Man, I can’t believe I’ve written so much on this topic so far. As I look to the double-digits of this post, I realize that I have in fact started writing, blogging. So, after more than a decade wanting to be a writer in some capacity, I am writing. Of course, merely writing does not make you a writer. I’m not sure how this works, but it is as this. Before the series (i.e., Terrorism and Surveillance), I had written so many things, mostly in the hope that the world would SOMEDAY see it all. This includes the following:
- 8 publications. I did not write most of them outside of the statistics segments, but still; I am on these papers, all peer-reviewed.
- Loads of ideas and theories, which The Feds, definitely a certain and certified creep, have read some of. I’m not sure what my intention was/is with these. Their structure is almost too wild to make into anything resembling a book. Perhaps, if this stuff has not been ruined yet to me, I will release these in some distilled form, at some point in the future.
- A collection of short-stories. This I wrote at an unbelievable pace sometime between 2023 and 2025. It felt good to write a whole book. Still, the thing needs lots of editing and proofing, so I wouldn’t call this DONE. It ain’t.
- An entire season of an absurdist comedy show, starring YOURS TRULY. Now this was a lot of fun to write. As pen set to paper, I could tell that the whole thing was funny enough for ACTUAL TV. I should know. I grew up on television. It’s part of why I ended up so weird. It’s also how I acquired my broad perspectives on so many things. My sense of harmonies and arpeggios too. Thanks, BET.
- Everything else. This probably includes things like social media posts, texts, and anything else. There’s so much in this category, much of which has been at least partially erased by my distaste for Big Social Media//Big Tech. I was highly invested in things like Instagram and Facebook when they came out. Then, I saw Citizen Four, and everything changed. I could no longer bring myself to support that stuff.
As I read this list and recollect its contents, I realize that not only am I blogging, but I AM a writer. Am I George Saunders or Ernest Hemingway? No, I am some other dude entirely. They’re both older than I am, have studied writing more. I am but a mere eccentric mathematician whose brain cells move too fast to keep lidded. Am I Shakespeare? Yes, because we all are. That stuff has seeped into EVERYTHING written since, man. Mark Twain too. I’m not him either. By the way, I once met George Saunders at a Book Event in Tampa, at the immaculate-lovely Tampa Theater. What a place, what a writer. When I approached George, I took on an almost Kramerian aloofness. I probably came off as CERTIFIABLE, but who knows. The conversation:
“I just want to let you know that I’m a fanatic.”
“In general, or for my work?”
“Both.”
[LAUGHS]
“Seriously, though, I love your work. Tenth of December is one of my favorite books of all time.”
“Thank you. You want me to sign your book?”
[HANDS HIM LINCOLN IN THE BARDO]
“Can you sign it to my cats?”
[LAUGHS AGAIN]
[SIGNS BOOK TO BASIL AND DORIAN: MEOW]
“Thanks, man.”
That’s about how it went. As always, I may be omit-missing some of this conversation’s details, maybe even most of the details, but you get the gist of it. I had one of my favorite authors of all time sign a book to cats that weren’t actually mine. They belong, still, to my ex-girlfriend Lauren. So, now I have a copy very much worth keeping. And, speaking of another book entirely (AKA Tenth of December) I have another fun tidbit, for you, dear reader. This book, and therefore George Himself, were a suggestion gifted from the one and only Evan of Pinegrove. I used to go to as many Pinegrove shows as I could muster. I even once saw them, in most original formulation, for free, in Bar Harbor, before they had very many fans. We ended up hanging out.
T’was: Nice and cool.
This was all back when life was fun, before I met Psycho Allan and his Idiot-Gang of Proxy Stalkers. Of course, and for sure, I still don’t know for sure the exact composition of my woes. As mentioned in a previous post of this series, I mostly take my “gang stalking” to be the result of a psycho and some friends, or the FBI. One of these is obviously much scarier than the other, one. But, it’s all very scary, either way. This is the kind of thing you can’t imagine by simply hearing it. I can tell you about how I often get the sense of being watched, by more than one person, in the middle of the night. I can talk at length about how my stuff takes highly-deniable and therefore highly-criminal damages all the time. I could even mention what effects this all has on one’s mental state.
[Ironic Trigger Warning Begins]
But, those are just words. Living it is something entirely different. Words are scary, especially those of the good writers, but nothing compares to actually living the thing. In doing so, I have gained weight, stress, and a dark sense of what people can become if their parenting is just the right level of bad. Before this situation, I didn’t believe in things like CHILD ABUSE and ABORTION. But, I firmly believe that Allan should have been beaten and/or aborted by his parents. Given that he’s the ACTUAL shittiest person I have ever met, worse even than my own abusive father, these are understatements. The guy sucks.
And that’s even if his actions are the result of Federal Handlers. Good bad dogs are still quite bad. Also, If ANY dog bites, then there’s usually a reason. But, I don’t care about any of that. My stuff doesn’t either. I have lived too much too quickly, to care. November meant finishing a consulting project, publishing the results, making a card game, coming “home” to many of my things ruined, moving out in a panic, and being stalked. That’s TOO MUCH. Like I said, this guy sucks. Like REALLY, REALLY sucks.
None of my months should ever have been this packed up. No day, no month, no year. None of it.
[Ironic Trigger Warning Ends]
So, here I am, some five months removed from leaving Colorado, TARNISHED. In the absence of stalking, this would mean that things have calmed down, stabilized. But, this is not how psychos (or Psycho Organizations) work. For all I know, they’re ruining my shit this very moment. Because they don’t write. They destroy. And while they might write things down about the stuff they destroy, I wouldn’t count this as writing. Remember, as I said in the beginning: writing merely does not make one a writer. Is the composer of your vacuum’s manual a writer? Technically, but not entirely.
Now imagine THAT technical writing. A log-list of damages, a reflection of just how crummy people can become. I would blame parenting entirely, but that can’t be it. The FBI doesn’t have any parents, I think. I guess its programs do, but you know what I mean. I mean to say that the FBI can’t just be aborted. No matter how good of an idea that is, or seems. Once again, if I find that the crumminess of my life is NOT the work of the FBI, then I will post copiously about how sorry I am for including them in something so heinous they took no part in. Still, and for now, I can blame who I think this to be. That’s how stalking works. It sucks so hard that keeping up sucks too.
Hard. Life is hard right now. But, I am finding time through it all to do what I need to do. Matter of fact, and since posting that piece about what I’ve been missing out on, I have applied for many jobs, have written a song, and have even found ways to keep myself calm. All while being stalked by a group. And, no, I am not mentally ill.
I feel about as good as I can given the circumstances. Eventually, I’ll find a job. Eventually, I’ll release music again. Someday, things WILL resume a little more to normal. For now, though, I have my fears, THE FEAR. I still can’t leave my car unattended for too long. I still can’t relax like I used to. Math is still slow to grow. My life is no longer the same as it was before. And all because, at the very least, I offended a psycho by not liking them much. In speaking with others in similar situations to mine, I have found that it doesn’t take much to offend a psycho. Sometimes, it’s all in a look, which they don’t read well in the first place. Imagine having dementia all the time. Not just when the sun goes up or comes down, but at other times too. This is about how I took Allan to be.
Demented. Evil. Broken. Weak.
I know that WEAK is a weird one here, given the wrath placed upon me, but weak is right. It’s not a strength to be evil. That doesn’t make you powerful. It makes you an asshole.
There I go cursing again. I should probably stop doing that. You know, lest I self-sabotage a job search. But, there is something in bad words at bad times. They really make up the right word, at times. Sometimes they make sense. Either way, I am looking for work concurrent to cursing. I’ll try to mellow out the language, of course, but man, I make no promises. This stuff is feeling.
Now, having not gone into this post with any specific intentions, I guess I’m at liberty to keep the fingers rolling. Maybe THAT’S the point.
I am supposed to be ruined by this all. But I can’t let that happen. I get what they’re doing, see THEIR point. And it’s an ugly one. If the FBI IS at fault here, then just imagine how stupid that is. One of the most powerful organizations in America spends its income, budget on chasing around homeless people to place tiny marks on their stuff. They sit for hours, waiting for the underclasses to go to sleep, so they can scare them once again. Slice, snag, pathetic. That’s tax-payer dollars going directly to waste. And, as with anything else of questionable morality, and standards, television could solve it all.
Imagine a television show where they actually film this stuff. Here we have some high-level security expert playing bully to the kind of person who already doesn’t have very much. And that’s a paycheck. That’s a bonus. Maybe even a promotion. They go home and tell their kids that their work is highly classified, if only to make it all sound less like pure darkness. If they, instead, told their kids that they sat in the forest for 4 hours waiting for someone to fall asleep to ruin their stuff in tiny ways, the kid might just leave the family, join a cult and/or gang, and search the world for their own island. But, that’s not how TV works. That’s not what sells.
THE TRUTH DOES NOT SELL
Selling or not, this stuff IS happening. I’m surprised that it’s happening to me, someone who hasn’t even done anything, to anyone, but I am NOT surprised that organized harassment and bullying is a thing, even an official thing, with badges, desks, and Fusion Centers.
[CUTS TO FUSION CENTER, SCREENS EVERYWHERE]
“This is where we track our targets.”
[PANS ACROSS THE HOMELESS, EXPERIMENTAL UNITS]
“What did THIS guy do?”
“Oh, nothing. We just figured he MIGHT do SOMETHING, SOMEDAY.”
[CUTS TO A COMMERCIAL FOR BEAST V. MAN, A SERIES ABOUT CERTAIN REALITIES OF THE MODERN ROMAN STATE]
“We’re back. Jack, here, had the idea, while we were on break, to put a bug in this one’s tea.”
And, yes, I believe Allan to have put a bug in my tea once. I used to leave my tea to steep in the kitchen, before I realized how ACTUAL INSANE he was. Then, one day, I find a bug, who had been cut open, one that could never climb my tea’s vessel, inside of my tea. I was disappointed when I found it in there. Not because I had drank bug-tea, but because I thought Allan was better than that. I took him, at first, for a relatively normal person. I took him for an entity to be trusted. Then, reality. The way people really are.
At least those with handlers. Or, those with absolutely no moral compass. No compass at all.
SOME PEOPLE HAVE NO COMPASS AT ALL
What a shame. And to think: we are sold this idea that others do the right thing. It’s what helps keep us in line. We assume that people read The Bible, do positive things for each other, hold the door open for hot elderly women. Heat: Sun. Not: Bette Davis. Unless that’s your thing. I won’t judge. And maybe this is what gets you targeted, a failure to see the world for the shit it be. Oops. Job search. Still, something must give. There must be a reason.
As with all things, we search for reason in logic, only to find that things like insanity exist.
Here I am, some four pages in, in a matter of only some two hours. I must be invigorated. Or OVER-caffeinated. Can’t tell.
What I can tell is that some people have it bad. They do the right thing their whole life. Hold open hot doors. Say THANK YOU. Write copious projects of all sorts. Only to be demonized by those too stupid to understand. Too ignorant to see how beautiful creation really is. And, man, it is. There’s something to making the world a better place.
There will always be something to making the world a better place.
Thanks, George.
MEOW!
To: Basil and Dorian.
In coming back to this post, for proofing and so forth, I realize that my language can be quite much. I’m sorry for this. Sometimes I get charged up, emotionally, and set forth to reconstruct reality through said emotion. In a nutshell, I’m here to make you feel something. ANYTHING.
But, the cursing and somewhat ironic use of terms like ABUSE and ABORTION. Yeah, could be taken the wrong way. I can’t tell. Still, I should be careful in the administration of my sarcasm. ALWAYS.
In general, I believe that much can be done to help ANY lost soul.
Even those who retaliate their way through life, in the scariest of manners.
Or lacking thereof.
Keep safe.
Statistical Consulting from analytllc 
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