Diary II

This is a diary of strange experiences and revelations about my past I've had in recent years related to the fact that I've been the subject of real, covert anti-Christian, anti-American, socialist brainwashing.  I created this diary because I've filed reports about my situation with all levels of authorities and have been ignored.  Those behind the brainwashing are trying to bury me.  Apparently, I've been framed for some of the worst things a person can be accused of.  It is also their goal to portray me as insane.  I created this diary in the hopes of clearing that up and providing proof of my claims, much of which I have.  If you haven't been following along, this will be incoherent to you as it's not in any particular order.  I just make an entry when something regarding my 25 years of covert targeting occurs to me.  The same goes for the post, "John's Watchful Comedian," of which this diary is a continuation.  Instead, for a good summary, read my About Me page.  For more, see my blog post, Anti-Christian, Anti-American, Socialist Brainwashing.  

"All in one day." 

Marshall Kirk, Genealogical Researcher

Bella Dodd (12-19-15)
Today is the first time I've heard of Bella Dodd.  Before I ever found out about brainwashing and loneliness studies, etc., I figured out two things on my own that I mentioned on this blog or on GSC:
1.) They tried to turn me gay.
2.) They tried to turn me into a pedophile.

It wasn't until after I read the loneliness article in New Republic magazine and Cacioppo's book and Ayn Rand's book that I figured out that the brainwashing I've been subject to is also socialist, anti-American, and anti-Christian.

The first time I visited this Wikipedia page, which wasn't long ago, it had a photo or two.  Yeah...also, I seem to recall reading that one of the guys who started the trend was a socialist, but I can't seem to find it now:

Do you think they can't use this process to ruin some unknowing victim?  Please...
In modern espionage terms, "sheep-dipping" is where you take one of your agents and you give him or her an alternate identity. Through the sheep-dipping process, you hope to rid your agent or case officer of all vestiges of his or her old self so that agent or case officer can emerge with an entirely new persona.

OSU Scope
I can't help but to wonder about the doctor who scoped my knee at Ohio State.

Smoking & Quitters' Inc.
For the record...I have no desire or intention to quit smoking completely.  I smoke as much as I want and will continue to do so.

The CIA and Look-Alikes
Just a reminder that in the book Nemesis, which also contains a few pages about brainwashing, you will find mention of the CIA using a look-alike to frame someone in a sex video.  I've seen such CIA practices mentioned elsewhere.  One might even call it widely documented.  Of course, it has been suggested to me that I have a twin or a clone.  I was also threatened with the CIA by the father or an x-girlfriend who worked for the Asia Society of New York.  I've also read of the CIA using drugs to get people to sign documents, sure enough, in the case of someone who might get access to a large fortune.  It's also been indicated to me that I stand to inherit a great deal of money, which would, of course, explain everything.  The important part of this message, children, is that the CIA uses look-alikes to frame people in video.

To Kill A Mocking Bird and Drowning Deserters
This book has been mentioned to me several times over the past few years, often in an intimidating way, starting way back in 2009.  Just heard it again today, by chance.  In case I haven't already, I also want to mention a "dream" I had in which a female voice made the comment, "Don't they drown deserters?"  That's a follow-up to someone asking me what I thought the worst way to die would be.  That's how they do it.

All of a sudden, it's all Minnesota in my Twitter world.  Twitter's "Who To Follow" is a main tool they use to bait, threaten me, etc.  I have no idea what Minnesota has to do with it, though I posted recently that I'd had my Twitter location disabled for a long time.  When I activated it recently, the default was Minneapolis.  I'm starting to suspect that is significant.

My Buddy, Matt Schwartz
I see a great deal of stuff like this, which fits very nicely with both Joe Rogan's self-righteous bullshit and the movie, V.  It's a flood of melodramatic suggestions, etc., meant to guilt you and keep you sad.  It is all part of socialist brainwashing and they can't do it without isolating you.  Not only that, but, as is common, this one comes next to a total SPAM e-mail leading me to a fake link to a fake message from a former colleague.  A very common tactic is baiting me with fake messages from former friends, etc. and often impersonating them.  It works because they know I'm isolated and desperate to talk to someone I'm familiar with.  That's how they do it.  And, believe it or not, his facial expression in that blurry shot is an intended part of it too.  This is a really good example.  You don't get to tell me what to be open or closed to, particularly as part of an attempt to drive the country into the gutter as part of socialist brainwashing.

"A Player"
I forgot to mention, in my video about the times people got me drunk and/or drugged me, the guys who asked whether or not I was "a player."  I specifically recall answering, "No," but these faggots just kept goading me the same way they goaded me into saying something bad about Carrie Plank and same way the guy in line behind me at Pittsburgh Airport security tried to provoke me to "do something" while they were molesting Nancy.  The "Come on, you know she's a bitch" goading and the "player" goading were likely the same encounter, as a matter of fact.  I just wanted to mention this briefly.  Not sure how I could forget it.

Yahoo Commenters' Icons
The faggot assholes using the internet to screw with me do a lot to keep me busy.  They've "trained" me to notice tiny little differences in things and think that they're somehow wildly significant.  I've seen three different kinds of icons in comments on Yahoo stories.  What's interesting is, they're never mixed within the comments on the same story.  It seems that the default style is a plain colored circle with the commenter's initial, like the one shown at top here.  The other I started seeing only very recently, but couldn't find an example of upon looking for one for this entry, uses photos of letters taken from signage out in public for initials in the circles.  The other, which I've only seen once, has cartoon face avatars or photos chosen by the Yahoo user in the icon circle as seen in the screenshot on the bottom here, which includes an image of a scantily clad woman too far away to tell her age accurately above an avatar of woman who's just  my type above what's supposed to be a pink-iced doughnut but is actually shaped more like a part of a sex toy.  I
can't help but to wonder whether this blatant attempt to trigger me has anything to do with the story being one about Bernie Sanders. Oh, and I should also mention again that those commenters' icons appeared in front of me three minutes after this Yahoo homepage edition with a photo of a pepper that clearly resembles a tongue and lips, which you can confirm by the date and time in my Windows task bar at the lower right.  I'll get a screenshot of the outdoor signage icons next time I see them...not that it matters. 

Even though it's normal behavior in California, I'm not interested in being part of a group that includes people who unabashedly pick their nose at the breakfast table, which reminds me of the time every member of my family (Nancy went along begrudgingly, likely out being coerced for the same reason dad wasn't allowed to listen to Chuck Berry any more) sat around the dinner table eating with their mouths open in an exaggerated fashion.  (Boy, they really showed me that night, didn't they?!)  What exactly I'm a "rookie" at?  If it's being an angry anti-American socialist douche-bag who wants to drag the country down, which seems to be the case, I'm not interested.  I don't recall every saying I was interested in whatever it is my trustworthiness is being tested for.  I say again, no, thank you.

Morbid Photo
The scared pussy faggots doing what they're doing to me very much intentionally bait me into looking at things like the photo shown here...and the one below.

Strange Photo for Jon Dume's Youtube account, no?  Check out the comment.

Knee-Jerk at the Airport
Dear Diary:
It wasn't until recently that I wrote of how the goal of loneliness-related brainwashing is to make the person an emotional knee-jerk reactionary.  I just want to emphasize that when the gentleman a few spots behind me in line at the Pittsburgh Airport shouted, "Well, aren't you gonna do something?!" while Nancy Zoccali was being molested, it was his intention to exploit the emotional knee-jerk state I've been in to varying degrees my "whole life."

Palm Sunday Special
Dear Diary:
I just wanted to mention this briefly.  I've had a few encounters with seemingly insane homeless people who start shouting things out loud, apparently to no one in particular, that often seem to be directed at me.  I got good video of this in a video called "Labor Day Special on the F."  Often, I'm left trying to figure out what it might be in response to (which I think is part of the "causal reference" program.)  This morning, I called Christopher Wolf's office and left a message with this secretary.  (Wolfe is a privacy attorney and a friend of Valerie Plame.)  Less than an hour later, a guy who was exactly the same type as the guy in the Labor Day Video boarded a bus at precisely the same time I did at the same door I was exiting by.  As he passed me on the step, he was shouting, again, very much in the same fashion as the Labor Day video guy, "Shut the fuck up, kike!!  Shut up!! Shut the fuck up!!"  Kike??  I looked around and didn't see anyone he could have been talking to.  Isn't that interesting?

Here's that Labor Day clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwI48IqARIQ

............and moments after I posted above about the incident on the bus, I heard someone shouting over my right shoulder.  I thought I recognized the voice.  I turned and couldn't believe my eyes.  It's a big library and I was not sitting were I usually do.  He drifted into my vicinity as he shouted intimidating threats and then turned and ran for the elevator.  I followed...

Going Clear
If you think my most recent post is a big lie and I'm crazy, I dare you to read Lawrence Wright's Going Clear.  I'll make it easy: start at the bottom of page 140.

I may write more later about it, but there's just too much that matches my claims to sum it all up and I haven't finished the book anyway.  I'll just mention one thing now:  I notice that David Miscavige is short and has asthma and allergies. Guess what!  I happen to know another Scientologist who is also short and has asthma and allergies.  I wonder if ol' DM did a computer search for other Scientologists with his issues so they could bond.  My understanding is that when you join, they ask you all sorts of personal questions, etc.  Naaaa...probably, just another strannnnnge coincidence. 

Great Graceful Grady
Paul Grady
Dear Diary:
I just wanted to mention that I noticed something interesting about Janice Gillham, the daughter of one of L. Ron Hubbard’s original messengers, a small group of mostly teenage girls he used as personal servants, messengers, etc.  Janice, who has since broken away from Scientology, married a guy named Paul Grady.  I figured this was worth mentioning because Grady was a Scientologist in Columbus, Ohio in the early 80s and it just so happens that I know someone else who was a Scientolgist in Columbus, Ohio in the early 80s: Joseph C. Zoccali.

Doggett Hotel
In case anyone's interested, the hotel shown here is where Bill Doggett was staying while he was stalking me in 2010 or 2011.  It's on Van Ness right around the block from Quetzal where he gave me his business card.

Mood Control
Dear Diary:
I’ve written previously that operatives tracking my movements often follow me into retail establishments and signal the cashier to react to me in certain ways from behind my back.  Usually they instruct them to be mean, but not always.  I’ve experienced it probably a couple hundred times. Over the past few years, it nearly only happens at places I’m new to.  Today, I visited a café for the first time.  Just as my transaction was completed, one of these operatives got in line behind me.  I saw the female cashier glance at him.  My business with her was done.  After she glanced at him, she let out an exaggerated sigh and begrudgingly asked me how I was doing.

Please, do us both a favor: Keep it to yourself and stick it up your ass while you’re at it.

Instead, let’s play a new game: Find the John Zoccali quote in Going Clear.

The Joey File, Part 1

 Every time I see the photo, I just smile, smile, smile.

Ms. Johnson 
Dear Diary:
The strangest thing happened not long ago at my workfare.  A woman who’s a security guard at a nearby school and walks by where we meet some days stopped to chat.  I told her my name and she told me hers is “Ms. Johnson.”  She was very nice, but sure enough, she started saying some things that are typical of things some of those I encounter say, mainly the confusing part.  They often make comments in passing about being in jail or just getting out of jail as she did that day, for no apparent reason.  While she was telling me a confusing story, talking to me as if I were a child, she made some exaggerated gestures with her arms and spun around on her heal once.  Then, I noticed a charger for a Blackberry on top of the city utility box that was behind her.  The top of the box is about level with my face.  I couldn’t miss it, but definitely hadn’t noticed it before she stopped.  Turns out it fits my phone, which I hardly have any use for any more.

My ordeal started with Wayne Carderelli while working security at Severstal in Warren, Ohio.  Another guard there said to me one day, “You know this is a Homeland Security job, right?”  I hadn’t considered it, but wasn’t surprised.  I also recall Wayne looking at me with a very grave look and saying, “We’ll train you our way.”  That was when he and other guards there started doing bizarre things to menace and intimidate me.  Oddly, though, one of them, a guy named Frank, looked at me the day before I left Warren and said, in a very sincere, heartfelt manner, “Good luck, John.”  Others have done the same.

Anyway, if you haven’t figured out yet what Wayne has to do with Ms. Johnson, let me try to clear it up for you.  I’ve been manipulated in very strange and troubling ways meant to keep me destitute, isolated, devoid of having any kind of life, and unable to think for myself.  I’ve written that often those taking part in all of this have loud conversations near me for me to overhear that are taunting or menacing or a combination of the two.  I have proof of this.  Not long ago, apparently in response to my guess that I’m a Secret Service-FBI plant, a couple guys walked by me talking loudly.  One of them said, “Yeah…we have some guys so deep, they think they’re working for the FBI.”

Of course, I’m also reminded of Dr. Weitzel’s secretary  in Niles saying, “What’s the matter?  Feel like somebody’s messin’ with you mind?” and also finding the very professional psychiatric phrase, “messin’ with you mind” in my paranoid-schizophrenia diagnosis by Jeremy Haddle which I was set up for by Kathleen Kashay.  I’m supposed to make connections like that, right?  Right.  It’s a safe guess, then, that my encounter with Ms. Johnson is related to the dream I had in which someone asked me where I wanted to transfer to, in a similar patronizing voice as if he were talking to a baby and, of course, it’s all also connected to the operative at Serverstal training who offered me kiddy porn and then drove off in an angry huff after I declined.

"nobody listens to me"
Well, I don’t like Folgers, so I figured I should post this before I wake up “driftin’ in a dusty zone,” as alluded to by A.T. Lynne and Dean Wareham.  I mean, on Tuesday it will be four full months since you “shot me into space,” (which is what my NY-cop neighbor was “counting the minutes” to) so, again, what I do doesn’t really matter, now does it?  I really should post all the good, interesting information I have before “it’s too late,” shouldn’t I?  

The fact that I'm the only real man in this game helps me to sleep well.  I would never take part in doing to someone the things that are being done to me.

Back of My Head
Dear Diary:
On the morning of 2-9-15 around 7:30 and on 2-8-15 around 3:00am, maybe, I thought I felt someone touch the top, back part of my head.  During the more recent one, it felt as if someone had closed some kind of flap.  This reminds of how I occasionally experience a pinch in the back of my hand that feels like someone inserting a needle.  I suspect it's all just my imagination, though, or perhaps, I'm just "stuck in a dream...but it's nothin' at all."  (That's a Dean Wareham lyric, by the way.) 

Gay Atheist Operative at SFPL...Right on Time
Dear Diary:
Just a quick note.  I was in the Christian book section at the SPFL, which I'm sure is usually relatively empty as it was when I arrived, when a gentleman rushed into my vicinity and said "Excuse me," as if he needed to get by.  I'd been there for less than ten minutes.  It was a narrow passageway, so I moved to let him pass, and, sure enough, he stood in the exact spot where I was standing.  He smelled gay and the way he rushed in the area as if there was some sort of urgency, as I've seen so many times before, made it all quite clear.  I commented to him, "Wow, what a coincidence it is that the two of us are here in the Christian section, which is usually empty, at the same time at the exact same shelf."  He stammered a bit and made a comment about the need to get old white men out of the Church.  I said, "No, I like it that way.  So, you're Catholic, then?"  He said, "No, I'm atheist" and started making comments to me degrading priesthood, the same way the Asian woman at the Boyd does on Tuesday nights.  I said, "No, it wasn't called ordination yet, but Jesus actually did ordain the apostles when he told them, to paraphrase, that he has the authority and that he wanted them to carry on what he'd done."  Then he started attacking the existence of Bishops, to which I responded, "Well, a Bishop is a priest."  To argue against a hierarchy of authority in the Church is, of course, quite stupid as it would be silly for it, like any organization, large or small, to have none.  "Bishop" is just a title for a higher-ranking priest.  I told him, "Yeah, it they can just root out the bad element in the Church, I'm sure everything will be just fine."  He walked away.

FACT:  He knew my location, he knew what I as doing, and he showed up to influence me against Christianity.  This is him: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txmKJIrhC-w&feature=youtu.be 

I picked up Signs of Life: 40 Catholic Customs and Their Biblical Roots.  It seemed appropriate.

New Republic
I just want to make sure everyone understands that I am running on the assumption that the copy of New Republic magazine which I "randomly" found was actually put in my hands for a reason, with the intended result being my writing about what it's lead me to in this blog as I've done.  If that's not the case, someone who's actually on my side should openly and unequivocally explain why it's not the case.  Otherwise, I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing, since what I do doesn't matter anyway.

No Witnesses
Dear Diary:
The oddest thing happened a few months ago.  I was sitting in the window at H2O Café facing out.  A teenager was standing in front of the café giving passers-by menacing looks and kind of jumping around as if he was psyching himself up as one might do before participating in sports contest.  He kind of stepped in front of one guy passing by, intentionally blocking his way.  The guy gave him a look and kept walking.  The kid didn’t do anything.  Another H2O regular then went outside for a cigarette, and also stood right in front of the café.   I was looking at my computer when I heard loud crack.  I looked up and he was laid out on the sidewalk.  I ran out the door and saw a teenager running up Polk Street, already a block away.  I could have I.D.ed him easily that day.  The H2O regular was out cold and small stream of blood was running from the back of his head.  I got someone to call 911.  At about the same time the police got there, a tallish guy who I might guess looked like CIA or, who knows, IRS, maybe, arrived.  For lack of a better way to put it, he came running out of nowhere as if it were important for him to get there in time for something.  In the interim, I believe the guy who got knocked out woke up and was walking around.  I told the police three times that I could tell them exactly what happened and describe the kid.  Other than one of them giving me a look as if to indicate they were not allowed to speak to me, they completely ignored me and left.  It reminds me of when I went to the North Beach police station and a woman followed me in and I saw her shake her head, “No.” to the cop at the desk when I wanted to file a report about Texeira and Cueller.

If anyone is interested in investigating this odd occurrence, the gentleman who got decked is a tall, skinny, light-skinned black guy who's there just about every afternoon.
Kristi Wachter
Kristi Wachter is an outspoken critic of Scientology.  Kathleen Kashay claims my father is a guy named Ed Wachter.

Memo from Lonesome The Dog Recipient: I am no way concerned about redemption.

The Vanderbilt File

Key Points Summary
Click here for a summary of the key points in my situation:

Planks of Long Island Update 6 (11-11-14)
My Planks summary will live here from now on with the date of the most recent update. 

The Satan/Anti-Christian File

Facebook Logic
It has become plainly evident that the vast majority of my internet activity is falsified by "someone."  I never know for sure whether anything I see on line is authentic.   Recently, I made friend requested to several high school classmates, many of which have been accepted, at least twenty, I'd say.  I chatted with two or three of them, one being I guy I've known since first grade.  I offered to exchange phone numbers and got no reply.  It was quite clear from that and the obviously faked casual language that someone was impersonating him in that chat.

I added "Loneliness makes you impulsive" at the top of my social media and my About Me page for a reason.  Because all of those people I went to school with would quite naturally be interested in finding out what I'm up to, it is inevitable that at least a few of them will click on my most recent blog post and read my my About Me page.  From there, it would surely spread and others would read it.  Eventually, it will get to Brian Rindfuss.  From there, it will get to Darin Augustine and Alan Ryan and then, quite naturally, to his brother, Congressman Tim Ryan--all teammates of mine, except Timmy.  They will know why I lead with "Loneliness makes you impulsive." and surely, I will get authentic, concerned feedback.  If that scenario doesn't play out, it will serve as clear confirmation that my internet activity is being tampered with.

New Flags Around Town
Lately, I've been noticed all sorts of American flags flying around town, something I never noticed during my first few years here.  The newly placed flags in the first two photos here are within eyeshot of where I'm sitting right now, and I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the tour bus roll by the other day.  I'm used to seeing cryptic sidewalk messages scrawled in chalk suggesting that San Francisco does not sit on American soil.  All of the sudden, it's a hotbed of national pride.  Go figure. 

Once or twice, people have suggested that they hope I'll stay here.  The response to that is quite simple: Don't choke on my vapor trail.


Very Recent


In about the same time-frame, I noticed a lot of these popping up.  In fact, I think the Sanity Now ads just appeared all over town on the same day, which I'm relatively certain was July 4th.  Did I mention that these people are trying to drive me insane?  I'm quite sure I did.

45 FB Friend Connects...
and not a single phone number exchange.  That is definitely strange.  I should think interesting news "about me" would be traveling like wildfire in that group. 

Pedophilia baiting, er, I mean, triggers continue...
All along, I've been saying that they're "baiting" me.  The correct term to refer

Perfect Example

This video contains explicit "adult" content:

It's been suggested to me that I am being traumatized...



Lonely Planet Travel Guides  ??!!

Is Donna from Skokie...
going to be at the big party?

51 Friend Connects on FB...
and not a single phone number request or real exchange.  Clear proof that my Facebook activity is being falsified.

It's been indicated to me more than once that my opinion of Barack Obama has some bearing on all of this.  Do you really want to know?

Ed Bernal of Capitol Chevrolet...
says the links I sent him don't work.  I wonder why.  They work fine for me with all my computer and internet problems.  Glad I have his message in my e-mail.

My phone doesn't work...
Can someone call Agent Vetter for me?  I tried the other day on a public phone and I got a general number where I left a voice-mail.  Not sure why he didn't leave me an extension.  Says he wants to ask about an FB post of mine.  Why wouldn't he leave an extension or a cel number?  Turns out my old JFK teammate, Kevin Gormley of the FBI Cincinnati Office is out of the country.  What a coincidence!

Union Square Art
K2 Photography
I recalled recently that Kathleen once sent me a photo she'd taken of some barren woods outside her condo in the winter with the setting sun in the shot.  It's very similar to a couple of other pics I've seen.  Quite unfortunately, I can't find it in my e-mail.  I must have blown it out somewhere along the way, which is very disappointing, all things considered.  I remembered it because I saw a similar shot at Union Square the other day, the first picture shown here.  Here are few other shots by Kathleen Kashay which she saw fit to send me by e-mail.

House in Woods by K2


Sunset by K2

Silhouette of Lone Fisherman by K2

Not My Handwriting

Labor Day Special on the F

For a while there, I was so curious about everything.  Ya know what I'm most curious about?  What soap opera girl says about when she invited me, a "complete stranger" in New York City, to sit on her bed with her.  

She's the doctor's assistant at the 7:00 mark:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3ebZrO-28Q

I know that the people threatening me that I should stop doing what I'm doing are following along, so I guess I haven't made a certain point clear, despite numerous attempts.  Let's see if I can't drive that nail home:

In the building in which I reside, there are three individuals on my floor whose insanity is overtly manifest.  One, immediately adjacent to me, whose name is Edward but goes by Ted and who moved in one month after I did, has, on a number of occasions, made loud noise in his room and in the hallway past midnight, played loud music at 3am, and taunted me about it all more than once.  His room is full of an unbelievable amount of junk and he moves stuff in and and out from the room to the hallway and back for no reason.  Recently, when I went to ask him about his loud music at midnight, he replied, "What--I can't hear ya?"  The guy is bat-shit loony, but not quite as much as his buddy, "Mission Mark" down the hall.

Mark often goes on out-loud tirades in the hallway directed, apparently, at no one in particular.  During one of them, he said, "I'm going to find every one of you and hang you."  During a more recent one, he said, "I'm going to watch you fucking die."  Once, when I was using the restroom, he entered shortly after I did and started banging on the walls with a stick, exiting less than five minutes before I did.  Last night, he came stomping down the hallway at 2:30, shouting about something.  Loud banging and the sound of things moving around came from his room for the next hour.  Then, at about 6:00am, a woman somewhere in the near vicinity, went on one of her occasional early morning shouting tirades.  Despite it all, I actually slept well.  Must have been the nice fresh IPA I had yesterday afternoon.  Nevertherless, I'll remind you that operatives used to walk by my van and shout things in the window at 3:00am.

This afternoon, I caught footage of Ted & Mark singing "Satisfaction."  Again, probably just a coincidence... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFOloQ1YnpY&feature=youtu.be.

If you don't like what I'm doing, go right the fuck ahead and stop me.

It has been suggested to me more than once that all of this is being done to motivate me.  Approaching 45, I'd said it's a little late.  I didn't agree or sign any contract to have Lonesome the Dog.  Usually, when these people do what they do, the trigger is so unnerving that I don't usually catch a clip.  I got past that after I just happened to find that New Republic magazine.  I should also mention here that these people often ask for a flier with obviously feigned interest, which you can hear the beginning of at the end of this clip I caught of motivation expert, BJarso right after I handed out a bunch of fliers to USC fans. (It was great to be surrounded by real men (and women) for a few minutes): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUM0d_plBLs

The only thing this "motivation" is going to make me pursue is a healthy life with as little stress as possible and "justice" against the specific individuals responsible for my problems.

Good Acting and Politics
There have been many instances in which operatives initiate an encounter with me and portray it as random.  It's amazing how good they are at it.  They're actors and actresses.  They bait me in subtle ways that almost always work.  Often, I recognize them initially, but what they do is so subtle and ambiguous, that I'm never really sure, so I almost never get video.  Plus, they've set me up by making me desperate for positive human interaction, so, naturally, I fall for it because they act syrupy nice.  It's happened to me several times, but I don't realize it until the end of the encounter or some time afterward.  It's easy to bait someone who's been set up as I have and they are experts at it.  They've been setting me up and provoking or baiting me my entire life. 

Once again, having the camera rolling paid off.  I guessed this woman was there for a reason when I first saw her.  Then, on the bus, after I turned off the camera, she very innocently asked about my sign which I was not trying to show to her.  I was holding it at my side with the text facing me.  As they have so many times, she feigned interested in a way that seemed fake and said, "Oh, wow, what's that?"  We started talking and just happened to get off at the same stop at which point she brought up "fascist socialism" and the conservative side of San Francisco.  Previously, I would have gotten excited to have that convo.  I blew this one off as I have been for some time, actually.  I've shot over a thousand videos, so I could be wrong about this, but I'm relatively certain this is first time I caught one of these people on video.  It's worthy of mention that Carrie Plank approached me the same way.  Here's the video:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFX68XE2ZPw

Trigger #271
Sometimes, you're sitting on a diamond and you don't know it.  I shot video of a woman who sat near me not long ago at the San Francisco Public Library because I knew she was there specifically for me.  She, like many others, was extremely good at playing it off, though and what they do is very subtle and ambiguous.  It's meant to appear insignificant.  Everything about baiting and triggers was still a bit of a fog at the time, and the video has an excellent shot of her face, so I was apprehensive about posting it.  Yesterday, I reviewed my video archive and realized what I've got.  Ya know who she reminds me of?  Kyla Marriot and maybe even the evil doctor's assistant in As The World Turns.

Why do you think she's holding each page up vertically and shaking some of them around a bit?


Another way they manipulate me is by having covert operatives, whoever they may represent, provide me with rewards or deny them depending on something I did, said, or wrote recently.  I used to help with “security” at a Burger King I frequent.  A cashier there named Mai, who’s otherwise rude and condescending to me (not unlike the Asian woman at the dry cleaner around the corner who very casually referred to me as a dog to my face), was, for a while, in the habit of providing me with a free order of french fries in return for my help with the unruly folks who often stop in on weekend mornings.  On certain days, as instructed by whoever, she would give me an extra large pile of fries and sometimes even nod at me as if to confirm that I was getting it because I did something good.  I would usually be left wondering exactly what she might have been referring to.  At some point, she stopped with the free food, so I stopped helping out. 

She’s asked me nosy questions on more than one occasion, often about what I was doing on my computer.  For a long time, it was regular practice for her to ask me about the contents of my grocery bag.  She would actually crane her neck to look in it.  A major aspect of the psychological attack I’ve been under is to get me accustomed to having strangers ask me questions about things that are none of their business.  It’s part of the complete destruction of privacy.  I’ve written many times that my life is an ongoing interrogation by strangers.  They just walk up to me and start asking personal questions as if we know each other.  And, of course, the isolation ensures that I never have a witness.  Like the rewards, I’m not supposed to notice anything significant about it.   A key part of the brainwashing is to make me think everything going on in my life is perfectly normal.  

At one point, Mai and I had some sort of discrepancy and I pointed out to her that I spend more money in there than anyone else.  She replied, shouting, “It’s not your money.  It’s the government’s money.”  (She has anger issues, by the way.  I’ve observed her shouting at customers several times.  And she’s a manager.)  So much for the customer always being right, not to mention her ability to hold the job aptly illustrating how socialist influence is dragging the country into the gutter.  Then again, maybe she’s CIA.

The drunk who panhandles at the drive-through there has done the same thing.  He’s asked me some strange questions that are none of his business.  Sometimes, he puts on a semi-exaggerated show as if it’s important that he be nice to me and at others, he acts as if my passing by is no big deal at all, which is how it’s been for a while.  Other times, he has little gifts for me, usually extra things he gets from people coming through the drive-through, such as a burger or some other food item.  The other night, out of the blue after he’d hardly noticed me for weeks, he called me over to give me a candy bar and a cigarette because he’s a diabetic, which doesn’t explain the cigarette.  But, two gifts at a time?!!  Let’s see…what did I do that day? 

Sometimes, these rewards come from people who want to keep me buried and are just trying to pacify me.  A 50-ish woman who’s come into H20 a few times and is from the northeast U.S. struck up a conversation with me and made an unprompted comment that I should “stop looking” and gave me a half-full small bag of Doritos.

Such little meaningless rewards are one of the insulting ways by which they think they’re controlling me.  Part of the process is to make the person more like a child, to whom such things are significant, than an adult.  I read something somewhere about being able to control a person by making them infantile.  I suppose the number of adults who act like children in San Francisco is noteworthy.  They figure that if they treat me like a child, I’ll act like one and recognize the authority they seem to think they have over me.  Sorry, but it’s not really workin’ out that way and never was. 

Strong Mood

Much wider angle than the human eye
I removed the pics and text here because I don't positively know that, or at least can't prove it, despite how obviously it fits in with the facial-expression aspect of my experience.  I wouldn't want to get sued or anything.

The Gap Google Search
I searched "The Gap" on Google.  As you might expect, the first page of web results is dominated by the retail chain.  The image results are decidedly different as shown in this video:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z92D-O40K

More Fingerpointing, Etc
Recording video continuously has paid off better and much sooner than expected.  Recently, I caught a guy pointing his finger at me that I might not have otherwise.  Better yet, I got a shot of a woman who moved to a seat near me on a bus and started muttering angry things.  Previously, I wouldn't have caught her changing seats.  Those clips are both in this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VyPOJh-bfaM 

Like Ohio State?
I've had a few encounters in which it was the operative's goal to gauge my opinion of Ohio State University.  In at least two of those, they were trying to intimidate me in the same fashion so many have.   In the most recent of these, the woman was trying to exploit my isolation-induced easily-influenced state by nearly yelling at me, but speaking as one might to a child, "Ohio State's a great school."  That's how they do it.  They think you'll absorb anything you hear and see.  As of the moment, I have no animosity toward Ohio State.  A sure way to change that is to continue attempting to intimidate me or sway me either way.

By the way, in an attempt to promote my story and my name, I posted in a Linkedin Ohio State group.  The person who facilitates the group responded.  Do you think some crazy idiot like me would warrant such a long response that includes the word, "gently?"  Why not just kick me out of the group?  No one would every know.  I'm just some nobody.  What do you think?  Is he really very concerned about offending me as it appears, or is it just a fake meant to make me think that?  You make the call.

Crazy if you think you have famous parents?
Before I knew exactly what was going on, a guy approached me in San Francisco and asked whether I thought people who claimed to be the son or daughter of someone famous were crazy.  I recall my answer very clearly: Some of them are and some of them aren't. 

Occasionally, including recently, I still encounter operatives who attempt to convince me that I’m insane.

I have written that the socialist brainwashing I’ve been subject to includes anti-American rhetoric.  I have written that operatives hover around me or station themselves near me and have loud conversations for me to overhear.  I’ve written that I’ve noticed operatives who wear black with white stripes.  I may or may not have written—I don’t recall for sure—that some of these operatives where casual wear that suggests a uniform, which includes a prominent pronouncement of their group’s color, usually in their shirt, shoes, and/or hat.  I don’t recall noticing that before San Francisco.  Of course, I’ve seen mostly blue here.  The guy in my Odds And Ends video who “makes fun of liberals” wears a plain white hat.  Others wear black hats.

Part of the mind-control process is inducing paranoia.  I have perceived, during many of the conversations I’ve overheard which were meant for me, that certain sentences or phrases stood out by way of being out of context or being said more loudly than others.  Sometimes, it’s both.  I have thought that this perception is a product of the induced paranoia.  I wish I would have started recording constantly a long time ago.  I recently caught a clip of video that proves that my perception is not paranoia (I actually have another one that does that), by way of both its obviousness and its combination with other claims.


Powerful Odors 
If you can isolate someone completely or just make them feel lonely, you’ve made them vulnerable to manipulation for a number of different reasons which I’ve written about.  Loneliness makes you eager to please others, vulnerable to suggestion, and impulsive on top of impairing the executive function of your brain.  Some of the methods used to manipulate a target like me are called triggers, which mainly exploit the impulsiveness aspect of the loneliness set-up.

Unlike everything else in your body, including your eyes, your olfactory nerves do not connect to your brain via your spinal cord.  They have an exclusive, direct connection on a very short path to the front of your brain, the same area that controls executive function.  It’s not surprising, considering that scent is such a primal sense.  It’s how most animals hunt and scents effect you in ways you probably never think about, though most people know a little bit about it.  Some people, who aren’t necessarily political mind-control operatives, are on to this.  They apply cologne and perfume liberally on a regular basis because they know it does, to a degree, scramble the thought process of anyone they might encounter, thus giving them an edge.  You know these people.  They don’t have much going on otherwise.

On numerous occasions, I have had encounters with operatives who emitted one very powerful odor or another. It’s usually either perfume, cologne, or another scented personal hygiene product applied very liberally, or, as I’ve experienced on a few occasions in San Francisco, very powerful body odor.  Again, if you’re living a normal life in which you haven’t been set up the way I have, such things wouldn’t have nearly as severe of an effect on you as they do on me.  I was working on a blog post once at the library when a homeless guy who smelled of intense body odor rushed into the seat immediately next to me and made himself conspicuous with flailing gestures, etc.  (That's how they make you "always nervous.")  I think it was a post about George Carlin’s comments about the Earth being a self-correcting system, which it absolutely is; it’s just that it takes a few thousand years or more to do it, a drop in the bucket in terms of geologic time.  People don’t get that.  A bit odd for evolutionists, no?  He talks about the Earth re-incorporating plastic, which it will do eventually.  It may have been that post that I was working on when all of the sudden, the text all became highlighted and deleted without my doing anything. 

Have you ever had a thought you did not express or an urge you did not act on?  Say, for instance, someone made a comment or did something that angered you and you had a thought that was a visceral, knee-jerk emotional response.   Because it was socially inappropriate, because your rational self-interest was intact, and because you had proper control of your impulses, you did not express that thought or feeling.  It applies to actions as well.  It would be silly to suggest that every single adult licensed driver who has ever lived did not at least once have the urge to blow right through a red light.  If you think you haven’t, you’re lying to yourself.  Stop doing that.  Again, you didn’t do it because your rational self-interest was intact and you impulse control had not been compromised.  No trigger required on that one.  In the life of an average individual, there are thousands of such impulses that are denied.  Every day, whether you’d care to admit it or not, you get by by not acting on impulse.  It’s what separates us from animals.  When you get right down to it, civilization and society are maintained mainly through rational self-interest and control of one’s impulses.  The brainwashing I’ve been subject to undermines both.  

Anyway…back to the point.  Here’s a hypothetical example of how powerful odor might be used to trigger someone: 

Let’s say there’s a guy who’s been made to feel lonely by covert methods and tactics and, as John Cacioppo writes, is thus vulnerable to impulse and has had his executive function impaired.  This guy is a shuttle van driver at a major hotel chain in the biggest college town in the U.S.  An operative targeting him obtains employment at the hotel.  She’s kind of a freaky lookin’ chick with very short hair done in a man’s style.  She says she’s bisexual and, despite the haircut, has an attractive face, like a model or maybe, I don’t know, an actress.  She requests a ride home from the shuttle driver every night she works.  While he’s driving her home, she acts flirtatious and inviting.   When he responds, she rebuffs him, stops acting flirtatious and acts as if she never had.  The cycle repeats itself every time he gives her a ride.  Finally, he makes a very inappropriate comment about his desire to have sex with her.  Is it because he’s a sexual predator?  Or is it because he’d been getting set up throughout his life, she set him up further during her requested regular private encounters with him, and he was triggered by the scented Vaseline intensive care lotion she’d applied liberally to her hair?  The odor was so odd and intense, that he asked her what it was and she told him.  Interesting scenario, no?  Your skin absorbs such lotion, but would your hair?  Probably not so much, or at least not nearly as fast.  That’s a bit of an extreme scenario, though.  I mean, really, who the hell does that, anyway—wear Vaseline lotion in their hair?

By the way, Monday night at 1:30, Edward Cotter woke me up with some banging noise in his room.  I went to confront him.  His door was open a few inches.  Through the crack, I could see a sporty lookin’ Asian guy with his sunglasses up on his forehead sitting down.  He was very cleancut.  Definitely looked like a cop.  This morning, Ted woke me up at about 5:30 with loud "singing" and banging things around in this room.  I'll mention, again, that Ted moved into the room adjacent to mine about one month after I moved into the building.

In Judy Prebish’s English class, a single misspelling, instance of incorrect punctuation, or just a typo cost you a full letter grade right off the top.  If you wrote an A paper, but misspelled “control,” the best you could do was a B+.  If I recall correctly, a space before a comma would’ve cost you.  Yeah, it was like that.  She didn't give out As.  I mean, you know, I got a couple from her, but as a rule, she did not award them.  Actually, the year I had her was the year she went soft.  The class that preceded us was that last one to be assigned a lengthy annotated term paper with a stack of note cards required.  I heard she dropped it because so many parents complained.  I don’t recall whether it was Fungi or Hoxsey that was in tears over it.  She was medieval, a step up from “19th-century sort of editor,” Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  I wonder what either of them might say about the fella who went to all the trouble to make this neat little thing about JFK and an enslavement plot leaving that typo in there.  What the hell was he thinking?  It’s only three sentences.   

If you think I’m kidding about Prebish, just ask Kevin Gormley: 

Bruce Farley tried to warn me.  He said, "Someone's setting you up."  I didn't believe him.

I Just Want To See His Face
Standing on the corner and holding up my sign serves many purposes, mainly being that I’m promoting my blog in a way that can’t be intercepted and I get repeated, authentic human interaction.  Another is that I get confirmation.  Recently, I stood in a spot where a guy plays a banjo and bangs a drum and symbol on his back controlled by straps attached to his feet.  He’s very good.  He and a harmonica player take turns at that spot.  When the harmonica player arrived, he went over to the one-man band and whispered something to him.  The one-man band replied with a dismissive tone, loud enough so that I could hear, “He does look like Jackie O.”  And the cherry on the cake of standing on the corner like a loser holding my sign is all the women who flirt with me, sometimes right in front of their boyfriends or husbands.  (I sleep easy with the knowledge that all you folks attacking me couldn’t take me all the way down on your best day and my worst.)

Knowing what I know now, I’ve actually wanted to “sign” less, but the environment surrounding my apartment makes it very difficult to be there.  There is construction noise from separate projects, one of them immediately outside my window.  Noise from the other one on the opposite side of the building makes it through my door.  The construction goes on on many weekends.  Add in my loud and truly insane stalker neighbors (Ed Cotter’s in the process of being evicted.  He’s says both of my “extremely rich” parents are dead, by the way.) and it becomes impossible for me to be there.  I have a limited budget and staying off line is a great thing for me, for reasons I’ve illustrated quite clearly, so I only get on line once or twice a week.  Plus, some of the strange encounters still occur.  Add all that up and I’m left with nothing constructive to do other than go out and hold up my silly little sign, which I happen to know is very effective.

Observing the facial expressions of people who read my sign is another great part of doing it.  Many shake their head and laugh at another crazy sight that’s part of the fabric in San Francisco.  Others stop and take a close look at my face, then look back at the sign and then at my face again.  Lately, it’s become a regular thing to have my picture taken.  A guy from Pittsburgh yesterday wanted to know whether I knew of a department store chain that had stores in Pittsburgh and the Niles-Warren area.  He didn’t say, “Remember Horne’s?”  He withheld the answer, asking me as if he was quizzing me to see whether or not I knew it, sorta like he was interrogating me.  I’ve mentioned previously that a major part of my interrogation is about northeast Ohio and vicinity geography.  Later, he said it was a Horne’s.  I don’t recall a Horne’s in Niles or Warren.  That’s how they do it.  They’re constantly trying to bait me into catching me in a lie through twisted lines of questioning.  I have to laugh about it.  (If you guys are too inept to find Dizzy Bridge in Niles or where it used to be, that’s not my fault.)  He took a picture, too.  I’m sure he sees the resemblance, but he didn’t let on.  It’s a lot of fun to watch the faces of people who see it. 

It’s possible that it has been suggested to me more than once that some involved are looking forward to seeing the look on my face when all of this is resolved and I find out the truth about it.  Is that going to include information about Lonesome the Dog?

I promise, you won’t be nearly as satisfied with my facial reaction as you think.

By the way, is it significant that Bob Higgins is a big Rolling Stones fan?  I’m just graspin’ at straws now.  ‘Cause, you know, I recall him, or perhaps another acquaintance, specifically mentioning “I Just Want To See His Face” being one of his favorite Stones tunes, which I found odd.  It’s not a typical Stones song, for sure, and didn’t make sense for Bob.  It may not have been Bob, though.

Just A Dream
It’s regularly suggested to me that I’m dreaming or in a coma or dead.  If that’s the case, why do you continually attempt to dissuade me from holding up the sign?  If I’m dreaming, nothing I do would really matter, would it?  None of it would have any effect on anything and there would be no reason whatsoever to make constant veiled attempts to manipulate me.  There would be no need to dissuade me from anything and there certainly would be no need to bait me into clicking on child pornography links or to work so, so hard to entrap me on the street for pedophilia, would there? 

Because of the Eagle Eye aspect of my situation, I shouldn’t be angry, but it’s nearly impossible to not take it all personally.  In fact, I suspect, as I have for some time, that everybody knows I’m innocent, but they’re just continuing on for the purpose of burying me for a combination of reasons, including what happened to Nancy at the Pittsburgh Airport. 

I’ve mentioned that there have been a number of occasions on which a stranger approached me and dropped a hint in conversation.  I suspect that a few of those encounters were with news P.A.s  In one of them, the hint was “Franco-American.”  Not French-American.  Franco-American.  I mean, they scrambled my brain and I figured it out.  If you’re still “investigating” or interrogating me after the Napoleon photo comparisons, you must be either in on the scam to bury me or just trying to cover your ass because you’re a bad guy one way or another.  You must. 

If you’re part of the group that’s been paying such negative attention to me because you don’t like some of my habits, you really should read Jackie After Jack.  I thought I brought this up previously.  There are two or three nuggets of info in it that might make you think twice.  But, then again, I’ve mentioned a certain anecdote about JFK Jr. related to one of those nuggets a few times, apparently to no avail.  I suspect we’re finally reaching the point at which everyone is going to get it.    

I'll say this about my T.S. experience: the interior design there, like the ugly club in Tampa/Clearwater, was grossly outdated.  The waiting room was hardly furnished and the walls were covered with paneling a lot like the paneling shown here, which is a lot like the paneling in the basement of the house I grew up in.  The actual T.S. room was probably the same, but I don't recall for sure.  The waiting room is very clear, though.  The furniture that was there was old and cheap, too.  The waiting room was small, 12x12, perhaps.  I was the only customer there, which is odd, considering that they were offering (baited me with) a deal fantastic enough to get me to do it.  (It's not something I'd ever been interested in.)  Gee, I don't know, I guess that must have been between '04 and '06.

My Friend Gene and My Funny Fone Service
My phone service goes off and on seemingly randomly.  Since it went off a few months ago and I had to renew, it's been deactivated and reactivated three times without my doing anything.  It had been unavailable until it mysteriously rang the other day.  Since it's on, I think, I thought I might call my old buddy, Gene Locastro to catch up.  It'll be nice to chat with an old friend.

Ted's Eviction
Dear Diary:
I mentioned that Ted Cotter, my next door neighbor, is being evicted.  I thought you might be interested to know how that ball got rollin’.

He called the police on me because I told him to shut the fuck up.  I was watching TV when two officers arrived.  I told them that he wakes me up at all hours of the night and that I have proof of his erratic behavior in the hallway.  

Now, get this: one of the cops’ replies included, “He’s trying to bait you.”  Hmm.  Crazy T/Ed trying to bait me?  Can you believe that one?  The officers didn’t seem too concerned about me causing any trouble.  In fact, their tone was a bit conciliatory.  They thanked me for my cooperation and left.  The next night, I was told Ted was being evicted. 

Neat how that works out, huh?

The heat in Ed’s room was so high that it was warming my room.  Old radiators like the ones that heat our rooms make very dry heat.  I’d forgotten that when I first moved in and didn’t put it together that that was what was making my throat so dry; I thought it was the dust from the construction just outside my window.  Ed’s room is literally full of junk, Silence-of-the-Lambs style.

After the cops left that night, Ed came back to the TV room, put a jar of Vienna sausages in the microwave, set it for twenty minutes, turned it on and ran out the door not to return for hours.  I alerted the desk attendant after a few minutes and he turned it off.

It is possible that the set-up to frame me for pedophilia starts with Sean Newman.  

Liza's Photography Class 
I posted about this previously, but it bears repeating here.  

Joey Z's girlfriend, Liza Hall, is interested in photography.  Saying it was for a photography class “assignment,” she once took photos of my face from various angles.  Joey was present and it was clear that he had some interest in the matter.  

The Incident Behind Papa Joe's
Oh, I guess I should write about this.

Papa Joe's on High Street was the most popular campus bar at Ohio State when I was there.  There is an alley behind the bar that runs parallel to High.  There's another alley that extends to the west, running perpendicular from that alley, starting near Papa Joe's back door.

Sean Newman, my roommate Tony, myself, and possibly my other roommate Dave went out to Joe's one night.  We exited by the back door.  We were walking down that alley when Sean stopped to relieve himself, not an uncommon occurrence there. I was surprised when someone passing by made a derogatory comment to him about it.  He had two or three friends with him.  Sean and he exchanged words.  Before you know it, fists were flying.  It was Sean, Tony, and I against these three or four other guys.  Then, suddenly, about six other guys poured out of the back of one of the houses adjacent to the alley and joined the guys we were fighting.  It turned into three on ten.  We didn't run.

I punched one guy and he went straight down, falling away.  I knew I wasn't a very hard puncher.  I distinctly recall thinking, "Wow, I can't believe how easy he went down."

Tony was about 6', 5" and weighed at least three hundred pounds.  He smoked at least a pack of cigarettes a day.  I was on the ground with another guy when I heard the sound of Tony choking.  I looked over and he was laying on his back, gasping for air.  He was in serious distress and I am confident that he was not acting.  I went over to help him.  I was bent over him when he said, "John, look out!"  The next thing I remember is looking up at paramedics.  Sean said they were dragging me around in the gravel.  He said they "barn-yarded" me. That pussy did not punch me from the side.  He punched me from behind.

I do not think Tony was part of the set-up, but I could be wrong about that.

Sean Newman is a cousin of Carrie Plank's sister-in-law, Anette Plank.

Holiday Inn Desk Clerk
When Matt at BW3 started being rude and mean to me, I wondered about it, but I just wrote it off to his being my boss and my being at least six inches taller than him.  I get a lot of that.  Plus, I had no idea what was going on.

Later, while I was working at Holiday Inn, a guy got hired for a front desk job.  He didn't have the best diction and he was a little messy, so I was surprised he got hired for the front desk.  He wasn't very tall and was a few years younger than me.  He is the earliest instance I can think of in which someone became a regular person in my life and was overtly rude and mean and I had no explanation for it.  I recall thinking, "Why is this guy being such a dick to me?"  He did it constantly in an intimidating, menacing kind of way.  I never thought to complain that he was "harassing" me.  The word, "harass" never entered into my mind.   Plus, he never did it when anyone was around.  I don't recall his name, but I could point him out.  Not sure how I found this out, but he lived right up the street on the south side of Lane somewhere between High and Indianola.  He probably asked me for a ride home at some point.

Dear Diary:
For the past, oh, I'd say ten or twelve years, I've experienced occasional pain in my armpits.  Once or twice, I was a little concerned about it.

From Wikipedia:
The immune system is affected by sleep and rest,[106] and sleep deprivation is detrimental to immune function.[107] Complex feedback loops involving cytokines, such as interleukin-1 and tumor necrosis factor-α produced in response to infection, appear to also play a role in the regulation of non-rapid eye movement (REM) sleep.[108] Thus the immune response to infection may result in changes to the sleep cycle, including an increase in slow-wave sleep relative to REM sleep.[109]
I have written a number of times that a major part of the attack on me is disturbing my sleep.  Doing so would be a sensible attack on someone who might who might have a predisposition to immune system issues, now wouldn't it?

Dairy (Farm) Allergy
I can't help but wonder whether Kathleen's insistence that I'm allergic to dairy has anything to do with my Vanderbilt cousins' old dairy farm.

Dear Diary (10-1-14):
Friday night, outside AT&T Park before the Giants game, only a few hours after I wrote you about the Incident Behind Papa Joe’s and that desk clerk at Holiday Inn who harassed me, a very attractive Indian woman approached me alone while I was holding up my sign that no one sees (except all those people I see reading it aloud from ten yards away and the others who slow down in their cars to read it.)  She was tallish and had long, flowing dark hair that bounced a little as she walked toward me like a model in a fashion show, something I’ve seen quite a bit, though it’s been a while.*  She gave me a warm, very friendly smile and took one of my fliers, blowing past me without breaking her stride.  A second after I handed it to her, I recalled that, like the model walk, I’d seen that smile before.  I turned around and just as I caught sight of her, she was picking up a small child before carrying it (I couldn’t tell whether it was a boy or a girl.) away, walking briskly.  Suddenly, I had an attack of paranoia. I actually thought she was setting me up for one of those CIA sex videos like the one mentioned in the book, Nemesis.  How ridiculous is that?  The paranoia is hard to kick.  Or maybe I was just seeing things.

Then I recalled that Jackie Onassis is known for a visit she made to India while First Lady.  Then I remembered a not-so-attractive Indian woman who’s part of this whole thing who worked at Starbucks, usually the one in the hotel on O’Farrell near the Irish Pub.  I’ve I also seen her at the one between AT&T Park and Safeway.  I recall her once mockingly clapping for me, saying, “Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?”  I’ve seen her on the bus with her kids a few times (as I likely will within the week following this post.)  All of that is probably just a coincidence, of course.  I’m a little confused and I don’t know who’s who.  Maybe it would be better if I did.  I hope I’m not screwing anything up.  Perhaps, it would help if someone addressed me openly and directly like a human being.  If it’s all a sting, I hope it’s workin’ out well, but I’m positively and unequivocally apposed to be incarcerated for any reason, especially pedophilia.

*It occurred to me not long ago that they were regularly doing the model-walk hypnotism thing to me on New York sidewalks.  I had no idea it was all a coordinated thing, but I did notice it.  Though I wrote it off as a natural bi-product of the high number of very beautiful women who live and work in New York, it was uncomfortable so I just kind of trained myself to look straight forward while walking around.  They were doing it to me constantly there. 

Dear Diary (10-8-14):
Recently, while I was standing on the corner holding my sign, a woman approached me and asked where the nearest Walgreen’s is.  I said, “Just walk in any direction and you’ll find one."  I found her response somewhat odd.  She glanced at my sign and said, “Perfect” and walked away.  She was probably just acting, just like all the strangers over the past few months who either apologized to me or thanked me for no apparent reason.  I also thought I heard someone say “Jackie and Penny.”  I’m not sure what that might mean.  The only Penny I know of that that might be referring to would be Carrie Plank’s Aunt Penny, David’s sister.  She and their mother, Doris, are members of the Daughters of the American Revolution.  I seem to recall reading somewhere that Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis is a member of that club, too.  I doubt there’s anything to that, though. 

My paranoid narcissism makes me think that, on rare occasions over the past few years, individuals have attempted to communicate with me as if they intended to conceal our communication from someone who might be constantly watching everything I do and say.  These individuals never speak to me.  The extent of their communication is usually a facial expression and/or maybe a very small physical gesture combined with a very brief glance at me.  These occurrences are extremely rare.  In fact, only a few come to mind.  In the two that stand out most, my illusion included an authentic, friendly, excited grin accompanied by a brief glance.  The first was from a woman passing me on the sidewalk immediately after I first wrote about my guess that I’m a born SS-FBI plant.  The other was from a guy who I thought might jump out of his shoes immediately after I wrote the description of the three women who abducted me in Columbus.

Obviously, this is all part of my delusion.  The very few people still tormenting me, like that woman yesterday during my workfare, should go right on doing it.  No worries for you.  I'm just crazy and delusional.

Fancy Drinks and Lucky Toasts...
I didn't buy Luna's Penthouse album until after I moved back to Niles from New York; you know-- shortly after the time I caught Carrie Plank and Rick Wilson sharing a nod.  I'd heard most of the songs on it, but I'd never listened to the whole thing.  While I was in Niles helping care for Nancy, I would regularly take the dog for long walks in Stephens Park.  The first time I listened to Penthouse was on one of those first few walks.  I remember thinking, "Wow--what a great album." from the opening drums in "Chinatown" to the the strings in "Bonnie and Clyde."

Lookin’ Lost In Chinatown...
This probably happened on a weekend afternoon when Carrie and I had lunch in the Village or SoHo.   We must have done some window-shopping afterward.  Walking around, we ended up in Chinatown.  I don’t recall whether Chinatown was part of our original plan.  It may have been, but I doubt it.  We rarely went there.  There’s not that much to it, as I recall—mostly chincy gifts and skinned ducks.  Immediately after we walked into a certain gift shop, the manager shut the city gate all the way.  It was one of those gates that’s basically a heavy-duty metal garage door with much narrower slats and no windows.  When it’s closed, it is the front wall of the shop.  There is no other door or wall in the front.  I don’t recall there being any other customers in the store.  Maybe there were—not sure.  I was alarmed and Carrie seemed alarmed, but now I have to wonder, considering what a great actress she is.  I spun around and said something to the effect of, “What’s going on?  Open the fucking gate.”  I don’t remember what he said, if he said anything, but, as I recall, the gate was shut for only a few seconds before he opened it and we left.  The manager acted like it was no big deal.  It was scary.  We, or, at least, I was glad to get out of there.  Carrie probably played it off somehow.  Of course, I have to wonder a bit what the upshot of all that might be, knowing what I know now.  A green-screen video, maybe?  Photoshopped stills?  Who knows?  David and Carrie Plank, that’s who.  My vague memory tells me that that shop was on the north side of the street near the east end of the block.  Carrie Plank is an actress.  Carrie Plank worked for the Asia Society of New York through a temp agency.

They--"they" being friends of David Plank's daughter-in-law's cousin--were dragging me around in the gravel after sucker-punching me like typical pussy would, like what's been happening to me for the past 6 years.  Like what's been happening to me for 25 years.  Like what's been happening to me since Lonesome the Dog.  My life is one continuous sucker-punch.  I'll keep doing what I'm doing, every day, until the situation is resolved.  I see no other answer.  If you want me to be quiet, provide me relief now.

Reminder: Don't forget about Michael Hogan's army roommate.

Helen Burmond, former employee of the California Employment Development Department, tried to set me up the same way, but without the powerful odor, as the Holiday Inn waitress did.  She once invited me to accompany her on a trip to Chase Bank near the north end of Van Ness.  She did it in her car in the parking garage while two guys were sitting in the car next to us.  Actually, she may have been wearing heavy perfume, but I don't specifically recall that.

Socialist Methods
For a long time, I was getting some strange e-mails under false names.  Then, I found out how you can get the real source information of your e-mails.  This was before I realized that socialism was a major factor in my situation.  While researching a name I found through one of those e-mails, which I don't recall now, I did, in fact, end up on a Wikipedia page about a well-known socialist that included a description of socialist methods.  I recall thinking it sounded a lot like what I'm experiencing, but I didn't believe it then.  Isn't that neat?  I should mention here that at some point in San Francisco, again, before I realized what a major role socialism plays in my situation, a guy approached me and said, in a very matter-of-fact manner, "You've been brainwashed by socialists."  I'd say he was in his mid-50s.  I think this was early in my time here, probably during the first year.  He tried to convince me, but I wouldn't believe him.  Finally, he just kind of threw his hands up and left.  

No Refund / Cancellation Password
It’s been mentioned to me a few times over the past year that something is nonrefundable.  Again, I do not recall agreeing to pay for whatever they’re referring to, which I guess must be “The Game” or maybe a lucid dream Vanilla Sky thing.  One of those people who mentioned this was a gay white guy who worked as a cashier briefly at Burger King, the only Caucasion I recall working there in the past five years.  I wouldn’t be surprised if he were somehow connected to the Zynga co-founder.

Yes, I just want you to stop doing what you’re doing.  I have no recollection of agreeing to pay any money for any such thing, so, of course, I’m not concerned about a refund.  I’m more concerned about Lonesome the Dog at this point.  There's never going to be any leap of faith.  I never agreed to anything like either of those things while sober and fully conscious.  Somewhere along the way, someone mentioned a “cancellation password.”  I would like to have one of those.  I am not a willing participant in any game or lucid dream.  I know it's just another scam I got baited into that exploits the Lonesome the Dog/loneliness setup and is meant to bury me in obscurity and ruin my life so that I can't claim my inheritance/trust fund.  I know that somehow, displaying my sign to the public has a positive effect.  I also know that completing my story about the Planks has had a positive effect.  Maybe if you leave that fucking light on, it will work.

It was Julie Gregory that introduced me to Goober & The Peas

Is it significant that Kathleen Kashay made it a point to tell me that she's a big Sean Penn fan?

Memo to Annette Sahakian Davis:
The gold Camero in the flashback episode was the wrong year.

Charlie Kaufman

David Litt

Michael J. Weithorn

David Bickel

Josh Goldsmith

A.J. Jacobs

I wonder what causes that...

Andrew Niccol, New Zealander --  just like Dean Wareham

Peter Weir, Australia

"Violent Private Fantasies"

Arranged Fatal Car Crashes
I wonder if you could do that by suggestion.  Maybe if someone had toy stuffed animal named "Lonesome" as a child, and, maybe, was the subject of continued loneliness suggestions, and later in high school, running a red light was somehow suggested to him....

The Double Man
This is interesting...

Pattern Recognition
Did I mention something about pattern recognition?

The Way Back

William Gibson and Cyberpunk

There are elements or themes in just about all of Gibson's work that relate to my situation.

Patternist Series

Shared Gender "Thought Experiment"
Did I mention something about someone trying to turn me gay?  I may have also said that two women said my "whole life is an experiment."

Alexie Panshin
Kathleen Kashay gave me a large unfinished painting very similar to this image.  It was obviously a guy, but she insisted it was a woman.  She said she new the artist and that it was a gift meant for me.  I left it in the garage or the basement on Youll Street.

Panshin also wrote a book called "Rite of Passage," a phrase which has been suggested to me more than a few times.  I might also mention here that, at some point along the way, someone approached me and asked me whether I was a sci-fi fan.

Roadshow Entertainment

Do you think Eric Pressly, who's collaborated with Dean Wareham, is related to Jaime Pressly, star of Jennifer Falls?


Born in Flames

Strange Days

Lots of suicide and dark themes in Keanu Reeves's films, huh?
Wait, wait...let me get this straight...Reeves played a former Ohio State football player in both Point Break and The Replacements?  That must be wrong.  I recall being surprised to find they portrayed him as a former OSU tailback in Point Break.  The last time Ohio State had a tailback that size was probably in the '40s.  The Wikipedia page for both movies indicates he was a quarterback.  Must have been a Wikipedia mistake.

Howard Deutch, Ohio State Alum

Alan Moore

Courtney Solomon

A.M.T.......Archies Comics


Ed Harris
David Plank: big Jackson Pollock fan

Trigger Mention
This is the first time I've read this Wikipedia page.  They actually use the word, trigger.  I did not know that.  How about that?

Watching L.E.
In Vanilla Sky, the cyber-reality company is called Life Extension, or L.E, which sounds like Ellie.  Isn't that neat?



Maria Desena
Dear Diary:
I met Maria Desena during one of two or three shifts I worked at Brother Jimmy’s on the east side.  This was some time in ‘97.  We dated for maybe a month or two.  I don’t want to embarrass her, so I won’t say why we split up.  I’ll just say that I let her down as gently as I could without telling her the truth.  Nevertheless, she flipped out a little. 

I had a pager at the time.  Remember those?  I think she and I had some back and forth on the phone after I tried to ease away, but she kept on paging me.  One night, while I was at work at Fox News Channel, I didn’t return her page.  She paged me a second time and, again, I didn’t’ call back.  She paged a third time and started paging me about every five minutes.  I looked at one of the pages.  Her number just kept on scrolling by over and over, one right after the other.  She’d punched it in repeatedly until the last one got cut off.  I could just picture her banging away on the keypad with a psychotic look on her face.  Then she started calling the phones at the FNC production desk to which I’d been stupid enough to give her the number.  It was usually a producer sitting at the phone she called.  One of them came to me and said some woman wouldn’t stop calling and asking for me.  She was harassing my bosses on the phone.  That went on for at least a couple weeks before she finally stopped.  Trish was the producer who came to me.  She might remember.

Then, in the following months, I started receiving magazines I hadn’t subscribed to in the mail.  There were at least a dozen different ones.  Name any magazine—I was getting it for a few months.  I had to call all of them one by one and cancel.  I had no choice but to guess that Maria had fraudulently signed me up for them just to hassle me.

Maria Desena worked for a company that did some manufacturing in China.  It may have been an apparel company—not sure about that.  She traveled there occasionally, including once or twice while we dated.  She gave me a gray Ralph Lauren T-shirt with a small American flag on the breast with the “RL” in place of the stars.  I had that shirt for a long time.  It was full of holes when I finally had to toss it.

Like Julie Gregory, like Joanna Zito, like Cynthia Green, and like Carrie Plank, no one introduced Maria Desena and I.   

No Filter
The band, The Doors took their name from Aldous Huxley’s extended essay, “The Doors of Perception.”  In it, Huxley experiments with LSD and writes about it.  He also writes that the human mind is not meant to catch every bit of input that might be available to it, but, rather, is a protective filter intended to only let in certain information and stimuli.

I’ve concluded that a major part of the mind-control and brainwashing I’ve been subject to is destroying that filter.  I think that’s one of the purposes of a movie like The Ring  and all the other disturbing, violent imagery I’ve been subject to—to progressively damage that filter while simultaneously adding to feelings of depression and loneliness.

I’ve also concluded that another aspect of the mind-control is to make it so the subject is nearly incapable of telling a lie, which serves the purposes of the interrogation aspect of my experience.  It’s accomplished in part, I think, by destroying the filter, but also by the impairment of executive function, a product of loneliness and isolation.  It’s not hard to see how executive function would enable one to decide to lie.  Furthermore, I think executive function and the filter go hand in hand, like self-interest and self-esteem.  If one goes, the other’s going right along with it.  I should add, though, that preventing the person from lying is also accomplished by simply making them afraid to by way of constant intimidation and menacing, including death threats.  It’s those three things in combination. 

Not long ago, I saw a hashtag or something on line that said, “NoFilter.”  It was referring to photography effects filters.  After finding that scratch-off ad with “U.A.E.” and “strong mood” in it, though, I wouldn’t be surprised if “NoFilter” is another veiled reference these people use to nod at each other in public.

Yesterday, I was walking down the sidewalk when I caught a piece of a loud conversation a guy behind me was having on his cel phone.  All I heard was “No filtration.  Just say the first thing that comes to your mind.”  Obviously, saying the first thing that comes to your mind would indicate a lack of impulse control.  I have to suspect that comment was meant for me.  For the record, my filter has been partially restored.  

No Filter Amendment
Turns out I was right. 
John Cacioppo: "We need the executive brain to filter out extraneous thought, focus our minds, and regulate our more deeply embedded, sometimes primitive, responses.  And here again, loneliness gets in the way."

King of Queens
Dear Diary:
I had a roommate and friend named Doug and a girlfriend named Carrie, kind of like Doug and Carrie, the lead characters on the TV show, King of Queens.  Oh, and I worked in television in New York didn’t I?  Am I supposed to be writing down all the themes and elements in the show that are common to my life?  That would take a while and I would have to start over.  It was only recently that I realized it absolutely is a real thing.  Maybe, I should start with the one in which they watch Arthur living in the basement on camera—just like in The Truman Show, which the Zoccalis watched in Niles on Joey’s suggestion.  After accidentally finding the channel, Deacon, Spence, and Danny gather in Doug’s garage every day to watch it on the big screen TV, reacting to it like a soap opera.  (In 2009, while living in the basement in Niles, I tried more than once to find my channel on Joseph Sr.’s cable.)  Then again, maybe I should start with my first clue, the dog walker.  Doug and Carrie have no children, at least not until they adopt a Chinese baby in the series finale.  Oh, yeah, that’s right—Carrie Plank the actress and I never had children and she expressed interest in adopting an Asian baby.  Almost forgot about that.  Then, of course, there’s the gold Camaro and so, so many more.  Am I supposed to think this is all a good thing?  It appears to me that someone is making a joke out of my life on national television.  Still, I guess it might not be that big of a deal if it weren’t for shows containing elements that didn’t occur in my life until after that show aired, like the series of episodes featuring Arthur spending time at Starbucks every day, the same way I’ve spent much of my life in coffee shops over the past seven years.  In one of those episodes, he “cost a cashier her job.”  It’s an interesting story line.  She started regularly asking him for advice and then doing the opposite of what he told her, assuming he was wrong.  It was working out great and she told a co-worker about it.  The co-worker asked Arthur for a piece of advice, but spilled the beans about their reverse system.  Arthur got offended and, the next time the lady cashier asked, he gave her the opposite of what he really wanted to tell her—the old double-reverse.  It was something about asking for a raise.  She did the opposite of what he told her and got fired.  She confronted him about it.  He told her he intentionally gave her “the opposite of the opposite.”  She said, “You cost me my job.  I’m going to be out on the street!”  He replied, “You hurt my feelings.  Now, we’re even.”  This reminds me of the time Carrie Plank advised me to demand a raise while working the temp job at Donlin-Ricano.     I did it and I got the raise.

That’s just to name a few.  There are many, many more, including one in which Spence stalks Doug through the internet, posing as a fan of his karaoke performances.  I don’t recall noticing any in the early years’ episodes, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any and the names were there from the beginning anyway.  After a certain point, though, around ’02 or ’03, maybe, seemingly every single episode has a main plot theme and/or multiple elements that are common to my life.  I hope the one with the funny haircut and the cruise is coming up.  I’ve always wanted to meet Robert Goulet. 

Oh, I guess I should also mention the episode in which Doug insults Arthur for insisting on an American-made VCR.  Not sure what that has to do with me, though.   

Adam Ferrara
Adam Ferrara is a friend of Kevin James.  Adam Ferrara is a graduate of Marist College.  Adam Ferrara was born in 1966.  I know someone else who's a Marist grad.  I think he was born in '67 or '68.  His name is R. Desmond Higgins.  He usually goes by Bob.  I worked with him at Day & Date, a CBS afternoon magazine show.  He's worked several jobs in television in New York.  According to his Linkedin page, he had a double major at Marist, communications and psychology.  Bob is very proud of his Irish Catholic heritage.  Bob encouraged me to take psych meds repeatedly.  Bob made a trip to San Francisco a few years ago and attempted to convince me that I'm insane.  My computer's firewall blocks adamferrara.com.

Ooooo, look out!
Patton Oswalt, Atheist (like Kathleen Kashay)

Interesting quotes by Patton:

Blaine Capatch

Michael Buckley
Let me guess: I ran into this dickweed at a Halloween party at O.U.


I've touched on this before...
I sleepy easy with the knowledge that David Litt and Michael Weithorn are both too much of a pussy to face me like a man might.  That goes for Bickel, too. 

Dear Diary:
My first job in Columbus, Ohio was as a waiter at Red Lobster.  A co-worker there—I don’t recall his name—once invited me to see a Kiss cover-band called Strutter.  It may have been at the same venue as the Dime-bag Daryl incident.  I’d never been a big Kiss fan, but, I thought, “Why not?  I’ll check it out.”  I recall thinking he was acting kind of strange.  I think later someone told me he was gay, but I hadn’t gotten that impression.  Nevertheless, because someone suggested that and because I thought he’d acted strange, I avoided him after that.  He was tall and lean and had short, dark hair.  I don't think he worked there long.  That’s not my only significant story from R.L.

Valentine’s Day with Chris Nagle
Dear Diary:
While a student at OSU, I dated a woman named Chris Nagle.  I’m not sure how we met.  I recall her being proud of personally knowing Richard Cole of David Bowie cover band, Daddy Long Legs.  I liked Chris.  She was a lot of fun, but she was always kind of distant.  She had a dark streak, for lack of a better way to put it.  When Valentine’s Day rolled around, she let me know that she and her friends, who called themselves The Blackhearts, didn’t get too excited about it.  All we did that day, on her suggestion, was go to a matinee showing of Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

In July 2013, Remini left the Church of Scientology[34] owing to policies that forbid members from questioning the management of church leader David Miscavige, which she believed was corrupt; the reported abuse of members of its Sea Org religious order; its policy of "disconnection"; and its practice of branding those who have left the church of their own accord as "Suppressive Persons."[35] According to former high-ranking Sea Org member Mike Rinder, Remini's problems with the Church began when she asked about the whereabouts of Miscavige's wife Shelly at the 2006 wedding of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, and was told profanely that she lacked the rank to do so. Remini then filed a "knowledge report" that was critical of Miscavige, Cruise, and other senior Scientology members and behavior on the part of members that was inconsistent with Church rules. She was subsequently "subjected to years of 'interrogations' and 'thought modification'" that led to her being blacklisted within the Church, while fellow parishioners with whom she had been friends for decades wrote internal reports about her, resulting in a Church investigation into her family.[35][36][37][38] During a September 9, 2013, appearance on The Ellen DeGeneres Show, Remini discussed her departure from the Church and the loss of friends who are still in the Church and, according to Remini, not permitted to have contact with her.[34]   

"Nice Eyes.  How tall are you?" 
As I’ve written before, there is a network of individuals who approach me with a compliment, usually about my eyes, in a warm and syrupy nice fashion.  They then jump right into an interrogation-style of questioning starting with asking how tall I am, usually followed by asking where I’m from and other personal questions that are none of their business.  They’re the same questions I’ve been asked countless times before.  Finding out information from me isn’t the point of it, though.  

These encounters have two main purposes.  One is to cause me anxiety as being stalked would any normal human being.  It’s not what they do, but the fact that it’s a network of individuals doing it with a pre-meditated plan.  Being constantly questioned by strangers causes a strange kind of anxiety.  They act as if they have some sort of authority over me.  The other implied purpose of these encounters is to gauge the appropriateness of my response.  Of course, it’s an intended Catch-22; any normal human being would experience anxiety from this disturbing, illegal activity and be offended and not want to answer questions.  The implication is that because they start with an exaggeratedly nice compliment that I am somehow obligated to answer the rapid-fire questioning that follows.  It also implies that I am not free to respond as I please. 

I’ve shot so many videos, it’s hard to know for sure, but I think the following video clip is the first I’ve caught of one of these individuals.  It’s usually a woman.  When this woman asked me about my height after the compliment, I said, very nicely, “I’m not in the mood for an interview,” as is my right.  In the usual fashion, she acted as if she were offended by my manner and said, “I just gave you a compliment.”  As I told her, asking someone’s height is not a compliment.  I am not obligated to answer these questions.  I am not obligated to react in any specific fashion at all.  She wears black with white trim, same as the guy I caught on video saying loud anti-American comments for me to overhear. 


It's amazing, how fucked up these people are...

Cuervo Shots at Papa Joe’s
Dear Diary:
As I look back, it’s the same with every incident I’ve come to suspect.  I remember a given incident and think, “Yeah, that was a little strange and, like so many others, I thought it was a little strange at the time, but had no idea what was going on then and, of course, didn’t see the connection among them.”  Now, several years later, after I remember and first suspect something, it lingers in my mind for weeks or months before it becomes apparent that it probably is connected my other experiences.  This is a good example of that.

When I was working at Red Lobster in Columbus, there was a blonde-haired waitress who worked there.  I don’t recall her name, but she was attractive and lean.  She was an athlete.  She had a gravelly voice.  She invited me out to Papa Joe’s one night.  It was her and me and a friend of hers.  She was open and flirtatious and kept buying shots of tequila.  We ended up going back to her place.  I don’t recall what happened that night, but the next morning was a lazy one that saw neither of us awake until around 11:00, I’d say.  The Buckeyes’ opening game against Arizona came on at noon.  While I was watching the game, she volunteered without any effort on my part and did me a very nice “favor.”  She just started doing her thing and I didn’t question her.

The next time I saw her, she acted as if it hadn’t happened.  It was strange.  She mentioned having a boyfriend, so I suspected she was just trying to make him jealous.  Then again, if he found out about it, why did he never address me?  He probably could have easily found out who I was.  I never was positive what to make of it.  Now, I have to guess that it may have had something to do with mixed relationships, but that’s a bit of a stretch.  I’ve also guessed that she may have been a porn actress trying to recruit me, something that happened in New York, though I didn’t know it at the time.  It was actually a producer and one of his actresses that time.  They sat next to me at a bar and he started asking me if I was interested in acting while she was giving me a certain kind of look.  I said, “No thanks,” and had to keep saying it because he wouldn’t stop harassing me about it.  He may have had a Long Island accent.  Oh, well.  The Papa Joe’s thing fits in with my other experiences by way of her getting me drunk and the whole thing being odd in an ambiguous way.  

Flippin’ For Goober & The Peas 
Dear Diary: 
One night in Columbus, five or six of us went out to see Goober & The Peas.  It was at a venue that changed location not long before by moving south to a spot at the north end of the Short North.  I think it was Sean, Kirk Reed, myself, and maybe two or three others.  Tony and Dave may have been there.  I was always slightly leery of Sean because he could have a kind of crazy look in his eyes on occasion, like the crazy guy in an old western or the doctor in Cannonball Run.  That’s not just because of his lazy eye.  Rough play never bothered me, so I just played this off like everything else.  Sean and Kirk and their other friends were that kind of guys who like joking around by punching each other and other roughhousing, etc.  I recall being that way in high school, but I’d always thought it was something you leave behind.  I didn’t have any other friends who were like that at OSU.  I should mention here that, looking back, I recall my relationship with these people including the occasional inexplicable brief, dirty, menacing look.  I think I may have gotten one from Kirk that night, which is too bad—I always liked him.  I always thought he had the best head on his shoulders of him, Jim Reed, and Sean.  He was an avid golfer and had worked his way into a few pro-am tournaments.  Then, as I recall him telling me, he got fed up during a day out golfing and actually tossed his clubs in the pond and didn’t golf again for several months, perhaps more than a year.  Years later, while watching an Ohio State-Michigan game, the camera did a close-up on some fans after a big play by the Buckeyes.  I swear, it was Kirk in the center of the shot going nuts.  

Anyway…during the Goober show that night, while some roughhousing was going on, either Sean or Kirk bent over and picked me up at the waist and actually flipped me over.  He didn’t slam me, but I had to use my hands to stop myself from hitting the ground while I was hanging upside-down.  Now, I have to guess that he was hoping I’d fall on my head, which, of course, didn’t happen.  As usual, they all played it off by laughing at it like all the other harmless fun. 

Halloween with Carrie 
Dear Diary:
I mentioned recently that it’s become obvious that the television show, King of Queens contains several themes and elements common to my life.  Recently, on TV Land, the last four episodes of the series aired.  They all go together as the series finale.  I found several points that were noteworthy, but the one I thought I should tell you about was when Arthur made the comment “In hindsight, that may have been a poor choice of Halloween costume.”  Actually, this isn’t a good example of the obvious show elements that combine to support my claim, such as Doug’s father’s name being Joe.  The mind-control I’ve been subject to, though, makes you look for connections and, now knowing that I’ve been the subject of a life-long set-up, the latter part of which the Planks play a significant role in, I wouldn’t be surprised if this is significant.

Carrie and I went to two Halloween parties while dating in New York.  For one, we dressed—would you believe it?—as a priest and a nun.  I think we added some kind of sexual suggestion to it, like I had a pair of handcuffs hanging from my belt.  The other time, we went as an offbeat doctor-and-nurse pair, Nurse Tart and Doctor Dork.  It was my idea to bring a bottle of Jim Beam and administer “shots” from a needleless syringe.  It was actually a bit of a hit.  Carrie’s outfit was a little slutty.  That one was mainly a Fox News Channel party.  I don’t recall which one of us originally had the idea for either costume idea, but I do recall quite clearly that it was Carrie’s idea, I repeat, it positively, absolutely was Carrie Plank’s idea to put “OB/GYN” on Dr. Dork’s pocket protector and smear his scrubs with fake blood.

I’ve said many “crazy” things that I’ve since substantiated.  Many.  Someone’s getting stung, and it’s not me.  If you’re part of network that’s ruined my life because of that Halloween costume, it’s probably you—among others. 

Kevin’s Sister
Dear Diary:
I recently mentioned that The King of Queens television show has several themes and elements common to my life.  They did, in fact, make a joke out of my life on national TV.  I researched the cast and crew and found that Kevin James, a Long Island native, has a sister who suffers from a degenerative condition in her eyes that can lead to blindness.  I mention it here because, as I’ve written previously, it has become evident that part of the reason all of this is happening is because my manager at BW3 in Columbus, Ohio set me up to make it look like I was mean to a blind customer.  The whole thing was a scam and I have apparently been found guilty of it by some sort of vigilante justice system connected to the CIA that has completely and brazenly subverted the U.S. Constitution.  Carrie Plank, the actress who was raised mostly in Long Island and worked for the Asia Society of New York through a temp agency, may have made some sort of unjustified admonishing comment to me once when we had an encounter with a blind person.  Not sure about that, though.  I may be confusing it with the time a manager at a Peet’s coffee shop in San Francisco definitely did just that.  That’s how this whole thing works.  It’s happened to me several times in San Francisco: I have encounters with people and they or someone nearby act as if I did something socially inappropriate when, in fact, I’d done nothing wrong at all.  Somehow, these charades count against me.

Now is probably a great time to name the reasons why it’s so ironic that the King of Queens was done to make a joke about me: A.) The blind scam was executed by white racists because of a mixed relationship I was a part of during my early years of college.  The show promotes racial harmony.  Is this not ironic?  It may not be.  I may be one of the many who doesn’t clearly understand the meaning of the word.  How about this?  They’re contradicting themselves in a very foot-in-mouth way and are too stupid to see how they’re getting scammed by an Episcopal Minister and the CIA.  I should also mention that I met Carrie Plank’s sister-in-law’s cousin, Sean Newman before the blind scam.  B.) The main point of the show is that an overweight guy has a beautiful wife I would find attractive, a solid job, and good friends, etc.  An early episode centers on weight issues and I’ve had experiences that indicate that weight issues are also part of the reason this is being done to me.  Is it because the time Carrie gained weight during our relationship, I had no problem with it and made no inappropriate comments?  Or is it because the time Carrie and I agreed that I was fat, I was able to drop 35 pounds in about six months simply by cutting out snacks under my own will power with no help from anyone else, no problem?  Are you just maddie-waddie about that, fat-boy pussy Kevin James?  C.) Much of what’s happening to me has to do with my Catholic ancestry and I’ve learned that a major goal of my life-long targeting is to turn me against Christianity.  Kevin James is Catholic, as are Marist grads, Bob Higgins and Adam Ferrara.  The three of them are workin’ with a Scientologist and an angry-nerd atheist.  You figure it out. 

Is now a good time to mention the grossly obese New York cop I worked with at Influent? 

Scooter & Beans
Dear Diary:
In the second episode of King of Queens, Doug starts spending a lot of time with Arthur because he got positive feedback from Carrie the first time he spent time with him.  Said, Doug, “It pays to be nice to your wife’s father.”  Hmmm…  Arthur and Doug give each other the nicknames, Beans and Scooter.  In the final scene, Arthur says, “So, Richie...Scooter tells me you’re not the brightest bulb on the tree.” 

I doubt there’s anything to this, but, it reminds me—I once worked with a fella named Scooter at VH1.  I posted about him in “John’s Watchful Comedian.”  Just Ctrl+F “Scooter.”  He may be mentioned in more than one entry, but there is a thorough description of my significant experiences with him.  We worked on a special for the 25th Anniversary of Paul McCartney’s Band on the Run.  Scooter Alpert sabotaged the edit and didn’t like it when I did things well.  He was a friend of another guy I worked with named Bob Higgins, who went to college with Adam Ferrara, who’s a friend of Kevin James, who’s from Long island just like Carrie Plank, who’s the sister-in-law of the cousin of a Neo-Nazi who set me up for a sucker punch in Ohio.

Scooter Alpert went to Brown, the same school as JFK jr., by the way.  If you’re not following a long, this may seem a bit thin right now, so stay tuned for the list of basic elements in the show common to my life, which, of course, is an experiment.  I don't mean all the instances that only appear in certain episodes--just the ongoing stuff that's in the setting. 

Naomi Eisenberger, UCLA

UNC Social Psychology

UCLA Biobehavioral Sciences

UCLA Stress Assessment Lab

Steven Cole
"Social Regulation of Gene Expression": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ez0v-M3e18

Barbara Fredrickson

Karen Grewen
San Francisco and Pittsburgh

Sara Algoe
At Berkeley: http://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/new_insights_from_the_gratitude_summit

Laura D. Kubzansky, Harvard and the University of Michigan

Adam K. Anderson, Brooklyn Native

I couldn't care less about the "last chance" talk.  I'm not ever sure to what it is you're referring.  I'm going to get another chance without Lonesome the Dog?  Is that what you mean?

Will From Monterey; John from Little Rock...Ohio? 
In the video linked above, you will find Will from Monteray.  He wears the standard uniform of many of the insane or otherwise indigent individuals who follow me, make themselves conspicuous, and act in strange ways with the intention of making me nervous.  Subtle cues in Will’s behavior made it clear that he is suffering from some sort of mental impairment.  He seemed a little disoriented and confused.   I was sitting in the far right seat at the bus stop when Will walked up to the edge of the curb and started a little dance, during which, he very briefly turned and glanced at me.  I got up to start shooting video.  I should have started recording before I stood up.  Sorry about that.  My “dopamine receptors are shot to hell.”  It throws you off a bit.  As I stepped into the spot from where I shot the video, he stopped dancing and turned around and walked away a few steps as if he didn’t know what to do, kind of like a child who’d been caught.  On the bus, I asked him where he was from.  He said Monterey.  I told him I was from Ohio.  He said, “Oh…Little Rock?”  Is there a Little Rock in Ohio?  To the best of my knowledge, there’s not, but who knows?  Maybe, there is.  There’s a Niles, Michigan.  There’s a Niles, Indiana.  There’s a Toronto, Ohio… I wonder why he said Little Rock.

Ainnnn’t sheeee sweet?… 

Failed Trigger?
Dear Diary:
Some time during my first two years in San Francisco, a woman I didn’t know called me and said something strange in the phone.  I couldn’t understand what it was and she repeated it.  I still couldn’t understand and hung up.  She was shouting a little and seemed frustrated.  It was in the evening.  It’s the only phone call I’ve received that may have been supposed to be a “trigger.”  If it was, apparently, it didn’t work.

Too bad the police ignore me, huh?

"Like A Lolli Pop"
Black shoes, black jacket
"I got options.  You don't."
"Not a woman in the world will even look at me."

Neal Marlens and Carol Black, creators of The Wonder Years, are good friends of Michael Weithorn, co-creator of King of Queens.  I once knew a guy who was on The Wonder Years.  His name is Mike Tricario.  He sat right next to me at VH1.  We were hired for the same project.  He moved from L.A. to take the job.  Wild stuff. 

Catherine Hailer
Dear Diary:
When I first moved to New York, I lived with a friend from Ohio State in Long Island City.  We agreed at the outset that I could stay there for a month while I looked for a job and place to live.  It was a fifth-floor walk-up and I dropped about twenty pounds quick, living on thin New York pizza.  I checked ads seeking roommates and roommate-finder services.  I ended up moving in with a woman named Catherine Hailer in—you’ll never guess—Hell’s Kitchen.  It was a third or fourth-floor walk-up on 47th Street between 9th and 10th, right down the street from Times Square.  I didn’t give the name of the neighborhood a second thought and loved living there.  It was a nice block.  Occasionally, I walked to work at Day & Date, stopping for breakfast at the deli on the corner.

Catherine was a little strange, but I knew the situation was only temporary and I was working seven days a week anyway, so I knew we wouldn’t see each other much.  After maybe a week or two, she started dropping hints indicating a romantic interest in me, or perhaps just a physical one.  I was not attracted to her in any capacity and tried to play it all off tactfully.  Nevertheless, Catherine started acting hostile toward me in a passive-aggressive way.  Instances of behavior in her indicating psychological and emotional problems marked by anger issues, which I’d been suspicious of from the beginning, became more frequent and direct.  I forget how things came to a head, but eventually she asked me to move out, which I was quite willing to do.  I recall laughing at her when she said, “Good luck on the streets of New York.”  I think it was after that that I slept on the floor of a Bear Bar regular for a week or two before I got a small “apartment” in his landlord’s other building.  It was tiny, but it was mine—no psychos.  In one argument, Catherine made a frustrated, jealous comment about my “being well-adjusted.”  She was a proofreader by trade.  I might mention that Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was an editor.

Catherine is one of a number of people in my past who I’ve attempted to look up on line and found extremely little or no trace of, which reminds me that it was while I was living with Catherine that I met Cynthia Green.  She even visited the apartment once.  Maybe that has something to do with Catherine’s flipping out. I may be spelling her name wrong.

Billy V.  (2014 adjusted net worth: $5 billion)

Déjà vu
Dear Diary:
Certain occurrences have lead me to believe that communication back and forth in time is going on.  I haven’t suspected time travel, but rather communication through time specifically.  I know how crazy it sounds, but I’d come to that conclusion before I recently saw some of the movie, Déjà vu, and recalled that I’d seen it before, likely with Christine Faranda, the daughter of a cop.  The movie’s about an investigation of a murder that uses the ability to look back in time to view a selected location with control of camera angles and close-ups, etc.  It’s rather far-fetched.  They actually watch the murder victim in her home as she is under the impression that she has privacy.  I didn’t watch the whole thing and I don’t recall whether the script addresses the obvious invasion-of-privacy issues.  I’m inclined to believe they sidestepped them by virtue of her being dead by the time they were watching her inside her home, the same way it’s been made evident to me that I’m constantly being watched.  They imply, to a degree, that such gross violation of privacy is ok for police because they’re solving a crime.  Of course, her murder somehow gets intertwined with a terrorist attack, therefore forbidding any questioning of investigation methods.  

I’ve come to suspect that there are a number of movies that seem farfetched but are actually either based on something very real or a are a not-so-loose metaphor for something real.  I wonder how long they might’ve been working on looking back in time.  I’ve read in more than one source of how Jacqueline Kenned Onassis dearly cherished her privacy.

I’ve said that I’ve had experiences that indicate others have foreknowledge of what I’m going to do, or, at least, where I’m going to be.  I’ve said that I’ve been stalked and harassed by plain-clothes authorities, including at day-labor jobs.  I’ve said that it’s been suggested to me that I have a twin or a clone.  

By the way, it's also been indicated that my fitness to hold a job is being judged by virtue of my performance at my required workfare assignments with the San Francisco Department of Sanitation, mainly by utilization of constant surveillance.  Before that cop harassed me at a Labor Ready job, I’d worked several jobs for a party set-up company called Blueprint.  I didn’t submit an application with the company until after the third time a manager with the company asked me to do so.  One of them asked me twice, another once.   It’s not an exaggeration to say that they practically begged me to apply.  At another job, I was requested and kept on for the duration with one other person because they knew they could get more done with me and one other guy than with three guys without me.  Lots of positive feedback there as well.  Those jobs were full day jobs, the latter being an ongoing fulltime, but temporary assignment.  I do not give a fuck what anyone thinks of the quality with which I sweep the nauseating streets of San Francisco for five hours a week.

There’s one other thing I should mention here.  I have video of an insane homeless individual making harassing, menacing comments to me as if to imply he has some authority over me.  The video is called Labor Day Special.  It very clearly supports my claims of being stalked in such a way.  In a very similar experience, which also happened on a street car, a homeless person shouting things out apparently to no one in the same fashion said, “I’ve been watching you all my life.  When I was a kid, it was my job to watch you for four hours a day." 

“Silly Christians”
Dear Diary:
I have no choice but to come to the conclusion that the main goal of the continual covert psychological and emotional attack meant to drive me to a state of isolation and brainwash me, which all has gone on throughout my life, is to turn me against Christianity.  My brother, Joey Zoccali, got mixed up in Scientology around 1980 and tried to get me into it with a bizarre exercise in which he instructed me to walk back and forth, touching the walls on either side of a small, empty room.  It’s a brainwashing method.  Much of my young adult life was spent refereeing spats between him and our mother, Nancy, who was a very devout Catholic.  It was after Nancy died that my immediate family turned against me aggressively as a group.  It was less than a year before she died that I met radical-feminist atheist, Kathleen Kashay, who claimed to be my birth-mother.  Like Kathleen, Joey was vocal and adament in his disdain for Christianity.  He was fond of saying, “Silly Christians” in arguments with Nancy.  It might be worthwhile to find out exactly how Joey got into Scientology. 

My Name Is Earl
I noticed that there are two actors who were featured both on My Name Is Earl and Jennifer Falls.  One is Jaime Pressly, who shares a last name with a collaborator of Dean Wareham.  The other is Ethan Suplee, who, like leading man Jason Lee, is a Scientologist.  Ethan is also noted for appearances in films by Kevin Smith.

Jeptha Wade 
Jeptha Wade
Did I cover this already?  I may have.  It bears repeating before I re-cover one of my very flirtatious TEFL classmates, Anna Stepnova.

Jeptha Wade was a Cleveland-native Boston art museum trustee who married a daughter of William H. Vanderbilt III, one-time Governor of Rhode Island.

Here's a video of a guy I've seen around town quite a bit, mostly at the Library, but, coincidentally, I've seen him elsewhere.  He kind of acts like a cop.  I seem to recall him making a comment to me about pornography...

Margaret Emerson Vanderbilt
Margaret Emerson Vanderbilt
Another guy who used to follow me around and acts like a cop resembles Governor Vanderbilt's father's second wife, Margaret Emerson.  His name is Keith.  I may have some video of him, but I'll have to look for it later.  If not, I'll get it next time I see him.  He was in a homeless shelter I stayed at and I used to see him at Burger King all the time.  He suggested I read a book about Andrew Jackson.  I have serious physical problems.  I warned you.  It's not a game to me.  I didn't ask for Lonesome the Dog.  Oh, and I almost forgot...Keith's from Connecticut.

Lots O’ Flats
I’ve written that a major part of what’s being done to me is to make several little things go wrong in my life just to make it very difficult overall without leaving a trace.  It’s all meant to look random and unconnected and wear on you over time.  When I was going to Ohio State, I bought a Trek mountain bike.  I found a good deal and I was excited about because I was sick of walking to class.  The OSU campus is huge.  It got to the point where I hardly used it and ended up selling it because I couldn’t take it out without getting a flat tire.  I wouldn’t be surprised if one of my Indiana roommates recalled my mentioning this.  It was perplexing.  I figured it was because of broken glass which is common in allies around campus and at some corners on High Street.  However, I mentioned this to friends and couldn’t find anyone else who had the same problem.  I always had a fucking flat tire.  I got so fed up with it, I sold the bike to Craig Cavlovich from Pittsburgh. 

My tries weren’t slashed.  I was able to refill them and ride for a day or two before it went flat again.  I may have even replaced a tire once or twice.  Whoever was doing it must have just been letting the air out through the nozzle or maybe punctured them with a pin.  Nevertheless, I should mention that Luna has a song called, “Slash Your Tires.”

Dear Diary:
There have been a few notable instances in which it was clear that someone wanted to prevent me from having children.  The first and most obvious, of which I’ve written, was by Kathleen Kashay, atheist radical feminist.  She stated very openly to me one day without prompting, “You shouldn’t have children, John.  It’s dangerous for someone your age.”  I was about 35 at the time.  Christine Faranda, who baited me on the internet, was another who indicated intent to stop me from having children.

By the way, I might also mention, as I sit here typing in the worst neighborhood in San Francisco, that Kathleen and Christine both have a disease.  It’s become clear that an intended part of the attack on me is to infect me with a disease or diseases.   I wrote about a job I was assigned through Labor Ready that put me in a room full of junior high kids—a strange decision for someone apparently suspected of the things I am.  Another Labor Ready assignment had me moving some old furniture out of an AIDS support group office.  It was an organization where people with AIDS go to get information and network, etc.  Memo to those on my side who are, for whatever reason, afraid to help me: they are trying to give me a disease.

The other two instances of “suggestions” that might discourage me from having children illustrate one of the strangest coincidences of them all.  While I was working at Holiday Inn in Columbus, the same one where the waitress wearing Vaseline Intensive Care lotion in her hair set me up, I once had a conversation with a desk clerk there about the manager of the hotel, Bruce Farley.  In hindsight (no pun intended), it’s clear that Bruce was gay.  I don’t recall that clerk’s name, but I could identify her.  She asked me whether I thought Bruce was gay.   I said, “I’m not sure.  Maybe.”  She said, “I think he’s asexual.”

That was in 1995 or ’96.  A few years later, Bob Higgins and I had the exact same exchange in a conversation about Scooter Alpert. 

Dear Diary:
I have a hunch that all of this might have something to do with a basketball camp roommate.  Don’t ask me why—just a hunch.  I’ve been to a handful of them: Westminster, Eastern Michigan, Western Michigan, and Notre Dame.  There’s also Mount Union, but that was a team camp and I don’t think it has anything to do with it.  I recall one camp roommate because of his name, which is undeniably funny.  There’s no getting around it—Fleet Turtletaub is a funny-sounding name.  When I got home, I told Joey about it.  Before I could get Fleet’s last name out, he guessed, “Enema?”  I also recall Steve Raider.  He was proud of demonstrating how high his arches are by passing a small pair of scissors beneath his foot planted firmly on the floor.

Luna has a song called Kalamazoo. 

The only other roommates I might mention are Jeff Stasiak (Ohio State), Eric Aho (Toledo), and, of course, Patrick Searle (Ohio State), Clevelander who shares a last name with a wife of Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney.   I should also mention my neighbor in Toledo, Betsy.  I have to wonder whether someone there suggested I look into paying experiments to make a little extra money.

Apparently, New Jersey has something to do with this.  When she died, Doris Duke called New Jersey home.  Vanderbilt step-son, Earl E.T. Smith jr. is a ’76 Duke grad.  Anyway…OSU roommate, Chad Higgins has a buddy I met once who was a Jersey-native big Bon Jovi fan.  He got upset when I didn’t jump up and cheer for the band when he brought them up.  That must have been around ’04.  I doubt there’s anything to it, but I just thought I’d mention it.  

By the way, I had a neighbor in Toledo named Nancy.  Some time during my second or third year at Ohio State, I was walking down High Street one day and there she was.  She’d transferred to OSU or was going for a master’s there.  She used to hang out with us on Indiana for smores and Sam Adams around the fire with CCR.  She lived right around the corner.  Cool chick, but I wasn’t into her.  I had a hard time shaking her off when I graduated.  

Ya know what…I bet Betsy has something to do with all this.  I really should tell this story.  She and I and a friend or two of hers made a trip to O.U. for Halloween.  She and I were not romantically involved.  We were just friends.  We got a flat tire on the way.  I was high (I wasn’t driving) and I’d never changed a flat before, but I did it successfully as the women looked on.  The party was at Jim Stanton’s.  Mike McCleary was there.  (I’ve often wondered how closely he might be related to Serverstal/OSS Pat McCleary who said, “You’re gonna suffer right along with him.”  Pat said he didn’t know him, but they must be not-so-distantly related, both being from Warren.)  Mike was very funny.  He was usually the life of the party, including the Newmeisters’ party with the hot tub.  I used go over to his and Sumoni’s place to watch Browns games in Columbus occasionally.  They were big Neil Diamond fans.  On the front of their house, they used Christmas lights to make a big Diamond with an N in it.  Anyway, in Athens, after everybody got buzzed, Mike started making fun of Betsy.  Everybody thinks the coincidences in my life are such a joke.  What do think of this one?  When Mike first started in on her it was before he knew her name and he actually said, “What’s her name, Betsy or something?”  I didn’t stick up for her and she got upset and left early with her friend.  I got a ride back to Toledo the next day with someone else.  She didn’t strike me as a socialist.  In fact, I seem to recall that she came from a wealthy family.  

The person I picked on that night was Sean Newman’s cousin, Jim Reed, likely Neo-Nazi.  It dawned on me that he resembles Eddie Munster.  When he entered the room, I’d hum the theme song.  I was laughing really hard about it and not telling everyone what I was humming, waiting to see who would figure it out first.  I got up and started miming running into the room with a baseball bat in my hands and looking around like Eddie Munster does in the opening credits of the show.  Sumoni, the philosophy major, finally got it and fell off the couch laughing.  Jim really did looked like Eddie Munster then.  He thought he was the coolest thing since ice and I figured after years of being called Lyrch, etc., it wasn’t such a big deal.  I got made fun of for being tall and uncoordinated throughout grade school.  I got made fun of because my pants were often too short.  I told “friends” I was adopted and some of them made fun of me for that.  In sixth grade, my forehead was covered with acne.  I already towered over the rest of the class, so it was easily visible to everyone.  I got picked on every day for it.  I had a big one right in the middle once.  Thad called it the North Star and got a big laugh.  Is the North Star the one from Bethlehem?  Thad’s dead, by the way.  On the first day of eighth grade, the first day, when we stood up to say the Pledge of Allegiance, Betty Moritz embarrassed me in front of the whole class by saying, “Wow, John.  We’re gonna have to start calling you SkyLab.”  I’ve never been out to get her for it.

Therein lies the difference between me and all the pussy fucking panty-wastes doing these things to me.  I used to get made fun of all the time in grade school, but I’m not out to get revenge for it.  I’m not a pussy like you now and wasn’t then.  It’s still that way and always will be.  I got over it because I had some real men in my life.  (Thanks, Jazz.)  You’re going to have live with that truth, Patton Oswalt and Dean Wareham, you panty-waste fucking pussies, you. 

Luna Shows
Dear Diary:
I’ve seen Luna three or four times.  The first was with Gene Locastro.  (You can’t say Locastro without “low cast.”)  It was Gene who told me about Luna.  I wasn’t into them at first, but he kept telling me how great they are.  Then he invited me to a concert of theirs at the Bowery Ballroom.  As I wrote in a blog post, it was a great show and made me a fan.

Another time I saw Luna live was at a Community Hall-type venue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  I forget what it’s called.  It’s a place where you might expect a sock hop or bingo night to be held.  It was Carrie Plank and I and Bob Higgins and his girlfriend, Eileen.  The venue had a little hipster bar attached to it.  We went in there for drinks afterwards.  Something strange may have happened that night, but I don’t recall that for sure.  I recall some guys sitting at a table next to us acting strange, maybe, but the memory is extremely vague and could very well be a total figment of my imagination.  I think I also saw Luna at Irving Plaza once, probably with Gene.

The other time I attended a Luna concert was in Newport, Kentucky on their farewell tour.  I wrote about it in the blog post.  It was an interesting night.  The thing I forgot to mention in the post, something I didn’t remember until recently, is that there were definitely three or four guys at that concert standing near us and giving me strange, intimidating looks.  My friend, Doug, noticed.  I clearly recall us talking about it. 

Keh-SHYOP-oh, Geh-SHTOP-oh
Dear Diary:
John T. Cacioppo pronounces his name, Kass-ee-OH-poe.  It looks like an Italian name to me.  Until I heard him say it in a TED video on Youtube, I was pronouncing it with what I think is the correct Italian pronunciation: Keh-SHYOP-oh. 

My eight-grade teacher, Betty Moritz—God rest her soul—pronounced Gestapo as Geh-SHTOP-oh, which I believe is the correct German pronunciation.  A hard C sound and a hard G sound are very, very similar.  It’s possible the second syllable in Cacciopo is pronounced CHYOP, but a CH sound and an SH sound are also very similar, so my point still applies.   The only significant difference between the correct pronunciations of Gestapo and Cacciopo is that the t, which resembles a Christian cross, has been removed and replaced with a y-sounding i.  

I might also mention that you can’t say Locastro without saying “low cast.”  In addition to referring me to Luna, Gene Locastro also suggested The Black Angels.  Angelique Fahl contains “angel fall.”  There may be others I haven't noticed.

I doubt there's anything to it.  Just me being paranoid.

My next entry will be a detailed description of the night I met Carla Courtney, or maybe about Patrick Searle.

Joey Zoccali, my brother, is a Scientologist who hates Christianity.
Kathleen Kashay, who claims to be my birth-mother, is a radical-feminist atheist who hates Christianity.

“What made ya pick that one?”
Dear Diary:
Here’s another strange encounter from Experience Unlimited at EDD.

I recently figured out that a prime objective of my brainwashing has been to turn me against Christianity.  Sure enough, in 2009, while living in Niles, I read a book called The Closing of the Western Mind.  It’s an in-depth attack on Christianity.  

At E.U., participants volunteer at the office desk.  One day, I brought the book up to a woman working at the desk, probably because she or someone else started a anti-Christian conversation.  She responded by saying, with a sarcastic, taunting tone as if to imply she knew the answer, “Oh, yeah?  What made ya pick that one?”  I don’t know her name, but I could point her out.  For some reason, the memory of her saying that reminds me of Joey Zoccali. 

Dear Diary:
I’ve mentioned the P&G Pub at Amsterdam and 73rd in my blog, I believe.  It’s the oldest bar in Manhattan.  I like bars and restaurants with history, especially in New York.  The P&G was a little seedy, but I liked stopping in there for a beer.  I think the self-interest-destroying aspect of anti-Christian, socialist brainwashing made me open to being around people I probably should have avoided.  They make you think less of yourself.

Anyway, I bring it up because a glimpse of a memory from a night at the P&G came back to me recently.  This memory is extremely vague, but I recall sitting at a table with three other people, possibly including Bob and Eileen Higgins.  It’s also possible that I was there and “randomly” ran into someone I already knew.  Who knows—that may have even been the one occasion on which I brought Carrie there.  I am confident that something significant in my situation occurred that night at the P&G and/or maybe somewhere else. 

The Goldbergs
Dear Diary:
I was flipping channels tonight and watched some of the new show, The Goldbergs.  The older brother gets scammed by a photographer who claims to be a fashion photographer who can help him become a model.  I mention it because it reminded me that I got scammed that way while I was in college, I think.  It wasn’t my idea, though.  Of my parents and my brother, one insisted I go and the other said it was a probably a scam.  Or maybe nobody figured out it was a scam until afterward.  Either way, it wasn’t my idea.  In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t want to do it but someone kept on prodding me.  It was in Pittsburgh.

The movie, E.T. appeared in the episode as well.  Earl E.T. Smith was a U.S. Ambassador to Cuba.  One of his wives was Florence Pritchett who had a long-standing affair with John F. Kennedy.  The other was Consuelo Vanderbilt Earl. 

I noticed Annette Sahakian-Davis’ name in the credits.  She worked on King of Queens.  I mentioned not long ago that she got a gold Camero with the wrong model year for one their episodes.

The title of the show is a reference to my mistakenly referring to Bob Higgins’s friend, Keith Greenberg as Goldberg once or twice.

I also noticed that in “The Middle,” which aired before The Goldbergs, there was a character named Nancy and the guy was tall and kind of built like me and maybe had a somewhat similar face.  That’s a bit of a stretch, though.  Again, I think it’s just my paranoia.  Forget I said it.

Crowd Control
Dear Diary:
There’s a show on cable called, “Crowd Control.”  I’ve seen pieces of it now and then while surfing.  Basically, they conduct psychology and behavior studies.  I mention it because some of the methods I happened to see on the show are ones that are used in the attempt to modify my behavior.

Recently, they showed people at a fitness center not wiping their sweat off machines after using them.  They had a guy with his shirt visibly soaked with sweat enter the gym.  I knew what they were getting at, so I changed the channel.  I’ve mentioned that they have people walk in my line of vision with a cigarette hanging out of their mouth in a conspicuously odd way that maybe makes them look kind of silly.  They’re trying to make a negative association with smoking to get me to stop.  I have no interest in quitting smoking completely, but I do want to keep it to a minimum.  To do so, I offer to buy single cigarettes from people around me occasionally.  It’s win-win.  They profit and I smoke the amount I want without having to buy a pack.  Often, someone will approach me and offer to buy a cigarette shortly after I’ve done so myself, as if it’s going to shame me into stopping.  It’s all a bit of a joke at this point.  

Possessed Drone Comp 121214

A few notes about this video:
Some of its contents are disturbing, which is intended for me.  The first four clips all occurred since the afternoon of December 10th, when I finished the Satan/Anti-Christian File.  Having one possessed crazy enter BK before me and two follow is unprecedented.  Thankfully, none of it bothers me any more which is why I’m getting such good video.  

The third brief clip is of a guy who got behind me in line at Subway, where I rarely go.  Many of those following me wear blue and gray.  It’s difficult to tell in the video, but his hat is dark blue with grayish light blue trim and his umbrella is blue and gray.  After I stopped recording, I asked him, “So, blue’s your favorite color, huh?”  He shrugged and said it wasn’t.  It appeared quite clear to me that he wasn’t trying to hide anything and was sincerely unaware of why I might have asked.  His disorientation is clear in the clip.  I asked, “Well, what’s with all the blue clothes?”  He replied, “Oh, somebody gave ‘em to me.”

I may or may not have mentioned this; it was only recently that I figured it out.  I rarely go to Subway, so this is a great example.  Any time I do anything outside of my normal daily routine, it happens.  I’ve noticed it because it’s happened that way a number of times.  They create a kind of mental and emotional jail by stalking and menacing the target when they do anything the might exhibit freedom of choice.

The same is true in the two short clips at the coffee shop.  It was the first time I’d been there.  There were several empty tables in the room, yet the guy chose to sit facing me.  There was a third person who sat there by herself facing me as well, but I didn’t catch a clip of her.  That scenario has played out many, many times.  Shuffling the cards was meant to torment me, but I didn’t catch it in the clip.  I put it after the woman shuffling cards on the bus for a reason.  You can see the black woman sitting at the table facing me briefly glance at me.

The guy tapping his feet is great because you can see him doing it once at the beginning of the clip and then stop.  It’s not the first time I’ve seen the behavior I was trying to capture stop when I started recording video.  In fact, it happens quite often.  He does it again later in the clip after he walks away.

Again, if you haven’t been forced into a state of isolation and denied anything to do on an ongoing basis, these things probably wouldn’t bother you, if you noticed them at all.  None of it works without isolation, which is why I don’t understand why someone won’t help me.  I know I’m not dead.  If I were, the maintenance guy in my building who got the job through a temp agency wouldn’t be trying to slowly poison me.  

In the video of the woman on the bus, you’ll notice a spot immediately in front of the back door where there are two single seats, one behind the other.  On my way to the BK incident with the whistler and the other two guys, I was on the bus holding that high horizontal poll just below the ceiling, right next to those seats, facing that side of the bus, as I often do.  I’m too tall to get underneath that poll, so there’s always a little space between me and those seats, but not much.  It’s barely enough for another person to stand in.  The only reason anyone would need to stand between me in that spot and the people in those seats would be if the bus were packed, which it was not that night.  Nevertheless, and Asian woman boarded the bus in the front, strode through a good deal of open space, and very conspicuously positioned herself directly in front of me, between me and those seats, holding one of those vertical polls the way the woman at the 15:47 mark in the video is.  I had to take a step back to insure my front wouldn’t bump her back as the bus bounced and swayed down the street.  As I pulled out my phone to record, she moved away for no apparent reason.  Loneliness makes you attentive to social cues.  It also makes you desperate for human interaction and contact.  John T. Gestapo writes of how oxytocin levels and warmth are regulated by physical human touch.  I’ve been getting set up since I was five years old.  The women taking part in the setup in my adult life know why I post this.  I will post a detailed account of all my experiences that point to a certain very, very wealthy New York family if these things don’t stop.

Forced Creativity
It has been suggested to me that what is being done to me is intended to force me to be creative.  I have no interest in being creative.  My one and only ongoing goal is to prove my claims and promote my name and story.

I'm not nearly as confused as you think.  I was, but I'm not now, as attested to by the incredibly obvious change in things since yesterday.

Neil Vanderbilt
Reggie and Neil
I finished Arthur T. Vanderbilt's, "Fortune's Children."  It's an extremely interesting book, especially the parts about Neil Vanderbilt, the journalist, and Reggie Vanderbilt, Gloria Vanderbilt's gamblin', drinkin' father.   There are so many experiences I've had that point to the Vanderbilt family that I'm losing track.  There's some stuff in the book about class war, etc.   I'm particularly curious as to the name of Neil's Commander in France during WWII who had a serious grudge against the Vanderbilt family.  Vanderbilt File on the way.
Reggie Vanderbilt

Dear Diary:
I think I may have mentioned the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, but never mentioned why.  The strangest thing happened.  I carry my Blackberry around with me, but haven't had service on it for at least two years now.  On a day when I didn't have service and hadn't had it for some time, the phone rang.  I assumed it was someone else's, but as I was walking, it kept on ringing.  I looked around and I realized it was mine.  Perplexed, I reached for it and answered.  The call was from the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center.  I heard a recorded message and just hung up. Strange, no? 

AXS? Animated Series Commercial
Dear Diary:
I saw an odd television commercial recently.  I think it was on AXS, but I'm not sure.  It was an ad for an animated series.  The animation is the kind you'd expect would be done for young children.  It started out with Jesus in a peaceful setting, saying, "You're in heaven."  Then it switched to images associated with hell.  Then it cut to a shot of what I assume are the three main characters under sedation in hospital beds.  I don't know that it has anything to do with my situation.  It just caught my eye, so I thought I'd mention it.

Wide-Eyed Joey
Dear Diary:
I may have already touched on this, but it bears repeating. 

I’ve mentioned that Joey Zoccali regularly took steps to spoil my Christmas holiday, mainly after Nancy Zoccali’s passing.  On one of those occasions, he used Dim Mak on me, a martial arts technique meant to cause an aneurism resulting in death at a later date, thus leaving no trace of the perpetrator or that it was even done.  I believe that was on Christmas eve.  I don’t recall for sure, but it was likely during the same Christmas visit in Niles that the following scenario occurred:

We were in the living room.  Joey and Lisa were seated together.  I was seated across from them.  I don’t recall whether anyone else was there.  I complained of a sharp pain on the left side of my head.  Christian-hating, Alice Cooper fan, Scientologist, Joey nonchalantly replied, “Internal carotid.”  He then moved forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the couch and directly facing me.  He leaned forward and opened his eyes as wide as he could and stared at me with an excited look of anticipation.  Lisa cringed and turned away, knowing exactly what he was hoping for.   

Beachfront Mansion Dream
Dear Diary:
Some have suggested to me that I’m psychic.  I’ve thought that that’s not the case, but a recent dream makes me think maybe it’s true.  I suspect my dream was someone else’s real experience.  Is that how being psychic works?  It’s like I was seeing what someone else was seeing.  I don’t recall thinking this of any other dream.

This dream was very brief.  I was at an oceanfront mansion just before a gathering there.  I was shooting video with what looked like a Windows phone, something I’ve never owned.  It wasn’t an iPhone, that’s for sure, but it was a nice new phone.  Unlike most iPhones, it was black and the corners were less rounded.  I remember this very clearly.  I was holding it horizontally and the aspect ratio appeared to be that of a modern high-definition television. I think I’d just arrived and there were only a few other people there.  I was walking through a hallway and there was an opening on the left to a kitchen, maybe.  I could tell it was an expensive home.  I was recording as I was walking.  There was a tall, husky transvestite in the foreground of my shot who gave the camera a wary glance.  A little farther away was a guy with dark curly hair.  Then, there was a bedroom with a large canopied bed.  The polls of the canopy were plain, round, and wide, at least one foot in diameter.  The bed was in front of a wall-size window facing the ocean.  The window may have been curved.  There were large rocks just off the shore which was fifty yards from the house at the most.  Opposite the window was a raised sitting room, maybe ten feet off the floor.  It was shaped in a rectangle around three sides of the bed and was thickly cushioned all around.  I’ve had this dream once or twice previously.  I know it couldn’t have been me there because I was looking up while shooting the tall transvestite.  He was built a lot like Steven Heitman, by the way.

This reminds me…  Some time during my first few months in San Francisco, I was at a Polk-Street bar when a woman and a transvestite or transsexual—I don’t recall which—approached me and invited me to a tranny bar a few blocks away.  Like many others, they acted as if they knew who I was and as if I knew what they were talking about.  The woman made a big deal of referring to the transvestite as “she.”  In yet another strange, cryptic comment, referring to their invitation, one of them said, “Now’s your chance, John.”… whatever that means.

Tim & Mary
Dear Diary:
I recently read “A Woman Named Jackie,” a biography of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis.  It includes the following passage about Mary Pinchot Meyer, who’d had an affair with JFK:
James Angleton recalled the details: … “One of Mary’s friends was Timothy Leary, the famous ‘acid head’ guru of the 1960s.  Mary apparently told Leary that she and a number of other Washington women had concocted a plot to ‘turn on’ the world’s political leaders with pot and acid in order to make them less militaristic and more peace-loving.  Leary helped her obtain certain drugs and chemical agents with precisely that end in mind.  Later, she developed her own source for drugs.”
 I saw a recent article that smears the book’s author, C. David Heymann, who died in 2012.  According to the article, Heymann fabricated controversial information in the book.  I did not read the entire article, so I don’t know whether it directly addresses Angleton’s comments.

I don’t know that this has anything to do with me; just thought I’d mention it. 

The Way We Were
Dear Diary:
Recently, I watched part of The Way We Were with Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford.  Streisand’s character is a perfect example of what socialist, anti-American brainwashing does to you.  She’s incapable of having fun and ruins parties.  She’s always hyper-vigilant on her self-righteous watch for social and moral offenses and exaggerates misgivings in others.  She finds offenses in jokes that are largely harmless.  Looking back, I can see how I was very much like that for years.  Friends and family have commented to me openly about it and I can see how it’s negatively affected my life.  It’s easy to see how this would play a large part in isolating the target.  Socialist brainwashing is multi-faceted and self-perpetuating.

In his book, Cacioppo mentions empathy often.  Socialist brainwashing destroys your self-interest and makes you think your only value is in helping others.  Anything that’s self-serving is demonized.  At a party, Streisand gets upset because of a joke about a big news story, the death of FDR, as I recall.  Redford says to her, “Not everything that happens happens to you personally.”  That is the goal of socialist brainwashing—to make you feel personal concern and anxiety to a greatly exaggerated degree for problems that are not yours.  This undermines your life by making you constantly depressed because, like Streisand’s character, you misconstrue things that have nothing to do with you directly as being personally offensive and mistakenly find fault where there is none.  I couldn’t believe I was watching it.

Socialist thought can be summed up very succinctly: misery loves company.  Angry losers have made it their goal to bring winners down.  It’s the only game of people who are otherwise talentless and just don’t have a lot going for them in general.  I am not on the side of the angry losers who are trying to make me a “damaged dog.”

I’ve written that King of Queens contains numerous themes and elements based on my life.  They recently flipped back to the beginning of the series on TV Land.  I noticed that Arthur’s basement is paneled like the one I grew up in and that he has a trunk just like the one I had for a long time.  In an early episode, Doug and his friends bring Arthur along to Cooper’s.  They’re having fun when Arthur tells a terrible story that ruins the mood.  It was a lot like The Way We Were.  That scene was definitely about me.  It’s the result of socialist brainwashing.  The make you sad and angry and make you think it’s all to blame on the U.S., capitalism, and Christianity.  A major aspect of what’s been done to me is to keep me from ever smiling.

I wonder why they named him Arthur. 

Donna Vislocky
Dear Diary:
It’s a shame that I never know for sure who’s who.  Remember that song, “Who’s zoomin’ who?”  But, I’m just the pawn, right?  I'm not supposed to know.  Anyway... 

Since I recently figured out that the CBS show, King of Queens contains numerous themes and elements that are common to my life, I thought this might be a good time to mention Donna Vislocky.  I think I may have written about her previously.  I met Donna while working as a bartender at the Sand Bar on the east side early during my time in New York.  Like so many other women in my life, no one introduced us to each other.  Unlike the others, she and I never dated, though.  She was a regular there, I think.  The first time we met, we were talking and she said, “So, what else do you do besides tend bar?”  I told her I was interested in getting in to television production.  She got me an interview with Russ Sarnoff for the CBS show, Day & Date, where she had previously been a senior producer.  He said, “We’ll give ya a shot.” and hired me.  Donna left the show either shortly before or shortly after I got hired.  It was while working at Day & Date that I met Bob Higgins.  The Sand Bar closed not long thereafter.  

Jennifer Baugh on Life on the Rock
In the hopes of reversing my brainwashing, I've been watching a good bit of Christian TV.  There's a daily mass show every night.  I forgot how much I enjoyed certain parts of the Catholic mass.  Brian Bosworth was on Life Today, which was interesting.  Last night on Life on the Rock, the featured guest was Jennifer Baugh, president and founder of Young Catholic Professionals.  Jennifer said the following on the show, starting at the 37:47 mark:
A second thing we struggle with is that sense of isolation…I did some research and in my generation, loneliness is at skyrocketing levels... Apparently, the CIA was doing some research on the biggest issue facing the world in the next twenty years or so, and I don’t know all the details of the study, but, the speaker asked the audience, “What do you think the biggest issue is, debt, poverty?”--all these other questions, and, according to the CIA, it’s loneliness.  That’s going to be the biggest issue facing our world. 
 You can watch the show in its entirety here: http://www.ewtn.com/tv/live/lifeontherock.asp

Book Titles
I've mentioned previously that operatives sit next to me with books with titles that quite clearly reflect my situation, often some current development.  It is taunting and mocking and insulting.  The title of one of the books the woman in this video brought with her to sit next to me is "Chronic Resilience."  I suspect these little messages are often a commentary on results of the experiment that is my life which started when I was five years old.  I struck up a conversation with her and at first, she acted kind of arrogant and taunting, but got a little nervous and stammered when I asked just a few simple questions, something I was unable to get myself to do before I figured out what was going on.  Her reaction confirms for me that I'm right about these encounters.  Like so many others, she got up and left minutes after I posted video of her on Youtube.  I've seen it a hundred times. 

It Just Doesn’t Matter, It Just Doesn’t Matter, It Just…
Dear Diary:
Let it be known that I'm fully aware of how crazy this sounds.  It's my details that prove otherwise.  I've collected more than enough evidence to support my sanity and other claims.  Other claims, such as the pinkie quote at the end of this entry, are too obscure and isolated to be the product of paranoia.  If I were to say I heard a voice that said, "Warren Carpathian showed me how." or a guy with a Russian accent saying, "There's a problem." or a guy saying, "They're gonna find us," you likely wouldn't jump straight to the conclusion that I must be insane, would you?  You'd think about those quotes for a minute, wouldn't you?  Who knows--maybe I am psychic.  It's a shame how that's workin' out, isn't it?

It has been suggested to me that I’m in a situation similar to The Matrix or Surrogates, similarly themed movies about artificial reality.  In Surrogates, I think you actually have a physical clone that goes out into the real world while you’re lying in the chair.  It’s been suggested that the situation might not include a plug in my head, but some sort of video viewer you wear on your head that circumvents your physical movements, so that my experiences are all unreal and my body is really sitting somewhere, disabled, while my brain experiences these things through my eyes.  It’s also been suggested that what I’m experiencing is a hybrid situation in which I’m really living in the physical real world, but my experiences, what I see and hear, can actually be altered at selected points of contact and interaction with others.  A person I pass on the sidewalk might really be looking straight ahead with a non-descript look on their face, but if I look at them, I will perceive that they are facing me with a scowl.  I’ve ascertained that this “enhancement” is automated and can simply be activated or deactivated, turned on or off.  When the target is turned on, remote-controlled insane drone in the nearest physical proximity automatically drifts toward them.  When the target approaches the check-out at a retail outlet, messages appear the cashier’s screen instructing them as to how to treat the person, either being mean and rude, or maybe very nice, in response to recent actions by the target.  Sometimes, no reaction is suggested at all.  As bizarre as it is, I’ve guessed that this is conducted through the implants I suspect have been inserted in my sinuses to access my brain.  I’ve had a few experiences that suggest that some version of these scenarios is, in fact, true, most likely a Surrogates scenario with enhanced reality, which brings me to the following point.

I also mentioned something recently about a television ad that started with Heaven and Hell and ended with three people under sedation in a hospital setting, which, again, is of a theme similar to The Matrix and Surrogates.  I’ve had experiences that support this as well.  I’ve noticed over the past few years that I have body twitches, usually while I’m lying in bed at night.  Sometimes, it’s my whole body, sometimes, it’s an arm or a leg.  The other night, my right arm twitched violently and then twice more less severely.  I think it was after the second twitch when I thought I heard a female voice whisper, “I’m burning your pinkie.”

Let’s see…if I’m living in a completely unreal cyber reality world, nothing I do really matters, now, does it?  I’ll keep that in mind. 

Molly Blank
Dear Diary:
I hate to even suggest it, but in the name of not leaving any stone unturned, I should mention my high school classmate and Toledo Psych major, Molly Blank.  I ran into her at a party once.  I doubt there's anything to it. 

Nancy Mosser Casting
Dear Diary:
I was with a Pittsburgh casting agency called Nancy Mosser between ’07 and ’09.  Kathleen signed up, too.  We went to a call together once.  I forget what the scene was.  I mention it just because it happened in Pittsburgh and Kathleen was there.  Maybe, something strange happened that day.  I wish I could nail down the exact day Kathleen said, “It’s for your own good, John.”  Actually, it was Christmas, now that I think of it, and it must have been either ’06, ’07 or ‘08.  You remember my mentioning her warmly caressing her new copy of Barak Obama’s book as she said it, right?  That must have been the same trip when ol’ K2 flipped out and nearly destroyed her truck driving up a parking garage ramp after putting on a fake show about my not driving well after I got in the correct lane miles before our exit and stayed in it despite her insisting I change lanes.

I might also mention that I wrote some bad stuff on a Rip-Off Report website about a scam modeling agency in Youngstown that was just ripping people off and telling stupid lies.  She bragged about representing the actress who played the grandma on Beverly Hillbillies, which, of course, was a joke she would laugh about after conning young kids into working for her for free.  I’ve had to wonder whether that has anything to do with all this.

Just so you know...
I've hoped that this would all end and intended to refrain from writing certain things, but every time some feminist sits next to me with a book title for me to read, I'm compelled to post something.  Next, I'll post about Ms. Johnson, the security guard near my workfare and corresponding encounters.

Deer Hunter 2014
Dear Diary:
You know, I've pretty much got everything figured out probably as far as I'm ever going to, but part of the experiment on me is a pattern recognition experiment about making connections.  And, of course, I'm supposed to be confused, which is nearly not the case at all any more and I'm not really concerned about the things I haven't figured out.  It's great when I get a positive clue about someone after I suspected them, which is in line with independent verification, now, isn't it?  Helps prove I'm right, now, doesn't it?  The other day I suspected a guy I saw on the bus.  He was wearing mostly blue and had that look.  As I was exiting the bus, I looked at his iPhone and saw the image shown here, which is quite unusual in San Francisco.  Would you like to know what it reminds me of?  Well, first, there's Wayne Cardarelli's initial strange, taunting comment to me that sounded like a veiled threat, "Yeah, John, it's not like a sharp-shooter's following you around or anything."  The other thing it reminds me of is my brother-in-law, Rick Wilson.  Rick is wannabe sniper.  I suspect it's his favorite thing to dream about.  One day, out of the blue, with no prompting, he said, "You know, John, when a bullet flies a long distance, it doesn't always fly on a straight path.  It might raise up a little and go back down or vice-versa."  I also recall him saying, "You'll serve your country."  I will never willingly be in any security or law enforcement job."  And, of course--wouldn't you know it--my encounter with Ms. Johnson is related to this post as well.  Stay tuned! 

TV Answers Spence
Dear Diary:
There is an episode in the later years of King of Queens in which Spence was watching TV.  At the same time, he was having a conversation with someone and asked a question.  Then, someone in the television show said something that, in both timing and content, sounded as if it were meant to answer Spence’s question.  Surprised Spence then commented on it, something to the effect of, “Hey, that was strange.  It sounded like the TV just answered my question.”

I’ve had similar experiences.

Funny Letters
Chinese Tabs
My computer is very nearly on its last leg.  It's slow and system restore hardly does anything for it anymore.  Today, I noticed the strangest thing.  I looked up at the tabs in my browser and, to my surprise, found that Chinese characters were mixed in among them. (shown here)  Some were covering the English text in my tabs, but in other spots, the English tabs were shrunken down and the Chinese characters were between them, sort of like their own tab.  I guessed that perhaps they're each a translation of the adjacent tab.  The foreign stuff is set higher than my usual tab text, right near the top edge of the browser.  Is this a normal technical snafu?  As I said, my computer is about to go ka-blooey.  Nevertheless, I find it a bit strange and troubling, especially considering a certain experience I had with Carrie Plank and Kathleen Kashay's bragging about being an internet expert in its earliest days.  (She claims she invented emoticons.)

"Explore All The Avenues"
This morning, I read some incredibly interesting information about L. Ron Hubbard, hypnotism, and Hubbard's Occult dealings in Lawrence Wright's "Going Clear," which was recently made into a documentary.  There's a guy in my building who acts a little strange, looks and talks like a New York cop (but indicated he doesn't want people to know it), and once made an odd comment to me about "counting the minutes," which I'll post about later.  Sure enough, as I descended the stairs while exiting the building this afternoon, he entered and was going up the narrow stairs at the same time, passing me quite conveniently at the first landing.  It was like many oddly timed encounters I've had with such folks, like Don who works at the Asia Society and taunted me when I was grossly emaciated when I was seeing him at 24-Hour Fitness.  Don said to me once, referring to our oddly regular encounters while turning corners or in narrow passages, "We're like clockwork."  Anway...I showed my neighbor the book, told him I've been the subject of a brainwashing experiment that includes hypnotism and that the book substantiates many of my claims and experiences, particularly its connection to Scientology.  Then, not surprisingly, he made an odd comment about "exploring all the avenues."

What the fuck does that have to do with anything?  I have potentially serious medical issues.  I don't give a fuck about exploring any avenues.  If he was alluding to the "training" it's been suggested I'm in, whatever it is, I'm not going to do it.  I'm going to start posting some things you do not want me to post.  It is my goal to force an end to this situation by publishing my story here.  I've got about twenty diary entries on deck.  You see the screenshot with the Chinese writing.  I love my country.  Please, please, bring it to an end before something gets really, really fucked up.  I fully understand the magnitude of what's going on, but I still have a shred of rational self-interest.  Despite all the "post-hypnotic suggestions," I am a living, breathing human being and I'll keep pushing until the situation is resolved. 

“Where do you want to transfer to?”
A few months ago, I had a weird dream in which someone was asking me where I wanted to go to college to play baseball when I was in high school.  Suddenly, it sounded as if he was talking to me through a walkie-talkie as he said, very calmly, in a soft voice as if to a child, “Yeah…where do you want to transfer to?”  I’d been asleep and it was very much like a dream, but I became conscious of it, realized I was being baited, and didn’t answer.  I should note that the voice had no accent and very much sounded like normal American English.

Other than the obvious reason, it’s noteworthy because these guys think they know everything about me.  The last year I played baseball was when I was in sixth grade.  I was never a fan of the game while growing up, though I followed the Indians.  I didn’t really become interested in baseball until I moved to New York.  

I've had a few other strange dreams.  What would you like to read about first, those or Ms. Johnson?

Playing God 
Dear Diary:
I’ve mentioned that I’ve had a number of encounters, many in passing, in which someone said something that was meant for me to overhear.  Sometimes, it’s part of a conversation between two people as they pass me going the other direction on the sidewalk.  Sometimes, certain words or phrases are said extra loud, examples of which I actually have video but haven’t yet posted.  (I guess I should do that.)  On one occasion, I overheard a guy say, “Yeah…he calls himself “God.”

The section on brainwashing in Going Clear has parallels to many things I’ve written about and a few I haven’t.  Over the past year, maybe, I’ve thought to myself more than once, before I heard the comment above, that someone is using strange technology and powers and even stranger techniques to “play God” with me.  There are two quotes from Going Clear that apply here, the first summing up my situation in whole as neatly as it probably could be: 
1.)    The totalist paradigm begins with shutting off the individual’s access to the outside world, so that his perceptions of reality can be manipulated without interference.  The goal at this stage is to provoke expectable patterns of behavior that will appear to arise spontaneously, adding to the impression of omniscience on the part of the controlling group.  
Two pages later:
2.)    According to Lifton, factors such as these award the group life-and-death authority over individual members.
He actually mentions “perceptions of reality” being manipulated.  I’ve written, very recently in fact, that I suspect that my perception of “real” things I see and hear can actually be altered electronically.  Usually, when a San Francisco bus driver announces transfers at a stop, he says, “Transfer to…” or “Transfer available to…” or something to that effect.  This morning while I was on the bus, the driver said at one stop, “You’re gonna be transferred…”  I doubt there’s anything to it, though…probably just me being paranoid.

The guy who made the comment on the street about someone calling himself God wasn’t an angel referring to God in a tongue-in-cheek way.  He was referring to a very arrogant person who’s actually playing God by using brainwashed, remote-controlled operatives and other technologies.  I know because I get real messages from real God on occasion, and trust me, he doesn’t like what they’re doing.  

I might also remind you here that I ran into a Marine at a Meetup group here in San Francisco who insinuated that I’m an “enemy of the state,” and made an illusion to something I'd said about my brother, Joseph C. Zoccali, the source of much of my trouble.  “Enemy of the state” is purely a socialist concept touched on by Mr. Wright at the end of the brainwashing section in which he describes a Scientology pamphlet called “Brainwashing: A Synthesis of the Russian Textbook on Psychopolitics” which begins with words lifted from a speech by Lavrenti Beria, the head of the Soviet secret police under Joseph Stalin, affectionately known as “Papa Joe,” the same name as the Ohio State bar behind which Sean Newman, cousin of Annette Plank, set me up for a sucker punch and getting dragged around in the gravel.

Wright also writes:
Some patients were put into insulin coma to keep them from resisting; in that state, they were forced to listen to such mantras up to twenty hours a day.  In one case, Cameron played a message continuously for more than a hundred days.
I have written that political rhetoric in transmitted into my mind while sleeping at night.  It’s happened numerous times.  I do not recall it happening before I arrived in San Francisco.  Usually it sounds like someone reading from a radical account of an historic event.  I’ve also written about an ad on cable TV that caught my eye which started with child-geared cartoon depictions of Heaven and Hell and ended with a shot of what I guess are the show's three main characters under sedation in hospital beds. 

That is a small sample of the passages in Going Clear that support my claims.  The brainwashing section starts with Maoist China and ends with Soviet Russia, where religion was outlawed.  Again…I have been the subject of anti-Christian brainwashing.  A couple things occur to me: 1.) I’ve had a nagging suspicion that Kathleen Kashay has a bit of an Asian look to her, but I could be wrong about that, and 2.) The Romanoffs who got away must have had some goooooood intelligence.

Thanks, but no thanks.
Dear Diary:
The brainwashing I’ve been subject to was, among other things, intended to turn me gay.  I recently recalled a conversation I had once had with a female acquaintance which may have been at BW-3.  I don’t remember who she was.  Again, it seemed to be yet another random encounter in which the person I happened to meet was very nice and open.  She was complimenting me on my looks, as the always do, and I specifically recall her saying, “You’d make a good-looking woman.” 

Bob And The Manchurian Candidate
Dear Diary:
I’ve mentioned The Manchurian Candidate a few times, mainly in connection to that San Francisco State film trigger.  I’ve also mentioned that my life has been like an ongoing interrogation by strangers for much of the past six years, starting in 2009 in Niles immediately after I tried to contact someone regarding Wayne Cardarelli’s tactics which were specifically meant to bait me into doing such a thing.  (It was immediately after that that Pat McCleary said to me, for no apparent reason, “Now ya did it.”) Those two things come together in Bob, the only white person who works the front desk at my building.  They interrogate me in two different ways.  The first way, which I’ve described, is to manufacture a reason to talk to me and then hit me with straight-forward, rapid-fire questions actually delivered in the style of an interrogation.  When you’re in the isolated, harassed state I’ve been in, it works, mainly because of false guilt manufactured by post-hypnotic suggestion.  The false guilt and harassment make you think you’re obligated to answer.  The other way is to act like they want to be friends and use a kind of twisted, semi-reverse-psychology, reverse-angle questioning to get a proper judgment of what’s on my mind.  They also use NLP.   I think there have been a select few others, such as Brooke Cooley, The Soup Slut, maybe, who used the second approach, but the best example is Bob.

I don’t have a television, so I watch in the lobby four or five nights a week.  Most often, it’s Bob on duty at night, so he’s had ample opportunity to use the second technique.  It’s so subtle that I’m not supposed to know it’s happening.  Like the others, he acts syrupy nice like he wants to be my friend and has, under that guise, made quite a few comments meant to torment me.  A main tactic is to keep instances of this interrogation spread out over time so the subject isn’t ready for them.  It’s the same way with the setups meant to portray me in a bad light in public.  A new guy at my workfare is trying to set me up my manufacturing situations to make me look bad to the supervisor who’s never given me anything but a good review in over a year (not that it matters any more).  They spread it out to lull the target into a false sense of security to maximize effectiveness.  It had been a long time since Bob questioned me before he did last night.  An Asian woman does Bible study with a few people from the building in the lobby on Tuesday nights from 5:00 to 6:00.  I attended one and didn’t attend again because she just bad-mouthed the Catholic Church from beginning to end.  Last night, Tuesday, Bob asked me about my about the bible study.  He acted like he was just making conversation with his buddy.  He was syrupy nice and eventually he asked me how I felt about her saying that if someone is of a pagan religion, that’s the same as worshiping Satan.  He mentioned that he’s Jewish, but him-hawed, as he has before, when I asked him about his religion.   He also likes to mention that he’s from Philadelphia.

Anyway, the reason I mention Bob is that part of his ploy to buddy up with me is to sit down in the TV room and act real nice and enthusiastic and talk about movies.  (That was before the movie channels along with quite a few others were removed from our Dish service, which happened after about ten days during which the Dish service was out of order which started the day after I posted about the heaven/hell/hospital sedation ad on AXS or VH1.)  A few times, he’s brought up movies out of the blue.  Once it was Seven Days in May, which is about a military conspiracy to overthrow the U.S. government.  Another he brought up more than once  without prompting is The Manchurian Candidate.  I think it was the third time he brought it up that he specifically mentioned the scene in which the main character thinks he’s at a ladies’ tea party but is really being interrogated by his Korean captors.  Added, Bod, “Yeah, I like that scene.”  Also, I’m not supposed to notice that some of the things they do are odd.  Once or twice, Bob came into the TV room while I was watching and offered me magazines to read as if I were in a waiting room at an office and he were trying to accommodate me.  When I declined, he shrugged his shoulders and made a face as if to imply, “I was just trying to be nice.”  Why would I want a magazine when I was in the room for the specific purpose of watching TV?  Even stranger, Bob asked me once, again, out of the blue and as if were bosom buddies, yet in a somewhat business-like fashion,  “So, what kind of women ya like, John?  Ya like Asian women?  Asian women do it for ya?”  I’m supposed to think it’s all perfectly normal.

Odd Google Results, Part 37
Dear Diary:
I’ve written of how some results I get from Google searches are often misplaced, sometimes more egregiously than others.  Recently, something mildly odd happened.  While researching someone, I was looking through the image results.  Something compelled me to click on a professional photo of a woman.  The text accompanying the photo didn’t indicate it fit my search.  I’m not sure why I clicked on it.  The site it lead me to didn’t seem to have anything to do with my search term either.  It was the site of a head-injury specialist in the Washington D.C. area.  What do ya think, Diary?  A meaningless random anomaly, or somehow significant to my situation?

“Driftin’ in a dusty zone.  Driftin’ in a dusty zone.  That’s when it’s over, that’s when you know.”  --Dean Wareham

It's all so confusing.  I'd say Reisdorf is the tallest.

Cleanliness Is Next To...
Dear Diary:
It's been made clear to me that those watching everything I do, 24/7 are "grading" me or approving or disapproving of every single aspect of my life, some of which have nothing to do with morals or religion or anything that's anybody's fucking business other than mine.  As I wrote above, they create an impression of omniscience.  It has been, in small part, because of that that I've made it a point to keep my room clean.  The main reasons I've done so are the following 1.) I know it's going to make me feel better about myself while this brainwashing group uses bizarre tactics to bury me in guilt and fear, 2.) A main aspect of the brainwashing experiment that is my life is to immerse me in environments and cultures and gauge how quickly and thoroughly I assimilate to them while under the effects of loneliness which make me extra vulnerable to any sort of input.  I assure you, the current intended result of that, which was intended from the beginning to be executed by steering me to San Francisco, is not working.  Keeping my room nice and clean is part of my conscious effort to counteract that assimilation.

But, here's the important thing: about a week ago, I figured out that such opinions and assessments don't actually matter one bit.  Of course, I can't tell you how I know that.  You'll have to trust me.  Take it on faith. 

Carla Courtney 
Dear Diary:
Carla was one of the many women who I now know entered my life surreptitiously, portraying our meeting as a coincidence when it was not.  In fact, she may have been the first—it was either her or Joanna Zito.  Like so many others, including Carrie Plank, Carla was very aggressive and there was no one who introduced us.  She said her father was a regional director of the U.S. Department of Agriculture.  She was an LSU student originally from Jefferson, Missouri.  I seem to recall she was in athletics, on the swim team, maybe.  That’s a guess.  She’s now a lawyer.  One way or another, all the women who’ve snuck into my life are political insiders and baited me aggressively.  As is included in The Vanderbilt file, the Department of Agriculture played a direct role in the development of the largest Vanderbilt estate of them all, Biltmore.  It's probably just a coincidence, though.

My Nicholls State teammates and I had made a trip to Baton Rouge for a night out.  I think it was during the NCAA tournament.  Shaquille O’Neal was playing for LSU at the time.  The bar was packed.  I’d never had an interest in having a mixed relationship, but Carla is an attractive woman and she looked at me very intently from across the room—and she wouldn’t stop.  I don’t recall any other women ever looking at me in such a way, at least not before that.  Gouthroux (He spells it funnier than usual, but pronounces it the same: GO-troe.) who, as was the norm there, was nothing close to egalitarian, leaned over to me and commented with a mischievous laugh, “Damn, John—that black girl over there is really checkin’ you out.” and added something about her being hot.  I was nineteen or twenty years old enjoying the still new freedom of college and status of being on the basketball team.  I knew about racism in the south, but I wasn’t opposed to talking to her.  

She drifted in our direction and I reciprocated.  We talked for a while.  When we parted, she gave me her phone number on a napkin and added, “Please use this, John!”  Again, any straight 19-year-old guy would have been greatly flattered by that kind of attention.  It was very exciting.  I kept the napkin for years.

Carla and I got together a few times, including for night out at Flannigan’s in Thibodaux.  I knew how things were down there, but I didn’t think one date would be that big of a deal and I didn’t know the lengths they go to.  For a combination of reasons, I broke things off with Carla.  Like Beth Kujawski from Chicago, I recall it being very difficult to break away from Carla despite how briefly we’d known each other.

I recall having a strange encounter with a couple guys on the baseball team who could have been extras in Deliverance.  They made some veiled comments about race issues and tried to intimidate me, but I didn’t see it at the time.  They may have asked whether I had something against white people.  That’s their angle: if you’ll take part in a mixed relationship, you must dislike white people, which is just absurd.  Like everything else, the hints were all kind of ambiguous.

I know that my family found out about Carla by way of my mom or my brother rummaging through my drawer during a summer home from Nicholls and finding a photo of us together.  I think that, even if the photo hadn’t been found, word of it would have made its way to Niles by other means anyway.

Sheep Dipping
Dear Diary:
I just wanted to mention briefly that I read something in Going Clear about "sheep-dipping," the military practice of giving someone with an intelligence background "two sets of records."  I don't have an intelligence background that I know of, but I can't help but think that that's what's been done to me, specifically for the purpose of ruining my life.   

Swing for the Fence
Dear Diary:
Obviously, I have many "super freaky memories."  Well, I guess they're not that freaky, really.  It's just that I wasn't supposed to remember most of them, like that black guy I met while fishing in Columbus who asked if I was a loner.  I wrote recently that a head-injury clinic popped up in a Google search where it didn't seem to fit.  It was before that, but not too long ago, when a very brief memory popped into my head.  Initially, it was the split-second that someone bashed me in the forehead with a baseball bat.  Then a little more came to me.  I was stepping through a doorway when someone waiting in the room I was entering, hiding just off to the side of the doorway on the right, swung the bat and apparently knocked me out cold.  That's the full extent of the memory.  I have no memory of anyone who might've been there.  I wonder whether it was Melissa's brother.  Maybe, it was at the P&G.  Then again, maybe it was Joey Z.  He's a good baseball player.  Or, maybe it's just my damn paranoid-schizophrenia again.  The brevity of the memory is what gets me, though.  If were so crazy, there would be more to it, wouldn't there? 

“He’s dying.”
Dear Diary:
These both occurred between October, 2014 and February, 2015:
I had another strange dream, except it didn’t really seem like a dream.  I was lying in bed, sleeping on my stomach as I usually do.  I heard a man’s voice say, “He’s dying.”  Then, I felt and heard hospital monitor nodes being ripped away from my chest all in one swipe.  It sounded like there were three of them.  Here’s what’s really weird about this: the sound of the nodes popping off my chest reverberated briefly in my mattress.

I guess it was about a month before that that I had another dream in which I heard a woman with an Indian accent yell my name, “John!”  What’s strange about this was that she shouted and I heard her clearly, and yet the volume I heard her at was very low, as if she were far away.  Then I heard a nearby male voice say something bruskly in a foreign language.  

The hypnotism I'd been subject to makes it so that I think anything I see that's remotely significant applies to me.  It's very strange and it has to be maintained.  It hardly works on me at all any more and I often notice instances in which it would have.  Of course, the internet is used primarily, but it happens with images in public, some of which I'm forced to conclude are there intentionally for people in my position.  They're not as common as fingerpointing shots, but I've seen quite a few shots of someone with their finger over their lips.  I found the one shown here at the bottom of this blog post about interdemensional travel: http://listverse.com/2014/05/05/10-creepy-tales-of-interdimensional-travel/.  You may recall my writing that often, the people staking me just appear "out of nowhere."  The following link gets a little more in to the nitty-gritty of the experiment that is my life, I suspect: http://deoxy.org/inc2.htm.  I should also mention that I'm always seeing people in person conspicuously covering their mouths.
This was posted right around the time my life got really strange: https://blackscience.wordpress.com/
Peter Moon, L. Ron Hubbard Fan: http://www.digitalmontauk.com/?page_id=111
Annnnnd, here we are:
Second Whistleblower Emerges to Confirm Reality of Time Travel: http://www.examiner.com/article/second-whistleblower-emerges-to-confirm-reality-of-time-travel

Montauk...Conveniently Located Just up the Road from Beautiful Speonk, Long Island
The Montauk Project: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Montauk_Project

Robot Devil
Dear Diary:
I’ve mentioned that occasionally over the past few years, people who know what’s going on have approached me and dropped hints meant to lead me to the truth about what’s going on.  For whatever reason, they never speak in direct terms.  Once, a woman struck up a conversation with me about the TV show, Futurama, specifically leading to the robot devil character.  At the time I didn’t know people were giving me clues, but now I know that’s what she was doing.  Above, I wrote about these brainwashing mind-control people playing God.  Conversely, they’re also playing devil, which is what she was trying to tell me. 

Digital Glitch Face
Dear Diary:
In “Loneliness,” John Cacioppo writes of the effect of facial expressions on test subjects in his experiments.  Facial expressions are, in fact, one of the main tools used to keep someone in my position under mind-control.

I’ve written extensively of being stalked and harassed.  One word that better sums up what I’ve experienced is “menacing.”  I started getting menaced in the Niles area in early 2009.  In December of that year, I made the trip to San Francisco.  On the way, I stopped in Chicago for a day or two.  The stalking continued there, as it had in Elkhart, Indiana.  At a downtown Chicago coffee shop, I was sitting, facing out the window, at a counter that runs the length of the window just inside it, as you see at some Starbucks.   A guy who looked like he was probably in the military or CIA walked past with an exaggeratedly  mean look on his face.  He didn’t look directly at me, but he just made himself conspicuous; body language is a big part of what they do, too.  When you’re the target, you get the point because you notice it being done by a stream of different individuals, which, of course, you have no witnesses for.  He was walking very near the window as he passed.  The counter was somewhat high above the sidewalk, but he was tall enough that his face cleared it easily.  His face was about level with mine and less than three feet away as he passed.

Remember when internet video was a new thing?  Then, it was common to watch a video on the web that had distortions in the image that were caused by bugs in the digital video process.  They often occur on transitions between two different shots, but not always.  In analog video, such problems might be manifest in a number of different ways, but usually with distortion usually referred to as “snow” or “static.”  What makes digital video different is that the distortion is almost always characterized by jagged lines made up of tiny square shapes or sections of squares of varying sizes, sort of like in cubist art.

A critically important part of the mind-control is that it trains you to look at other people’s faces, wondering, “Is she part of it?  Is he part of it?”  They induce paranoia and fear and the target is thus compelled to fixate on and study the face of everyone he sees.  As I mentioned above, the emotional content of facial expressions on others I see is a primary tool for mind-control which is mainly facilitated by controlling your mood which is done by controlling your emotions.   Cacioppo writes about the part of the brain associated with empathy.  The goal of socialist brainwashing and the mind-control I've been subject to is to destroy the subject's rational self-interest and create a state in which he experiences an unnatural and unhealthy level of empathy.  It is mainly by way of this setup that emotion/mood and mind-control is facilitated.
During my first year in San Francisco, I was walking down the sidewalk when I glanced over at a woman approaching me from the opposite direction.  When I first looked at her, she was looking straight ahead with a relatively normal disinterested expression.  That lasted only a fraction of a second before her face changed, by way of a digital glitch, to a scowl turned toward me.

Obviously, this is very significant.  I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to notice or remember the incident.  As I mentioned, she was looking straight ahead for only a fraction of a second when I first looked at her.  There’s more I could tell you about menacing faces out “on the road.”  I guess the most important thing this facial expression change by digital glitch might suggest is that I can’t really know for sure which of my experiences with other people I’ve written about are real and which aren’t.  

To that end, another hint dropped to me by a stranger along the way was about “enhanced reality” or “augmented reality.”  Somehow, they can actually alter my perception of things I really am seeing with my eyes.  I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve been cloned and what’s happening is a combination of two scenarios.  The first is interdimensional travel studies done at the Institute for Chaos Studies in Ong’s Hat New Jersey as described at this webpage: http://deoxy.org/inc2.htm.  Peter Moon, the co-author of a book about Ong’s Hat and ICS is a big fan of L. Ron Hubbard, as you can read about in his bio at the Sky Books website here: http://www.digitalmontauk.com/?page_id=111.  (When I visited the Peter Moon bio page at the Sky Books site prior to today, it opened normally.  Today, I got a warning page from McAfee.  I'm sure there' nothing malicious in the site.)  Sky Books slogan is certainly noteworthy as well: "Where Science Fiction Meets Reality."  I might guess at the this point that Peter Moon is, by way of association, more central to all aspects of this situation then anyone else.  The other scenario is the movie, “Surrogates,” which has a theme similar to the Matrix.  That combination would explain just just about all my claims: behavior modification, covert, harassing interrogation by Neo-Nazis in the U.S. military, socialist radical feminists trying to turn me gay, etc., harassment and torment by nerds, political indoctrination game played by competing extremist political groups, and the fact that when I look at my digital clock while brushing my teeth, it often looks like this: 

It is through electronic media devices that much of my brainwashing/mind-control is administered.  I’ve noticed that they control things I see on television, and the internet is the main way it’s facilitated, of course.  The digital-video glitches in my clock are the only instance in which I’ve seen them repeatedly.  I might also mention here that I once noticed some oddly-named price tags on a shelf at Walgreen's.  As I recall, the new names of the products on the tags did not match the name on the products themselves.  It definitely seemed odd that L'Oreal would re-name their different gels, "Clear Minded," "Above It All," and "Head Lock" as shown here.  As I was looking at them, a woman arrived as if in passing and nicely made a comment to me as they so often do.  She had a bit of an astonished look on her face.  She was there, at least in part, to observe my reaction. 

Obviously, this is done by abducting people.  Also, I’ve mentioned that I have implants in my body.  I suspect I’ve been abducted a number of times.  I recently became ill and visited a doctor.  My main symptom has been an ongoing dull headache, but there are others.  The doctor asked me whether it felt as if I wear wearing a tight band around my head.  I said it did not feel that way.  It’s wasn’t until later that it occurred to me what it does feel like.  It feels like there is a heavy weight attached to and covering the top of my head, as if I’m wearing some kind of heavy helmet.  That is the best way to describe it.  Before the headache started, though, I started getting a feeling like I was wearing some kind of glasses or goggles pressing firmly on the bridge of my nose.  Occasionally, I briefly experience relief from this, but it returns.  I did not notice the feeling on my nose until within the past two years.

Did everybody see that story about the Secret Service investigating Scientology in 1958?  

Oh, and is that Linkedin connection request I recently got from a publishing agent real or fake?  I never can tell. 

Essentially Good or Essentially Bad?
Dear Diary:  
In another brief encounter I suspect may be significant in my situation, I had a conversation with a woman who asked, “Do you think people are essentially good or essentially bad?”  Once again, this very well may have been at BW-3 on south campus at Ohio State and it may have even been the same woman who “suggested” I would make a good-looking woman.  

I’ve been meaning to summarize the loneliness/brainwashing experiment.  One part of it that I haven’t written about is that to disable someone’s executive function and make them impulsive would, of course, make them more like an animal and less like a human being (which reminds me of Soundgarden’s comeback album.)  Once you’ve reduced them to that state, you inundate them with varying political, ideological, and religious viewpoints to see which way they’ll go, bait and provoke them in various different directions and gauge the results.  To that end, I'll mention radical-feminist, socialist anthropologist Eleanor "Happy" Leacock who I posted about not long ago who, somehow, plays a central role in all this.  I think it was in the brainwashing section in Going Clear that I read something about making the subject a “blank slate.”  Some nauseating faggot hovering around in me in San Francisco a few years ago, when I was still wrapped tightly in the mind-control, looked at me and said to someone else very loudly, “Yep, it’s a blank slate.”

No…it’s not. 

Red v. Blue 
Dear Diary:
As described in my recent entry, Digital Glitch Face, I can’t really be sure about the authenticity of my encounters I deem to be significant.  Priests even say and do things to torment me.  I got a typical menacing glare from a priest at one church as I passed him in a narrow spot while returning from Communion!  At another church, the priests made a couple of comments meant to taunt me.  Lately, a very common, odd question I’ve heard is “Do you have a watch?”  They don’t ask me what time it is.  They ask specifically, “Do you have a watch?” with an arrogant, smug tone as if to imply they already know the answer.  In fact, here's a crazy tirade by Mission Mark about "fucking jail" and having to "hawk his watch to get well."  It sounds to me like the first thing he says is, "I don't know, Paul."  I don't know of any other Paul on the floor: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDVHDa4EdBE&feature=youtu.be.  I sure do wish I knew who he was talking about.  It also reminds me of Joey Zoccali (Btw, I’ve already seen your arrest, Joey.) who made a comment to me about hating people who wear watches.  It has partly to do with his loser anger issues and partly to do with his wrists.  He has a genetic condition in his radius bones that makes it difficult for him to turn his palms to face straight upward.  He can only turn them as far as a certain angle.  He says weightlifting curling bars were designed for people like him.  Anyway, at a certain Church, one priest asked me, with the usual smugness, “Do you have a watch?”  Then, the other one, while inviting me to after-church coffee they were serving, said, “Yeah…try some of our Folger’s.  He actually said it with a snide tone, emphasizing “Folger’s.”  He said it the same way David Plank said, “We have ancestors on the Mayflower.”  

The Folger’s comment  reminded me of how I figured out that my sister and her husband are part of this stupid political thing in which they strictly use products in red packaging as opposed to competing products packaged in blue.  There are idiots on the blue side doing the same thing.  I figured this out mainly because of two examples, both of which Ann and Rick were quite adamant about: Coke over Pepsi, and Folger’s over Maxwell House.  It’s noteworthy because the standard choices at 1413 Youll Street while we were growing up and later were Pepsi and Maxwell House, not having anything to do with politics as far as I know.  I recall asking Ann when she switched.  She got very serious and was afraid to admit that she’d ever drank Pepsi and I recall Rick very forcefully declaring that Folger’s is their coffee brand.  Oh, and they changed peanut butter, too, which also took effect on Youll Street after Nancy was gone.  We grew up on blue-trimmed Skippy, but everybody had switched to Jif, which includes some red and I think has a red lid.

I did not return to the Catholic Church because I’m afraid of conservative military operatives who are “messin’ with my mind.”  I went back to the Church because I figured out I've been the subject of anti-Christian brainwashing.  Going back has been truly awesome.  It’s been great to recall all the things I like about the Mass and I’ve gained a new appreciation for other aspects of it.  I went to an Extraordinary Traditional Latin Mass for the first time recently; what an experience that was.  Despite the strange reactions I’ve gotten from more than one Priest, returning to Church and faith has been very satisfying and inspiring. 

I am not, I…am…not participating in any sort of extremist political game among idiots who select everyday products according to the primary color of the packaging.  I wasn’t before, I’m not now, and I never will be the same way I will never admit to anything I did not do, which is another goal of what's being done to me.

Because it's now clear why so many are interested, I'll say that I'm a Catholic Capitalist Independent Democrat (barely), which is pretty much how it's always been despite everything, except that I am a little less liberal than I was...thank God. 

Senior Video Class 
Dear Diary: 
I just wanted to mention that there was a guy in my senior-year video production class at OSU that was definitely part of this whole thing.  We worked on one project together.  He was a dick that day and was always a dick to me, which is what they do.  Now that I think of it, we resemble each other a bit.  I don't recall him being notably tall, though.  The professor’s name was Rich.  I don’t recall his last name.  Everybody called him Rich.  Rich planned to move to Vancouver.  I don’t recall my classmate’s name, but I suspect getting it would be quite simple for any professional who might be interested in doing so.

Fun Gems
Fun Gems
Dear Diary: 
This may or may not be significant, but I thought I'd mention it since military operatives still follow me around.  Perhaps, it has something to do with that whole sensory deprivation tank thing.

The other night, I had a dream.  It was right around February 22nd.  Well, it wasn't really a dream.  I just saw something for a few seconds   You know how when your eyes are closed and there's a light on, depending on the light's brightness and/or physical proximity to you, you might see a pinkish or peachish field that fades to black as it progresses from the center to the edges in all directions?  Around 4:00am that night, I was partially awake with my eyes closed when I suddenly saw that pinkish
field.  It was odd because it was dark in the room.  What's even odder, though, is that the pink field was filled with little shapes that appeared to be floating around in fluid on a shallow plain facing me,
bumping into each other ramdomly.  As a set of shapes, it was somewhat like the Fun Gems shown here, except that they appeared to be smaller and flat...just simple cut-outs made of thin plastic.  They were like the kind of thing you might see in a snow globe instead of snow or in some other toy or nick-knack with water and these little charms floating around in it.  The only shape I specifically recall was one like the symbol for a men's restroom.  I was just like the image shown here and was near the center.  There may have been a horse's head, too, but I'm not sure; it lasted about ten seconds at the most.  Either immediately before or immediately after, I heard a male voice say, "You're never waking up."


Death Cult
Dear Diary:
I just wanted to mention that I noticed that most of the victims in the Hail-Bopp comet suicide incident were wearing black shoes with white trim, same as many of the operatives I see.

I see stuff like this all the time.  I won't read, study, or otherwise think about leadership as long as I'm living the way I am.

Whip It Good 
Dear Diary:
I may have mentioned this in passing.  I suspect I’ve rehashed a few points here and there, which I don’t want to do, but something reminded me of this recently and I don’t know whether mention of it currently exists on either blog.

When I was living with Christine Faranda, she suggested we stop in at the record store down the block to buy some whip-its.  There were two guys behind the counter.  During the transaction, I saw her give them a conspiratorial-type nod which prompted them to give me that unfriendly knowing glance I’ve come to know.  The same thing happened when Christine and I stopped into a bar on that street for drink, but it was a lone female bartender that time.  Is it Michigan Ave?  I don't quite recall.

Suggested Control, But Not Really
Dear Diary:
A big part of the mind-control is making the subject think that the mind-controlling entity is controlling everything, including things that they are not.  There have been a number of instances where something changed in my situation and an operative made a comment suggesting that they had made it happen when I knew that that was not the case.  The goal of it all is to neutralize the target, and part of that is making them think they have no control over anything at all, which is done in part by taking credit for things that the controlling entity did not, in fact, make happen.  Just wanted ya to know I’m aware of this aspect of the scam.

Emotional Knee-Jerk Reactionary 
Dear Diary:
There are several different aspects of the mind-control I’ve been subject to.  I’ve written about some of them and wanted to write a complete overview of all of them, but there are just too many.  It would be too huge of a project, but I thought I should mention the one aspect of it that really is most important of all.

Loneliness makes a person impulsive, impairs the executive function of their brain and makes them eager to please others.  I’ve been getting set up to feel lonely and thus impulsive since a very young age.  It’s not difficult to see that being impulsive translates quite directly to having a “temper problem” or even “anger issues.”  Just having Lonesome the Dog at a young age would make someone vulnerable to impulsiveness in everyday life even without intentional baiting and provoking.  It is by virtue of this fact that my life has been undermined from a very young age.

In recent years though, I’ve been the subject of stalking, harassment, and torment which is meant to keep the subject “always nervous,” in constant fight-or-flight mode by way of bizarre methods used to torment and induce a constant state of fear.  Simultaneously, I’ve been driven to a state of complete isolation from having any loved ones or confidants.  The effects of extreme loneliness combined with the emotional onslaught produces a likewise extreme result, turning the subject into an emotional knee-jerk reactionary and thus vulnerable to being baited and provoked by various methods into uncontrollable immediate reactions.  This emotional knee-jerk reactionary state is the most critical working aspect of mind/behavior control.  They take away your self-control and simultaneously make it so they can easily control you with various kinds of input.  There are many other aspects to it, but none of it matters without this. 

Born Equal
Dear Diary:
I’ve mentioned that much of my adult life has been marked by covertly initiated encounters with political operatives with one agenda or another.  I don’t remember the names of many of them or even remember the encounters specifically—there’ve been too many.  One I do recall was a guy at the 79th Street dog run who suggested a Clive Cussler book to me.  Like Marc Greece, he was a gun-rights advocate.  Another—and I don’t recall where or when this was—was a guy who brought up equality to me.  He said, “The U.S. Constitution says you’re born equal.  It doesn’t say you’ll live equal and it doesn’t say you’ll die equal.”  I recall finding the comment thought-provoking and thinking it made good sense.  Then, like many other encounters I had no reason to think were significant, I forgot about it.  Looking back, I see what he was talking about.  He’s absolutely right. 

Sigh...if only John's watchful comedian weren't such a pussy...

Red October
Dear Diary:
I had a friend in high school who was a good baseball player.  He was a fan of the Indians and the Reds.  I remember how exciting it was when the Reds won the World Series in 1990.  I wasn't a big fan, but this Sports Illustrated cover added to the fun.  For some reason, it just popped into my head recently.  I'm not sure why.  The look on his face, the bandaid...it's a great cover, isn't it?  In my emotional knee-jerk state, it triggers a hearty laugh of happiness and brings a tear to my eye.

Hyper-Empethetic, Facial Expressions Often Not Real
I wrote above about being made an emotional knee-jerk reactionary and how it's a the central aspect of controlling someone.  There's one other coinciding aspect that should be mentioned along with it.

Socialist brainwashing destroys self-interest and makes the person empathetic to others to a very unhealthy and unnatural degree.  Empathy is when you actually feel what another person feels.  One way that can happen is by talking to someone or reading something about someone or maybe watching something on TV.  But another more basic way that someone can have triggered feelings of empathy is by observing the emotion expressed through the facial expressions of others.  Cacioppo writes that loneliness causes the subject to be more sensitive to social cues.  He also writes about facial expressions and empathy.  I've written that an intended result of what's been done to me is that I will look very intently at the faces of strangers and pretty much anyone I have an encounter with.  I've also written, in "Digital Glitch Face," what I observed the face of a passer-by actually transform by way of a digital glitch from a nondescript expression looking straight ahead to a scowl looking directly at me.  So, I've been trained to study facial expressions while the faces I see can be digitally altered.  Induced hyper-empathy is what makes it work.  It is the combination of hyper-empathy and the knee-jerk reactionary state that is the core of what's been done to me.

In a related note, in an encounter I had with a socialist while a student at Ohio State, the person said, "You know, the worst thing a person can say is, 'That's not my problem.'"  And that's how they're bringing the country down--by brainwashing people into dwelling on problems that aren't theirs.  It was only recently that I remembered this encounter and have since been saying to myself occasionally, not thinking of anything particular or in response to any certain experience, "That's not my problem."  It's amazing how much better it's made me feel instantly every time.  This also reminds me of when socialist Kathleen Kashay said to me, once again, unprompted, "You know, you're a problem-eater, John.  That's what some people are born to do."

No...I'm not and unless it really is my problem, it positively is not my problem.

Finally--and I hate to do anything that supports or defends him--I recall Joey Z. once saying to me in a conversation about politics, "It's not my problem."  I kept harping The-Way-We-Were style about some story I'd read in the newspaper, and he just kept saying the same thing, "It's not my problem."

He and my family knew what was going on and they refused to explain it to me.

Down the Drain to SF
I just wanted to mention this briefly.  Exactly how they do it, I'm not sure--it's part of the mind-control.  I've come to suspect that an intended part of the brainwashing I've been subject to is to steer the person to moving to San Francisco where they will be inundated with gay, socialist influence.

Rap to Classic Rock
My smelly, nosy neighbor who I showed in a video compilation not long ago has listened to nothing but rap music for the past year that I've lived there.  The other day, all of the sudden, it changed to classic rock.  I suspect that my trying to figure out why is part of the "Causal Reference Program."  Did I tell you how I found out about "Causal Reference Program?"   

Here's the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNU1xB-rmQ0&feature=youtu.be

Forest Photos
A coinciding aspect of the mind-control I've been subject to is induced paranoia and obsessiveness.  Those are essentially the working parts of the hypnotism or spell.  I've written that it's a manufactured hypnotism that has to be maintained.  The few things still occurring that I notice occasionally don't bother me any more, such as operatives following me into Church.  I think it's because I've figured out pretty much all of it, or at least as much as I care to, and because what was going on in the Boyd has stopped pretty much completely, except for my noisy, smelly neighbor.  I still notice things like this picture of a forest in an iPhone ad, though.  I don't know for sure whether it qualifies as "gloomy," but I notice that the road dead-ends.  I saw another of these ads with of a black person's hand with a rainbow strip of light on it.  I doubt there's anything to it.

Influent Operative 
Dear Diary:
I’m not sure whether I’ve mentioned this previously: There was an attractive red-headed or blonde woman at Influent who worked in administration.  She may have even been an executive assistant.  All of a sudden at one point, she took a romantic interest in me.  She was very aggressive.  We went on a date and afterward, she invited me to her apartment.  I could tell she was acting strange and in hindsight, it’s clear she was acting, but I don’t recall whether this was before or after I started getting harassed there.   At her apartment, she was aggressive and we made out a little, but nothing serious.  I don’t recall how it ended, but we didn’t go out again.  This must have been in 2005.

Blurry Photos
I've neglected to mention that another way they screw with your head is with blurry photos.  I see stuff like this all the time.  This one is particularly noteworthy because I canceled the subscription before this e-mail arrived.

In The Dark 
Dear Diary:
Ya know how when you rub your eyes, sometimes you see bright patterns that are kind of psychedelic?  I did that recently, but something caught my attention as all of that was fading out, returning to darkness.  I don’t recall what it was, but it made me curious about what I might see if I pressed lightly on my eyelids.  I’ve done that a few times over the past week with the back of my index and middle fingers and noticed some odd things.  More than once, I’ve seen what looked like one-color shapes floating in the darkness.  Sometimes, it looks like a face from a video game or comic book, maybe.  Some of them looked like one-color holograms.  They kind of fade into view one at a time, drifting slowly, and then fade back into the darkness.  The colors are like one of those old screensavers, “Mystify your mind,” perhaps, one-color shapes in a field of black.  

Something else I saw stood out, though.  This happened the first time and was the reason I repeated it a few times, during which I saw the images described above.  This only happened once.  Again, it faded into view and very slowly floated laterally on a slight angle.  It was a roughly circular opening in the darkness with a soft edge.  It’s as if I were looking through a peep-hole in a field of black.  In it, I saw what appeared to be a series of close-ups of comic-book art.  The images were in full color.  I would guess each one lasted two or three seconds at most, fading out and fading up in between.  Going by a normal comic book size, I would say the peep-hole was maybe an inch wide at most.  All I saw was a small section of a single frame.  On some, the space between frames was in the view, showing edge sections of adjacent frames, which indicates randomness.  It’s difficult to describe all of them specifically, but the ongoing theme was definitely action/adventure/sci-fi/fantasy.  One looked like the face of some kind of blob-like monster.  Another was like a futuristic version of a medieval knight wearing a shiny silver helmet somewhat like Achilles’ in the movie, Troy.  The design of the front was similar to the one shown here, but it may have been flat on top.  He was in half-profile.  I was under the impression that it was Asian animation.  I know someone who has a large collection of comic books.  Perhaps you can ask him about it.  His name is Gene Locastro.  He worked at Baby Moon, a restaurant David Plank didn’t want to visit.

And, believe it or not, among the colored shapes mentioned in the first paragraph, I definitely saw one that looked like the “Event Horizon” visualization in Windows Media Player. 

Altered Books 
Dear Diary:
In a video interview on his website, Paul Morantz mentions members of a certain cult going around to libraries and changing the content of certain books to suit their purposes.  This reminded me of how a few years ago, before I knew exactly what was going on, I recalled that the page with Kathleen Kashay in the Howland High School yearbook I viewed at the Howland Library appeared to be different than other pages in the book.  That was around 2001 or 2002.  I recalled noticing it when I looked at it, but I had no reason to suspect anything then. 

"You're all done."
Dear Diary:
I’ve heard “It’s over,” “You’re done,” “You’re all finished” and even “You got it,” so many times over the past year and a half that I don’t really think anything of it any more.  Yes, that’s right, the first time was more than a year and a half ago from the same guy who asked me, “What’s the matter, John?  Having a hard time telling what’s real?”  It goes in one ear and out the other now and doesn’t affect my mood or anything I do.  I would like to know what they're talking about, though. 

Walking Around
Dear Diary:
I was walking down the sidewalk yesterday when a woman approached me from the other direction.  I glanced at her briefly when I noticed her the same way anybody would and then looked straight ahead.  As we passed each other, she made an audible expression of disgust when she was about half a step past me.  I mention it because I’ve been defamed to a great degree and I’ve come to the conclusion that fabricated videos are being used to do it.  Something similar happened once at the Post Office and, of course, there was the model-walk woman at the baseball park who picked up a young child after passing by me and taking a flyer.  In case you don’t recall, at the Post Office, while I was waiting in line, a woman walked past me to get to a rack of boxes or something.  We made no contact and I wasn’t in her way.  Nevertheless, she put on an exaggerated show, yelling at me as if I’d done something wrong.   

It occurs to me that if I saw a woman’s face change by way of a digital glitch, which I did, that might mean that my face can be changed for others in the same fashion.  Maybe, what happened yesterday is something or maybe it’s nothing.  Perhaps, she saw something that had nothing to do with me.  I don’t think there was anybody walking behind me and the timing was slightly odd.  I didn’t see her face when she said it.  As I said, she was a half-step past me when she said it.  I considered going back and asking her what it was about, but then thought, what good could it possibly do?  I mention it mainly in the hopes that people will understand why I still do things in hopes of forcing a complete and definitive end to all of this, which I will continue to do.  And I’ll mention here that the covert interrogation also continues, which is another reason. 

Follow the Bouncing Boob 
By the way, when I said I want a model walk to record on video, I meant I want one in the exact fashion of the one I was referring to.  I don’t want a woman who’s my type but dressed mundanely, walking slowly and absent-mindedly on a slight angle toward me while looking at her cel phone.  No, that won’t do.  I’ll describe the 23rd Street scene from the other day in case you’ve forgotten.

Francis Anthony Drexel and I were standing on 23rd Street at Capp St. on the southwest corner in front of the Church, not far from the actual corner of the building on the left.  I was about twenty feet from the curb of Capp St.  As we were chatting, he was facing east and I was facing west.  Way at the other end of the block, a woman, who must have crossed 23rd from the north while walking down Mission, appeared near the center of my field of vision as she turned and headed in our direction, exaggeratedly walking like a model on a runway.  She flipped her hair as she turned toward us and her breasts were bouncing so violently that it was easily noticeable from that distance at the moment she appeared to me in a spot that was impossible for me to miss.  When you’ve been hypnotized and made the subject of death threats and intentionally denied human interaction, particularly sex, and made to be “always nervous,” it’s difficult to tear your attention away from such things.  I might also mention that her shirt was yellow, the most visible color in the spectrum, a choice I assure you was made with the intention of ensuring that she would catch my eye from 50 yards away as she did.  She was a strikingly attractive, dark-complected brunette, clearly a professional fashion model, likely to stupid to find any other kind of “work.”  She was looking at her cel phone as she walked, but looked up at me briefly but purposefully with her big brown eyes three times as she approached, the last being just before she passed us by before turning the corner to head south on Capp.

Shortly after that, Frank and I headed down Capp St.  We were about ten yards from 24th when the woman in yellow rushed around the corner toward us, again coming from the west, her ample breasts bouncing just as wildly as before.  It was impossible to not notice, but I made it a point to not look at her.  It’s noteworthy that she’d gone all the way around the block back toward Mission and was returning the same way.  I’ll also mention that I’ve written before that I’ve had several encounters such as that in which someone rushed around a corner toward me with precise timing.  Don, who works at the Asia Museum and taunted me when I was grossly emaciated once commented on the regular encounters he and I had in this fashion, adding, “We’re like clockwork.”

Please, please, do it again so I can get it on video. 

In The Dark II 
Dear Diary:
This morning when I woke up, I still had my eyes closed when I noticed something.  It was different than the first installment of In The Dark in that it filled my whole field of vision.  The shapes in In The Dark were very small in a field of black.

What I saw was a quick little one-color cartoon clip-show that repeated itself over and over.  It was less than ten seconds long.  The image was very dim.  The only content I was able to discern and recall was what looked like a giant white Hanna-Barbara-style ape running toward the camera in a cartoonish fashion, kicking his knees up high with his legs wide apart.  Maybe it was more like a Yeti or abominable snow man.  There may have been a cigar hanging out of his open mouth.  That lasted maybe three seconds before it cut to a few other shots that I couldn’t discern and looped back to the ape.  This positively was not a dream.

Palm Sunday Special
Dear Diary:
I just wanted to mention this briefly.  I've had a few encounters with seemingly insane homeless people who start shouting things out loud, apparently to no one in particular, that often seem to be directed at me.  I got good video of this in a video called "Labor Day Special on the F."  Often, I'm left trying to figure out what it might be in response to (which I think is part of the "causal reference" program.)  This morning, I called Christopher Wolf's office and left a message with this secretary.  (Wolfe is a privacy attorney and a friend of Valerie Plame.)  Less than an hour later, a guy who was exactly the same type as the guy in the Labor Day Video boarded a bus at precisely the same time I did at the same door I was exiting by.  As he passed me on the step, he was shouting, again, very much in the same fashion as the Labor Day video guy, "Shut the fuck up, kike!!  Shut up!! Shut the fuck up!!"  I looked around and didn't see anyone he could have been talking to.  Isn't that interesting?

Here's that Labor Day clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwI48IqARIQ 

In The Beginning… 
Dear Diary:
I thought this might be a good time for a review of events occurring when my life first got really strange, which was in the summer of 2008 when I both started working at Severstal Steel in Warren, Ohio and started my blog.  In hindsight, though, it’s easy to see that were incidents related to the situation occurring in the few years before that. 

The first of those pre-beginning incidents I might mention is that while working at Influent Inc. in Columbus, Ohio, one of my managers started harassing me, making comments insinuating that I had anger issues and that I’d had encounters with co-workers who’d complained which I knew was an outright fabrication.  I asked around and nobody indicated any knowledge of this.  I had relatively good relationships with everyone and knew he was angling for me, but wasn’t sure why, though I guessed it was because I saw through the garbled double-talk scams of so many of their rip-off sales calls and blew those sales out.  I made up a document for everyone to sign stating that they’d never had such an experience with me displaying anger issues.  Everybody signed it.  They hired a woman to take over the department specifically to harass me.  She’d worked for them previously.  At one point, during the time when she and the other guy were harassing me the most, she very quickly whispered in my ear, “Go to H.R.”  I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do.  I was confused by the person harassing me the most whispering such things to me.  I thought H.R. was only for receiving incoming resumes and helping with hiring decisions.  I didn’t know it was a place an employee goes when they have a problem with management.

This is something I haven’t mentioned previously: There was an attractive red-headed or blonde woman there who worked in administration or was a client rep. who, all of a sudden at one point, took a romantic interest in me.  She even may have been an executive assistant.  (The preceding sentence was originally in the Word Document in which I created this entry and copied and pasted it from.  Upon reviewing, I found that it was missing, so I added it...again.)  She was very aggressive.  We went on a date and afterward, she invited me to her apartment.  I could tell she was acting strange and in hindsight, it’s clear she was acting, but I don’t recall whether this was before or after I started getting harassed.   At her apartment, she was aggressive and we made out a little, but nothing serious.  I don’t recall how it ended, but we didn’t see each other again.  

I was getting harassed so badly and was so confused, I just didn’t show up for work one day and they fired me.  Influent was using scams and doubled-talking con-artists to rip off thousands of people a day.  I hope the people they were calling weren’t feeling lonely. 

Christine Faranda
Christine Faranda baited me on the internet and harassed and tormented me while we lived together briefly in 2007.  I escaped from her in August or September of that year.  I would have to say that the first time I started to think something strange was going on was during a time when I was telling friends over the phone about my experience with Christine.  That was when I started to suspect I was being followed and that my phone calls where being listened to.  Christine is an angry radical feminist and her father is a cop.  She made a comment to me indicating collusion with my brother, Joseph C. Zoccali who is working with our brother-in-law who is a cop. 

Severstal and C.B.S.
The real beginning was when I started working at Severstal.  During CPR training there, one security guard felt up the inside of my thigh as if to gauge my reaction and another offered me child pornography before driving of in a huff in his large black SUV after I declined.  Wayne Caderelli made what sounded to me like the first veiled death threat about being shot in the head and most of the other guards there took part in tormenting and harassing me.  During a meeting in which I got menacing looks from all, they played a song to inspire us for roving shifts in the plant: These Boots Are Made for Walking, which includes the line, “And one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.”  I was constantly the subject of menace and intimidation there including being forbid to enter the women’s restroom, while other male guards had not been.  Certain plant employees took part in the tormenting as well, two in particular.   One was a guy named, “Stern” who liked to talk about his chipper-shredder.  I don’t recall the other one’s name, but he admonished me to behave once.

It was around the time I started at Severstal that I started my blog (at the suggestion of Beth Kujawski, a big fan of Dirty Jobs star, Mike Roe) which includes a post about the direction of John McCain’s glance clearly being in the vicinity of Sarah Palin’s buttocks as she accepted his offer to be his presidential running mate.  It was also during that time that I was working on the first chapters of a book about how my family was banking on my obtaining a lucrative NBA contract which I mention because I know they were spying on everything I did on my computer and on line.  This was only a few months after I’d started to suspect that my phone calls were being listened to which started when I was telling friends on the phone about my experience with Christine Faranda, who made a comment indicating she was working in collusion with my brother, Joseph C. Zoccali.

At Severstal, Wayne Carderelli made comments suggesting I was suspected of t----rism.  I wrote a letter to the ACLU about what was happening.  I doubt that it got there.  It was after sending that letter that my life turned into an ongoing nightmare including every piece of mail I received being sliced open cleanly across the top, constant stalking, harassment and intimidation, ongoing covert interrogation by strangers (which continues to this day), and many encounters with people in the military or with a military background and others who I knew were using mind-control tactics on me.  The cable signal to my television was interfered with.  I got a strange call once with someone on the other side talking in military terms as if he were part of some investigative operation and was looking for confirmation of something.  I suspect he accidentally called my number, or perhaps intentionally.  In the months after that, a cousin of mine, Karen Partlow (there are many people in my situation with the word, “low” in their name), looked at me with a scowl for no reason that I knew of and said, “It’s good to know Boardman cops.”  I called her and asked about it a couple years ago.  She said he had a neighbor who is a dispatcher for Boardman Police.  My sister, Ann, is a dispatcher for Niles Police, a job she got through her husband, Rick Wilson, who is also at the center of my problem and a dedicated racist.  My first day working at Severstal was July 20th.   I would guess that all of what I’ve described in this section occurred between August 1, 2008 and August 1, 2009.

It’s amazing to me that those still interrogating me are too stupid to figure out what’s going on.  Of course, it could always be that they’re all part of it and perhaps are driven by the same political views as Rick and the guy I recorded yesterday yelling about “kikes.”

Also during this time at Severstal, one of the guards who’d been tormenting me looked at me and said, very seriously, with no prompting and for no apparent reason, “You have to prove you’re worthy.”  I had no idea what he was talking about, not believing the rest of the sentence possibly could have been “to guard this shuddered steel mill.”

I'm going to cover this as briefly as I can because I don't want to give anything away.

When I first found out about "organized stalking," and met with some people about it, I read and heard about how threatening and insulting comments are transmitted into their heads; the actual sound of someone's voice.  V2K is short for "voice to skull."  I hadn't experienced that at the time, which is part of the reason I didn't connect with them; I knew what I was experience was different, which has only been confirmed since V2K started for me over the past year.  Some of my V2K is menacing, threatening, and insulting, but such content makes up only about a third of it.  The rest is actually rather encouraging, seemingly tips about the investigation, a few of which I've divulged.  Also, some of my V2K doesn't come as a voice, but rather as a thought without sound. 

I mention it now because just the other day I received the message that the room I live in is "what a white trash room looks like."  You're right about that...except for one essential component that's missing: a confederate flag.

(And if you think I'm giving away some big secret, I'll remind you that there are news articles on line, openly available to the public, particularly in Wired magazine, about computer-mediated telepathy.)

Brave New World Sleep Learning
I might add that before my V2K got heavy over the past year, I had been receiving, as I've mentioned previously, political, socialist, and behavior modification speeches in the middle of the night, usually around 3 or 4am.  The most recent was a crybaby story about a woman who married a truckdriver.  There was another about people who have a view in which they're part of the whole world as a group vs. couples who have an us-against-the-world view, which was portrayed as being bad, which is, of course, socialist rhetoric and the reason the country's going down the toilet.  Others were more about radical anti-American views and it's difficult for me to remember them all, but they started about three or four years ago and were the only such messages I received until about a year ago.  Again, I do not believe they're effective.  They're supposed to work on a subconscious level.  I've been forced into this situation and the fear makes it difficult, but I'm quite confident everything's going to be just fine and that those doing this are going to be annihilated so thoroughly that no one will ever consider trying it again.

I know, I know...I teased you and I shouldn't do that, should I?  I'll give you one very recent V2K example.  It's one of my favorites:

"It tells you who's behind it."

CISA / RSA / Jeptha Wade Jr.
I see Jeptha Wade at the library occasionally.  He acts like he has nothing to do and usually seems like another bum at the library.  Once, oddly, I saw him with a lanyard and pass around his neck to a convention being held in town.  That was maybe a year ago.  Just now, I passed by him and peeked over his shoulder.  He was looking at Google results that included CISA and RSA:


Ron Hague, Writer, Producer
Lets' see if I've got this right.  Perhaps, someone can check it for me.  Ron Hague wrote seven episodes for the Simpsons which include some interesting themes.  The first is about homophobia and includes the quotes: "Has the whole world gone insane?" and "The whole world's gone gay!"  He won an Emmy for it.  Hague includes sci-fi conventions in two of his episodes, one of which is centered around Homer becoming a Secret Service-style body guard for Mayor Quimby.  Comic book guy's super villain, "The Collector" abducts celebrities in Hague's Halloween episode.  Also in the Halloween episode is a short called "Life's A Glitch, Then You Die," which includes a collection of the best and brightest humans being shipped to Mars after Homer starts a Y2K virus.  In the last episode Hague wrote, "Missionary: Impossible," Homer ends up as an unlikely Christian missionary on an uncivilized island and--would you believe it?--the episode ends with a Truman Show scenario after Homer's Chapel gets burnt down by lava flow.  

Ron Hague Amendment: "Unfair Advantage"
I knew that when I'd posted the above entry about Ron Hague, there was something I forgot.  It turns out, as you might expect, that it's the probably the most important part of all, in part because it appears on the Ron Hague Simpsons Wiki but was written by someone else, which is somewhat like independent verification: The Simpsons Wiki description of Hague's Christmas episode includes the phrase, "unfair advantage," which is a very important thing to crybaby socialists.

David X. Cohen

Trigger Street
Dear Diary:
For those following who may not have figured it out, the strange things I see with my eyes closed at night positively are related to Event Horizon.  While reading about the films makers, I was lead to Trigger Street Productions: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trigger_Street_Productions.  Founder Kevin Spacey says the title came from the fact that he grew up near Trigger Street, named after Roy Rogers' horse.  Interesting coincidence.

"...kind of like a Twilight Zone or Perversions of Science episode." (23:20)
It was on for one season.  Philip Eisner, credited writer of Event Horizon (re-written without credit by Andrew Kevin Walker) is credited with "special thanks" by Mackay in The Scared of Death Society

"And it goes down a cigarette.  That's so stupid."
Dear Diary:
I just wanted to mention briefly that the above quote, which I received via V2K, must be related to the "Quitters Inc" aspect of my situation, something I never knowingly and willingly agreed to while sober and completely awake.  I suspect it's also related to socialist brainwashing which would make perfect sense. 

The CIA and Curses 
Dear Diary:
I just wanted to mention that I read something about the CIA and how they researched black magic, voodoo, etc. to obtain curses and spells to use on targets, in addition to using look-alikes to frame people as is widely documented.  I recall reading that their approach to the search was that they only wanted "the ones that work."

I’ve mentioned that my snake-loving, Christian-hating, Scientologist brother, Joseph C. Zoccali, who’s caused me a great deal of trouble, is working for the CIA.  He once knocked me out with gas sprayed from an asthma inhaler, at which time I suspect he put at least one implant in my body.  He’s hypnotized me at least once.  Around 2001, During a visit when I lived in Brooklyn, I watched him stealthily insert a 3-1/4 disc into my computer, open the RUN dialogue, type something, and press enter.  On a trip to visit him with my mother who was partially paralyzed and terminally ill, she and I were made the subject of excessive and undue attention by airport security, including her being nothing less than molested.  Then, a guy who looked like a Marine sitting a few rows behind me and off to the side glared at me while shaking and sweating throughout the flight.  When we met Joe at the airport, he made a theatrically sarcastic comment indicating he was surprised that I completed the trip after pulling up to pick us up precisely as we exited the baggage area.  A couple years later, he insisted on buying me a computer.  I was warned that he was trying to destroy me and his girlfriend actually said, "He's trying to kill you."  He’s a life-long criminal and con-artist with a serious inferiority complex (which shouldn’t be surprising), an expert liar who gains joy and satisfaction from deceiving people.  He’s made several strange, cryptic comments to me over the years including, “You’re a slave and you always will be.”

We’ll see.

Toledo Pharmacy
Dear Diary:
Once again, in the name of leaving no stone unturned, I should mention that my roommates while I was attending The University of Toledo were both pharmacy majors.  One was someone I'd known since first grade.  I think it's a true coincidence that his dad was a cop for a while, but, hey, you never know.  The other I didn't meet until I moved in.  His name is Eric Aho.  I can't help but wonder about him.  They let me play on their intramural football team.  For two-point conversions, I'd just run across the back of the end-zone and they'd throw it over everybody.  It worked every time.  Everybody on the team were pharmacy majors except me, but they were glad to have me for the easy points in close.  I mention this because it was at U.T., of course, and because I've had about half a dozen encounters in San Francisco in which a stranger encouraged me to take psych meds.  Also, Aho was a bit of a spoiled brat.  I can't find him on line.

I got abducted while delivering pizza while a student at OSU?  That's a good job for a student--you get free food. 

Dear Diary:
Sorry, but I don’t know how else to get it across.  

It’s been suggested to me that I’m being trained or tested for something.  

In one of my stranger experiences in San Francisco, a guy passing me on the sidewalk suddenly turned around and mimed shooting me with a handgun.  He did this very openly and deliberately, as if he were holding the gun with both hands with his arms fully extended.  He did it in semi-slow motion and may have made a sound effect to accompany it.  

Once, at Starbucks, an older black woman sitting near me, a complete stranger, made a comment to me about my not noticing an abandoned backpack, something that is not the responsibility of an alcoholic pedophile sexual predator terrorist and not my responsibility either.  I couldn’t care less about an abandoned bag at Starbucks.

Then, of course, there’s the time I met a woman from Carlsbad who claimed to be my cousin, Lynn Kashay.  The details of our visit fantastically illustrate how I’m being kept in a state of very unhealthy confusion.  This was before I had a clue as to what’s really been going on.  In e-mail conversations, while acting very nice, she slipped in some past-confirming interrogation questions concerning obscure Niles-Warren trivia, etc.  (I remember Murphy’s Mart only vaguely and may have never actually visited there.  How about Fairway, which formerly occupied the spot where McMenemy’s is now?  It’s right across the street from the Pontiac dealership where my parents bought the LeMans I nearly killed a few people with because of Lonesome the Dog.)  Lynn and I decided to get together.  This was when I still had money and needed a break from the nauseating freak show of San Francisco, so I took a bus to see her.  We went to the beach and walked around a bit, during which time we passed a woman walking her dog.  We stopped and had some small talk.  Before we parted, the other woman gave me that knowing glance I’ve become familiar with after she and Lynn shared a conspiratorial nod, not unlike the one between Carrie and Rick.  I had mentioned Tijuana, and she said there wouldn’t be much for us to do there, that it was a place where guys go to party, etc.  I agreed and told her it wasn’t something I was dedicated to, but just mentioned it because it wasn’t that far.  In the car after lunch, on the way back to her trailer—which looked like something out of a movie set—she suggested we visit Tijuana anyway.  I’d become suspicious of her, so I said, “No, thanks.  I’d rather not.”  She insisted and started heading for TJ despite my making it clear I did not want to visit there.  She mentioned that it was dangerous there for Americans, that they’d been getting murdered by locals.  At a certain point while we were walking around, I was looking at some building or something when I looked back at her.  She was stepping toward the curb at the nearby intersection about  ten yards away from me.  There was a great deal of walking traffic.  She looked back at me as she caught sight of me looking her way.  It very much seemed that she was trying to sneak away from me, but this was when I was still wrapped up in the mind-control, so I wasn’t sure and what could I do anyway?  She was my ride out.  If I’d said anything, she would’ve just denied it and acted offended or called me paranoid, per S.O.P.  Needless to say, I caught her before she was able to sneak away.

Here’s where it gets really confusing.  It was getting dark, so we headed back to the border and got in the quarter-mile long line to get back into the U.S.  When we got near the front of the line, a guy with a large piece of rolling luggage tried to walk past us to cut in line.  I told him to go to the back in a somewhat melodramatic fashion.  It was impulsive and emotional.  Another way to sum up what’s been done to me is that they make you an emotional knee-jerk reactionary.  It’s very disturbing.  Anyway…as I sent him back, “Lynn” very briefly burst into applause before she caught herself and stopped.  Obviously, that was strange.  It only occurs to me now that I was also wondering then why no one on security duty noticed him and addressed him before I did.  As we approached the front of the line, I didn’t notice anyone bypassing the checkpoint counters without showing I.D.  It all seemed quite regimented.  When Mr. Terrorist Pedophile got there, the woman at the counter looked at his I.D., punched something into her computer and rolled her eyes as she handed Mr. Alcoholic Sexual Predator Terrorist his I.D. back, very clearly implying that he didn’t even need to show it to her.  Strange, no?  Oh, wait, that’s right: as we were approaching the counters, “Lynn” encouraged me to just blow by without even stopping.

One final thing I should mention about my visit with Lynn.  What’s being done to me is to keep me occupied and pacified one way or another.  Most of the time, it’s in a very bad way, but sometimes it’s entertaining.  It’s easy to do that when you’ve set someone up to be subject to every emotional whim.  Someone mentioned something about an emotional pendulum—may have been Peter Heldman.  I suspected what happened at lunch with Lynn was part of all this, but, as with everything else, I wasn’t sure at the time.  The place we had lunch at had an outdoor patio with fire pits in the middle of the tables.  There was a band playing classic rock mostly.  We had a good seat.  I sorely regret not getting video of the 70-year-old-plus man dancing wildly by himself to the music.  He was there with three or four guys all about the right age to be his sons or grandsons.  I got the impression that at least one of them was his son.  They had a table near the band.  His gyrations included periodically holding his fists out level with his waist with the back of his hands facing downward and quickly yanking them backward while thrusting his pelvis forward.  He did this repeatedly in short succession.  You know the move I’m talkin’ about.  Yes—he was at least seventy.  I couldn’t believe it was happening.  It was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen--ever.  It wasn’t funny only because of his age.  It seemed very clear to me that he was intentionally trying to be funny.  This is the type of charade I’ve been subject to in the game that’s been made out of my life.  Yet, it also seemed to me that I was the only one there who found it humorous, which I thought to be a bit strange.  Maybe I misperceived that, though.  Maybe, there were one or two others laughing.  I suspected that others in the crowd where afraid of offending him by laughing at him, despite how obvious it was that he was doing it intentionally to get a laugh.

In another noteworthy experience, I found it strange when a limousine pulled out of a spot on the side of Turk Street I needed to move my van to for street cleaning precisely as I arrived.  (Am I in a country other than the U.S?  It appears to me that I’m in San Francisco which is in a U.S. state that ratified the Constitution.)

An aspect of the mind-control I’ve been subject to that I haven’t written about is that it makes you attentive to any movement or activity near you that’s the slightest bit significant or stands out at all.  It’s difficult for me to not turn me head to look at meaningless occurrences a normal person might think nothing of.  Also, it’s nearly impossible for me to not listen to others’ conversations when they’re sitting near me, which is why I often change seats or plug my ears, particularly when I know it’s a loud conversation intended for me to overhear as part of the brainwashing.  Couple those two things with the knee-jerk reactionary part and hyper-empathy, and it makes life difficult, but how they combine with the following is more important:  it’s become clear that by having operatives hover around me the way they do while I’m in an induced state of paranoia, I’ve been forced to study very subtle nuances in human body language and behavior, looking for tiny little clues and patterns, always wondering whether a certain person is someone I should be suspicious of.  I’ve also been compelled to study facial expressions.  It all makes you a mind-reader to a degree.  It’s quite obvious to me how everything described in this paragraph might come in very handy in the Secret Service, the one thing it has been specifically suggested to me I am in training for, something I have no recollection of ever expressing interest in or agreeing to.

Oh, and there’s also that guy who was sitting a few stools down from me at a Polk Street diner one day.  He thanked the short-order cook for his soup by saying, “Yes, sir!” as if he were talking to a drill sergeant.  I was supposed to pick that up automatically just by overhearing it.

In one of many instances in which my brother, Joe and my brother-in-law, Rick spoke about me in vague terms in my presence, Joe said to Rick something to the effect of “You gotta be kidding,” clearly referring to me with a sarcastic, incredulous tone he loves to use.  Rick’s reply included, “You don’t pick them.  They pick you.”  It was probably the same day when Rick said to me with no prompting, “You’ll serve your country.”  On another occasion, without prompting, and knowing that I’m not a gun enthusiast, Rick, who is a big gun enthusiast, started describing to me some of the nuances of how a bullet flies after being shot from gun.  Rick, like many of his friends, I’m sure, is a wanna-be sniper.  (I’ve officially reached the point at which I don’t blame them.)  We were just sitting there in the living room and he started talking as if we were ol’ buddies havin’ a beer: “You know, John, when a bullet flies, it doesn’t always stay level.  Sometimes, it rises up and goes back down or even goes down and comes back up to level.”  

I’m ill and I do not give a shit what comes of this.  I got it…David Plank was right: There’s no such thing as freedom.   

Another unprompted cryptic comment Rick made to me: “You have to pick a side.”

No…I don’t.  

Next, I will post video of my friend, Tony. 

Training? Update 1
I almost forgot about Patrick.  (I meet a lot of people by that name.)  I met Patrick at EDD at Experience Unlimited.  Patrick’s a photographer.  You may recall my writing a blog-post about Cordon Bleu, a restaurant on California Street.  Patrick took the pics for that post.  Patrick’s from the east coast and we hit it right off, of course.  Like many others I’ve encountered, he often spoke to me in a stern voice.  I think the most intimidating he got was while we were having a beer at Amsterdam.  We must have been talking about job-searching when he said with particular sternness and extra volume, “Yeah, but you still have to walk into the office.”  It was clear to me that he was referring to something else.  

Pat invited me over to his apartment for a beer.  I think it was around Russian Hill.  We bought beer at that beer & wine outlet place on the corner of Polk and whatever up that way.  This was when everything was pretty much at its worst for me.  I’d still been hearing death threats and was getting harassed every time I came to my van at night and every morning when I woke up and in the middle of the night while I was trying to sleep, as…I…still…do (via V2K).  So, we went up to his apartment and it was suspiciously decorated.  It seemed like it was staged, but very well so, sort of like cousin Lynn’s trailer.  We had very similar tastes and he was a few years older than I.  I think listened to a live recording of Stevie Ray Vaughn or some 70s blues-rock band.  There were weird pictures on the wall in the bathroom.  I think, maybe, I noticed that the place seemed extra dusty, as if no one had been there in a while.  I guess it must have been to show me the view that he invited me up to the roof.  I’d become wary of him, of course, and as I’ve written, many of the death threats I’ve been subject to involved being shot in the head.  While we were up there, I was very scared and was compelled to look around to see whether anyone was hiding somewhere, waiting to shoot me.  I never said I wanted to do this.

Also, it was as Patrick and I were crossing the street on our way to the beer place that someone passed going in the other direction and said quietly to me out of the side of his mouth, “They’re training you,” the first such comment I’d heard.  

I should also mention here the time Kathleen Kashay said to me cryptically, “It’s for your own good, John” as she warmly caressed her new copy of The Audacity of Hope, though I don’t know for sure that it’s connected to this particular aspect of my experience.   

A Few Notes On The Game 
Dear Diary:
I’ve never seen all of the movie, The Game with Michael Douglas.  I’ve seen a few pieces of it, though, including some I hadn’t seen previously when I caught it about a half-hour in last night.  I noticed a few things.  I don’t think I watched more than thirty minutes, total:
  • A single glowing light in a mostly dark frame seems to be an intended theme.
  • During one scene, Douglas ends up standing in front of a large lighted sign made up of Chinese characters.
  • There is a scene with a rather intense pornography clip. 
  • The Game and one of the very few episodes of Watching Ellie (or “Watching L.E.”  That is, L.E. as in Life Extension in Vanilla Sky, a movie that ends, as does The Game, with the protagonist jumping off a building) both include a shot of an overflowing toilet.

Michelle Mar-LOW-e...actress.

Overheard on Muni
Dear Diary:
I couldn't help but overhear a piece of a conversation on Muni recently.  A training driver was chatting with his trainer.  You see this commonly.  It's also common for San Franciscans to speak at a rather loud volume.  The driver said something I didn't catch (I was trying very hard to not catch any of it.) to which the trainer replied, "Oh, she's just brainwashing you," and then something else I didn't catch, and then added, "And she's been with the company for what?  27 years?"

Spirit Contemporary Stage Background
Dear Diary:
Since finding out I've been the subject of anti-Christian brainwashing, I've watched a good bit of Christian television.  I've written of how visual media, mainly television an film, are being used to make people feel lonely and depressed, maybe.  I think that sometimes those things are put in place to make people uncomfortable for the purpose of making them avoid that source, whatever it might be, without their knowing why,  the same way obnoxious, loud, mean conversations and comments were used by a network of individuals to covertly induce in me an aversion to social interaction.  Those behind this do it by obtaining various different visual design positions.  I try not to reach too far on these things, but I can't help but to be reminded of Event Horizon when I see the stage background on Leon Fontaine's Spirit Contemporary.  I've watched a lot of these shows and his is the only one that even remotely made me think this.  It's recently been changed slightly.  It also slightly reminds me of the twisting ceiling in San Francisco's new St. Mary's Cathedral.  I just can't see how the Spirit Contemporary background, shown here, could possibly be deemed appropriate for a Christian television show. 

More Suggestions...
Dear Diary;
Now that I've figured out what's going on, I see some of the side-shows and subtle suggestions meant to covertly steer me in different directions, the kind of thing that's been happening for many years, I suspect.  I should mention here that "suggestion" for someone like me is just mentioning something with enthusiasm.  They don't say "John, try this..." or "John, you should check this out..."  They just mention it.  I'm not sure that I've made that clear.  Anyway...I had two of these experiences recently, both concerning local Churches.  In the more direct of these two examples, two women recently encouraged me to go to St. Dominic's in town.  More covertly, earlier the same day, a black woman put on an exaggerated  happy act on the bus in an attempt to get me to got to St. Ignatius.  I'd read on line that both of those Churches are among those that are mostly gay.  Unfortunately, I stopped into St. Ignatius a while ago and confirmed it there, so I won't need to do so at St. Dominic's.  I've written both that I've been the subject of a brainwashing attempt that was meant to turn me into an atheist faggot and that gays have been harassing me throughout my adult life, so, no, I won't be knowingly stepping foot in any gay Church anywhere, so, please, stop trying. 

Disappearing E-Mails
Dear Diary:
I've suspected for some time that someone's getting into my e-mail account and deleting e-mails sent to me, and/or creating and sending e-mails from me and then deleting them from my sent box so I never know it happened.  This afternoon, just after connecting to wi-fi, I checked the promotions box in my g-mail.  As I was looking at it, two messages just disappeared without my doing anything.  One was an invitation to join NextDoor San Frnancisco and I forget what the other one was.

Lingerie Shop
Dear Diary:
I noticed some interesting signs around town.  In my state of being easily suggestible, things like this can be confusing.  I've seen a few others, but these are the only ones I got pics of.  It's a common theme in San Francisco.  Oh, and I've seen it a few times on line, too.

Coffee Shop

Verizon Store

Inter-dimensional Travels Article

Meth-mouth John 
Dear Diary:
I have a gay neighbor named John.  He was been the building representative, referred to for some odd reason as “floor warden,” on my floor until he was recently switched to “tenant rep,” which means he represents tenants in whatever dealings with social services they may need help with.  I’ve seen him ogling me a few times.  Despite how obvious it is, he apparently doesn’t know I’m straight.  Then again, a sickening fag who used to sit at my bar at BW3 and theatrically lick the sauce off of his fingers and do the things I know are part of my harassment told me, or, perhaps, suggested to me, “You know, if a gay guy is interested in you and knows you’re straight, it will only make him want you more.”  It’s only as I type that I realize that that comment was part of the brainwashing attempt to turn me gay.  Anyway, I’ve suspected for some time that John, who has a matching nauseating case of meth-mouth, has been illegally entering my room.  Last night, May 9th, between 8:00 and 8:30, John came to me in the lobby and asked, “John, just out of curiosity, what time are you watching TV until?”  I told him 10:00.  A few minutes later, I saw him checking in a guest.  In the hopes of catching him, I went up to my room at about 8:40.  No one was there, but I grabbed my laptop and brought it back down with me.  They think that because I’ve been brainwashed, I wouldn't notice such things as odd.  I’m warning you for the last time: stay out of my room.   

By the way, the nauseating finger-lickin' faggot had thin blonde hair, a light complexion, oily skin, and was pudgy, to say the least.  At the time, I’d guess his age was around 30.  Also by the way, what he was doing is a perfect example of what they do.  I sent an e-mail to the person in charge of volunteering for Catholic Charities in San Francisco, and, somehow, he managed to work the word, “sticky” into his reply.  I also recall when, during a visit to the doctor’s office at the St. Vincent DePaul homeless shelter here in San Francisco, a gay intern in training using the word, “sticky,” with a certain kind of emphasis while the straight female doctor was checking my sore throat.  It's meant to be repulsive--literally.  It's done to drive the person away by making them uncomfortable. That’s what they do. 

American-Made and Etc. from Influent 
Dear Diary:
There are so many little instances in my brainwashing, that it’s impossible to recall them all.  There are probably hundreds from over the past 20 years that I’ll never remember.  I mentioned that a black woman named Markia Miller very directly baited me while I was working at Influent.  Also, while I was working at Influent, a tall black guy got hired into our department, but, as I recall, he didn’t work there for long and I recall thinking more than once that he was acting kind of strange, but, like so many other occurrences, I had no idea why.  He had a large American-made S.U.V.  He liked to complain about how it was always in the shop and that he’d never buy another one.  That’s a good example of the kind of comments that are used in brainwashing.  It’s the kind of thing you might not think anything of, but that is exactly how they do it.  It’s a steady but thin stream of such “suggestions” over the course of years delivered with a smile and easy-going confidence.   One of the more troubling aspects of my experience has been how easily these people obtained employment at my place of work to get access to me.

I might also mention here that Markia liked to brag about being the first black person to graduate from Wittenberg University.  She baited me more openly and directly than any of the others.  We hadn’t yet met when she was standing behind me and poked me emphatically on the shoulder.  I turned around and she said, with a beaming smile and dazzled eyes, “Wow, you’re talllll!”  I’ve written that these women bait me subtly and visually.  At Influent, we would all go outside for breaks to smoke and sometimes play basketball or hackysack.  Dress was very casual for the evening shift.  I recall once, shortly after we first met, when I walked out the door for break and there was Markia, standing on the sidewalk directly in line with the middle of the double doors that lead outside, facing them from about twenty feet away.  She was wearing a long summery dress and a sweater, maybe, and I recall how I thought she looked a little extra dressed up for the shift.  She looked away sheepishly with a demure smile.  The subtleness with which I get baited in these ways is difficult to quantify.  All involved are quite expert at it.  I wouldn’t think much of this incident during the break if it weren’t for the way she originally addressed me, which makes it all quite obvious in hindsight.

And again, there’s that grossly overweight pot-smoker from New York who worked at Influent.  Yes, I’m sure he has something to do with it all as well.

There’s one other thing from Influent I’ve been meaning to mention.  A guy who had a day-job as a manager at Bob Evans got hired for my shift.  He was always very cocky and arrogant with me.  It seemed very important to him to brag to me about the Bob Evans job.  It’s like he was trying to bait me into a confrontation, which, again, is a big, big part of what they do.  He started something with me once and it ended with him saying, referring to his Bob Evans job, “Oh, yeah!  You wanna compare checks?!”  I had to laugh, thinking to myself, “When you move to New York City by yourself and hustle your way into television production, give me a call.”  A major part of what they do is to be hostile and confrontational at any possible opportunity.  The Simpsons was the subject one night when he got indignant about preferring Family Guy instead.  Hmmm…Family Guy…with a time-traveling baby faggot.

Later, after I left Influent, I spoke with a former co-worker—it may have been NY pot-smoker—who said Bob Evans dude had gotten fired from Influent. 

Marathon Man 
Dear Diary:
I’ve written of my experience with the liberal media conspiracy at VH1 when my gay producer and A.P. used to harass me in edit while a black assistant at Broadway Video try to lure me out of the session.  I should be honest, though, shouldn’t I?  I’ve also written about librarians at A&E Networks, both in Stamford and New York, who harassed me as well.  The one in New York harassed me and set me up so that I ended up getting fired and he--you guessed it--provoked me.  So…while the liberal media conspiracy is a very real thing, it would be unfair to not say that the big picture is a competing extremist/socialist media conspiracy.  While I’m on the topic, I should mention the flip-side of my experience.  At VH1, they tried to run me off because wasn’t a nauseating faggot.  I suspect that many don’t know that the way they make the jobs more available to themselves is by running news stories on the ten worst paying jobs that always include journalism.  Yes—a major aspect of the scam is to discourage young people and the public in general from pursuing careers in journalism.  I think I’ve also seen an article or two that has it on the “most stressful job” list as well.  Over the past few years, I’ve read at least three articles about what a terrible job journalism is—which it’s not.  It can be stressful, but it's also fun and exciting.  Unfortunately, when I graduated from high school, I didn’t know I was a decent writer.  My advice to anybody concerned about a media conspiracy is this: encourage you sons to pursue a journalism career, especially if you’re in the eastern half of the country.  Then, just bum-rush New York media for the next ten or fifteen years.  Be sure to remember what I wrote recently about my experiences in San Francisco and Columbus.  Another part of their game is to be repulsive.  Your kids will have to deal with that in college and at the workplace. Explain it all to them and send ‘em in pairs.  Anyway…

At VH1, there was a gay producer, whose name I forget, who was tall and thin with light hair.  He was quite tall—I’d say about 6’, 4”.  He was one of Abrams’ buddies who hated Stu.  He ran in the Marathon the year I was there, finishing high enough to get his name in the paper.  This memory just came back to me.  Shortly after Mike Tricario and I got hired, Marathon Man came over to our cube and someone introduced us.  He just stood there with a very concerned look on his face.  He seemed preoccupied.  He looked to someone else, quite possibly Scooter Alpert, looked back at me and said to Scooter something to the effect of, “This is gonna come back on us,” which reminds me of Scooter once saying to me, unprompted and cryptically, “You aren’t foolin’ anybody.”  I had no idea what he was talking about.

I wonder how Scooter's officemate, Stacy Axelrod is doing.  She once let me borrow her David Bowie CD. 

Corner Office 
Dear Diary:
On a number of occasions, an acquaintances or a co-worker has said to me, “What are you doing working this job?  You should be a stock broker or something working in a corner office.”  I know—it sounds like a compliment and I would say that the first two times one might hear it, it is.  But, when someone says that to you, you can’t just snap your fingers to make such a change happen.  After a while, I suspect it would make one feel like a bit of an underachiever and lead to low self-esteem and lessen job satisfaction and, who knows, perhaps undermine their ability to succeed at that job without their knowing it.  A lot of what they’ve done to me has a “reverse” aspect to it, one way or another.  It’s a compliment on the surface, but I don’t think it works that way in the long run.  It reminds me of when that new female P.A. at Fox News said, “Mmm, got a lot on your plate, huh?” when I told her I had three different producers asking me to do things for them.  Put it this way: I’ve heard that exact quote so many times that I consciously remember it.  Looking back at my situation, I have to guess that it’s likely intentional.  I would say that the only person I may have heard such a thing from who was more than an acquaintance would have to be Carrie Plank, who harassed me at certain times about finding a better job, though it’s true that that may not be so unusual coming from a girlfriend or wife.  Either way, it all reminds of that typical San Francisco grubby freak in my building who sang, “trained to lose” to me.  I suspect that if my life were normal otherwise and this comment was an isolated thing, it probably wouldn’t have had any effect, but I’m forced to conclude that it was, in fact, part of the invisible stream of destructive seeds intentionally directed at me. 

Dear Diary:
You may recall an entry I made about an encounter outside of AT&T Park in which a female operative intended to set me up for a pedophilia video.  She did the mesmerizing model-walk toward me, staring at me, making her breasts bounce wildly, flipping her hair.  Then, she took a flier from me, blowing by without breaking stride, and picked up a small child standing about twenty feet behind me and walked off briskly.  A look-alike or clone is used in a nearby surveillance or my Chronovisor video to make a fabricated video portraying me in a bad light.  Recently, I had a similar encounter that was a little more complex:

As I was entering Burger King, where I go almost every day because their double cheeseburger is the best meal out there for two dollars, I noticed a cardboard box with some clothes sticking out of it on the sidewalk near the entrance.  Such things aren’t uncommon in San Francisco.  You see abandoned clothes on the sidewalk all the time.  Destitute as I am and having been forced into a state of hyper-curiosity, I went over to it to see what was in it.  I said to the guy who panhandles at the drive-thru exit every night, “Hey, what’s in here?”  He ran over and we started looking through the box.  It was mostly clothing, shirts that didn’t fit me and a baseball cap.  There was also some leftover Easter candy, a box of Peeps and a chocolate sucker shaped like a duck.  The only thing I was going to take was an XXL polo shirt with a Four Seasons, Costa Rica logo on it, but the panhandler grabbed the Peeps and chocolate while we were rummaging and then thrust them at me saying, “Here.  I’m a diabetic.  You take these.”  Interesting, no?  A critical aspect of manipulating me and setting me up is playing on my emotion, and, as I’ve mentioned, I’ve been accused of being uncaring.  I’ve also been made vulnerable to suggestion.  So, out of fear of being harassed by some faggot, I took the candy because I didn’t want to seem unappreciative to a diabetic handing it to me.  I took them in with me and had a burger.  I didn’t want him to see me walking out without them, again, because I didn’t want him to feel bad, so I carried them onto the bus.  There, I ate the chocolate and tried to pawn the Peeps off on a woman sitting across from me.  We had a laugh, but she wouldn’t go for it.  (She very well may have been a plant to make me feel at ease.  That’s how they do it.)  I’ve never liked Peeps, even when I was young.  I don’t know that I’ve ever actually eaten a whole one.  I considered leaving them on the bus, but thought, “No, I can find someone to give them to on this trip.”  So, I got off the bus in North Beach and cut through the park on my way to Sts. Peter & Paul as I normally do.  It takes two minutes at the most to walk through the park.  As I’m walking along, I look to my left and you’ll never guess what I saw: a young girl who I would say was about ten years old, skipping rope like a professional actress might on the edge of the walkway I was on without an adult in sight—and there I am strolling through the park with a box of Peeps shoved at me by a crackhead drunk who’s made interrogating comments to me previously.  (It's also worthy of note that I wear an XL, of which there wasn't a single one for men in the box, despite it being the most common size for men.  I took the XXL shirt because it was the closest thing in there to fitting me and is brand new--not worn once.)

That’s how my setups work.

By the way, the movie Déjà vu is a pre-emptive strike meant to defend a technology which, as will be revealed, is being used to destroy both freedom and privacy—all in one shot.

Also, I have no choice but to suspect that recent suggestions I apply for a job at the YMCA are also the beginnings of a pedophilia setup.

Hmmm...   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CS9OO0S5w2k

Someone named James, who may or may not go by Jim or Jimmy, is very closely involved in my situation.  Perhaps, Neil Vanderbilt's C.O. was named Jim.  Just a guess. 

Steve at Atlas and the D.C. Piece 
Dear Diary:
Here’s another odd encounter I haven’t mentioned yet that must be somehow related to my situation.  When I worked at Atlas Media, the head production manager was a guy named Steve.  All of the sudden, one day, he started being much less friendly to me.  That isn’t such a big deal in hindsight, considering the number of other times it's happened, but there is something Steve did that’s definitely odd.

My title there was Coordinating Associate Producer.  I’d never actually produced anything and what I was doing for them was basically a re-formatting of an hour-long show into a half-hour-long show.  After that project ended, they let me log some archival video for a while.  It must have been during that time that Steve came up to me and told me they wanted to do a story about something in Washington D.C. and that he wanted me to produce it.  I was very confused because I’d only done a little writing and had never actually worked as a real A.P., which is what you do before you become a producer.  I was not at all qualified to be given such an assignment and I knew that.  I asked, “Well, what’s the subject?”  He said, “Oh, I don’t know…think of something.  We’ll send you down there for a couple of weeks.”  I couldn’t say no, so I agreed and we parted.  Naturally, if this was a real thing, he would have come to me again before long, but he didn’t.  I was so confused, I just waited a few weeks, not knowing what to do.  Finally, I went to him and asked about it and he said they shelved the project.  It was very strange.  It wasn’t until recently that I realized it must be somehow related to my situation.  Perhaps another setup for a photoshopped video.  Whether or not this is related to the fact that Joe Zurlo worked there is a good question.  

Dog Tricks
I just wanted to mention briefly that it's been suggested to me repeatedly that I am being trained to do tricks as one might train a dog.

Once again: we'll see. 

Dear Diary:
I've mentioned that my brother is a top-notch drama queen.  He looked at me once with his crybaby eyes and said, "I have scars."  It's been indicated to me more than once that what's going on is an attempt to scar me emotionally, mentally, etc., as in the accompanying screenshot.  (I would like to reiterate how much satisfaction I gain from knowing that the person behind this is nothing but typical faggot pussy who's quite obviously afraid to face me.)

Black & White Game
Dear Diary:
I've mentioned previously that many of the operatives who show up in my vicinity in the game that's being played with me wear black and white or have black and white accoutrements, such as the light-skinned black woman who bumped me twice lightly with her black and white umbrella this morning before the black guy with the black and white retail bags got on the bus, started a conversation with her and said, "We're good" or "I'm good," two sayings that are used often to deliver me a message approving of a recent action (as if I care).

It's a strange kind of automated system that gives me such seemingly random feedback in regard to recent actions or statements.  It's harmless except for being frustrating in that I've been caught in it.  I was told, "We're going to play a game with you."  What's being done is a kind of tug-of-war game of influence is being played with my mind and my life and individuals are put in place to trigger me after a lifetime of being set up to be triggered.

Recently, lean, shapely, large-breasted black women have been prominently placed in my life, one as the my workfare supervisor recently and the other being the social worker at my building whose last day was today.  I just noticed her cross tattoo and asked about it.  She's Baptist.

I have no choice but to conclude that the black-and-white color scheme is used by those trying to bring about "social justice" by bringing white people down.  I've also learned that a major aspect of my brainwashing is to turn me against white culture and white people.  Carla Courtney baited me aggressively, as did Whittenberg grad, Markia Miller.  Lets' make things clear: starting with Carla, it's been nothing but a thrill thing for me, but it's my choice either way and no one else's business.  I much prefer white culture and being around white people, but certainly not Nazis because I don't hate and because they're at the center of the whole socialist brainwashing/mind-control thing anyway.  Unfortunately, the tug-of-war game that's being played with me here in the racist, hate-filled bay area is played by nothing but extremists.  Of course, it started in Ohio or before and is, in fact, nationwide.  In fact, it's moderate independents that they target.  The game itself is actually kind of neutral and, as I've said, can not be conducted without isolating the person.  The black-and-white feedback I received on the bus today, I assume, must have been in reaction to my interaction with my departing social worker.

It was only in the past week that I figured out the big, big picture of it all.  I have to assume that black-white gamers are part of the socialist conspiracy also pursuing "forced evolution," another comment that's been made to me which is being conducted in the hopes of creating "equality" while destroying true freedom...mainly by brainwashing people.

Memo the person facilitating the black-and-white automatic feedback game:
There are some things I recently figured out that I could write or make a video about that would very likely stop you in your tracks, but that might blow the sting.  All I'm going to remind you of is a comment Kathleen Kashay once made to me: There's no such thing as a coincidence.  The truth is, I have no worries about how things are going to come out.  I know it's all going to end very well for me.  But on a day-to-day basis, I need it all to stop.

The whole things is a Nazi, Sino-Soviet socialist, brainwashing and mind-control conspiracy that absolutely is getting stung.  I know that's a difficult thing to wrap your mind around, but you really should take my word for it.

The instances such as the one with the black-white people on the bus today, such as many others I formerly didn't get video of but have since, are meant to cause instant consternation and frustration so the target can't think to record it.

I'm warning you: I am going to start catching those encounters on video despite the fact that what you're doing doesn't actually matter one bit.

Policing What I Look At / Pedophilia Entrapment
Regarding continued attempts to portray me as a pedophile while constantly monitoring every single thing I do, including what I look at and then sending some dumb-ass comp to walk by me and give me a stern admonishing look: you really should reconsider...you're getting stung, too.

Notes  July 11, 2015
It was on June 23rd that I posted a video clip of Rich in Burger King talking aloud to no one about an executive order by George Bush relating to the mental health industry.  For about month or so leading up to that day, I saw Rich in Burger King at least 4 times a week.  I haven’t seen him since.  Is my putting that together part of the Causal Reference Program?

Here’s a description of some cartoon clips and images that are played in my eyes in the middle of the night.  They stopped after I put this list together in a Word document.  Causal Reference again?
Late-night flood of images, etc. (screensaver)
  • White yeti-like ape comically running toward camera with cigar hanging out of mouth.  It looked like a Hanna-Barbara cartoon.
  • Blue turkey walking arm in arm with a black crow, other animals
  • Weird-shaped fish swimming on water surface
  • Side view of artistically-drawn Stick-figure woman riding a bicycle with her long hair blowing in the wind.
  • Over-stylized knock-off of Marvin the Martin firing a ray-gun repeatedly (I saw this one with my eyes open.  They’re all very dim.  It was semi-transparent.  Nothing came after it, though they usually occur one after the other.  It was as if they turned it off because they knew my eyes were open and I was conscious of it.)
  • Various animated circular psychedelic patterns, turning, undulating, etc in front of dark background.
  • Photo of Red semi-truck on background shaded blue.
Reminder: The setup to frame me for pedophilia starts with Sean Newman.

I get a lot of varied input.  I suspect that a select few tidbits of it are coming to me from a higher power and are ones that my guys don't have, which is why I post these pics.  I would assume it's something that's been considered, but there's no way I can know for sure.  It's possible that this info came to me with the intention of my passing it on:

Memo to the far-right fuckheads who've done what they've done, starting with Sean Newman:
I didn't return to the Catholic Church because I'm scared of you or to appease you.  The truth is, I couldn't give less of a shit what you think.  I did it because I realized I've been the subject of anti-Christian brainwashing.

Please, make a note of it.

Note / July 25, 2015, 1:30pm
At some time within the past hour, a black female teenager peeked around a nearby corner at me very briefly and ran away, as if to confirm my location.  It was so fast that I only caught it out of the corner of my eye.  Her intention was that I wouldn't see her.  I mention it here for record to coincide with the video I'll get if they try to set me up the same way a young black girl did last night at CVS.  Because of this entry, though, I doubt it will happen.

While we're on the subject, I'll describe the set-up at CVS: I bought a box of sugar and a half-gallon of milk.  As I was walking, she came up behind me to get my attention and tell me the box of sugar was leaking.  I can always tell by the way they act.  I try to ignore them and they touch my arm repeatedly, which is rude, while trying to get my attention, which she did.  When I turned around, she told me about the leak and added, in an exaggerated tone, "Oooh, you look mad," which I didn't.  A regular tactic is do things that are just unusually rude and they do them over and over.  Another common one which just happened the other day is that while I'm checking out with a cashier at Burger King, for example, the next person in line will stand right next to me, very conspicuously facing me, watching the transaction, something people refrain from just out of common courtesy.  You have to make the conscious decision to do it.  The point is, it's something no one else would ever notice.  If It happened to you once, you wouldn't care.  But that's one example of such things they do over and over.  It's socialist faggot harassment.  They probably got it from China.

I think the main goal of the CVS thing and others is to trigger me, again, in hopes that I'll actually do something violent.  Simultaneously, I get harassed for expressing anger and part of the scam against me is "anger issues," something that was mentioned to me at A&E after Marc Greece set me up in a similar way.  Of course, if one's self-control has been sabotaged from a young age, they would vulnerable to such provocations, the likes of which I've been subject to throughout my life, including and especially when airport security molested Nancy Zoccali in Pittsburgh and a guy in line shouted to me, "Well?!  Aren't you gonna do something?!"

"Here's the thing..."
I never really know who I can trust.  I kinda sorta think I can trust the cop I just gave this report to, but I do not know that, so...

I had an encounter with a guy on the sidewalk I knew was part of this whole thing.  He turned around and looked at me three times.  I asked whether I had something on my face.  He said, No."  Then, I told him I wasn't gay.  He called me a homophobe.  I said, "Yes--with good reason."  It was quite obvious at that point that I was right about him.  A few minutes later, while I was holding my sign that says, "Subject of Anti-American Brainwashing" two blocks away from that spot, he drove buy with his window open and said:  "You might get shot in the head." 

Grey Volvo Wagon, Late Model, Excellent Condition
Very short brown hair, side-part
Approx: 6', 1", 180, Brown eyes
CA 5XH8RX0  ??

"Freedom Isn't Free"
This statement has been thrown at me quite a bit.  I have to assume it's regarding taxes and/or student loans.  Would the person behind it please explain how Lonesome The Dog, which I had when I was five or six as part of a lifelong experiment, play into this aspect of the situation?  That was long before I had any debt at all...obviously.

Dream After Dream (10-15-15)
It has been two years, since the first time one of the operatives tormenting me said, "You're all done." or something to that effect.  That was at an SF shelter and it was the same guy who said, "What's the matter, John?  Having a hard time telling what's real?"

Last night, another attempt to bait me into a pedophilia encounter was transmitted into my head, which, of course, is a follow-up to keeping me isolated, frustrated, nervous, etc.  The woman in the dream was a young adult with digitally alter flat chest.  They aren't even dreams.  The entirety of it is a brief clip of her passing in front of me so they can gauge whether or not I look, which, as I said, plays on the isolation set-up and other parts of the set-up that started with Sean Newman of SteelCase.

A few weeks ago, I posted a challenge to the person in charge of this entrapment being done while I'm sleeping to meet with me face to face.  It hasn't happened and I have not received a response.

For the record, the following is true:
A.) This person is one of two things: either he's too inept at what he does to figure out that I've been set up and framed or he knows well that I've been set up and framed and is a willing and active participant in said framing.

B.) The fact that he won't face me confirms that I'm right and he's wrong and he's afraid to be set straight.

C.) I challenged "him" and got no response.  The fact that he won't face me also confirms that he's nothing but a scared anti-American, socialist dick-sucking panty-waste pussy faggot...a chip off the ol' block. 

Yahoo!, etc.
Likewise, the individual manipulating the ads I see in my Yahoo inbox and elsewhere, as I've proven, is also a scared, dick-sucking faggot pussy who is quite obviously afraid to face me like a man would.

This is what I see when I open Youtube:

Location, Location, Location
I'm in Sacramento, California.  I recently activated the locator in my Twitter account, which had been off.  When I turned it on, it was set to Minneapolis, MN?  Is that the default location for Twitter users?  If so, why?  I would think that if they had a default, it would either be alphabetical or would be their homebase, San Francisco.  Is it random, er...?

New Look for Sacramento Catholic Forum?
Yesterday, I posted a screenshot of a Sacramento Catholic Forum page with an arrow pointing to the word, "quiet" in an odd place.  Today, this is what I see when I go to the site.

"Quiet" (Missed edit?  Odd place for it, huh?)
Every day, I get little messages to be quiet, the vast majority of which are in the form of people hovering around me and very conspicuously and sometimes emphatically covering their mouths.  These messages are also delivered in other ways, including on line.  (I've got a great screenshot of a recent one that is undeniable.)  I created a video in which I very clearly explained that I have seen things that either have digital distortion in them or that I could otherwise tell were the product of film-television special effects being used to superimpose things into my field of vision that are not actually there.  I've referred to this as "digital glitch face."  I've also written and talked about how I've been the subject of a great, great deal of incredibly elaborate deception meant to keep me scared and, most importantly, very, very confused as part of an anti-American, anti-Christian, socialist brainwashing program which also includes constant harassment of various sorts of other kinds of torment.  How do I know that all the people covering their mouths aren't a product of digital glitch face?  How do I know who's behind it?  How do I know that covert requests for me to be quiet are not part of the brainwashing scam meant to keep me buried?  Until I get some answers, my answer to all of that is that I do not know for sure who is behind it and must conclude that it is part of the confusing brainwashing and mind-control program meant to keep me buried and a continued subject of socialist, anti-American brainwashing attempts--which do continue.  As I mentioned previously, a certain operative at an SF Shelter said to me, tauntingly, "What's the matter, John?  Having a hard time telling what's real?"  (He also said, "You're all done."  That was two years ago.)

I will not be quiet until I get some real, clear answers and am at least eating a healthy diet every day.  I'm starving...again.  The people doing what they're doing intend to drive the country into the gutter while blaming the problems they are creating on Christianity and capitalism.  I have no reason whatsoever to trust secret instructions to be quiet...none.

The fact that the above screenshot is on a Catholic website is insignificant.  I've seen such things on the web several times on various different sites.  This just happens to be the best example.


Look close at the icons.  Then look at the pic in the center of the second screenshot.  How old do you think the girl is in the far-away shot icon?  How about that pink doughnut?  And then, the strangely shaped pepper that so obviously looks like lips and a tounge.

"You need to figure it out."
A guy hovering said this to me twice yesterday.  I have totally abandoned trying to figure anything out.  A major aspect of the mind-control I've been put under is "training" the person to constantly analyze everything they see and hear.  While the CIA or the military (or both) are reading my mind, then, they get my complete analyses of anything and everything I experience, which, of course, would be the essence of being a mind-controlled slave-spy.  They do it to the person against their will.  How do they do it?  By making the person scared and confused and bombarding them with cryptic, ambiguous information, the answer to which, they imply, will help them solve their problem, which is nothing but a lie.  This is why they regularly put the term, "puzzler" in front of me one way or another.  The whole thing is a mind-control scam.  I'm positively done trying to "figure anything out."

"It's A Boy Society?"  Or was it "Chips Ahoy Society?"  I didn't quite catch it.

Pickles in the Spaghetti
When I was growing up in Niles, my mother served pasta with red sauce every Sunday afternoon and Thursday night without fail.  It goes back as far as I can remember and I’m quite sure it was going on before I was even around.  On most visits to grandma’s house, pasta with red sauce would be served, though she occasionally made a white sauce.  My mother, Nancy, was a good cook, but a superb baker.  Grandma, Grace, was a superb cook and baker and her red sauce was a slight bit better.  My father, Joe, grew up eating that dish and other fantastic food made by Grace and was tough for Nancy to please.  He rarely complimented her cooking and I don’t recall him ever complimenting her red sauce.  In fact, it was common for him and Grace to both scoff at the suggestion that Nancy’s red sauce and other Italian-American cooking was even in Grace’s league, though it was.  It’s just that Grace’s was better.  These weren’t light-hearted, joking scoffs.  They were real.  Nevertheless, when Nancy’s mostocioli hit the table after Sunday Mass, it was like a holy meal.  I should also mention that a big family tradition is calamari sauce on Christmas Eve that no one since has been able to make as well as Grace.  Some have tried, but none have done it.  I tried it once and that was enough.  Joey made it a few times and scratched the surface.  That magic is very likely lost to posterity.  Yep…Joseph M. was a bit of a picky eater.  (Grace would, on rare occasion, compliment Nancy’s baking.  She even said to me once, very quickly and while no one else was around, “John, you’re mother’s a good baker.”)

After Nancy and Grace were both gone, Joe started making trips for Sunday afternoon pasta to Grace’s youngest sibling, my Aunt Connie.  I can’t say that I blame him.  Her red sauce is quite possibly the best of them all.  (It was at one of these dinner’s that Karen Partlow made a sneering comment to me about how good it is to have Boardman cops for friends.  Later that day, I ended up in the pantry alone with her young daughters.  (Note : Her tune had changed when I called her a few years ago, by the way.  I’d almost forgotten about that.  Yes, she sounded quite worried about my call which included a mention of the U.S. Constitution and ended abruptly with her hanging up, afraid to answer my last question.))  In short, I grew up, as far back as I can remember, in a world in which there was a very, very high premium on the quality and tastiness of a dish of pasta with red sauce.

What does this all have to do with the high price of eggs, you ask?  Well, I’ll tell ya.  I’ve written of and even made a video about how “authorities” actually manufacture dreams for me in which they bait me into pedophilia encounters.  They aren’t dreams, really.  They’re just very brief acted-out encounters that sometimes include tricky video editing, distorted body parts, and even mixed-and-matched body parts, something I pointed out in a video in which I described how these scared-pussy faggot-assholes use the internet to bait me into clicking on child pornography links.  Last night’s is the only instance I now recall in which they tried to provoke me to a display of anger, though there were no special effects.  Like many of them, it was very brief.  

All of the sudden, I was sitting at a table facing someone.  He said to me very quickly with an accusatory tone, “You put pickles in the spaghetti.”  I calmly replied, “No, I didn’t.”  He replied immediately, speaking very rapidly, “Yes, you did.”  That happened two more times.  On the fifth, I shouted at him, “No, I didn’t put pickles in the spaghetti.  Don’t accuse me of it again.”  He shook his head, got up from the table and picked up the phone to call someone.  In some bizarre world, such scenarios are being used to label me as having anger issues.  Marc Greece did it to me at A&E and got me fired.  A guy behind me in line at the Pittsburgh Airport did it after they molested Nancy.  When I talked to my boss at A&E after they canned me, she directly made a comment to me about “anger issues.”  Later, while working at Influent in Columbus, Ohio, one of the managers there accused me of snapping at people and not getting along with others, all of which was quite untrue.  (I got everyone in the department to sign a statement saying so.)  Yes...he goaded me the same way three guys in a New York bar goaded me into calling Carrie Plank a bitch after I'd refused repeatedly.  But that’s not the point…

The first important thing is that I’ve been set up since a young age, but more outwardly and directly in recent years, to be an emotional knee-jerk reactionary.  A critical aspect of how they trigger me is by using an urgent tone of voice, speaking very rapidly, just like Marc Greece did at A&E and the same way the un-American scumbag did last night.   A second thing, of course, is their repeated refusal to accept my saying I did not.  This is a great example because a.) it’s a fictional suggestion and, b.) I would never put pickles in spaghetti anyway.  Obviously, this situation was manufactured.  Such continued insistence by a person initiating such an exchange would likely anger anyone, let alone someone who’s been set up as I have.  A third key point, though, is the fact that each time after I said, “No, I didn’t,” his response, “Yes, you did,” came immediately, with no pause at all in addition to being spoken very rapidly with a tone of urgency.  This is important because an intended effect of the mind-control/behavior-control program I've been subject to is that the person will mimic others.  For someone who’s been artificially transformed into an emotional knee-jerk reactionary by years all in one day of covert harassment and torment intended to keep him scared, confused, nervous, frustrated on top of artificial feelings of loneliness starting at a very young age, the combined tactics used by the person who initiated an argument with me in the dream last night are very much intended to trigger an uncontrollable angry outburst… in a fashion very similar to what happened with Marc Greece.

If you haven’t already figured it out, I’ll spell out the last very important point for you…not that it’s that big of a deal, but, I assure you: it was done intentionally to further insure the success of the trigger.  They can trigger me without such added material and certainly have, but the dream focused on spaghetti for a reason.  

Someone who didn’t grow up in a household in which the quality of the pasta with red sauce was a point of…wait for it…urgency, would most likely think, “But, John, it’s just pickles and spaghetti.  Who cares?  It’s not that big of a deal.  You have serious anger issues.”   The problem is that the evil people doing this know everything about my life…everything.  Yes…the subject of the dream was spaghetti because they know damn well that, after starting life with 18 years of eating fantastic pasta with red sauce two to four times a week that was somehow often not good enough, it would be quite easy to use urgent, rapid-fire accusations of putting pickles in the spaghetti to elicit an angry outburst from someone who’s been set up to be an emotional knee-jerk reactionary from a very young age.  If should also note that if I'd just stood up and walked away from the table, they would call me "anti-social."  Such overtures were, in fact, made while I was living at the Boyd Hotel in San Francisco.

I am very proud of the fact that I am not  one of you faggots doing this to me and that I would never take part in such a thing.  

I actually mentioned George Lansbury a long time ago.

Air Hockey
Someone who has an air hockey table or some place where there is one definitely has something to do with all this.  I have a vague memory of playing air hockey with a guy who was pretty good at it and was very, very happy about beating me and he was being a real prick about it.  I get that a lot--situations in which it's obvious that it's means a great, great deal to someone I'm competing against to beat me.  It's not just like a normal game of pool or air hockey.  Like this guy, it's obvious that it's critically important to them to beat me specifically.  I guess I should take that as a compliment.

Newman...not Noonan
For the record and all concerned: It has been confirmed to me at least three times that I'm right about Sean Newman.

A Note on Digital Images Superimposed into My Field of Vison, i.e., Digital Glitch Face
I don't think I've mentioned this yet, so now must be a good time.  I just wanted to let you know that I'm often aware of things I see that are digitally superimposed into my field of vision.   It's been that way for about six months, now.  A few recent examples:
  • The cop who waved at me while driving by the other night.
  • The cop who, while frisking a guy in the park yesterday, suddenly turned around and looked directly at me from a distance.
  • The other I should mention is the guy who came bouncing down the path in the grounds-keeper's cart at a Roseville park with a stupid-ass ignorant  grin on his face.  That one was terribly obvious.
There have been several others.  I thought I'd mention because I know I'm not even supposed to know it's going on and such examples are supposed to keep me feeling guilty, scared, etc.  Please, understand that they do not effect me any more.  Being aware that they're not real in addition to figuring out a certain very significant thing about my life renders them ineffectual.   The Lord works in mysterious ways.  You're going to have a "clear understanding" of that.

Just wanted you to know.

Change of Address?
A major aspect of the experiment being done on me has to do with pattern recognition.  Here's another one:
  1. When I attempted to visit the San Francisco Examiner office a few years ago, I went to an address I found on line.  When I got to that building, I was told by a "security guard" that they had moved.  He told me right where to go.  When I got off the elevator at that building, there was a reception counter right out in the hallway.  In the hallway, in front of the desk, there where six to ten people seated around a table "having a meeting."  There were all acting kind of strange as did the black woman at the counter.
  2. When I attempted to visit the U.S. Department of State in San Francisco, they were in the process of moving.  There was one guy there who, like so many others, kind of acted like he knew who I was but just told me that they were in the middle of a move.
  3. When I attempted to visit an NRA meeting in San Francisco, I was lead to an upper floor room in a cruddy Chinese restaurant.  I came back and they're meeting was going on, but, because of my bizarre experiences, didn't want to go in.  I left a few flyers outside the door.
  4. Just now, at about 11:15 am, a very normal business hour, I knocked on the door of an NRA office here in Sacramento.  No one answered
Maybe that all means nothing...just me being paranoid...except the SF Examiner thing.  Definite faggot shenanigans going on there.  NO DOUBT ABOUT IT. 

Anti-Catholic Psycho and iPhone Sex Pics 
You’d think that someone who’d been homeless for a while, or is facing homelessness, would take any shelter he could for the night.  Well, when I first I arrived in Sacramento, I went to a certain overnight shelter, which I won’t name, stayed there that night and that was enough for me.  I’ve been sleeping on the street since.  My reasons?  Well, I hadn’t been there for two hours when my phone got stolen, the way they ran It was a little strange, there’s the erratic, threatening behavior of many of those staying there, and, while I wouldn’t usually complain about such a thing, the breakfast just simply wasn’t worth hanging around for.  I wouldn’t feed it to my dog.  (For me to complain about free food, it must be really, really bad.  I tell people all the time how lucky they are to get free meals at all and how losers in socialist San Francisco stand in line for a free meal and actually complain out loud about the wait and sometimes, even about the food...too nuns.)  Put it this way: the stay was so bad, all things considered, that I elected to sleep on the street instead. 

Today is Friday, December 4, 2015.  On Wednesday, local homeless help services got me into a shelter with 3 other guys in a 2-bedroom condo.  We had our own bathroom and shower, each of us had a bed (Note past tense.), we had a TV with two or three channels via pirated satellite signal, a couple of couches, Safeway and some Mormons, I think, bring food occasionally (The kitchen was relatively well stocked.) and, yep…it’s all free.  Last night, before I went to bed I repacked my luggage.  This morning, I left as early as I could with all my stuff with no intention of going back.  I wouldn’t bother to tell you about this if it weren’t for the opportunity to bring up an important aspect of my situation over the past few years which I’ve neglected.    

One of my three roommates from the past few days, a fella named Brian, is the kind of crazy that’s a little scary.  It’s more than tinged with anger.  It’s difficult to explain this guy’s kind of psycho, because much of it comes from the way he sounds and his appearance and the way he carries himself.  You have to experience it.  He’s the kind of guy you see in a movie like Silence of the Lambs or, oh, I don’t know, Kalifornia  maybe?  His voice sometimes had a bit of a hiss too it.  He makes strange faces, often showing all his teeth but not with a smile, and acts very erratic in a threatening kind of way.  Oh, and speaking of threats, he made a comment to me about “calling in a hit.”  I think he said that when he does, it happens.  He also said something about knowing half the Oak something police force.  He also claims to have had back-to-back life sentences that he “got out of.”  Now, how does one do that?  That may have been a lie, but you never know.  Either way, this fella, a true bat-shit very dangerous psycho has access to the street, but that’s not the interesting part.  The interesting part is this:  

For about the past three years, I’ve had a number of encounters, starting in San Francisco, of course, in which someone, often a stranger, used their iPhone to deliberately, but very briefly, flash a provocative photo of a half-naked woman at me.  Now, the odd thing about Brian is that he was more than happy to share his disgusting Newport cigarettes (They actually taste poisonous.  The only cigarettes I care to smoke are Marlboro reds, the best-tasting cigarettes made.) with me.  It happens from time to time--someone being unusually happy to share their cigarettes, I mean.  I always wonder about people who do that since I’m still being harassed regarding smoking, which I am not going to stop doing.  There’s no smoking inside the condo, so we stepped out onto the veranda for a few drags in the dark Wednesday night.  That was when he, clad in a wife-beater with his angry tattoos, made the veiled threat about “calling in a hit” and that was when he first flashed a provocative photo of a scantily clad model at me.  He also showed me, in a photo on his iPhone, a very ugly tattoo he said he was the artist of.  It was one of those skulls with a very scary, mean face and distorted outline shape, ya know?  Over the course of the next 24 hours, he found two more opportunities to flash a sexy photo at me with his iPhone.  Yes, he was trying to trigger me quite intentionally, but that’s old news, isn’t it?  You must be bored with my pointing out trigger attempts, huh?  Yes, the crux of this entry, that thing I've neglected to mention until now, is that he and others have been using their iPhones in attempts to trigger me, but that’s actually not the big hoo-haa at this point of the story either.  It is thus:

I’ve got a blog post about brainwashing I’ve been subject to that is, among other things, anti-Christian.  It was a little over a year ago that I figure that out.  I think it was within about the last six months that I started to suspect that part of what’s happening to me is also anti-Catholic, with some of that attention coming from so-called Christians.  Bat-shit scary, completely nuts, pyscho Brian likes to “read scripture,” or so he says.  His roommate, Samuel also did some typical, subtle things that are done to torment me during my short stay.  Last night, when I busted out my Catholic Bible and offered to enlighten them, to show them something really, really cool which I only discovered recently, they scattered and in so doing, after doing all the things they’d been doing to make me nervous and uncomfortable, very quickly created a peaceful space for me, highlighted by Brian very quickly turning down the fader on the light fixture in the dining room to an ambient level before running behind Sam into their room.  They literally ran.  It was like they disappeared, suddenly leaving me in peace and quiet.  Later, when they were both back in the dining room/living room area, I brought it up again and showed them the things I was talking about.  It was then that Crazy Brian went into a mini-tirade of specifically anti-Catholic rhetoric directed at the Pope.  This coming from a guy who claims to read scripture and likes to show me sexy photos with his iPhone, mind you.  We had a bit of an argument and, instead of calling in the hit he’d bragged to me about, he called the person from the homeless placement service who lives next door to us.  Her name is Tish.  I think the service is called Step Up.  They kind of play it off like she’s there to provide services and assistance, but I think the main point she’s there is just to referee things and actually be a bit of an authority figure, which is a bit of a joke.  While we were discussing the matter, I told her Brian had flashed photos of half-naked women at me with his iPhone and that I’d had that experience in the past, including in San Francisco.  She didn’t seem to care and basically blew me off—I wasn’t surprised a bit by her act, in fact—but that’s not what’s so interesting about this juncture of the story.  Would you like to know what is?

My black roommate, Dion, was sitting next to Tish at this point.  From the time I got there, Dion talked a lot of horseshit about what a great Christian he is and had the audacity to quiz me about Christian doctrine, acting as self-righteous as he could as he staggered around the place.  When I told Tish about Brian flashing the sex pics at me, Dion interjected with the bald-faced lie, “Oh, he was showing those to me.”  He wasn’t even there when Brian had done it.   I’ve written several times that they get away with the things they do to me because I have no witnesses.  They generally take great care in that regard.  That’s why he invited me out on the porch to do it the first time.   I know—I shouldn’t be surprised by Dion’s lie, but I still have to wonder about it.  Why did he feel the need to speak up with an outright lie to defend Brian’s flashing sex pics at me with an iPhone?  It’s none of his business…right?  What does it matter to him?  Gee, I don’t know, I guess one might conclude that he knew exactly what Brian was doing and why he was doing it…mightn’t one?

So…we’ve got a very psychotic guy who hates Catholics using his iPhone to flash sexy photos at a guy who says he’s been the subject of anti-Christian brainwashing—which he’s suspected is also anti-Catholic—and  has proof that the internet is being used to bait him into clicking on child porn links.  We’ve also got a drunk black protestant defending psycho with a lie.  The thing I forgot to mention that’s interesting is that Samuel, who’s also black, by the way, has a 415 phone number.  Naaa…forget I said that.  There’s nothing to it.  It’s no big deal the same way it’s no big deal that Dion was wearing a San Francisco Giants shirts when he very nonchalantly told that lie.  And, finally, I should mention here that my brainwashing also included an attempt to turn me gay.

Ya know what?  Forget I said it, ok?  I must be crazy. 

Baptized Catholic
Did I hear some dumb-ass insinuate that I'm not baptized?  I assure you, I am a baptized  and confirmed Roman Catholic (at St. Stephen Church in Niles, Ohio), a member of the one, true, original Christian Church.  I read the one true Bible that hasn't had seven books removed from it for the sake of convenience and has been rendered in readable modern English.  I guess it's fitting that the main reason I never married is because I take it very, very seriously and was wary of entering into a union that might end in divorce, a practice condoned, passively albeit, by a certain protestant church that was founded because a certain king wanted a divorce.  Unless your moral foundation has been sufficiently undermined, mainly by wide-spread anti-Christian sentiment, you'll trace many  of today's social problems to divorce.  By the way, is there not something unsavory about appointing a former oil executive to head your church?  I mean, really...the very notion. 

Aim For LIfe
Political Baiting, B.O., and Aim For Life
I'm not going to be baited into political conversations by fake posts by ghosted pundits any more, particularly ones obviously prompted by my thoughts from the previous day.  Stop trying.  I'm way ahead of it and I've been aware of it for some time now.

In regard to something people are wondering about, I'm no longer a fan of Barak Obama because he supports abortion and for no other reason.  I won't be biting on all the incendiary bait to join in the moronic extremist rhetorical attacks on him, though I absolutely do count him as my political enemy.  Mark my word: I will emerge from this persecution despite harassing pressure from either side.  I'm more about positive responses, fighting the good fight, which is what being Catholic really is all about.  You can trust me on this for it has been confirmed by a higher authority: AIM For Life  will happen and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

Fight the good fight...

Who Knows?
A big part of the mind-control I've been subject to is inducing hyper-curiosity and obsessiveness.  Then, they bombard you with vague, cryptic clues to make it so you're always wondering about something.  I think the only thing I ever wonder about any more is how many individuals really  know what's actually going on.  I know there are many who think they do, but the truth is that there are extremely few who actually do...extremely  few.  Chances are very strong, therefore, that you are not one of them.

B.O. on Christmas
It's obvious to me that the video in the above link is fake the same way it was obvious to me that the comments B.O. made about Led Zeppelin at the Kennedy Center Honors were done in an isolated one-shot (with in-congruent lighting) and edited in in post.  The Christmas/Peanuts comments clip is more than a step further in the world of video special effects, though, isn't it?  Digital animation has come a long, long way, something I'm reminded of on a regular basis, which I touched on in a recent entry.  Lately, my main reminder has been all those digitally manufactured images I see in person of people briefly holding their closed hand in front of their mouth as if they're talking to someone on a tiny communication device, secret agent-style, often accompanied by a menacing glance in my direction.  It's meant to make me nervous and think I'm being followed.

I'm tired of the joke.   If the B.O. Christmas comments are  real, I've got 3 words: Fuck...Barak...Obama...

Here's a Fact...
regarding the trap someone is trying to keep me in: as is intended by "them," it's extremely difficult to break as long as I have nothing to do all day, every day, despite the fact that I suspect I put the iPhone shenanigans to an end.  I know, I know...I wasn't supposed to figure that out either.  Sleep deprivation, a problem prominent among homeless people, also adds to the difficulty.  I'm relatively certain they know that, too.  The triggers often work, which isn't my fault, especially considering my setup started when I was very young and sometimes the trigger effect lingers.  Despite that, things definitely are going in the right direction.  I have people in my life with whom I'm familiar and have positive interaction with on a regular basis.  Those same people know about the iPhone thing--which, of course, I connected to my proof that the internet has been used to bait me into clicking on child-porn links--regarding which they've given me very positive feedback.  Isn't that interesting?  It's almost as if, I've broken through and there really is someone who understands how I'm being set up.  How about that?  Dear God, they might even sympathize with me.  Interesting, no?

How tall are you?
I am not obligated to talk to strangers, regardless of how rude or nice they are.  I am not obligated to reply in any preprescribed way.  I am not obligated to reply at all.

Recent V2K: "Projected cause of death: asphyxiation"
For a while, I was keeping track of my V2K, but I recently decided that I'm better off disregarding it, which I've been doing successfully.  There could hardly be anything more significant that what I've heard already.  Nevertheless, there were a couple of messages last night that are worthy of mention here.  One was something to the effect of, "The only way out is to make a dash for it."  Obviously, I'm not going to do that with no money, especially now that there are people who know who I am and with whom I regularly have somewhat normal personal interaction.  I'm just the only homeless guy in town who goes to Mass regularly and helps out, etc.  Oh, and I met a guy who agrees with AIM For Life, which is quite the big deal.  Plus, "making a dash for it" is something I considered previously which they would know about, of course.  They know all your thoughts, even the ones that are non-verbal, and they play off of them to screw with you.

The other thing from last night, that, if it happened before, I didn't recognize what it was, was a Truman Show-style narration.  That's exactly what it was.  There's no way I would think that unless it was similar enough to Christof's narration in the movie, which it very much was.  Remember how it was done in the movie in a very condescending fashion, as if he was talking about a baby?  That kind of talk is something I hear all the time, but this was the first time I thought, "Oh, right...a Truman Show narration."  The quote was something about "projected cause of death being asphyxiation," which I would have to guess is because to keep warm I sometimes have to put my head under my covers when I lay down to sleep at night, which is common for homeless people.

"Not cold"
Something that happened a lot in San Francisco, but that I don't recall having happened since then, at least not in person, is some faggot would approach me, look at me and then very purposefully tap something on his iPhone before walking away.  Last night I had a very brief "dream" in which a guy, who I may have recognized, said, "Hey, John.  Not cold."  I told him that I'd heard "not cold" somewhere else recently.  He tapped his phone and walked away.  As I recall, his phone was yellow and pink or, maybe, white and pink.

I have no idea what "not cold" might mean, but it definitely was the second time I'd heard it recently.  Perhaps, it's supposed to be some kind of trigger.  By they way, I'm convinced that such coded triggers don't work on me.

Sasquatchwithaswatchwatch (Jesse Mills) and The Disappearing Cafe Press page
A couple notes to kick off the new year:
  1. I visited a local T-Shirt printer today.  I referred them to my CafePress page to see the design in color on a shirt.  When the site opened, it only stayed open for one or two seconds and the page went blank.  We refreshed it and it did the same thing.  Why would that happen?
  2. I Googled my old friend from the SF Library, Jesse Mills.  It's news to me that he's also associated with Harrisburg, PA.  Must be some significance to that.  Also, it only occurred to me recently that at some point, when I was in college, I had a Swatch.  The likely significance of that hadn't occurred to me previously either.  It's Jesse's e-mail which I guessed had to do with me before I recalled my Swatch since it's common for angry losers like Jesse to call me names like Sasquatch.  Jesse's e-mail is sasquatchwithaswatchwatch@gmail.com.  Take a look at his Linkedin page.  Serious pyscho: https://www.linkedin.com/in/jesse-mills-0a77bb48

Lately, I've gotten more than a few hints about being patient, sometimes accompanied by other hints that apparently are supposed to make me feel better.  It is impossible to have exercised more patience than I already have.  I ran out a long time ago.  I know everything is going to be just fine and things are much better than they've been, but if you actually, truly understood what's being done to me, you wouldn't even suggest it.


1 comment:

  1. I need to talk to you privately. Because of your family I'm afraid to post an email here. I still have the same two I've always had. If you've lost them let me know and we'll find a way. I'm ill. This concerns your future.

    I have never read "The Audacity of Hope", don't know what it is about, nor who penned it. Come on, John, I have plenty of controversial issues about myself without you fabricating them. Or maybe you have me confused with someone else. Love, your mother, Kathleen