After a few nice days in the forest, I am at a point where posting this portion of the series is a bit questionable. I don’t mean that I don’t believe what I’m saying here. At the time I very much did. Still, and through conversations with a number of people, including law enforcement, I have realized that SOMETHING ELSE could be going on. And, no, I don’t mean mental health issues. I get it. The internet, whether through honesty and/or misinformation, is flooded with descriptions of “gang stalking” being a mental health issue. Still, gang stalking DOES exist; cases HAVE been confirmed:
What you are about to read, at the very least, is a detailing of the mind of a very smart person going through something too real. Whether this all has anything to do with the FBI is irrelevant. SOMEONE appears to be stalking me, possibly an entire group, and maybe even an actual gang.
The Angst of a Sleepless Target
Man, I’ve got so much to say these days. Sometimes, life hands you WAY too much to say, and far too quickly. I spent last night being chased by The Feds. And, no, I don’t mean some punk band from Maryland, although I do see these people as punks. I also see them as Nazis, Stasis, and Terrorists. Of course, they probably see me the same. Likely because their brains are full of bullshit. I know this so because I would never take on the job of trying to make another person so miserable. I could never do such a thing, ever. And I guess this is why I’m on this side of the problem.
The MLK side. The John Lennon side. The side of the good guys. And girls.
In this case, I’m a bit of both. I’m both a guy, and a girl. At least in my mind. Take this how you will. I don’t care anymore.
Because, every single night, these Infraguard thugs seek to keep me awake. They burn through tax-payer dollars like Mac’s mom does through cigarettes, in It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. There I go using their priming terms in my own writing. And not because they’re priming me, but because I am taking every opportunity to make fun of these people. I am disrupting the disrupters, so to speak.
Just this morning, I shaved my legs, just to do it, in protest, and in view of their watching me. I thought to myself: How can I, a mere singular entity, protest, from the constraints of a vandalized sub-compact? Well, I blasted my own album, Alien Pop, which I assume they have heard in their briefings, and proceeded to shave my legs, my arms, and my chest. I must seem nuts at this point, if not as cool as I have ever been.
And speaking of cool, I had a nice chick blow me a kiss the other day when I was busking. If the world were a more open place, I would have taken to kissing her for real. But, and alas, I am but a mere Targeted Individual. And in so being, I barely exist. I can sense my lack of existence in the form of pity in the eyes of others who would like to help but cannot. They cannot because they don’t wish to end up the same. And so we all sit down. Remember: someday it will be you.
When they run out of people like me, they’ll move on to people a bit less like me but still kinda like me. My students, for instance, if they haven’t been targeted already. So, maybe you should stand up now? Like right now. Either way, I can tell who’s trying to help and who feels the need to do nothing at all. That’s all, A L L. Maybe, someday. I mean, this could very well end up being how EVERYONE is treated in the future, if only for the entertainment of the rich-famous. They tend to stay quite bored, so keep yourself prepared.
Otherwise, you’ll die before you’re dead. Like me.
Still, last night, I did what they could never expect me to do. I put on some loud music in the middle of a large grass field, shined on by the light of 5 to 6 surveillance goons, and danced. I danced to my own album. Yes, last night too. I danced to some jazz, if only because they are too empty, and simple, to understand jazz. They probably prefer music with only a few syllables, but who knows. After some time, I grew bored and left for another location. And, yes, they certainly follow me. No matter which kind of road I take, their lights eventually show. I see their cars and trucks come in. I see them set up their surveillance systems, mostly from a rather extreme distance. Last night, I even got to see them set up what appeared to be a sort of mobile surveillance center. This thing, from afar, seemed to have screens, a large, bright energy-based tool, too, pointed right at me.
I wonder precisely what they’re making a point to zap me with. I have read about the weapons of these programs and can note to you, with certainty, that these are things never meant for the innocent. If I were guilty of anything, they would have arrested me a long time ago. But, instead, they terrorize me and have others do the same, while I sip simple coffee and write things down. What a bunch of stupid fucks. And, in case you’re concerned about my professionalism, let me tell you. This situation has led me past all that. They are blacklisting me, and I can see it. I can see the futility of my submitting applications. Their primary attempt seems to be to neutralize me, for some as yet unknown reason. Perhaps they’ve even provided you with justifications for my terror. And, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s what works best ON YOUR EARS.
In general, these programs are known for spreading falsehoods and rumors worse than a quirky-group sitcom about some high-school dick heads. Perhaps they’ve even made a point to show you some things, which may or may not be real, or true. I do say some pretty outlandish shit, but I also draw the line somewhere. I am known for entertaining the musings of others, even when that means sounding like a freaking serial killer. This they play into by removing the context, if only to make you sound, or seem, isolatedly corrupt. But, to me, corruption is much more likely to be found where, without ANY judicial process or oversight, one is forced to be chased around, in the night, by the sound of artificial dogs. And they certainly do love their damn dogs. Alas, I’m not even really sure where they ever got the idea that dog barkings annoy me, but in closing my windows, it doesn’t really make a difference.
Still, they are definitely terrorizing me. This is definitely state-sanctioned terrorism. I see it as one state runs in front, giving you a few rights, a little cash, while another state, with absolutely no guardrails, goes on terrorizing people like John Lennon. Dude, John Lennon was a badass. Why would they EVER bother THAT guy? Well, for the same reasons that they’re bothering me. I am a fish upstream. I am an unanswered question. I shave my legs, just to do it. I never stop being weird. And weird is a threat. Because, someday, people could choose to like you more than who is in power, and that scares The Establishment to shit. As such, we have these programs, that truly do exist I can tell you, that seek to stop anything alternative from coming about. The world is burning and no one is fixing it, so why not kill off all the smart people who could fix it?
Yeah, right. Their intention now is to have all undeserving souls die in some odd way between here and Armageddon, which they will, of course, manufacture, if only to feel biblical.
Of course, in being a Federal Object, I am afforded a bit of flexibility not afforded to everyone else. I am no longer bothered by regular cops, in spite of some of the odd things I am choosing to do. Just yesterday, I parked between two handicap spots, tied my car shut, and went into a store with a tin-foil hat on, if only to prevent the potential for Microwave Instructions. Yes, I know this shit is weird, and that I probably shouldn’t go about kicking bee hives, but you know what? To hell with terrorism. If they feel the need to treat me like a dog, then I shall bark in any key I want. Again and yesterday, I noted someone walking inches away from my car. They use this tactic to remind you of the continual damages they make to your vehicle, and other things. Well, I opened the door, with no intention of getting out, and looked right into the dead eyes of the Stasi. It felt good. So good in fact that I opened the door further still, forcing them to move yet again.
And, in case you’re wondering whether this could have just been a chance encounter between someone walking too close to a car and myself, note: this has been happening all the time lately.
ALL THE TIME.
No matter where I am, someone will give their Soviet ways away by walking too close to my car. Often, they’ll be either smoking or lighting up. And I’m pretty sure they get bonus points for involving a dog. What a stupid fucking reality. And they’re thrusting it upon me, for being too outspoken, and original. Someday, I feel, they may even terrorize a bag of chips. You know, when they run out of liberals, and moderates, and light right-wingers. Because the whole point is to get rid of anyone who doesn’t fall exactly in line. And lest you think this isn’t you, maybe spend a few minutes thinking about the ways in which you too are unique.
We are all so unique when we truly think about it.
So, for today, you enter my movements into a Stasian database. The very same one they use to damage my things. And in so doing, you damage my things too. Does that feel cool to you? Is it worth what they paid you?
DID THEY EVEN PAY YOU?
Two and a half pages in, twenty minutes deep, and no coffee. I must be hot. Hot with the coals of injustice ringing in my artificial dog ears. Or whatever might make more sense to you. Either way, I’m HERE thinking about all of the things I am no longer afforded. I cannot genuinely consider mates, for I cannot genuinely tell who’s a Nazi. EVERYONE could be an intercept, which is to say someone with specific instructions on how to intercept me. To gain access to my life, if only to make it worse. What a bunch of assholes some of you are. Allan. Jesse. Maybe even that really cute girl with the nice smile at the coffee shop, which is to say, most of them. Still, there IS one I WOULD like to date. But those days are past. I’m a target now. And this means having to question EVERYTHING.
Why?
Why does this kind of life even exist? I have spent my whole of days making my name nice and shiny, and then, they decide, on the drop of a dime, to destroy it all. Well, good luck. Good fucking luck.
And insert brain fog.
To wit, I thought just this morning about that notion, the notion that their hope is to ruin me. Well, THEY. WILL. NOT. Because, at this point, they’re bolstering the very parts of me that matter, which is to say: they’re making me more ME. For instance, I’m now tempted to wear a men’s-dress in public, because that’s DEFINITELY one form of protest, and perhaps the breeze is nice. I’m writing A LOT more. Like all the time. Mostly about the same thing, but still, I’m writing. I wasn’t really publishing ANYTHING before. And now I am. My musical productivity, AKA musicianship, HAS slowed, because terrorism will do that to you, but I’m still busking just as much as I did before. Not as relaxed as I was before, but busking yes. People, I’m not sure whether out of talent or pity, are tipping me tenners all the time. I guess this is one way to make money. Not the kind of money I made before, which now looks impossible, but something. Still, I find myself above minimum wage when I busk. Now, if only I could figure out how to sing all day long.
If only I could figure out how to get the state off my fucking back. These people are nuts. They are bonafide terrorists, with nice badges and a pension. I mean Allan probably got off pretty well for throwing my whole life under a bus. There he sat, listening to me sing like an angel, day after day, writing things he can barely read, and he chose to make it all a mess. You’re a Nazi, dude, and Nazis go to hell.
GO. TO. HELL!
Someday, when God drops his giant whatever on your idiot face, just to do it, you’ll know what I mean. This is not really what I think of heaven and hell. Heaven, I do know, is meant for the kind of people who are helping me, right now, when I need it the most. That tenner counts. And so does that comped coffee. I notice you doing that, and love you for it. I notice those friends of mine that have stuck around, who fight to see me survive, regardless of the state’s terror against me. And this is not to say what I once considered my closest friends. And that’s OK. Some have families to consider. Still, their hearts seem a bit selfish to me. I didn’t really do anything to become a Targeted Individual, and so probably don’t deserve to be treated this way. I never signed up for this. They will follow me around until they find ANYTHING. Because they’re perverts, with broken brains.
To kill another, with no touch, and slowly, is still very much to kill another.
I get it that your moral system, lacking in any semblance of empathy, cannot fathom this, but it is true. As you play those rabid dog sounds, to drive me nuts, you drive yourself into a worser state of mind. You unhinge all that ever made you noble, which I suspect wasn’t very much to begin with.
Here I am, speaking directly to my terrorists, when I should be speaking to you, dear reader. Perhaps you’re the same. Who cares. When you see me in the coffee shop, which is probably half full of entry-level agents, you are seeing a man that hasn’t had much sleep. Because a team of thugs is up all night, jacked on coffee and camo-shorts, forward caps, keeping my life as annoying as can be. You don’t know me. And, yes, I mean the reader this time. Most people don’t know me, haven’t spent much time chatting with me. As such, you don’t really know what you’re doing to me, or helping them to do.
And, no, this is not mental health. In fact, most of what we find on this subject, online, is just a misinformation campaign seeking to label the victims as crazy. If I am crazy, then it must be with the vitriols of injustice. If I am angry, then it is all because they didn’t allow me to make more of my life before smashing it to bits. MLK gave speeches. Lennon made a bunch of albums, with The Beatles. Me? I taught math classes and ran my mouth, in said math classes. That’s all. They are afraid that I may, someday, have become something of an opposition, and in so doing have moved the meter a bit further into the land of secondary offenses. The psychopath doesn’t see the difference between rules and laws, and these programs are no different. Can these programs then be said to be run and/or created by psychopaths?
Why don’t we try to tackle that giant pedophile problem in Washington first, that ACTUAL PROBLEM? That has ACTUAL VICTIMS. My potential for disrupting social norms doesn’t really have any exact, stated victims. So,
War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. And innocence is Guilt.
With a line like that, how could I ever go on writing? And even if I mean only within this post, how could I go on still?
I never got to be like Josh Groban. No one has ever played my record on air. And I’ve only ever played a few shows. Most of my writing, which is funny as hell and not at all about the same stuff as this, has yet to be published. But, once they ruin me, who will want to read it? That stuff is good, inspired, and I feel the world needs it. The world needs me. And I the world.
So, I guess I have to hope that you’ll see through their falsehoods, and realize that, if I had truly done something wrong, I’d be in jail. They wouldn’t stick to telling you “He’s being investigated.” Still, there IS a ring to that. Some women like bad men. And some good men who pretend to be bad, or seem that way, like those women. As such, you should probably tell me what you think of me more often, especially if it’s not rude. I may just kiss you back. I may just give you a high five so cool that it snaps like four fingers on the hand of a completely different person altogether. Whatever happens, that will be me, and you, living a real experience. And not whatever this fucked up shit is.
Please. Let’s think about making this world a better place.
Because the future depends on precisely that.
PS — My exact reason for hesitantly posting this rather funny piece is that I realized: It may “only” be the landlord and some friends gang stalking me. This realization is the point of my next post, or will be.
Stay tuned.
Statistical Consulting from analytllc 
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