“Shock and Awe”
I’m not going to go through every single thing that they did to brainwash me over this guy. I’ll give a few examples and you can either read some others on the blog, use your imagination, or assume this is all the ravings of a madman. I don’t care because I have little else to lose. Not nothing to lose, but little else. My life sucks and not in a good way. Yours may not…yet.
One example was when, in early February or so, I was out jogging in Prospect Park (Brooklyn, I’d visit Prospect Park in the Twin Cities later, where the aforementioned “watch tower” is) when I suddenly had the urge to grab some fast food. “Free” of work and having so much extra energy, I had started a health food diet and exercise in the hopes of eventually finding another job.
Anyway, I was suddenly craving cheeseburgers . I checked Google maps on my iPhone and found that there was a McDonalds up near the northeast corner of the Park. That would be great because it gave me extra incentive to go farther both directions.
When I arrived, there were only a few people present. One, an older man drinking some kind of cheap orange liquor out of a brown-bagged pint bottle, was near the door. He offered me a drink. I said, “Maybe after I’ve eaten.”
He seemed to find more humor in that than I did and I would later wonder if it weren’t a poison joke. That he thought I was suspicious. In point of fact I wasn’t. Not yet.
I grabbed the cheeseburgers and he and (it would turn out) his son sat down at my table on the opposite side of the store, away from the doors.
He talked a bit about the history, the Revolutionary War and the sacrifice of so many men from Maryland. That was a hint about NSA, I assume.
He said that he and others like him protected the neighborhood. That they didn’t use guns, but rather used snake venom and so forth. (Recall again Clooney and the rattlesnake).
This was turning into a repeat of 1988’s biergarten story from chapter 1 except I wasn’t quite finding it as funny this time. The son was clearly on something. Zonked out as he was, I assumed it was heroin.
“Who’s we?” I asked.
He laughed and gave me an address on Church Street. I don’t recall the exact address.
I did have the vision of plasticized carpet and furniture in my mind and not returning after visiting there. I also wasn’t feeling so well.
I decided to take the train home instead of jogging. On the train, I went into what I thought was shock. All of the blood seemed to drain from my limbs. I could barely stay in my seat.
They really are going to kill me.
I thought that over and over. It made no sense. Why?
But then, after several minutes like this, wondering how I was even going to make it up the steps of the subway platform, I saw something else in my mind’s eye.
The most beautiful and at the same time absurd thing I’d ever seen. An arm swinging and banging a bottle of kitty litter on a deli counter. The most ridiculous and yet perfectly sublime way to say hello without quite saying hello.
And brought by someone who (in disguise) had reminded me of happier times. Adrienne’s face had been a mask. He was not seventeen, either, I’m certain. Older than that, likely grad student age (though that age meme would come up again and again and they would try to convince me, ironically through pattern matching, that he was even younger than that).
Who was he then? I’d eventually confirm, Watts had no idea.
That only left two basic possibilities (apart from what you’d rather believe, that it was all a fantasy in my head):
First, he was some random dude who they used voice-to-skull on and made him do that for who knows what reason. I reject that.
Second, he was (and likely still is) someone who works for one of these same agencies that I’ve been bashing for years now, or one of their subcontractors (who I’ve also been bashing).
Why the latter?
Several reasons. First, on January 8, 2010, I again saw someone snooping outside Jeremy Scahill’s home. He was clad in black and I only saw him because one of our dogs (we got another one to keep Thorin company after Cleo passed) started growling and noticed him across the street. He popped out and pretended to be throwing away cardboard boxes (that he may have been hiding behind).
I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, or even if he has, but we were both set up. As to precisely why he was, I don’t know and won’t until I talk to him (and good luck on that in what is shaping up to be the Fourth Reich around here).
Maybe he’s a Log Cabin Republican (he had that look, I would later say in an email to Scahill) and joined up to fight radical Muslims only to find it’s more fun to mess with liberals.
That seems as logical an explanation as any. His job was to serve as a “honeypot”, and help to destroy my longterm relationship. While I dispute for the most part that it worked like that (what I felt was more like pathos than eros, at least until I gave up on my ex partner and I ever getting back together), it did ultimately work. The same operative who ruined my life, saved it because I believed that he must have cared, if only a little, about what happened to me, what happened to Peter.
And the hard part is that that last is likely not so. Or, at least it lay within the realm of “look what Obama did to Manning and Kiriakou” (and what he will do to Snowden when he gets the chance). Whistleblowers persecuted with an unprecedented level of maliciousness. And most people don’t even know about what I’m detailing on top of that. Manning’s brainwashing for example (just wait, I’ll get there) points to something really awful behind the scenes.
How can I blame him? Being perhaps Republican he’s likely a lot more comfortable with the move to fascism than I am. He also likely thinks I’m faking this (as likely do a lot of other people).
And that, despite the truth, I could not have done anything differently, I still feel somewhat responsible in that, if I had only known what to say, how to say it, maybe he’d have blown the whistle on this stuff.
But then when I think about just how easily they made my ex hate me, I know the answer. We cannot compete with neuroscience. We can’t. Love doesn’t even stand a chance. Time to face the hard reality of that.
It is going to get worse and worse. We are going to see rights taken away, not just in the US but all over the world. We are going to see more and more strange behavior.
One of the other things was that the euphoria actually predated my birthday. How, then, if I had (I thought later) fallen in love with this guy I don’t know, if I had the feeling prior to actually seeing him?
The excuse for that, whether due to hypnotic suggestion resulting in it making up it’s own excuses (see again chapter 6 section on neuroscience) or a direct V2K suggestion, I don’t know. But the idea was that I had actually seen him before and unconsciously recognized him, fell in love with him before I saw him on January 3, 2010. Probably this was the former. A way of my mind rationalizing what someone else placed there as an absolute.
After I got my brains sloshed back into my head (that is, when I sufficiently recovered from some of the worst of whatever was done) I realized that was crap. They had drugged me or used whatever device on me to make the euphoria happen and then later one group or another assigned that feeling to this guy.
But then, just today or yesterday, I realized that I actually may have seen him before. One night I was looking out the window and saw someone walking off with my condo building’s garbage. If you don’t know, this is one of the things that, for example, FBI does to find out as much about you as they can.
I called Brooklyn PD and the woman who answered the phone laughed at me. She did so, though, a little too hard and a little too quick. I noticed that even then but didn’t believe that it could be anything more than an attempt to find social security numbers or credit card info and a rude police officer.
Until now. Same build. If that hair was his the garbage theft night, was a bit longer than when I saw him later. Here’s a brief email chain about the garbage theft among condo owners from November of 2008:
Received: by 10.90.93.11 with SMTP id q11cs193313agb;
Mon, 24 Nov 2008 07:21:31 -0800 (PST)
Received: by 10.215.40.10 with SMTP id s10mr2151029qaj.48.1227540091473;
Mon, 24 Nov 2008 07:21:31 -0800 (PST)
Received: from web52412.mail.re2.yahoo.com (web52412.mail.re2.yahoo.com [22.214.171.124])
by mx.google.com with SMTP id 30si4707904yxk.4.2008.11.24.07.21.30;
Mon, 24 Nov 2008 07:21:30 -0800 (PST)
Received-SPF: pass (….com: domain of …@….com designates 126.96.36.199 as permitted sender) client-ip=188.8.131.52;
DomainKey-Status: bad (test mode)
Authentication-Results: mx.google.com; spf=pass (google.com: domain of …@….com designates 184.108.40.206 as permitted sender) smtp.mail=…@….com; domainkeys=hardfail (test mode) header.From=…@….com
Received: (qmail 89478 invoked by uid 60001); 24 Nov 2008 15:21:30 -0000
DomainKey-Signature: a=rsa-sha1; q=dns; c=nofws;
Received: from [220.127.116.11] by web52412.mail.re2.yahoo.com via HTTP; Mon, 24 Nov 2008 07:21:29 PST
Date: Mon, 24 Nov 2008 07:21:29 -0800 (PST)
From: Patty …
Subject: Re: Stealing Garbage
To: Christina … , Christopher Knall
Cc: “De Lotto, Linda \[USA\]” De_lotto_linda [at] bah.com,
Lawrence … , Amanda … ,
Emily … , “…, Carin” ,
James … , Byong …,
Sharon … ,
Sonal … , Anjan … ,
Lisa … , Renee … ,
M … , Elena … ,
Anna … , Julia … ,
Alex … , Lenny … ,
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
yikes, thanks for the warning.
— On Mon, 11/24/08, Christopher Knall wrote:
> From: Christopher Knall
> Subject: Stealing Garbage
> To: “Christina …”
> Cc: “Patty …” , “De Lotto, Linda \[USA\]” De_lotto_linda [at] bah.com, “Lawrence …” , “Amanda …” , “Emily …” , “…, Carin” , “James …” , “Byong …”, “Sharon …” , “Sonal …” , “Anjan …” , “Lisa …” , “Renee …” , “M …” , “Elena …” , “Anna …” , “Julia …” , “Alex …” , “Lenny …” , “reneero@….com”
> Date: Monday, November 24, 2008, 10:15 AM
> Saw someone stealing two large garbage bags late last
> night. Just a warning to be careful with credit card bills
> and similar items when throwing them away.
A whole year in advance. Before Cleo got sick. Before the fire and Squidgate, but after meeting Anthony Gipe in Indianapolis.
And check the bold above. Booz Allen Hamilton was also a neighbor.
Is that what awaits me? They made me fall in love with a sociopath? Someone who was intimately involved with all of this?
Likely ‘Balding’ knows the answer. Oh, right, you haven’t met ‘Balding’ yet.
Time to fix that.
1 See again the quote from the end notes of Blindsight about SONY’s patent and a particular brand of beer.
2 Just noticed that date discrepancy in the email quote. That is due to how (and when) I pulled that email off of my GMail account. I will leave it as is to avoid the appearance of “doctoring” it. That did happen in November of 2008.
Update: Found a better copy and the BAH email address. Not only did I have Curtis Sawyer in my social circle, I had a BAH neighbor as well.