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The Brain Of My Existence
Updated: 9/16/20.

My name is Jeremy Byers, and I'm starting to believe that Hollywood and Jewish youth groups murder artists for profit, to harvest excuses for inheritance with gang-stalking and masonry. I'll tell you a short story, then the long one. Hopefully someone who knows what's going on can figure it out.

Two boys from my childhood seem to have been in my life forever, in one form or another. Both myself and an internet game called EOTL were born at Stanford, which I was introduced to by them in highschool as an honorary member of their youth group.

A man I lived with for several years much later seems to be controlling my life, and might be the reason I never dream, then gave me to someone else to be murdered otherworldly, by what I can only describe as a sexually transmitted computer virus.

Since then I've continued to be gang-stalked an forced to remain homeless. My email is controlled and the relationships I might have are destroyed by these people and their knack for setups, seeming to take advantage of stereotypes established by Hollywood.

They bombard you with knowing people, use slander to isolate you, fill your mind with psychobabble, and waste your entire life without touching you. Maybe even using stunt doubles in an attempt to make you believe in a conspiracy of aliens, or frame you.

It sounds crazy and it's supposed to. There's no evidence, playing manipulation like a game. Even using pharmaceutical drugs to give you anxiety or cause situations to seem supernatural, they certainly pull the strings of government agencies, controlling the internet and nationwide surveillance.

That man, Jon Dunn, son of the city planner for San Luis Obispo, and lucky number 13, would lightly affiliate with a girl down the street. Strangely both of them remind me of Trump and his wife. It makes me wonder about the Arch who ran EOTL, that maybe Duncan (do whatever he wants) set this up.

I pawned 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.

It's just inconceivable how either way intention could be. No good deed goes unpunished, Jon (like, the Don, he would overstate that it wasn't like John) even said. I loved this man. I might have tried for too long not to assume anything.

Someone was putting in my head that I was being murdered in the worst possible way and needed to explain everything to EOTL. When I tried this however, it shutdown. Then later so did the world it seems. At that time, a guy who I believe was also the Jewish father of my little brother was around. "See you in the afterlife," Scott said once, as in overnight.

I believe that language and money are artificial platforms with digital blindness which can be hacked, creating a cheat button as absolute power and giving greed a straight line to insanity. Like a ying without a yang, it's murdering an anologue witchery and depriving evolution of a universal ecosystem.

Whatever this is, our mentality might as well be real. Maybe it's impossible to prove what they're doing, except for a Mount Everest of reasonable doubt. I've gone over these blogs now in an effort to make them more digestible and sequential, trying to enlighten the reality or point. If you want to, or have to read it all over again, all I can say is thank you, and sorry.

It needs to be addressed that people are doing this and getting away with it, abusing government. This shadow realm of hacking, even breaking the universe, has no respect, unleashing a penis. We could probably learn something about nature from an audio technician, and see how this found a way to dominate our evolution, derailed from reality by a tower of technology.



Chapter 1, Grass Valley

Mariel, a woman I lived with in Grass Valley with so many black cats, 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. She told me once that someone said I was powerful, but didn't explain. I met a transexual friend of hers, too. Someone I seem to be meeting over and over.

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.

Eric was a nice guy and could play and sing a ton of great songs with a guitar. A few other friends there and I would all smoke pot and hang out. Eric had that look though, like someone I keep meeting. He sang "A friend of the devil is a friend of mine," and I'm starting to wonder if that was a literal statement.

Later on, I connected with another girl, a very short and attractive Hannah. 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 moved into the garage of a nice house near the University campus, a sort of party house, living there with a few students. I'd been playing a telnet mud called Eotl still, a hardcore game with a programmer community that would snoop and even death cycle the players if they cheated or spammed channels. 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 had actually met in Boulder, inviting me to a hangout, and a fiery red head exclaimed she wanted to have sex with Jesus, then entered and began paying attention to me. We left suddenly after that. I was hanging out with Joseph and Bill a lot, inviting them to my place. Joseph shows up with another guy and they're laughing about trying to run over a cat on the way. I told him to leave. He did, pissed off. Oh, he has a cat, he said.

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. Something hit my eye like a dart and crawled in, sort of out of this world like that treasure box was. A car got in my face with a license plate that read "got poi?" who was a player killer character from that mud. I left back to Grass Valley trying to get away from a constant hostility.

At first my mom helped me rent a room from a lady on Rattlesnake Rd. I had a brief UFO dream that even took place on the property there, almost a daydream. Some guy on the other side of the fence was singing creepily, "gonna kill something." Watching some TV 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. It really didn't seem normal.

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 Jim Nugent, who seemed to have that American Dream, a kind of unrealistic sense of desire, saying be careful who you marry once, as if my mom wasn't satisfying. 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. The music playing sang something like, here she comes! Then an excited, quiet, older lady with long hair came in. Dropping me off in town they made some inexplicable comments, "is that her? Is that?" Laughing about it.

Mas was a bartender friend of mine. He said my black name was Jerome Bennett, jokingly. I said Max was his white name. I didn't even think of it then but he actually had the same smile and mood as Max Unger, my best friend from highschool. After a beer and a shot of something he called a beautiful, 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, talked about sleep deprivation for interigation, and someone who befriended my mom told me a joke about a talking dog who had wild adventures, while his owner, laughing, called him a liar.

I felt distracted at a camp site, strangely waiting there to meet family, and 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.

At a coffee shop I hung out with a laptop. A couple there was talking about powers like shapeshifting. Something was kind of important about them, or righteous. 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.

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. Nobody here but us chickens. 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. I saw my dad again there, for the first time since I was a kid. Like everything going wrong in my life times ten. 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.

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 me quit. 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, needing a feeling of superiority despite reason.



Chapter 2, SLO, Part 1.

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.

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.

Jon rented out another room a few times. A friend of his, Nickolas, lived there for bit. He got mean towards me for no reason, singing at me from outside the door to my bedroom, something about him having powerful friends, and mocking me for disliking perfume. Jon said he was being harassed by him too, wanted him to move out but he refused. He got a went to court with my testimony and got a restraining order to resolve it.

Another thing was two videos on YouTube. '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 some kind of satire.

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.

Later 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.

On the street a random guy started babaling at me, something about pterodactyls. He also said, a few times maybe, "it's murder!"

Thinking the public eye was better I moved out, got off SDI 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 said she was the boss out of nowhere once, impishly, like maybe she wasn't. 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, Heidi. 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.

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.

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. Angela was also a big Trump supporter and wanted me to make her a Trump T-shirt that would say, "Who's your daddy?" She said she loved Trump, and Tom Cruise, which only reminded me of scientology, and now that I think of it, Deirdre, just because she's supposed to be short. I looked up scientology once and it mentioned that high level talked about Xena or something, a female warlord taking over the universe. I looked it up again much later and it didn't.

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 eventually. I don't even know what to do anymore. I also had a chance to paint on a canvas for the first time around then, Mutasm, and had it professionally scanned.

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. Shortly before this a coworker had set up and left a computer displaying an ad for protein powder. As I came around the corner it said, "Isolate."

Some people she knew dealt with marijuana. Even trips to Mexico. I didn't get involved but we stayed together, seeming 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 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. She seemed kind of alone in a way.

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. I have to be paranoid to make any sense.

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. A few things made me think she was actually a hooker, including some hints. She's often amazing, and a force of nature. I think she manipulated text messages by deleting them strategically, and then showing it as evidence, making her ex-boyfriend look really bad, but his rant just didn't seem to flow.

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 gave me what I can only describe as a sexually transmitted computer virus. It pretty much felt out of this world. Someone passing in town called me a stalker and I had no idea why.

One time we went out, and some of her friends kept saying to another guy named Jeremy that they would be his pimp. 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. That trip was a weird, beyond words. I think Angela had sex with a group of people and came back to our cabin more angry then ever. I got set up to escape from her with a bus of some people who I'm pretty sure were her friends, which turned into a high speed chase. I decided they were in danger and we pulled over. Angela seeming inexplicable about it. We drove back to Morro Bay, stopping once to try throwing a very confused me out of the car, held there by dumbfoundness.

Later she wanted to drive to Arizona, eager for a camping escape, 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. 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.

Going through San Francisco (leaving out the stories) I met up with her but it was weird, like something had happened. Someone at the house there with tight skin and hard muscles seemed like a stone-cold killer. I left after just taking a look. 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, SLO, Part 2.

Thinking the public eye was better I moved out, got off SDI 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 said she was the boss out of nowhere once, impishly, like maybe she wasn't. 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, Heidi. 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.

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.

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. Angela was also a big Trump supporter and wanted me to make her a Trump T-shirt that would say, "Who's your daddy?" She said she loved Trump, and Tom Cruise, which only reminded me of scientology, and now that I think of it, Deirdre, just because she's supposed to be short. I looked up scientology once and it mentioned that high level talked about Xena or something, a female warlord taking over the universe. I looked it up again much later and it didn't.

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 eventually. I don't even know what to do anymore. I also had a chance to paint on a canvas for the first time around then, Mutasm, and had it professionally scanned.

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. Shortly before this a coworker had set up and left a computer displaying an ad for protein powder. As I came around the corner it said, "Isolate."

Some people she knew dealt with marijuana. Even trips to Mexico. I didn't get involved but we stayed together, seeming 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 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. She seemed kind of alone in a way.

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. I have to be paranoid to make any sense.

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. A few things made me think she was actually a hooker, including some hints. She's often amazing, and a force of nature. I think she manipulated text messages by deleting them strategically, and then showing it as evidence, making her ex-boyfriend look really bad, but his rant just didn't seem to flow.

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 gave me what I can only describe as a sexually transmitted computer virus. It pretty much felt out of this world. Someone passing in town called me a stalker and I had no idea why.

One time we went out, and some of her friends kept saying to another guy named Jeremy that they would be his pimp. 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. That trip was a weird, beyond words. I think Angela had sex with a group of people and came back to our cabin more angry then ever. I got set up to escape from her with a bus of some people who I'm pretty sure were her friends, which turned into a high speed chase. I decided they were in danger and we pulled over. Angela seeming inexplicable about it. We drove back to Morro Bay, stopping once to try throwing a very confused me out of the car, held there by dumbfoundness.

Later she wanted to drive to Arizona, eager for a camping escape, 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. 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.

Going through San Francisco (leaving out the stories) I met up with her but it was weird, like something had happened. Someone at the house there with tight skin and hard muscles seemed like a stone-cold killer. I left after just taking a look. 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 4, Morro Vallejo.

In Vallejo I talked Angela into driving back to Santa Cruz with a plan to 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. The Sea Venture wedding coordinator, Elise (very Deirdre-like) had taken a video clip of me and Angela in front of a backdrop, asked to do a weird wave, like we were puppets.

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 awhile 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, freezing.

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 5, Texas (and why).

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. On the plane 3 people from the Trader Joe's in Santa Cruz came aboard and sat in a triangle around me.

I actually went to New Orleans under a fake name on a Megabus 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.

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 John 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.

Luis kind of 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 exemplarily 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 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 for some reason, almost ranting that she would get a restraining order if I didn't leave her alone. Confused I blocked her. 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 as I pass by, "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.

Outside a coffee shop, was a blond girl, something like Angela. I got the feeling she was directing a phone conversation at me. Almost surprised she says something like, "Wow, I'm a billionaire now?"

At the library 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.

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. They've 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. Without the willpower and strength of reality this evolution is perverted, putting everything in a box, even themselves, controlling and corrupting the creative process and growing of others, an eye for an eye is all the resentment you need to drive yourself crazy. 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.



Chapter 6, DC, Part 1.

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, even provoking a need to defend myself, or mocking my situation, whatever it is. DC hit the ground running. Sleeping in a secluded city park, a guy woke me up doing a Voodoo dance around me.

A kind of jerk that reminded me of that guy from Goodwill started harassing me 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 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 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 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 was 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 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 works like this. You get set up, and then some kind of telepathy pushes you in the direction they want, as subtly as possible. I told him to read it later. He refused and jumped on it, making a show, 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.

One of the first things Angela said to me was, "I don't even like you. I like Russians." And she did say something once, like getting me a girlfriend. I tried to talk about the Star of David, but for the most part was very controlled to a specific end by her. So later Scott starts saying I just couldn't get over the girl, as if he didn't even read what I had wrote. I told him what he was saying was certainly not my experience, and that I was there, asking him to listen to me. But he refused, pushing it like a cover story, acting like authority. Maybe trying to convince the girl we were with. He had told me privately she was an important person.

For some reason every time Scott is around I end up saying stuff that makes me feel really dumb, too. His laugh and mannerisms were exactly like Mark Rosen, a guy my mom had married, father of my little brother.

Terrorized by fourth-dimensional people comes to mind as a ludicrous epiphany, but what makes sense would be people who thrive off manipulation science, or Hollywood weaponising movie magic. It could also make sense that if a thing such as aliens would defeat the speed of light with non-locality, the same could be true for time, but so does a predictive simulation given advancement with computers.

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, but 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, who? What?

Scott had said to me offhandedly, "You think I'm actually homeless? No." Like Angela, something about him feels accustomed to owning people or 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's reminding 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 argument and not making sense, he threatens to hurt or murder me if I didn't leave DC.

That girl, Erin (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. He smacked my hat, too.

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. A girl he was with had also said something about being there with a knife when I woke up.

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.

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, the kinds of garbage being put in my head. I feel as though ego seeing fit to dominate another refuses to see itself, like a vampire. I've been asking you to stop, so whatever is happening can be normal. Maybe you can't express a good reason because you just don't have one.

These setups 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. No wonder the world is plagued by an awkward society, keeping people in boxes like caged animals. A conspiracy of secrecy, preventing even themselves from shedding light on dishonesty.



Chapter 7, DC, Part 2.

Playing War Robots, I watched a video of the devs. One of them I could have sworn was Owen. It reminded me that he was there when I was with Jon, and maybe in an email to another friend or something I remember talking about how effective Doom controls were, like War Robots. I was also working on Deep Zone, which was all about combining different mechs with tactical weapons. The no bullshit game design reminds me of Halo 2, another game I liked. I dunno, just seems weird. Not long after working on a doc for Omega Warrior and starting to dev the engine, I saw a flash game with a similar design, even a fire hose monster instead of a hydra.

Josh has facial expressions I'm familiar with from Jon (even once making a "Stargate" face like he was Jon), and seems to be part of something, or knows me. I asked someone to read this document at that point and maybe return some advice. He asked if he could tell other people, including Josh. I said no, that it's all very questionable. Someone else here is pretending to be Jon. First Drew, then another guy, who was maybe trying to point it out. Or maybe seeking to add more confusion.

I also had put the document online, and 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, the only one who actually accepted the new Facebook, posts this picture. The person on 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 was sequentially crucial.



If nothing else, it's an example of being targeted, and how they use stunt doubles to mess with you. The message is clear, that people in my life aren't safe. They isolate you this way. The confusion and frustration would 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, waking up with her bed surrounded my men, the taste of Ether, and having torsos thrown at her. 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, yelling and controlling conversation. They arrested her. She didn't seem interested at all in any help they could provide, out of fear maybe. Messed up 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. A trick of the devil? 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.

I looked up Deirdre's facebook around then. I'd seen it before and had an impression that she would post things which were relevant, something once about dying, and even Hell being a sorority. This time there was a cute cartoon of a girl walking a Tyrannosaurus on a dog leash, and a Zelda cartoon of Link flipping out, being followed by Zelda disguised as an old man. If this had any intention it's utterly ruined by manipulation.

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. 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. She sent another that reminded me of that animation style that jumps from one still frame to another. This stuff is maddening.



Maybe that light just happens to make it look 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 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.

More than once recently a person has come to me continuing a conversation that I didn't have, like, "Did you get that email?" Or, "Did those boots fit?" And I can only think about that stunt double of myself, and how someone could manipulate people this way.

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. 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.

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. I guess the 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 (who I swear was the same person as Kirk, the manager I liked at Goodwill), they changed ownership and were bought by some very rich, gay men. A fella named Mike started working there, who had that BBQ and 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 liking little people. Wait, you mean me?

How could a person even be sexually attracted to undeveloped children? I think Hollywood created a stereotype they could control, with packs of cigarettes on developing vocal cords and male pattern baldness. Such as a homeless person frustrated with conspiracy just being crazy. You can't even say CIA out loud in public without people rolling their eyes. We're products of experience and TV creates a supernatural impression, like brainwashing.

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. Even back in Austin, a gay guy who I think was Max pretending to be Deirdre, I think mind controlled me to make gay inflections out of nowhere at a laundry mat with him. He also said that a girl had to die from heroin for him to get his house.

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. A black man in DC flashed me their dick, another approached me as he was masturbating, and all of this is feeling disgusting.

Grace McManus was the front desk supervisor at Ragged Point, a place I worked at with Matt Strezpak briefly before heading to Santa Barbara. She had a strategy of not naming the rabbits she raised for eating, avoiding attachment. If Jacob from my childhood had anything to do with Angela, it would explain why they skated around my life but never actually had a relationship with me, and maybe what the excitement was about, if they were someone who loves to murder people.

Whatever Jon did to me when I was living with him, that caused a large oval of shedding confetti, hidden perfectly on the back of my head, is bleeding now and splitting my crown like an infant. At this rate I think he beat her to it, or an ingredient maybe to go with that virus. The doctors in SLO doing nothing to investigate it, not surprisingly. I feel like he raped me for years subvertively, maybe why I never dream, and then gave me to her through Sea Venture.

At Ragged Point I met a traveler on the road who was talking about the problem being inheritance. I'm suddenly reminded that Angela acted like she didn't have any money, even though it felt like she was rich. I thought then that it was part of being undercover to misinform me, but I wasn't trying to assume anything. Even Jon was living off SSI in a mobile home, despite his dad being wealthy. Am I really being harvested as an artist for creative ideas by these people? Eotl was predominately 1337, and the psychological manipulation, such as a devil-like Jessey having 2 daughters, seems possibly by the book.

Someone said that Scott had a plan to kill them in the hospital. Feeling they were talking about me. It's inconceivable, and maybe designed to keep me from going when I need to. Great.

I remember seeing the guest of a talk show speaking optimistically about a discovery that would enable people to live forever. If that were true, stepping outside of nature you'd have to appreciate retirement maybe. Throwing off some kind of ancient plan with perverted extremes. Ruling the world so that nothing else can grow, goodbye garden.

During my stay with Jon, there were YouTube's with scientists talking about finding something like computer code in the universe. Telepathy exists, and from what I hear so do UFO's. It's reasonable that if technology existed to command non-locality of space and time, besides Hollywood, that would explain it.



Chapter 8, New York, Etc.

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 plausible network connection.

I felt like I had to try getting help, though it felt like none existed. I gave printed copies of this writing to the New York Times and Democracy Now, asking if I could speak to anyone about it. They actually seemed personable and maybe interested. Returning to the Times, I got the half expected cold shoulder, and Democracy Now had a very young kid shut the door on me, like they did at Walgreen's.

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. All I could do was picture Sarah Palin in a helicopter.

It's some kind of head trip, including a reason to believe the intention might even be good. It's witchery, living a lie manipulated by central intelligence. Wait, the Pentagon is a Pentagon?

Despite a sense of cliche 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 finding legal ways to murder artists with a kind of distraction from growing. The fact that my life has been dominated by few people, and prevented.

Returning to DC I felt 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. Weird how impossibly perfect it was, suddenly feeling to the room like I was a member, and even threatening her.

A hitchhiker who seemed familiar, a Marty version of Jim Nugent, 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 and forced to live on the streets with no escape, but he got weird and kept trying to cut me off, controlling conversation.

They certainly control email. I didn't even hear back from freshly maintained ads by a professional selling refurbished laptops from an office environment, when I said that I'll take one for the asking price, until weeks later when it was timed to keep me from leaving DC. Then I didn't hear from him again. I finally found a good porn with a girl who was actually my age. In a hurry I accidentally deleted it to free up space, even trying not to. Then it was gone from my history. Just not there, when all the other ones were. How fucked up is that?

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.

Jim said be careful who you marry, and now I feel like he was talking about himself, since he lured my mom, and then me, to Grass Valley. I looked up the property he had there, right where Sunshine Valley Road turns into Wolf Creek (have you seen that movie, the guy even looks like Mike). It's covered up now by fake trees on Google maps, like a clone stamp tool, you can't even see the driveway, or the pond.

In high school some friends of mine got me into a Jewish Youth group. Our chapter was called Jack Benny, which I think could have meant Jacking Byers, because in Grass Valley someone said that Bennet was my black name. I don't know, it's kind of weird. Those friends in high school got me into Eotl though, which originated at Stanford, also the hospital where I was born, and now I'm wondering why a Jewish Natzi conspiracy sounds familiar.

I had a near death experience with that hitchhiker, Jessey, at the Book Hill Library in DC. He lured me to the top of some stone steps and I barely took a hit off a roach I found outside the Safeway he would panhandle at. It was like a vacuum of eternal suffering, a loop like throwing up, and I came alive again half way down the steps with cuts torn into me. It reminded me of Eotl, something unnatural, and maybe he used telepathy to make the universe seem that way, I don't know. I've seen him make another person dumb as a brick telepathically. Anything is possible.

For some reason that artificial experience makes me think of that spoofy religion, mocking God as a spaghetti monster. It felt like that, being flagellated by violence.

I tried maybe 5 times to leave DC, but weird streets and thoughts somehow prevented it every time. I haven't been allowed to work or even shower or do laundry, believe me, and I have nothing to do.

There's something important about Tornado Lobster, a game company I wanted to startup (and later changed to Otterapps). I was literally a day away from finishing a video for Kickstarter, when everything shutdown for Covid. When things started to settle down I managed a bus to Nashville. After a day or two there, I went ahead with submitting the prelaunch, and imediately that evening the shutdown revitalized with riots.

I emailed Jon for some reason, just wondering what's up, been awhile. Thinking I should get away then, I saw a plane ticket to Owensboro for $13, wow. Then another message from Jon encouraging social services. After a black helicopter followed me across town, hiding in a bush, turning my cloths inside out, and sketchy ex-military looking guys searching around there, I made it to the bus station, heading back to DC.

Hitchhiking is even going to be impossible, and now my ID is gone. If the shutdown has anything to do with my work on Kickstarter, 2 birds with 1 stone comes to mind as a strategy for creating alibis. Nobody at the community kitchen got sick, except the bouncer died from it, feeling like something for the sake of making it look real.

Eventually the libraries opened, but restricted enough that I couldn't render the video. My mom actually helped me with some money for a cheap laptop. I've gotten sort of carried away adding more to the video, but it's done now. There's a calm going on that's kind of weirding me out. Am I just being raped in a closed world? People who get to know me suddenly seem devastated, like they're in the same boat, but still they wont talk about anything.

What I can tell you is that gangstalking seeks to be legal. They murder you by creating excuses, and scream harrassment if you try to question them. What they do isn't natural though, like fake relationships or intent, and your body can feel that. You can feel telepathy dulling your mind, blanking it out, or instigating certain feelings, and all you can do is realize that, and fight against it for one reason or another. I would have appreciated an ecosystem of duality, and it's almost like that's what they're trying to hide.

Half the time I felt like Jon was Angela (same yellow licence plate). He called her a witch like it was a joke, but how would he know her so well back then? Except Jon hated Mexico, and Angela didn't. I saw an anime picture once of someone like Jon/Marty evily zapping a figure like Angela with some kind of control field.

That's probably where I am in real life, an underground Mexican prison of catacombs and tunnels of torture and illegal experiments. Is that worse than the Trump tower? I feel like the point of building a wall was more about keeping people in. I have a feeling Mexico is paradise maybe, in some ways.

I think I had an opportunity to get on "the bus" but was sidetracked with a thought of needing to tell Josh something, I forget what, but as a friend kind of thing, and Tinly Town was right there in walking distance from that bus stop near NASA. Is that why he set up camp there? Or why he made my love for Halloween sound perverted? Oh, you like watching people in costumes... Why does he sabotage me from talking to Erin? Another trap or maybe some reason? I feel like she tricked me into smoking cigarettes again by introducing me to a place in DC where weed roaches were plentiful. Eventually they became a delivery device for some terrible drug experiences, even cigarettes started to get weird bought directly from stores.

Some sketchy guys tried to kill me with a cigarette I bought from them on the way to find Josh, and I never even found him. I didn't inhale, sort of testing it, but I must have gotten some because that same feeling of dying came on a little and then went away. I'm starting to think that Jon Dunn (number 13) took that ring I was given and has been trying to kill me legally ever since. But there's something else. A picture of Deirdra and her brother looked exactly like Marty and Gabby from Eotl, also like that picture of hackers with red eyes.

Putting Eotl into context, Kitara was a player, supposedly an old lady, and everyone called her mom. She would log in and hug everyone individually, but never really chat as far as I know. Marty and Gabby were also players, Virus and Pyra. Tick and Arkham were wizards I kind of knew. Someone even told me once there's a way to shell out of the login, a machine code backdoor to hack anything, even with telnet. Duncan and Zippo were Archwizards, top of the community. It's starting to make sense that if Eotl represented the people in control of my life, such as Jon (the don) Dunn, being number 13, as if he were Duncan (do whatever he wants).

I wonder how much of this is a house war, or just a conspiracy they all take part in to rape others, harvesting excuses for power or inheritance, without earning or needing a reason, digging into the universe, even breaking it. Angela said she hated her family, and I believe her, because she was so fucked up. Everything is.



Chapter 9, DC, Part 3.

Given the people in my life, Tom, Jessey, and someone else, one night I felt presented by 3 paths I could take. Science experiment, Arian Brotherhood, or anonymous benefactor, respectively. I started walking and felt mind controlled and diverted to the walking trail path of the benefactor, the one I actually wasn't even considering, and trying to get some sleep I had a weird sensation that felt like someone took my brain out, cut perfectly along the equator.

Later I remember Jessey telling me without explanation, "I know you're a girl." For some reason I think of that old lady version of Angela at the pot trimming house, and wonder if body snatching would explain everything. Maybe something real, if this world isn't. He kicked a rolled up pile of blankets, said something I forget, like it were Angela being punished, and said once, referring to War Robots, "play your game."

Two hot black girls came out of nowhere. One got all over Jessey, the other all over Tom. Jessey left town shortly after I think. I hung out a few times with Tom and his friend, but she was out to get me, it got too weird. She ended up exhibiting the strategy of creating nonsense conflict and turning it on you, sucked into an argument designed to be infuriating.

One day a roasted chicken and an ice cream truck (a long story in other words), put me on a weird path right after seeing Tom and that girl. A sketchy hillbilly was waiting for me and asked for a cigarette as I passed. Confused I turned around. He was gone, like disappeared. Then came the ghost dick, even running. Back to her and Tom, I demanded she get that guy out of my ass, and it stopped. She sat there, righteous, not even surprised. I told Tom she was a witch, for lack of a better word, and had a weird feeling that that was actually the setup.

There's a realm of possibility, given some kind of technology or hacking, that Jacob was Jon, not Angela. That the Drew I met in DC was Jacob, even Mark Rosen, manhandling a black version of Angela who could have been Todd, maybe Deirdre. That Angela was set up by the guys who took over the Holbrooke, setting me up from childhood and bombarding my life with perverted gay men. But it's just as easy to put all of them into an organization of mutual interest and canabalistic sacrifice, or want for confusion seeking institution.

Shortly before I posted this story at that point on EOTL, a lady was screaming in the bathroom with the door open. It felt like a setup with intention, and Scott was there. Like something so horrible had happened it would cause a mother to sob to the point of screaming uncontrollably.

Back when I worked on Maia a lot, I called it Revenge Of The End Of The Line, because EOTL (end of the line) sometimes called itself that. I thought of it as an apocalyptic world finding solution, such as a civilization escaping the pattern of unbalanced catastrophe. Now I'm starting to think of that ring, and wonder if they meant the revenge of absolute power, or that of a person being murdered for trying to voice a malfunction. I think of a guy, too, and a girl that he liked paying attention to me, and wish they would both just leave me alone, or figure out the hell going on in their own heads.

I also think of everything being so set up and cliche, that it could be seeking to provoke this sensation of conflict and inspire problem solving for the sake of harvesting. That intention seeming dubious. Dead birds for Christmas. Maybe a bad way to put it if our souls are immortal and they cover it up with an artificial dead end. Maybe just a head trip, with a device to hurt someone for as long as possible, such as life support.

Ready Player One or not, maybe they have military technology that can defy the world as we know it. Night and day I'm being harassed by what I can only describe as a violating, ghost dick sensation. Sometimes waking up in the morning feeling like a football was in there, though it goes away. If this is a ship, and you're my pimp, then where's my money.

I had a weird experience at the waterfront in DC one night, trying to sleep. The sprinklers came on and pushed me to a secluded spot. Laying there I felt something peel off the back of my head, out of worldly, like a giant tongue licking me. It actually lifted my head off the ground.

I'd been trying to get away from DC, but every time a combination of weird streets and thoughts would turn me around. I went to Rockville looking for Greyhound and realized Bethesda Games was located there. Found a route on the bus but it took a lot longer to arrive than it said. No voice service on the bus. The digital display wasn't even on, and I think the driver tricked me into getting off early because Research Rd/Park was convoluted. At a fast food place I tried to get walking directions but Google maps started bugging out, stopping partially or fuzzy, or just "couldn't connect." Even though the signal was strong.

Giving up I just started walking and magically a bus came, another route to the same place. But not surprised it seemed the security guard was the bouncer from weekend meals in Georgetown. I felt weird and ineffectively spoke. It makes sense that a community bouncer for a church would have a background as a security guard. They did at Myriam's Kitchen.

A black couple passes by me, and feeling directed at me they say, "We're just going to kill all these motherfuckers." Laughing about it like crackheads. I felt like they were just trying to make me leave DC, even though I had been trying to, maybe reverse psychology to stay. Like it's inconceivable.

Trying to panhandle, an older guy who knew people, Kenneth, is there in the spot I'd sit one day, chatting with a tall, skinny, gay seeming younger man. The next day he shows up and calls me a bitch. Frustrated and thinking he was part of this thing I said to go fuck sheep if that's what you want. It kind of ended like that, him saying he was black kkk, it going nowhere, just both of us angry.

The next day he was there again with a plastic bag of beer where I'd sit. We started getting into again, me wondering why he didn't want to leave me alone. I forget how but I mentioned he even had his beer there to provoke me, and he dared me to move it. I asked if that was permission, he said something similar, so I picked it up. Then he came at me. If defence I threw it, and he punched me in the jaw. Since then he's been stalking me, gets in my head and just repeats faggot like a Pokemon.

Another day he attacks me on the street, saying where's my money. I tried to say he set that that up, being the one to earn it, controlling it and he got what he wanted. I didn't owe anything. Didn't matter. Another day I was charging my phone, and a weird guy who would bike around the waterfront shouting pedophile sat with me. I asked if he could use the outlet two stores down because I didn't want company. He wouldn't. I got kind of pissed, asked if he was kkk and he just froze with a poker face. I took his picture. He jumped up and hit me, right in the exact same spot that Ken did.

They don't explain anything, fill your mind with psychobabble, and then harass you 24/7 with ghost dicks and creepy, intentful people. Until you finally resort to saying something, seeming to create the excuse for them to hate you. There has to be a reason, it doesn't even make any sense. I've been called a rat, but only by a rapist. Since when is dick thrusting supposed to explain anything?

Josh starting hanging out near the Safeway I'd go to, and tells me one day that he thinks a crazy doctor did something irreversible to him. On a bus then he goes to organize his stuff and pauses, then does a few quick motions, somehow as if he were a doctor. I can't figure out if he's a friend or trying to make me head-trip. But the way his stuff has gone, making Halloween sound perverted, even trying to get me to go to the college library, and not talk to Erin. I don't know.

I was getting warned to change my passwords with Otterapps, so I did, a combination of the old one and something new I could remember. I've tried everything now and nothing works, all I still have is the Kickstarter which never even got a genuine hit. I lost my ID, too. My phone wouldn't even make an appointment. I had to use someone else's phone, but then the DMV wouldn't see me for 4 months. Everyone said just order a replacement online. I got in touch with my mom again, asking if she could help. She managed to order a birth certificate, but said it wouldn't come until January, 5 months away. Trying to order an ID it said that I wasn't eligible.

Fed up being ghost dicked night and day, I wrote a short message summing up my experience with a permanent marker I found. Trying to sleep at the Book Hill library I asked them to stop. They didn't and I threatened to write it there. They didn't, and I did, frustrated utterly. For some reason it looked more like graffiti, when I wrote it neatly everywhere else. It was all too much. I asked my mom for some money and got out of there finally, taking an indirect route to Buffalo, I'm not sure why.

Niagara Falls was interesting, too, but rough, familiar people, mumbling hatefully and seeming intentfull towards me showed up. Like inexplicable pressure to not stick around. "You're not going to Canada," says a guard who reminded me of someone from Myriam's in DC. All I did was ask if there was a way to see the city on that side. A guy at 711 reminded me of Mark, and the coffee made me feel so drugged I poured it out. He reminded me of a worker at Myriam's Kitchen, too, who kept not giving me new cloths when I felt dressed like a kid. Eventually they gave me pants like were like pantyhose, for a trash can.

Boston, a big city I thought could be better. I decided to sort this document out and wrap my head around it, since nothing else worked. Maybe try finding a job again. After a few days, black helicopters have shown up, along with some observant black men panhandling, looking very out of place in the college end of town I was in. They even looked like they were feeling out of place, being surrounded by a clean community that was almost entirely kids.

Suddenly the same area is all eclectic now. Like it was only like that the first few days to get me to write that. What is this?

Suddenly I'm reminded of that movie, Get Out. I'm starting to think maybe this organization of Jewish people are using nanobots and telepathy to enslave black people, or mean people with an ego that would long to be part of something supernatural. History and Hollywood have given them both a race card and play with it like invincibility.

I like the black ones, that one girl said, talking about American Spirits. But that wasn't the first time I had that exemplified or rubbed in my face. In fact, if you take Black Lives Matter logically, nobody else does. It feels like a psychological war, making a chess game out of civilization. Putting everything into a box that can be manipulated. Wish I could leave this country, but it's pretty clear they won't let me.

I think framing and slander are used because even if you know that's what it is, the effect is still there, like brainwashing.

In Boston, a guy passes me and says, "Hey man, what's up? It's Africa!" Later, trying to sleep in a park someone kept warning me Donald Trump was coming, then my head felt like it was in a microwave, and went away when I got up. Laying down it started again, but I thought maybe they were trying to cure the stuff on the back of my head, and fell asleep.

The next day I woke up feeling weird, had the worst egg smelling gas, and went straight to 711 for a pizza. Saw a homeless girl panhandling and thought to offer a slice. I always do, it's too much pizza for one person. Suddenly realized she was very young and thought it was a bad idea for some reason. Confused which way to go instead, I went ahead and offered it to her. I sat somewhere and ate, gave away another slice, and went to the park, not sure what to do.

Suddenly I'm reminded of a sign I saw in San Luis Obispo, that said sex trafficking is real. Wait, are you telling me I'm in Africa?



Chapter Prequel, The End.

Are things really as bad as they seem? Evolution derailed by an artificial platform of hacking and cheat buttons. Insanity driven greed developing a rapist dependency on others, instead of earning power or being content. A supernatural hatred that shouldn't even exist, driving itself crazy.

I began to wonder if experiments with incest of elites and unstable house wars would explain this happening. That provoked mutation occuring in nature, maybe part of a plan to rekindle altruism and empathy through contrast. Like marijuana being here perhaps to calm a tower of escalating desire. I feel like a normal person, or a gifted artist and dyslexic, in a world smoking so much cocaine and meth there's nothing left but a dick, needing someone else to hate for it. That being a simplified metaphor to describe this extreme.

I just wanted to make tile engine games, feeling they were a great canvas for art, even an efficient career for this kind of skillset. Pixelated graphics seem to keep you reminded they're not real in a healthy way, too. I don't know. What the hell happened?

I had a lot of flying dreams when I was very young, and lived alone with my mom somewhere in Palo Alto. They involved me having to flap my arms usually, taking a lot of effort, or adding hight and float to jumping, and sometimes end when I'd see or just feel a UFO. I had an invasion dream once. At a department store people were terrified and hiding in clothing racks. I was hit by some kind of energy, and woke up in bed still paralyzed and numb.

1st grade at a public school, the PE teacher, seeming familiar now, used me as an example not to fear the dodge ball, and smacked me in the face with it as hard as he could. 2nd grade all I remember is being dragged around once or twice by the ear. I think I might have been molested around then too but don't remember, just white as a ghost after school one day. It wasn't a good sign, my mom said.

I was put into a private school after that, and from 3rd to 6th grade mainly had one friend, Evan Walldinger, who looked a lot like the bigger nose version of Marty I realize now. He got me to steal hood ornaments from cars once, and encouraged masterbation a lot. Jacob and Todd were there, two very sexual boys that tried to get me into penis stuff. Jacob threw a rock at my head once and dumped water on my hockey cards for no reason, always a very excited person (he acted a lot like Angela). Todd was kind of the opposite, calmly scrutinizing.

I saw my dad maybe once a year, a quiet, chain-smoking canvas painter who looked like Roger Waters, even though my mom said Mick Jagger. For my sixth birthday he took me on a dinosaur hunt in the woods, where we found an inflatable godzilla in waiting. We threw peanuts in the air at night for bats. One day, feeling weird about pausing my life for another, I didn't want to. Not knowing it but probably breaking his heart, I didn't see him again.

Mark Rosen married my mom around then, a homeopathic doctor and religiously Jewish. He gave me a treatment once, almost like a Chiropractic massage. Much later I was diagnosed with minor scoliosis, and now I'm kind of suspicious that all of this has led me into having to cross my legs to sit comfortably, something I found absolutely slandering in DC.

Him and my mom had a kid as well, my brother Lucas, who I believe has been attacked like I have and forced into being uncommonly dependant on her, suffering gut problems and personal issues, needing to live with her into his young adulthood. I'm feeling like it draws attention to my relationship with her, even though I feel like we've barely had one. Unable to panhandle or work, I've had to ask her for help, amidst this social strangeness now.

We moved to Santa Rosa then, the 3 of us, my mom divorcing Mark. After a weird experience at a public school and discovering Pearl Jam, I was put into a private school in Sebastopol, Willow Wood. Ezra was a good friend, and occasionally Tao. Two girls went there named Gia and Mia. I don't even like the title Maia for the mud I've been drafting anymore, wanting an alternative to Gaia but feeling it sounds like "my world," something in a cheesy way. What a freaky set up. Where did the word Gaia even come from?

My childhood wasn't as bad as highlighting the weird parts is making it sound. Although exploring empty playgrounds isn't far off. In Santa Rosa I had the most bizarre experience feeling possessed, like I wasn't myself. I masterbated on my dog, and squeezed my cat until it reacted, then threw him off the balcony. He never came back. I was exactly 13, and that makes horrifying sense to me now. 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.

Another thing, at that public school I had just turned 13. A girl there, I can now say might have been Deirdre, started liking me and it really pissed off a guy she was with. Also a Pearl Jam song ended up ruining a great playlist I had when hanging out later with Angela, "All I thought her was everything." I felt her read into it, turned the car on and we left, one of the only nice times we had.

We moved back to Palo Alto. Mark had told my mom he would help her financially so he could see Lucas more often, but then he didn't, she said. I went to Paly for highschool. I made friends there, mainly Max Unger, who invited me into a Jewish youth group just to hang out and join in. Their chapter was called Jack Benny, and Jacob was there. Max introduced me to Eotl, a text game supposedly run from Stanford.

I did a glass etching freshman year of Battle Angel Alita, from a comic book. It came out pretty great with crosshatch shading. I started dating a quiet, trippy girl with long, crazy red hair. Then something got weird at a party. She slapped me and I never found out why. Next thing I knew I was dating her best friend, Crystal, the head of the math department's daughter and a practicing Wiccan. She ate me, sexually, you know. We broke up some time later after she told me that she had casted a love spell. I don't remember it being bad though, just weird.

Jocelyn came into my life over Summer and we had a pretty great connection, maybe too great. Neither of us wanted to do anything else for awhile except be around each other. She was very smart, could read 300 books in a year, and write sheet music by ear. Opposites attract maybe, we were pretty content. Had pet rats and loved them. She had an experience hearing voices. They put her on Paxil, then other bipolar medication. We broke up a few times but would get back together.

I dropped out shortly after the begining of Junior year. I had started working for the city as a Lifeguard and did that full time. School wasn't working out for me. I'm way too dyslexic and trying to visualize or experience long lectures was exhausting or ineffective. I learned how to program a computer by playing with it and that was the difference, learning with the body I guess.

I was very into Eotl then, even though the popularity of muds were in decline. Life was getting really weird too and supernatural escape was inviting. I made good friends with another lifeguard, Tiago, but it ended when a girl he liked, another lifeguard, Michelle, pursued me. She said she had a plan to marry someone in Africa and I eventually felt like a toy. She had a look I'm even familiar with now, like Angela did sometimes, to appear like my mom.

We were living in Redwood city, I think. Everything got weird in a background way I can't even explain. I was 17, and had started another job at the ice skating rink part time with lifeguarding. A guy there who reminds me now of Mas (who reminds me even of Max) got me into smoking cigarettes. My mom had to leave for some reason. She was chased on the street one night, really stressed in general, and filed for bankruptcy. I found an expensive closet in Menlo Park and hunkered down with Eotl.

Occasionally Eotl had meetups, since most of the players were local. I had gotten to know Marty and Gabby (Virus and Pyra), along with a few others, and some wizards (the coders). We started hanging out, but I wasn't really into doing speed like they were, trying it once. Gabby and Marty had broken up I guess, but it got weird when she began advancing with me. I ended up getting out of there to stay with my aunt in Aptos near Santa Cruz. I reconnected with Jocelyn too, and she stayed with me there briefly. I found a job as a security guard, but didn't like it for very long.

I think this is when my mom came back, marrying Jim Nugent and living with him in a nice house. I came to stay with them, and somehow Jocelyn had an affair with Marty, coming to stay with us afterward briefly. I had started a website and a friend of Jim's suggested I use GoDaddy for hosting. Jim was willing to support me going back to school, and from there I went to Phoenix Arizona.

It was a pretty weird school, honestly. Like nobody really wanted to be there. It was a nice place to live though, learning guitar and reading under a palm tree, going to bed early and waking up at 3am to enjoy night and sunrises with Earl Gray tea and cigarettes, avoiding the large bully-like friend who started coming around. Walking to a 711 one evening I was approached by three guys and smashed in the back of the head and ran. Telling the school they said we don't even put people in that neighborhood anymore, and thanks for telling me. I got a flight back to CA, totally done with schools.

Jocelyn had gotten a place in Santa Cruz with some of her friends, and I lived with her there for a little. The weird thing was that Jacob was there, dating a friend of hers and living together. Everything was just weird. I felt like I couldn't connect with anyone, and after a long decay Jocelyn broke up with me. I think she went back to school after that. I'm having a hard time remembering exactly. Jim and my mom moved to Grass Valley. I came to visit and ended up in Nevada City, working at a coffee shop and renting a room from someone my mom knew, Mariel.







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.




Santa Cruz.




Washington DC.




I checked Angela's facebook recently, wondering if she was even still alive, that people who felt like they might be her were stunts to drive me crazy. She was back, posting again for the past few months, including this picture of her with Trump, not even wearing a nametag. What the hell.






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