Post-Something Analysis

POST-SOMETHING ANALYSIS

So, there were a few items I have not clarified that I want to get to. It seemed easier in writing than in person, so…

First, only one time did I actually send an email in anger at the actual listed recipient. It was the one about waiting for the civil suit.

The others, especially and including the four-parter, were complete bulls***. As I explained in the “You Bury Me” three parter, I was under intense pressure to blame Peter for the whole mess, to state publicly that it had all been a publicity stunt. This was what my torturers wanted.

I resisted. I knew it had to be a lie.

But they had convinced me that it was “over” otherwise and therefore, obviously my soulmate was on his merry way to meet me in that hellhole some people refer to as Minneapolis.

When he did not arrive, well it seemed there had to be a reason. I had clearly (not having done anything to deserve the s*** thrown my way) been maligned. The self-described NYPD detective who had been convinced I was abusing my dogs until he stopped and looked at them, for example. There were many more examples, some I haven’t even detailed yet. For example, I apparently subscribed to a gun email newsletter… I no longer recall actually doing it, but saw the evidence in one of my spam email accounts. I assume I did and that I did so, based on the timing, for research for something I was writing.

However, there was still nothing illegal about that. This is a familiar Gestapo tactic, to try to make a torture victim believe they did something to deserve it. The real purpose is to help the torturer remove any responsibility for their actions, to retcon their abuse, to justify their guilty pleasures after the fact. (This also helps those many politicians who profit off of the private security apparatus to feel better for receiving the money even though they know deep down that they are behaving like totalitarians that they publicly decry).

One day, after almost never having checked that email address, went almost directly to that email in that account without thinking about it at all. There was a clear V2K question in my head from whichever s***head was on duty at that time: “Why did you subscribe to this ammo newsletter?” I didn’t even recall doing it, so how could I have made the question up, turned directly to the folder, page, and email I did not even recall receiving?

This is the kind of thing they do.

Back on topic…

The background is the following:

I had seen my old compadre from the New Jersey Shakespeare Festival enthrall the other interns in ’89 and ’90. He inspired at times an almost fanatical loyalty from them. And it’s not difficult to see why. He is very intelligent and talented, the most imaginative actor I’ve ever worked with. I would say that one of the main reasons that I tolerated (as much as I did) he tricksterlike antics was for those reasons as well (additionally, especially in theater and film, you are going to have to sometimes work with people you don’t get along with).

So that was the background. Charismatic trickster.

When I discovered my old soul sister’s connection to Squidgate (recall now… At this point, December 19, 2009 or so, I am drugged with at least two substances…one causing the confusion/schizo-like symptoms, the other the euphoria/pathological optimism which was insanely out of character for me… I tend toward pessimism like most people who “think too much” as I have often been accused of), I puzzled over that.

The last time I had seen him, things did not end well. I initially thought, “Wouldn’t this be a great way to mend fences?”

Then, as events in Brooklyn and Manhattan got stranger and stranger, more sinister, I started recalling the bad stuff. I don’t (usually) carry grudges. It’s not worth it (most of the time).

But now I suddenly found myself memorizing license plates, noticing graffiti, being afraid of memes (like that bridge that seemed to get more and more smashed every time I saw it, as did a coconut—a memic reference to a Clinton story that Bill related about Chelsea’s souvenir from their trip to Hawaii—HELLO!—at Hillary’s debt forgiveness event that my former partner and I attended—on the path I frequently took my dogs in Brooklyn), etc. just like my female intern friend K*** M***** did in 1989 and 1990.

Next, there were the posts about “swimfins on my back” and mine about the leviathan dream.

Then a close friend of Pete’s said on Twitter (paraphrased), “I had a dream that I was a spy. I think my handler was [that dude who played Draco senior in the Harry Potter movies] my handler.”

Now, I did not think that she knew what that meant to me at all. It was just something that triggered something else:

Suddenly, I was recalling the bad stuff between me and “Soul Sister.” Suddenly I was recalling the really weird unexplained stuff that happened at the NJSF that lead to my religious conversion. Suddenly I was wondering if my old friend, whom K*** once told had to either be “THE devil” or work for the CIA, didn’t have a hand in what was going on.

So, I read Peter’s friend’s blog. She stated that four people had gone camping. They discussed borders. She was obviously one of the four. Peter was another; that’s two. She mentioned David, who I assumed was David ******.

Who was the fourth?

I recalled suddenly that my old friend had worked in Canada. What if it was him? What if he was there, giving advice? What if, like the tricksters of old, was giving bad advice to Pete? (Now do you see what I meant when I said that “Glass” scared the s*** out of me? It doesn’t any more. This is just the evil equivalent of the Post Office acting as if there is no such thing as law and order…there still is, it’s just slower than a senator’s hand on a whore’s ass).

So. Here I am. None of these Canadians know me from Adam. If ***** is there making things worse, they are likely to believe him over me. How do I convince them that something bigger is afoot and to take what I say seriously, that I am willing to stake my reputation on it, that I would not lie about something like this?

Aha! I send the email to someone else, someone with responsibility, and CC the Canadians! I’ll even send them a PDF of my comic’s website showing that INSCOM (that’s the acronym, USAISC is the initials; it’s US Army Intelligence) visited the website and I had not even made it public yet.

Except of course all that really did was make them think I was crazy. It certainly did not do jack squat s*** to preserve my relationship, friendships, home, job, pets, careers, savings, retirement, health and sanity. If anything, it made the GOP look like it knows what it’s talking about when it says that the Federal government can’t do a single goddam thing worth doing. If they would just acknowledge that they are part of that problem, it might seem less disingenuous.

Probably up next: more about why I sent the four-part email (answer: remote torture).

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