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The Brain Of My Existence
Updated: 2/3/20.

The first thing I did when I got to Monterey, was pawn a ring that was recently handed down to me. A crude chunk of gold that was flattened and looked like a cigar band. It had a triangular indentation which seemed impossible that you could only see when the light hit it perfectly. If anything was mind control, it was selling that ring for a pack of cigarettes, and I wonder.

I’ll tell you a short story, then the long one. Hopefully someone who knows more than I do can figure it out. It’s something like the SSS, or they’re using that as a scapegoat. Rich elitists who control society with money and manipulation. They use gang stalking and slander to isolate you. They frame you, fill your mind with psychobabble, and coordinate stalking with Hollywood stunt doubles in an attempt to make you believe in a conspiracy of shapeshifting aliens. Or they are. It sounds crazy and it’s supposed to. There’s no evidence, and manipulation is like a game to them. They could even use pharmaceutical drugs to give you anxiety or cause situations to seem supernatural, and certainly pull the strings of government agencies. They seem to control the internet and nationwide surveillance.

A motive could be this artwork, heartofeternal.org and talking about money being artificial energy that creates problems being absolute power, perversions of reality being akin to insanity. I feel like I’m being character assassinated ever since I lived with a lady named Mariel in Grass Valley with so many black cats. People seem to know me, but pretend they don’t. they even communicate by hinting indirectly, to be confusing or inspire paranoia. They purposefully make it impossible to trust people or have relationships. You don’t know what they intend, and it’s either one of them or you’re getting someone else involved. This is just like murder.

I felt set up by a relationship during this. They even had painted the walls with glow in the dark childlike drawings, creepy in retrospect. Everything changed then. People I would connect with naturally would treat me like shit shortly after for no apparent reason, as if they were told something but wouldn’t talk about it. Traveling 3 states now, too many things are adding up. What they’re doing is using the threat of conspiracy to destroy your personality, and the effect of slander to completely assassinate you in the minds of others. They pull strings if you try to work, bombard you with knowing people, and waste your life without touching you. They use manipulation like a weapon and pull the trigger like a kid with a gun. It’s literally insane, and so is that shitty evolution, dominating humanity.

It needs to be addressed that people are doing this and getting away with it, and with the abuse of government. This shadow realm of money as absolute power is greed out of balance with a freedom to progress. We could probably learn something about nature from an audio technician. No good deed goes unpunished, someone even said, and what a lot of bullshit.



The long story

Mariel had me do something in her attic before I moved out, cleaning up a collection of rocks used to make jewelry. I felt possessed like a carnivore and pocketed some. I’m looking back on that and wondering what really happened, it standing out even today as something bizarre.

After Grass Valley I went to Boulder Colorado and met a girl, Sarah, who was aggressive and pretty great. I was 23 and she was 18. We connected well, but later she told me she was 17, then 16, so we broke up because it started to feel off, and I felt like a jerk. I worked at the Hotel Boulderado and was learning guitar. My supervisor seemed like he didn’t want me to be part of his social scene. $50 went missing from the register and they fired me with some kind of made up excuse.

Katie, a friend there, started smashing dishes in the sink, saying “What do you do?! What do you do when…?” And she explained to herself in front of me that my best guy friend was dating her friend, who had genital warts and wasn’t telling him. I went to Andrea because I knew her too, and asked her to tell him. She was furious, so I told my friend, Ryan Ramirez, a very young kid, alcoholic after losing his father. The next day there was a wooden treasure box outside my front door. It was empty, but after opening it I was attacked by a crawly around feeling, like nettle. Things felt weird and I left, going back to the ocean and Santa Cruz. I had a sense of being watched and followed which I think has never gone away.

Mount Madonna is a yoga community in the woods above Watsonville. I resonated a lot with the mix of free time and work. I also met a girl there who told me she had been terrorized by 4th dimensional people. She was aggressive and tried having sex. I felt hustled, didn’t respond well, and nothing actually happened. But the next day we couldn’t talk about it and drifted apart. After that it seemed like a rumor started, and something permeated the rest of my experience there, like prejudice.

Later on, I connected with another girl (I had friends too). We hung out a little and then decided to trade a massage in bed. Once I began though, something really weird possessed me to moan and shutter. It made the whole thing weird and she left. My last day there an old lady told me that strange things had been happening ever since I showed up, angry about it, but then she wouldn’t explain.

In Santa Cruz I kept programming my website and received a picture from two hackers depicting a young couple with dark hair in leather jackets who had edited their eyes completely red. A caption said, “Thanks for the help, kid.” I also knew some guys who I actually had met in Boulder, and a fiery red head exclaimed she wanted to have sex with Jesus, then entered and began only paying attention to me.

I wrote something called Cradle Guard and it felt like a big deal, but just a feeling, and a drive by photo, muscular trucks and being followed. I left back to Grass Valley trying to get away from a feeling of hostility. Though I didn’t know my mom very well. She pretended life was okay but then isolated herself and seemed to worry a lot.

She was with a guy right then who wanted the American dream, or an unrealistic sense of desire. He pretended to be nice, told me to find work and I did, and then blew up about not having money before I even had a paycheck. He cornered me in the bathroom and started yelling about something trivial, then lied to a court that I punched him in the face and got a restraining order just to bypass 30 days’ notice. A cop told me to get my shoes on and leave my stuff there. It was literally unreasonable.

Living in my car and working at a hotel, I was invited to trim pot for some people who I didn’t know, and they kept telling each other over and over, as if hinting to me, “Start a union and we’ll have to bury you.” They made a joke too, about forgetting the duct tape and condoms.

After a beer and a shot of something called a “beautiful” from a friend who was a bartender, pretty late one night I drove. On a curvy road with nobody around something suddenly yanked the wheel back and forth until I hit the guard rail, like my car was being remote controlled. Literally 10 seconds later a cop drives by for a DUI. To be fair I had been drinking a lot, that passive aggressive escapism.

Later someone shouts at me from a car, “Hope you like walking!” Another person shouts, “Nigger.” I also met a guy with a chill dog, John, who threw his shirt off at home and told me he also lived in San Luis Obispo. People I met hinted about being in the CIA, and someone who befriended my mom told me a joke about a talking dog who had wild adventures, while his owner, laughing, says he’s a liar.

At a coffee shop I hung out with a laptop. A married couple was talking about powers like shapeshifting. Something was kind of important about them. It also seemed like they were talking about me. Then they stood up, came right to me and said something I forget. I wrote my website on a piece of paper for them and they took it happily, saying something as if expecting me to do that.

I had been watching TV and it started to seem weird. This old fashion, short commercial about nothing showed a man in court saying something was not right, followed then by him on the Whitehouse lawn sitting with an older man while hot girls were giggling in the bushes. The commercial ended with a jingle, “That’s the message for today!” Another commercial about nothing had a bunch of Muppets saying a room on the spaceship was ready, complete with 2 hookers. These didn’t seem normal.

Another friend from work had an Animal Sanctuary and I lived there long enough to satisfy community service. They took in abused or abandoned animals, and had a bit of everything, including giant wild boar the size of cows with multiple tusks. Monty was dark, brooding and really cool. He talked a bit about aliens, and suggested I read David Icke. Near the end I dug a grave for one of his pigs, kind of haunting to think about now.

After that I lived above a bar in Nevada City called the Crazy Horse. Downstairs the gatherings began to mock me, saying they owned everything on the west coast, sort of bombarding me with a hostile feeling that I was doomed. I had my first telepathic experience. Someone said, “He can hear me!” Then an angry male voice started yelling in the background. Things seemed crazy. The owner was a lady named Diana. I also saw an article about Princess Diana dying in a car crash on August 31, my birthday. I was sort of chased out by these indescribable feelings.

I spent a few days with family in Reno who gave me that ring, and then a week or two with a family friend who lived in the middle of nowhere, and I had nothing to do but drink tequila and wait, feeling deceived and toyed with. Then I left for a shelter in Sebastopol and was gang stalked down the coast being homeless, pretty much the life I’ve been accustomed to.

I told this to someone who called it gang stalking. An organization of people let you know they’re following you and basically let that drive you crazy. It destroys your life, not being able to trust anything or even tell anyone. You either sound crazy or they mess with you, and it worked because I wasn’t doing anything, homeless and terrorized by a powerful gang of ordinary looking people who seemed to infiltrate all the facilities of society. Without love it’s not art, seeking an empirical factor is religious.

They put something in my coffee, I just caught a glimpse. A sip tasted weird, like drinking Nano-bots. I began getting bad cigarettes and I thought those people could be trying to help. I tried giving away a pack that was like smoking foam. From the distance I saw them make faces at each other after trying to smoke one. Wasn’t just me. I was in Monterey at this point and stayed there for a while. I thought I heard someone say brush your teeth once or twice, telepathically. People talking about UFO technology seemed directed at me. An older homeless man I knew, with a bushy white beard and hair, showed me a comic he thought was hilarious. It was a single panel, showing a guy named Jeremy dangling from a rope above some kind of pit full of alligators. Kind of like people who derive pleasure from hurting others.

Bicycling down the coast I got to San Luis Obispo. There, I met a short hippy named Caitlin, who previously dated and traveled with Owen, a big guy who looked like Ron Perlman. She joked about “no texting” kind of randomly, and it reminded me of a newspaper article about not sending text messages at a gathering with Obama. Caitlin led me to a friend of hers with a room for $150, Jon, who threw his shirt off at home. He even looked like the other guy sort of.

Her and I kissed, and eventually touched, but even though she had a bunch of tattoos, she didn’t have pubic hair, or stubble, wtf. It was instantly weird and we stopped. She and Owen had had sex she had told me. We sort of stopped hanging out after that.

Around this time, I met Matt, and began stealing food from grocery stores. Fearing to get a job and feeling it was resourceful, together with Matt that escalated into camping equipment. I felt like maybe the government was training me, or putting me through some kind of character development. Jon had said “good enough for government work” jokingly, once or twice.

I don’t know what else to say about Matt. It was just weird. He talked me into getting on SSI, which I did. I thought it was a government paycheck if that was the case. It seemed kind of fair since I wasn’t able to have a normal life. Matt was frustrated I think living on the street. He got really offended that I didn’t want to drink out of his cup when he had cold sores, said I was narcissistic, and we drifted apart.

At a college campus, I found that the open windows of faculty offices were easy to slip through and with a bootable thumb drive would use their computers at night. I didn’t feel that great about it, just a sensation of being cast out. A kind of urban survival, the desperate attempt for privacy, hiding from the government or whoever wasn’t leaving me alone. I played Dark Orbit a lot.



Chapter 2, why not.

I left for Santa Barbara and worked there for a bit, but weirdness made it impossible to connect with the friends I was making. I came back to SLO and lived with Jon again, this time for a long time, and pretty much had nothing to do but watch movies and masturbate. Good times, except not.

Porn is getting younger. Now and then a girl just looks like a kid. I also started watching weird anime, trying I suppose to replace the lack of a physical relationship with something psychological. It had been over 10 years since I was actually with someone. Looking back maybe this was the whole point of isolating me. Every time I felt like I met a normal person here I’d never see them again. Email messages strangely not responded to; obviously strange after mutual interest and great conversations.

For example, a woman that I met online, an artist, heard the music I have and wanted to use some of it in her work. She was on the East Coast so it was by email. We had a nice conversation here and there. I told her I would love it, but every now and then she would ask again, as if every letter wasn't received. Her poetry was good and she seemed sound minded, not senile.

A couple times I tried to work on my website. I had asked Jon, Owen, and Matt about it, worried that it was the reason my life was destroyed. But everyone had the same answer, “Why would anyone care?” Even, “Has a federal agent actually asked you to stop doing what you’re doing?” Owen told a story once about keeping circus animals happy by treating them well. He talked about working on his puppet habitat also, although he meant a shed that he kept actual puppets in. He was cool though, despite how it sounds. He gave me a guitar once.

Then came a chemical bomb in my room, and something chased me all over town the same night. The whole city seemed to be in a weird state that was directed toward me. A few times then I’d wake up after sleeping outside with a strange taste in my mouth. I had a feeling like metal was in my brain and I couldn’t think well. Actually, the Mountain Valley water I was buying in bulk at Jon’s had a bizarre taste floating around a few times, like sesame oil but chemical.

When I jumped on a train for Santa Barbara, I felt for the first time like I had actually escaped some kind of presence, but it started again the second I got there. I bought another ticket to try something else, and the second ride was amazing, heading for Sacramento.

The train reeked of offensive orange smell, but nobody was saying anything about it. It was so weird I didn’t even think to ask anyone. I kept moving cars, trying to find one that didn’t smell as bad, and found myself being followed around. There were also these Amish nurses playing with syringes. They came and sat behind me, so I got up and sat somewhere else. They moved around as much as I did. The train was crawling at a snail’s pace, waiting for another train to pass. People kept going into the bathroom to throw up. We passed back through SLO and I got off. It was too much.

I went home. Jon said he didn’t even know I had left, but when I started to explain what had happened he cut me off, “It was like a dream, wasn’t it?” I’m getting so used to things being weird, I don’t even care anymore. Later I passed a couple of people in town and they had that orange smell, funny. A black helicopter had been floating around too. Then while walking home alone an army helicopter dove toward me at an angle, maybe 50 feet away as though wanting to spook me. Then later, just outside my house, a gigantic, muscular bomber plane circled and dove overhead three times. The person I was with didn’t even look up and wouldn’t stop talking to me even though the plane was bizarrely close. My cat jumped on the roof and started meowing at it. I always ended up with a black cat.

Thinking the public eye was better I moved out, got off SSI and looked for work. Applying at places, even after hearing, “Oh, we’re always hiring!” I wasn’t getting a job, until Sea Venture, a place near the beach took me in. After an interview with the GM, he shook hands with a very large man who then looked at me with an unnatural, evil grin, like the Grinch. He somehow reminded me of Grass Valley, and of Mr. Holbrooke actually, a guy with the same name as the hotel I worked for there, though allegedly unoffiliated and a card holding member of the KKK. He was the father of the girlfriend of my bartender friend.

At Sea Venture, a coworker made a comment about not getting mugged with all that money on me, but how did they know I carried it then? This is what I’d been putting up with for years. After my first day, I was sitting at a bus stop and a guy I’d never seen before says to me, “So, how was work?”, and just walked off without even wanting for a response.

A girl started working there, Angela, and we liked each other. She was dating a cop before me, which seems weird now. We started dating and eventually lived together. She got angry and claimed I was flirting with our boss. It was absurd though. It became a reoccurring thing for her to bring up. She even kicked me, screamed directly in my ear, spit and attacked me. She would become Cruella De Vil. She would completely ignore anything rational, only repeating herself without even acknowledging feedback, like the whole point was to be infuriating.

Nothing was totally believable. I decided she was trying to toughen me or something. I’m not really sure what to think anymore. We reserved a room at work one time, I’ll mention again later, and there, excitedly she told her sister that she just gave a blow job to a guy named Six in the parking garage. Even her sister looked over at me, like, why did you just say that in front of him? I met Six eventually and he reminded me of Stephon, a guy dating Katie back in Boulder. I saw Katie, actually, in Santa Cruz.

Another coworker said, “Good enough for government work” kind of randomly. It seemed like everyone there was messing with me. I got called Jesus behind my back again, and Tinkerbell I think. I think it was slanderous, wanting me to head trip. Someone was also a big Trump supported and wanted me to make them a Trump T-shirt that would say, “Who’s your daddy?”

Angela smashed my computer one day. Just picked it up and smashed it. I was working on a game. I said I wouldn’t write about her, but I’m not sure why. I might have let her read what of this I had written at that point, I don’t remember. I feel like any trust she violated. I also had a chance to paint on a canvas, Mutasm, and had it professionally scanned sometime around here.

One night I had a bottle of sake with Angela and she began yelling about something so I just left. I sat out in my car for a while to escape. She would come yell to get me back inside when I did this before, but not this time. I wanted more sake after a bit so I drove and somehow went straight to a weird spot the cops would hang out by a Starbucks in the opposite direction. I came to my senses with a cop jumping in front of my car and yelling for me to stop. I never had anything like that happen to me from drinking. I wasn’t even drunk, and passed the field test totally sober. Breath got me another DUI.

Right before I was fired I took a few days off to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers in San Diego. Found a ride with a guy delivering probiotic yogurt and had fun. During the show I tried to get close, and so did 2 young girls, and I kind of felt followed through a large portion of the crowd. They stopped progressing through it when I did. They were friends but for some reason came and stood on either side of me. I had a really weird feeling that they were guards for some reason, having taken the trip suddenly, and we kind of danced. One of them seemed mad at the other, the dancing maybe. I mentioned they should stand together and that settled it. They were young though, kind of weird.

Angela and I talked once about kids, and then a young boy started hanging around and talking to us both while working at Sea Venture. He wanted to hang out and we thought it would be cool to play pool down the street. Angela bailed though, so it was just me and the kid. After that a coworker said it made them uncomfortable, and then shortly after I was fired. I’m not really sure what happened but everything seemed unnatural. Angela would get mad at work, around guests even. HR said I was sending harassing text messages to my boss, and it’s possible that Angela had done that with my phone.

Some people she knew dealt with marijuana. I didn’t get involved but we stayed together. It seemed to be understandable, but I caught her talking shit about me more than a few times. It was impossible for me to interpret a feeling that she didn’t like me, complicated by the whole government thing. She would get me to do things and then extrapolate an argument, like not sticking to a plan even though we didn’t have one. I felt like there was some kind of point to it. Part of her seemed kind of alone.

That’s three or four girlfriends in a row that made me feel like I was being set up. Caitlin had even painted creepy glow in the dark drawings on the walls of the room I had lived in at Jon’s because she had lived in it before me. Now that I think about it, even Sarah had a Hawaiian friend who was dating a guy in his 30’s. I’m being treated like a criminal now, continue to be gang stalked, and nobody is honest or telling me why.

Angela and I stayed together despite her being angry about something I didn’t understand. I felt like she worked for the government, and thought maybe they were trying to fix what they did to my life in a weird way, or escape from something omnipresent. A few things made me think she was actually a hooker, including some hints. She’s often amazing, and a force of nature.

We moved in with some of her family, but she would make a spectacle out of getting mad and throwing me out on the street. Then would call me 30 seconds later demanding I’d come back. She would manipulate text messages too by deleting them strategically, and then showing it as evidence, making her ex-boyfriend look really bad, but you could tell. I don’t really know. Someone passing in town called me a stalker and I have no idea why.

One time we went out, and some of her friends kept saying to another guy named Jeremy that they would pimp him. I had a weird experience too feeling altitude-like pressure change even though we were sitting around at home. In Big Sur someone mentioned babysitting. Now that trip was a weird.

Angela wanted to drive to Arizona, but in the midst of bad communication it didn’t feel right. She went to stay with friends in another city and invited me to join her. She had sores on her belly that looked like heroin injections, and I started to worry she was being used like some kind of bait, considering there seemed to be a lot of investment. It seemed like a great set up if I followed her to another city, with a restraining order I didn’t know about. It would be easy to explain murder with home invasion.

I wanted to see if she was okay and it felt weird, like something had happened. Someone there with tight skin and hard muscles seemed like a stone-cold killer, too. I left pretty quickly. She could have been rescuing me, or luring me to be tortured to death, I had no way to know. She tempted my curiosity in ways that felt premeditated, always keeping me in a state of wondering when I’d finally be given the clue that would cause everything to finally make sense.



Chapter 3, ugh.

There was another girl, Deirdre, who lived a few houses down from Jon when I was there, then it turned out she was also working at Sea Venture, except that she was on medical leave the entire time I was there. One time at Angela’s sister’s house, Deirdre came by with Six, but Angela didn’t want me to meet them. I feel like they’ve been in my life for a really long time now, and I don’t even know them.

In Vallejo I talked Angela into driving back to Santa Cruz with a plan figure stuff out. On the way I discovered her sister whispering on my phone. Somehow it had turned on. She was talking to someone in the background and I turned it off and left it there. In Santa Cruz, maybe both of us felt attacked with intense anxiety that broke us apart and sent her dashing back, abandoning me.

She came to visit once, furious about a fate worse than cancer, spent time with me but wouldn’t talk about anything and then left again. I’m still wondering if both of us were set up. Another coworker had taken a video clip of me and Angela in front of a backdrop, asked to do a weird wave, like we were puppets. That weird handshake at hiring me, too.

I tried taking a bus to go back to Monterey, but for some reason in Watsonville I started walking around. There was a Mariachi band playing in a park for some kind of festival, so I sat by a tree and found the music to be awesome. Then I was attacked by hostile feelings and tough looking men giving me angry looks. I started to leave quickly and felt a bizarre sensation all over my body and legs like someone was injecting me with needles even though I was moving. I hurried to the bus stop and waited feeling really weird. A guy was shouting in the distance. Another guy came near me, glaring and started kickboxing a light post. He got on the bus with me and made it feel hostile the whole way back to Santa Cruz. Whatever happened to Monterey?

Well, I had developed a butt rash, hooray. This didn’t go away and got worse over the years. Some doctors gave me stuff that just aggravated it. Eventually it transformed and my skin started shedding like confetti, but simultaneously along with the back of my head, in a large, oval area where the spine intersects. Only one doctor seemed to care in the beginning and had ordered an MRI for me, but 3 times they refused it.

The doctors in SLO seemed kind of weird, looking at my butt, wanting to take a picture because it looked so bad, yet did nothing for it. They made me drink something once, that tasted like liquid plumber, but the nurse suddenly looked horrified after I drank the whole thing, like a joke that went too far. I tried going to an emergency room in Santa Maria, but had to wait an hour while they sent a doctor from SLO who poked his finger in me. I don’t know. It’s been weird.

In Santa Cruz I’m trying to find work, but after a great conversation with a manager and, “Show up tomorrow and we’ll start training.” I show up to find I need to be interviewed by the guy’s assistant, who the guy was very docile to. From the young kid I get, “We’ll let you know.”

Now people keep “looking me up” with some kind of phone app and then treating me like shit it seems. Somehow things are working out in strange ways to keep me depleted of money, and it’s impossible to have relationships when you could be getting someone else involved. I think that trying to make a software startup is going to be impossible. The black helicopter was back too, and it circled around a large tree I was sitting by alone, as if happy to see me. I feel like it’s one of those things they do just for the sake of you appearing to be paranoid or unstable. Shapeshifting aliens, government conspiracy, or all three, whatever makes you sound crazy, toyed with like a mouse by a cat, just waiting.

Angela made a joke once about having look-alikes because she was blonde. Sometimes she looked exactly like my mom in the creepiest way, and sometimes, not at all. I think that she had plastic surgery because her nostrils looked pinched, and disguised it with makeup to impress me as it wore off, or something like shapeshifting. She said once that someone had asked her if she wanted to be an assassin, but that they never said anything else.

Previously I had gotten involved online with Occupy, and made a website trying to expose some of the espionage. Maybe part of it was pushing buttons, wanting whoever was watching me to say something. But I got into an argument against dividing activism and talked about uniting a lot, like a laser to perform surgery. I had forgotten about those people who said they would bury me. Living in heavily militarized cities I came across Chris Hedges work and started writing about military stuff I wasn’t even sure of. That paper I can’t find now, not even in the email that I use to back stuff up.

At some kind of safe house in Cayucos with Angela and her mom, they shuffled books in front of me sort of intentionally. I saw a barrage of titles but only one stuck out which said, "Power." A book called, "Finding your tribe", was also mentioned. Her mom gave Angela a diamond wedding ring. It was funny because I brought up the Star of David with her, thinking it reminded me of balance between Ying and Yang. She wouldn’t tell me anything though, and I have no idea how I should interpret this.

Angela’s sister could have been a stunt double for Marla, I found out by looking up pictures of Tiffany, only because of that previous mention of Trump. Really pushing the shapeshifting thing if she had surgery for that, such as I believe Angela did. I never read a book called the Glass Bead Game that Caitlin gave me, but the synopsis I think was about manipulating people to die by their own decisions.

In Santa Cruz I put all of my writing on a bulletin board and then felt weird about it. Went back the next day except for some reason I got really indecisive. Later I saw a note left on a public table saying, “I want my daughter back and 5M.” I've been given hints about Angela getting raped to death until her back broke. Someone was sending me messages but it didn't feel like her. She finally sent a picture of herself holding a sign saying “I'm okay”, but in the upper left corner you can see a dark room behind her with a tarp spread over a concrete floor, or something like that. It might have been on purpose and these people are messing with me. Or she was supposed to murder me and is being tortured now because she didn't. Both maybe?

The last time I actually saw Angela was in Berkeley. We had been trying to meet up for a while like she needed help. Our meeting spot kept changing to have me walk all over the entire city. When I saw her she suddenly started yelling and spitting about nothing that made any sense. All I could do was say, "Stop yelling." Every time I tried to speak she would cut me off even louder, while a scowling, old Chinese woman watched us from the street corner like a video camera. Then she was gone and I had to spend the night there. It was freezing and sucked.

When I was trying to help Angela get out of Vallejo we had spent the day exploring and found the Touro University. Looking around we entered a room and, on the way out was a computer printout in large font taped to a room separator that said something like, "Entering requires your character to be dissimilated." It was like a trick of the devil, entering the exit. She could be sort of demonic, and would strut sometimes like a powerful queen after a gang bang.

Angela had called me a Nigger once, and renting a room with her at Sea Venture I had met people with Nazi tattoos, then again here in Santa Cruz. A girl with a freshly cut swastika on her hand talked about working with big data and data mining. I hung out at the library a lot there, and then I heard that the CIA was, too. My life was threatened a lot there, also with hinting about torture, and aliens.

Way back in Grass Valley someone once told me that good aliens came from the Pleiades and bad ones from Orion, but I think they just as easily could have been wrong. Angela mentioned once that her dog star was Sirius (she also had a dog buried in the front yard of her Grandmother’s house in Morro Bay).

Something like telepathy must exist. I've felt the emotions of someone else being put into me. This is some kind of Voodoo, and the weirdest part is that it, "Reminds me of the babe, the babe with the power." My mom had mentioned knowing of a person in Grass Valley who knew Voodoo. Also, I told her I was going to San Diego and said nothing about a train, but afterward she wrote asking how my “train adventure” was. When I tried to see her, she canceled because of Shingles. For all I know she’s dead. She doesn’t care anymore about things I would expect her to. It’s not like her, it’s like Angela.

And maybe that’s what telepathy is, Voodoo, the feeling of someone else in your head. I had dated a girl who was a lot older than me when I was 19 who planned on marrying someone in Africa. Actually, in high school I dated a girl named Crystal who was Wiccan. Kind of funny that Crystal and even Michelle looked like different versions of Angela, and they both ruined my relationship with another person. I never found out why Sunshine slapped me so hard everything went white. My best friend throughout grade school kept me from playing with other kids, and encouraged masturbation and stealing. Is it a coincidence he looked a lot like Marty, Jon, Drew, Josh, even Angela? In Kindergarten I came home white as a ghost a few times and now I’m wondering if I’ve been molested my entire life.

I’ve tried to narrow down what really stuck out. Coincidences that persist unnaturally. I don’t know what else to do. It’s kind of impossible to figure out something with dubiously purposeful evidence, I’m sure that’s the point, but I have seen the dark shadows moving in the woods and I have no doubt that whatever I have resurrected through this book is sure to come. My head could be in a jar on a UFO, because at least that would make sense. It could be some Hitler inspired Masonic Shriner government torture incest experiment, because so would that. Or maybe nobody appreciates how messed up and weaponized movie magic is in real life.



Chapter 4, Texas.

I was sure Angela had hinted for me to send help, so I bought a ticket for Austin and invited her, but she wouldn’t come. I had an impression that Texas doesn’t take shit and would maybe know how to rescue someone from being tortured by a gang of elitists. I actually went to New Orleans and called the FBI, and I swear I was talking to one of the ladies from Call Coaching, which was the customer service training hotline used by Sea Venture. She got mad, said I wasn’t cooperating, and hung up.

Christmas 2018 in Texas, I get messed with by a gay kid who wouldn’t leave me alone. When I left him at a bus stop he said, “See you in the afterlife.” That night, laying down completely alone I hear a gay voice say distinctly in my ear, “Hi.” I feel like I saw Deirdre here too. I passed by a group of them and someone just like Stephon kept the girl from looking while he was eyeballing me. And someone asked if I thought people were bad. I tried to say something but they cut me off saying that it’s fine if I didn’t want to admit it. Then cut me off again when I tried to ask what they were talking about.

This is how you have relationships with other people, you rape them? Jon emailed that his housemate is threatening to expose his pot growing, so he stopped production. It’s possible that could mean my life will get better, the only thing at this point that would surprise me.

When I was living with Jon (Dunn), Matt looked up child molesters and there was one named Jon Gunn who lived in the same mobile home park. But why create that, unless wanting me to make connections that appear paranoid. His dad, John Dunn used to be the city planner for San Luis Obispo, and at the time was actually the city planner for Seaside, the exact location I pawned that ring. Who are these people? A guy here in Texas who tries to sit by me makes insidious noises like high pitch burps, dog whistles and giggling that sound like the Emperor in Star Wars. I'm pretty sure he's one of them.

I don't know why I couldn't stop worrying about Jocelyn, a girl I dated after Crystal for a very long time, and why that made my life after high school so bad. But I know for sure now that mind control exists, or some kind of telepathic inspiration. I'm also remembering that in Monterey, I met a girl who swore she had met me already except that I was tanner.

In Austin I took a job at Goodwill. It was kind of perfect sleeping outside and working part time. My supervisor started hating me the second day for no reason. I asked to take my break when it wasn’t busy and time for it, and he got really weird, took me to the office with the manager and asked, “What is it you don’t like about the job,” suddenly manipulating a conflict that didn’t even exist.

He reminded me of Mas, the bartender I knew in Grass Valley. More importantly it stood out that he was part of something unspoken. I did a really good job actually, sorting and taking donations, but he would come around and look for reasons to aggravate me. He was totally cool with everyone else, we all had to do things there a certain way, and we did. He was being exemplary unreasonable.

The last couple weekends a strange, fiery girl was working who reminded me of Angela, and the stuff with Luis escalated. I told our managers that I couldn’t work with him anymore, that it was some kind of personality conflict and we talked about transferring. The very next day I open and find the back was left in disaster, with stuff to clean up and reorganize. Luis never helped me set up in the morning, but that day he was there, blaming me for everything. I told the acting manager, someone I’d never met before, and for some reason everyone seemed to blame me. Luis lied to someone right in front of me. It’s a longer, dumb story, but the point is that he did it on purpose, and I had to quit.

After radio silence with Angela for months I tried sending Deirdre a message, a last resort to figure out if Angela was okay, or what. I was sure they knew each other, even though Deirdre had acted like they didn't (wondering if her name was Hunt and not Worthington). Angela acted like they were enemies. Deirdre had stopped by her house that time to pick up a sweater she had forgotten, and Angela would blow up if I tried to mention it.

Instead of hearing back I got a message from Angela, saying I was playing both sides. She was being friendly and said she could visit, or was coming that way. I met a girl then who only reminded me more of her sister who she had been saying was destroying her life. I sent Angela a message to find out if she knew something, but she blew up about Deirdre again, saying she would get a restraining order if I didn't leave her alone. I blocked her, it was ranting. But the next time I logged in she was not blocked, I had more messages from her, and I was the one who was blocked I found out. It was like she owned Facebook and could do anything, or had my password even though I changed it.

I was looking for another job. I bought a nice shirt which turned out to have some kind of lice on the inner seam. A security guard says to another guard, "Oh, you have a bug on you." Even though my interview was excellent I didn't get the job. Another job I was turned down by a guy who looked strangely like a man who had been harassing me in town (once rubbing rosemary on me saying it was like deodorant, or getting ready to be eaten). Then I was denied food stamps because you can only have them for 3 months in Texas, by a very similar guy and he really enjoyed it. At the library someone said, "What’s with all the triple K in here?” as if he could tell just by looking around.

It's reminding me that the kid who seemed to rape me for Christmas had asked me to do a pentagram ritual with him. I said no, then agreed to walk downtown and he acted weirdly excited to that agreement. The kid rambled on about that Chappie movie a lot, but don't get me started on Simulation theory. It might as well be real, or systems could look similar. A friend of mine said that it resonates with the idea of infinite fractals, which is cool.

A couple times good people I met briefly said offhanded comments about child molesters. Also, when I was in San Francisco (trying to help Angela), a random weird guy says to me, "100% going to hell." Finally, in Austin someone yells at me from across the street with nobody else around, "Pedophile! Go to hell!" I'm sure now, people who won’t leave me alone are somehow framing me, and for some reason nobody (like the authorities) are telling me, unless interpretive dance is supposed to count.

I bought 2 plane tickets trying to take an indirect route to DC, just in case, and like everywhere else I've been it seems that I have about one day of peace before stuff gets weird. All the detail I'm leaving out is impossible to keep track of, but it creates a solid ground for me that is surely happening. A little bird said I'm being murdered by Tara Mi Su, which sounds like eating shit. Other people have hinted about myself being murdered in the real world, or having been.

I'm being led to believe that talking about anything is a mistake (or maybe that's just the best way to murder someone). But if you want to know the truth you have to tell the truth. How can a desire to succeed refuse and not appreciate being challenged? Without the willpower and strength of reality this evolution is perverted. Greed set free by uncontested wish granting. Culture is great, but how does it seem like a gang of cannibalistic, unconscious dick waving has captured the world, putting everything in a box, even themselves. Someone I met in Washington DC said, “That’s why we’re at the top of the food chain,” as if the point wasn’t insanity.

You'd think great wealth would make people happy and not worry about nature creating things besides them. Enslaved by a corrupted ego wanting only to prevail irrationally; wanting slavery to support superiority and indulgence, controlling and corrupting the creative process of other people, an eye for an eye is all the resentment you need to drive yourself crazy.



Washington DC

Trying to ignore it and just move on hasn’t been working. They say to shut up, but then it’s all about ruining my life and relationships with people, nothing changed for years. So, in Austin I had left a computer for the bathroom and used a guest pass on another computer to look up the address for the French Embassy, remembering something about a Peace Treaty, and there’s a stereotype of French people appreciating art. Less than a week later Notre Dame burning down makes the news even here in the United States. The timing truly felt like a warning. I’m done feeling like so many coincidences are just that, but that’s kind of the damage done from gang stalking, what could also be paranoia. Pretty convenient realm of excuse to get away with whatever.

A kind of jerk that reminded me of that guy from Goodwill started harassing me one morning on the street. He was saying he saw my girlfriend at the bar, dancing or something. I didn’t have a girlfriend. Maybe that’s how he picks fights, but since then other people have hinted that they’re fucking her.

I wanted to try speaking with a different authority in person, but I don’t think my letter made it pass the security guards. When I returned they seemed to pretend they didn’t know what I was talking about, and I wasn’t allowed to meet or talk to anyone. I pretty much tried every embassy to the same effect. Maybe the United States just controls it. It makes sense, and whatever. For some reason I can’t find a guitar to play here in DC, not even a store.

A guy named Drew approached me in the park and we hung out. He gave me all the signs of being Jon, even looking like him yet different, even saying I had to hear some music, which was all the 80s songs he liked, even having a bed that took up his entire bedroom, offering for me to sleep on the floor which was like a moat. I jokingly showed him a porn star I liked, and he said that he preferred them 15 years old. I told him I had cancer on the back of my head and he offered to shoot me, like it would be a favor. I didn’t want to spend the night and he seemed suspiciously offended. He invited a girl over too, and kept groping her and trying to make a deal for sex in front of me, like he was trying to teach me something. Seems like I keep being made to look like a little kid, and it’s annoying as hell.

I met Scott at a local community food kitchen, as well as a few other people. I feel like I’m getting familiar with whatever this mind control is. At a table with several people Scott asks how long I’ve been homeless, and then I felt that push, with 20 years popping into my head. I was a little shocked; maybe between 5 and 10 years on and off at the most. Then he follows up, how old are you? Naturally I say 38, and then we sit there for a second in silence while it felt like an impression was created with everyone there that I’d been homeless since I was 18 and failed to take care of myself. I actually dropped out of high school to work full time and had my own place since I was 17. Life did get weird though.

I met a girl too, someone in another group of people with Scott, and him, her, and I had started hanging out. I became uncomfortable not telling them how fucked with my life was. I wasn’t going to share it with Scott because another friend said he’d seen him angry, but I gave the girl a copy when we were hanging out for her to read later. She left and Scott came back (going in and out of a store), and he says, “I’m so bored with DC...” Instantly without thinking I dove into my pack and handed him a copy.

It seems to work like this. You get set up, and then some kind of telepathy pushes you in the direction they want. I told him to read it later. He refused and jumped on it, making a show of it with the girl, acting like he knew everything. He said at one point while reading it, “Oh, he got a handler.” Like all this paranoid nonsense makes sense now. He said it was someone who checks you out.

One of the first things Angela said to me was, “I don’t even like you. I like Russians.” She talked about getting me a girlfriend and we could just live in her garage. I tried talking to her about the Star of David and for the most part was just led on by her. So later Scott starts saying I just couldn’t get over the girl, as if he didn’t even read a word I wrote. I told him that what he was saying was certainly not my experience, and that I was there, asking him to listen to me. But he refused to be wrong, pushing it like a cover story and acting as if he was some kind of authority on it. Maybe trying to convince the girl we were with, whom he told me privately was an important person. For some reason every time Scott is around I end up saying stuff that makes me feel really dumb, too.

Terrorized by fourth-dimensional people comes to mind like a ludicrous epiphany, but what makes sense would be people who thrive greedily off manipulation science. It would also make sense that if a thing such as aliens could defeat the speed of light with non-locality, the same could be true for time. Sleeping in a secluded city park, a guy woke me up doing a Voodoo dance around me.

The very next day Scott doesn’t let me leave his side after the Sunday meal. I’m skeptical but curious if he’s trying to help me or not. An older man in a wheelchair mentions his ride left, and at the rate he was moving it was going to take him all night to get home, so I offered to push him. It turned into a long process that involved stopping for cigarettes which seemed to be the whole point for Scott. I didn’t like the way he kept treating people and now I’m wondering if there’s a point to that. Almost there, the older guy wants to walk, which was bizarrely slow. Scott really must have wanted cigarettes because it didn’t make sense that he was putting up with it, especially considering how impatient he got with me later on, but I’ll get to that. I started to feel like they were keeping me from something on purpose, and sure enough it was totally dark and time for bed in the end.

The day after that, I ran into Scott, I forget where. He talked to his friend in the NSA, and found out that the stuff with Angela is done, but he wouldn’t actually tell me anything. He also spoke of manipulating someone by telling them something that they’d know isn’t true, just to see how their body would react. He’s trying to get me to buy him cigarettes because I might have $20 on my stamp card in cash. Wanting me to check the balance buying anything at a CVS, I say that I’d rather go to Trader Joes where I can buy something I’d actually want. Frustrated, he says, as if I’m some kind of really lame person, “No wonder she ditched you.” Wait, what?

Scott had said to me offhandedly, “You think I’m actually homeless?... No.” Like Angela, something about him feels accustomed to owning people and controlling them. He’s not being honest and tilting light, at least. He literally reminds me of the guy from the coffeeshop in Grass Valley, and admitted to being there, having said eagerly, “Grass Valley is a weird place, isn’t it?”

Josh, another guy who reminds me of Jon would bring up my homelessness loudly in a quiet library. Once he said, “Oh, you like to watch people in costumes…”, acting like he didn’t know what else to say after I mentioned walking mall Halloweens in California. A homeless lady also told me she wants to find a new husband, as if I was hers. She also asked me and a friend who the slave was. She seems to just mess with me. I switched libraries, and so did she, the very same day.

Breakfast at another community food place we’re talking about random things. I make a comment about feeling like the average person doesn’t care or know a lot about politics, and Scott loses it, saying I’m not an expert on averages or something like that. I don’t think I was even referring to anything he was saying, but he starts blowing up at me in a way that didn’t make sense. He says, “You know what’s weird, people came and told me about you before I met you.” Immediately I asked about that but I’m not even sure what he said, something about me being manipulative, which apparently describes him. Tom and Robert were speechless. Drowning in his own argument and not making sense, Scott threatens to hurt or murder me if I don’t leave DC.

I don’t think it’s convincing that molesting me is about art, unless you want me to paint children being raped or Angela being cheese graded. I feel as though ego seeing fit to dominate another also refuses to see itself, just like a vampire. I’ve been asking you to stop, so whatever is happening can just be normal, to have my life back. I think that you can’t express a good reason because you don’t have one.

The girl (her and Scott were dating I found out), came to me one day very drunk, and brought up the stuff I had talked about and then started getting very loud saying that I needed mental help as if that’s what she wanted people to hear. In order to defend myself I mentioned the K just as loud and she flew into a rage while trying to break a glass bottle on me. Then someone there who worked at Trader Joes got in my face and told me to pick the glass up with my hands.

Scott seemed to be minding his own business and I made friends with Leroy, a heavy black fellow who liked games, art and anime. We smoked weed and talked about working together, being CEOs. Then Scott started appearing again, being friendly. It didn’t make sense and I asked people about it, saying that I had to know what his problem was if anything was going to be okay. Leroy started really pushing me to talk about it one day, and so I mentioned the K. With that, he started flipping out and attacked me. What he said didn’t even make sense. I didn’t fight back and ended up covered in blood from a head wound, and my back hurt. I ended up at the hospital for stitches.

I finally see my stunt double, passing me on the street, carrying an art pad, exaggerating his walk like he owned the place. He shows up again and sits by me at the library, and starts ranting to anyone listening to stay away from him and his wife, that he’ll call, and dramatically says 911, if they don’t. Later I saw him talking to Scott, they even went into the bathroom together. Scott’s being friendly again lately and I like him but I have no way to connect with this and they should know that.

They form a real-life conspiracy, capable of ruining your career and relationships, a kind of unverifiable murder. These set ups seem like a collection of footage and what kind of sense would that make? As if someone else was watching? People calling themselves Alligators talking about Birds? They’re nurturing slander with Hollywood framework while being as careful as possible to generate no evidence, talking to each other indirectly, dropping hints. Like a language based on intuition, talking about one thing but meaning another, so that even surveillance would be inadmissible.

No wonder the world is plagued by an awkward society, keeping people in boxes like caged animals, evolving money and absolute power. Like insanity, that Ying without a Yang, or technology without nature. They’re taking control of evolution, but not with responsibility, infiltrating inheritance and not giving a rat’s ass about humanity. They represent a well-developed aspect of the universe, but I think someone is making a mistake, and fuck. Good luck.



Chapter, something.

A few things stand out still. When I was maybe 12, I got really weird once. Alone at home I tried squeezing my cat until it reacted and then threw him over the balcony. He landed on his feet and I never saw him again. I would never hurt a cat, it literally didn't feel like me. I ended a friendship, on the spot, when someone boasted and laughed about trying to hit a residential cat while driving. I did something pretty gross too, you don't want to know, and looking back I feel like it must have been some kind of possession. Like you were just watching yourself, or something really prevents you from thinking.

Actually, in Grass Valley that last time, I felt sort of possessed, alone, and I just ‘played around’ with freaking out about snipers. Someone must have heard me mumbling because they called the police and arrested me (for not taking the DUI class yet). The guy who told me the talking dog joke had also mentioned on the phone to someone, something about shooting someone to learn the most about them, but I wasn’t really thinking about that. I don't know.

Another thing was two videos on YouTube when I was in San Luis Obispo. 'Who’s your daddy,' was a perverted Benny Benassi video, and the other was this propaganda of Trump as World President, depicting a Japanese girl in love with him, going on a magical, flash presentation that ended with a trophy of Trump surrounded by missiles. I think it was supposed to be mocking. Following this, working for Sea Venture, I got asked for a T-shirt, Trump saying, “Who’s your daddy.”

Back to right now, and Josh, who has facial expressions I’m familiar with, from Jon. Who’s also controlling conversations, and seems to be part of something, or knows me. I asked someone else to read this document and maybe return some advice. He asked if he could tell other people, including Josh. I said no because it’s all very questionable. I had also just put this document online, and I had just started a new Facebook account for the experiment of it, when a girl I had only met once at a professional drum circle on the beach, who connected with me on Facebook, the only friend who accepted actually, posts this picture. The person on the top is Josh. Even my other friend thought it was him before I could say so, and it's funny how the timing of it is suspiciously crucial.



If nothing else, it’s a good example of being targeted, and how they use stunt doubles to mess with you. Maybe Josh has nothing to do with this. But the message is clear, that people in my life aren’t safe, and they isolate you this way. The frustration and confusion cause you to sound crazy I’m sure.

The day after Christmas 2019, I was trying to help a girl. I had met her the day or two before, and she reminded me a lot of the girl I met in Texas, who reminded me of Angela, or her sister. It was practically the same girl from Texas though, except she was less on drugs and more coherent, and angry. She spoke of being raped, tortured, stalked, with her bed surrounded my men, waking up with the taste of Ether, and aliens. In her beat-up car, driving on a very slashed up, limping tire, she talks about wanting to kill herself because it’s too much. She’s screaming and controlling conversations though. They arrested her. She didn’t seem interested at all in any help they could provide, out of fear maybe. Messed up by drugs and emotionally freaked out, she was going to have a very hard time being understood.

Maybe I’m supposed to think she’s my girlfriend, being tortured, and this is some kind of virtual reality with suicide being the only way to stop it. Drew and someone else, people who remind me of Jon mentioned suicide too. They want this I think, to isolate you, drive you crazy, until you want to kill yourself, without evidence and legally. Maybe the Trump thing is trying to provoke me like this. Or it explains everything, almost like a climax of cliché. I believe that people are crying out against a thing that is very real, like addiction, or something which incautiously destroys. I’m reminded of how Muds (text-based internet games) would operate sometimes, with a mortal community as well as a wizard one. Wizards are supposed to create the world, but not interfere. I think because it’s psychologically unhealthy, like abuse of power or perversion, spoiling yourself, and it.

I’ve been in touch with my mom through this. I tried to tell her things were weird in Grass Valley, but so was she. We’ve exchanged a few emails, usually around birthdays, but that’s about it. I asked her just now to take a picture while making a peace sign. I received an edited image, like the one from Angela. You can tell because of the uniformity along the hand line, consistent with a 2D canvas. Anyone who knows this process would have to agree.



I feel like someone is pretending to be her which is essentially horrifying. Maybe this photo is real, and that light happens to make it questionable, but she’s also being weird, happily ignoring things I wouldn’t expect her to. She said it’s her hand because of the crooked finger, but Angela had a crooked finger too, that looked like someone brutally twisted a ring from it. I mentioned before that Angela’s nostrils looked sculpted unnaturally, and maybe the finger was part of her plastic surgery. I can’t remember if my mom actually had a weird finger. I’m the one asking for a photo with her hand, yet this timing is weird.

My life is being eaten alive, by some kind of doppelganger. My mom could be part of it, or she has no idea, and is being fed the same fake messages that I am. Maybe the point of Angela and her sister was to estrange me from family and cause me to sound crazy blaming Trump. Or even rightly, like mutiny. What's funny is that when I was a kid my mom made expressions such as, “Wait a cotton-picking moment.” She said that her nickname for me as a baby was Bo, which I read once is an archaic term for a slave. It would even make sense, that something evil, incautious and greedy about Nazism would infiltrate the United States, land of the free.

If these people are isolating me to erase any connection or evidence in the world, then I’m sorry if you read this. Maybe you can share it, in that case, preventing the opportunity to contain it with you. The abuse of power that seems disgustingly present is vampiric. It can’t see itself, or be wrong, or care. We absolutely need people to grow up and be strong, not self-righteous and rapist. Humanity should be about people, not clans or conglomerates. Confusion is something, yet it certainly betrays itself, and what a retarding waste of life.

A few days before Christmas I got muscled out of a spot I was sleeping at. I found a narrow space behind the abandoned building of a pay for parking lot. I started waking up feeling like I hadn’t gotten any sleep, missing breakfast and sleeping through my alarm. On the toilet I noticed my butt felt really weird and kind of loose, and my nose felt broken a little but I had no recollection of hitting it. Then I got woken up at 4am exactly to two guys with loaded up bicycles. They were some kind of bad red neck, like something from Deliverance. They weren’t even surprised I was there, and rolled up like they were just hanging out, ignoring me. It was because the spot was so weird, near a road but not surrounded by any buildings with windows, that it seemed like the perfect place to keep watch while doing something terrible. They saw me looking at them and not long afterward they left. I stopped sleeping there, and told the police, but I felt raped, and right on Christmas, again.

The policewoman didn’t seem to care, even trying to hide cracking smiles. She seemed to think that waiting for them to come back to be searched for anything that could keep someone unconscious was ridiculous. Apparently, a video camera on the property didn’t work either.

Way back in Grass Valley, working at the Holbrooke Hotel, about the time I was fired for being nice to a guy whom I didn’t know that the owner hated, they changed ownership and were bought by some very rich, gay men. A fella named Mike started working there, who let me stay at his place, and he gave me several CD binders full of porn. Long ago, before any of this, a friend of my best friend, a guy named Mike, gave me a whole bunch of porn, too. Here in DC another guy named Mike was talking about porn, and little people. Now and then I feel a weird sensation, like something going in my butt, but as if from another world. I felt that recently trying to find a safe place to sleep. I’ve felt it before too, a lot in San Luis Obispo. I feel like it’s very probable this stuff is connected.

Before I left Grass Valley, a friend who also worked at the Holbrooke said that she saw the owner doing something with another man. He said he’d shoot her in the head if she told anyone, even though I think everyone knew. Since then I’ve been set up more times than I can count to look gay. Now, here in DC, I keep meeting a person, or a couple, who I think is making whatever is happening to me, happen. They seem to have all the power in the world, and seem especially Satanic.

More than once recently a person has come to me continuing a conversation that I didn’t have, like, “Did you get that email?” And I can only think of that stunt double of myself, and how someone could manipulate people this way. I can understand a balance, even a mantra between challenge and stability, but this life wasting rape, and some kind of truth preventing character assassination that seems to work. It works to empower megalomania and the dominance of irrational greed. I’m sure they don’t even care.

Maybe on one hand you have good relationships that amount to something real, and the other an animalistic head-trip with systemic and artificial problems. Alone maybe neither are nothing to navigate a tower of babel. You hear about fallen angels, but never of risen demons. Is that for a reason? Controlling the world to satisfy some kind of irrational hatred of living, masticated by the universe. When people get together they become a group animal, and what happens is suddenly you are surrounded by other people who don’t really know anything either. Suddenly it’s harder to trust the world beyond you, and for this kind of undeveloped animal, understanding is more blinded by survival.



Chapter, New York.

Google maps said that Riot Games was located here. I spent an entire day walking to it with a good feeling that they might be okay with an unconventional resume. When I got there, several storefronts were closed indefinitely. The exact address is now a restaurant. What I saw first though was some kind of shutdown dinner called Daddy’s, mockingly, with a big sign that said, “Who’s your daddy?”

Looking it up with the street view on Google maps, they show Daddy’s being open, but it doesn’t say that phrase. It’s shutdown right now, and does. That’s more than big money, it’s a ridiculous coincidence after writing this, brick and mortar evidence of targeting. I can only think of one reason to believe anything about Trump: something in the news about him and white supremacy, and if that were true then this stuff has a plausible network connection.

Thinking of asylum, I looked up where to find the Consulate General of a few different countries. Nearest was New Zealand, but the office wasn’t there. Instead was a storefront for sale, and a big sign that said, “The Escape Game.” You know what, I didn’t even bother to read why it said that. It’s some kind of head trip, including a reason to believe the intention is good. It’s witchery, living a lie and manipulated by central intelligence. Wait, the Pentagon is a Pentagon?

Despite a sense of cliché my whole life is appearing to be like some probable evidence that Nazis and the KKK have infiltrated national security and use manipulation science to pervert and control society. As if this were Nazi America, finding legal ways to murder artists, such as imprisonment and distraction from growing. The fact that my life has been dominated by very few people, even physically prevented.

Returning to DC I feel I had actually gotten away from something, now back in full force. A woman starts yelling at someone for nothing in the library, calling them a disgusting masturbator at the top of her lungs. Suddenly she was directing it at me, and I got hit with a feeling that I had to say something. When I approached her though, it was like my mind started getting blocked and I couldn’t think. Thinking that all of it was on purpose I said, “Tell it to the KKK,” then she told me to find a new slave and the elevator door shut. And it’s weird how impossibly perfect it was, suddenly feeling to the room like I was a member, and even threatening her. I felt anyway.

A hitchhiker who seemed familiar told me about a live Gwar show, or something. This was later that day. They told the audience to drop their pants and masturbate for Jesus. I tried to ask him if everyone in the audience was physically prevented from having a girlfriend, but he got weird and kept trying to cut me off. All of it sort of feels like Angela, controlling conversations.

In Santa Cruz someone told me to say Mazal Tov for Angela, like she was getting married, or being tortured and it was some kind of safe word. Now I’m wondering if they were framing me to appear Jewish, because shit is weird. Someone is trying to make Angela hate me, or save me from her, and if it wasn’t for all the undisclosed intention I might actually believe it. I feel like I’m being punished for something I didn’t do, and framed as a member of something I never joined, or even told about.

After working at the Holbrooke in Grass Valley, staying at that animal sanctuary and digging a grave which felt like my own. Maybe it was foreshadowing that continued when I stayed with Mike after that. He made a really good barbeque. Recently people have made passing comments to watch out for certain people, saying they were at the barbeque. I can only connect what they’re saying to that.

Throughout everything has been a presence of witchcraft, dishonesty and cheating. Like money as absolute power being unreal, hacking nature and creating a group animal to abuse misunderstanding and horde that power. I feel like Six represents a chaotic evil, something like the Fibonacci Sequence, but the Pentagram is not Six. It’s stepping outside an analogue duality to cause problems. For better or worse it’s creativity, expanding the natural world, and it exists.

Ying and Yang represent absolutes like good and evil needing a relationship for adaptation and mutability. Replacing one for the other would have problems too. What’s bizarre about dishonesty though, money and even language is they represent an opposite to nature, technology. Why does Facebook let you delete messages? Just so someone can design a conversation? Proof in the pudding? You can imagine that people would own the world with indulgence, having fun molesting the lives of others like hidden gods of a multiuser game. If we develop in contrast honesty needs a voice as well. The character of greed versus the character of ignorance. It makes enough sense that one without the other would reflect an insanity.

Our animal compared to consciousness, as if ignorance represented hacked reality.

I remember seeing the guest of a talk show on TV, talking optimistically about a discovery that would enable people to live forever. If that were true, stepping outside of nature you’d have to appreciate letting it go. If there’s some kind of ancient plan at work perhaps it can get thrown off. I don’t know. During my stay with Jon, there were YouTube’s with scientists talking about finding something like computer code in the universe. Telepathy exists, from what I hear so do UFO’s. It seems reasonable that if technology existed to command non-locality of space and time, besides Hollywood, that would explain it.





Pictures of Caitlin.




Pictures of Owen.




Myself and Angela.




Angela after disappearing.
The last one looks edited. Someone had an air gun and I think they were shooting her. She said she poked her eye, but it's very black. I don't think they were just messing me with, but I'm not sure.




Pictures of Santa Cruz. My phone was stolen in Texas and lost a few. Second to last looked like a giant Salamander on a moon lit foggy night, and was awesome.




Pictures of Washington DC. A lot of remarkable masonry here, kind of enjoying sights here and there.




That's all I have. Everything which really stood out, in maybe half the detail. Thanks for reading this, and I hope whatever is happening can figure shit out.







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