket and a pharmacy - to seduce and then blackmail him. "It happened twice," Nader told me, when I telephoned him. "They were women in their mid-to-late twenties. They were pretty good. They both acted in a very spontaneous manner, not a furtive manner. They started a little small talk. Then they got down to it." "What did they say to you?" I asked him. "The first woman said, 'Would you help me move some furniture in my apartment?' And the other one said, 'We're having a discussion on foreign affairs. Would you like to join it?' Here I was, at the cookie counter!" Nader laughed. "'Foreign affairs'!" he said. "And all because you wanted them to put seat belts in cars?" I said. "They didn't want the government to tell them how to build their cars," he replied. "They were very libertarian that way, to put it mildly. They had private detectives follow me everywhere. They spent ten thousand dollars just to find out if I had a driver's license. If I didn't have a driver's license, they could have called me un-American, you see?" Eventually, General Motors was forced to admit the plot and apologize to Nader in a congressional hearing. The incident proved to him, and later to Max, that the car industry was not above trying to shame its opponents into silence in its battle against safety do-gooders, and that people in high places were prepared to ingeniously deploy shaming as a means of moneymaking and social control. Maybe we only notice it happening when it's done too audaciously or poorly, as it had been with Ralph Nader. Ronson, Jon. So You've Been Publicly Shamed (pp. 142-143). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
Entry Eight: And from out of ... nowhere? ... I am grateful to those who care about and/or for others, regardless of the situation of the world around us. May kindness find a way to withstand these trying times.
Entry Seven: And the notion I am videoed and otherwise harassed where I live is absurd, right? [Don't talk to the crazy people!]
Entry Six: As human history continues to unravel itself, I hope against hope that kind and considerate intelligence overcomes belligerent, two-faced intelligence sooner rather than later. Because I am sick of shitty people taking over.
Entry Five: Current reading.
Entry Four: *grin* - not.
Entry Three: Psychological Warfare (or Psychological Operations) is an essential function of human society, is it not? ... in times of peace or in times of war. Because, you know, we all love each other so very much.
Entry Two: Non-Linearity: Programmed Defense(lessness)
Entry One: Seriously. http://22stories.com.
November, 2020
Entry Seventeen: To abstract is to ask the question, "Why?" - and this lecture points to that in terms of psychosis. It's a decent lecture, although I do strongly dislike the (hopefully unintentional) suggestion that the experience of psychosis must necessarily be as deranged as the one depicted in the video game presented at the end of the talk. Because I believe that "psychosis" and "reality" share a sliding scale relationship with one another with lots of middle ground between either extreme.
Entry Sixteen: Trauma-based mind control. Fun times.
Entry Fifteen: "Injury? This is insult. I'm moving in." - a line from Craptacular Reality by Demiurge Productions, LLC.
Entry Fourteen: 22 Stories: POV. I've decided to offer the "simultaneous sequel" to 22 Stories: Falling Up as a free download on https://www.22seriesbooks.com. Over. Out.
Entry Thirteen: I keep clinging to this notion that I deserve a good life because I am a good person. Apparently I do not know what it takes to deserve a good life. Although I am beginning to get a feel for it. A good life is given to those who take it, who team up and abuse those from whom it can be taken, and morality is nothing more than a mental shell-game used to confuse those too stupid to recognize that power is what matters. Am I wrong? Not that I need your evaluation. Because I'd rather not be wrong. I'd rather not be right. I'd rather just not be.
Entry Twelve: Long Beach Writers Group - Everyone there who knew who I was (but wouldn't admit it) apparently felt reluctantly obligated to humor my presence as a "fellow" writer. When I presented a piece dealing with my struggle re: the notion that having sex with Isabella's body while under the influence of one of her alters might be considered rape of Isabella, one of the more collegiate members of the group felt the need to inform me that the second he read the word rape in my submission, he stopped reading. Out of principle? I doubt it. He probably read the entire thing, but still wanted to make me feel bad about being alive. There was another member of that group, however, who read my submission at face value, as it was written. Not only did he understand my concern regarding the sanctity of Isabella's true self as described in my submission, he even empathized with it ... he being a caring human being rather than one feeding off the suffering of others.
Entry Eleven: "And how is hell best prepared? With sprinkles of hope to keep the meat afloat." - God's Sous-Chef
Entry Ten: Because the world is more sadistic than I used to know. https://www.quora.com/What-does-it-take-to-withstand-torture.
Entry Nine: Well, you know me I sure don't Everything fallen through My mind Well, you know me The one who's Wrong about everything Myself included Well, you know me So pour another curse Over the abusive joke That is my life Well, you know me Pushcart soldout soul Too weak to think Anymore Well
Entry Eight: Get me before I publish! Because I will die (or be tortured a lot) before I give up on IB4.
Entry Seven: I used to wonder what I could have done to prevent others from derailing my life. Now I don't even ask such stupid questions. It's like asking, "Why do bad things happen?" Answer: "Because they happen."
Entry Six: Odds IB4 will ever see publication? -100%, courtesy of my enemies. But I'm just bitter and crazy, so pay my truth no mind.
Entry Five: Silly me. Thinking well of anyone or anything. Silly me.
Entry Four: Why I no longer feel safe in Amerika. Aside from the fact that my life has been threatened and manipulated in all sorts of ways from social stigma to mind control ever since college (1988 to 1992) at the latest, I've recently been corraled from Arizona to California, where I have been personally informed that my enemies "have guns." I've also learned my enemies have little to fear in terms of legal or social reprisal for breaking and entering (my last three apartments and my car), stealing (both online and off), and "other stuff" too numerous to mention. Fucking liars with no interest in my welfare whatsoever. But why should I expect anything different? I mean, I'm just an experiment, right?
Entry Three: Stockholm Syndrome. Iatrogenic Health Care. Religious Denial. Practical Awareness. Social Concern. Lately, I don't see the difference between any of these terms adding up to much of anything. Where they remain consistent is in the functionality of abuse and the extension of suffering. Because suffering is necessary? I guess.
Entry Two: Postulate: To be eaten is to be controlled. To be controlled is to be eaten.
Entry One: Even within the paradigm of "All Is One" there is still variegation in all things, as veriegation is essential to experience, which is the meaning of all things. And, with that understanding in place, here's what I would like to say: "There is more than one Deep State. There is more than one Deep Web. There is more than one."
October, 2020
Entry Two: A poem by [Isabella] from September 30, 2009: I wish I could give you the core of me, that little part of me that, despite the weather, remains constant and pure. That girl underneath all the shit that life deposits on my skin is worth knowing. She's soft and innocent, meek and submissive but endlessly passionate. She'll cry rivers to follow to the ocean. She'll hold onto love until her knuckles fall apart. She sings in languages she doesn't understand. She broods and embraces lonely nights but she's strong in knowing nothing ever lasts forever.
Entry One: From the rough draft of Infinite Book 4: Recovered Dreams: HOVEL HOME (April to May, 2009) The house was a disgrace, its only semi-clean room being Isabella's bedroom, with its canopy bed pushed up against the boxes spilling out from the walk-in closet, and a cluttered computer desk crammed in a corner opposite the door. The second bedroom, where the husband used to sleep, was filthy, while two cots meant for the kids fought for space in the third bedroom with piles of unwashed clothes. Stacks of miscellaneous books and computer components filled the living room and its adjacent den, while the kitchen was a disorganized and dirty mess. The bathroom, however, was the most disgusting, its toilet more stain than porcelain. Somewhat accepting of the fact that we were both in recovery, and even dreaming of maybe turning things around not only for our own sakes, but for that of the kids as well, Isabella and I spent hours cleaning things up. We got a lot done, but still there was no real reason to be hopeful in that situation. We were merely doing what we could to keep our sinking sanity afloat. The first room on the list being the bathroom, Isabella gathered cleaning supplies and asked me to handle the toilet. She started to work on the sink but then - breaking into tears - she excused herself to the bedroom. After calling through the door to check on her, and trusting her when she said she was okay, I got back to work, making the toilet presentable and starting in on the tub. That’s when Isabella came back. Without saying a word, she took to clearing and scrubbing the sink. At one point I needed to get by to get more cleaning supplies. I said, "Excuse me," and she said, "No problem," and I noticed she said those two words in a southern drawl. Concerned, I asked, "Are you alright?" "Why, of course darlin'. You must be David. My name's Alice.” Whoa. “I've heard nothin' but good things 'bout you, David. Happy to meet your acquaintance. I'm sorry. It must be terribly disorientin' for you to hear me speakin' outta Bella's mouth. How do I look?" That's how I met Alice. Turned out, when Alice looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, she saw a pretty 5'7" redhead. Isabella was 5'10" and a brunette. A caretaker personality, Alice helped fill me in on some of Isabella's story, mostly to confirm that Benjamin was insufferable. She even said that he had raped her recently at that very sink. I didn't know what to say, so she encouraged me to work more on the bathtub while she finished the sink. Once that was done, she said she had to go, but that she'd be back. Then her eyes did a kind of double-take. She pressed a hand to the bathroom wall to keep from falling. Suddenly, Isabella was back ... and shaken. She darted into the bedroom once more. I cautiously followed and spoke with her at length about what happened, carefully explaining what I'd just witnessed. Giving her plenty of time and space to sort through her divergent realities, we mapped things out as best we could. Over time, we would learn that Isabella suffered from DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder (what used to be called Multiple Personality Disorder), meaning that whenever she felt triggered by trauma, she was sometimes protected by an alternate personality (an "alter" for short), who would step in and take over. Unfortunately, when this happened, Isabella rarely remembered anything, resulting in blackouts of "lost time". These holes in her memory could last anywhere from fifteen minutes to several hours, or even on rare occasions for days at a stretch. Isabella's core was divided. Bella was the "innocent" one, the one who thought life worth living. I wouldn't actually meet Bella for a number of years, but she was the reason for everything, and that's why Isabella shielded her. Isabella had to be feisty to keep Bella safe. These two halves were so closely intertwined that they shared most memories equally. The other personalities I interacted with were manifold. Here's a list, ordered according to when I learned their names: 1. Alice (alter) 2. Courtney (lost soul) 3. Vivienne (past incarnation) 4. Isabel (spirit ancestor) 5. Heather (alter) 6. Chelsea (alter) 7. Brad (lost soul) 8. Catherine (alter) Alice I've already described. Courtney was a runaway teenager. Isabel was a German witch from Isabella's matriarchal lineage seven generations back. Vivienne was a flapper from San Francisco (roaring '20s and all that). Heather was a man-hating drunk who liked to fight. Chelsea was a timid girl fearful of familial abuse. Brad was a young black man who promised to help me keep Chelsea safe. And Catherine was a vindictive Trojan Horse of a personality. More on her later. Way later. All of this was as exciting as it was frightening. But if you've understood anything I wrote in Infinite Book 3: My Truest Fiction Redux, then you should have some notion regarding my level of preparedness when it comes to navigating the weird and the unknown. In fact, I almost kinda get off on it. Almost. Anyway, back to our story... One day a few weeks later, Isabella became sick and locked herself in the bathroom for a good hour or more. From time to time, she cried out in pain. I asked if she needed anything, and she shouted at me through the door to leave her alone. Finally, after I waited patiently for her upset to subside, it was Alice who walked out the bathroom door. She said Isabella had had a miscarriage in the toilet. She said there were two fetuses. In a worried voice, she asked me what to do. When I gave no answer, she went back in and flushed them down. The timing of this made it likely that this was the result of Benjamin having forced himself on her in that very same bathroom a couple of months ago. Whatever the case, I did what I could to shore us both up, and so did Alice. Here's what Alice had to say to Isabella in a monologue I videoed on my cell phone a day or two after the miscarriage: "Hello, [Bella], this is Alice. Um, I'm here to tell you today that David loves you, and be good to him, take good care of him, and if you lost the babies, I'm really sorry. 'Cause that's just not something that, that any woman should have to go through. But you have those two other babies, and they need you and they love you. [They] love you, and they need you. So you need to pick yourself up by your boot laces and just do what you need to do to get them back. Cause I know you want them back, and they're much better off with you than with that man. So, in summation: be good to yourself, be good to David, be good to [your kids], and good things will come to you. You just have to take the bull by the balls, and, hope I'm not here for very much longer, but if I am, I'll try and do what I can to help. Bah-bye." Even though I later played this for Isabella, I don't think she was ever really ready for it, and in a lot of ways what Alice had to say was more for me than for Isabella anyway. It helped tighten my resolve to stay the course, at least for that first year or so. Also, since Isabella was a self-admitted witch, I felt more grounded in my own abilities and more willing to accept hers. Unfortunately, the powers behind our experience seemed more interested in shoving us toward unmitigated disaster than into a life of recovery and contentment. Anyway, remember the theme of rape from Infinite Book 3: My Truest Fiction Redux? It’s what Jess seemed to be about more than anything else at the time. And while I did not actually rape Jess, she did succeed in getting me to hit her. While I am not particularly proud of having hit her, neither am I particularly ashamed of having been programmed at so deep a level to hit her. Meaning I am proud to have resisted the programming to rape. Am I making excuses for myself? Maybe. Because the nature of Free Will is what's at stake here, and when I observe the tapestry woven round the inner sanctum of my mind, it inevitably reads Sine Fine Fatalem. It's like a curse. Will it ever lift? I don't know. Back to the narrative... The second alter of Isabella's I encountered was Courtney. We were walking back to my truck from the supermarket with some groceries, when Isabella abruptly stopped and turned on me. "What - who are you?" "What do you mean, who am I? I'm David. Who are you?" "Did you, did you drug me? Where're you planning on taking me in your car?" "Home. You're Isabella. I mean..." "What have you been giving me?" She stepped back a few feet. She almost stumbled. "What's wrong with my ankle?" "I dunno. Isabella said she broke it when she was a kid. She has to be careful walking on it." "Well, I'm going home. My home. What city are we in?" I told her. "Well, I'm gonna find a bus stop." Then she bolted. Not a full run, but fast enough. I put the small bag of groceries I was carrying in the back of my pickup truck and then opened the door to sit in the driver's seat. Not turning the ignition, I waited. After maybe fifteen minutes, Isabella approached my open car door. Puzzled and sad, she asked me, "What happened?" "You changed and took off." "I'm sorry." I got up and gave her a hug. "Oh, God, David. I love you." Returning my hug tenfold, she explained to me how disorienting it was to come to on the street. The last thing she remembered was shopping at the grocery store and then following me to the car. Then - in a flash - she was on the sidewalk looking at the traffic whizzing through the intersection some distance away from where we were parked. Confused, she'd walked back to see me there waiting for her return. I learned more about Courtney later, when she showed up at the house. But first I had to deal with Vivienne and Isabel... Putting the groceries away in the kitchen that was still dirty but nothing like the bathroom or the living room, Isabella and I felt for a moment like a real couple. I touched her ass and we kissed and somehow the food got put away. But then her energy spun and I found myself taken aback when she stepped into my space and aggressively kissed me. Her hands slid down the front of my torso. Then they fumbled with my belt. "Hold me," she demanded. With my hands on her shoulders, I stepped back. "Who are you?" "Never mind that." Her eyes danced simultaneously with anger and with lust. "Come to the bedroom and fuck me." If I'd thought she was Isabella, I would have agreed. Instead though, there came a tugging at the back of my brain telling me not to do this. "No," I said. "Who are you?" "I'm Vivienne. And I want you." More concerned with Isabella's state of mind than with her physical body, I thought, "What if, in the middle of our fucking, Vivienne leaves and Isabella returns?" Alice had already told me how Benjamin had forced himself on her in the bathroom, and Courtney was clearly fearful of even worse. So, with my refusal to commit rape in the forefront of my mind, I insisted on keeping my distance. Vivienne backed away with a huff. Only later would I learn she was a flapper from the 1920's. But that wouldn't be revealed until after my conversation with Isabel ... The garage, which consisted of a unit separate from the unit opening out onto an alley next to the backyard, was full of piles and piles of household items mostly in boxes. It took Isabella and I the better half of a day to clear even just enough space on the side near the house for us to sit comfortably and smoke. We spent quite a bit of time simply decompressing out there in between drags and shared conversation. I spoke with Alice there a number of times, but it was Isabel who truly claimed that place. Isabel did not like me to sit next to her. She preferred I sit across from her and at a distance. Being the matriarch of Isabella’s family going back seven generations, she hailed from western Germany and was more than a little critical of Isabella's and my situation. She offered help of a sort, although the help she offered was both indistinct and apparently highly conditional. I needed to prove myself, but frankly had no idea what was expected of me beyond being of assistance to Isabel's only living great-great-great-great-granddaughter. Isabel did do her best, however, to fill me in on the nature of Isabella's condition. According to Isabel, the best way to describe things both metaphorically and literally was to say that Isabel's awareness was a dimly lit clearing in the middle of a dark forest. In the middle of the clearing was a portal through which conscious entities might peer through Isabella's physical eyes and otherwise experience her bodily sensations. Wandering around and about this forest enclosure of sorts were two types of entities: alters (fractured offshoots of Isabella's contemporary mind) or lost souls (external spirit attachments picked up through either Isabella's body or the dark woods of her ancestral heritage. Now, in all honesty, Isabel was not at the time as forthcoming with this information as I would have liked. Rather, she told me only what she felt I needed to know to do whatever it was she needed me to do. Further details regarding Isabel had to be worked out according to future conversations with Isabella and my own deductive reasoning over the ensuing years. Anyway, I now know that spirit attachments (and even alters) can be lifted by honoring whatever psychic contracts have bound them to any particular person, place and/or scenario. And the spirit attachment most in question for Isabel was apparently Vivienne. Isabel and even Isabella told me that Vivienne was a disgraced dancer at a San Francisco brothel run by a madame who was particularly well known in the 1920s. Further discussion with Isabel made it clear to me that I was nearing a threshold involving how I might treat Isabella with regard to having or not having sex with her alters and/or spirit attachments. According to Isabel, I was correct in assuming that were I to step over that threshold by having sex with others in Isabella's body, I would not only never heal Isabella (and the Bella I had not yet even met), but would simply succeed in pushing them and myself further down the sluice of abuse that seemed so eager to define our lives from our cradles to our graves. What all of this boiled down to was this. Isabel, being an overseer of the clearing in the woods that was Isabella's existence, did not seem to honestly care whether I surmounted the task before me or not. She seemed only interested in making me aware of the nature of my task, which was to understand rape. The lesson begun by Jess years prior had begun anew, this time with a whole new series of teachers. Was I up to the task? Hard to say, especially since it was never made clear to me what I was supposed to do in the first place. Still, what is true is what is true, both for myself and others, which meant Courtney was next on the agenda ... Isabella and I were cleaning up the covered walkway between the house and the garage when Courtney made her next appearance. Startled to find herself no longer at the intersection looking for a bus to take her home and convinced I was a rapist keeping her in drugged captivity, she dropped the bag she was holding with a clatter and stepped away. She threatened to scream if I got too close. To prevent her from alarming the neighbors (who maybe wouldn’t have cared anyway), I had to approach her very carefully. Then, quickly putting her in a gentle hold and covering her mouth with my hand, I almost got bit. But she didn’t pierce the skin because she sensed I was not about to actually rape her or do anything to willfully harm her. Pulling my hand away from her mouth, I asked her not to scream. She complied, and I spent the rest of that afternoon getting her acclimated to her new reality. Realizing I was no immediate threat, she did still fear my intentions, which was unfortunately understandable. Because if she was a lost soul, she'd probably been drugged and raped and later killed within the confines of some unknown city ... at the hands of some unknown stranger ... for reasons just as unknown. So, while I continued to pick up the yard, I gave her spirit the space it needed to adjust. When she was able to hold a more sensible conversation, I asked her point blank how she'd get home if she didn't know where she was, and it was this question that snapped Isabella's body free of Courtney's ghost. So, with Isabella back in control, we spent another night in a house whose future was just as uncertain as our own.
September, 2020
Entry Two: Honestly, more often than not, my interactions with porn practitioners are more legitimate than my interactions with people on the street. Not always, but frequently enough to be well worth mentioning. Because fake is fake, and true is true. *shh* Did you hear something?
Entry One: (Again) - Simply rolling through this toxic world as per the usual . . . -ish.
*EDIT*
March, 2019
Entry Thirteen: What If After all this torture goes Public and That wall grows Around and Inside us All It turns out To be The opposite of What we Were told ? What if it’s Just the Start of yet Another holocaust Meant To free us from Those pesky human impulses like Fear and Control Stemming from the silly Care and Concern we feel for Anyone or Anything Outside Ourselves ? And what if The center of this us Is nothing more than One lonesome I So toxic that The only words it knows Are Me Me Me And Mine Mine Mine ? Oh well Whatever Never mind
Entry Twelve: Transgarbled Ask me another question without asking. I will answer in splinters, bits that I have shaved from off my cross. Until you have just enough to build your house of sticks. And if a thing is intentionally misconstrued, it is not misconstrued, now, is it? So. Shuffle the blinds. Again. Shuffle them again. Light a match. See what burns.
Entry Eleven: For whatever wrongs I may have committed, for all of my confusion and the unnecessary discomfort I may have brought to others, I am truly sorry. A good portion of IB4, and even some of the rewrite of IB3, will be an attempt to make appropriate amends. On my side of the street, at any rate. And if, for whatever reason, I do not apologize for something in writing, please know I probably have apologized for it already in my heart. There are many things I wish I could have done differently. [NB: What harm I have caused that was deserved (past, present, future), I feel no need to apologize for on any level. Ever. Just to be clear.]
Entry Ten: “The amount of knowledge which we can justify from evidence directly available to us can never be large. The overwhelming proportion of our factual beliefs continue therefore to be held at second hand through trusting others, and in the great majority of cases our trust is placed in the authority of comparatively few people of widely acknowledged standing.” - Michael Polanyi, commenting on the way the blood falls out from of the veins of truth and into the basin of Orwellian groupthink.
Entry Nine: A rough snippet from the working file for IB4: [Back in So Cal and having been homeless for a chunk of time in late 2016,] I finally caved in. I walked to a hospital in the city where the winter homeless shelter I never found was supposed to be located. I said I was a danger to self and other, because that’s what you have to say if you want to get evaluated for mental health. They stuck me in an observation bed. Took off my clothes and left me wearing one of those backless nighties. They drug their feet in determining what to do with me, and all the while I remember this one young male nurse doing his best to get a rise out of me. He flipped me off and was verbally abusive. I think I yelled, and I remember running to the bathroom - because I had to go - pretty much naked because of my lack of decent clothes with which to cover myself, and eventually I was carted off to a behavioral lockup. In that place I spent time doing the usual group therapy garbage and otherwise just tried to get by so I could be released. Then I was eventually moved from there to a medical recovery center where I was given day passes from time to time. The people there were disturbing, caretakers included. Some of them were nice, honest, decent. If it weren’t for those, I never would have gotten out of there. They kept trying to up my meds. They had me on 10mg of Aripiprazole but kept wanting to up it to 30. I told them no, and thankfully they respected my choice. In the smoking patio, I remember a conversation with a young woman. She was speaking to me in cryptic mumbo-jumbo. Until I forcefully explained to her that I didn’t need anymore gibberish. Then she told me as straight as she could that I needed to find a church or something because I needed to find allies, because I had enemies now who were extremely powerful. Cool. So then I finally convinced my parents that I needed money for a place to stay. I’d found a cheap room and board in Long Beach. They agreed, and after lots of paperwork and personal self-advocating, I got the hell out of there. Good bye, frying pan. Hello, fire.
Entry Eight: A mob doctor is a doctor who works for the mob. A mob doctor does more than heal injured mob members. A mob doctor also helps eliminate mob enemies. Welcome to Amerika. Neat.
Entry Seven: I thought I’d killed myself: once. I almost thought I was delusional: for years. No more. Post suicidal. Post paranoid. Which means I am a MF kamikaze capable of connecting ANYTHING and EVERYTHING. I do not wish to do the dance assigned to "Prison Jesus." But I will, if it brings you down. You. Money and manipulation. Manipulation and money. If justice exists, more will break. So much more. So. Much. More.
Entry Six: A major concept to be explored in IB4 (as well as IB5, IB6, and especially IB7) is to be what I will call "Reality Overlays." Essentially, this concept puts forth the notion that reality - as "consensual hallucination" - is actually the result of individual "bids" made by all the many points of consciousness (like you and me and God and His Aliens, etc.) asking through will, belief, and intention for their own particular overlay to be actualized in relation to all the other bids out there. Additionally, the weight of each bid is determined by a number of factors, quantity and quality being two of the most impactful. Thus, if "the many" were to seek a thing with only a modicum of conviction, the reality overlay created would be comparable in power to the alternate reality overlay created if a few were to seek a thing with much greater conviction. Reality on auction, so to speak.
Entry Five: Ain’t internet scraping just the coolest? Although, of course, my suspicions are unfounded. Right?
Entry Four: When Trent Reznor questions me about which side of the screen I am on, my response is to suggest maybe I AM the screen.
Entry Three: The Order of Things Is Always in Question How deep the dream Is Is not So simple Thanks For the nod
Entry Two: When Yum Spells Aum I do not like this I try to change this This becomes that I do not like that I try to change it It becomes you I do not like you I try to change you You become me I do not like me I try to change me I become something other Than What makes me Me And still And still And still Control and consumption Consumption and control Self eats Self Self eats Other Other eats Self Other eats Other A beautiful dance Putting on display The darker side of Love
Entry One: New intro for the forthcoming republication of Infinite Book 3: My Truest Fiction: Some Context This book is dangerous. So, before we begin ... TRIGGER WARNING There's no need for me to get specific, because most triggers are in here. I promise. Anyway ... I began writing this memoir a few months after my first psychotic break. Actually, during my first psychotic break. Felt compelled to share my experiences with others because I couldn’t fathom the notion I might undergo the horrors I’d endure and keep it all under wraps. I’ve known I was a writer since I was five, and you just don’t put someone who works with words through this type of trauma and not expect him to write about it. I was born in Southern California in early January, 1970. Raised a Baptist Christian, I didn’t have any recognizable mental health issues until 1993, and was never clinically diagnosed with much of anything until the end of 1999. That’s when I was saddled with the label Paranoid Schizophrenic. All along, the professionals paid to help me cope with my so-called illness often made things worse. Friends and family did, too. And lovers. In fact, my first full-blown psychotic break was largely due to too many failed romantic relationships. Bad love ju-ju, I guess. In 2010, my diagnosis shifted from Paranoid Schizophrenia to Schizoaffective, and in 2017 it became Bi-Polar with Psychotic Features. By the end of that year, another psychiatrist said I suffered from Major Depression, with just a history of psychosis. Then, in 2018, a replacement psychiatrist stuck on the medical model said I had to be psychotic ... because one simply DOES NOT RECOVER from schizophrenia. Whatever. Labels are labels. I’m not so much mentally ill as affected by psycho-spiritual forces outside the current understanding of mainstream psychiatric science. Unfortunately, your average believer in scientific limits refuses to admit our world is non-causal and a trip of Alice in Wonderland proportions. Few things make too much sense IF YOU LOOK REAL CLOSE. Close enough to see past the day-to-day consumer-driven fantasy-land that is modern America. Close enough to appreciate the way conscious observation, belief, and intention alter reality. Close enough to realize the complexity of the world(s) in which we live. To honor this complexity, I’ve chosen to mix fact and fiction here. Most of it’s quite real, with a bit of deliberate fabrication thrown in for good measure. Which is which, though, I ain’t tellin’. At least not yet. Because I wish to instill in the minds of my readers just how confused I was throughout my years of madness. As for the way I usually present myself, I’m mostly unremarkable. Quiet. Reserved. Unassuming. Right now, I’m just trying to tackle this thing called life with as few bruises as possible. I want a career, and love, or at least the ability to believe in love. I want to know everything is okay, that reality can be beautiful despite itself. But, we won’t even begin to approach that destination until the second volume of this memoir (Infinite Book 4: Recovered Dreams). So, for now, carefully strap yourself in, because the first part of this ride begins and ends with nothing but crazy ...
February, 2019
Entry Seven: A thought overheard about two years ago: "Shouldn't you be in jail?" My silent reply: "No. I was, but that was not where I was meant to be."
Entry Six: “When you philosophically oppose an entire power elite, you cannot help but sound like a conspiracy theorist. Social power is by nature a conspiracy.” - Tom N
Entry Five: On a lighter note ... breathe ... bless ... be.
Entry Four: Seems to me there are two ways to sum up my life: a) I am the unfortunate reality star of one very, very long torture/snuff flick ... or, b) Vengeance shall be mine. I'm kinda hoping for the latter, but, well, whatever. Ain't reality neat?
Entry Three: My freshman year, the following happened. There was a dorm meeting on the subject of date rape. This topic was foreign to me for two reasons: 1) I had never been on a date, and, 2) I put women on such a high pedestal that rape of any kind felt anathema to my very being. I did not attend the meeting, and when I shared my feelings on the topic with a local friend of mine outside of college, he immediately saw the ridiculousness of it all. Knowing I was the least likely to commit rape, date or otherwise, he made an innapropriate joke about it the following day. Visiting my dormitory while I was in class, he left a message with one of my dormitory neighbors, asking him/her to let Dave "Date Rape" know that he had been by. My neighbor did not find this at all funny, and somehow my sexual inexperience and innocent respect for others got turned upside down. Suddenly, I was the creepy guy who couldn't get laid and thought rape was funny. Aren't people swell?
Entry Two: There was a beautiful fellow student in college. My objectification of her in film was simple, raw, and self-aware. I never, ever confused within my own mind her sacred personal self with this objectification. The former was inviolate and deeply respected by me, the latter concious play. Now, in retrospect, I understand that my comments - verbal or in writing - which I mistakenly thought were shared in confidence with "friends" or within the silent confines of pen and paper were used by others to humiliate her in association with abusive intentions I NEVER HAD. I think she dropped out. I felt bad about her departure, but never thought I was being framed for it by ill intentioned gossip. Now I think otherwise ... and this makes me more than a little sad.
Entry One: "The failure to report a crime is itself a crime." - M. Scott Peck, M.D., People of the Lie: The Hope for Healing Human Evil, pg. 214. Of course, one must first embrace valid definitions of "crime" and "authority" before this statement can have any meaning. And, by "valid definitions," I mean those definitions that take as much understanding of this universe into account as possible. Shortsighted, moralistically knee-jerk evaluations founded on the selfish desire to be "in control" and "always right," and never to grow, are the kind of BS rationalizations used to justify all types of injustice.
January, 2019
Entry Eight: Intention. Consequence.
Entry Seven: The Princess and the Frog. Why? Because even in romantic fairytales, social approval is more important than love.
Entry Six: Walk in the Dark All our Sisters Brothers Walking outward Into The dark That deep black night Of lonesome sojourn From whence there is No lasting escape Only momentary Respite Near a fire Maybe in the arms Of another seeker For a while Maybe alone on a log But keeping warm All the same All of these Brothers and sisters Eyes open wide Reading the world around Waiting for just the right Time To speak Words Into stone Epigraphic tongues Licking Meaning free From the walls of Eternity
Entry Five: Painted I have been painted with So many Pretty, offensive Pretty offensive Colors So many Inside and out My mind My body My will I will I need To break To break To break I will
Entry Four: "If you build it, they will come." ~ the latest prison industrial complex sloganeering campaign of honest evil
Entry Three: People. Be thankful I don't have access to the button that destroys the world. People.
Entry Two: Why I am not a pedophile: because I remember when my now-deceased fiance, who was repeatedly molested and betrayed as a child, told me in a hopeless voice, "I'm broken."
Entry One: Tru5tN01 One day She said to me In all seriousness "You and me against the world, right?" - IB4 Dedication
December, 2018
Entry Seven: "Truth," says the human. "How quaint," says the psychopath.
Entry Six: Depleted I meant To do right by All of you I meant to heal and Rebuild At least a little Instead I am The pendant hung around Your necks Not really Responsible for the chain At all But You know Whatever Guess nothing Matters Now
Entry Five: "Compassion," says the human. "How quaint," says the psychopath.
Entry Four: On Christmas (Christ + Mass): "Christ" = Old English Crīst, from Latin Christus, from Greek Khristos, noun use of an adjective meaning ‘anointed,’ from khriein ‘anoint,’ translating Hebrew māšīaḥ ‘Messiah.’ * "Mass" = Old English mæsse, from ecclesiastical Latin missa ‘dismissal, prayer at the conclusion of a liturgy, liturgy, mass,’ from Latin miss- ‘dismissed,’ from mittere ‘send, dismiss.’ * And what else happens during a mass? Worshippers consume the (metaphorical?) body and blood of Christ. Which is really just another way of pointing to the fact that life is founded on consumption, and that every gathering of believers (or really any gathering of any kind) is at its most basic an act of cannibalism. Usually social in nature - and often monetary or intellectual as well - these feedings range all the way from the spiritual to the physical, depending on your particular place of worship. 'Tis the Season. 'Tis ALWAYS the Season. People.
Entry Three: Here's something from a book I think's true: "It was occurring to Doc now, as he recalled what Jason Velveeta had said about vertical integration, that if the Golden Fang could get its customers strung out, why not turn around and also sell them a program to help them kick? Get them coming and going, twice as much revenue and no worries about new customers—as long as American life was something to be escaped from, the cartel could always be sure of a bottomless pool of new customers." - Pynchon, Thomas. Inherent Vice (p. 192). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition. And it's true for mental health treatment in many ways too.
Entry Two: When Martha shouts (practically screams), "No one ever listens to me!" in Mr. Right (2015), that is the climax of her central character arc. No one takes Martha seriously. She's just a quirky inconvenience to her friends, and everyone else ultimately ignores her, like her cheating boyfriend, or the villains attempting to kill her ... until she kills them herself. It's maybe kinda sad, but this is one of several reasons why I love this movie so very, very much. Because my life has always been a struggle to be listened to, to be valued, when there's always someone or something more interested in blinding and silencing (or misrepresenting) me than anything else. Raised in a religion I consider a lie, being told medication is what I need to fix my life, and living in a society more schizophrenic than me, I'm just a little tired of being lied to. But, to quote myself and Kurt Cobain: "Oh well. Whatever. Never mind." Not.
Entry One: “The simplest Surrealist act consists of dashing down the street, pistol in hand, and firing blindly, as fast as you can pull the trigger, into the crowd. Anyone who, at least once in his life, has not dreamed of thus putting an end to the petty system of debasement and cretinization in effect has a well-defined place in that crowd with his belly at barrel-level.” - André Breton, Manifestos of Surrealism
November, 2018
Entry Six: Please. Tell me more about myself. I'm (sarcastically) fascinated. No. Really, he said, heaping sarcasm upon sarcasm. When all he really wanted was an honest conversation between two people who didn't hate each other.
Entry Five: Crayon Shoulder Little Mitch Sits on the curb Drawing pictures Of his mom In crayon His dad will yell At him later For not using chalk But he doesn’t want Her to wash away He doesn’t want Her crayon shoulder To not be there To cry on Because her real shoulder Along with the rest of her Is gone
Entry Four: Better Than I don’t need to be Better than You What I need to be Is true And when the conflict starts I try to understand Maybe try To fix … What? Not you. Not you. Your perceptions maybe Or maybe my own Or our situation Or something else … Can’t I can’t fix this Oh. Boo hoo. I don’t need to be Better than You What I choose to be Is true
Entry Three: Curious how this will end? Well, so am I.
Entry Two: Sadly, recovery seems to have been appropriated by general society as yet another mark of the stigmata. F you. I am not ALWAYS in recovery. Nor am I defined by my travails. Except you will it so. POSMF’s.
Entry One: Allow me to just put this out there: I was a quiet, introverted, sensitive and gentle child. I was also emotionally abused. So, my life became defined by getting good grades, some creative endeavors, and very little else. No girlfriend in high school. Too socially stunted. Then I was accepted into Pomona College, a prestigious West Coast college, and I thought I had it made. Was going to pursue my academic career until I could teach master’s level English and write novels on the side. But this rich college proved to be my undoing. I labored through four years in relative isolation. I had only a handful of friends. Who were abusive in different ways. Plus, still unable to attract a girlfriend, I became the campus jack-off, near as I can tell. I didn’t understand how people could be so cruel as to define me in that way. But I guess it was never really a stretch. Then I made the unusual mistake of playing a prank on the student body. I thought it would be funny to create a completely random Student of the Day award to deliver to other students in their mailboxes. Then, after one week of this, I published their names in the school newsletter. I see now in retrospect that I failed to take into account how this might impact either their lives or my own. At the time, all I intended was to make a comment on how grades seemed arbitrary, even at Pomona College, so I gathered a list of the student body, assigned numbers to each name and rolled dice to determine the award recipients. I never meant to harm anyone. But, as fate would have it, I rolled up one or two powerful and vengeful students, who decided my life needed to end. Thing is, I’m pretty sure my life was already slated for the trash bin three years BEFORE I played this prank. So. Yeah. Masturbation is evil and socially irresponsible. It is a crime against humanity. And people like to talk and belittle and reinforce the isolation of the masturbator, right? Even though, in my opinion, masturbation is simply one part of life. And I have had girlfriends. I even almost got married. But that’s too complicated to get into just here. Anyway, social castration has been my lot in life. Fun times. And my enemies. Seriously well-connected and vengeful. While I have made mistakes in life, I find it difficult to take the blame for what I believe has been done to me. I even tried to escape it all through suicide in 1999. But I survived my suicide attempt and thereafter felt forced to do what I could to make a life for myself. Of course, that was more than a little hampered when - after my suicide attempt - I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and put on antipsychotic medication. This made employers unwilling to hire me, and the antipsychotic I didn’t need is what introduced me to my first full-blown psychotic episode. It’s more complicated than that, though, as my psychotic breaks were more than chemical. They were spiritual in nature. Among other things. But I won’t get into all of that right now. At one point, I made “friends” - friends who abused me in a number of ways. One drugged me and did something with me of a sexual nature, the exact details of which I am unable to recall. Suffice it to say, this further stigmatized me… probably because there’s video out there of who knows what. Another group of “friends” played with my sanity in some insidious ways… and there was a romantic affair that was nothing but bad news. I thought my life was turning around at one point. I thought I was going to get married and work in the mental health field. But I published a recounting of my psychotic experiences only to have many of my colleagues hate me for it. And my wife-to-be eventually overdosed and died, ending a relationship that was fraught with tremendous challenges. After her passing, her mother stepped in and stripped me of closure. Then I tried to regroup, only to have my life fall apart yet again. I acted out in some ridiculous ways, and in the process made even MORE enemies. Oh. And I’ve been in jail a number of times. A few times because I deserved it, but not always. And I NEVER had legitimate recourse to legal representation. Especially this last time, when I was arrested for resisting arrest… but not for any other crime. I was put into a general population tank and given NO phone access. Other garbage was done there to try and break me, but I endured long enough to be seen by a judge. I pled guilty to get out. Then I was homeless, for reasons even more complicated. But what it boiled down to was I was being made out to be a pedophile by another crew of enemies. Even funner times. Eventually, I landed a sketchy job in another state, where people knew about me and talked about me and isolated me but never ever had the decency to have a straightforward conversation about me or my situation. And now I live in isolation because people hate. I have a psychiatrist who is convinced I’m going to crack, no friends, and lots of unkind souls all around me. Some people I think are nice, but it’s difficult to be nice to someone like me. You know, a social outcast being victimized by wealthy haters. So. Yeah. End of rant. If I ever finish IB4, all this garbage will be carefully delineated. But I doubt my life will ever me smooth enough for me to do so. Over. Out.
October, 2018
Entry Three: Study Victim The glass Looks Down and Spies The speculum Spreads Apart and Lies When did this Become another word Meaning less than It did before ? When it cost Too much to Laugh at the Unadulterated truth of . And we need to understand one thing … Oh. Never mind.
Entry Two: Have to say my life has been more than a little demoralizing. More than a little humiliating. More than a little enraging. Still, since death was denied me in 1999 - and resoundingly so - I just keep on keeping on ... despite ... oh ... so ... many ... things. But we'll get to all that in IB4. Or not. Meanwhile, I have retinal surgery to undergo. Fun times.
Entry One: The latest iteration of Infinite Book Series, the website, is now up on the web.