BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Squidgate Trial Part 4

“When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead.”
–Jefferson Airplane

—–

Continued…

I have skipped over lots of little things, things I would just as soon not forget, but don’t have a direct, obvious connection to the trial.

For example, I told Peter briefly what had happened to Kara Miller, how she had been fine and then suddenly developed what appeared to be paranoid schizophrenia, how it so happened that she, I and T. Ryder Smith had had an odd triangular relationship, and how the scifi short story “Glass” was kind of scary to me at the time.

Then there was the lunch where I threw out that I had had several concerns about the trial but that Adair had taken care of some and Doug had addressed several as he could as defense. (For example, the “well he must be guilty because they wouldn’t have a trial if he weren’t” problem. Adair made it very clear from the get-go that the jury was not to imply that or anything else. His disarming demeanor also served to not have the jury looking to him for guidance beyond that of his office and not to infer anything from the presence of an authority figure, a representative of the system, in general). There was some shock on the faces of Doug and Peter when I rattled some of those off. They were, understandably, expecting someone more like Mel Gibson in Conspiracy Theory.

Which probably deserves a little more discussion in itself. Essentially, I was sending Peter emails about what was going on on my end. Except of course I didn’t understand why those things were happening at the time nor did I know exactly how all of them were done. This blog has many of those anecdotes written out, I hope, more coherently than a drugged, harassed, frightened, and desperate individual could do right in the thick of it. So, I was not only fighting through extreme fear, euphoria, impulsiveness and moderate logical center disruption, I was afraid to come out and describe most of the things that happened precisely as they did. I used what to my mind was “code” at times. I frequently wrote emails in which the people I actually sent them to were not the intended recipients. I assumed the whole time that my emails were being read by the culprits and so included on occasion insults to various groups and individuals for that reason. Though at the time I had a much less clear idea as to who specifically might be involved.

And then there was what I think of as being trapped inside my own head. I probably have some of this backwards (was it consciousness disrupted or unconsciousness?, for example) but this is how I think of it. One of the only ways to get out what you really want to say is to use quotes and song lyrics. It’s as though you can’t quite compose those sentences coherently yourself, but something, some center in the brain knows and is trying desperately to tell some other center how to put it into words by pointing to stuff in memory. A game of charades between parts of the gray matter.

Other things that happened, the first two nights in the hotel (almost completely empty except for myself) there was the familiar noise stuff. Someone stomping around on the concrete floor above (and yet I think that room was not rented) and someone next door blasting the TV at full volume at three and four in the morning.

However, the night before the trial, and during the trial, that stopped.

On Wednesday or Thursday afternoon, the Port Huron police were at the hotel looking for a fugitive who had supposedly been on the loose the week prior. On Friday, the Health Department was there and it appeared as though they were going to shut the hotel down.

I had joked with Peter and Caitlyn that every time I went to the front desk, the nice lady who was working there had a little dog in the back room that barked precisely the same way every time. I suggested that it might be a recording (again, I was joking but that’s the kind of weird thoughts you have with this stuff, whatever it is, in your system or when your brain is being pinged with whatever range of waves are being used to disrupt it). On Friday morning, I saw the dog, Duke, being walked by the hotel lady.

There is a dog. Cue laugh track.

There was also the discussion of viruses. I had been at a New York gay bar that, as I’ve said elsewhere on this blog, I’m convinced was a CIA or DoD front. There, I had met someone who resembled to some degree that person I saw in the Brooklyn deli on January 3. 2010. Also at the bar was a representative of a pharmaceutical company looking for volunteers for an HIV preventive vaccine. This guy, Ludo he said his name was, had walked over to talk to the rep in part to get my attention. Of course, I think he was more interested in drinking for free than an amorous encounter, but I’ll never know because I either didn’t catch on to his hints to buy him a drink or was too arrogant to try to buy him one as a step in that direction. But the point, he had given the pharma his contact info just to get me to come over to the bar and talk to him as opposed to smiling and waving from a distance.

At the same bar, a few nights later or the next week, I met another guy named Chris. Ludo. Chris. Ludicrous.

While I might now be inclined to consider that a coincidence, the principle I have seen too many times for that to be the only possibility. My ex married someone with a last name similar to the villain’s in We Were the Freedom Federation and…well, just wait until I get you caught up on recent events.

Then there was that moment, after the jury asked for clarification and to see the surveillance video again. Peter said aloud that they were going to come back in ten minutes with a guilty verdict. I glanced at the clock.

Then I said that, no, that wasn’t it at all. There was some contention over some details and that two or more jurors were arguing over them, that this meant they were having a debate. He appeared unconvinced.

“What was that thing called…that Siri Keeton from Blindsight uses… His profession…”

“Topology.”

“Right. Trust me.”

I don’t recall all of the rest but I ended it with, “What time is it?”

About half an hour had passed. He just stated the time.

“How the hell did you write that character?”

This got a laugh.

Then there was the discussion with Doug and somehow my age came up. Doug paid me a compliment about appearing younger than that. I hesitated for a moment before returning it, which he noted.

“Oh, that was very fast for me. Believe me, I can be really slow up the uptake.”

I don’t know why the Canadian contingent found that so funny. It’s so true. To go from 1989 to 2010 before realizing what had really happened? That’s a long time.

Overall, there was something refreshing about being able to concentrate on Peter’s problem and to forget about my own.

There was one other very, very bizarre thing. Everyone…and I mean everyone…seemed larger than life. Everything seemed so bright, so well-lit. (Pupil dilation?). People seemed iconic, like characters. I believe this, whatever drug or method is used to discredit witnesses against the federal government by the federal government, is what lead to many people visiting the FBI and asking for the “reality show” to be cancelled. I can see why they thought that. It’s how it felt. (There’s a news article on this phenomenon, and Eleanor White, TI for several decades, discussed it on her credibility reviews website. Of course, the writer of the article just thinks that these people are “crazy”).

There was a stinging comment, but in hindsight not at all unwelcome, where Caitlyn accused me of reading tea leaves. It took a while, but it was things like that that I really needed to hear to come to the realization that there was something very wrong with my head and to begin to try to figure out how that came to be and why.

Friday morning came at the courthouse and there was a bit more of the same. Waiting. Expecting more of a long debate in the jury room, I went outside. One of the security guards came to get me soon after, they jury had come to a verdict at last. I rushed back upstairs and it came.

“Guilty.”

To be continued…

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