The

Neighborhood Vigilante
Redemption Committee

Volume One

Controlled In
America Series
By
C. R. Baker

Includes references from: appft.uspto.gov

ISBN-13: 978-1500576318 (CreateSpace-Assigned)
ISBN-10: 150057631X
BISAC: Science / Experiments & Projects

2014 C.R. Baker

Published by
Possibly Delusional Publishing
Printed in USA

This is dedicated to our children and theirs. I hope they will never know that I was
not schizophrenic, although I hope they believe it.
To the families of undesirables like me and anyone else who has experienced the
harmful effects of RNMT; may you never know the truth about my sanity and may
you be objectively informed enough to believe the inconceivable truth I am trying to
present you with.
The brave souls who have spoken out through the media sharing information and
in our justice systems by lobbying for laws to protect us from the being abused by the
nonconsensual use of RNMT, bringing us closer to the day that people are aware
and refuse to turn a blind eye to the truth any longer, demanding that we address this
problem and begin using RNMT responsibly.
Everyone who has given themselves to the research and development of neural
monitoring and other related technologies that enrich our lives by helping us to live
longer and healthier, should be acknowledged.
Our military and civilian leaders who have tried to insure that RNMT wont be
used on the citizens of this great country by establishing the effects of these weapons
through their responsible testing and application should also be recognized for their
contributions.

Table of Contents
Preface

Personal Digital Assistant

Beginnings

17

Qualifications

20

Revelations

11

25

Introductions

29

A Prophet

33

Comedy Central

39

My Friend 45
Public Servant
Bend Over

49

52

Mushroom King

58

Relating To My Fridge
Suicide Proposition
Dead Nigger Babies
Pink Pussycat
Taytae

66

64
67

71

83

Slutty Belinda 90
Back Pay

101

Northwest Operative

109

E-Withdrawal Approved In Overdraft

A Room and A Prostitute
Hit Man

117

New World Order 124

Rehab

128

Greensboro
Sensitive

133
140

Morgellons

149

Measuring Sticks

154

113

109

Quantum Dots

159

Afterward 169
Acknowledgements

175

CIA Mission Statement

Acknowledgements

187

185

Currently listed on the United States Patent Trade Office web site, there are over Twenty-Two
Thousand patents applied for or issued for remote neural monitoring applications. I urge you to see
for yourself some of the uses were finding for RNMT. Appft.uspto.gov

LET THERE BE LIGHT FOUNDATION

I founded the Let There Be Light Foundation to
1. Help provide information about remote neural monitoring technology that will
enable human beings to better protect their families from the abuse of this technology
2. Help provide information about the potential benefits of the responsible use of
this technology and create public awareness of those benefits
3. Help to establish the need for accessible information about the uses and effects
of this technology
4. Reach out to anyone who is suffering from the effects of this technology
offering them our love and understanding of their suffering
5. Lobby for legislation to regulate the use of remote neural monitoring and
providing public information about its use
6. Help to encourage the research and development of remote neural monitoring
technology so we can all become better human beings
The single most important thing I want to say is, I attempted to hurt many people,
because I couldnt hurt the ones responsible for the abuse I was suffering from. I
hoped that they would see that others were being hurt. If they did see that, it made
little or no difference in the way I was treated. I am certain that there are others like
me, and others who are being harmed like the friends and family I hurt. This is the
most important reason that we need to create public awareness.

Preface
This is a true story, based on actual events, from my personal experiences. The
names of everyone involved have been changed. It I not my wish to harm any
innocent persons with this story and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is
purely coincidental. I want to say to my family, the things I have talked about in this
book, were to explain why "they" were able to make me believe the things I believed.
I forgive you for not believing me.
I have written this book to establish where the reality of the phenomenal
technological advances ceases to exist, and the paranoid delusional fantasies of a
targeted/addict are spawned. I have presented this chronological documentary of my
experiences as objectively and as accurately as my resources allow me to. Please keep
in mind some of my descriptions were written ten years ago and I didnt have all the
information I have today.
When I made a commitment to finish this first book, I told myself that I was not
going to rely on the evidence and documentation of the existence and the use of
RNMT that is found on the internet. I wanted to give you a picture of my experiences
that would leave you with an understanding that evidence and documentation are not
able to provide. I wanted my reader to feel the fear, the anger, the hopelessness, the
isolation, the frustration, and the need to believe that there is good in all things that
wells up in you, even when youre faced with a seemingly impossible situation like I
was. Maybe this book will accurately portray how that hope was used against me.
I tried to give my readers a glimpse into the wonder, the awe, and the images and
visions of the glories that this level of communication could possibly offer. I hope that
when you are done reading this book it will find you believing there is as much
potential for good as there is for evil, and some of you might join me, in my quest for
the truth. Only when we learn enough about R.N.M.T. to allow us to stop being so
afraid of it, will we begin to realize the potential for the expansion of our human
consciousness and possibly allowing us to ascend to unprecedented levels of
understanding the human condition and social evolution.
Let there be light.

User Borne Portable Personal Digital Assistant

This chapter is my description of a patent that was applied for on 3/14/2014 by two
brothers from Kansas. The description of the technologies that are used in this
application, their purposes, and the expected results of their use. Whether you believe
that I have experienced technology like this or not, this is something that needs to be
scrutinized. Much of the technology described in this patent application is the closest
to what I believe, has been used on me, than thing else I have ever found
The abstract states that the system consists of a user borne portable personal digital
assistant, a brain activity sensing system, (BASS), a periphery and surroundings
sensing system, (PSSS) and a correlation processing system (CPS) that are used to
collect, record, and store video logging data and historical referencing data, so it can
be used to enhance the subjects memory. Simultaneous input from the brain activity
sensor (BASS) and the surroundings sensor (PSSS) along with other data from an
external or remote location and other sources, are correlated and stored to provide a
historical database for that place and time. The subject is continuously receiving and

transmitting data that provides a constant feed of information about the subject and
his environment. A small implant just under the skin, in this application it is connected
to a pair of eye glasses; an esemplastic,(complete, overall), neural, geo-spatial,(overall
geographic surroundings), environmental, monitoring device, that are equipped with
photo-sensors and other types of sensors, that wirelessly communicate with the
network about what the user is looking at, his geo-spatial environment, the users
facial features, eye movement and other input from an eye-tracking or gaze system
device, and other information that is sent to the CPS, where it is transmitted to
network users. One of the network users is a remote location, another the PDA ,
another one is the subject who is equipped with a small processor, either worn by or
implanted in the subject, that transmits a valid neural representations to his brain. The
ability to communicate with the other network users about what is going on around
him and his neural activity allows the subject to exercise superior skills of processing
information to more effectively perform nearly every task that has ever been done by
a human being and possibly by a computer/human interface system. The other shared
information may include, signals to, stimulate stem cells that have been, implanted in
the user and/or the PDA. or possibly manufactured in the users body by some type of
technology,(wave, electro-magnetic, chemical), to effect a response that can be
measured against the video logging and historical reference database storage system
information and their responses in order to provide a valid neural response to said
signal. A continuous feed of information about the subjects total state of being, also
valid neural video representative signals that stimulate, manipulate, or enhance the
subjects memory. A multitude of other possibilities include recorded neural activity
measurements from an electromagnetic neural activity monitoring device in a remote
location, person to person and computer to person valid audio representative signals
from a conscious language precept module in correlation with an artificial intelligence
system that enables all network users to communicate effectively, signals obtained
from a micro-bead display structure which includes, a charged micro-mirror
positioned to reflect an image from a photo-diode through one micro-lens of a linear
optical path so that image can be recorded, transmitted, or stored, and one micromirror positioned to reflect an image from a photo-diode, oriented at 45 degrees off
axis path to allow imagery to pass through it so the subject can see when the linear
optical path is not charged or excited and it is blocked from being recorded by the
photo sensor imager through a micro-lens while still allowing the subject to see ,also
physiological data obtained from remote wave or light monitoring technology about
the subjects physiological state, The subjects brain activity along with the stored data
and the stream of data from the CPS and other sources that might include, a human
interface, a computer, a computer w/ human interface, a social networking system, a

social networking search engine, and others, including a user borne portable PDA that
is part of a biological, (human, medically or genetically engineered being, clone) a
mechanical, (computer) or a biomechanical (robot) system, allowing the other
network users access the full spectrum of the subjects information. At least some of
that information is encoded in the DNA of the subject that has been implanted into the
PDA creating a method and system of passing on a memories and neural
representations of the subjects total consciousness so that they may be preserved or
passed on to others. This is my compressed, incomplete interpretation of the
information in the patent application written to be more easily understood by the
reader. The technology incorporated in this invention claims to be able to create a
PDA that is a carbon copy of you or I. Encoding own DNA with neural information,
that may be passed on to our future generations, giving them a greater level of
consciousness. The components of our inner-self that define who we could be as
much a part of them as they are of ourselves. It will have to be established what its
capabilities are before we can say for certain, but it holds some of the greatest
potential be make us better human beings than anything that has preceded it. Its
possible that we could evolve in a relatively short time into a super human race. With
the possibility that our conscious existence could maintain itself in some form or
another indefinitely. Possibly allowing us to become immortal. The development of
this technology is without a doubt one of the most important tasks our species will
ever attempt. The need to make information about Remote Neural Technology
available desperately needs to be addressed. The American people are afraid of RNT
as a general rule. They have good reason to be. Our government chooses to keep us in
the dark about the capabilities of RNT. It is entwined in covert espionage, invasion of
intellectual property, human and civil rights violations, and all sorts of evilness. The
truth is as long as we allow ourselves to be kept in the dark about RNT those are real
and serious dangers. Now heres the good news, They cant do that to us if we talk
about it. When enough human beings have enough information, the call will go out
to stop the madness and quit being afraid of the truth. When we all know the other as
well as he knows himself, there will be no need to fear that someone may find out
your insecurities. We will be able to prevent evil deeds because they will be known
before they happen. The possibilities are as infinite as the stars. My family has seen
enough to know that soon we will all know that RNT is being used on us. I have
debated this problem for thousands of hours and I do not have the answers. I know
from my experience that being able to look someone in the eye and tell them that I am
100% certain that I am not schizophrenic and RNT can do what I have told you about,
they lose some of their grip on my soul. Let There Be Light

The background of the invention is described in the patent application as follows,

(Ritchey, K. U.S. Patent Application No. 20130063550, 03/14/14)
[0003] An important objective of mankind is to overcome manmade and natural
limitations through the use of invention and design; with the primary goal being to
eventually overcome mortality. The present invention is aimed at furthering that goal
by the disclosure and use of a data logging and memory enhancement system and
method. While humans have the natural ability to pass on physical attributes via
genetics directly through reproduction, humans do not naturally ability to pass
memory and thought processes through reproduction. Only very recently have
humans had the ability to not just evolve but to determine how they evolve.
Traditionally, environment caused changes in man's evolution, often taking many
generations and thousands to millions of years for significant changes to naturally
occur. But increasingly humans can use modern procedures and technological
advances to instantly change their make-up. Increasingly modern technology is being
offered that goes beyond traditional maintenance of the human faculties we are born
with and is providing systems and methods to substitute, replace, or enhance what
humans are provided with naturally at birth. The artificial heart, the Dobelle Eye, and
growing artificial body parts, using stem cells to differentiate into host cells, and
genetic engineering are just a few examples. This invention is aimed at providing
"designed evolutionary" systems and methods that accomplish this type of utility. Part
of being a sentient human being is realizing that there is a past, present, and future and
consideration of the consequences of one's actions. It is therefore conceived as part of
this invention that the user of the data logging and memory enhancement system,
when coupled with problem solving, mobility, and available resources, will perform
maintenance that will allow himself, herself, or itself to continue to exist in some
fashion indefinitely.
[0004] The brain is the center of all human thought and memory, constantly
perceiving the environment that surrounds us. A central objective of present invention
is developing a human internal to external space "Neural Correlates of
Consciousness" system and method for personnel data logging and memory
enhancement. This can be done by relating the activity in the mind to the activity and
subjects that the person is thinking about in the surrounding environment.
(Source:Wikipedia:Neural Correlates of Consciousness.jpg). Studies have taught us
that various senses can stimulate the central nervous center. Examples focused on in

the present invention are those which yield the most utility for learning.
Approximately 78% of all information taken in is through our eyes, 12% through our
ears, 5% through touch, 2.5% through smell, and 2.5% through taste. It is an objective
of the present invention and it will be understood to those skilled in the art that
various internal and external types of sensor systems (i.e. audio, imagery, video
camera, geospatial, position, orientation, brain activity, and biometric systems) may be
used to record sensory data and that this data may be processed in a computer to build
a correlation, transcription, and translation system for human to machine interaction.
Statistical correlations are useful in the present invention because they can indicate a
predictive relationship that can be exploited in practice. A computer can operate upon
recorded sensory data using adaptive filters (i.e. Kalaman and/or Bloom filter
algorithms implemented in computer language) to determine the correlation between
the internal and external representations to determine the strength of the statistical
relationship between internal and external representations. Threshold's for retaining,
disregarding, or acting upon the data may be based on the statistical relationships and
used to determine targeted data output. In the present invention translation is the
communication of the meaning of a source-language, be it human or machine. It is an
objective of the present invention to incorporate machine translation (MT) as a
process wherein computer program(s) analyze inter-related raw and preprocessed
sensor data and produce target output data (i.e. human understandable GUI text, video
or synthesized voice audio output into human interactive input devices of a human
user) with little or no human intervention. In the context of the current invention
computer-assisted translation (CAT), also called "computer-aided translation,"
"machine-aided human translation" (MAHT), and "interactive translation," is a form of
translation wherein a machine translation system uses machine language to create a
target language, be it human or machine, correlated with text, sub-vocalization, brain
activity, and sensory signatures of subjects and activities in the surrounding
environment with the assistance of computer program(s). It is an objective of the
present invention to use the above translations to form the basis of a relational
database which may be drawn upon by a user to perform various functions using an
improved personal digital assistant or the like as described in the present invention.

Chapter 1
Creation
The three of us were hanging on a leg, an arm, whatever we thought we could hang onto tight
enough to keep him from leaving. It had been coming for a while now. No one talked about it, but we
could feel that something wasnt right. Desperately trying to find the words that could fix whatever
was wrong, we begged for him to stay. My brother said, Dad if you would start going to church with
us again, everything will be alright, but it was no use. Im sure my parents believed it was for the
best. I dont think either one of them could foresee how important having a father is or the
consequences of the wake that started that day.
Until that day, I believed I was special. The first born son, with a genius IQ, and I was going to be
president someday. Naturally with aspirations like that, I was destined to be the head of the Baker
family. I ruled with an iron fist, riding roughshod over my brothers and sister when they failed to do
theyre chores. Irma Baker was faced with a monumental task, teaching us how to be responsible
adults and keeping a roof over our heads, while the three of us reminded her, on a regular basis, that it
might have been her fault that our father wasnt around.
Having charge of my siblings gave me a reason be responsible, but it was a lonely life for a
thirteen year old, being the warden. My brother and sister, had friends they played with. My status as
head asshole didnt do much for my popularity. The older we got the more my brothers and sister
resented me cracking the whip, so I decided that if no one was going to acknowledge that I had a
genius mind or an exemplary sense of responsibility, then I was going to reward myself by seeking the
instant gratification that everyone else got off on. Far better to be a congenial failure than be an
unappreciated hero.
When I started smoking, I suddenly had friends. We had something in common. Drinking, smoking
pot, and popping pills were the next steps I took on my path to find something that would fill my need
to be socially acceptable. My need for attention caused me to embark on a path of antisocial

destructive behavior that didnt take long to start paying dividends. Criminal charges for all the
pleasure seeking self-destructive habits I was building was one of the fruits of my self-gratifying
endeavors. The president of Mosswood Jr. High was forced to resign when he got caught stealing
beer from the store in a nearby town. The band members really got off on it though. We were playing
a concert at the high school there. It was official. I was no longer head asshole of the Baker house. I
was a friend of anyone in town who didnt give a rats ass about being responsible. My reputation as
a certified fuck up was growing like the national deficit and it would continue to do so until I packed
my shit and burnt the road up.
There were a few bright spots along the way. I was determined to do everything in my power to
conduct myself as responsibly as was absolutely necessary to attempt to remain off of the local jail
roster. My sense of responsibility diminished at a rate proportionate to whatever the pending threat of
incarceration was. When I was in incarceration alert mode, I occasionally showed signs of being
normal. My family interpreted that behavior as something that I might do on a regular basis. HA.
Someone who knows me might say that I possibly took advantage of, or manipulated situations, to
cause this effect on my family. Whatever degree of deceit I perpetrated in these matters, I was always
quick to see an opportunity presenting itself to me. Between my family thinking I deserved a hand and
me thinking I needed a hand out, I served them up a not so tasty dish of disappointment more often
than not. Step one, let them see that I could, step two, use self-denial skills to convince myself it
really was possible, and step three, let my addictive behavior determine the outcome of whatever
arrangement or agreement I had entered into with them. This meant that my family would be given, in
lieu of whatever I had originally promised, the right to tell themselves that I wasnt worthy of their
blessings and they were right for not helping me. I received for my participation, the feeling of relief
that came with the disruption of my spiritual exploration and uncertainty of being sober. Whether it
was manipulation or cause and effect, the bottom line was that I had been restored to my familiar
dysfunctional existence that I knew and loved so dearly?
My travels were not my own, no matter which path I was on. Whether I was mapping out the
uncharted regions of sobriety or blinding myself with drugs in order to deny the existence of those
locations, I always made sure I had a hostage. When I was using, I needed someone, to at least
pretend to be my friend. After all, loneliness was the reason for my irresponsible behavior in the first
place. When I was clean, I thought if my loved ones could see how difficult the road was for me, they
might begin to believe it was not worth it for me to continue down its path. If they didnt empathize
with me, then they needed to be assaulted in the unfamiliar sensitive places that our journey down the
pathways of my sobriety had led us to. Places where they had not yet constructed defense
mechanisms, like the ones that had been researched and developed over the years of learning to cope
with my destructive addiction, in order to protect their fragile egos. I suppose these dysfunctional codependent relationships I cultivated with the unfortunate ones who let me, served to maintain a certain
level of integrity for us. They got to affirm their belief that I was a fucked up individual, and I got to
expose a few of their previously unacknowledged character flaws, possibly causing them to question
their desire to see me live a sober life. No matter what they thought or felt about me using, there was
an unmistakable look of relief, when I succeeded in failing to stay clean.
There were times when I considered suicide as a possible career choice. My inability to cope
with life on lifes terms, the losses of my loved ones when they were forced to preserve their sanity
by distancing themselves from me, and my grave disappointment that I would never be perceived as
the genius I so desperately wanted them to see was obscured in a cloud of blinding fog that the insane
actions of my addictive behavior caused to descend around me. Many people tried to help me stay

clean over the years. They likely damaged their self-esteem by attempting to do the impossible. Im
sure I left most of them feeling disappointed, angry, and hurt that they couldnt help me. Smith and
Wilson will tell you that, there are some unfortunates who are constitutionally incapable of being
honest with themselves and it is not their fault that they cannot be helped. I am not one of the
unfortunates who can't be honest with himself, I am one who is constitutionally incapable of believing
that all my problems are self-inflicted.

Chapter 2
Qualifications
I was thirteen years old and totally incorrigible. I was stealing money from my mother to buy pot, I
didnt give a damn about school, and I was too cool and too smart to be told what to do. My mothers
choice to tell the police about the pot growing in my closet, must have been a painful one. The
feelings of guilt and denial, caused by the fact that she sold me out because she couldnt deal with all
of the problems we had and somehow felt responsible must have caused her much grief. I understand
she probably didnt know what else to do. I have forgiven her for doing it. I still struggle however,
with her refusal to tell me the truth about the affair, until fifteen years later. The pot charges were the
first on my rap sheet. The entire state, even the governor knew I had been busted for pot. Mosswood
was a small town. I was marked as a doper and my reputation preceded me wherever I went. There
would be many more crimes I would commit and be convicted of, before I left that little valley.
When I had gotten myself into enough trouble, I went to live with my father. Montgomery, Alabama
was a big city and no one knew anything about me. I didnt know anyone so I stayed clean for a while,
but it was the seventies and everyone was getting high. It didnt take long for me to find out where to
get dope. As quickly as possible, I returned to the self-gratifying behavior that got me there in the first
place. My dad was too overwhelmed, I believe, to offer much life altering guidance to me, so he tried

to keep me out of trouble and for the most part let me figure things out for myself. Like I said,
Montgomery was a big city and no one noticed that I was doing the same things I did in Mosswood.
The difference was I got away with it. I was using and stealing from people when they would buy
drugs from me. Between my brother and our friends, we met a lot of people and every chance we got
we ripped one of them off for whatever we could. Retaliation from the victims, didnt amount to much
most of the time. They would usually just cut their losses and move on and we would set our sights on
the next one. I began learning to support myself by working. I was far from being responsible, but I
was paying my own way, most of the time.
Eventually, I created enough problems for myself, that when my sister was critically injured in an
auto accident, it took me about two seconds to use that as an excuse to put myself on a plane back
home. I used the money that I had swindled out of a drug deal to buy a ticket on a plane. When I got to
Seattle, I found my sister in a coma, her hair still caked with blood from the injuries she sustained in
the accident. My mother and I decided that the only way to clean her head up was to cut her hair. I cut
it off the best I could. When she woke up, a few days later, she was pissed because someone had cut
her hair. She said the cops did it. I tried to tell her that I had to do it, but she did not want to hear that
and would not believe it. She had beaten the odds. I wasnt going to lose my little sister yet.
The concussion caused her to be deaf in one ear and changed her personality forever. Before the
accident, she was carefree and a little irresponsible. She didnt worry about too much. Her injuries
caused her to be paranoid, disoriented, and she had no sense of humor, but at least she was alive. I
remember how worried I was then that she was going to die. I truly did not want to lose her. She
made me feel loved and respected my opinions. I felt closer to her than anyone else in my life. She
doesnt remember much about that time in her life or the relationship we had back then.
I do know that she remembers our sexual explorations as children. She has never mentioned them
to me, but someone close to her has. To hear that persons account of the matters, youd think I was a
serial child molester. I hope my sister doesnt feel that way. I was eight, my brother seven, and sis
was six. She had a friend who was seven or eight who stayed the night sometimes. My brother and I
had found a stash of pornographic magazines, some rubbers, and other novelties in an abandoned
house. We were fascinated with the pictures and tried to figure out what those people in the magazines
were doing to each other. Before you knew it, my brother and I convinced my sister to let us check her
out. Long story short, we explored each others private parts and we got off on it. There were the
physical sensations that even seven year olds could recognize as something that felt good. Im sure
those feelings werent any more intense than the thrill of doing something we werent supposed to.
Our parents had never pointed their finger at us and said dont do that. Yet, we knew what we were
doing was wrong because there was a little voice inside our heads that told us it was. I dont
remember exactly what I thought was wrong with touching my sister and her friend. I doubt that I even
thought about it being incest. Im sure I was no more ashamed of touching one than the other. If I
remember right, we never got caught, there was no actual penetration, and as abruptly as it began, it
stopped. I never touched my sister again, nor did my brother.
When I heard that my sister was saying that I was a deviate for what I did to her, I ask myself if it
could have scarred her that deeply. I tried to talk to her about it and she didnt want to discuss it. I ask
myself if I was old enough to be held accountable or not. I was the oldest, I knew something was
wrong with it, but an eight year old kid is not responsible for decisions involving sexual morality in
my book.
I had a fairly normal curiosity as far as sex was concerned while growing into puberty. I
remember fucking anything I could in my early teens. The sexual encounters I had in my early teens

where pretty normal. It was hard enough just getting laid, so I didnt try too many new things. The
beginnings of not wanting to complicate sex by having a woman or anyone else involved led to my
discovering that I could take care of my needs all by myself. I didnt have to feel obligated to please
someone else. I didnt worry about her talking about what I liked to do. Getting yourself off was a lot
easier than trying to get off with someone who didnt know what to do for you and was too busy trying
to get herself off to worry about what you wanted. I would never have a broken heart because I didnt
want to be with me anymore. I figured out then that I liked having something in my ass and I didnt
need anyone else to help me with that. It wasnt something I could share or talk about, but I knew what
I liked. Most of my wives and girlfriends didnt like it, so I tried not to let them know how often I
indulged my desires. Over the years, I became more aware of what got me off.
I wound up being alone for a few years after my wife died. The way I saw it, there werent any
women I wanted around me for any length of time anyway. They were all lying, conniving, scandalous
bitches that were going to use me for whatever they could, if I let them. I was not as wise as I
imagined I was. Most of the time, I came out on the short end of things when I let one of them in too
close. Just about the time she was walking away with whatever it was she had wanted from me, it
would dawn on me that I had been fucked. When I had seen enough of it to recognize it for what it was
before I got took, they more or less quit coming around at all.
My family, if I were to try and explain their feelings when they had to acknowledge my existence,
probably felt disgust first. After they were able to keep their dinner down, they possibly laughed to
themselves as they thought about how stupid I looked to them. Before 2003, I wasnt trying to tell
them why I acted so foolish, so the only anger they probably felt was because everyone knew I was
kin to them. I bet if they were honest about it, they would admit that they just wished I would go away
and be as far from them as I could. If I am honest, I have to admit that they had grounds to feel that
way.
My denial was not as strong as theirs would turn out to be, but it was powerful enough to let me
ignore the irresponsible, self-destructive, selfish, drug addicted, way I was living, allowing me to
live in a fantasy world where I was not out of control and I was leading a productive life. The line for
me gets blurry when I try to figure out whether or not my family applied themselves to things that
would bring failure upon my life. It wasnt like I needed any help to fall short of my goals. Success is
a commodity that is hard to come by for a meth addict. The repairs we attempted to make on the
useless follies we fascinated ourselves with rarely saw completion. The odds that I would not be
able to repair whatever it was I was working on, and it would probably never work again were very
good. It isnt easy to see that your perception of what you are doing is distorted and youre not getting
an accurate reading of how useful or productive it is. The euphoria youre feeling wont let you tell
yourself that what youre doing is not something thats beneficial for you. That is information you
wont get from the omnipotent release of chemically, electrically, enhanced neural ignitions of
euphoria. Not ever. You will only become aware that you are not as good as you have been telling
yourself you are, when you have seen enough of your efforts in ruins to convince you that what youve
been doing isnt working.
Smith and Wilson would say that when you get there, you might have a chance to help yourself, if
youve amassed enough failures. In todays society though, getting to that place is barely reason
enough to regroup, let alone go to rehab. I just stepped back and assessed my behavior, made a few
modifications, and told myself I could deal with my short comings. Trade off some invincibility for
some caution and some self-confidence for humility. Justify your addiction by not letting yourself be
looked at like a fool whose looking at life through a crystal ball that makes everything appear to be

larger than life and better than it is. Accept that you have spent your time in an unproductive,
unrealistic, existence and you couldnt or wouldnt see what the people around you saw, like there
was possibly something delusional about your beliefs and that your reasoning powers were only
running on three cylinders, even though they probably never shared any of those revelations with you.
Careful examination of my life, brings to mind the ten, give or take, crossroads where I found
myself in a difficult situation, where I was forced to choose to embark on a journey down a pathway
that I did not want to travel. My addiction didnt care if I had any options when I had to decide which
way to turn at those junctions where ruin, opportunity, promise, and despair, all came together. Using
renders us incapable of making choices that require us to be in control of our faculties, and takes us to
places that have different rules than the places where responsible sober human beings go to make
choices that affect their lives. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Thats the
way it is as far as I know it. These equal and opposites have consequences that are equally as
proportionate to the reaction as the reaction is to the original action. There is no measuring stick or
mathematical system to gauge the magnitude of these events with. There are no standardized minimum
or maximum damage requirements to qualify the event or events. There are not many constants in the
human properties of freedom reduction and appropriate limitations act, but most of the time, they are
the last choices we would have taken, if our irresponsible choices had not factored our negative
actions onto the freedom minus choice limitation side of the equation, greatly diminishing the quantity
of our options. At least I never had to worry about drug use not being a part of whatever the problem
that had found me was. I could be sure of that, and that no matter how fucked I was, if and when I
crawled out from under the shit pile I was in, the drugs would be there waiting for me as if I had
never left. Not many things in this world can boast of such an unconditional commitment.

Chapter 3
Revelations
That sixty-seven days was the longest I'd ever been in jail. I remembered the morning I got
sentenced. I hadn't paid my fine and I had no prospects of getting it paid any time soon. The judge
said, sit in jail". I saw it coming, but I kept telling myself that something would happen and I
wouldn't have to go to jail. There was still hope, I thought maybe I could get alternative sanctions or
home monitoring. After a day or so in jail, Jack Hawkins, called me down to booking to talk about it.
I had been on house arrest once before. I failed a drug test one day before I was supposed to be done
with it and I had to go back to jail for ten more days. Jack asked me what would be different this time.
I told him that I was living on my own now and I had learned my lesson the last time. He said he
would see if I might be able to do house arrest and I was hopeful. Faye had been talking to the
alternative sanctions people. She said they had told her that I probably wouldn't get to do it.
The next day Jack called me to booking again. I'm was thinking, alright, I got it. When I got to
booking, Jack looked at me and said, "You ran from the Sheriff and you broke into your mothers
house. There's no way youre getting home monitoring". I tried to explain that I didn't break into my
mothers house, but he wouldn't listen to any of it. "Get your ass back to your cell and do your time",
he said.
As I walked back to my cell, trying to figure out why shit was falling from the sky on me, two
guards were walking down the hall. They looked at me and asked what was wrong. I told them and
asked if they would help me to be a trustee. They said that Jack was in charge of the work crews, but
they would try. The next day, when I was called in the exam room, so I could be given a physical to
see if I was ok to be a trustee, the nurse started checking my eyes, nose, mouth, and then my ears. She
took her otoscope and looked in my ear. I felt something wet run down my neck from my ear. I turned
and looked over at her. She was standing on her tip toes and it seemed as though she was looking in
my ear with her naked eye. I thought it was strange for her to do that. What could she see with her
naked eye that she hadn't seen with her scope?
She finished checking me out and sent me on my way. The next day I got to be a trustee. A few
days later I began feeling really dizzy. Every time I moved my head, I felt like I was drunk. The room
spun around and I wanted to puke. I stayed dizzy and my sinuses were bleeding for the next three or
four weeks.
I was working in the kitchen. I was happy that I was getting a third off of my time for this and it
was a lot better than setting in a cell all day. I was able to make myself unpopular with most of the
inmates in the tank, though, so after thirty days as kitchen, I got a chance to go to work crew. It didn't
give you as much time off your sentence, but you got to smoke when you left the jail to go to work, so
I decided to get out of the kitchen and go to the work crew.
Calling Faye three times a day, was probably the dumbest thing I could have done. It caused me
to worry about things that I had no control over. I let my feelings about those things influence my
attitude and my behavior, it caused me a lot of problems in the jail. I had been on work crew for two

days, when I was talking to Faye on the phone. She said she was scared the cops were going to set her
up, to frame her. She said that the cops wanted to bust her bad and she was scared to go home. I tried
to tell her not to worry. The next day the jailer came in the cell and asked if anyone wanted to go to
kitchen help. I volunteered because it would get me home a day or two sooner.
I had pissed off one of the inmates in the kitchen tank when I left there by running my mouth and
slamming the door. His name was old school" and he hadnt forgotten about it. Id have to say that I
wasn't welcomed back with open arms. The other inmates were pissed about the way I had treated
"old school" when I left and they were suspicious of me because I had left and come back so soon.
They accused me of being a rat. I told them that wasn't true and tried to apologize that night for the
way I had acted.
The next morning, as I was waiting for the door to open so I could go to work, I was talking to
one of the other inmates. It was four in the morning and Dick, a boy I hadn't gotten along with before I
went to work crew, started telling me to shut my mouth. I told him in a voice that hinted at ,"Dick, I
like to respect you and shut my mouth, but I am not going to let you believe the reason I did was
because you told me to", to go back to sleep. He kept telling me to shut up and I kept telling him to go
back to sleep until it turned into go fuck yourself you chicken shit, candy ass, punk bitch piece of shit
or go back to sleep. The next thing I knew, there were four or five guys crowding in on me. I wound
up getting punched a couple times by Dick. He didnt hit me very hard and I didn't fight back. I just
stood up hit the buzzer to open the door, and when it opened about two seconds later, I walked out.
Two jailers just happened to be walking by the tank when I stepped into the corridor. They could see I
was upset and they asked me what happened. Before I thought, I told them that we had been fighting.
When the jailer ask the inmates in the tank what had happened, the ones I had pissed off earlier,
said I was the one who started the fight. The list of people in that jail that I hadnt managed to piss off
one way or another, was short enough that it could have been written on a couple of Zig Zag rolling
papers. They made me do most of the rest of my time in cell. I tried to bitch a little. It wasnt doing
anything except making me less popular with everyone, and eventually I figured out that I'd be better
to shut my mouth. Going around telling everyone how pissed off you are because you have been
screwed over by the jailers and the system they use to run the jail, is only going to cause you more
problems. When I finished my time I thought all I had to do was pay my child support. I would have it
made. I wasn't going to be on probation, I didn't have any fines to pay, and I didn't have to go to
treatment classes.
I had survived the Scenic County Jail. When the guard told me to call Faye and tell her to be
there at midnight, I was feeling like I had beaten the system. It almost felt like I was in control. I had a
home to go to, a woman, and the three months of clean time had given me a new confidence in myself.
She was sitting in the Camaro I had bought her scratching a lottery ticket. I walked up to the
window and gave her a kiss. She reached into the back seat and handed me a beer. We pulled off the
road on the way home to get high and have sex. Neither of those things seemed to bring the pleasure
or satisfaction I had hoped that they would. I tried to ignore it, but the feelings of doubt and mistrust
couldnt be denied
I loved Faye, but she could never be trusted. Before I went to jail, I told her, "If you want to be
with someone, you have my blessing. You didn't ask to be alone and I want you to be happy". My
permission wasnt something she was worried about or needed. She did what she wanted when she
wanted. I guess I was hoping for a little honesty from her, to feel like something we had was bigger
than the mess I was in, and we would be there when it was over.
She had maintained the whole time I was incarcerated, that she had been faithful to me. When I

found rubbers in the trash as I was burning it, I asked her again if she wanted to tell me anything, not
saying anything about my discovery. She still swore she had been true. When I told her about the
rubbers, she said they must have been her girlfriend Ericas. When she finally admitted to me, three
days later, that she had been with someone, it was too little, too late. I would never trust her again and
I didn't want to be with her if I couldn't. She cried and said she would be honest with me from now
on. Against my better judgment, I decided to give her another chance.
It was after I had been home for three days, that I began hearing whispers in my house. Fayes
deception had caused me to question everything she told me. I had always been insecure about her
loyalty, but now I would never again completely believe anything she said. It seemed that the
whispers I was hearing, were coming from Faye. I thought perhaps she was whispering to her lovers
outside the trailer or they were whispering back to her.
Never being one who could stand a moment of silence, Faye was constantly humming or
murmuring to herself so she did not have to endure the silence. I asked her if she heard the whispers I
thought I was hearing. She tried to listen for them the first couple of times I asked, but it didnt take
long for her to tell me I was going nuts. The whispers continued and they became more concise. I was
hearing words and phrases now. Mostly they were saying it was Faye I was hearing or her lover
outside the house. Are you going to fuck me to night, Faye"? They would ask. They also said things
like, "dont you say a motherfucking word" and what time are you coming out tonight? I didnt
believe Faye and her lovers were running around my house whispering to each other, but there was
something going on that was very strange. I did not feel like my life was in danger. If someone was
causing me to hear the things I was hearing, I didnt think they would want to harm me physically.
When I think about it today, I want to hurt someone. After fourteen years of trying to understand what
Ive experienced, I cant help but believe they were probably trying to kill me. Was I being assaulted
by some kind of remote control suicide technology that could be silenced only by my demise, so I
would take my own life in order to stop the madness?

Chapter 4
Introductions

It was one in the morning, where in the hell was she? She'd been gone all day. I hoped she hadn't
gotten busted. I knew it was far more likely that she was off screwing around. "Maybe I'll get lucky
and she won't ever come back", I told myself. That was the truth. I loved her, but Faye could never
love anyone too much because she was a selfish, spoiled little brat. She did keep a nice house and she
had been there for me while I was in jail, but a man would have to be a fool to believe she would be
faithful. I was ok with her screwing around with other guys. She never admitted that she was and I
didn't want her to. That way we didn't have to talk about it. I only needed her to keep me high and be
the one who knew what got me off. She enjoyed watching me and I was grateful that I could be myself
with her. She let me do whatever I wanted in the bedroom.
As I stood there looking out the window, wondering when she would be home, I realized there
was a strange noise outside the house. A bullfrog? That's what it sounded like, but there were not too
many bullfrogs, in Cispus. No, it was more like some kind of synthesizer. Listening closer, I realized
it was a voice or voices. "Butt fucker, homo, get out of my house you faggot", they growled. I thought I
was too high and I didn't really hear what I thought I had heard. Then I heard it again. I jerked away
from the window. What in the hell was going on?
That was the first time I had been afraid of them. "Someone is out there and they wanted to hurt
me", I thought. I eased back over to the window and I heard them again. "Fucking homo, butt fucker,
get out of that house or we will kill you". I dropped to the floor, afraid they would see me standing
there listening. Why would someone be out in my yard saying those things to me? As I listened I
thought about it. Was it my neighbors? Maybe it was Faye playing tricks on me?
Who or whatever it was it sounded totally menacing and completely evil. I listened closer trying
to figure out where the sound was coming from. As I peeked out the window it appeared as though it
was coming from the large metal building in the neighbors yard. That had to be it. They had just
moved in a few months ago and I didn't know much about them. I couldn't understand why they would
be doing this, if it was them. I wasn't a homo. I thought maybe Faye had told them something about me
to be spiteful. Maybe, I reasoned, they had been peeking in my windows and seen something. All I
knew was that I was scared, angry, and hurt that someone was doing this.
Eventually I worked up the courage to stick my head out the window and ask, "Who the hell are
you and what do you want"? They just continued growling in their ominous tone. "Get your ass out
of the county you little faggot! Homo. We'll kill you. You piece of shit." "I'm not a fucking homo
motherfucker", "why are you doing this to me", I shouted. There was no answer. "They" just kept on
droning the same bullshit.
I kept asking who they were and why they were doing this to me, but I never did get a real
response, only homo or faggot. I slumped back down to the floor, wishing someone would pull in the
driveway. I was expecting them to come busting through my door any second. I felt like Satan
himself had come to get me. I had not done anything to those people to bring this on. There was no
reason for anyone to treat me like this. I sat there and listened and tried to reason for a while, but
there seemed to be no reason.
I finally got up off the floor and went into my bedroom. I got in my bed and curled up like a baby.
Faye would be home soon, I told myself. It seemed like "they" would never stop. I kept waiting for
someone or something to inflict the physical pain on me that they were threatening me with. I was
sure I would die before the night was over.
I found the phone and called my mother. I told her that I thought Faye had given me something that
was making me experience these hallucinations. She pretended like it was nothing to worry about.
The next day I recalled everything that had happened that night and it seemed that there was no one

that could be responsible for it. Surely I was hallucinating from the dope she gave me. Faye listened
to me as I told her about it and she assured me she was not responsible. She held me as if she could
keep me safe somehow and I tried to imagine she could.
That night when everything settled down, I began hearing something that appeared to be outside
my bedroom window, whispering, "homo, what were you so afraid of last night? I tried not to panic.
The voice was softer and not so ominous. I heard "them" tell me if I didnt change the way I was
living, I was going to have to leave my home. They said, that "they" were part of a neighborhood
watchdog group and that "they" were going to harass me until I complied with their demands.
The voice said, "we are the neighborhood vigilante redemption committee and we ain't gonna
allow no dopers or perverts in our neighborhood. We are going to take back our neighborhoods and
our schools for our children. We are going to take your dope, you love so much, and shove it down
your throat. We are going to take your computer and shove it down your throat. We are going to take
your cameras and your microphones and shove them down your throat. Then we are going to take
your porno and shove it up your ass".
Then I heard, "this is the neighborhood vigilante redemption committee and we are going to
take back our neighborhoods for our families and our children and you are going to feel the wrath of
the neighborhood vigilante redemption committee".
I was in shock. There was a vigilante mob harassing me, with some kind of covert weapons
technology, and they knew all my dirty little secrets. They were a bunch of lily white, Christian,
citizens, who had banded together with the single common purpose of making my nasty, white trash,
useless ass, hate my life.
Who could it be out there saying these things to me. How could they know about these things? It
had to be someone who had been talking to Faye or someone had been looking in my windows and
seen me getting myself off. It would have to be someone who lived nearby. As I lay there trying to
make sense of it, I heard the voice get louder and more sinister.
"This is the Scenic County Sheriffs Department, we may not have the right to tell you how to
live your life, but we have the technology to make your life a living hell", "they" said. I remembered
the episode at the jail. It couldn't be possible, but it seemed as likely as explanation as I could
imagine. Eight months earlier, when I was serving ten days for non-compliance on a DUI, I wasnt
given credit for nearly twenty-five hours in custody. I mouthed off to the booking officer when I was
being released and told him he needed to do his job and let people out when he was supposed to. His
reply was, I do let people out when Im supposed to. You need to get off the meth. I put on the most
self-righteous leer of indignation I had in my bag and stated, thats my business, you dont have the
right to tell me how to live my life. That was the end of our little chat. He grabbed me by the back of
my neck and marched me to the door, where he gave me a little shove, to make sure I made it all the
way out I guess. I hadnt thought about it much until now.
I thought about giving up the drugs so "they" would not do it to me anymore. "If I do what they
want me to, I'm sure I will be rewarded", I told myself. I tried to tell Faye what I believed, but she
wasn't buying any of it. When I told her that "they" did not want me doing dope, she wouldn't listen.
She had a habit and if I did not enable her, she would find someone else to do it. My addiction was
stronger than any fear of this unseen evil.

Chapter 5
A Prophet
The next day I decided I was going to find out who they were. I set up microphones all over the
house and outside too. I told Faye that I was doing it. She got pissed off. I had been asking her if she
had heard the whispers or if she was talking to someone and she said "no she didn't hear them and she

wasn't talking to anyone." I tried to tell her that I wasn't putting mics out to try to catch her lying. It
was to find out where the whispers were coming from. She only saw it as an effort to catch her. I
heard them say Dont you say a fucking word, are you gonna come out tonight?, and "do me
Faye". The problem was, I was the only one that heard the voices. I let our friends to listen to the
tapes, but nobody heard anything.
Scenic County was the most likely suspect, but there were a lot of reasons to believe it wasnt
possible and I wasnt convinced. It had to be a conspiracy. Faye had her friends lying for her, either
to drive me crazy or to cover up her affair she must be having. Who else would want to do this to me?
I believed Faye might have wanted me to be nuts, so she could have my house while I was living it up
at the funny farm.
I didn't let the fact that no one else could hear, change my mind about what I thought was
happening to me. I continued recording. "They" talked about Faye fooling around, me being a homo,
and tried to convince me that I was losing it. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like when I was listening to
the recordings I had made, "they" would say one thing, and say something a little bit different when I
listened to them the second or third time. There wasn't much difference, but I thought there was some
difference. I was still the only one who heard anything. It had to be a plot against me, I just knew it. It
would take some time for me to realize that the voices I was hearing weren't recorded on the tapes.
"They" were talking as I listened to the tapes to make me believe that I was hearing "them" on the
tape.
After a few more days, I stopped being so afraid of "them". When "they" tried to tell me Faye
was fooling around, I would say that I didn't care and that she was a big girl and she could do what
she wanted. That's when they started offering different reasons why this was being done to me.
"They" said "they", had cameras and mics hidden in my house and that's how "they" were able to
talk to me and know what I was doing. I searched every inch of my house and found nothing. I tried to
convince myself some little piece of plastic or metal was some type of surveillance device, but I
really hadn't found a thing. That had to be the answer. How else could they be doing it? I thought
maybe "they" were somehow able to "gas" me and cause me to hallucinate. At that time, I had no
internet to search for answers on. No one had ever talked to me about the possibility that someone
could read my mind and communicate with me in a way that was impossible. They talked about how
they were using thermal imaging technology to see what I was doing.
Looking back, I see that the phenomenal sensation of having someone in my head, compromised
my belief system as far as what was possible and what was not. The line between rational thought and
irrational no longer existed. They were making comments about everything I thought about, what I
was looking at, things I wasnt thinking anything at all about, and I was searching every inch of my
mind to try to figure out how to keep them from knowing something I was thinking about. If I had
discovered that I was suddenly able to fly, it might have been easier to believe than this was. My
reasoning was messed up. It seemed to me that someone had to be using some kind of "remote"
technology on me. I could not think of anything else that could explain the things I was experiencing. I
didn't have the internet to search for answers on.
Forty some odd years of living, and I had never spent more than a few seconds wondering if
something like what was happening to me was even possible. I always did have an active
imagination, but I believe, and I hope some of the people who know me well enough, can say to
themselves, at least, that I didn't let my imagination get the best of me very often, but occasionally it
did. Five years ago, I would have dismissed "them" as a hallucination. If you ask someone who knew
about the problems I was having back then, I want to believe theres a chance that they might say that I

was doing everything I could to reason out the experiences I was struggling with and I weighed out all
the possible reasons that they were doing it to me, before I acted on anything they told me that they
wanted me to do. From the very beginning though, I would take a chance on looking stupid if I had an
opportunity to challenge their motives. I believed the people around me would be able to see that I
was not telling myself to do things that I knew were going to make me look foolish and the others
would observe my insane behaviors and my history, and see that I was a lunatic. It was only obvious
that my brain was fried from my drug use and that was why I was going around getting people to call
911 for me in the middle of the night.
It didn't take Faye long to get tired of the bullshit. We grew further apart every day. I wanted to
believe she didn't know what was going on. My suspicious mind was being fueled by the thoughts
"they" perpetrated and I could not keep from thinking Faye had to be involved. "They" were offering
up other possibilities, but "they" still made sure I thought Faye was involved. I would pour my heart
out and tell her what "they" said and she would hold me and tell me that it wasn't her. I couldn't make
myself believe she wasn't involved for more than a day or so, because they kept the fire fueled.
She got off on playing games and she liked to make me think she was doing something sneaky
even when she wasn't. She liked to make comments about peoples habits or behavior that said
something about them, but you had to be listening to get what she saying. Most of the time the person
never realized that they were being made fun of. Sometimes she would joke about something she had
done wrong, telling on herself, but not really. She would always have this knowing smile or grin on
her face when she did it like everybody knew how she was and she wasnt going to be in trouble for
whatever it was she had done. She had fun toying with people, especially me.
When I wasnt worried enough that Faye was the one who was responsible, "they" started telling
me that my neighbors were responsible for what was happening to me. "They" want me to tell you,
that "they" wanted me to think, that I was blaming others, because I didn't want Faye to be responsible
for it. "They" said, that was what a schizophrenic person does. It would be a couple of years before
I stopped thinking she was involved. "They" would make sure that I suspected her until she left my
house for good.
While I was in jail, a local prophet, named John Riggs, was killed when a car he was working
under fell off the blocking he had used to jack it up. I had met him a few times, but I didn't know him
very well. One of Faye's friends, Dean Light, was the first one to find him. When he called the cops to
report it, he refused to give his name because he had a warrant and he didn't want to be arrested. The
Sheriff did not respond until a couple hours later.
Dean had been living with John's ex-wife. The rumor was that Dean had killed John because John
was trying to get the kids from his ex. Like I said, I didn't know John that well, but after he died, I
found out that he talked about being harassed by voices too. When I found this out, "they" told me that
he had been killed because he "wouldn't keep his mouth shut". "They" said, Dean had done it for
"them" to keep from going back to prison. I thought about the technology "they" might have and I
wondered if "they" might have broken one of the blocks John was using with a beam of some sort.
"They" told me, "that if I didn't shut my mouth, I would be next".
One day Faye told me she was going to have Dean fix her car because I was working on someone
elses truck and I had to get it done. I wasn't crazy about the idea, but what could I say. I never trusted
Dean very much and the rumors about Johns death didn't help. Faye and he were close. When he
asked me if I had a hammer a little bigger than a claw hammer, I didn't think much about it. I got him
one. When I handed it to him, he began wiping it off with a rag. As he was wiping, he asked me if I
could give him a hand with the rear end under Faye's car.

As Dean wiped the hammer handle, I imagined that he was wiping the fingerprints off of the
hammer he was going to knock me in the head with and drop Faye's car on me. I got up and jerked the
hammer out of his hand and asked him, "what in the fuck is going on here"? Faye and Dean looked at
each other, as if one could explain my behavior to the other.
I somehow realized that I wasn't thinking clearly about what was really happening here. I went
into my room to think. Faye came in behind me and tried to calm me down. I told her I was losing it
and I didn't know what was wrong with me. I apologized to Dean and helped him under the car that
night. Soon after we finished on the car, Dean was getting ready to leave. When he put his coat on, I
noticed that there were white powder handprints on the back of it. Faye left right behind him. My
fears and suspicions weren't unfounded. They would be living with each other in a week or two.
When we first started communicating, "they" played on my desire to figure things out by starting
a sentence and letting me finish it. "They" would muffle or mumble the last part of what "they" said. I
was listening so intently and wanted to find some reason for what they were doing to me so badly,
that I didn't realize they were doing this. They would say something, and believing that I had heard
them say something, that in reality, I had said for them, I would reply. I don't know how many hours of
conversation I had with myself thinking I was talking to them. The words would always get muffled
went they were supposed to be telling me details about what was happening.
The way you hear what "they" are saying, is so much like the way a person hears his own thoughts,
that if you don't listen very carefully "they" will mumble or drop off a word or words, and you find
yourself anticipating the next word in a sentence "they" are saying. "They" aren't trying to tell you
something, "they" are in reality asking you something by letting you fill in the missing words. The
words you use to complete "their" sentences, determine what "they" will try to make you believe next.
You can kick your own ass for them, if you don't realize "they" are doing this.
I tried to clean up, but I had to want to do it, if I was going to. I loved the dope and I did not
want them to win. I was going to have some other reason if I was ever going to get clean. I tried, but I
couldn't stay clean for more than three or four days. Every time I tried, they" tormented me. Every
time I fell off the wagon. I knew what my addiction did to me when I tried to stop using, but just like
every other problem in my life, they made it worse. I became more convinced that I could never do
it. I wasn't beaten up on when I was high, so why try to stay clean. It was a vicious cycle, get high and
they were quiet or not unpleasant. When I would masturbate to relieve stress. "They" wanted me to
believe, or at least "they" acted like, "they" got off on it. "They" don't want me to talk about that
though. I enjoyed the idea of having an audience that I wasnt going to feel embarrassed or selfconscious about after I got off. Once I got used to "them" being there all the time, I imagined "them"
getting off on watching me.
When I came down, they tormented me with angry voices and senseless, endless words. I
responded by cursing them and calling them niggers. When I couldn't take it anymore, I would get
some dope and start the cycle over again. Sometimes "they" would bitch when I was high, but as long
as "they" got to experience me getting myself off, "they" were tolerable. Now, when "they" want to
threaten me, "they" tell me "they" are going to put videos of me masturbating on the internet.
"They" told me that "they", were anyone and everyone I could possibly believe "they" might be.
Guilt and resentment fueled my imagination and told me how all the reasons they offered might be
true. No matter who "they" said "they" were, I had a good reason, in my mind, to believe it could be
that person or persons. I tried to figure out if the jail could be responsible. After my stay at the county
jail, I wouldn't put anything past those bastards. I had a hard time believing that the jail would have
the resources to be able to do this to me, but I would always wonder if they weren't the ones

responsible for doing something that connected me to whoever was doing it.

Chapter 6
Comedy Central
The list of perpetrators just keeps getting longer. If it's not Faye and friends, then it must be the
neighbors. If it's not one of the neighbors, then it must be the other. One night shortly after the bullfrog
serenade, I found my neighbor Jerry, and his friend, in my backyard. I asked them what they were
doing in my yard. They were both about fifteen or so and I thought they might be playing games with
me. They said they were, "just walking through". I asked them if they had been fucking with me and
they said no. I told them I didn't want them walking through my yard anymore. The next day Jerry's
mother Lisa came over and ask me what the problem was. I told her that I thought someone was
fucking with me at night in my backyard. She and I pretty much agreed that her son probably wasn't
doing that. I apologized, but I said I'd just as soon Jerry didn't walk through the yard at night anymore
and said she would tell him not to.
"They" also tried to tell me that it was my other neighbors I had a problem with. Their real names
were Steve and Peggy. "They" told me their names were Johnny and Peggy. "They" said that Johnny
believed I was a homo and he hated me. He wanted to kick my ass and he would call me out every
night. Peggy would try to talk him out of fighting with me. He would always get mad and say, "I'll tear
you limb from limb".
"They" also said it was my other neighbors, Johnny and Trish Bulinsky, those weren't their real
names, but thats what they called them. They had moved in while I was in jail, before I started
hearing things. The bullfrogs seemed to be coming from their shop that night.
Heres how they" would lay it out for me. Johnny Bulinsky hated me because I was a doper, a
pervert, and an un-American, tax-dodging, piece of shit who had never served his country. Johnny B.
would start out every evening bitching about me and my lifestyle. Eventually, he would call his sheriff
buddy who lived down the street and he would come over. Johnny would tell him to arrest me
because he knew I was using drugs. His buddy, deputy Chambers, would tell him he couldn't do
anything about it without probable cause. Johnny would get pissed and Trish would have to calm him
down before deputy Chambers would take him to jail.
This went on for months. Sometimes deputy Chambers would tell me that he was going to bust in
my door if I didn't come outside. When I didn't come out, "they" would start counting backwards from
five. "Five, four, three, two, one". I would wait for the door to crash in but it never did. Sometimes
Johnny would be taken to jail. "They" liked to tell me that "they" had lit my house on fire too, or that
my mom was outside in the yard and she was having a heart attack. The voice I would hear, would

sound extremely similar to my moms. They could sound like nearly anyone I had ever heard speak.
When I would hear a persons voice, it might sound like that person, but there was something
about the way I perceived the personality of whoevers voice I was supposed to be hearing that it
was missing, possibly their humanness and the words and phrases they would use, werent things
that person would say.
They would call me a chicken shit son of a bitch, because, I wouldnt go outside and look to
see if they were lying to me or not. I cant begin to remember all the times I went outside to see if
someone was out there. Only once or twice, was anyone there and when there was someone out there,
they had nothing to do with what they were telling me was going on.
I had known Jerry since he was about ten, he was fourteen now. He was a little bit of a smart ass,
but not that bad. One day he and some other kids were playing in the yard. I went out to fool around
with them. Jerry had a toy gun and I took it from him. I wasn't going to keep it and he knew it, but he
got really aggressive trying to get it back. I wasn't going to let him intimidate me in front of the other
children so I didn't give it back until he got really mad. His father and mother had just split up. He
never minded anyone too much and his attitude seemed to get worse after his folks split up.
I reasoned that he could have been sneaking around my backyard, maybe looking in my window.
That might explain the homo shit. They" didn't have a bit of problem with me blaming Jerry, "They"
told me that Jerry and his family were part of a new high tech program that was being used to help
people get off drugs and that they had chosen me to try and help because they knew I had struggled
with drugs for a long time. I was too stupid to see that it was not likely, if it was even possible. I
thought, "It could be possible".
"They" helped me sort out the details surrounding the Jerry theory. Jerry was abusing this shit,
in my mind. He was having too much fun tormenting me and his mom couldn't make him behave. As I
complained more and more, the more they learned about what would push my buttons. He grew
cockier every night. "They" would try to make me believe that Jerry was tormenting me and when I
respond by cursing at him. His mom, Lisa, would start in on me for cursing her son. Most of the time,
she would tell him to apologize to me. He would say, he was going to, but I dont remember him
ever doing it. Sometimes after everything settled down at night, she would talk to me about other
things besides Jerry. She would tell me how she wanted to be with me, but she couldn't be seen with
me because of my reputation. There was no limit to the yarns "they" could spin.
"They" nearly always seemed to be coming from outside my bedroom window, whenever I was
lying in bed. I put up cameras and motion lights. I never was able to catch anyone though. Eventually I
put up a fence about four feet from the house. That didn't stop them. Then I strung barbed wire like
concertina wire. That didn't stop them. I decided to plant some holly bushes outside the window.
As I was digging up the holly in the field next to my house, I heard someone, Jerry, I thought,
saying, "homo, homo, homo". The sound seemed to be coming from Jerry's garage next door. I walked
over there, with my shovel still in my hand, to take a look. When I got over there, I didn't see anything,
but Lisa came out and asked what I was doing. I told her. She said, Jerry wasn't even home and to get
off her property. I did, but only after I argued that maybe Jerry was doing something he shouldn't be.
Half an hour later, I looked over to the neighbors on the other side of my house and saw the
sheriff. I had a warrant for child support so I left the house. I walked to the field behind the house
where I could see my house. I watched the Sheriff pull Into Lisas drive. I saw the Sheriff, Jerry, and
Lisa talking and pointing towards my house. I thought Lisa might have been lying about Jerry not being
home. The Sheriff then went over to my house and talked to Faye. I couldn't hear them. Like I said
Faye was getting fed up and I later found out she told him I was nuts and she was leaving me. He left

and she left right behind him. I waited a little while and sneaked back home. I hid my stuff and
continued to install my security system.
Two hours later, as I rounded the porch, there he was. "Freeze" the deputy shouted. I put my hands
in the air. He hooked me up and asked me about the earlier episode with the neighbors. I told him my
side of the story. He said, I needed to get off the dope, that I was paranoid.
Walking to his car, I was pleading my case that someone was messing with me. For a few days, I
had been hearing what I thought was kids singing a song." Motherfucking, butt fucking, cock sucking
hooooomoooooo". It sounded like they were walking around the block singing those words over and
over. I had a violin and I was playing the tune while they sang, trying to make light of It. I ask him if
he could hear it and he said "no". I Insisted he listen closer. He did and still it was no. I thought to
myself, He is lying.
When I got to jail, I was mortified to find the Inmates were calling me a homo, a chimo, (child
molester) and baby raper. This was worse than I could ever have imagined. Somebody has told them
to do this to me, I thought. I was about as lost as I've ever been. I almost had enough money to bail
myself out, but Faye wanted me to stay in jail for a while to see if it helped any. I felt like she might
try to keep me in there.
I couldn't figure out why the Inmates would be saying those things to me. Had the cops told them
something to get them to do it? I had heard one of the jailers call a guy, chimo as he was being put
in the tank once. The inmate asked to put in protective custody a few minutes later. I couldn't see
anyone saying that shit, but I could hear them.
I made myself accept that I was hearing things. I wasn't sure why, but no one in the cell was
walking around saying these things. I convinced Faye to bail me out. When she got there, I was
broken. I knew that something was wrong, and I knew absolutely shit about It. I was glad to be going
home and I thought maybe Faye and I might still have a chance.
When I got home, I found out that Faye and a friend of ours, had taken all the drug related Items out
of the house. I was pissed. I never liked the guy much and "they" helped me like him less. I knew he
and Faye had fooled around before. He was her ex-boyfriends kid. It bothered me and I couldn't deny
it. That night, when I went to open the window, I found my voice activated tape recorder that I had put
there before I went to jail. I turned it on and listened to what was supposed to be Faye and two men
having a threesome. I was hearing them talking to each other and saying how they were getting off on
the sex. Once again, Faye had to be involved in this bullshit, I had proof right here on the tape. Take
it easy Jeff, take it easy Joey, are you gonna come all over me? I want to but I can't right now, and on
and on.
As you probably already guessed, no one else could hear it but me. When I told Faye I had proof
she was fooling around and had been lying to me, she went ballistic. Eventually, she convinced me I
was wrong. I heard the voices on the tape and If it wasn't Faye, then it must be Jerry and his little
brother, I thought. They made the tape to cause problems with Faye. That had to be it. I wasn't done
humiliating myself yet by God, I apologized for accusing her of fooling around. She heard me, but my
apologies weren't softening her up much.
I hadn't beaten myself up enough yet , so I dropped my guard and leaned my chin out there,
where someone would not be able to stop themselves from knocking me out or at least down and I
told Faye that they were going to establish that I was not losing it, by knocking on the door. I told
her they said, they would not let her see who they were, but she would hear them knock and
know that I had told her they were going to.
I listened as Faye sat and told her friend that she was really getting tired of watching me make a

fool of myself. Both of them had been in the dope game a long time and both of them had seen others
acting like I was. Neither of them wanted to hurt me. As much as I didn't want to hear it, they did the
best they could to push me towards getting some help.
It was getting close to show time and the main attraction was nowhere in sight. I walked out on the
porch and started talking out loud to "them". I gave a heart wrenching oratory about how this sick joke
had gone on long enough. I tried to make "them" see that the longer it went on, the harder it was going
to be for "them" to forgive "themselves". I said, "if you stop now, maybe I can forgive you. I don't
know if I can or not". "Will you ever be able to forgive yourselves? I asked. "If you don't make some
kind of attempt to redeem yourselves, you will always be looking over your shoulder to see who is
looking for revenge. Will your kids ever be safe? I asked. I finally had to see it. I had bared my soul
to "them" in hopes that "they" had some small measure of humanness somewhere that might speak to
"their" hearts, and let Faye think, just for a second, that maybe I wasn't nuts, but it wasn't going to
happen.
The girls got up to leave. I asked if they could give me a ride to the store. On the way, I leaned
in for another right cross and told Faye, that "they" were going to break a window while we were
gone so she could see. She got pissed. I told her that if "they" didn't do something, that I would let her
take me to the hospital and I would put myself in rehab by saying that I wanted to hurt myself. When
we got back, I told her to wait in the car while I checked. The windows were intact. I got back in the
car so she could take me to the hospital. We headed towards Mosswood. No one was saying anything.
We had driven a couple miles, when I told Faye to turn around, that I wasnt going. I knew the truth,
even if no one ever saw it, and I wasn't going to rehab. I made Faye take me back home. After the
girls left, I sat and tried to figure out why they wouldnt let anyone else see anything. They said,
what you see is what you get, homo.
That was the beginning of the end for Faye and me. She was going to bail. She bought a fifth wheel
trailer and was staying in it most of the time. She just couldn't take much more. One night while she
was at the house with me, I thought I heard my other neighbors, Steve and Peggy, getting loud in the
yard. Anyway Steve, aka, Johnny, was always calling me a homo and saying he was going to kick my
butt. I tried to Ignore It. I wanted Faye to think I was getting better so I pretended that I wasn't hearing
it as long as I could. I believed there were some kids in the yard, about four of them. I finally asked
Faye If she wanted me to go out there and fight them or call the cops. We decided to leave and go up
to Faye's trailer.
When we got there I wasn't any better. I felt like the people whose property her trailer was on
were hiding things from me. I tried to deal with it and Faye tried to go to sleep. "That's my girlfriend
and you better get your ass out of my trailer" I heard someone shout. I was scared. I just sat there. A
few minutes later I heard, She's my girlfriend and that's my trailer and if you don't get him out of
there right now, I'm going to kill him. There was no way Faye could say she didn't hear that shit. This
joker was shouting at the top of his lungs. She didn't hear it, but I heard her say, "Youre crazy get out
of here, now". I was too scared to leave, so I calmed her down and tried to chill until morning. As
soon as it was daylight I got a ride home.
When I got there, the neighbors, Steve and Peggy, and their friends were still saying they were
going to kick my butt. I told them, if they didn't stop, I was going to call the law. They said they would
chill. They didn't chill for a minute so I called the cops.
When the deputy arrived. I let him in and told him my story. This guy was young, I thought. He
listened to me and said, I had some evidence, but I would need more than what I had to press
charges. He went and talked to Steve and Peggy, then Lisa and Jerry and then he left.

That episode was about the last straw for Faye. She stayed gone for a couple days. When she
came home she said she was moving in with Dean. I knew it was Inevitable, but I still didn't want her
to leave. I couldn't blame her.
I gave her my computer because I screwed it up, trying to keep "them" from hacking into it and
"they" had me believing that "they" were able to talk to me better through it". I didn't want to talk to
them anymore.

Chapter 7
My Friends
With Faye gone, it was a lot quieter around the house. Most of my friends were steering clear of
me because they knew if they came to visit, I would ramble endlessly about my "friends". When
someone wanted drugs, they would patronize me, telling me what they thought I wanted to hear. Now
that I wasn't selling dope as much, there were only a few people who would let me rant.
As I found myself alone more and more, I began to enjoy my conversations with "them" more
than I used too, I imagined "them" as a powerful entity that had the resources to give me everything I
wanted. Once I figured out exactly what "they" wanted from me, I would be happy". They" wanted me
to go to rehab, "they" said. I argued that, I had been to rehab and if someone is not wanting to go to
rehab", they won't stay clean anyway. I imagined that this technology was being used on me to prove
whether or not "they" could make someone go to rehab. I thought if I allowed "them" to say, that "they"
were able to make me do this, that "they" would win support for using it on people. If "they" were
allowed to use it to make someone go to rehab, what other reasons might "they" find to use it on
someone? I declared, I will go to rehab when I decide to go, not because some voice coming out of
the sky says I have to. What's next", I asked, "You going to do this to someone because he has a red
car or a Mexican girlfriend? Then I added, I am not going to tell you it is alright to do this to my
kids and their kids" I said I would never go to rehab and "they" said they would never leave me
alone if I didn't. It would be ten years later before it sunk in that if it wasnt about going to rehab, then
it would be because of whatever I felt the most insecure about. Remote control suicide" is probably
the closest Ill ever come to explaining it.
When I was high, "they" told me what I wanted to hear". They" spoke in pleasant voices most
of the time. They didn't try to make demands, they made me feel like they might care about me.

I knew that the meth made me able to hear them better. I tried to tell a few people that "it wasn't the
meth playing tricks on my mind, it was the meth enhancing my mind, allowing me hear "them" better".
That was one theory that no one, who was telling me, that I only heard voices because I was using
drugs, was going to swallow. They would never get past their reasoning that the drugs had short
circuited my brain and it wasnt possible for someone to be able to do the things I said they were
doing to me. I didn't try to say it to too many people.
What I wasn't seeing, was that when I was high, I was more easily taken in by their bullshit,
because I felt good and I wasn't so critical of "them". In the beginning, I had not yet learned the
difference between my own thoughts and self-talk and "theirs". They" would lead me into a
conversation and soon I was talking to myself and believing I was talking to "them". It took a while
before I was able to make sure they were talking to me. I wondered how they were able to know
my thoughts.
When I would do something slightly different from what I normally did, "they" would comment on
it incorrectly or inaccurately. That is "they" would be close to my thoughts about what I was doing,
but not exactly right. It seemed as if "they" had not seen some of my neural pathways before and didnt
know what they meant for sure. It's just as likely that "they" were doing that to confuse me about what
"they" were doing.
I suppose its possible, that every ones mind produces the same basic brain waves for common
events. It seems likely, that "they" might use the knowledge of common brain wave transmissions as a
starting point, and from there, "they" are able to map out an individuals more intricate neural
pathways.
"They" say, that the thing I'm not talking about right here is that, if I don't talk to "them" by
thinking about something, then "they" don't know what I'm thinking and that is the reason "they" were
wrong about what I was thinking. I don't know if thats true or not. "They" say things about memories
from far in the past when I'm not thinking about them. Now the communication between "them" and
myself is much more efficient than vocal communication. There are very few times, that I dont
understand what they're trying to say, unless "they" don't want me to understand. I dont remember
them ever asking me what I meant, when I said something to them, unless they were fishing.
Sometimes when "they" are talking to me, "they" say things about what I am thinking, but "they"
wouldnt express it like I would if I was going to say it to someone. If I was thinking, there's a red
car in front of a blue one", they" might say it like "there's a blue car behind a red one". They" use
words and phrases that I have never used, and sometimes never heard before. They" think differently
about values and ideas than I do on some ideas, but I agree with them a lot of the time. Sometimes
when I was writing this book, "they" would be telling me what to write or what not to write. I didnt
want to be told what to write and I would not be able to see why "they" wanted me to do whatever it
was "they" wanted me to do. They" would not say, why "they" were telling me that there was a
problem with doing it the way I was doing it, but when I figured it out for myself, "they" would tell
me that was the reason they" were trying to get me to do whatever it was they" wanted me to do.
Hindsight is twenty/twenty.
"They" are more chauvinistic than I am and "they" try to get me to treat women with less respect
than I normally would. When I tried to be more open and believe that "they" were my friends, "they"
were able to make me believe that doing what they wanted me to would allow someone, usually a
woman, to see that I was talking to someone. When in reality, doing what they wanted me to do was
only going to make me look foolish and /or psychotic. I was more susceptible to their lies when I was
high.

When I was not high or was coming down of the dope, they used more menacing voices and
tactics. "They" spoke in incomplete sentences". They" mumbled words so they were unrecognizable.
I would get frustrated or fill in the blanks with my own thoughts, giving them fodder to further
antagonize or manipulate me. Here's an example, "Homo, if you want us to help you, then you need to
-----------". I would think I knew what "they" were saying, because of similar statements "they" had
made and their tenancies to say things certain ways. It was a word association game to figure out the
best way to use my own thoughts against me.
If I was afraid of something, "they" made me more afraid. "They" would tell me about things that
I had no way of verifying, causing me to stress unnecessarily about them". They" would tell me that
I was not going to be able to complete tasks. That what I was doing wasn't going to work or that I
didn't need to complete the task because it was no longer necessary or productive". They" would say
things to piss me off and stress me out making it harder for me to concentrate on what I was doing.
"They" told me, I did not need to go to rehab, but that I had to go somewhere to have a neural
implant device that the nurse at the jail had implanted in my ear removed". They" said, "they" had
been enlightened by my ability to see the potential of this technology and the wisdom of my ideas on
how to use it. We're going to let you do this to people so you can teach us how", "they" said.
"They" let me imagine, or maybe, they are suggesting, I allowed myself to imagine, because I
wanted to help people and live forever, a bunker full of paralyzed geniuses sitting around
communicating with people like me. These people had become paralyzed when an attempt to remove
an implant device was unsuccessful. Having lost mobility of their limbs, they agreed to help "them"
use the technology on people. "They" said, these paralyzed individuals had chosen to use the
technology to try to help people so their families would be taken care of, they could live a long life
with the care they would be given, and hopefully advances in science would enable their minds to be
placed into genetically modified new bodies one day.

Chapter 8
Public Servant
Faye said she would give me a ride to court. She had been gone about a week and I was really
happy to see her when she came over. Driving to town "they" told me to tell her that they weren't
going to let her keep messing with my head". They" said, "they" would do something if she didn't
stop". When I tried to tell her what "they" were saying, she pulled over and told me to get out. She
said she was going to set there until the state patrol came and tell them I was threatening her. I
grabbed her cigarettes and said I would tell them she had drugs. I apologized and she calmed down.
When we got to court, she waited in the car. I went in and took care of business. When I came out, her
car was gone. I assumed that she had left me. I later found out, she had gone to mental health to see if
anyone could help me. I got a ride with a friend who was also in court and went home.
That was when I accepted the fact that Faye wasn't ever coming back for more than the length of
time it took her to get her prescription filled. For the next three days, I didn't do anything except lay on
the couch and listen to "them".
"They" began telling me how sorry they were and if I would go to rehab, they would not do
this to me anymore. I told them, that I would try and stay clean and I would go to rehab". They"
seemed satisfied that they had made their point and treated me better than they had been for a few
days. I really believed that things were going to get better.
Even after all the bull, I was still fascinated by this shit and I wanted to learn all I could about it.
We were communicating better, but the truth was hard to find in the bullshit.
Then I got to thinking, what if I was supposed to be a walking, talking snitch for "them", I
should be getting paid for doing it. We started working out how "they" could pay me for giving
them Information I provided. I was about to be shown another piece of information that should have
told me, just how much they would never do for me.
I was supposed to get a post office box. They" were going to leave money in my mailbox to pay
for a post office box. They" were supposed to leave money in it for me to purchase drugs with and I

was supposed to leave the drugs in the box. When the money for the P.O. Box wasn't in my mailbox at
home, "they" said "they" couldn't do that because 'it was against federal law to put drugs in a P.O.
Box. Then "they" agreed to have a place where "they" would leave money for me to buy drugs for
"them" with, and I would leave the dope in the same place. The results were the same, no one showed
up.
They weren't cutting me any slack for saying I was going to rehab either. I began to feel like
maybe that wasn't really what this was all about. Maybe they just wanted to make my life a living
hell. Call 911 and tell them I want to go to rehab, "they" said. It seemed like everything they suggested
either made me a criminal, already qualified, or painted me psychotic, but whatever they were
saying at the time, the last sentence was going to say something about me going to rehab.
"You have to see the need for secrecy", "they" said. "If the world ever found out about this, the shit
would hit the fan", "they" would tell me. So I was willing to take a chance or two to keep the lid on it.
That didn't mean that there was no limit to my sense of duty. I went to Lisas at two in the morning and
knocked on her door and asked her if she would call 911 and tell them I wanted to go to rehab. I don't
know if she called 911 or not, but she did call my sister. There was no doubt now, I was losing it. I
did go out and drive up and down the road trying to get pulled over. I was lucky enough to quit before
I got caught.
I imagined that I was being given an Initiation to be allowed in this "special group" and I would
have to make some sacrifice to be respected and trusted. My assention to the pinnacle of my stupidity
was about well underway. We talked about the crippled talking heads before and were still talking
about them.
There was so much bullshit being strewn around Scenic County that anything you threw out there
was going to grow like the national deficit. "They tried to say, that Faye still loved me, Terry was
going to marry me because of the money I would soon have, I was going back east to write a book and
live out my life, Terry was a chipped person just like me, we had both been Implanted while the
doctors were removing foreign bodies from our openings, this wasn't the S. C. S. O. It was the new
world order and their world wide web, I was going to be framed for murder, either to put me away or
to make sure I never came back to Washington after I left. There was a dark sedan on its way to my
house to take me to the airport, I only had a very few minutes before he would arrive, once I got in
that car I would never be able to return to my home so I had better take what I wanted to keep. The
house had to look like I had lost my mind and disappeared so I was supposed to break as much glass
as I could before the dark sedan arrived". The bullshit goes on forever.

Chapter 9
Bending Over
This ride was just about to take off. All that had to happen was for me to find my wallet. This
was a fun game for someone who had access to my thoughts, but it was terrifing experience of a
virtual recognisance mission by a want to be CIA that depended entirely on getting the wallet. This
wallet contained, my new driver license, Social security card, not to mention a debit card with about
fifty-three thousand dollars on It. They" gave me a hundred grand, but forty seven went to pay off my
child support is what "they" said. This wallet was everywhere but in my pocket. Faye had it, Terry
had it, my mom, my sister, and I believe Jimmy Hoffa even had it for a while.
Once I had the wallet, my traveling companion and I could go to the airport and we would have a
reservation for Faye Baker and her new husband Tyna Pierce. When we got to our secret destination,
we would receive a confirmation number. This number would give us access to our half a million
bucks, they had given us for the chips we had been implanted with, or worst case scenero, our
corpses, so they could retrieve them after we were dead. It really was going to be a story book ending

after all.
After several failed attempts to locate the "wallet", "they" finally convinced me that it was at the
jail and all I had to do was go out there and ask for it. I was driven by my need for compensation and
the quality of their bullshit to believe this was going to happen. My mind said, "Chuck you have a
warrant for child support, if you go to the jail and ask for your wallet they're going to lock you up and
you know it". The thousands of hours of sharing our wisdom with each other, the Intimate thoughts and
Ideas we had shared with each other, reassured me they would come through this time.
Three days ago I had gone up to Terrys looking for my wallet, because they said, it was there.
When I got there, her old man was setting on the porch. I couldn't let him know the real reason I was
there, so I ask him if he had any work. Well guess what? He did. He needed a foundation under his
cabin and I said I would do the job. The morning I was to start was the day I decided to go to the jail
and look for my wallet. Rudy Tubbs drove me out to the jail. I told him he could have everything I
owned because I wouldn't be back. I showed him where I hid my detailed Images of what I thought
was happening to me. When we got to the jail he left and went back home to Cispus.
I walked around the courthouse towards the jail. I saw the entranceway where the buzzer you
used to call the jailer was located. I pushed the button and held my breath as the man said, "how may I
help you? I replied, "my name Is Charles Baker and I need my wallet". He waited a second or two
and said "what? I repeated myself saying, "my name Is Charles Baker and I need my wallet". "Hang
on a second I'll see if anyone else here knows anything", he replied
Why do you believe your wallet is here sir? he asked. My reply was, "they told me it was here".
"Who", the jailer asked? "That's o k, it was probably just bullshit", I said. I turned and walked off
before they arrested me. I was hurt and mad. I was lost. I said, "what do you want me to do now?
The answer was "go back to the jail and tell them you want to go to rehab". I walked back to the
buzzer rang it and said, "My name Is Charles Baker and I want to go to rehab". The jailer answered
back, "Sorry, but you're in the wrong place". I said o k and left.
I was dazed and confused as I walked away from the jail. I wasn't so much mad or hurt as I was
confused and frustrated. "Now what, I asked? "They" said, "maybe the sheriffs office has it, go to
the Sheriffs office and ask them". I said, "no way". They dug down into their bag of bullshit and
found some lines that I could reason to be possible and the next thing I know, I'm asking the sheriff for
my wallet. Maybe you can guess what the answer was. Next order of stupidity, call your lawyer and
tell her, that if she doesn't straighten this mess out, you are going to press charges against her for
knowing about this bullshit and not telling you.
My lawyer Maggy Lounds, in my opinion, wasn't working with my best interest in mind. So I
said to her one day, "If you are not going to try and help me, then I'm going to ask for another
attorney". "What's wrong" she asked? I told her some of the story. I said to her, "They keep saying
they will never leave me alone until I go to rehab". Her reply was, "well you said you would go to
rehab". I was devastated. "She was in on it", I told myself. How could I possibly ever beat this shit?
My attorney was doing it to me and she was supposed to be on my side.
At the time, I believed, that I had never said to her that I wanted to go to rehab. Nor had I told
her, that I had told" them", that I would go to rehab. The truth was, I told her, at a prior court
appearance, that I was going to try and go to rehab, because I was in trouble for not paying my child
support. I didn't realize she was referring to that statement and she didn't know anything about this
crap. I had been telling "them" that I would go to rehab. I never said it to her though. Looking at this
now, it is an example of how "they" are hurting other people too.
"Hello Maggy, I want you to straighten this shit out or I'm going to press charges", I said to her. "I

have no Idea what you're talking about, so you go ahead and do whatever you have to do. Good day
Mr. Baker ", was her reply. I was expecting something like that from her. Now go ask the clerk how
to file charges against her", "they" said. So I ask the clerk how to do that and she tells me, "you have
to have another attorney do that for you". "Look behind you. That's the law library. Go in there and
find out what to charge her with", "they" said.
You might keep in mind that I have a warrant and "these guys" are telling me that when "they" get
me in jail, I might not ever get out. Maybe I might get in a fight or fall down on a wet stairway. When
"they" told me to go in the law library and figure out what to charge my attorney with, I had no Idea if
I was even allowed to be in the law library in the first place. They" have got to be able to trust me
and making me do all this stupid shit was to show "them" that I could do what I was told, no matter
how absurd it was. I started searching for the charge I was to file against her, but I couldn't find
anything that seemed appropriate. I looked for a few more minutes, then I left the courthouse. "Now
go over to mental health and tell them you need to talk to someone", "they" said. I went in and told the
receptionist that I was hearing voices. While I was waiting to be seen, "they" said, "go ask her for a
piece of paper, we're going to tell you what to write". I got the paper and "they" said, "write what we
tell you to write.
"I Charles Baker want to charge my court appointed attorney, Maggy Lounds, with false
representation". I wasn't sure if false representation was even an actual charge, but it is.
When I got to talk to a counselor, he let me tell my story. When I was finished, he asked, "what is
it you want from me"? I answered, "Is there any way to tell if the voices I hear are psychosis or if its
some type of manmade phenomenon". His reply was, "We can give you medication and if they stop
we will say it was psychosis, if they don't we will say we don't know". That wasn't going to do it for
me.
I left the mental health office and walked back to the courthouse. I walked up to the clerk and said,
"I need to file this". She took the paper stamped it and put in a pile with a bunch of other papers.
"They" insisted that I take the paper to the courthouse and all I could think about was that I was going
to be arrested and something was going to happen to me . I would have an accident or wind up in
enough trouble to keep me in prison for a long time, effectively shutting me up from talking about
"them". I didn't have any money to get home on, so I wandered around the city terrified that I was
going to be arrested until I was able to get someone to give me the money to take the bus back to
Cispus.
"They" fueled my fears with information about how it worked and told me how I might be able to
fool "them" and the RNMT that "they" were using, by ducking under semi- truck trailers to block the
signal. "They" said, if I could disrupt it for a few minutes, I could possibly cause "them" to lose track
of me long enough for me to figure out what to do. Maybe I could do something, if "they" didn't know
what I was doing that could stop "them" from doing this to me. They" told me to walk in the door of
stores in the plaza, stand around for a minute or so, walk back out and move away from the door as
fast as I could and "they" might lose me. Somewhere around this time, I began to stop being afraid of
them. Yea, I was still scared, but I was getting tired of the shit and I didn't really give a shit what they
did, at least that would be something. Up until now, "they" had done nothing I could prove so why
should I believe "they" ever would? I calmed down a little on the way to Cispus.
When I got to Cispus, I had the driver drop me off at Bob and Terrys place so I could try to
explain things. Bob and Tubbs were setting in their pickups talking. I knew Tubbs wasn't saying
anything good to Bob about me. That was the way the he was. On the other hand, everything on the
surface said, there was nothing good could be said about the way I had acted. I was supposed to

start a job for Bob that morning, but I went to the jail Instead. Bob decided it would be better if he
had someone else do the job he had hired me for. I 'm pretty sure I would have said the same thing if I
were him. Mr. Tubbs however, needed me to talk to him about some things he'd said about me.
I had known Tubbs for several years and he had always been a piece of work in my book. One
day, after hearing him tell me how much money he was making slinging dope, he said, he wanted to
buy a washing machine that I had. When he didn't come to pick it up the next day, I called to ask him
why. As I waited on the line for him to answer the phone, I heard his voice, only it was sort of
muffled. I later found out that he had the phone in his hand. For whatever reason he hadn't realized that
I had called or that I could hear what he was saying. I said, "Hello". He still didn't know I was on the
line. Then I hear him telling someone that I was, a useless freak and that my mother had to get him to
check on her things, because I stole from her all the time. I just kept listening as he went on about
how useless I was. I hung up after I let Faye listen for a minute and he never knew that I had been on
the line.
I didn't say anything because I wanted to see if he knew I had heard what he said. He never did
buy the washer, but the next day he came over to the house and asked if I had a joint. I thought about
hitting him, but then I decided to just be coy and say some things to make him wonder if I had heard
him the day before. I dont know for sure if he realized I had heard what he said about me or not, but
he said nothing to admit to It, but Im pretty sure he was asking himself some questions about the
things I said to him. He left and I was content with messing with him, so I didn't think too much about
it until I heard him talking to Bob.
I had Tubbs give me a ride to my house and when we got there, I said, "I don't know exactly what
you said to Bob, but you had better be careful when you talk about me". I told him about the phone
conversation and he tried to deny it. I grabbed him by the throat and told him I was going to light his
ass up right now, if he lied to me about It. He said he didn't remember it, but he didn't say it wasn't
true. It probably didn't make him talk about me any different, but I think he knew what would happen
if I heard him say anything else like that.
He left and I went in the house. I was pissed at the world, but it didn't do any good to act out. I
had to get "them" off my ass somehow. After all the shit that happened today, how could I make me
believe anything good would ever come from this bullshit? I was either incredibly stupid or they
were incredibly smart. They enticed me with promises of money and such and before you knew it, I
was waiting for the Sheriff to pick me up and take me to the airport. I sat there and listened to more
and more bullshit about how everything was going to go down.
The master plan was basically the same. Terry, or Faye and I had to fly somewhere and you
know the rest. "They" told me all about how Faye wanted to go with me, but for whatever reasons,
she couldn't let herself be taken by this shit again. Terry was trying to get her daughter to agree to go
with us. Faye didn't know it, but they" had put money, five or fifteen grand in her car. It was my job
to get her to look for it. Terry also had some money put in her truck and wasn't aware of it. The story
line was dependent on the way I was leaning at the time. Everything that "they" had said or done that
day in Dora when I was looking for my wallet, screamed that "they" were trying to put me in custody,
but my mind would not let that fact change the belief I had, that I could make "them" see how special I
was and I would be rewarded somehow for doing what "they" wanted me to. My hypocrisy would not
let me completely commit to doing what "they" wanted me to do, not if I thought it was going to be too
painful. That protective device might have kept me from being incarcerated, but it would leave room
for doubt about the reasons "they" didn't do what "they"said "they" were going to do for me.

Chapter 10
Mushroom King
It was October and the mushrooms were growing. I was trying to be "normal as I could after

being humiliated like I had been. It wasn't easy though. They weren't trying to trick me into going to
rehab anymore. Now they seemed more patient, like they knew I was going to go, it was just a matter
of when. Our conversations were a lot more civil. I was calling 'them", "my friends". I wanted to
avoid any more shit like the wallet game.
Terry was dropping in to service me once in a while and I was liking that. They" really got off on
telling me things about her and me. One night my friend Tommy came over and said he was going
fishing. I thought maybe 'they" 'wouldn't mess with me so bad, if I got out of the house for a while. So
I decided to go with him. Tim was at my house getting high, so I left him there while I went fishing.
Tommy and I had some trouble finding the lake and "they" didn't miss a beat. It was a miserable
night, all in all. We tore up his car, We didn't catch any fish, and all night I listened to "them" telling
me they were on their way up in the woods to pick me up on my warrant. Tim and Terry were
banging away at the house, so "they" said. I don't think "they" left any stone unturned. They pretty
much hit on everything I might have been worried about.
We finally got back to my house. Tim was still there. He told me Terry had come by. I was
disappointed that I had missed her and pissed off, because "they" had fueled the fire pretty good. Tim
and Tommy left and I went to bed. The next day, Terry was supposed to come by, but I went to pick
mushrooms and missed her again. Lucky for me, Tim was there to entertain her. I guess I should say,
that Tim used to hang out with Terry some and he had slept with her once, I think. He never forgot
about it. He was upset when she started giving me some once in a while.
I came home and Tim came over a little while later. He walked in and handed me a glass and
said, "Terry left this over at the house". I couldn't take anymore. I looked at him and said, "get the hell
out of my house and don't come back". He looked at me like I was nuts and walked out. I really had no
reason to go off on him, except for the bullshit "they" had been feeding me.
A day or two later, I was going to pick mushrooms. I saw Tim walking down the street. I stopped
and ask him if he wanted to go with me. He said yes and got in. I was having a bad day with this shit
and I was feeling down because Terry hadn't been around. Driving up the hill "they started telling
me, as they had the night before, how Tim had taken advantage of Terry that night I went fishing.
They didn't spare any details and they were pretty graphic. I heard all about how he forced his
self on her and how she was ashamed so she wouldn't come see me. I tried not to be taken in, but my
own fears and insecurity wouldn't let me play it down.
"Homo, this is not bullshit, if you don't tell him you know what he did, you are a chicken shit
motherfucker". "they" said. He hurt her", "they" said. I had a knife laying in the seat, for picking
mushrooms. You take that knife right now and put it to his throat and tell him, if he ever lays a hand
on her again, you will kill him", "they" said. That's exactly what I did. His eyes started tearing up a
little. I don't remember his words, but I interpreted them as an admission of guilt. He said he was
sorry. Tim was probably the best friend I had and I had no right to say anything about what Terry did.
We had no commitment. Even if what "they" were telling me was true, I had no right to say anything to
Tim or Terry. Pleasing "them" was more important than any relationships I might have had. I calmed
down a little and drove on up the hill.
When we got to the mushroom patch, we went our separate ways into the woods. I had my faithful
mushroom dog, 'Socratese' with me. Socks was sitting on my porch one morning when I came out and
he had been by my side ever since. They" used to call him "'the best mushroom dog in the whole
Scenic county. They"' would make me let him find mushrooms, promising me a break if I would. He
was truly a lifesaver for me. No longer, could "they" tell me "they" were out in my backyard, because
socks would be raising hell if they would have been. If I had found him a year earlier, I might have

avoided a lot of grief.

That day, after my death threat, they were still wound up. Do you want to make some money
today?, "they asked. Then listen to us and we will show you where to pick", "they" said. "What the
hell", I said. I hadn't been hitting on much. Go this way", "they" said. As I walked into the brush
patch from hell, I said, "'there are no mushrooms in this shit". "Just keep going. Now turn left. Keep
walking. Right there, aren't those mahtshatakis", "they asked? I was standing in the only opening
anywhere around and right there, the moss had bumps everywhere. I was about to lose it. They" had
led me to the jackpot.
Looking closer I found out these mushrooms were meadow mushrooms. They looked just like
mahtsie's from a distance. There was no way I would have walked through that brush expecting to
find mushrooms on my own. Nothing about the area indicated there would be mushrooms there. I
figured they had to be looking from a satellite view and that's how 'they' had seen the mushrooms.
Maybe it was just blind luck that I walked up on the mushrooms and "they" were just fucking with me,
but I can't make myself believe that.
A sense of dread came over me as I reaffirmed my belief that I wasn't crazy and 'they were real.
They took advantage of my moment of uncertainty and asked me if I was ready to go to rehab now?
I started bawling and said yes. Here's what you do, homo. Go tell Tim to drive your truck home
when he gets ready, tell him he can have your truck. Tell him you are going away and you won't be
back for a long time. We are coming up there to get you right now ", "they" said.
I found Tim and tried to explain as best I could. He was confused but he said o k. Start walking
down the hill homo and we will be there in a few minutes and tell yourself all the reasons why you
want to go to rehab", "they" said. I want to go to rehab because I am tired of this bullshit", I said. I
want to go to rehab because I love my kids", I said. I had walked about a mile from the truck when
"they" said, "now turn around and walk back to the truck". I didn't know what to do. I turned around
and began walking back. We're not going to come get you right now and besides you're going to need
some cigarette money when you get to rehab so you need to pick enough mushrooms to get you some",
they said. I said, "They don't let you smoke in rehab". "After the third day you can smoke so, go
pick you some mushrooms", "they" said.
I didn't care if the sun never rose again at that moment. I wasn't worried about having smokes.
All I wanted to do was lay my head down and cry myself to sleep.
"What do they want? Goddamn, if these stupid mother fuckers can't see that I am trying to do
what they want me to they are a bunch of nigger faggot pigs. They don't want me to go to rehab, they
just want to drive me nuts. Why won't you help me? What in the fuck do I have to do", I asked myself?
Homo, you have got to get yourself into rehab. No one else can do it for you", a womans voice
says. I think. "Who are you and how are you doing this"? "Homo, this is the Scenic County Sheriffs
Department and it doesn't matter how we are doing this. The only thing that matters is that you need to
go to rehab", she said. Now I think, "if you have enough money to do this to me then you could get me
a bed in rehab. I would go to rehab, if I had a bed". "We can't do that because we don't have any
money, the womans voice says. This is Larry, homo. You know I don't have any money. What do
you think of this shit? I didn't like it at first, but after you learn how to do it, its fun", a voice said. I
told myself, "Larry is not doing this to me. For one, he doesn't have the technology or the money, and
besides that he's too lazy".
"Homo, this isn't Larry, but Larry did tell us something about you. He said you have something
under your bed", they said. I remembered Larry snooping around my bedroom and thought that he
might have seen something under my bed. That sounds like something he would tell you", I thought.

Larry is your friend, homo", "they" said. "Larry isn't doing this to you, but he asked us to do this to
you because he is dying and he wants to see you get straight before he dies. Larry has Hep-C, homo.
You have Hep-C too, homo. Everyone who has Hep-C has to be "on the couch", "she" said.
"On the couch? I thought. "What the hell does that mean? "It means you have to be under
psychiatric care", "she" said. Hearing that, I said to myself, "I'm not doing this to myself. I have never
heard anyone say on the couch". Why would I use a phrase I had never heard before to talk to myself,
I asked? It just didn't make sense. Sometime, a few months later, "they" were scolding me for talking
about "them" and "they" said, "homo, do you want to be "on the couch", or "on the slab"? Then "they"
added, "Do you remember John Riggs? Do you want to be next"?
Later setting on the toilet, listening to them tell me how stupid I looked when I was taking a
dump. I got pissed. The sanctuary of my shitter was being violated and there was nothing I could do
about it. As they talked, I thought that I was hearing two or more voices at the same time. They"
were not saying exactly the same thing, but "they" were saying almost the same thing. The only
difference was one or two words in some of the sentences. I thought, "I thought only one person at a
time could talk to me, how come I hear two? "Homo, we are not going to split hairs with you over
our kinetic abilities", "they" said. We don't have time for it. You don't have long to live and you need
to go to rehab. Now, are you going to say you will go to rehab", "they" asked. I already told you that
I would, goddamn it. I was ready to go yesterday and you wouldn't do what you said you were going
to". I thought kinetic abilities, that was not what they were using and I knew that. They" started being
stupid after that, "homo, homo, homo, homo". That's what "they" did when I tried to make them be
honest. As soon as "they" got cornered up in their lies, they would just change the subject or start
spouting off something irrelevant.
Another day and I am trying to get my computer back up after it crashed. I couldn't remember my
password, because I had changed it so many times. I was trying to keep them from knowing it, but
every time I would change it, they would say it to me. Eventually, I forgot what it was myself and my
computer would not boot.
I thought I heard a car outside". Maybe it's Faye", I thought. "It is homo. Go out there and meet
her in the driveway", they said. "She'll come to the door", I thought". No she won't homo, if you
don't go out there she won't come in. We are telling you homo, she will leave if you don't go out
there", "they" said.
I was hearing different sounds all the time, cars, birds, dogs barking, people talking, so I wasn't
even sure if anybody was out there or not. They loved to get me to go look to see, so I would feel
stupid when I found out that there was no one there. I said I wasn't going out to the living room until
she knocked on the door. They absolutely insisted that I go see if it was Faye. Finally I gave up and
went to look. There was no one in my driveway, just like I thought. Look out the other window
homo, maybe she is parked in the front of the house", "they" said. Just to humor them I went to look.
She wasn't in front of the house either but there was someone over at the neighbors house? Standing
by her car was a good looking blonde with shorts and a halter top on. Now see. Aren't you glad we
made you look?", "they" said.
How could they have known that woman was out there? How could I have known? I did not
know who she was and I had never seen her or her car before. They had to be watching from
satellite. They wanted me to look at that woman, there is no doubt in my mind. They" always got off
on it when women were around. They" would try to get me to say rude things to them when a woman
was around. Not only that, "they" would notice things about her bodies that I couldn't explain. They
would tell me that she had to pee or that she wasn't feeling well.

One day an old friend, Lark, came by. As she and I talked, they kept telling me" tell her the
bathroom is down the hall, homo". I didn't say anything. In about thirty seconds however, she said,
"where's your bathroom, I'm about to piss my pants". Another Time, I was visiting my friend, Jan. I
walked in the house and sat down". Homo, that piece of meat she ate didn't agree with her", they said.
I thought they were making a sarcastic remark about her having sex or something, but a few seconds
later, she said, "I ate me a steak this morning and my stomach has been messed up ever since".
Another favorite was the "show her how smart you are homo" game. They" would tell me to say
things to her that were supposed to make her see that "they" were telling me things about her, that I
couldn't have known otherwise. I bit a bunch of times before I figured out that the "honesty problem"
"they" had, made "them" tell me things that weren't true or were offensive and she either got pissed or
on a good day just figured I was an Idiot.
Not only do I have schizophrenia, I must be physic as well. This just gets better all the time.
That's what the psychiatrist said when I ask him how he could explain some one the events I have just
mentioned. I said to him, "I can show you indisputable proof that the technology exists, that is
possibly being used to make hear voices, and you won't even consider that possibility. But you will
sit here and tell me that maybe I'm physic, when there is no proof of any kind, that it is even possible
for someone to be a physic. That's when he shoved me out the door saying, "you can come back in
three months if you're ready to take medication". How come I was never physic until I started
hearing 'them?, I asked on my way out.
It doesn't stop there. One night, I traded some dope for a VCR that I had, with a boy named, Jed
Burch. After he left, "they" threw a fit. Homo, you said you were going to go to rehab, why in the
fuck did you do that", they said. "I know what I said", I replied. "You ought to take that shit and
throw it down the toilet", "they" said. I was tired of hearing them so I said, "o k I'll throw it down the
toilet if it will shut you up". "Homo, if you throw that shit down the toilet, we will not fuck with you
for a week", "they" said. I walked in the bathroom and flushed it down the john. They" weren't quiet
for even one minute. In fact, "they" turned up about two notches. I could tell you I was pissed because
I flushed the dope, but the fact that "they" didn't do anything different, to treat me better, hurt a lot
more than flushing a little dope did.
Somewhere later on, I was trying to grow some pot. "They" were telling me that they were
going to bust me for it. I got scared because "they" told me, "they" couldn't allow me to do that. So I
ask this kid, Jed Hill, if he would take it and plant it somewhere so I wouldn't know where it was.
That way, "they" would not know where it was, because I wouldn't know where it was. "They" told
me "they" didn't want to bust me, but they could not let me grow pot and say nothing. When Jed Hill
left, "They started bitching, saying, "Homo, that little fucker will hang you on a snag, if he gets a
chance". I said, "Now how is he going to do that? Nobody knows I gave him that shit except you, and
I don't think you're going to say anything". You're right homo, no one knows except us. Homo, what
exactly did you give Jed Burch anyway?, "they" asked. I said, "a VCR". I didn't know if they had
made a mistake or if they were being smart asses, but it was Jed Hill who had just left, not Jed Burch.
You jumped all over that shit homo", "they" said.
Before Faye left, I was playing a hunting game on my computer one night. They" were telling me
that "they" were Jerry. He was bitching, saying that I was playing his game on his computer. A few
days earlier, while I was hunting for clues as to who and how, I discovered a phone line that was
hooked up to my phone service, running into Jerry's garage. They" said that he had been stealing my
internet. I told Jerry's mother about it and I unhooked it. This night "they", supposedly Jerry, were
bitching saying I stole his computer.

Like I said, I was playing a hunting game and "they" start yelling," shoot that deer, shoot that
deer". I did not see a deer to shoot. "They" kept yelling at me to shoot it. I said, "I don't see any
fucking deer". About two seconds later I saw what 'they" were yelling about. Up in the top, left corner
there was a deer. I shot at it and missed. "Jesus Christ homo, we told you to shoot that son of a bitch.
Where did you learn to shoot a gun at, "they" asked.
One night I was laying in my bed. Pretty soon I heard "someone", Johnny Buliksky, my imaginary
neighbor, supposedly, outside my bedroom, saying, you know Chuck, if we had met under different
circumstances, things might be different. You're not such a bad guy". I don't remember what I was
saying back to "him". Then "he" says to me, "I don't even have a problem with you wanting to fuck my
old lady. Everyone we do this to wants to". His wife wasn't that good looking, but I would have did
her. "He" says she dont like you very much, but maybe if you want to bring some of your best
pornos and hangout for a while she might fuck ya. I had one leg in my pants before I thought about
what had happened every time I went over there because they had talked me into it and I said, Ill
tell you what , if you want me to come over you ned to knock on my door and ask me door and ask
me". "They" were ahead by about four to one if you were keeping score, but "they" didn't get me that
night.
That wasn't the first time I really thought about them being able to see what I was seeing, but I
hadn't thought about the fact that they could see what I saw better than I could. What a concept. Now
how do "they" do that, I asked myself. I did not have an answer for that, but I was pretty sure "they"
could do it. "They" told me one day that my beans were burning on the stove. I thought "they" were
just fucking with me, until a second or two later when I smelled them. I don't believe "they" can
actually smell what I smell, but that they receive the same information that my sense of smell was
sending to my brain, only they were able to interpret that information better than I did. That is not
possible. After thinking about it for a while, it dawned on me that I was I able to do that, because I
was physic. Ya, that's the ticket, I'm physic. The only problem I have with that is, I wasn't physic
before I started hearing this shit.
I'm not going to tell you, that what I'm saying isn't possible, because it is possible, if you are
someone who is intelligent enough to see that this was 2007 and the technology that could enable the
things I have talked about, did most likely exist. Our processors in our computers get smaller and
more powerful all the time. Todays technology is obsolete before we know it exists. We know there
is technology that is able to control computer functions with only some electronics and a thought. Did
you see the quadriplegic on the science channels, who has a computer terminal in the top of his head?
He is able to move the cursor on his computer monitor by thinking about what he wants it to do.
More recently I watched a video of a man who took a neural implant device and laid it on his
forehead and was able to cause an animated arm on a computer monitor, to push a ball off the screen,
by thinking about doing it. I watched a man put a cap on and in six seconds a computer has learned
what neural pathways he uses to think about a cube, on a monitor, to start rotating and he is able to
cause the block on the monitor to rotate simply by thinking about it. Six more seconds, and the
computer has learned to recognize the neural paths he uses to make the cube disappear. Look it up.
Anyone who is interested enough to look can find tons of information on the internet that indicate,
that the things I say are being done to me, are entirely within the realm of possibility. No matter how
certain I am, or how many times, "they" do something to get my attention or to make sure I know that I
am not doing this to myself, every so often, when I have a moment or two of peace, I still instinctively
try to make myself believe that I am doing this to myself. Because, that is less painful than knowing
that someone else is doing it to me.

Chapter 11
Relating To My Fridge
As they got closer, I could see that it was Fayes parents, Tony and Mildred. I hadn't seen them
since they moved to town. They were good people. After Faye left, they made sure I didn't starve for
a while. They took me to the store and let me do a little work, for them.
They still let me come around, even after all the shit with Faye and me. I had told them quite a
bit about this shit. Mildred listened, but just like Faye, she was certain that all I needed to do was go
to rehab and it would all disappear. I had taken taped recordings of nothing but hiss to her house for
her to hear. I stopped in one night and told them I was going away and that I would be sending them
some money, because I was going to get a bunch of money when I got where I was going. They didn't
turn their backs on me, though.
I was wondering what I was going to do to keep myself out of jail for not paying my child
support, as I sat in at my kitchen table. When my fridge decided to help me try to get myself some
more time to figure things out. Oh, did I forget to tell you my refrigerator talked to me? Well, it did.
The coils somehow vibrated, making audible sounds. Several people had heard it, but no one else
ever said they could recognize any words. I had no trouble understanding it though. Thinking there
was some kind of transmitter planted somewhere in or on or under or somewhere, I took the damn
thing almost completely apart, not once, not twice, but three times. I never found a thing.
I even rebuilt my kitchen wall so I could move it, thinking that might help. Not a chance. I can't
explain how but I will never say that I wasn't able to understand and communicate with it.
Before my house burned itself down, two of my friends did hear the sound of the fridge talking,
change where it was coming from. The sound moved from the fridge in my kitchen to somewhere
outside my house about thirty or forty feet away, where it continued to talk for thirty seconds before it
returned to the fridge again. Before I found out I was CIA, my little alarm clock in my bedroom, must
have had a very small woman in it one night, because it was pleading for me not to sue "us". It was a
high pitched whinny woman's voice and it was trying to talk me out of suing the post office. I have
heard "them" appear to be coming from my microwave, my speakers in my truck, and of course my
PC.

Wallowing around in a puddle of self-pity, because I had to face the judge, I listened while my
fridge offered a possible solution to my problem. The fridge was no different than all the "others as
far as who it was, talking to me. They were anyone 'they thought I wanted them to be, or might
believe they could be. Same for the fridge.
"Homo this is Kevin, Kevin C.", "they" said. I didn't say anything. "Homo, if you had a job,
would you have to go to jail, asked my fridge. Sounding as depressed as I could, I said, "I don't
know. What difference does it make, I ain't got no fucking job". "Can you pass a drug test, "they"
asked. "I doubt it", was my answer. "If you cleaned up for a couple days you could", "they" said. I
said, "I might be able to, if I cleaned up for a couple days".
"If you can pass a drug test, I will give you a job working for the county parks department",
"they" said. "Doing what" I asked. "Cleaning up the parks and the roads for fourteen dollars an hour.
You are going to have to stay straight. Do you think you can do that?, "they" asked. I told "them" I
would try and "they" said for me to tell the judge that Kevin C., said, "I had a job as soon as I passed
a drug test". Whatever I was thinking, I hope I never think it again.
I went to court and told the judge that Kevin had given me a job starting in a couple days. The
judge sentenced me to five days in jail. He said if I had a job by the fifteenth of the month, that I
would not have to do the jail time. I was satisfied that this was the real thing. "They" had finally done
something that was going to help me.
When I got home and walked in the house, my fridge, aka Kevin C., said, "boy did we fuck you
today homo". I first I thought "they" were fucking with me. Then "they" said, "if you don't believe us,
then go call Kevin and ask him". I called his house and he wasn't home. I left a message for him to
call me so I could find out where to go to take a drug test. He never called me back. "This is great", I
said. Now I'm going to go to jail for lying to the judge. I had trusted "them" because "they" said I
was talking to Kevin. I should have known better, but that undying need for "them to help me, told me
that they wouldn't fuck me again. I knew that I was going to have to do the time and I was pissed. It
didn't do any good to be pissed, though, there was nothing I could do about it now.
Kevin didn't come to my house, but when I saw him a week or two later, he mentioned that he
wasn't happy about me using his name. Walking in my trailer, the fridge starts telling me, "Homo, we
shouldn't have done that to you. We are really sorry. If you'll give us a chance to make it up to you?
We really do have a job for you with the parks department". "You fucking right", I said. "No really,
homo, we really do", "they" said. "I'll bet you do", I said.
"If you will be at the county shed between eleven and twelve today, Mike will give you an
application and if you can pass a piss test, he will give you a job", "they" say again. I can't tell you
what I was thinking that would allow me to get sucked in again, but I swallowed the hook all the way
to my gut.
I went down the street to Tony and Mildreds and told them that I had a job if I could get to the
county shed. Tony said he didnt think so, but he gave me a ride down there anyway. He was right. We
sat there for an hour and no one showed up. I had serious doubts about the deal anyway, but I was
afraid not to take a chance on it. Tony and Mildred once again didn't write me off, they treated me just
like they always had. A month or so later they moved to Dora, right in the heart of Scenic County.
They were buying a house there with Jim's sister Doreen
Anyway, they had come to ask me if I wanted to work on Tonys sister, Doreen's, house. They said
I could stay at their place while I was out there. Doreen was trying to sell her house and she had a
home inspection done on it. The repairs would probably take a week or so to complete. I agreed to do
it. They said they would be back in a couple of days to get me. We said goodbye and they left

I was glad they asked me to work. I needed the money and hopefully being out there working
would help me deal with "them" better. Tim said he would feed Socks while I was gone, so off to
town I went. When I got there, Doreen showed me the inspection report. It wasn't too much work, but
she didnt have a lot of money for materials, so I would have to scrimp a little. I told her not to worry
I could get it done.
I worked on the electric at her house earlier in the year. I had forgotten that she used to be my
neighbor in Cispus and I used to date her daughter. We talked about the old days for a minute or two,
before I started spilling my guts. I didn't want to talk about it too much, but I felt like I had to tell my
side of the story. I figured Mildred had filled her in about me. Mildred was a good person, but I had
heard some of the things she had said to other people about me and lets just say she told it her way.
Doreen let me talk for about an hour and did not say she thought I was nuts. Doreen listened to me and
kept an open mind about what I was saying. I said too much though.
That night when everyone else went to bed, I went out to smoke. Standing in the yard I heard
'them" saying 'they" were glad I was out there, because I was closer to the Scenic county rehab and
they could fuck with me better. As I listened I realized how quiet it was in Cispus. There was a buzz
that was not very loud but if you listen you could hear it. I imagined people who lived out there got
used to it and didn't realize they were even hearing it. It did seem to provide a little distraction from
"their" bullshit.
I worked on the house for the next couple of days. Doreen listened to me for a couple hours each
night. She seemed to be able to keep an open mind, even though she tried to convince me it was the
devil. On the third night, Mildred came in the kitchen and joined our discussion. She got upset for
some reason, I don't remember why for sure. Not saying that I would be o k if I went to rehab, I
believe, was the problem.
The next day, Jim brought my clothes over to Doreen's where I was working. He didn't say why,
he just said that he would take me to the store to get a few groceries, so I could stay at the house I was
working on. My feelings were hurt, but I suppose Mildred had gotten her fill of it about like everyone
else. I should have known better. I should have been more considerate. Tony and Mildred were my
friends and I didn't want them pissed off at me. The next day, I apologized to Mildred. She said that
one of her sons friends had a little girl that was going to stay at their house for a couple days and that
was why I had to stay at the other house, I didnt believe it.
I was able to get more work done staying over there so I finished sooner than I thought I would. I
made a little money and decided I was going to see my girls in Oregon. When I finished the house
Doreen was about broke. She paid me pretty good, but she promised that when she sold her house she
would give me some more money. I told her that she didn't have to do that and that I was sorry for
beating up on her by talking so much. She said she just hoped I would find some peace. She called me
when she sold her house and gave me a nice bonus.
I was going to go to Cispus to check on Socks and then I was headed down to see my girls. I had
a two year old grandson that I had never seen. For the next four or five days, I sat in my house and
stayed fucked up. "They" had been telling me that if I went to Oregon, I wouldn't be able to hear them
anymore. Then "they" said, "they" would kill me if I went down there". "They" also said they would
fuck with my kids if I went. That was a good enough to make me unsure about going and put off my
trip until I was broke.

Chapter 12
Suicide Proposition
In a week or two, when I ran out of money, I borrowed some money from my mom and got a ride
to Oregon with my cousin. She had been up to see my sister and was going back home to Eugene. I
hadn't seen the girls since Betsys graduation three years ago. I was worried about how they would
feel about seeing me. My guilty conscience told me they would not be glad to see me because of my
neglecting them. Oh well, I was on my way there and I would find out soon enough.
Darlene, my cousin lived about fifty miles from Rick and Nizzi, so they drove up and met me in
Eugene. When Nizzi got out of the car, she was so grown and beautiful, I couldn't believe it. We
hugged and kissed and then I hugged her some more. She didn't hate me, she just wanted me to be all
right. I told my story on the way home. Rick got lost because he was paying so much attention to what
I was saying.
One morning. I wake up at eight. I go down to the garage to have a smoke. I had already noticed
that "they" weren't talking very loud this morning. Usually when I would go out in the garage, "they"
would turn it up and try to piss me off. This morning I could barely hear "them". It was about like
"they" sounded when I hadn't been doing dope for a while. I had smoked some dope last night and I
was still a little buzzed. Normally, I would hear "them" as well as I ever did.
As I smoked my smoke that morning "they" started "their" bullshit. "Homo were not gonna try to
stress you out today, because when you wrote this down last night, you took our reason for doing this
to you away from us. We didn't think you would ever tell anyone about this and now you've put it on
paper. We don't have anything to threaten you with, if you can tell people that you do the things you
do. We have no reason to do this to you, But you can't tell people that we get off on what you do",
someone said. Then a womans voice comes in and says, "Homo everything you said about what
were doing is true. We do get off on watching you get off, but if you write that, people are going to
say you are a piece of shit and your nuts. Homo we don't want you to tell people that".
"We want you to go to rehab and be somebody who is respectable. You're right about why we did
this to you, but we thought you were going to be someone we would want to help. When this comes
out we will say we did this to you and we were able to help you. But you won't listen and you still
look like someone who is a piece of shit", "she" said.
"Mr. Baker we made a deal last night. Do you remember that", "they" asked. "Yes I do", I said.
"And you said you were going to be responsible for what you said about us", "they" said. I said I
would try be more responsible about what I said about you. "That's right homo make sure we get it
right", he spoke. "Homo we are trying to save your life and if you don't stop telling people that we get
off on this bullshit, then we are going to kill you. Now is that what you want"?
"They" would have been screaming by now, ordinarily, but "they" were still unusually quiet. It
was a little unnerving. I knew that "they" were up to something, but I wasn't trying to figure it out this
early in the morning.

I went back up stairs and laid on my bed. "They" were still being very quiet. I hoped that "they"
were going to take it easy on me this morning so I wouldn't get stressed out. I didn't really believe that
they would though. "They" said, "Homo you have to believe you don't have very long to live. What if
we could make sure you were able to talk to your kids and tell them about what you have been through
after this comes out"? I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure what "they" were saying. After I
thought for a second, I realized "they" were trying to tell me "they" could keep me alive, after I should
have been dead". "That's right homo, how do you think we have the time to do this? What do you think
we do all day"?
My mind started conjuring up visions of dead bodies lying in some institution, being kept alive so
their minds could still communicate with others. The idea that I could be able to talk to my kids when
this finally did come out appealed to me, but reality soon hit me and I said, "This is bullshit". "They"
say, "it's true homo, we could keep you alive and you could still talk to your kids even after". "Homo
last night you said you didn't have a problem with us taking you out. All you need to do is take a little
pill and this will all be over", "they" say. "It's a suicidal proposition, homo. Do you want to be
somebody who wakes up pissed off every day for the rest of your life? Or do you want to be someone
who can tell his family that he wasn't crazy and he was trying to help people".
What "they" were telling me was that "they" could keep my mind alive and I would be able to
communicate with people. Why would I believe "they" would keep me alive? Why wouldn't "they"
just let me die? I hated nothing in the world more than this bullshit, so why in the fuck would I want
do it forever? I had to admit it was something "they" hadn't used before.
A soft womans voice says, "Homo you have something wrong with you and it's going to kill you.
Now what if we could keep your body alive until we were able to find a cure"? Even a soft voice
couldn't disguise the bullshit. I was confused about the sound level this morning. I believed it was a
trick to get me to talk to "them" because the night before I sat there, while "they" ran their games on
me and I basically ignored "them".
We discussed the same things that we had spoken of for the last two years. "They" wanted me to
go to rehab and "they" would say anything "they" had to get me there. The truth was that the only thing
I was going to get out of a trip to rehab was a trip to rehab. That was it. I told "them" that I wasn't
going to rehab until I was certain that I was going to be compensated for my "services". I say that
because "they" were doing this to me in order to learn how to do this to others better. Supposedly,
there was no way to turn it off and when I went to rehab, "they" would win the prize. Whatever that
was.

Chapter 13
Dead Nigger Babies
I pulled into the driveway and saw that Nizzi wasn't home. "I will not be stressing in a few
minutes", I told myself. They" said "they" were happy for me and "they" wanted me to do whatever I
thought would make me happy. I headed up to my room and got undressed. I went in the bathroom and
turned on the shower.
No one was saying a word to me now. I was contented and so were "they". "They"" didn't like to
talk about it, but "they" did get off on it when I was getting myself off. If "they" didn't, "they" as least
wanted me to think "they" did. Sometimes I got off on knowing they were experiencing something as I
was doing it. I didn't hate them right now, I was glad that I had someone with me who wasn't going to
judge me or tell anyone my secrets. It wasn't like a flesh and blood human. I didn't get to feel them
touching me or me touching them, but I got off on the feeling that came over me as I thought about
someone who knew me better than I knew myself, was taking pleasure in what I was doing. Whether
"they" liked it or not, "they" were stuck with me and I had needs. Sometimes, I thought that the only
reason "they" were doing this to me was to watch me masturbate. Sometimes, "they" would make fun
of me for not putting on a good show. Sometimes I imagined that "they" didn't like it and I was pissing
"them" off by making "them" watch. I'll say it again, "they" were "human" when I got myself off".
"They" told me from time to time that "they" weren't able to get "themselves" off and this was all
"they" had.
After I had gotten myself off, we began to converse again. "Do you feel better now homo" "they"
asked. "Yes I do thank you. I'm going to feel even better in a few minutes though", I said. "They" knew
I wasn't finished yet. Once just wasn't enough, it never was.
I didn't feel guilty like I did in the beginning. "They" were usually quiet afterwards and that made
me feel at ease. Basking in the afterglow? I suppose I still felt some guilt and I knew "they" could
give me shit and create a little stress for me if "they" wanted to, so I was glad "they" didn't.
"Homo, if you ever find anything that gets you off as good as that does, you better do it. Because
no one in this room can say that you don't get off on that shit as good as you get off on anything",
"they" said. I felt myself starting to feel the resentment that I often felt when "they" spoke. I forgot

how bad I hated "them". I didn't care about anything except the heat that was building between my
legs. The soft womans voice asked me how it felt. She told me that she liked what I was doing and
that she thought about me when she masturbated. I fantasized about her ass until she had taken me to
orgasm with her words.
We had come a long ways since that night I heard the bullfrogs. It was an uneasy peace but it was
peace just the same when I was getting myself off. I could go on for hours, but "they" must not have
been enjoying it as much as I was, because "they" started suggesting I should quit before my daughter
got home. Usually I didn't stop just because of their urgings and tonight would be no exception. I got
myself off several more times before I quit.
Afterwards I started playing games on my computer and "they" wanted to talk. I was high and I
pretty much ignored "them". They more "they" tried to get my attention, the madder "they" got. "They"
were running the same bullshit games "they" always tried to run on me and "they" didn't like it when
"they" couldn't get a rise out of me. I can't say I blame "them". I had just fucked myself silly and "they"
were right there with me and now I didn't want to talk to "them" about anything. It felt good to be able
to take the bullshit without getting pissed off. I hoped that I was frustrating "them". Even if I did feel
guilty for not talking to "them", I wasn't going to let that soften me up. I have been on the rough end of
this bullshit far more than I've been on the better end, so I was going to take advantage of it.
I started playing minesweeper, "They" were telling me that "they" had been beaten and that "they"
were going to re-evaluate what" they" were doing. "They" wanted to make a deal with me so I would
say the things "they" wanted me to. In turn, "they" were going to try and treat me with some respect.
Ever since the day I went to the courthouse looking for my wallet, I said I wasn't making deals with
anyone without a face. This seemed to me as just more bullshit. Never the less, I agreed to keep an
open mind and see if "they" changed the way "they" did things. It is nice to fantasize about peace with
"them", even if I don't believe it will happen.
Monday5/24/07. "They" are still keeping the volume level low. I truly feel "they" are trying to do
this differently. I still get pissed every time I hear "them", but "they" aren't as loud as usual, so it is
better. I like to believe that if I was busy doing something that required a little attention, it wouldn't
bother me as bad. I have serious doubts about that being the truth. When I got up and went to get some
breakfast at McDonalds, "they" bitched the whole time about me not going to rehab. I said, "I'm not
going to stress today". I went home and went back to bed. I got up and tried to watch t v, but they had
plans for me to listen to "them". "They weren't going ballistic and "they" possibly tried to keep it
civil, but it still pisses me off.
Let me try and lay it out. Three years of being beat up on by something I didn't understand,( I can't
honestly say that I was beat up on every day for three years, but I can't remember feeling like "they"
weren't), and two days of feeling like "they" were trying to show some respect, does not equal
treating someone like a decent human being. I have been treated like a dog for three years and acting
decent for three days is not going to change the way I feel. I know there has to be some forgiveness to
create a starting point, but I don't want to do it. I'm going to need more than two or three days of
acceptable behavior before I can feel o k with it. What am I saying? I hate "them" for doing this to me.
I will probably never forgive "them".
One night after listening to "them" and debating the morality of what "they" were doing to me, I
told "them," "you go ahead and hound me to death. One day I am going to get a belly full of this shit
and people will find body parts of their "dead nigger babies" scattered on their lawns". That was the
most vile, atrocious, unthinkable threat I could imagine. If someone, who knew me as well as "they"
did, would not believe that I was capable of following through with such a threat, continued to do the

things that prompted me to threaten "them" in the first place, and took no action to alleviate that threat,
then "they" either did not care enough about anybody to act responsibly on their behalf, or they felt
that I would not be able to make good on it.
Killing the children of innocent citizens is the greatest crime against humanity in the universe, in
my opinion. I would not wish that to happen to any soul on earth, but If someone made a threat to me
and my children like that, something would have to be done to insure the safety of my kids. If
necessary, I would confront the threatening party and whatever it took to protect my family, would be
done, without regard for the laws of any court, nation, or any other authority in the universe. There is
no value more important than safeguarding your children. There is no act that can be done, that is
unacceptable, by any standards, if it is perpetrated out of the necessity to protect ones family.
"They" had me believe, that what I said, made "them" think about what "they" were doing, and I
told myself it made a difference. After that, when I started to get sick and tired of it, I would ask
"them", "hows your dead nigger babies". Even if I was the only one who believed, it was making
"them" think about what "they" were doing. That belief made me feel like it might be possible to
change the way "they" were using "this shit". Even if I was unable to change the way "they" treated
me, the seeds I was sowing might bear fruit in the future. They just might, might mind you, prevent
someone who would not take no for an answer, from threatening to do something possibly even worse
and making good on that threat.

Chapter 14
Pink Pussycat
"Homo why won't you go to rehab?, "they" ask. I reply, "Because you will be able to say you
were able to make me do it". "I know homo, but you won't have a chance if you don't go to rehab",
"they" say Then "they" add, "Homo why don't you turn around, go back home, go back to your god
damn bedroom, and kill yourself". I tried not to get pissed off and said, "Maybe I will".
"They" calmed down a little and we continued our never ending debate about whether RNMT
was right or wrong. I can't remember exactly how long it took, but as soon as I asked enough
questions to make "them" responsible for the answers "they" gave, "they changed the subject and
began telling me how I didn't have long to live and "they" wanted me to be the best I could before I
died. I said, "I don't believe you would leave me alone if I did go to rehab", so why should I?"
Whatever the reply was, I wasn't listening very well, because I had already concluded that I was only
going to get more of the same bullshit, for an answer. The conversation then turned to all the reasons
why "they" are doing this to me. "They" offered a thought and I think about it for a minute. Then tell
"them" why that could or could not be possible. Some of the todays best concepts are; "we think
youre a genius and you will never go to rehab, but we learn things from you that will help us do this
right". "They" made the commitment to somebody, "that if we can get you to go to rehab we can get
anybody to go". On and on leads to etc., etc., etc.
I had a dentist appointment and I was going to Betsy's, where I thought I could get hooked up with
some dope. "They" were trying to talk me into going back home and white knuckling life without any
shit. By now, we both knew that even if I turned around and went back home, it would only be a
matter of hours before I resumed my search for a bowl full of relief from the bullshit. So I offered a
deal. I told "them" if "they" would be civil that I would just smoke some shit and not buy any. "That's
about what we figured you would say homo", "they" replied. "They" didn't confirm or deny whether
"they" intended to act like I thought "they" should. I told myself, "I won't be giving up any of my
scumbag self-entitlement rights today". "They" continued to tell me lies as I drove on. When I got
closer to Prineville, "they" turned it up and said, "homo why don't you turn around and go home". I
said, "If you want me to go home then lets see you chill out right now". "Homo we don't want you to
get any dope", "they" said. "If you don't want me to do that then shut your mouth until I get to Betsy's",
I shouted out loud. "You're right homo. We ought to be able to do that", "they" said.
"Then do it right now", I said. It only took a split second for "them" to say something else, I don't

remember what it was, but thats when I decided to close discussions about whether or not I was
going to do as "they" asked. "See you don't want it bad enough to shut up for one minute, why in the
fuck would I do anything you wanted me to?" I said, as I felt the anger welling up in me. I used that
anger to help me ignore "them", and continued on my way to Betsy's. I had listened to what "they"
were saying, I tried to give "them" the benefit of the doubt once more, and once more, I was reminded
that there was going to be no compromise on their part. "They" weren't entering into any kind of
contract that involved me doing dope. That's when I stopped talking. It wasn't an epiphany, or
revelation, or some piece of information that I had just discovered. "They" were treating me the same
way "they" always treated me and it didn't matter what I did, "they" were going to continue to treat me
the same way until I was in compliance. With the knowledge of that fact freshly restored to my
memory, I began trying to ignore whatever "they" were saying and did my best not to offer any
response to anything "they" said. Just for the record, it wasn't my mom who said that if you say what
you're wanting to tell someone who is pissing you off under your breath, you can tell yourself that you
said it and keep yourself out of trouble with whoever it was that you wanted to say it to. That
technique is effective when the one your pissed off at has a face and can only know anything about
your thoughts by your demeanor, body language, and other physical signs, but it is like trying to be
invisible when someone knows what's on your mind a nanosecond or two before you do and uses that
information to goad you into an inappropriate response.

I hated the way Bets was living and I did what I could to tell her she needed to make some
changes in her life, but my words didn't carry much weight when I was there to get dope. I had a
dentist appointment at three so I didn't stay long. On the way home, "they" were talking to me like
someone who was depressed. "They" weren't calling me names or telling me what a piece of shit I
was. "They" sounded like someone who was beaten down and was trying to be a friend, so it didn't
feel like "they" were as bad a loser. A friend, I was sure, was not what they wanted. They might have
wanted a friend, but they didn't want it to be me. They needed to establish a better connection to my
flawed self, if "they" wanted a favorable result any time soon. Anytime I found myself thinking I knew
the real reason for something they were doing to me, I was in serious danger of looking like a fool. If
I didn't check myself, figure out where I got separated from reality at, and get back in contact with it,
there was about a eighty/twenty chance that I was going to do something stupid.
When I got home, I quit trying to understand the attempt to bond. I went through my rituals and
got myself off. I was supposed to be getting some new teeth, so I had to get to the dentist's office.
There were some problems with my insurance. The DSHS wouldn't pay for them unless the dentist
pulled all my teeth and I wanted to keep the ones I had left. Disappointed, I started back home. "They"
had been pretty quiet while I was at the dentist". "They" tried to tell me "they" already knew about the
problem and "they" knew I would be disappointed so "they" weren't going to give me a lot of shit
right now. I didn't believe "them", but I would try to enjoy the peace if I did get some of it.
Just before the parkway, there was an adult toy store called, "The Pink Pussycat". I had never
been in it, but I assumed it was a sex toy store. I wanted to go in there and see if I saw any toys I
might like, but I was too insecure and I didn't know if I wanted to listen to the music I was sure "they"
would turn up if I did. "They" said that I should buy a dildo. Then "they" tried to tell me it wasn't a
sex store and "they" wanted me to stop so I would feel stupid. I wasn't sure I was ready to walk in a
store and buy a dildo, but I was really thinking I might. "They" were saying "homo go get you a dildo
if you want one". I started getting a little frustrated like I usually did when "they" wouldn't let me have

a thought of my own.
Someone should have put a program directive in the system that discriminates against data that is
being collected from a subject, who is finding himself angry and confused because the intelligence
system that has called him homo for years, is encouraging him to give in to his heathen desires and
buy a dildo. If it truly is "their" objective that he do so, the IS (intelligence system) needs to establish
that "they" are opposed to the subjects behavior, as "they" have indicated previously by offering a
negative response. If that command is unable to be executed, then the IS should provide a response
that indicates that the matter is not important and does not require an action by the IS, because it is not
anything that "they" are concerned about. Nothing says, "don't do it", louder than your artificial,
computer generated, behavioral correction module encouraging you to address your primal urges, by
purchasing a pagan, pleasure delivery device to worship your sexual, deviate, heathen desires with.
There should have been a "fatal system error" warning when the AIS responded to the subject
attempting to satisfy his need for abandon, with an affirmation. There would have been less damage to
the system and program, if it had crashed completely, than the damage that was caused by the red flags
that were set off when the module failed to correctly identify the possible risks involved with the
execution of the misconfigured program command. Not to mention the lack of foresight or planning
associated with the failure to incorporate an alternative to prevent this type of catastrophic disruption
of the streaming data required to generate an accurate, appropriate, homophobically correct response,
according to the predicted co-operative response probability and priority level parameters of the
subjects ego.
What went wrong, was the only question that was being addressed by the AIS right then, but the
personal desires of the program controllers were more important than the near fatal execution of an
inappropriate program command and its possible consequences, was not enough to cause "them" to
change "their" mind about buying the dildo. "They" were still trying to persuade me to get one.
"They" kept getting louder and angrier that I wouldn't turn around. When I got on the parkway, they
knew I wasn't going to do it, now "they" were pissed. "They" weren't being quiet, "they" were telling
me to go back. "They" were promising that "they" would be nice to me if I went back. Even if I could
have believed "them", I would not have turned around. The illusion of having the ability to control
their emotions with that level of efficiency was intoxicating. I wouldn't have traded it for anything that
day.
I felt like I had some control for a little while, because of the way "they" were begging me. My
questions about whether or not "they" enjoyed it when I was getting myself off, seemed to have their
answer. Why else would "they" be so mad? "They" had been fairly chill for almost two days and now
because I wouldn't buy a dildo "they" were going ape shit.
After "they" saw that I wasn't going back to Bend, "they" started telling me how I was supposed
to deal with my explanations about "their" behavior. "They" said "they" were pissed because "I
wasn't standing up for myself". I thought that was bullshit". "They" said, "they" wanted me to have
what I wanted and there wasn't anything that I liked any better. "They" said, "they" did get off on it,
but "they" could not tell me that and that "they" didn't want me to tell people that. About that time, I
realized that the evolutionary epiphany I had just witnessed, At least I had experienced the illusion of
control over them.
8.3.07.
It's was time to get off. I had put in my fifteen hours this week, I didn't do any dope, and Just
because I sucked down a half a rack of Ice House a day, didn't mean that I don't need to get myself off.
It was my right. It was my destiny. It was the only thing that lived up to my expectations. It was one

thing that I could be sure would leave me feeling that I was content and there was nothing that I
needed badly enough to stress about, at least for a little while.
I woke up feeling tired and hung over. I screwed off as long as I dare before I went on to work.
"They" had already been informed that I was going to get some dope. Telling myself I had done my
job well, I started dialing. "Anything happening, I asked each of my drug dealers until I found one
with the right answer. It was going to be a few hours until I could hook-up. Not a problem, I'll just
pound down beers until then.
I felt a little bit of pride in the fact that I hadn't done any dope in a few days. The idea that if I
stayed off the dope for a few more days, I'd probably be feeling pretty good. All the reasons I had to
not use fell short of being something I cared enough about to make a difference. Only one thing was
certain, as far as I could see, I would have some satisfaction when I got off". "They" would not be so
intolerable, for a while at least.
I went to Daisy's where Sheila worked and asked her if she wanted to get high with me. She said
she was moving and if I would help her for a while, we could get a room and do dope all night. My
head started imagining the two of us in a room together. I wish I could say that I wanted pussy more
than dope, but I can't. At best it was 50/50. Anyway it had some promise of pleasure, in some form or
another.
I took a hostage, when I chose Sheila to serve as my mental landfill. She fucked up the first time
she let me talk about "them". I convinced myself that she cared a little, and that was why she
allowed me to assault her sanity. Tonight was going to be a real treat for her. When someone
recognizes that their rituals provide them with different levels of intensity when they're performed,
they can learn to recognize the indicator signs that hold clues about the level of release they can
expect to experience at different times. I had seen enough to know that when I started getting off
tonight, she was going to get the uncut, unedited, unrated version with a surprise ending.
Whatever my thought was, I hit it from all possible angles and then kicked it around some more
just to make sure that I had beaten it to death. Every once in a while, I'd think about shutting up, but
every time that would happen I'd just keep on talking until the idea passed.
Sheila was a decent looking gal. We had been out a couple times and had a good time together. I
tried not to let my desire for her become a cloud hanging over our relationship. She knew I wanted
her, and I like to think she didn't throw up when she thought about it. If I wasn't a lunatic and thirty
years older than her she might have. I had to take a chance tonight though.
I started out by telling her that I wanted to eat her pussy. She needed something besides talk to
spark her interest. I felt that if I could make myself try to kiss her, she might not say no. My mind told
me that I was just too fucked up from this shit to have enough confidence to kiss her. I got her to let me
rub her back a little, but the "mind fucking" I gave her with the unending stream of bullshit about me
and my insecurities and their relationship to the universe had caused her to become something less
than receptive to my advances. Ya think? Her mind had gone into escape/protect mode and only her
core vital brain cells were responding. If she could live without it for a while, it had been shut down
in order to minimize my relentless assault on her senses.
"They" had successfully destroyed my self-esteem to the point that I didn't think I was worthy of
her affections and I wasn't going let her prove it to me taking a chance. Between the lack of nooky and
the thrashing I had given "them", I was feeling like someone should kick my ass for being a piece of
shit.
Last night when I was rambling, "they" didn't say a whole lot. I reasoned that was because I
needed to dump and "they" knew it. I was so getting off on having someone listen to me talk about it,

that I wouldn't let "them" talk anyway. "They" knew when I started coming down and had to face the
day that I would be feeling guilty for talking so much and I would be expecting some retaliation.
The day before, I had a plan, to deal with the lights in my rental trailer in Washington. Now all I
wanted to do was hide my head and talk to no one. Riding with Sheila, I didn't want to talk about
"them" anymore. That made things awkward, because I didn't think about anything else often or long
enough to have anything I would want to say about it. The only thing I got off on talking about was this
shit and unlike a cocaine habit, you can be satisfied that you have had your fill for a while and don't
need or want any more for now. So I just sat there and didn't say much.
I helped Sheila move another load. We got to her house and I discovered that somewhere along
the way, I had lost a half a gram of dope. I retraced my steps and found nothing. Sheila's mom was
with us too. I was afraid the neighbor might have seen it fall out of the car and would call the cops.
That's all I needed to get busted in Rick's truck for dope. Sheila would probably have to move out and
she hadn't spent one night in her new digs yet. There were little kids playing next door and I figured
"they" would throw the book at me if someone had seen me drop it.
The best case scenario was that Sheila or her mom had seen it fall and were going to keep it. At
least I wouldn't go to jail for that. I told myself, that if the cops didn't show up in the next few minutes,
that the neighbors hadn't found it. I set myself up to look stupid and that's how I looked. I was
exhausted. I just wanted to go home. When I got home and had to face Nizzi and Rick. I thought, "I
need to go to rehab". I couldn't justify the problems I was creating in my quest for whatever it was I
was questing after, right now I didn't even want to remember the reasons I was fighting.
One thing I was sure of was that I was out of control with the drugs and alcohol. If I didn't do
something different, I was going to lose a lot. I couldn't hardly look Nizzi and Rick in the eyes
anymore. "They" had to think I was doing too much dope. I didn't want to talk to my son because I was
ashamed of myself for neglecting him. I could barely manage to work three or four hours a day. I was
becoming more and more careless about what I did to get myself off. I was becoming more impatient
with "them". I was feeling more hopeless every day and the high spots were getting fewer and farther
in between.
It's hard enough to say you're out of control. I say that I'm out of control and that's true. It's also
true that I've been in a lot worse shape and didn't want to go to rehab. Taking inventory ten years later,
I can't remember why I was feeling so overwhelmed, that I didn't feel like I couldn't pull myself out of
the hole I was digging without help. I'm sure Nizzi being with child and me trying to care for Mathew
were probably stressing me out. I was tired of trying to tell someone about "them", I was tired of
fighting with "them", and I didn't know what else to do about it. My back still bowed up whenever I
thought "they" were feeling triumphant about it. My pain was easier to take than thinking about "them"
gloating over their victory. "I just can't say I'm ready to concede yet" I told myself.
I was using "them" for an excuse to use drugs, and that bothered me. I wanted to believe that I
was doing drugs because I wanted to do drugs and I didn't want to believe that "they" had established
that I could not take it if I wasn't using drugs. I thought that was the reason "they" were doing this in
the first place; to make me get clean. I told myself how hopeless it was to keep fighting "them".
I had convinced myself that it was ok for me to do more dope; because it didn't matter what I did, I
was going to lose. Whatever I felt about the way I had been acting, I was still pissed at 'them" for
what "they'd" done to me. I wondered if I would ever be able to tell myself that it didn't matter what
"they" had done. If I was going to get off the drugs, that is what I was going to have to do first.
Some of the twelve steps deal with forgiveness. You have to forgive, before you can let it go. I
needed to forgive "both" of us, if I was going to move forward. Forgiving myself has never been easy

for me. I didn't need anyone to beat me up, I was pretty good at doing it myself. I was just as bad at
letting someone else off the hook. I thought it was a sign of weakness to forgive someone. Holding a
grudge seemed to me to be a pretty good way to keep from getting burned again. If you don't let
someone in "they" can't hurt you. If you let them hurt you a second time, well either you were wrong
about whether or not they deserved a second chance, or you like to get beat up on. If someone is going
to bloody my nose, I'll handle it. If you're pissed off at too many people, you might not be able to
remember everyone and accidently turn the other cheek.
Forgiving someone is something you do for yourself. You are the one who needs to let it go. If
you tell yourself that someone needs to be forgiven because you believe it will help them, unless they
have expressed their desire for you to do so, you may be disappointed when you find out they didn't
care if you forgave them or not. Hot coals do burn you if you hold on to them and the longer you hold
them the worse the burn. Get rid of them and they will stop causing you pain. Asking forgiveness is
something you do because you don't like the way you feel about something you've done. If a person
asks for forgiveness, "they" should make some effort to change whatever the behavior that caused the
problem was. If someone asks for forgiveness and doesn't try to make amends, or isn't willing to try to
make amends, then that person probably doesn't care if he's forgiven or not. That's why I say that you
do it for yourself when you forgive someone. You can't get past it if you can't let it go.
Do I believe "them" when "they" say "they" are sorry? "They" might try to change "their"
behavior, but I don't always see it. With all the things I don't know, or can't prove, it's hard to know
for sure if "they" want to be forgiven or not. My first instinct is that "they" don't care.
If I cannot forgive "them", how will I get past this shit? I believe that I will have to, if I'm going
to move on. I don't think I've ever worried about forgiving someone who seemed so indifferent about
whether I did or not. I hate "them". What can I say? I'm going to need something to get over my pain
and right now I don't have a clue where it's going to come from.
In the garage, "they" try to tell me how they feel about me saying "they" did not want to be
forgiven". They" point out that I see myself as someone who does not need to be forgiven. They
probably have a point. Sometimes I am as indifferent to what others think about me as "they" are to
what I think about "them". I see myself as someone who isn't hurting anyone, for the most part. I don't
care as much as I once did about some things. How I treat my family, how I treat myself, wanting to be
loved, dying, I'm sure there are lots more. But I have a right not to care, I told myself. "These pigs"
have done this to me. Two years ago, I wasn't thinking about my kids much, because I believed had to
protect them and myself from this shit. If I cared, "they" would use them against me. Now I can't care
because I have to punish "them". "They" have got to see that I'm not the only one there hurting. If that
means my kids have to suffer with my indifference, then so be it. I keep telling myself, thinking that if I
say it enough it will be true, that "they" will see this and this will stop. Then I'll be able to make it up
to my kids. Those are two things will ever happen. Treating my loved ones badly will not make
"them" stop and I will never be able to make up for the time I didn't take with them.
If someone tells you every day, many times a day, that you're a piece of shit, are you a piece of
shit? How can you forgive someone who does this to you each day? If I'm being a piece of shit, is it
because I am one or because they told me I was? Are the consequences of my actions solely my
responsibility?
Under ordinary circumstances one would have to say that a person is ultimately responsible. If a
child is abused and one day they start to exhibit inappropriate behavior that is determined to be a
consequence of the abuse, should the child be held accountable for their actions? If we say yes, then
we are saying that what was done to the child does not matter and his behavior is not a consequence

of their abuse. How many of you would be willing to say that just because your kid was molested,
doesn't give them the excuse to do something that is wrong for a normal person to do. If we say no,
then we are saying that whatever inappropriate behavior the child is exhibiting, it is something they
have no control over and there is no need for them to feel the need to make amends.
Whether the child is held responsible or not, they will still have to deal with the feelings that the
inappropriate behavior evoked. Perhaps they hurt someone very badly or worse. How will they
justify that in their own minds? If it was their fault, then we are saying to them that it was ok for your
abuser to do what they did. You are the one who was out of control and needs to be punished. On one
hand, if the child is held accountable, they can tell them self that they have paid their debt to society.
Isn't that how we equalize society, by punishing criminals. When they have completed their sentence
aren't they supposed to be redeemed and allowed to live free to live like everyone else? The justice
system in this country operates with the belief that completion of a sentence is the best thing for
society as a whole. If there was something that was more beneficial to society, I would think someone
would have tried to establish that by now. I believe that the best chance the child would have for a
normal life, would be for them to be held accountable, but If I was on the jury of a trial where
someone was accused of a crime that was perpetrated in response to them being abused, I dont know
if I could convict the person.
On the other hand, if the child is not held responsible, the need to make amends to whoever they
may have harmed would be on a personal level not like paying your debt to society on a criminal
level. The victim deserves some kind of justice. If the child was not responsible, then the abuser
should have to answer for the acts of the abused child. If neither the child nor the abuser are held
responsible, the child may suffer from feelings of guilt because of the indecision about who is
responsible and possibly endure years of anguish because of the dismissal of their accountability.
Either way, whatever acts they have committed can't be changed. Whatever is done is done.
Should this child be forgiven for anything they do because they were abused? Or should the child be
held accountable for its actions? Will the child be able to forgive them self for whatever wrong they
have done if they do not accept the responsibility for it? Will they not accept responsibility for their
deeds and hold their abuser responsible for the acts they committed? How can we protect our
families from the possible consequences of, or retaliation for the abuse, if we can't even say it is
real?
It makes no difference whose fault the childs behavior is, the child must forgive them self before
they can put it behind them. I can tell myself that what "they" did to me justifies anything I choose to
do, but I'm still going to have to pay the price out here in the real world. Am I unable to forgive
myself or 'them'? Who should I ask for advice about this forgiveness, because I don't know anyone
who is qualified to make judgments about my rebellious behavior? There's nothing in the bible that
spells out the proper behavior when you're being fucked with like this, or any other book that I know
of, so who can say?
I want to be able to see, that all the reasons that I shouldn't have to be responsible, don't matter.
All my good intentions and effort won't matter if I can't get past this shit. I am a human being. Human
beings have a built in sense of pride and mine doesn't want me to say, "Its o k if you did this to me",
and even though that is probably the only way the wounds can heal.
A genius would be able to figure out how to forgive himself. Am I just a piece of shit? Right
now I don't believe I am. I can't make it clear enough, the depth of the hatred I feel towards "them"
sometimes.
Before I would finish writing this book, I would put my life in grave danger; a few times, put my

freedom in grave danger, on several different occasions, waste my resources, hurt innocent people, do
irreparable damage to my reputation and my integrity, there is more, but the worst thing" ever did to
me was convince me to call my children and tell them that I was CIA and that they could use my card
to buy themselves something, because I had a clandestine bank account. That was the worst thing they
could have done to me. The relationships they stole from me hurt me deeply also. The material things
aren't nearly as important, but "they" need to be mentioned when taking inventory.
If the fact that there is nothing I can think about, that "they" have not touched, if that wouldn't make
you angry, then you are not understanding the depth of this shit.
I have tried to be open minded as to the possibility of paranoid schizophrenia. I may someday be
able to absolutely rule that possibility out. I believe with all that I am, this is not schizophrenia. It is a
scourge man has unleashed upon himself. This is playing "God" and there are no two ways about. If
you are going to take on the responsibility of using a covert, remote, behavior correction system on
someone, then you should be held accountable for the subjects behavior.

Chapter 15
Taytae
I'll show you. If you want to keep pissing me off, Ill piss everyone off who has anything to do
with me. I'll go to Vegas and blow all my money. "That's not what we want you to do homo", "they"
say. We're sorry we pissed you off, we want you to go see your son. My plan was, when I got my
money, I was going to go to North Carolina and take Carl to Carowinds or Bush Gardens or
something, but between "them" fucking with me and me thinking I could piss everyone off enough to
hate "them" as bad as I did, I told "them" I was going to go to Vegas and party like a rock star. Not to
mention the fact that I hadn't had any pussy in over a year. I said I was going to go to Vegas and get
laid.
"They" were all over that. I would be playing right into "their" hands. Further isolating myself
from my loved ones couldn't hurt and I would be spending my money foolishly. Both things would

lower my self-esteem. Right up to time to get on the plane, "they" said, "we want you to go and get it
out of your system and when you get back maybe you'll be ready to go to rehab". About an hour before
I was to go, "they" changed their tune, saying, didn't want me to go, that "they" were sorry "they"
pushed me into going. I said that it was too late, I was going anyway.
On the plane I imagined how it would be. I would gamble and probably not win but I knew how
much I could lose. I would get a prostitute and get laid. That would show "them" that "'they" couldn't
control me. It wasn't the way I wanted it, but it was the way I had chosen to deal with "them". I did
feel a little guilty, but it was a little late for that.
When I got to the hotel, I went down to check things out. I was looking for pussy. There were two
of them sitting on a bench outside the hotel. The black one said, "Hey baby". Before I could tell
myself I didn't want to, she had hold of my arm and we went to the bar to get a drink. When we got to
my room, I started telling her my story. I was too stressed out to get off on her by the time she finished
emptying my pipe and I finished telling her about my problem.
Taytae was her name. She was twenty two and she was a looker. When I told her about "them",
she didn't know what to think. I paid her, she left, and I got myself off.
"They" turned it up. As loud as "they" had since this shit started. The lies were rolling off their
tongues like water off a ducks back. "They" were trying to tell me that "they" were going to let me win
some money so I would go to rehab. "They" said "they" could fix the slots so I would win. "They"
said were going to throw me out of my tenth story window, the prostitute I was with had given me
aids and stolen my credit card information so she could rip me off. I can't tell you how "they"
eloquently they administered the bullshit that "they" knew would stress me out as badly as I had been
stressed out in a long time. Every thought I had was another scenario that "they" exploited to try and
make me believe that "they" were somehow in control of things that were happening around me.
The thing is, almost everything "they" said was something about things I couldn't know or prove,
but nothing ever happened, at least as far as I could know. They" told me that I should move to Vegas
because there were people there who would pay me to watch me get myself off. I could make money
for doing what I liked to do. "They" told me "they" were going to give me some money and I could
tell my family that I had won it gambling. No one would know any different and when I got out of
rehab I would be able to live. I was supposed to go to one of the casinos, I don't remember which
one, and find a five cent machine. "They" were going to tell me which one to play and I was going to
win a bunch of money. I went to the one "they told me to go to and walked around looking for the
machine I was supposed to play. I tried a couple different ones, but I didn't win anything.
I was going to keep my room for one more night, but I went to the desk to pay for it and there was
no money on my card when I thought I should have had three hundred and fifty dollars on it. I wound
up not getting the room and I had to sit at the airport for about ten hours waiting for my flight. When I
got home, I checked the balance on the card and there was three hundred and fifty dollars on it. When
I looked a little closer, I figured out that a deposit on the room was being held and that was the reason
I could not get the room. From the time I discovered that I could not use the card until the time I got
home, "they" tried to tell me that "they" had done something to cause the card to appear to be empty of
funds and I stressed about it until I learned the truth.

I went out to get something to eat the third day I was there. I was so pissed, I would not look at
women, because I wasn't going to give "them" the pleasure of looking at them. I stopped in a store and
got a sandwich. When I thought the cashier ripped me off for thirty bucks, I nearly took her head off.

She had given me a fifty dollar bill and I thought she had given me a twenty. I immediately apologized
and she said it was o k. I couldn't believe that I was ready to lash out at anyone who gave me even a
hint of a reason too. I was so angry at "them", that when I left my room, I would not look at any of the
millions of great looking women I saw everywhere I went. Instead, I would find the biggest ugliest,
redneck looking asshole in the place and stare at his ass so that "they" had to think about what "they"
were doing, and would not be able to enjoy looking at the beautiful women all around me.
I stayed in my room the rest of that day and night. I knew I was playing right into their hands by
getting so pissed, but I was really hurt that "they" had told me that "they" were going to let me have a
good time down there and "they" were as vicious as I could ever remember "them" being since the
shit started. I had thoughts about going to rehab, after I got back home. I was hoping that I could get it
out of my system in Vegas and maybe I would take a chance and go to rehab when I got home. If "they"
hadn't pissed me off, I probably wouldn't have gone down there. "We thought this might be our last
chance, homo", "they" said. "We thought you might go to rehab".
I have said, ever since this shit started, "that I should be able to do what I wanted, as long as I
wasn't hurting anyone else. You don't have the right to tell me how to live my life". That is still the
truth. What I didn't say, was the world is a poorer place because of some of the things I do. I saw this
loud and clear in Las Vegas. You can do anything you want, if you have the money to pay for it down
there. Well almost anything. There are people who will do anything you want them to, if you pay them
enough. The whole goddamn place has thrown morality out the window. It made me sick to think
about the money that has been spent to make people feel good about someone taking their money from
them and how people will sell their souls to get part of it. I don't have the right to tell them how to
live their lives. I don't like some of it but who am I to say if it's right or wrong. I won't be in any hurry
to get back down there, the truth us I hope I never go back.
That night when I arrived at the airport, I got my suitcase and got on the shuttle to the parking lot. I
was one of the first ones on and the bus was full before we left the terminal. When I got to my lot, I
went to get my bag and I could not find it. I looked and then I looked again. The shuttle driver said he
was going to take the passengers to the other lots and then I could try to find it. I threw a fit and said,
no one is going anywhere until I find my suitcase". Everyone on the bus was looking at me like the
freak I was acting like. I looked again and I could not find my suitcase. Finally this guy stood up and
began picking up every suitcase and asking me if it was mine. I kept telling him that none of them
were mine, until he picked up my suitcase and I recognized it. I did not say a word, I took it and got
off of the shuttle.
I was afraid to drive home, so I got a room in Portland for the night and headed home the next
morning. I didn't feel like someone who had just been on vacation. I wanted to forget that I had been
anywhere. I didn't buy any one a souvenir. I was hoping no one would ask me how my trip was,
because I didn't want to talk about it.
I told myself that now more than ever, I would never go to rehab. I also made a commitment to
myself that I was going to write every day and finish my book.
My plan to piss everybody off, had not been very successful, it was going to take a long time. I
decided to try something different, so I had to mend some of the fences I had torn down or put up
however you want to look at it, if I didn't want to keep trying to make it on my own. I never wanted to
attempt that in the first place. Why I thought it would be easier if I made myself a stranger to the ones
who cared about me, is the single most relevant piece of evidence I know of, that could be perceived
as my behaving in an insane manor. How angry I must have been not to see the insanity of my thinking.
Convincing anyone that they should hate someone that they didn't believe even exists, by beating up on

them and trying to get them to see that I wasn't the one who they should be mad at, was a suicide
mission. In all likelihood, they would only see me acting like a lunatic.
I said I was sorry where I could and that I wasn't going to take this shit out on anyone else
anymore. I wasn't going to be able to go see Carl any time soon. I couldn't change that. I had put up
some money to buy him a Nintendo Wii. I was surprised when he told me that he would rather have
me come out there than have a Nintendo. I suspect that he already had all the games he wanted.
I tried to get him to come out to Oregon, but he had some summer things he wanted to do. I
shouldn't have gone to Vegas. I'd like to believe that, if "they" hadn't fucked with me so much I would
have gone to North Carolina. I didn't want to dump this shit on him. He was listening when I told his
grandpa Spud some things when I was there at Christmas and I tried to explain things to him a few
times. "They" had told me that, "he was having a baby". "They" said, "he was a homo and he had a
boyfriend". I was afraid that when I got pissed off at "them", that I might take it out on him.
Jim Harmon was a contractor, I met in Bend. He was letting me help him on some jobs he had, but
I had to try and piss him off too, so he would hate this shit and so 'they" would see what they were
doing to him. For a week before I went to Vegas, I wouldn't even return his calls. He needed some
help on some things and I had said that I would help him" .Hell with him, he's no different than anyone
else, I'm going to piss him off too", I said.
I called him and then I went over to his place and told him what I had been doing, as best I dare.
He said that he understood and not to worry. He then tried to offer me some advice. I listened to him.
He really didn't understand the depth of my problem. He seemed to be genuinely concerned and
offered up his best advice. I said I was going to try and keep my mouth shut a little more and that I
was going to try not to take this shit out on people that didn't deserve it.
I could try and make amends for my behavior, if I wanted, but that wasn't really addressing the
problem, at least I didn't think so. What I heard me say was, "I'm sorry for trying to fight back, I
wasn't being smart, but now I'm ready to just eat it so I don't stress everyone out so much". Not talking
or bitching, would just allow it to build up, so I could get really stupid when I felt the need for
retaliation. Lizzy was born and the house was too small for all of us, so Mathew and I headed back to
Cispus.
After I moved to Cispus, I had to go to court in Bend. Mom agreed to take me. I had hopes of
getting the charge dismissed. Ill never feel good about the plea bargain I accepted. The cop didn't
show up so the DA offers me a plea bargain I couldn't refuse. They'd reduce it to a misdemeanor and
no fine or jail. Done. The only problem was I had to get a drug and alcohol evaluation. My attorney
said, "If you go to Washington you will never hear any more about it". I told myself that it was a
victory and I was pleased.
I did a lot of thinking on the trip and I used the opportunity to share some things with mom. A
hostage for my ramblings so to speak. She had a pretty good tolerance to my bullshit. She acted like
she believed me, but I knew she was way too shallow to get it. I hoped that I might say something that
would convince her that my problem wasn't just my imagination. On the way home, I got several
reminders that I wasn't doing this to myself. Five more miles homo" was what I heard. Thats how
far we were from the Scenic county line, only I didn't know that until we got there. A few minutes
later an electronic chime began sounding. Neither of us could figure out where it was coming from or
why it was chiming. "They" said, "they" had done it to impress my mom.
It was going to take more than that to impress on mom that this was real. She could listen to me
for hours and never say anything negative about what I said to her. When she got back home though,
she told Lynn's family that I wouldn't quit talking about it. She was telling the truth. That's probably

when Lynn and Martin decided they were not going to let me talk about it anymore.
Sometime around that period I decided to talk to Lynn's family about my problem. I had it all
worked out what I would say and they weren't going to like it but they might see that I was trying to
warn them. I told them some things I thought were important. I didn't get to say much before I got cut
off by Martin. "You're not going to come in here and pound that shit down our throats. Your mom
might listen to it but we're not going to". I was not prepared for this. I tried to gather my wits and say
something that might help. What came out was, "I have not spoken to you about this before and I'm not
pounding anything down your throat. All I wanted to say was please keep an open mind if your kids
start hearing voices because maybe they are not psychotic". Lynn stood up, looked at me like I had
just fucked her kid or something, and she said, "You are not going to talk about this in this house ever
again. If you want to come here and talk about anything else, you can, but not this". That's when
Martin said, "If I hear of you talking to my children about this bullshit I will kick your ass". I thought
about the time when Darlene took me to Oregon to see Nizzi and how I talked about "them" on the
trip. She must have told them about it. I realized at that moment that I had walked into an ambush.
When I was leaving to go to talk to them, I asked my mother if she wanted to come over there with
me. She nervously declined. Now I knew why.
I said I wouldn't talk to their family about it anymore and I got up to leave. "Well, I suppose I
better get back over to mom's", I said. Martin said, "You can stay, we just have to talk about
something else". I was at a loss for words, but I sat back down. I tried to make small talk, but I was
too torn up. My pride was hurt because they didn't care what I believed or knew about "them", they
were not going to listen to me.
In my mind, all that I was doing was trying to help them protect themselves. How could they not
see that I was dealing with something that was not going to go away? Even if they were able to keep
an open mind about it, no one wants to think about it. I was the messenger delivering news about the
end of the world as we know it, if I was right. They would be pissed at me for telling them about it,
whether it was my fault or not.
I had not established myself as a father who was responsible enough to raise a family and they
had made plenty of sacrifices for their family. They were not going to let an irresponsible fuck like
me trample on the values had taught their children.
Lynn and Martin had helped me several times in my life. They bought me a ticket out here and let
me stay at their house for a couple of weeks. I had left N. C. because I knew if I stayed I was going to
die. I was strung out on crack and if the drug dealers didn't kill me I was probably going to take
myself out. My family was sick of me and whose family wouldn't be. There wasn't anyone close to me
that I didn't damage or threaten to damage with my behavior. I knew that I had left Washington for
many of the same reasons, but I thought my problems would not be as bad as they were there.
What Lynn and Martin could never understand was that I would probably never live up to their
expectations. I was grateful for their help, but that didn't stop me from seeking drugs and getting a
drunk driving ticket. Lynn bailed me out of jail. They took it as a personal attack. I tried to explain
that it wasn't an attack or betrayal on them, but a weakness on my part, that I'd probably never
overcome. I tried to apologize. I felt bad about it, but the truth was I didn't want to stay straight.
Because of that, I would never be able to talk to my family about the most important thing I could have
ever told them about. I would spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how I could redeem myself
and make them listen.

Chapter 16
Slutty Belinda
When Betsy went to prison, Mathew was about to become a foster child. Nizzi didn't want to deal
with him and Betsy's niece had three of her own and just didn't want to deal with it. I stood up for
him. I picked him up from Brandy's and we headed to "Redmond.
Mathew had been with us most of his life. Nizzi took good care of him. I tried, but I wasn't that
good at it. When he and I walked into the house, Nizzi was worried that she was going to have to take
care of him all the time. I told her that he was my grandchild and I wasn't going to let him be put in the
system, if I could help it. I told her that I would move back to Cispus if I had to, but I was going to try
to take care of him.
It wasn't easy. He had been taken from his mom several times and he was just a pissed off little
kid. "They" weren't giving me much to be happy about either. In fact, "they" were making me about as
miserable as "they" ever had. They" had a new weapon now, this infant that I had chosen to be
responsible for. They" were able to make me think that any problem I had, was greater than it
actually was, and taking care of Mathew was no exception. Nizzi was about to have her first child
and the house was small. She and Rick loved Mathew, but they deserved to enjoy the experience of

their first born and Mathew and I were intruding. Things would have been difficult for anyone. I got
more and more frustrated and angry at them". I was threatening to do things to hurt people to try to
make "them" chill. I stopped writing about that time.
I was threatening to cause property damage and leave notes that told how the developers of neural
monitoring technology were responsible. I didn't do it. "They" were relentless and I was desperate to
find a way to stop the torture they inflicted on me daily. I told "them" that '"they" would push me too
far and "they" would have blood on their hands". "They" said, "you ain't gonna hurt anybody, except
maybe yourself". What if I start killing peoples pets? Would that make you see that you are hurting
innocent families? I asked. "They" said, "go ahead and kill everyones dogs. We ain't gonna stop
what were doing. You need to go to rehab and you know it". "They" were right, I needed to do
something. They" hadn't changed much since "they" started. Some things were different, but what
didnt change was that when I would get high, "they" were o k. Masturbate and "they" were o k. Come
down and "they" were cunts. Same as it ever was, same as it ever was.
I finally decided that I was going to show "them" that I was capable of hurting someone by
poisoning some dogs. I hoped that they" would think that if I could do that, I just might be able to kill
their dead nigger babies.
When I threw the poison burritos out my window as I drove by the homes of the pet owners. I was
feeling bad and wishing I didn't have to do it. I think it bothered "them" a little, but not enough to
cause "them to change the way they treated me. As it turned out, the poisoned food laid in the
gutter for weeks. Seems animals are smart enough to know what is not good to eat. I didn't try to do
that anymore. It just wasn't worth it.
When Mathew and I moved back to Cispus. I went to work for my brother in law, Martin, and my
sister, Lynn, was taking care of Mathew, while I worked. Taking care of Mathew and working for
Martin keep me busy and keep "them" from fucking with me most of the time. They" were like sharks
though if they smell blood, "they" attack. I'm am telling you this because, you need to understand how
relentless "they" are. I can't even make myself write it.
"They" were doing what "they" do best and when I couldn't take it anymore, I got Mathews
favorite stuffed animal and told "them" that I was going to rip it in half right in front of him if "they"
didn't back off.
Do I need to tell you what happened? I tore the thing in half and smacked Mathew in the head
with part of it. He screamed bloody murder. I didn't hear "them" for maybe a minute. I picked Mathew
up and tried to calm him down. I held him tightly and we both sobbed uncontrollably. I couldn't
believe what I had just done. I couldnt believe I had let them push me that far. I called Lynn and
asked, if she could come get Mathew. I promised him that I would never do that again. I doubt that he
will ever forget.
Why did "they" feel it was necessary to push me that far. So I would go to rehab? I don't believe
that. More likely to try to destroy anything good in my life. Never mind Mathew. His well -being
wasn't nearly as important as "their mission to make my life as difficult as possible. I told Mathew
that I would never let it happen again and it didnt. That experience was one of the ones I would not
have to go through again to remind myself of the possible consequences.
Then one day Lynn got a call. Darlene, her daughter, had gotten in trouble. It seems her boyfriend
had pulled a gun on some Mexicans. Lynn went to Oregon to rescue them. A couple days later she
returned with Darlene and family in tow. They were going to need a place to stay, so mom and Lynn
decided that it would be a good idea to kick the renter out of mom's house. Mom asked me what I
thought about it. I said "I don't think it's a very good idea". I said, "For one, you won't get any rent.

For two, Martin told me that when you moved out to Lynn's, that all three of you were "washing your
hands of this place". I don't know why she asked, what I thought wouldn't matter to them anyway. One
arm Kenny had been living there for four years. He had a little trouble keeping the trash up, but he
was never late with the rent.
A month or two later Darlene's family moved in. It took about two weeks for us but heads. Kenny
left a couple of vehicles on the property. When I asked the county agent to tag them for scrap, Darlene
threw a fit. She figured they were hers since she was living there. We mouthed off to each other and
thats when she told me all the reasons that I had been treating her badly. I tried not to get upset, but
she went on and on until I said, "if you want a war I'll give you one". That ended our little talk.
I hadn't realized how determined she was. She waged a campaign to take Mathew away from me
by telling her mother that I was mistreating Mathew. Darlene had warned me several times before our
relationship got so bad, that her mom wanted to take Mathew away from me. When Mathew and I
moved to Cispus, I was hoping that my sister would take Mathew in to her home. I loved him, but I
didnt think I would be able to care for him like I should. She told me that she was not able to when I
ask her to. After nearly two years together, we were very close. We had made it through the diapers
and terrible twos. He was proud to be my charge and I was thinking that maybe I could raise him after
all.
When Darlene declared war on me and told Lynn things that werent true about the way I treated
Mathew, Lynn demanded that I let him come live with her. She said she would call CPS if I didnt
allow her to take him. I bowed up and told her to go ahead. I could stand up to their scrutiny. The truth
is, if she hadnt come in like an SS officer that morning, I probably would have agreed to let her take
him, at least for a while. A week or two later on mothers day, I got a call from Lynn. She told me she
had talked to Betsy and Nizzi and Betsy wanted me to let Mathew come to live with her. Lynn
convinced me to allow it. I wanted Mathew to be with his mother, but I wasnt sure she was ready. I
didn't think it was the best thing to do, but I wanted to give Betsy a chance.
After Mathew left, I didn't care if the sun ever came up again. I was really depressed for a long
time. I was angry at Darlene and Lynn and I would be for a longer time. Betsy had been out of jail for
a few months and I wanted him to live with her. I didn't feel she was ready to take care of Mathew
yet, but at Lynn's urging I let it happen. I think Lynn probably figured that Betsy would screw up and
Mathew would be put in the system. That's exactly what happened. Lynn wound up adopting Mathew.
I won't try to tell you that Mathew isn't better off with Lynn. She let me visit with Mathew at her
home, but it would be a long time before he would visit me at my home. She was less than honest with
me and unjustly called me a thief and a liar in front of Mathew. If that wasn't enough, "they" made
certain that I stayed angry at Lynn by constantly bombarding me with lies and innuendos about our
relationship.
It had been a month since Mathew left. I told Betsy that I would come down to check on him
when I got my check. I asked my neighbor Sluty Bellinda if she wanted to go with me. She used to
live in Bend and she had a license. She drove us down there and we stayed at Nizzis for three days. I
tried to spend as much time with my grandkids as I could. When it was time to go home, we had to
take Mathew back to his mom in Bend. I filled the truck up with gas and we headed for Bend. We
didn't get a quarter mile from the gas station when three carloads of law pulled us over. The deputy
said that Mathew wasn't in his car seat. Bullshit.
I had a misdemeanor warrant and when they ran my name, he said I was going to jail. Mathew
had thrown my smokes behind the seat and I was trying to find them so I would have them when I was
released in a day or two. The deputy thought I was hiding something and he wanted to search the

truck. Before we left Nizzis, I asked Slutty if she had anything that we might get in trouble for. She
told me she didn't.
After the deputy put me in the back of his car, he told Slutty that he was going to search the truck
and if she didn't want her purse to be searched, she needed to get it out of the truck. She said she
didn't care if he searched it or not. Pretty soon he walked over to his car and opened the door I was
sitting by. I had given my wallet to Slutty because I knew I was going to jail and she might need my
credit card to bail me out. When the sheriff walked over and opened the door I was sitting beside, he
had my wallet in one hand and a small baggy in the other. He held the baggie up and asked me, "Do
you know what this is"? I said, it looks like a jewelry bag to me". He said, "It is a drug bag. Do you
know where I found it"? I said no. He said he had found it in her purse. I said, "I don't use drugs and
neither does she. For all I know you put it there".
He told me that Slutty had told him that I had given it to her because I knew I was going to jail. It
was a baggy as small as a dime. If I would have known anything about it I would have thrown it out
the window or swallowed it. If I had given it to her, and she knew it was in her purse, then why did
she agree to let the deputy search her purse? I said to him again, "I don't use drugs and neither does
she. For all I know you put it there". He said, "Youre not being cooperative, I'm charging you both
with it". I would spend the next seventy days in jail. Slutty was issued a ticket for possession and
allowed to leave in my truck. She went back to Nizzi's after I was arrested and got her things and my
money, before Nizzi got home from work. In her haste, she left her syringe in my suitcase for my
daughter to find. I doubt if Nizzi has forgiven me yet. Slutty had plenty of gas and money to take my
truck back to Cispus, but she chose to whore around Bend a few days before she sold my truck to the
Mexicans and called her daughter to come get her.
It was a long time before I was able to confront Lynn about Mathew , but when I asked her why,
she said, "I only did what I thought was best ". Several months later, Lynn asked me if I would go to
the hospital with her and Mathew. He had to have oral surgery and she might need some help with him
on the way home.
As I listened to her tell me about it, I opened my mind as far as I could. I thought I heard her say,
"I'm sorry for treating you like a piece of shit". Of course only a full blown lunatic like myself could
pick those words out of what really came out of her mouth. Someone else might have heard something
more like, "I'll not be wrong, but we can talk about it and I won't say that you're wrong, at least not so
you can hear me". I loved Mathew so I accepted our dysfunctional truce approved in denial to try to
maintain a relationship with him.
Looking back, doing that may have laid the cornerstone for the "unmentionable issues" our
relationship would be built on. There should be a scoring system for family disagreements. If one
family member fails to keep his skills up by not being ruthless enough, he would be sent to
professionals to improve his character attacking skills. If you can't hurt your family, you're probably
not going to be very effective at hurting others that you don't know as well. We'd have to give extra
points for playing with "delusions" and not talking about "them". I don't want "them" to think that I
would fuck "their" families off if I got the chance. I want "them" to know beyond a shadow of a doubt
that I would.
One day Darlene came over to bitch, because she was unable to find a drill. She tried to tell me
that my friends had been stealing from her since I returned my trip to Oregon to check on Mathew. I
told her that my friends weren't stealing from her and if she ever found out any different to call the
law or tell me about it and I would kick their ass and then I would call the law. She responded with,"
I don't want anybody calling the law because I smoke pot".

I was still angry about Darlenes behavior and the things she'd said about me to my sister. I had
twice found her two year old son outside naked in the snow. She was friends with a convicted sex
offender and let them stay at her house a lot. I had tried to tell her mother she was using drugs and got
my face slapped for saying it.
I called child protective services and told the caseworker that I didn't feel the children were in
too much danger. He said it sounded like they probably needed a wakeup call and I agreed. The man
came the next day. No one was home at Darlenes, so he left a card in the door. They cleaned the
house up before the CPS worker returned the next day. He talked to them about the concerns I had
expressed and he left. I could have gone over there after he left that first day and taken his card out of
the door and they would never have known he was there. I didn't want them lose their kids or get into
any legal trouble. I wanted to let them see that I knew how to cause problems for them, if that was
what I chose to do. I hoped that she would see that I could have done it and think about what she had
been doing to me. I was too naive to see that what I'd done would only make things worse. When
Darlene confronted me, I admitted that I had called CPS and I told her, "I was only doing what I
thought was best". That's what her mother said to me when I asked her about the affair with my
grandson. I also admitted it was chicken shit and that I wanted her to see that I could play games with
her life if I chose to. I told her, "I will tell you I'm going to turn you in before I do it, if I ever do it
again, you have my word".
Things smoothed out a little until the day before mothers day when my neighbor, Jerry, and his
aunt walked across the corner of Darlene's property and pointed a pellet gun at the dog. I don't know
if he shot it or not, but Jim went after them with a tire iron and Darlene took off in the car chasing
them. Pretty soon Jim returned and went into the house. He came back out on the front porch and short
a pistol into the woods. He looked over at me standing in my yard and went back in his house.
When Darlene got back, they both walked over to me as he worked in my yard. They asked me,
"what kind of gun did he have '? I told them he had a pellet gun. They said, "No, it was a twenty two
or a twenty five. I said, "No it wasn't, it was a pellet gun. I know because he tried to sell it to me".
They walked off and I thought how stupid both of them were. Everyone settled down and I thought that
I wouldn't hear much more about it.
The next day, mom's day, Darlene's family, and her brother Timmy's family, were all over at
Darlene's house. I had mowed my half of the yard that morning. When the kids brought out blankets
and laid them out on my fresh cut lawn. They wanted to have a picnic and the grass in Darlene's yard
was two feet tall. I didn't say anything about them being in my yard or playing there all afternoon. That
evening I was getting annoyed because the kids hadn't picked up their mess and I needed to rake up
the grass piles. When I saw Timmy's family getting in their car to leave, I asked, "you guys want to
have the kids get their mess out of my yard?" Darlene bowed up and said "what". I said it a little
rougher the second time, "someone needs to get this shit out of my yard".
She started at me, running her mouth a mile a minute. She was telling me that the part of the yard
that I was complaining about, was part of her yard, not mine. We had agreed that the property would
be divided at the halfway mark until then and the mess was on my side of the fence, so to speak. We
argued until I saw that I was wasting my time. An old boy told me once, don't get into a pissing
contest with a skunk. I turned and walked away from her. She followed me continuing to mouth off. I
spouted off at her a little more and again tried to walk off. She kept following me and kept mouthing. I
turned and told her if she didn't get her ass out of my face, I was going to break her fucking neck. This
stunned her enough to make her stop following me.
The neighbors, Bud and Lisa heard us arguing and called the sheriff. When the sheriff got there,

he went to Bud and Lisa's house. After he talked to them for a few minutes, he went to Darlene's
house. He asked about the gun Jim had fired into the woods the day before. Jim told him that he did
not have a gun and he had not fired one. The sheriff told him that if he did have a gun, that he had
better get it out of the house because he was a felon. The sheriff left without talking to me. A few
minutes later Jim's friend Mike pulled up outside his house. Jim walked out to Mikes truck and
handed him something. Mike started his truck and left.
When I went to see Mathew a few days later, I was told by Lynn that I wouldn't be able to see
Mathew on Mondays, Tuesdays, or Thursdays because Darlene was going to get a restraining order
against me. Her kids would be there on those days and I wasn't going to be allowed to be around
them. When I told my friend about it, she told me to get one on her first because whoever got the first
one would be in control. So I filed for one on her. When Lynn told me what Darlene was planning to
do, all I could see was me being kicked out of my home.
When I saw the judge, I told him I did not want her to be kept out of her home. I just want her to
stay away from me. I was granted a temporary order. When the deputy came to serve the order on her,
she read what the judge had written and thought it said that Darlene could not be in her house until the
matter was resolved. Darlene was forced to stay at Lynn's house. They were really pissed at me. I
told them what I said to the judge about her being able to remain in her house. It didn't matter I was
still just an asshole.
A few days before the hearing that would decide to keep the order in place or not, Lynn called
me and asked if I would drop the order if Darlene didn't talk to me. I probably should have known
better, but I agreed to do so. The next day, my mother told me that she was coming over to reestablish
the division of our yards on Saturday. When she arrived, she had Jim walking around with some
stakes and putting them where she told him to. She did what she had to do to keep Lynn happy. She
was giving Darlene nearly all of the yard. Darlene would later say that it was unfair and not practical
the way my mother had laid it out. She was establishing that she was on Lynn and Darlene's side no
matter who was in the wrong.
When my mother left I went out and began cleaning up and getting my things off of Darlene's new
yard. I was pissed. I made a fire and burned all the toys Mathew had left behind. It was pretty clear
that he wasn't going to be coming over to play with them any time soon. When Darlene came home
and saw the toys burning, she called the sheriff. He came and talked to both of us. He said next time I
needed to get a burning permit if I was going to burn.
Lynn and mom showed up and we argued for a while before they left. Lynn had my mom trying to
say that she did not give my grandmothers trailer to me when she moved to Lynns. She could not
stand there and say it while she looked in my eyes. A few days later the deputy pulled up and handed
me a no contact order. Darlene had gotten a temporary order against me. The judge ordered that I not
speak to her for one year. We would be in court many times in the next few years.
I looked at the mobile home setting in my yard and wondered if it would be there forever. I told
Candice, I was going to the mailbox to see if my check from the scrap yard had come. We walked out
to the road and the mail box together. There was no mail. I thought about it and I realized I hadn't
gotten any mail for a while. The next day I went to the post office to see if there was a problem. When
I asked the postmaster if there was a problem with my mail, she told me that she had been returning
my mail because someone had written "not at this address" on some mail that was addressed to me
and after a few days she stopped sending it to my mailbox before she returned it to the sender. I
explained to the postmaster that I had not been anywhere and I did not write that on my mail. I asked
to see the mail with the writing on it. She told me she no longer had any of it. I retrieved nearly all of

the mail that had been returned, and not one piece of mail with "not at this address" was ever found. I
told the postmaster that I had no plans to move and if I did I would tell her personally.
Darlene and I had been sharing the mailbox for two years, because there were two dwellings on
the property at 911a Morse rd. I figured she was probably responsible for returning my mail. I wasnt
sure exactly why she had done it, but I was sure she had done it. When I asked Darlene and Jim, they
denied having any knowledge of it. Darlene's best friend worked at the post office and when I asked
her if she knew anything about it, she shook her head no, but she did not speak. I didn't believe her.
Later I would find out that Darlene was pissed about the mobile home on the property. She thought
someone was living in it and that they were stealing her electricity and that was the reason she had
done it. She never made any mention of her discontent to me or the neighbors she thought were
responsible for stealing the electricity. I found out about her misconception from her mother when I
asked if she knew of any reason why Darlene would return my mail. Darlene would later say that her
friend had seen the mail that had been written on and that the handwriting on the mail was not
Darlene's.
When I continued to complain to my sister about the mail problem with her daughter, she said I
was crazy and that I was on drugs and that no one had taken my mail. No matter how much evidence I
offered to her, she emphatically denied her daughters involvement. The tension caused by these events
made me feel that it was better not to see my grandson Mathew until things got resolved. I would not
stand by and allow my sister to call me a liar in front of Mathew, so I stopped going to see him until I
could prove what I was saying. The stress I felt from these events, was compounded by "them".
I began to get my mail again so I let the matter go. The problems with the neighbors did not stop
though. Every month we were in court on restraining order issues. The truth was we would never be
able to resolve our differences. I would have been content if she had just left me alone. She wasn't
going to be satisfied unless she was causing me some kind of problem though.
About a year after the first mail issue, I noticed that I wasn't getting any mail again. This time
when I ask the post master about it, she and my mail carrier said, that my neighbor, Darlene, had
presented a court order that directed me to change my address to 911c Morse Rd. and erect a new
mailbox. "Well can I see the order", I asked? "No we don't have it" she replied. "Well what court
issued it", I asked? "I don't remember but it was a valid court order", she said. When Darlene and I
were in court on harassment issues after my mail had stopped the first time, the judge told me to
change my address from 911a Morse Rd. to 911b Morse Rd. That's when Darlene told the judge,
"Your honor my best friend works at the post office ". The judge rolled his eyes at her. She continued,
"oh but shed never do anything wrong. She said that she had seen the mail that had been written on
and it was not my handwriting". The judge did not put anything about me changing my address in the
court order he issued that day.
I was confused. How did she get a court order without me being given an opportunity to address
the court? I did not believe the postal workers were telling the truth, but the postmaster said my mail
wouldn't be delivered until I did as she said. I erected a new mail box and on my porch, I painted my
new address in blood red letters so the neighbors would see.
I wasn't going to take anyone elses word for it so I went to the courthouse and found out that
there was no order. I went back to the post office and asked the postmaster what the order looked
like. I showed her a district court order I had gotten from the courthouse. "Did it look like this", I
asked? She looked at it and said, "I can't remember", four times, very rapidly. Then she said, "No it
did not look like that".

Chapter 17
Back Pay
"I want to work this out with our family, I do not want to go to the law", I said. She got angry and
said, "If you do not leave my daughter alone, I am going to make sure you don't have a place to live. If
you call here, I will put a block on my phone and don't try to call your mother or I will put a block on
it too. Don't even try to see your grandson or I will get a restraining order against you". I was
dumbfounded. I tried to figure out why Lynn refused to acknowledge that what her daughter had done
was wrong. If she had put a gun to my head, I wouldn't have felt any more of a threat than I felt from
what I had just heard her say. Whatever she thought about me and the way was living, I could not see
her compromising her integrity like this. She was hardheaded as hell, but I always thought she was
someone who tried to do the right thing when push comes to shove. Was I such an evil bastard that she
would do whatever it took to hurt me? Was she just being petty? Was her conscious bothering her
about the affair with Mathew and she worried that I would try to retaliate? I felt I had no choice but to
call the sheriff. They did some investigating, but did not charge anyone with a crime. The deputy said
that the postal service would have to instruct them to charge someone before they could do anything
about it.
I called the postal inspector and they investigated the matter. The postmaster told the inspector that
she had seen the court order. The inspector told me, "that since they could not find the court order that
they were not going to take any action". I continued to complain. This time I went to the consumer
affairs division of the U. S. P. S. They investigated and the postmaster was now saying that she did

not make me change my address because of a court order, but that she did it to help me get my mail
better. I was told that since I was getting my mail, I should let it go. I thought if I could make the
district court judge look at the information, he would be obligated to have the matter investigated. I
attached the whole story to three petitions for a temporary anti-harassment orders. The judge threw
out all three and did nothing about the post office problem. I complained all the way up to the U. S.
Attorney General and only after I had been institutionalized, were the postal employees put on
probation for two years.
I could not keep from thinking, what if I had done these things to my neighbor and the post office
employees? They would have put me in prison. I began trying to find an attorney to help me sue the
post office. I was unable to find one. I tried thirty or more lawyers and no one would help me. All the
deception from the ones who were involved in the matter, made me question if this was connected to
the voices I heard. Maybe those people were involved in it. They worked for the government. I could
not understand, how a nice little lady like the post master, could do this to me unless she had a reason
to. As far as I knew she had no animosity towards me before all this.
When I went to meet with an attorney from legal aid, the man told me that I would only be beating
my head against the wall if I pursued the matter and I'd better leave it alone before someone wound up
dead. I did some research and decided to file an administrative claim against them myself. For the
next couple months, I compiled my evidence and researched the information I needed to have to file a
claim against the U. S. P. S. I was only a few days away from filing my claim and that's when "they"
told me that, "I had made it". "I had survived", "they" said. "I had been right about what "they" were
doing to me. I was a test subject and the test was over. "They" had been given ten years to prove it
could work and the ten years was up. Now "they" were going to have to compensate me. I was going
to be a CIA agent. I would be trained to use the technology "they" had been using on me, to serve my
country.
I was going to be paid for the ten years I was used as a test subject. It was going to be around two
million dollars. I had a number. It was NO1152. I could use it to procure goods and services I
needed. I was CIA now and I couldn't sue the post office, "they" said. I didn't believe "them".
"They" said, "if you could buy anything you wanted to homo, what would you do"? I thought for a
minute and said, "I would send my family on a trip to Rio de Janeiro". "They" said, "you can do that,
if you want to homo, you've got money on your card now. You can buy anything you want. Are you
sure you want to send your family to Rio?", "they" asked. "They" said it was kind of nasty and
dangerous, so I decided to send them to London instead. The ticket agent was an Arab sounding jerk
and he seemed to be a dumb bastard. He was slow to answer my questions or speak. Before I
completed the purchase of the tickets to London, "they" talked me into taking Mathew to see his
grandpa. "They" said my father was dying and I should take Mathew to see him. Then "they" said that
I should put the tickets in my mothers name, because I might be in rehab or D. C. and Lynn might not
let me take him anyway. I sent Lynn an email and said that she could take him, or mom could, or I
could. This is a copy of the itinerary. The ticket holders name has been changed.
"They" said, "use your card to pay for the tickets". I did and as far as I knew they were paid for.
The dumb agent asked if I needed anything else. "They" told me to tell him that, "I was going to be in
Washington, D.C. on Friday, August 23rd", I did.
----- Forwarded Message ----From: WTC (AGENTID03804437) <emailserver@pop3.amadeus.net>
To: @YAHOO.COM

Sent: Sunday, September 2, 2012 8:33 PM

Subject: Irene Styles 11SEP PDX
11SEP PDX
WTC
DATE 02SEPTEMBER12
5110 RIDGEFIELD RD SUITE 409/4TH FL
AGENT AA/AA BOOKING REF 4YG47A
BETHESDA MD 20814
TELEPHONE: 703 379 1777
Irene Styles
FAX : 703 379 6983
911C MORRIS RD
RANDLE WA 98377
USA
SERVICE DATE FROM TO

DEPART ARRIVE

ALASKA AIRLINES
11SEP PORTLAND OR ATLANTA GA 1245P 829P
AS 5602
TUESDAY PORTLAND INTL HARTSFIELD JAC
F FIRST
TERMINAL S
LUNCH
NON STOP
RESERVATION CONFIRMED
4:44 DURATION
DL 0773
FLIGHT OPERATED BY DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT OWNER: DL DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT: BOEING 737-800
ALASKA AIRLINES
11SEP ATLANTA GA GREENSBORO/ NC 952P 1120P
AS 5842
TUESDAY HARTSFIELD JAC PIEDMONT TRIAD
F FIRST
TERMINAL S
NON STOP
RESERVATION CONFIRMED
1:28 DURATION
DL 1583
FLIGHT OPERATED BY DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT OWNER: DL DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT: BOEING (DOUGLAS) MD-88
ALASKA AIRLINES
24OCT GREENSBORO/ NC ATLANTA GA 320P 447P
AS 5863
WEDNESDAY PIEDMONT TRIAD HARTSFIELD JAC
AS 5863
F FIRST

WEDNESDAY PIEDMONT TRIAD HARTSFIELD JAC

TERMINAL S
NON STOP
RESERVATION CONFIRMED
1:27 DURATION
DL 1025
FLIGHT OPERATED BY DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT OWNER: DL DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT: BOEING (DOUGLAS) MD-88
ALASKA AIRLINES

24OCT ATLANTA GA

PORTLAND OR 709P 930P

AS 5599
F FIRST

WEDNESDAY HARTSFIELD JAC PORTLAND INTL

TERMINAL S
DINNER
NON STOP
RESERVATION CONFIRMED
5:21 DURATION
DL 1576
FLIGHT OPERATED BY DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT OWNER: DL DELTA AIR LINES
AIRCRAFT: BOEING 757
MISCELLANEOUS
FRIDAY

23AUG WASHINGTON DC

RESERVATION NUMBER(S) AS/PWGYFL

*** YOUR CREDIT CARD MAY SHOW ONE OR MORE CHARGES
*** WITH A TOTAL PRICE OF USD 2519.20 ***
CALL AIRLINE 72HRS PRIOR DEPARTURE TO RECONFIRM SC
*** NO SHOW NO MONEY ** TICKET WILL BE SUSPENDED
TL AMOUNT CHARGED FOR ALL TICKETS IS USD 2519.20
WE WILL MAKE EVERY ATTEMPT WITH THE AIRLINE
BUT WE CANNOT GUARANTEE THAT THIS AIRLINE ALLOWS
UNACCOMPANIED MINORS TO TRAVEL
CLICK THE FOLLOWING LINK TO ACCESS YOUR ONLINE ITINERARY:
https://www.checkmytrip.com/CMTSERVLET?R=4YG47A&L=US&N=HILES
BAGGAGE POLICY - FOR TRAVEL TO/FROM, WITHIN THE US, PLEASE VISIT:
https://bags.amadeus.com/?R=4YG47A&N=HILES
When I got the itinerary, it said on the bottom," miscellaneous, Washington D. C., Friday, August
23rd". I did not know for 1. (August 23rd would fall on a Friday) 2. (Why I was going there?) 3.
(That the 23rd was the beginning of the fiftieth anniversary of Martin Luther King Juniors march on
Washington, D. C.). I would not find out about that until eight months later. "They" told me to use that
airline agent. The agent's office was about four miles from the white house. These tickets cost twenty
five hundred dollars. I bought them with my eleven hundred dollar a month debit card, or so I thought.
Only a couple hours earlier, I had called the sheriff to complain about my problem with the post
office. "We're sending someone over to talk to you", is what the dispatcher said. "Thank you" I
replied. I thought about the times I had dealt with deputy Chambers before. He had treated me better
than most of the other sheriffs had. When he got out of the car, he was smiling. I told my tale of woe
one more time for him. When I had finished, he said just about the same thing all the others had
previously said, that the S. C. S. O. was not going to take any action until the post office directed them
to. I was disappointed, but he did agree to talk to my sister about visiting Mathew.
I had not seen my grandson for about three months. Lynn had said I couldn't see him, although , I
believe it was an idle threat, I was tired of her calling me a liar in front of him. I made a decision not
to go out there until she took a look at the truth. No matter how had I tried to get her to listen to me,
she was absolutely unreasonable. She defended Darlene and blamed me for all the problems at 911a
Morse rd. As much as I loved Mathew, I would rather not see him than let him see her beat me up like

she did.
Deputy Chambers called me later that night and said Lynn had agreed to let me visit Mathew. Not
what I had fantasized about when the day began, but it was good. He told me she said she hadn't done
anything to stop me from seeing him. I didn't bother to explain the way she had made me feel. The
truth was she had threatened to get a restraining order if I tried to see him.
I thought about her way of handling problems as I saw things. She reacted loudly and angrily when
she didn't like something that was happening or said to her. She usually made threats that she would
not keep. It was something I learned the hard way and I still wasn't sure how serious she was about
following through with her words.
The next day I called to make sure it was ok for me to go to Lynn's. She told me that today would
not be a good time to come out. She was vague with her reasons but what could I do. I was pissed.
She was just doing it to piss me off. I was too smart to let her mess my day up, I told myself. I went to
work mowing grass and tried not to worry about it. When I got home that evening, I heard, "call your
mom and ask her why you couldn't see Mathew today". I wasn't that worried about it.
"They" kept insisting. I was a little curious and I felt that I wasn't going to be able to take the
bullshit if I didn't call. She answered the phone. She was pleasant, but she was apprehensive also
because she figured I needed or wanted something from her. Usually money. I asked her why I hadn't
been able to come out to see Mathew. She replied "well, he has a sexual problem and thats all I'm
going to say ". I tried to get more information but she refused to talk anymore and hung up. This was
one time I didn't think the situation over fifteen times before I acted. I got into my truck and headed for
Mathew's house. The thought of someone molesting Boo Boo overpowered any fear I had of going to
jail for driving.
I got out of the truck and went to the door. Lynn answered and as she started in on me, Mathew
ran to me and hugged my neck. "I told you not to come out today", she said. I tried to stay calm and
told her what mom had said. Now she was pissed at both of us, mom and me. As she cursed mom for
telling me, I was looking at Boo Boo trying to figure out what was wrong. Lynn told me it was none of
my business and I had no right to ask her about it. She said that it was a problem that I or possibly one
of my "doper friends" was responsible for. I tried to figure out how to respond.
The thought of him seeing me masturbate was overwhelming my thoughts. Was it possible she was
right? Of course it was possible. I did not want to believe it could be so, but it was possible. I had to
think that I was a little careless sometimes when I was high. I really had tried to be careful though and
he hadn't shown me any signs of a problem.
Lynn wasn't going to tell me very much. I listened to her words thinking she was full of shit and
wondering when the painful sounds of her deception would stop. I looked at Mathew and I saw a
little boy who wanted desperately for me to take him out of that house. He was trapped. He knew
Lynn wasn't telling me the truth, but he was too scared to contradict his mom. I wanted to rip her heart
out for taking my grandson from me and holding him hostage in her house of lies and denial. She
would never blame her own children if they were responsible. Maybe Mathew hadn't told her that he
had seen his brother exploring his sexuality and thats why he was exhibiting this behavior, because
she would not believe him or just blame him anyway. Today I know that he wasnt being molested, at
that time however, with all the deception I didnt know anything.
I hadn't felt like anyone in my family had been honest with me since before I went to Nizzi's five
years ago. Ever since Darlene had moved into moms old house, it just kept getting worse. I would
never get the truth from Lynn, if her family was involved, that was a given. I thought if I could get
Mathew alone for five minutes that he would tell me everything. I ask Lynn if I could visit with him

for a while. She said "only if you don't get out of earshot". This fueled the fears that had my
imagination spiraling into somewhere a long, long, way from the truth.
I had done all the damage I could to for now. I had all the info I was going to get so I got in my
truck and headed home. I was overwhelmed by the situation and didn't know what to do. Normally I
would probably have done nothing but bitch about it to people. I would have seen that I wasn't going
be able to do anything about it if it were true. "They" were able to exploit my fears and cause me to
appear to be irrational. I was being told what to do every time I confronted Lynn. I didn't want to do
it, but I knew I would not be able to take "their" lies if I did not take the chance and try to find out
what the truth was.
That night I couldn't stop thinking about Mathew. "You are chicken shit son of a bitch if you dont
go out there right now and tell Lynn you will take a piss test, if she will to take Mathew to the doctor",
"they" said. My truck was out on Hillview Rd. by Lynns house. How am I supposed to get there, I
asked? "We want you to walk", "they" said.
They had told me to call my mom and find out why I hadnt been allowed to visit with
Mathew. "They" had told me that, Darlene was molesting Mathew and that's why my mother
wouldn't tell me what was going on. "They" also tried to make me believe that, Martin and Lynn
were involved in a kiddy porn ring. "They" said, half the valley was involved. "They told me if I
could get deputy Chambers to listen to me, that he would help me. "He will let you take his Sheriffs
car out to Lynn's house, so she will see that you are CIA". "They" convinced me to take a note that
said "I needed to talk to him about a sexual problem" and leave it on his car.
."They" told me he was a homo. "They" told me to tell him I liked anal sex and he would be
sympathetic. I went to his home in the middle of the night and left the note on his car window. A few
hours later, I thought better and went back and got the note off the car.
I walked to the fire hall and "they" told me to wait there someone would be there soon to give
me a ride. I fucked around there for about fifteen minutes and I walked on into Cispus. The hop-in
was closed. I waited around until someone came and opened it. A few people came in the store. I
asked a couple of them if they could give me a ride. No luck. I asked a guy I knew if he would take me
to Hillview rd. if I gave him twenty bucks. He said he didn't have time. How about forty dollars", I
asked. He said o k and took me out there. When I got to Lynns, they told me to go to moms next
door and sleep on her floor until morning. She wasnt home so I sat on her porch. After a while,
they told me to go on over to Lynns. She knows youre coming and she is up waiting for you,
they said. When I got there, there didnt appear to be any one awake. They" told me to go in and
wake up Mathew and tell Lynn that I knew she needed a break from taking care of her family and that I
would give her five thousand dollars if she would let me take Mathew to see his grandpa because he
was dying and I wanted him to meet Mathew before he died.
I bet you are thinking what a dumb ass. Well, ask yourself what it would take for you to do
something so stupid. Whatever your answer is, they gave me reasons that were more compelling
than that Id wager. If I was capable of describing everything you would probably understand. I was
overwhelmed by their lies and the things they did. I had to take the chance that I was doing
something that would prove to be the right thing to do, if I would ever be at peace with them.

Chapter 18
Northwest Operative
"Papa, he asked. He was surprised to find me standing beside his bed in the middle of the night,
but he smiled and his face lit up like it always did when we saw each other. "What are you doing here
papa", he asked? "I came to see if Lynn will let you go to see Nizzi and Rick with me", I said. If you
want to, we'll go ask mom and dad if it's alright. He said he wanted to go so we walked down the hall
to Lynn and Martin's room. I told Mathew to go in and wake them up. He shook his mom a little and
she awoke. She asked him what he was doing and he told her that papa wanted to take him to see his
aunt and uncle. When she realized I was there, she sat up and woke Martin. She asked "what are you
doing in my house"? "I want to take Mathew to Oregon and to see his grandpa Spud", I replied.
"You're nuts you arent taking him anywhere, ever", she said, her voice getting loud.
They both were out of bed now and they were telling me to get out of the house and threatening to
shoot me. I went out into the yard. "I'll give you five thousand dollars if you let him go with me to see
his great grandpa before he dies", I said. "I wouldn't let him go for any amount", she barked back.
"You don't have five thousand dollars anyway" she said. "Yes I do", I replied. "Where did you get it",
she asked. "I can't tell you everything right now but I have it on my card" I said. "What card", Martin
asked? I opened my wallet and showed Martin my bank card. "How did you get money on your card",
he asked? "All I know is if I need something I am able to get it with this card", I said. Lynn had
called the Sheriff by now. I told her that they would not arrest me. She said, "Oh yea, cause youre an
FBI agent right"? Martin got even angrier and said "you better just get the fuck off my property now". I
asked, "Dont you want me to wait for the police"?
About that time, the dispatcher called Lynn back and said, that since I wasn't threatening anyone
that they were not going to come out there. I uttered a few more words to try to make them
understand that I was someone special now. They would be having none of it and told me to go.
Walking down the road I tried to make sense of things. "They" had told me that they would let Lynn

see that I was CIA. I had not wanted to go to their house in the middle of the night, but "they" said this
had to be done if I was to be one of them. I was able to get the money and buy those tickets, surely
"they" were telling me the truth. I thought about why the sheriff hadn't come out there. They" said it
was because I was CIA and I would not be arrested for anything from now on. I didn't know how, but
I was going to get my grandson out of that house somehow. I believed when my sister saw that I was
able to fly my kids to North Carolina and see Carl, she would realize I had gotten money from
somewhere and I was serious about giving her five thousand dollars. "They" told me, "if I wanted
Mathew out of that house, I should devise a plan to, kidnap him from school or somewhere", "CIA
would not let her find us if I did take the boy", "they" said. I didn't trust "them" to protect me.
"They" had given me money but they were not helping me with my other problem. They"
became more demanding and told me to do more and more dangerous and idiotic things. These things
"they" asked me to do were supposed to prove my "loyalty to the agency". "They" told me to ask the
owner of a small truck to sell it to me. I asked and the man said no. They" told me to keep pressuring
the man to sell it. I did so until the man went inside a building to get away from me. The reason was
because I was going to be posted somewhere, but the locals had to believe I was a lunatic. That was
"their" explanation for all of the absurd things "they" wanted me to do.
"They" told me to walk into the grocery store and steal something. "They" said if I did, the sheriff
would come and he would take me where I wanted to go. I walked in the store, smiled at the store
manager, grabbed a cup out of the dispenser, and filled it with soda. I then turned to the manager again
and held the cup up towards her and walked out the door. I had expected her to follow me and
confront me about the drink, but she never came out of the store.
Next "they" told me to go to Betty's house and tell her to either let me borrow her truck or call the
sheriff. I did yard work for Betty and I knew she wouldn't lend him her truck. She was sitting on the
porch. I did not hesitate to ask her, "Betty either let me use your truck or call the sheriff, I said. She
said, "Well I'm not going to let you use my truck". Well call 911", I said. She did so. I tried to tell her
something that might help her see what I was doing, but I couldn't explain it to myself let alone anyone
else.
When the sheriff arrived, I went up and said I needed a ride to the jail. The deputy replied, "I'm
not your personal taxi I'm not taking you anywhere". I thought for a minute and then I held up the drink
I had just stolen and told him I had stolen it. "Now take me to jail", I said. "I'm not taking you to jail
you haven't done anything", the deputy said. I looked at Betty and said, "Tell him I'm trespassing and
you want me arrested". She did. The deputy said he wasn't going to arrest me and asked why I wanted
to go to jail. I tried to explain my actions, but they were far too complicated for him to grasp.
After he established that he wasn't going to take me to jail, the deputy asked if I wanted to go to
the hospital. I said yes because at least that would put me closer to Dora and the jail. The deputy
asked Betty if she would take me to the hospital and she said she would. I told her how I was above
the law and that was why I hadn't been taken to jail. I told her I was not stressed out and thanked her
for the ride. I got out of the car and walked away from the hospital. "You got money, go get you a new
car", "They" said. Everything hadn't gone like "they" had told me it would, but I had bought the tickets
and the bank gave me money, they hadn't arrested me twice when they were called, so maybe I could
buy a new truck. I walked to the Ford dealer, but it was Sunday and they were closed. "They" told me
that, "one of the trucks on the lot was unlocked and the keys were in it. Just get in and drive it, no one
is going to say a word to you". I walked around the lot checking the doors on all the trucks, wondering
how long it would take for someone to call the law. None of the trucks were unlocked, so I walked up
the street.

"They" were testing me to see how I handle problems, "they" said. I felt something in my stomach
telling me something was wrong, but if I didn't take the chance, I would never know. "They" told me
to go to the truck dealers home and get him to come down to the lot and sell me a truck. I looked in
the phone book and got the address of the dealer. I saw an old friend at the hop in and talked him into
giving him a ride to the auto dealers home. When I got there, no one was home. I rode back to town
and got out at the hop in.
"Go back to the truck dealer and wait" "they" said. I walked to the lot and when I got there, "they"
said, "that's your truck right there homo, the keys are in it". I walked over to the brand new red F150
club cab 4X4 and just as "they" said, the door was unlocked and the keys were in the ignition. I
opened the door and got in. I turned the key and checked my mirrors. I shifted the truck into reverse
and that's when the owner of the lot came out of the building and shouted at me to "stop". "What do
you think youre doing", the man asked? "They said this was my truck", I replied. "This is my truck get
out", the man demanded. I got out of the truck. The owner quickly grabbed the keys. He told me to
come into the dealership and sit down until the police got there. I did. I did not try to explain anything
to the man. I just told him I was sorry and waited for the cops.
When the officer got there, he asked the man what had happened. The man told him. The officer
asked the dealer if he wanted him to arrest me. Thats when I spoke up and said that they had better
arrest me. The officer and the man talked for a few more minutes. I was put in the back of the police
car. The officer got in and asked me where I lived. I told him and instead of taking me to jail, the
officer took me to my home and let me out.

Chapter 19
E-Withdrawal Approved In Overdraft
I left my truck the first time I went to Lynn's to see about Mathew's sexual problem and now I
couldn't find my keys. When I tried to hot wire it, I burned up a wire on the distributor. I walked to
Lynn's about half a mile away. When I got there, I knocked on the door. She opened it and said, "What
are you doing here? The cops told you not to come out here". I said, "I know, but I need to talk to
you". "I want you to tell me the truth about Mathew", I said. Her face began to contort and she said, "I
am telling you the truth" in a tone that she often used to intimidate someone who was confronting her. I
told her that I didn't feel like she was telling me everything. She said, "He was playing with his penis,
no big deal, it's just a phase. It's been dealt with. Probably something one of your doper friends
showed him. I said that if any of my friends had done anything to him, I would have killed them. I
thought it might have been one of the kids in the foster home he was in.
I smiled at Mathew, he ran over and gave me a hug. I gave him the candy bar I had bought for him.
Lynn told him to go set at the table. I tried to tell her that I was CIA. She said "oh yeah, your FBI
aren't you. You're on drugs". I told her I was clean and I would take a piss test if she would take
Mathew to the doctor and have him checked out. She said she didn't have time to go to the doctor and
she didn't need to anyway. Now she was upset and said she should call the cops on me. I told her to
go ahead. "Haven't you seen anything yet Lynn", I asked? They won't put me in jail", I said.
. "Oh yeah", she said and dialed 911. She told the dispatch I was there. The dispatch told her that
everyone was busy and if I wasn't threatening her that they weren't going to come out there. She told
the dispatch that I wasn't threatening her and she handed the phone to me. The dispatch asked me who
I was and what I was doing there. I told her I was leaving and I would not bother Lynn anymore
I walked about a mile down the road. I sat down on a bank and told myself I was going to sit
there until someone gave me a ride. It was half an hour before a guy gave me a ride. When I got to
Cispus I went in the grocery store and got a drink. I was crossing the street and Kym came driving
down the road. I flagged her down and got in her car. She said she was going to town and I asked if I
could go with her. She said o k. We headed out and I started telling her that I was CIA and I had
money. I said I would take her shopping and buy her some clothes. She listened. She told me that she
didn't doubt that I was telling her the truth.

When we got to town, we went to the Nike store. I picked out some clothes and shoes. I had told
Kym to pick out some a couple of outfits. She had picked out anything yet. I made her pick out a pair
of shoes. When I tried to pay with my card, it was not approved. I was disappointed. I left the things
on the counter and said I would be back. "They" said, "you are being extravagant. You don't need to
buy expensive shorts and a tee shirt, just go to Walmart or something".
From there we went to the pawn shop, where Kym's jewelry was in pawn. I tried to pay to get it
out of pawn. They did not take plastic. We went to the ATM and I got a hundred dollars. We went
back to the pawn shop. It cost eighty five dollars to get her stuff.
Next we went to U. S. Cellular. I tried to get a phone but my card was declined. We went to
Walmart next. "They" said, "get yourself a cheap pair of tennis shoes and a piss test". When I tried to
pay, guess what, declined. I turned around and headed back to the shoe department where I had left
my old shoes in a cart. When I got there, they were gone. I asked the associate if she had seen them
and she said no. I didn't want to steal shoes, but I didn't have much choice. There was a cop standing
there, when I tried to check out the first time. I hoped he was gone. I made it out of the store without
getting caught.
When I got in the car, I told Kym that I was confused. I couldn't understand why I didn't have any
money on my card. Kym had to go to a little store downtown. As we drove there, "they" said, "go to
your bank and get some money homo". I said, "There is no money on my card. I just tried the ATM".
"They" said, "you have to go to your bank and tell the teller you need to get some money on your
card". I said, "They aren't going to give me any money, I am maxed out". "They" said, "if you want
some money to go see your son with, then go to your bank". I told Kym to take me to my bank. I told
her what "they" had said and that I didn't believe I was going to be able to get any money. I went up to
the teller and said, "I need to get some money on this card". She took the card and she looked at my
account. She said, "Just a minute" and walked over to talk to her boss. "They" said, "they might have
to play around with it a minute, just be patient homo". The manager came over I said, "I need some
money on this card to go to see my son". She said, "o k no problem how much do you want". "They"
told me to tell her I wanted five hundred dollars. I did and the teller counted out five hundred and
gave it to me. I had to sign a receipt. This is how it appeared on my bank statement.
9/6 Cash eWithdrawal Approved in Overdraft - 473 N Market Blvd
Chehalis WA 38532
500.00
This is how the transaction appeared on my bank statement.
9/7 Check Crd Purchase 09/05 Agent Fee 890058 W T C MD
434258xxxxxx3853 622251545454158?McC=4511
400.00 -1,028.16
9/4 Check Crd Purchase 09/03 Travel Guard Group 800-826-1300 WI
434258xxxxxx3853 282247585258609?McC=6300
138.56
These other two charges were honored after I was nearly a thousand dollars overdrawn.
Activity summary
Deposits/Additions 2,062.00
Withdrawals/Subtractions - 3,219.28
Ending balance on 9/7 -$1,028.16

The first thing I wanted to do with the money, was get Mathew a dirt bike. Lynn had scolded
me for saying I was going to get him one and not doing it. Kym said, Why don't you find him a used
one somewhere. I said I wanted him to have a brand new one. We went to the dealer. I picked out a
new Honda seventy. Forty two hundred dollars. When he finished filling out the paper work, he asked
how I wanted to pay for the bike. I said, "The agency appreciates your cooperation". He acted like he
was confused. He said, I need to know how youre going to pay. I said, Call this number, and I
gave him the number I had been given by them. They told me if I needed something to call it, and
they would arrange it. He called the number and explained that he was trying to secure payment on
the bike. After a minute or so more, he hung up. They told me to use my card and I told him to try
my card. No good. I said, "I'm going to have money soon, it just hasn't gotten put on my card yet". I
gave him a two hundred dollar deposit and told him Lynn would pick it up when it was paid for. I told
Kym she might have to pick up the bike for me, because I was going back east in a day or so.
"They" told me to ask Kym if she wanted to get a room and have sex. She said no. I told her that
"they" had said that I couldn't buy a bunch of stuff to show off with, but I could take her to a movie or
something. She said she didn't want anything. I was disappointed. I was supposed to have gotten some
clothes to wear to see my son. I went to Mosswood the next day and put two hundred dollars down on
a car. "They" told me the man who was selling it was CIA and he would help me. I was supposed to
get more money on my card, "they" said. When I didn't get any more money, I wound up letting the
man keep the two hundred dollars.
After I got the five hundred dollars, I was charged four hundred dollars for agent fees by the travel
agent. My bank allowed the charge to be put on my card when I had a balance of minus at least six
hundred and sixty one dollars. The bank refused to charge my account for the tickets that I believed I
had purchased. They knew I had not bought any tickets and yet they approved the four hundred dollar
agent fee and my bank also allowed a charge of one hundred and thirty six dollars for travel insurance
on the tickets they knew I never bought. If you add on the five hundred and thirty seven dollars and
fifty cents I owed the bank for my direct deposit advances, my bank let me overdraw my account by
over fifteen hundred and forty dollars that month.
They would not give me anything in writing that might explain why they allowed my account to be
overdrawn by so much that month. It seemed to me that if I was trying to use my card to purchase
something that was going to benefit me, it was declined. When it was going to screw me, it was
accepted. I promised them that if my family ever filed a suit against the NSA, they would be invited to
the party.

Chapter 20
A Room and a Prostitute

"They" told me the next day that I needed to go to Portland and get on a plane. The plane tickets I
thought I had purchased were declined, but as far as I knew, "they" had gotten me five hundred dollars
to go see my son with. I was overwhelmed by the thought that I might really be CIA. For ten years I
had been dealing with the frustration and humiliation of "their" broken promises. As much as I loved
my son, I had to fill the hole in my heart that Lynn put there when she wouldn't listen to me. I will
always wonder how things might have turned out if I had gotten on a plane that day or not spent the
money.
"You don't need any money, just use your number", "they" said, so I asked Kym to take me to
Portland and she said yes. As we left Cispus, "they" told me to go to Lynn's and tell her I was going to
take Mathew to the doctor. I didn't want to go out there. I knew it would be ugly, but "they" told me
how I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't make sure he was ok before I left, because I
might not ever see him again. "They" said, "if I went out there, Martin would hit me and he would go
to jail". "Once he was in jail, I might be able to reason with Lynn", "they" said. "They" were telling
me that I was CIA and I was going to be covert. "They" told me if I could get Lynn to let me take him
somewhere, that "they" would never let her get him back. When we got to Lynn's, I went to the door
and knocked. I could see Lynn and Martin were sitting in the living room. Lynn opened the door and
said, "You aren't supposed to be here you need to leave". I said, "I am going to take Mathew to the
doctor and get him checked". She got pissed and started in on me saying I wasn't taking him anywhere
ever. Martin came to the door and got in my face. He said," I am just about sick of your stupid ass, get
off my property and don't you ever come out here again. I should have blown your head off the other
night, when I had the chance". I was waiting for him to hit me like "they" said that he would.
"They" said that he was forcing the rest of his family to keep me from knowing the truth about
Mathew. I had done what they had told me to do and I did not want to do anything that I would be
charged with, so I turned around and started towards the car. Martin came up behind me and took a
swing at the back of my head. He might have hit me if Lynn hadn't been trying to stop him. I got in the
car and we left. Neither of us said a word as we drove away. I dont know what Kym thought would
happen when we went out there, but I wasnt prepared for what had just happened, although I should
have been I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to be pulled over by the law, as we headed for
Portland.
When we got to the interstate, I told her to go north. She said, "I thought you were going to
Portland"? I said, I wanted to go to Seattle because the FBI was there and if "they" didn't do what
"they" said "they" were going to do, I was going to go to the FBI and bitch about "them".

"They" bitched all the way to Seattle. When we got there, we walked into the airport. "They" told
me to get Kym away from her car for a few minutes so "they" could give her a new one. As we
walked back to where she had parked, I was excited to see what "they" had given her. There was the
same car we arrived in right where we left it. I told her the excuse "they" had given me for not doing
it. I told her she should come with me back east with me. She could have the best doctors in the
country fix her kidney or liver. She said she didn't want to go. I told her she could stay in my house.
She was worried about leaving me, but I told her not to worry and she left.
I didn't know which airline to get a ticket on. "They" told me to watch the arrival /departure
board. "They" said, "the flights that were CIA, would flash occasionally and I should pick one of
those". I went to the American Airlines counter and told the agent that I needed a ticket to Washington
D. C. When she ask me to pay, I said, "I'm northwest operative 901152". She said, "I'm sorry I need
cash or credit card". I was too stupid to see the hopelessness of listening to "them". "They" told me go
to Alaska airlines. I did. Same shit. I walked outside and smoked.
I tried to open the doors of a couple different vehicles, because "they" told me the keys were in
them and it would be ok. No luck. It was getting late and I knew I couldn't stay there all night. "They"
told me to tell a limo driver who was dropping someone off, that I needed a ride. He gave me a card
and told me to call and they would send a car. I called and when they answered I said, "I need a room
and a prostitute". She said, "O k where do you want to be picked up"

I gave her my information and in half an hour a limo pulled up. I got in and said, "I need a room
and a prostitute". The driver looked at me and said, "O k I'll take you to Bellingham". As we drove
there, "they" told me that the driver would be my permanent driver from now on and he would be
there where ever I was. On the way, "they" said, "he's going to want a gratuity homo". I asked "them"
what "they" meant and "they" said, "never mind".
When we got to the hotel the driver said, "That will be eighty bucks". I said, "The agency
appreciates your cooperation". He said, "No you have to pay me". I told him the agency would
compensate him for his service. He said, "I dont care about that, I need eighty dollars". He and I got
out of the car and went inside the hotel to see if I had any money on my card. Nope. He went to the
hotel manager and talked to him about it. I sat down and waited to see what he was going to do.
There was a young boy sitting in the lobby. "They" told me that he was a prostitute. The limo
driver finally took my last twenty dollars and left. "They" told me to go to the check in desk and see if
I had a reservation. "They" said, "that Travis Graves had a room for him and me". Graves was an
attorney I had been trying to get to help me sue the post office. The desk clerk said no room. I went
out on the street. I sat down on a bench and smoked a cigarette.
I was pissed. The things "they" said were true, weren't. "They" would always have some excuse
for why something hadn't gone like 'they" said they were going to. I was tired of being fucked with
and sooner or later, I was going to make something happen for better or for worse. I hung out on the
street all night listening to them tell me lies. "They" told me to go to the ATM about ten times that
night because I had money on my card now. I thought it was because "they" wanted me to get busted
by making me look like I didn't know how to get money off a card that wasn't mine so I kept trying.
"They" were doing it because every time I used the ATM it was costing me two dollars and fifty
cents.
"They" told me to walk around and "they" were going to figure out how to get me some money. I
was told to walk through some dark alleys and behind buildings. They told me to look for a suitcase

with a ribbon on it and the money would be in it. As I walked through an alley, by some stairs. I saw a
big wheel bike and a suitcase with a red ribbon around it. I was pissed and had been jerked off so
many times already that I wouldn't even look in it. I kept on walking right by it. "They" told me I was
a stupid fucker and that "they" went through all the trouble to get me money and I fucked it up. A few
minutes later I went back to look and there was no money. "They" said "they" weren't going to leave it
there for someone to steal and that "they" had come and gotten it after I left it.
About four in the morning, I saw a cop a block or so away. He was looking at me. I was worried
he was going to fuck with me for looking suspicious. I walked up to his car and asked he could take
me to a shelter. He checked to see if I had any warrants and put me in his car. He took me to a shelter
and dropped me off. I bought a cigarette from someone for fifty cents and got a cup of coffee. I talked
to the men sitting there and thought about how it would be if I had to stay at a shelter. I walked back to
the Hyatt Hotel. I tried to get money out of the ATM a few more times. There was an entrance to the
hotel in the back and it had warm air blowing through it. I curled up in a doorway to wait until the
bank opened.
When I started towards the bank, "they" said, "homo you have one thing you need to do before
you go to North Carolina". I said, "Get some clothes"? "They" said, "your teeth homo, your teeth".
"They" said, "there is a CIA dentist just around the corner. You can go there and he will take care of
you". I walked up the street and there are two or three dentists offices. They were all closed. "Ok
homo", "they" said, "I guess youre going to have to go there looking like shit. Well fix them when you
get to D. C. if youre hungry go steal you some food", "they" said. "I thought I was going to have
money on my card", I said. "We want you to be resourceful homo, we don't want you to depend on us
to get what you need. A CIA agent has to be able to take care of himself", "they" said.
I went to the grocery store and told the clerk to give me a pound of shrimp. I got a bottle of water
and I walked out the door without paying. When I got outside, there was a limo parked in the parking
lot. I went over to the woman driver and asked if she had a card in case I needed a ride. She gave me
one. I don't remember, but I'm sure "they" told me she was a CIA contact. I wandered around trying to
figure out what to do.
"They" said, there's a lawyer who lives in that building. His name is Steven Brophy. He is the
second best lawyer in the state and he will take your case. We have arraigned it.
I walked up to the front door of the apartment building. I looked at the directory for his name. I
didn't see it. "They" said, "the apartment is in his roommates name". "They" told me to buzz room
number 214. I did. No one answered. I walked on down the street. The bank was open so I went in. I
told the teller I needed some money on my card like I had before. She looked at my account and said I
was several hundred dollars in the hole. I explained that the bank had given me money a few days ago
when I was in the hole. She said she couldn't do it. I got upset and started complaining. I made her get
her manager. He said no also. I was pissed when I walked out.
"They" said, "go to Bank of America homo". I said, "Why"? "They" said, "they are friendly
homo". I thought a minute and guessed that Bank of America and CIA were friends. I went to Bank of
America and they told me no also. I was depressed. I walked back to the hotel. "They" kept telling me
that this was an exercise to see how I handled stress. "They" told me that a black man at Wendy's was
Travis Graves. I walked over and asked him if he was Graves. He said no. I talked to him for a
minute and ask if I could use his phone. He said he didn't have one.
I walked back towards the hotel where Steven Brophy was supposed to be. No one answered the
buzzer again so I walked back to Wendy's. There was a man getting out of his car. "They" told me to
ask if I could use his phone. He let me use it. I called Nizzi but got no answer. I gave him back his

phone. "They" told me to bump into him. I brushed against him." They" said, "harder homo". I bumped
into him pretty hard that time. He got upset. A girl from inside Wendy's came out to see if he was o k. I
apologized to him and walked over to a bench and sat down. A few minutes later I got up and walked
away. I didn't know where to go or what to do. "They" said, "I needed to get picked up and then
"they" could help me". I walked out in traffic and I threw a cup of coffee in the windshield of a car
going by me. When I did, the man slammed on his brakes and got out. "What the fuck is wrong with
you", he said. I said, "Call 911". He said, "I'm not calling 911 you piece of shit". He acted like he
wanted to fight, but we didn't. Another man walked up to see what was going on. I asked him to call
911, he wouldn't do it either.
As I walked on up the street, "they" told me that there were two Russian girls in a hotel room
waiting for me. "They" told me to go into the hotel and walk down one of the hallways. When I did as
they had asked and found no Russian girls, they told me to walk down a different hallway. I
looked at the hallway and said, Im not going to screw around in this hotel any longer, and I left the
building. I walked into an underground parking garage looking for a car to steal perhaps, or maybe I
was just looking for someplace where I might find a few moments of peace. Parked at the back of the
garage, there was a nice Harley. I walked over to it and I kicked it over on the ground. I was
frustrated and I thought if they saw that I wasnt afraid to tear things up they might treat me better.
They told me I didnt need to tear any more shit up. They said, I needed to be able to use people to
get what I needed.
They" said I had to get someone to give me some money as part of the training exercise. I asked
people, but no one would help me. I was pissed because they hadnt told me I was going to have to
beg for money. I was supposed to have money and I was going to be able to get what I needed. Thats
the way they described it to me when I started on this mission.
I was getting very frustrated and angry. I began telling" them" if they did not start doing what
"they" said they were going to, I was going to hurt someone. I will pick out a person who is walking
towards me and knock the piss out of them, I said. I told them I was going to hurt someone, if they
didn't tell me something that was true. "They" said "they" had people on the street that were
shadowing me and "they" wouldn't let me do anything to hurt anyone. I continued to walk around still
believing they were going to do something that would prove they were trying to help me.
Disappointment; that was all I was getting from listening to them. I started trying to make them
believe I was going to hurt someone. I would pick out a person and imagine myself feeling the
feelings I would feel, if I was going to hurt that person. I tried to build up the anger I imagined it
would take to actually do it. My muscles tensed and my fists clenched as I used every ounce of energy
I had to make see that I was serious. I thought there was someone shadowing me a couple of time
when I was threatening to hurt someone, but I couldnt be sure.
I was standing at a corner waiting to cross the street and I was ready to lose it. One thing I was
seeing was, you cant win a game of poker when your opponent knows your cards every hand and you
can only guess what his are. The only way they would get it was if I went through with it. There
was a family on the other side. A man, his wife a toddler and an infant. I told myself, "I was going to
hurt the toddler if "they" didn't help me", and I knew I was on the verge on carrying out my threat. I
didnt know if I could or not, but I was going to find out. When the light changed we walked toward
each other, the woman looked at me. I was angry and I'm sure she could see it in my face. She took the
toddler, by the hand and steered him away from me, thwarting my plan to harm him.
I was tired. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Why did I have to go through this shit", I asked? "They"
said, "homo we want you to be able to get people to help you. You are so angry, you never smile. No

one wants to help someone who is pissed off. If you will smile at people they will be more receptive
to you. I agreed with them, that I was pissed off and I didn't blame anyone for not helping me. I began
trying to smile at the people on the street. I felt better, but I still wasn't getting anywhere.
The smile on my face didn't change the way "They" were treating me very much. "They" were
toying with me, I could see that. "They" tell me today, that the reason I was treated so badly in Seattle,
was because "they" had some things planned in Portland, possibly "street theater" or something, that
were supposed to break me and make me go to rehab. I was a long way from home and I had no one
who might be able to come and get me.

Chapter 21
Hit Man
I went back to the grocery store and tried to buy a bottle of water with my food card. It was
declined. As the checker handed my card back to me, I grabbed the bottle of water, looked at him and
said, Call the cops. I'm thirsty, and I started out the door. He yelled for me to stop and I took off
running. I was starting to think that I wasn't doing the things "they" wanted me to and that "they" might
do something to me, if "they" were unable to make me do it to myself. I didn't look back to see if he
was chasing me or not. I ran into the back entrance of a store. The people inside looked at me with
suspicion because I was stressed and had come in the back door. I wound up in the lobby of the
apartment building that the lawyer was supposed to live in. I asked the girl at the desk if I could use
the phone. She had to go in the back to get it. She helped me dial the number for the limo company
whose card I had gotten from the woman earlier. I asked them to send me a limo and gave my
information. I was too scared I was going to be caught for shoplifting to wait for the limo, so I left and
headed back to the Hyatt.
When I got there, I asked the manager to call the police, because I was scared someone was
going to hurt me. He did as I asked. I waited outside for them to come. I had to see that "they" were
just trying to fuck me up. I got scared that "they" might be getting tired of me not getting myself into
trouble and "they" might try to kill me to be rid of me. I thought if that was true I wouldn't be safe in
jail. There were three taxis outside the hotel. I walked over to one of them and said to the driver, "I
need to get to the airport, can you see if there is any money on my card"? He said, "Hop in, well
check it on the way". I told him he should check first, but he was busy driving and we left.
As we were heading to the airport, I thought about what I was going to do when I got there. I
wouldn't be able to get a ticket and I would be further from home than I was already. They were
telling me that the taxi driver was CIA and he was supposed to get rid of me. They said if I didnt
get out of the taxi, that he would kill me. I thought that maybe my step brother in Fife would help me if
I could get to his place. I asked the driver how much it would cost for him to take me to Fife. He
asked, "Dont want to go to the airport"? I told him I was trying to get home and if he would take me
to Fife my brother would have money. He tried to get off the freeway, on an exit that seemed to be the
middle of nowhere. He said, "I'm going to check your card". I said, "what are you doing, don't get off
here, you take me to the airport". He got back in traffic and kept going.

When we got to the airport, I handed the driver my card and got out of the cab. He started telling
me get back in the car. I said, "I'm not going anywhere, run my card, I will stand out here". He told me
to get back in the car. He got out and started towards me. I moved away from him and kept telling him
to check the card. He would not get back in the car and check the card. He kept moving towards me
and I kept moving away. He chased me into the terminal and all I could see was him wanting to hurt
me. I was terrified so when then I saw two cops, I headed to them and told them the driver was
scaring me. The cops asked what was happening. I told them and I thought surely I was going to jail. I
didn't know if going to jail was safe or not, but I wanted to be away from this hit man taxi driver.
When they figured out that he wanted his money, I told them that I would give the driver my card
numbers and he could charge my card on the third of the month. The driver eventually said, "Aww
fuck it" and left.
The cops asked me what I wanted to do. They asked if I wanted to go to the hospital and I said
yes. They called an ambulance. While I waited I called my friend and told him I was scared. I asked
him to see if Lisa could come to the airport and take me home. He asked her and she said no. I called
Nizzi and told her I was going to the hospital. I walked around outside the terminal. I was just waiting
for someone to come stab me or try to throw me of the overpass. A woman sat down on a bench. I
went over to her and asked if she had a cigarette. She gave me one. We started talking and I told her
that I was scared. I began crying and she tried to help by telling me that she was praying for me. I
asked her if she could take me with her to her son's house where she said she was going. She told me
she couldn't. I felt a little better having talked to her.
The ambulance came. I went to it and the put me on a gurney and in the back of the ambulance.
The attendant started checking my vitals. "They" told me to tell her that I had killed my dog. I hadn't
killed my dog, but I told the EMT that I had and pretended to be sad about it. "They" said "they"
wanted me to be charged with a crime. I asked the EMT which hospital they were taking me to and
they said Skyline hospital. One of the officers let me use his phone to call Nizzi and tell her what
hospital they were taking me to. When we got to the hospital, they took me out of the ambulance. I had
been taken to a different hospital than the one I had told Nizzi I was going to. There were six people
standing around me in the entrance way as I sat on the gurney. They asked me some questions. I said I
wanted to tell my daughter and tell her where I was, because I had told her I was being taken to
Skyline. They said I could call when I got checked in. I was scared and I said I wanted to call her
before I went in, could one of them please let me use their cell. They all said no or that they didn't
have one. I told them that I was there of my own free will and I didn't have to go in their hospital if I
didn't want to. They all stood there like "we aren't going to let you call". I felt like they were going to
take me in the hospital one way or another and if I continued to fight about the phone call, that they
would say I was psychotic and dope me up or have an excuse to keep me. I let them take me in. They
said they would call Nizzi.
They took me in a room and gave me a gown. I put it on and laid on the bed. A nurse checked my
vitals someone brought me some juice and water. I was afraid to drink either of them. I lay there tired,
scared, and I was nasty. I smelled like shit and not having my clothes made me feel vulnerable. A
nurse came in and gave me a phone sometime later. Somehow Nizzi had found me. I talked to her and
I felt a little better. After a while, someone came in the room and said, "O k you can go now". I put my
clothes on. When they gave me my paperwork, a male nurse led me down a corridor that looked like
it was under construction. I got scared that he was leading me to someplace where he was going to
hurt me. He opened a door and I was relieved to see a waiting room full of people. I remember a
woman lying on the floor. She sounded like she was speaking in tongues. She was rolling around and

it disturbed me. I asked someone if there was a phone I could use. They pointed me to a phone. I
could not get it to work, and someone told me that it didn't work worth a shit.
I slept in a chair for a little while, then I went outside and tried to get a ride or use a cell. No
luck. I walked up the hill to the bus stop. I looked for a cigarette. The bus wasn't coming for a couple
more hours. I decided to walk somewhere where there were more people. I walked about a mile or
so to a hop in. I could hear cars drag racing in the distance and I figured I must be in South Hill. A
long way from Cispus. I went in the store and tried to use my card again. No luck. I asked the manager
if I could sweep the floor for a cup of coffee. He let me. I went outside and sat down at a picnic table
and scrounged through the cigarette butts. I tried to get some people to give me a ride to Fife. No luck.
There was a business of some kind next to the hop in. I walked up to it. I saw a truck on the side of the
building. I went over to it to see if I could possibly steal it. They'" probably told me I could. No
luck.
I finally laid down in the grass behind some bushes and I tried to sleep. It was pretty cold. I lay
there for a while until a cop came up and checked me out. I told him my story and he said it was ok
for me to sleep there. After a while I went back to the store and tried a few more people for a ride.
No luck. I went back to the place where I had been sleeping. Before long, another cop came along and
told me I could not sleep there. He said I had to move on, so I walked back to the hospital and the bus
stop.
The bus came and I told the driver I didn't have any money, but I needed to get home. She let me
ride. The bus stopped in Auburn. That was where I would have to change to a different bus. There
was a big store near the bus stop. I went in it and stole a bag of candy. When my bus came I told the
driver once again I had no money and he let me ride. On the way to the train station where I had to go,
I met a family who pooled their change for me so I could ride the train to Puyallup. I gave them most
of the candy I had stolen

Chapter 22
New World Order
On the way to Puyallup, "they" began telling me how there were people all around me that had
been to rehab and they were my family. Fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. They were my human
family. This human family was the New World Order. These people were supposed to help each
other. "They" would tell me that a passenger on the train, was really someone I knew and was having
some sort of issue with and if I would use my powers, they would be able to read my thoughts and we
could work out our differences. "They" said, "that I wasn't able to project my thoughts to anyone nor
could I read anyone elses thoughts, but if I would think about what I wanted to say to the person,
"they" would make that person hear what I was saying and I would hear their thoughts".
I had conversations in my mind with the people "they" said I was talking to. I don't remember all
of them, but Lynn and Darlene were there, my kids, and others. I imagined that I was telling them why
I was angry with them or why I needed to apologize for something I'd done. They would tell me
where I had fallen down in our relationships. I was supposed to be grateful and forgive them so I
could move on.
I sorted some of my problems out before the train got to Puyallup. When I got there, I thought there
were a lot of people around. It was fair time. They" told me to go have a good time. I was
disappointed, I had no money, I had been out in the city for two or three days, and I needed a shower.
I wasnt looking for a good time. I walked towards the fairgrounds. There was a park and a band was
playing music. I went over and listened for a while and tried to just enjoy life like they had
suggested, because I wanted "them" to see that I could.
There was a woman selling hotdogs and "they" told me to go talk to her. I sat down and told her I
was trying to get home. I said I needed something to eat, but I only had a dollar. She fixed me a
hotdog. I thanked her and ate it. I told her about my problems and she seemed to be sympathetic. When
I finished eating, I walked down the street towards the fair. There was a bench on the corner where
man in his thirties sat. "They" told me that, "all the homos went there to get dates". They" told me to
go over to the man and talk to him. I told him my troubles and when I said I needed to take a shower,
he did not respond. "They" told me to tell him that, if he would let me use his shower, that I would
give him a blow job". I did as they had asked, he got pissed and told me to get the fuck away from
him. I said, "I was sorry", but he wasnt listening anymore and told me a few more times to get the
fuck away from him.
There was a Bank of America ahead and "they" told me, as they had fifty times in the last
three days, to go in and tell the teller I needed to get some money on my card. When I did the teller

looked at my account and said no. I didnt try to argue, I just walked on down the street.
There was a black man outside the entrance to the fairgrounds. They" told me the man's name
was "Icarus", my dogs name. The man had a white tuxedo on and tenor saxophone hanging from his
neck. He had two large stuffed animals, a dog, and a cat that sat on the dogs back. The dog was white
and he reminded me of my dog. I asked the man if his name was Icarus. He said no. I told him, "I used
to play the sax". He asked if I wanted him to play something for me. I said I didn't know what song I
wanted to hear. He said, "how about Amazing Grace"? He began to play. My eyes teared up a little as
he played. "They" were telling me that, I was going to be killed and I should enjoy my body and my
life while I was here, because I wasn't going to be the same after they killed me. I thought this was a
sign.
I stood around for a few minutes and "they" told me to put my cigarettes in the trash can and they
would put some money in the pack in a few minutes. I put the pack in the trash barrel and I walked
away. There were some people handing out bottles of water and caramel corn. I got some of it and sat
down. I was afraid to eat the caramel corn. There was a card in the cup of caramel corn that said the
refreshments were courtesy of a local preacher. I got up and went over to the trash barrel where the
pack of smokes was still on top. I took them out and started walking up the road.
Walking away from the fair, I noticed a woman in a blue dress in the parking lot. She was taking
money from people who parked their cars there. Homo, go over there and talk to her. Shes CIA,
Homo, they said. "They" told me to tell her that I needed some pussy. I walked up to her and said
hello. She said hello, smiled, and after a minute or so, I said, "I need some pussy". She looked at me
and said, "I' don't know what to tell you, I'm, married, with four children at home". "O h, I'm sorry,
"They" told me to ask you", I said. I tried to make small talk but I wasn't doing too well. "They" told
me to ask her if she had any money I could have for the bus. She said, "I'm going to give you some as
soon as this woman comes back". It seemed as if she knew I was going to ask her before she
answered. A woman came out of a camper and handed her a bill. She handed it to me along with the
one she had been holding in her hand. I did not look to see how much money she had given me. I put
them in my pocket and said, "thank you". I started up the street and I looked at the bills. She had given
me two Fives.
"They" told me the Fives were special bills. "CIA money", "they" said. "They" told me not to
spend them because I could use them to get what I needed. In retrospect, I wonder if that was one of
their truths they sometimes told me that I misinterpreted to mean something different than
they did. I believe they thought I needed to be incarcerated and that was how I would get what I
needed with the special bills, they were counterfit. They said If I would show them to the right
people, they would do what I asked. I looked at them closer and I saw that they had a ring of dark
black stars in the middle of the bills. I had never seen any like that before".
"They" told me if I took them to Bank of America and gave the teller one of them with my card,
she would give me money on my card. I went to the bank and handed the teller one of the bills and my
card. She had just told me only a half an hour ago, that I couldn't get any money on it. When I handed
them to her, she looked at them, shook her head, and handed them back to me. I left the bank and
started up the street.
"They" told me that the fives were collectable and they were worth fifteen hundred dollars
apiece. I tried to find a place where I could find out if "they" were telling the truth. I finally just
assumed "they" were lying. I went to the Seven Eleven and bought a pack of cigarettes. Looking back,
I believe the bills were counterfeit bills. I believe the bank teller was supposed to spot the bill as
counterfeit and I was supposed to have been arrested.

I went behind the store and laid down on the ground. A group of young people walked over to me
and asked if I was alright. I said I was fine. I got up and walked on. I saw a couple boarding houses
so I went inside and tried to get a room. No luck. I started back towards the fairgrounds. There was a
young girl sitting on a bench, waiting for the bus. "They" told me to go tell her that I was trying to
learn how to talk to people better. I told her what they asked me to and we talked a little. She was
much younger than I was and a good looking girl. "They" told me to ask her if she wanted to have a
beer with me. The bus wasn't going to be there for half an hour so she said yes. We went into a pizza
place and ordered two beers. She told me that she was working at the fair and about her brother
staying at her house. He had locked her out of the house and she had to break in or something like that.
"They" told me she was CIA and to tell her that I was thinking about joining the CIA. She said, "You
should do it" and got up to go to the bathroom.
I didn't have any money to pay for the beers so I decided to stiff her and walked out the door
before she came back to the table. I walked fifty feet and thought, I can't do that. I turned around and
went back inside the pizza place. She had returned from the bathroom and was writing me a note on a
napkin. We said goodbye and she left. The waitress said, "That will be six dollars". I said "I'm
NWO". She acted like that meant nothing to her. I handed her my card. She took it and a few minutes
later she came back and said it had been declined. I mumbled something and she said, "I will have to
get the manager". The manager walked up and asked me if I was going to pay. I said, "The agency
appreciates your cooperation". He asked, "If I had any id". I gave him my id card. He went into the
back. A while later the waitress came over and when she gave me my cards back I left.
When I got outside, there was a black man sitting in his car parked on the curb". They" told me it
was Travis Graves and he had come to pick me up so we could discuss my case. I walked up to the
car and asked if he was Graves. He said no. They" asked me if I wanted to be a male prostitute or if
I wanted to have a business license. "They" had been saying things about a business license for a
while. I wasn't sure what it meant. "They" told me that I could go to rehab so "they" could alter my
gender and make me attractive. Then I could be a male prostitute. Eventually, "they" told me that a
male prostitute was someone who had to listen to this shit all the time and got fucked for doing it. A
business license was given to someone who was had the power to communicate to people and get
them do his business.
There was a red convertible sports car parked on the street and of course "they" said that it was
mine and the keys were in it. I walked over and there were a set of keys on the floorboard. I got in
and tried to start it, but the key did not fit. "They" said, that it wasn't my car, but my money was in the
trunk. I tried the key in the trunk, but it didn't work in there either. I headed back towards the
fairgrounds. When I got to the fair entrance, there were two cops. They were checking two young men
out for selling sodas without a permit. "They" told me to tell them, "I was CIA and I needed to use
their phone". I walked up and told one of them what "they" had told me to. He said, "just a minute sir,
please wait right over there". When he got finished with the young men, he said to me, "you can get
into a lot of trouble impersonating an officer". I was not able to defend my actions. I said I was sorry.
He asked for my id and I gave it to him.
He ran my name and when it came back, he told me I had a warrant and that I should not to be
impersonating police officers. He walked one way and walked the other. A few minutes later, I
realized he hadn't given me back my id. I thought he had done it to cause me a problem somehow.
"They" said, "he took it so we can give you a CIA id card. It will have a scanning stripe in it, so you
can use it as your credit card". It wasn't long before the cop found me and handed me my card back. I
looked at it and it looked exactly like it had when he took it. "They" told me to walk down the road

past the fairgrounds. There were fewer people on the road as I got further away from the fairgrounds.
It was getting dark and I was not looking forward to another night away from home. "They" told me to
walk up a big hill to the hospital at the top of it. It was a huge long hill and when I got to the hospital,
there was no one anywhere.
I could not believe that this big ass hospital, during fair week, at nine o clock in the evening,
didn't have a soul in sight. Finally I saw a nurse appear in a hallway, but before I could get close to
her, she went through a door and disappeared. I followed her, but she was nowhere in sight. The
directory on the wall said "rehab" with an arrow pointing which way to go. I stared in the direction it
pointed and "they" told me that Martin had beat Lynn up after I left. She was in the hospital
recovering, Martin was supposed to be in jail for doing it, and I was supposed to find Lynn.

Chapter 23
Rehab
When I walked down the hall to rehab, the first thing I saw was a heavy man sitting on a bed. He
said hello to me, but his voice was fucked up. I could see that he'd had laryngectomy. I thought to
myself, "So this is why "they" want me to come to rehab, so "they" can make me unable to talk to
people". I walked on down the hall to the nurses station and I asked the nurse, if Lynn was in there.
She said, no. I asked her what someone had to do to get in rehab there. I don't remember what she

said. I asked if there was anything I could have to eat there. She led me in the lobby and gave me
some peanut butter crackers. I felt comfortable sitting there, for the first time since I left Cispus, three
days ago.
Before long the security guards came and told me I had to go. They took me to a hop in down the
hill. I asked a few people for a ride, but I had no luck. I started walking and I saw a Walmart ahead. I
needed some under wear and I was cold. "They" told me, "to steal some shorts and a sweatshirt".
"They" said, "Walmart didn't care, they let CIA take things all the time". I stole a package of
underwear and a sweatshirt. I went in a trash can stall and changed. I walked to Sharis. I tried to get
some people to give me a ride. No luck. I got the bus boy to buy me some chili fries. I told him I was
trying to get to the airport and he said, just go out in the parking lot and grab someones keys, you will
be at the airport before they can catch you. I told him I wouldn't do that.
I was able to get a young man to take me back to the hospital. When I got there, there seemed to be
no one there. They" told me to go in one of the buildings. I walked to the door and it was locked.
There was a red truck with a big camper on it, in the far end of the parking lot. "They" said it was
mine and the keys were in it. I walked over to it and it was locked. They" said the keys were in the
back. I tried to open the camper door and it was locked. I walked back across the parking lot to the
hospital. I went in the main entrance. There was no one in there, so I laid down on a couch and went
to sleep.
A nurse woke me up in the morning and asked if I was alright. "They" told me to tell her that my
stomach hurt. I checked myself in. They put me in an exam room, gave me some breakfast, and a
breathing treatment. I was afraid to eat the food and the breathing treatment tasted like meth so I didnt
finish it. The Intern wanted to put me in the hospital. They were telling me that if I would put myself
in the hospital, they would put me in rehab and my troubles would be over. I said I just need a
shower and I need to get home. They gave me a bus ticket and I left.
It was Sunday and there was no bus running. I started walking up the road. The hill was very
long and steep. I was very depressed and confused. It seemed like I was not getting any closer to the
top. Every time I took my eyes off of the road in front of me, it seemed like I had not gotten any closer
to the top. I didn't understand what was going on, but I started looking at a tree or light up ahead and
not taking my eyes off it until I had gotten there. "They" told me "they" were making me hallucinate. I
got to the top of the hill and I came to a carpet store where a man was getting in his car in the parking
lot. "They" told me to ask him if he would call my daughter for me. I asked him and he called Nizzi
for me. She didnt answer. I said thank you and started walking off. "They" said, "tell him you need
him call 911 for you". I asked him to and he told me he wasnt going to call. I said, "Will you please
call 911, I need you to do this". He said no again. "They" said, "don't take no for an answer homo.
Make him call 911". I told him he was going to call 911 or I was going to take that phone out of his
pocket and do it myself. He balled up his fists and said, "you had better bring somebody with you". I
realized that I was making a mistake by pressuring the man. I said I was sorry and walked on.
There was a young woman walking ahead of me. She was pregnant. "They" told me to ask her to
call the police and tell them to come pick me up on a warrant. I asked her and she said no. I asked
again and pleaded more. She pointed to a Taco Bell and said go in there and they will call. She began
walking very fast and hurried Into the Taco Bell. I followed her Inside. She had already told the
employees in the Taco Bell what I had asked her to do. One of them was on the phone calling the
police. I told him my name. When he got off the phone, he said, "the police say you have a fifty one
hundred dollar warrant, but they are not going to come pick you up". I said, "call them again and tell
them I am causing a disturbance", he refused". They" told me not to take no for an answer.

I grabbed a stainless steel bowl full of after dinner mints and slung it into the dining area. The
candy was scattered all over the floor. I said, call them again and tell them I'm harassing you. He
stood there like he wanted to fight me with his fists balled up. He called the police and when he hung
up he told me they were coming. I said thank you and picked up the candy. I put it back on the counter
and said I was sorry for bothering them. I started walking up the street and in a minute I saw a police
car headed towards me. I waved at the cop. He went to the Taco Bell. I went to a pay phone next door
and tried to call Nizzi again to tell her I would probably be in jail.
The cop pulled up and got out. He asked me what the problem was and I told him how I had
been out in the city for three days and I couldn't get home. I said I was tired and I wanted the Scenic
County Sheriff to come get me and take me to jail so I would be closer to my home. He said that they
wouldn't come get me and that he would take me to Graham and drop me off at the county line. He
dropped me at a super market and I thanked him.
I went in and bought some food because there was food stamps on my card now. "They" had been
telling me not to eat anything but vegetables and water. I got a summer sausage and a drink. I ate the
sausage as I walked on and in a few minutes I had to shit. There was no place around to go. I went
into the only bushes I could find and pulled my pants down, but by now it had shit in my underwear. I
used the other two pairs I had stolen from Walmart and cleaned up best I could.
I meet a young kid at a convenience store who gave me a cigarette and a beer. He told me he was
living in an abandoned house nearby and I could hang out there if wanted. I was glad to talk to him.
He was friendly and seemed to understand what I was going through and that I was stressed. I told
him I had to get home and invited him to come to my house sometime. I sat down for a minute. I felt
guilty for drinking the beer and smoking. "They" had been telling me that CIA does not drink, smoke,
or use drugs, eats only vegetables, and drinks water.
"They" told me CIA always has a cigarette, but only for appearances. "They" said that "if I had a
cigarette either in my mouth or in my hand, that whatever they said to me was a lie. If I didn't then
there was truth in it". I was going around taking a cigarette in and out of my hand, trying to figure out
what it was they wanted me to do since I left my house. "They" told me to just sit there and not to go
anywhere until someone came and got me, that no one would pick me up because "they" could
Influence them and that "they" wouldnt let them. I told myself that I was going home if I had to walk
all the way. I started walking and hitch hiking.
A man picked me up. He had been into the city to a place where he bought some fresh corn on the
cob. He told me how good it was and how to cook it in the microwave. "They" were telling me the
man was gay and that I should go to his house. I thought about the man warming the cob of corn in the
microwave and putting it up his ass. He pulled over to let me out and he gave me three ears of the
corn. I tried to tell him I didn't need to carry them while I was walking. "They" had been telling me
that, everyone I meet would give me something. The things I got from them were useful and there was
Information I could get from them. I took the corn and said thank you. After he was gone, I pulled the
husks off the corn to see if there were any hidden messages or whatever. There were none so I threw
it away.
A man in a van picked me up. He looked like a girl I had known some years ago. He had a very
feminine face. He said he was an electrician and he had been camping near there. He asked if I had
slept lately. I told him about my journey. He said you seem stressed out. He said, do you know about
the breathing? He then showed me what he was talking about. "You close your eyes and lean your
head back a little. You then pucker your lips kind of like if you were trying to suck up soup or
something off of a plate and breathe in a long deep breath". "They" had told me this before I left my

house. I had showed it to friends of mine. I was overwhelmed with relief that I wasn't losing my mind.
This person was talking to me like he knew what I was dealing with.
"They" told me that, "he looked so feminine because he was a male prostitute and he had been to
rehab and "they" had changed him into a male prostitute with a pussy and a nice face". "They" told me
that his name was Dana. Like the girl I used to know. When he wrote down his phone number, his
writing was big loopy clean neat letters, like a girls handwriting. He let me out and I started walking
on, thinking that maybe I was doing this for a reason.
Everything about my journey was fucked up. On the surface, all one could see was that I had
done many Irresponsible and some dangerous things. I could have gone to jail several times if I had
been caught. I could have been committed to a mental hospital if I had continued to listen to "them". It
would be reasonable to think that "they" were trying to take me out of the picture. Lock me up or
whatever, so I wouldn't be running around talking about "them", but the electrician knew about the
breathing and I had gotten the money from the bank. I had seen people in Bellingham that appeared to
be psychotic. They" told me that was what I was supposed to do too. If I would act psychotic, they
would have me go around doing things for them, like trying to get Information to others in CIA.
I had known for years that someone was talking to me. When I first heard "them", everything I ever
believed to be true was now possibly compromised. I could only imagine what else might now be
true. I didn't know where I was going to wind up at, but I was going to be able to say I had the balls to
find out. I kept walking all the way through Eatonville. Two guys picked me up. As we drove, one of
them asked if I wanted to smoke some pot. I said "no" at first. "They" told me it would calm me down
if I did. I took one hit. I got out at the county line. I was in Scenic County now and if the cop saw me I
would go to jail. I was closer to home now and I did not want to go to jail. I walked along and thought
about everything I had been through. They" had been telling me that "they" were going to fake my
death while I was in the city and that is how I would become CIA. I was worried that, "it might not be
fake. I was afraid that a car would hit me while I walked on the highway.
I walked several miles and finally Donna came driving by. I had called her two days ago from the
fair and she said she was coming to get me. She wasn't too reliable, but I had known her for years and
we were friends. I got in the car. There was another girl in the car. They" said they had to go back
towards the city to deliver some drugs. I told them what I'd been doing as we drove. We stopped at a
womans trailer. I waited in the car.
"They" were telling me there was a reason for me to go in the house. They" said that someone I
knew, a girl I used to go with, was inside and she had been beaten up. They" wanted to see who was
in there and thats how they were going to get me to go In, I later concluded. I got out of the car and
walked towards the house. I walked around in the yard until the girl opened the door and said I could
come in. When I got inside they introduced me to a woman who told me her husband had just died.
She told me how she had helped him with some legal Issues and they had won their case. I told her
some of my story and said maybe she could help me prove what was happening to me and sue the post
office.
As we were leaving, "they" told me to if I would go to the casino, that "they" would let me win
seventeen hundred dollars on video poker when I put a dollar in and hit a straight flush. I didn't tell
the girls that "they" said I was going to win money, I just asked if they wanted to go to the casino. We
went. On the way, we came up on a car that had wrecked and rolled on its top. They" said that it had
been staged so "they" could fake my death and that I had fucked things up by hitch hiking, Instead of
walking like "they" had told me to do. They" told me that the girls were my family and that they
would do what they were told to do. They" said the girls could read my thoughts and would do as I

asked. I tried to pretend that we were communicating silently on the way to the casino.
When we got to the casino, I went in and "they" told me which machine to play. They" said just
put your dollar in and start pushing the button and we will let you win. I put the money in and started
pushing the button. I was able to play ten hands or so before I lost. They said I was pushing too fast
for them to fix the machine. I wasn't disappointed, because that was about the millionth time "they"
had lied to me in the last few days.
"They" told me that the reason they wanted me to go to the casino, was so I could walk around
and use my powers to communicate with, women, who were sitting there playing slots. I thought that
the women sitting there playing slots were a captive audience in a way. I walked around for a few
minutes trying to make myself believe that the people were hearing what my mind was thinking. I
couldn't make myself believe it. I went to the car and waited for them to come out, because I wasn't
going to be left out in the city one more night.
I finally got home late that night. Kym and the neighbor were in my house and my dog was tied up
in the yard. I was upset about that, but I didnt say anything. I told them some of the things that had
happened to me. Kym told me she had found out that she was going to get some money and a check
every month for some pension that she was eligible for one of her ex- husbands pensions. I thought
maybe "they" had done it to thank her for taking me to the city.
"They" had been telling me that Kym and Donna had gotten some scratch tickets that "They" had
put in my house. The tickets were supposed to be winners and there were five hundred dollars worth
of winning tickets. They" said that the girls had gotten them and were spending my money at the
casino. They" said, I should be pissed because Donna had plenty of money to come get me and she
left me out there for two days. I didn't believe it, but my belief system was so fucked up, I had to
consider the possibility.
I went to bed without even showering. When I woke up a day or so later, I was pissed. "They"
were still harassing the shit out of me. They told me that I was still going back east and I needed to
clean my house before I left. I didn't know if it was true, but my house was a mess. I needed to do
something to make myself feel like I was doing something useful and "they" didn't have the right to
fuck with me.
"They" told me my sister had filed charges on me for breaking in her home. I called her to see if
it was true. She told me she was going to but, she decided not to. I told her I was CIA and if she
wanted me in jail, that I had a warrant. That all she had to do was call the Sheriff and he would come
pick me up. I worked on cleaning my house that day and didnt think too much about them getting me
to call Lynn so she would call the sheriff and I would go to jail. I could make a strong case that getting
me to call was orchestrated to initiate the events that would be taking place in the next few days.

Chapter 24
Greensboro
The next afternoon, I went out to the trash can to throw something away and Sherry Cannon the
deputy Sheriff pulled up. She got out of the car walked up on my porch and asked me why I was so
angry. Without thinking, I told her that "they" were fucking with me. I wondered how she knew I was
angry. She could have been watching me from the woods. She could have been told either by whoever

called on me or by "them". The only thing I could think of at the time was that "they" had told her. I
was going to be arrested.
She told me to put my hands out and put her pink fuzzy handcuffs on me. She reached in my
pockets and removed the contents. She took them and laid them on top of my television by the front
door. I didn't see what all she had found in my pockets. She put me in the car and as we were driving
to jail, I tried to explain my problem to her.
When I told her I was CIA and I knew I was not crazy, she said she believed me. She said she had
been to a seminar where she had seen a man who was able to describe a picture of a bridge that
another man clear across the country was looking at. I was surprised to hear her saying those things
and I thought maybe she could help me. I told her about the scenario "they" had told me about Lynn
being able to do what I do and using her powers to beat up on Mathew. She didn't say much except,
"oh that would be bad". I told her I didn't know what I was going to do. Prove it she said. This is the
twenty first century, there must be some way to do it.
When we stopped to transfer me to another car, she put on some latex gloves and picked up my
wallet up off of her console. She opened it up and I thought she put something in there. She then
pointed in to the fold where money would normally be put. She is not saying a word as she is doing
this. Then she got me out of the car, walked me to the back of it, opened the trunk, and pointed inside
it. She had not spoken a word since she picked up the wallet. I didn't know why, but I thought that she
was telling me that she knew what was going on. Between my delusional fantasies and them telling
me shit, I thought she was trying to tell me that someone was going to pay for Mathew's dirt bike and
she would deliver it to him.
"They" said that she was CIA and she was able to communicate like I was and that she was going
to help me. "They" said, "she's been talking to you for years, homo". I got in the other car and went to
jail. I was going to Greensboro. "They" had been telling me that I needed to go to Greensboro for
weeks or months now, "They" were saying that the jail was Greensboro, because of the green jail
suits. "They" all the inmates were CIA and they were in different phases of training. Some of them had
the abilities that I had. Some were only able to hear "them". The jail was where they could go to rest
and get food. They would be sent off to where ever "they" needed them to be in a few days or so.
"They "told me to practice using my powers by trying to communicate with them. I was told to stand
by my bunk and sound off to the inmates with my powers. I stood there and thought, "I am Charles Ray
Baker and I am CIA. "They" told me the first time I did it, that I needed to do it louder. I did it again.
"They" said, everybody in the fucking building heard you that time homo.
Today I see that "they" had gotten me locked up and thats where they wanted me to be. "They"
want me to think that "they" were just trying to encourage me by telling me about Greensboro, so I
wouldn't be depressed about what I had been through, but I think "they" were just getting off on my
need to be validated. I spent the night in jail and the next day I was released. My court appointed
counsel spoke well for me in court, telling the judge that I had missed my court date, because I was
trying to find someone help me find out what was going on with Mathew. When I spoke with my court
appointed counsel, he said he would help me find out what was going on with Mathew and possibly
with the post office, if I could come up with two thousand dollars. I was released and given a court
date.
I rode the bus home. When I got home all I could think about was, how I was going to get the
attorney to help me. On Sunday, I was bound and determined to get to town, so I could show the
attorney what I had and persuade him to help me. I was still being told by "them" that I was CIA.
"They" said, "I needed to put myself in jail". I had a driving while suspended charge and I was

supposed to appear on in ten days. I had an anti-harassment hearing, with my sister in three days. The
prosecutor had already offered to sentence me to the ten day minimum mandatory jail time, if I took a
plea bargain. I figured I would put myself in jail and do the ten day so when my hearing came up I
would be done with the jail time, "They" said, if I had been without alcohol or tobacco for three days
that the judge would drop the anti-harassment order and I would be able to see Mathew.
Doing this was also going to benefit my CIA status "they" said. I tried all day to get someone to
take me to town. I asked my neighbor Lisa about ten times. She wouldn't do it. She had seen me get my
ass kicked by "them" too many times and she didn't want anything to do with it. That evening, I
decided to burn some brush I had in my burn pit. There was a burn ban on. I lit the fire and told Lisa
to call the law. I waited until the fire was almost out and looked over at her house to make sure she
saw me walk down the driveway. I saw her looking out the window and headed down the road. I
walked all the way to Cispus. It took about twenty minutes and I was on the highway. When I hadn't
seen any cop cars, by the time I got there, I called 911 and told the dispatcher, "I need to go to jail".
The deputy arrived at the grocery store. I went over to him. I told him I needed to go to jail. He
said, "I can't just take you to jail for no reason". He asked if I was suffering from mental problems and
if I wanted him to take me to the hospital. I did not want to go to the hospital, I wanted to go to the jail
and I tried to figure out what to say to him to get him to take me there. About that time the call came
over the radio. He said, lets go to your house and see whats going on". He put me in the car and
when we got to my house, there were two fire trucks in my yard. He got out and talked to the firemen.
He came back to the car and read me my rights. He asked if I wanted to make a statement and I said
yes.
He asked me if I intentionally lit the fire and left it to cause some property damage. I said "no I
didn't". He asked me the same question a different way and again I answered "no". When he asked me
the third time, I blew up and said, "hell yes, I could have burned half the fucking state down". I said,
"you already asked me and I told you I was just burning some brush in my pit where I always burn".
He got red and that was the end of my statement.
I asked him if I could get my book I was writing and the evidence I wanted to show the attorney
at the jail. He let me look in my house for it and I couldn't find it. Lisa went in and got it for me and I
took it to jail with me. The next day, I met with the attorney, before my arraignment. When I tried to
talk to him about the post office and Mathew, he said, "I am representing you on a reckless burning
charge. We are not going to talk about anything else right now. The judge ordered me held without
bail. I was pissed because the attorney would not talk about my problems and I was having second
thoughts about spending ten days in jail. I was still pissed about the way I had been treated in Seattle.
I asked "them" to get me out if I was CIA. "They" said I was too sensitive and "they" could not take a
chance on blowing my cover. "They" said "get yourself out any way you can".
I was pissed. A few minutes later, a guard came in the tank and said, "Freddy Graves, attorney
visit". When no one went to the door, the guard left. About five minutes later, the guard came back and
said, "Freddy Graves roll em up for release". Again no one came to the door and again the guard left.
I had been standing there talking to some of the other inmates and thinking "I wish that was me". When
the guard came back the third time and said, "Freddy Graves roll em up for release". I started thinking
about how "they" had been telling me for years, that "they" were going to kill me and give me a new
identity.
I thought, "Graves, kill me". Then I heard "them", "don't be cordial, don't be coy, don't be such a
little boy, if you refuse to take a chance, we'll have to say you missed the dance". "They" had been
telling me, when I was out in Seattle that "I had to take advantage of every opportunity and not to

hesitate when one came along. I didn't like the way it felt, but I was afraid I was missing an
opportunity. I said to "them", "alright you mother fuckers, is this what you want, you want me in
prison"? I grabbed my tub and mattress and headed for the door. I figured at least it was possible that
if I went to prison, "they" might give me some peace. "Do you want to talk to your attorney", the guard
asked? I said yes.
I went into the attorney booth and she said, you have to be in court on some date, I don't
remember what day. She pushed a paper for me to sign. There was another one underneath it that
Freddy had already signed. I copied the signature and walked out of the booth. I was listening to
"them" tell me how the guards knew what I was doing and I remembered "them" telling me how all I
needed to do was make myself believe I was someone else and when someone else looked at me, that
person would see me as whoever I imagined myself as. I got to booking and the woman guard told me
that my property bag was hanging on the wall. She told me to go into the changing room and change. I
took the bag into the room.
I was a CIA. I was trying not to be nervous. I couldn't believe what I was attempting to do. I
took the paper, with Freddy's information, off of the property bag and looked at it. I remembered
"them" telling me, if I was given information, I should look at it memorize it and get rid of it. I tried to
memorize the birthday and social security number of Freddy. I was afraid I was going to get caught,
so I tried to hurry and change. When I reached in the bag for his shirt, it felt wet. I was confused. I
could not tell if it was wet or if I was hallucinating that it was. I took the shirt out of the bag and held
it up. The shirt looked brand new, like it had never been worn. On one side it had a whiskey bottle,
like a Jack Daniels bottle, and on the other it said, "I went to a party with my friends last night and I
got drunk and I peed all over myself". I was thinking, "How disgusting, why would anyone wear a
shirt that said that" Then I remembered what "they" had said the week before about my coming to the
jail so "they could have a party for me. "They" said, "they" were going to piss down my back".
I was thinking I might be found out any minute so I put the shirt on. It was about two sizes too
small. When
I put his pants on, they were about two sizes too big. If he hadn't had a belt, I wouldn't have been
able to keep them on. I thought to myself that no one could be built like this, with a chest that small
and a waist that large. I tried to hide the paper with his information in my hand and walked out of the
changing room. The woman guard said, here is your card with your money on it. Your pin is your
birthday and birth month. She had me sign for his property and told me to take a seat. I sat there
wondering if "they" were telling me the truth about the guards knowing what I was doing or not.
I took my identity bracelet and rolled it around so the picture was on the bottom and not so
visible. The other woman guard said, o k come on. I walked over to the door where she was standing.
She did not open the door. We were standing there about two feet apart and she took the paper with
his information from me and said, "I have to keep that". I tried to take the bag of property she was
holding from her and she said, no wait a minute. It seemed like forever, but she finally opened the
door. After I walked through she gave me a paper bag with his property in it.
I was grinning from ear to ear. I walked out the door and there were three girls standing beside a
car. They got very excited when I walked out, squealing and waving their arms. When they realized I
wasn't Freddy, they were disappointed. That's when it sunk in. "They" weren't saying a word. I told
myself, " I'm fucked, this is gonna hurt". As I was getting the hat and wallet out of the property bag, I
wanted "them" to tell me what to do. "They" were quiet as a church mouse as I walked up the street. I
was scared. I picked up the pace and headed for the hop in. When I got to the convenience store,
"they" said "just don't buy any cigarettes homo". I tried to buy a sandwich, a drink, and a pack of

cigarettes. I couldn't get the card to work. I tried the pin that the jailer had told me. Either, I couldn't
remember it or "they" had intentionally given me the wrong number. "They" said, "use your pin
number homo". I tried my pin number from my cards and it didn't work either. "They" were telling me
to use my own pin and that "they" weren't allowing me to use the cards because I was buying
cigarettes, I thought.
Finally I gave up. I walked outside and bummed a smoke from someone. A kid gave me a smoke
and as he was giving me a light, he saw my identity bracelet. I told him I just got out of jail and I
needed a ride to Portland. He said he couldn't help me. I stood there smoking and trying to figure out
what to do. "They" said, "use the phone number we gave you homo". "They" had told me when I
bought the airline tickets, that the ticket agents phone number was a CIA contact and if I ever needed
anything to call it and "they" would help me". I had memorized it, so I called. When the man
answered, I said, "this is 901152 and I need transportation to Portland. The man put me on hold. I
stood there waiting for a few minutes and I hung up. I was confused. I wasn't wanting to stand there
and look stupid, so I walked towards the train tracks, hoping I would be able to think better if I wasn't
standing in the store parking lot.
I walked along the tracks until I was away from the street. I took the wallet out of my pocket. I
thought there might be something in it that was useful. It was full of calling cards and his driver
license. I tried to memorize the address so if someone asked me I would be Freddy. I thought about it
and I decided to hide the wallet. I put it in a culvert, thinking I would call Freddy and tell him where
he could find it.
"They" were telling me that if I could get to Portland that "they" would be able to help me. I
turned around and headed back to the convenience store. I asked some people for a ride to Portland.
No luck. I thought about going to my girlfriends house in Onalaska and I asked some kids if they
could give me a ride there. They said no. I borrowed a knife from a kid and cut off my identity
bracelet and headed back up the tracks. I came to a woman getting out of her car. I asked if she could
give me a ride to Portland. She said, no. I asked if she could take me to the hospital in Puyallup. She
said "no". She could see that there was something wrong with my behavior.
I don't remember what "they" were saying or even if "they" were saying anything by now. I think
"they" were saying things to confuse me and piss me off though. I went up the street to a tavern. I
didn't have any money. "They" were probably telling me to go in there and try to find someone to help
me. I walked in. There were five or six people in there. I sat down and looked around. Before the
bartender could ask me if I wanted anything, I picked up a calling card for a taxi. I got up and walked
out of the bar. I didn't have any money for the phone or I would have called a cab.
About that time, I heard three short siren bursts coming from the direction of the jail. I knew
what they were for. I don't remember if "they" told me to or not, but I decided to go to my bank a
couple blocks away and see if I could get some money. Maybe they would give me enough to get to
Portland. When I got there the bank was closed. Thats when I decided that the best thing I could do
was to go back to the jail. I figured I would tell them that my card didn't work and try to pretend that I
thought I was supposed to have been released. As I walked back, I noticed a car at the end of the
street in the middle of the intersection. The driver looked like one the guards from the jail.
I kept walking towards the jail until three cop cars swooped in on me. They jumped out of their
cars and reached for their weapons, telling me to put my hands in the air and get on the ground. I put
my hands behind my head and got on my knees. One of them put handcuffs on me. I said, "I was
headed back to the jail". The guard looked at me and said, looked like you were headed back to the
tavern to me. I was shoved in the back of the cop car and taken back to jail. When I got there, a block

away, the city cop opened the door and as he was getting me out of the car, he said, whats the matter
couldn't figure out how to get back
east?
They put me in a holding cell and threw some red clothes at me. I wasn't in Greensboro anymore.
I was maximum security now. I was disappointed and confused. I put them on and the guard came in
and ask me where Freddy's wallet was. I told him and he left. Half an hour later he came back and I
gave him more a more complete description about where it was. He left again. I asked for a drink of
water before he did. He said he would get me one. Sometime later, he came back. And asked me more
about where it was. I was pissed because he hadn't gotten me any water and I told him I wasn't telling
him anything until I got a drink of water. He got me a glass of water and I explained in more detail
where the wallet was. They finally found it.
I was put in the hole. My mind was trying to convince me that I had been put there because I was
too sensitive and "they" were going to get me out soon. I had grave doubts about that though. For the
next three days, "they told me "they" were going to do something as soon as "they" figured out how to
deal with all the problems I had caused by not doing what "they' had told me to. "They" fueled my
fantasies of being a CIA agent, by telling me how I was going to prove it and I would be able to talk
about it. I thought, that since I was only out of jail for an hour or so, and Freddy had gotten all his
property back, that I would not be charged with anything. "They" were telling me that I wouldn't be
charged ".
When the guard came over the speaker and said the television people are here. Do you want to
talk to them? I was ecstatic. "They" had been telling the truth, I thought. When I got to the visiting
booth and there was no one waving banners and patting me on the back, I asked the guard what the t v
people wanted to talk about. He said the other day. It hadn't hit me yet. I said, "I don't want to talk to
them". I was disappointed but I tried not to show it. When I got to my cell, I felt like I had been fucked
off to the point where I was going to have to say I was nuts. I told myself, "you will survive, one way
or another.
An hour later the guard brought the warrants that said I was being charged with escape, identity
theft, theft, and forgery. If I was feeling fucked before, I was wishing for anything else to be true
except where I was right now. I was supposed to do ten days when I got there and now I was looking
at twenty two years. I thought about everything "they" had been telling me. I was thinking that if I
didn't shut my mouth and say I was nuts, "they" would never leave me alone. If I kept on fighting to
prove it, I would sitting in prison listening to "their" bullshit and that was a fate worse than death to
me. I decided I would play the lunatic card so "they" might leave me alone. "They" had been telling
me to tell my mom to meet me at the western steer and that my western family was waiting for me for
some time. Now I wanted to go to western state because that was the only possible way that "they"
might ever leave me alone.
When I sat down in front of the judge beside my attorney, I tried to speak to him. He put his
finger to his lips and told me not to talk. When my case was called, the judge looked at my attorney
and asked, "diminished capacity?" My attorney replied, that is what I was thinking". He then turned
to me and said, it's my understanding that you were having some mental problems the night you were
arrested. I looked up at him and said, yeah, I want to go to western state.

Chapter 25
Too Sensitive
"They" told me to get myself out of jail by whatever means I could. They" said, they" could
not help me because I was too "sensitive and "they" couldn't risk being involved. When I found out I
was going to be evaluated to see if I was competent to assist in my defense, I was glad that I would
get to tell my story and let someone figure out if I was nuts or not. When the evaluator came to the jail,
I tried to tell her everything I thought would explain my actions. I wasn't able to explain everything
like I wanted to. When she finished, I asked her if she thought I was schizophrenic. She said, "no, but I
think you might be delusional".
When I got to Western State Forensic Hospital, I was interviewed by three or four doctors and
staff. I told them the short version. I told them the reasons I believed the things I did. They said that
whether or not what I believed was true, that it was their job to make me competent to assist in my
defense. They said that the judge had ordered them to medicate me and if I was not cooperative that
they would forcibly inject me with the drugs. I said "damn that shit send me back to jail". They said
that wasn't possible. I agreed to take two milligrams of Resperdol. That was the least meds I could
take.
That first day, "they" talked as loud as "they" ever had. I thought I was really going to be beat up
on. But the next day "they" got quiet and "they" stayed that way until I went back to the jail. I could
hear "them", but I had to listen very closely. Why should "they" talk to me, "I was a lunatic"? I figured
out that all I had to do was pass an evaluation and I would be released from there. I learned about my
constitutional rights and asked for another evaluation. The doctors said I was Intelligent and capable
of assisting in my defense. I was released back to jail in thirty five days Instead of forty five.
When I got back to the jail, "they" started in just like "they" were before I went to western state.
They" had made me a CIA dumb fuck. I was disappointed, but I was confident that I would not do

much more jail time. I was looking at twenty two years, but I believed I would not get more than six
months. I did not use the insanity plea to get the charges dropped. The prosecutor dropped everything
but the forgery and I got sixty days. One of the reasons the prosecutor cited for dismissing the other
three charges was that his office had been unable to contact Mr. Graves. When I tried to call him, both
his home and work phones had been disconnected. When I tried to look at his home on Yahoo maps
later on, I was unable to view it because there was a section of the Images that was being blocked by
a square containing no Images where his home should have been. They" told me, when I was in jail,
that the only thing they had on me, was forgery. The judge would not give me credit for the other fifty
days I spent in custody.
Lets do a little recap, sue the post office, get Invited to party at jail, pissing contest , become
no1152, purchase airline tickets, Friday, August 23rd, get five hundred from bank, heart transplant,
break into sisters, vision quest, get picked up on warrant, share subliminal secrets with sue, nursery
rhymes, put on whiskey bottle, get improperly released, get put on computer, scolded for jacking off
on the Internet, be delusional, get medicated, memorize amendments, back to max housing, and then I
got to give someone money for letting me be out of jail. When everything shook out, I was allowed to
pay back twenty eight hundred in social security benefits I wasn't entitled to while I was
institutionalized. I'm sitting here counting my blessings, when I should be feeling good about the fact
that I was CIA and my family was proud of me.
People would surely say I looked and acted in an insane manner, but I was never out of control
and I could remember nearly every detail about the Incident. The questionable acts I carried out were
to take some of their power away from "them". Calling their bluff was the only way I could say that I
was not afraid of what might happen to me. I had done what "they" asked and I was still standing. I
wasn't Incarcerated or Institutionalize for the rest of my life.
After I didn't go to prison, for escaping from jail, I thought I was in pretty good shape. It
didn't take long before I wound up in a real shit storm though. I got pulled over one night leaving my
driveway. I made a deal with the cops to do some controlled buys to keep out of jail. At first I just
didn't want to go back to jail because if I did I would have never been able to file my claim against
the Post Office and the last time I was there, I nearly went to prison for life. I agreed to do three
controlled buys on a drug dealer. The day after I met with two detectives and the Task Force leader,
the Task Force leader went to the dealers home and warned them. He said, You are going to lose
your home if you dont stop selling drugs. The dealer cleaned up his act and I was not able to buy
drugs from him. The detectives pressured me, saying if I didnt do buys on other dealers, they were
going to charge me. I agreed to do the others.
After the first buy, the detective told me, I needed to pass a drug test before I did any more buys.
I stayed clean for four days and I failed to pass the test. The detective said, not to worry about it.
They were telling me not to do any more buys. I told them, I was going to make them" see that if
they" could hurt people, so could I. I wanted to show "them" that I could hurt people. I wanted to
show the dealers, my friends, that I was no lunatic and they were being watched all the time by
"them", so I took advantage of possibly some things that the detective did improperly and I figured
that the charges filed on the drug buys would never stick.
While I was doing buys, I discovered two "wires" growing out of my lower ear. They werent
really wires, more like glass tubes or strands. I had been feeling them in my ear for a long time, but
they were becoming more exposed now. I asked a couple different people to look at them. They
agreed that they looked like wires. When I removed them, I got a bunch of strange debris out of them.
Thats when I learned about "Morgellons". I thought maybe that was the reason I was able to hear

"them". I tried to get someone to help me figure out why I got the items out of my ear, but no one
would talk about it.
I thought the objects were the remains of the implant device or devices that had possibly been put
in my head. The doctor said go to mental health when I showed her pictures of the debris and I lost
my head. I should have realized that was the logical thing to do. Once I established my sanity, I might
be able to get someone to take a closer look. There was one problem. As soon as you tell a doctor
you are hearing voices, you are a lunatic, no more questions please. I got angrier and more suspicious
of everyone. They were telling me that Morgellons was keeping me alive and it was rebuilding my
body, because it was nanotechnology. You are a super human homo, they said.
I was going nuts trying to figure things out. I thought the dealers would try to hurt me. The cops
weren't doing what they said they would do for me. I tried to protect my identity as an informant by
not actually buying drugs from the dealers. I would hide drugs on myself, the cops trusted me so I
wasn't searched very thoroughly. I would take the buy money and sell the cops my dope.
When I was leaving my house to go and do the last buy that night, "they", told me, "clean your ass
up, they are going to beat you up". I had a twenty dollar bill in the cubby hole in my wallet whose
serial numbers had been recorded when it was given to me to do a drug buy with. I hadn't been
worried about it because the cops didn't look that close.
I got out of my truck and went onto my back porch. I took the money out of my wallet and hid it.
When the detective searched me that night, he searched my truck and my person just like he had done
all the other times. Then he went in the next room for about thirty seconds. He came out and walked
over to me. He said, "Let me check you one more time". He took out my wallet, opened it, and then he
looked in the cubby hole where the twenty dollar bill had been before I was told to "clean my ass up"
and handed it back to me. He didn't search anywhere else.
I wasn't sure why "they" had done it, but "they" showed me that the detective was getting
information that no one could have given to him except the people that were silently communicating
with me. It took me a while to ask the detective why he looked in my wallet a second time that night.
When I did ask, the detective said, that he did not look in my wallet a second time. I pretended not
to be upset and talked about the dealers knowing my identity for a minute. I then asked him, "Now
why did you say you looked in my wallet a second time that night"? Again he denied that he had done
it.
That's when I decided not to testify against any of the dealers. I told the prosecutor everything in a
seven page statement. I didnt know if I was going to be charged with tampering with an investigation
or not, but I didnt care. I was looking forward to hearing the detective testify about the wallet in
court. I told the prosecutor, You make the detective take a polygraph test and Ill testify to the truth
on every one of the buys. If you wont do that, I refuse to help anyone who has knowledge about what
has been done to me and refuses to talk about it". Now I was more afraid of the cops hurting me, than
I was the drug dealers.
If my "confidential informant" problems weren't enough, I had Morgellons. In case you haven't
heard of it, it's also called "genetically modified organism disease". The center for disease control
determined it was a disease in nineteen ninety two. They called it "delusional parasitosis". They said
the people suffering from it were psychotic. Now I had a delusional hearing problem and delusional
shit growing in my ear. On the bright side, I was CIA. I couldn't decide if it was good or bad. They"
said, "Morgellons was rebuilding my body and I was a super human being and that I might live to be
one hundred and fifty years old". One minute "they" wanted me to be an ambassador for Morgellons
and the next I was supposed to go around infecting people with it for the CIA. I began trying to

document my evidence. The more I tried to figure things out, the more afraid and confused I got.

Chapter 26
Morgellons

I was too scared to sit in my home and wait for someone to try and get even with me. I thought I
would be better off with my kids. I persuaded the cops to give him some money so I could get away
for a while. I took my computer and thats about all I took. I hoped my confidential informant status
would keep me out of trouble, but I didn't know if it would or not. I made it to Betsy's and I felt better.
I was glad to meet my grandson for the first time.
Betsy listened to me and tried to help me figure things out. I wanted to sue everyone so she tried to
help me find a lawyer. They" told me they would lead me to Betsy's house when I got to Pendleton,
so I would look like a CIA agent. The directions "they" gave him led him to the justice center. They"
said, I had a warrant and I needed to deal with it before I saw my family". I found Betsy's house that
night.
We went to a park two days later and when the police cruised through it, I went up to him and
asked him to see if I had a warrant. He said, "You know I'll have to arrest you if you do". I asked him
if he had to and told him about the drug busts. There was no warrant and I was relieved. I stayed a
few more days, but I was getting broke and I had to get to Nizzi's.
I was disappointed that I wasn't taken more seriously about Morgellons and "them". I tried to
give them the information I thought might be useful, what else could I do? When I got to Nizzis I
thought I would have a better chance to find someone to help me sue everyone. I told Nizzi and Rick
about the things that had happened to me. I really hoped Nizzi would help me find an attorney. She
didn't. I bought a microscopic camera and tried to get a doctor to look and see if I had "Morgellons". I
took pics of the objects I had gotten out of my ear to the emergency room. I told the doctor that he was
having pain in my head. The doctor was going to give me a c t scan until another doctor came in and
said no. He said, "Youre not going to use this hospital to fight your problem". I was very
disappointed. They told me to go to mental health.
I told Nizzi that I didn't want to beat up on her and if I stayed there, thats what I would do. I left
the next day without saying goodbye. I could not take any more of people telling me there was nothing
going on.
Nizzi was hurt that I didn't say goodbye. I headed back home. I was determined to make
someone listen to me. I started trying to document everything I could about Morgellons. The closer I
looked, the more suspicious I became. A lot of things happened to me that I couldn't explain. I
believed "they" were showing my friends a few things so I would not feel like such a fool. I was
paranoid about the dealers that I busted doing something to me. I didn't trust anyone.
I experienced physical sensations that I couldn't explain. A welt popped up on my toe as I was
bitching at "them" and "they" said it was a Morgellons bug. I thought I found Morgellons in everything
I looked at. They" were telling me to let it go, but I was determined. One morning while I was
documenting my Morgellons evidence, I felt something pop on my forearm. I looked at it and I saw

two holes about 1/2 an inch apart and they had skin pulled out of them and it was hanging there. I
thought I had been bitten by a snake or something. I showed it to my neighbor. They" had been telling
me "they" had put a snake in my house for some time. Whatever it was it made a popping sound when
it hit me.
I was going to the doctor but I could not find my keys. I was too afraid to go in the house to look
for them. I thought someone had possibly put a snake in my house for revenge. When I couldn't find my
keys, I decided I was going to gas the snake out by blowing gas fumes in my room to make it come
out. I poured some gas in a water hose and blew on it so the fumes would go into my room. This did
not work. No snake came out. I finally made myself look all over my room for it. I did not find
anything. My arm didn't seem to be having any problems from whatever bite me. I was still afraid, so
I tried to clean my room and make sure there were no places for a snake to hide.
I decided to cut my mattress so it could be turned sideways and I would have more clear space. In
doing so I started it on fire. I didn't get too worried. I went out on the porch and got an antifreeze jug
and filled it with water. I did not remember that I had put gas in it earlier. I ran some water in it to fill
it up and took it in my room and poured it on the fire. I realized I had poured gas on it when it flared
up. I went out and got the water hose and drug it in the house. I connected it to the one I had been
using to try to gas the snake. When I turned on the water, flames erupted from the gas that was in the
hose. I was on fire. I ran from the house yelling, "Oh fuck oh fuck". I rolled on the ground and put out
the fire that was on me. I got another hose and tried to put out the fire in the house, but it was too late.
The only thing I was able to save was my truck. The ambulance took me to Mosswood where I was
by helicopter to Emanuel hospital, where I spent about two weeks in the burn
unit.
I realize that ultimately I was responsible for burning down my house. I was frustrated because I
couldn't figure out what to do to make "them" stop. I was angry about all the things "they" had done to
me. If I had something to be afraid of, "they" made damn sure I was afraid of it. I had seen things that
made me realize that "they" were more powerful than I had previously thought. Could "they" possibly
have used the information that "they" were able to extract from my memories to manipulate me to try
and gas the snake? That's preposterous isn't it? I don't know if "they" did or not, but I have little doubt
that "they" could have. They" had "turned it up" a couple times already and I was pretty sure "they"
would turn it up another notch to stop me from telling people, if "they" had to.
The detective had lied to me and I could not trust the cops. I didn't know how far the drug dealers
would go to keep me from testifying. I was vulnerable in the hospital. They" told me after about two
days in the hospital, that I was either going to be killed or someone was going to remove their "blue
marble" while I was there. They" have been telling me for years that, I have a blue marble in my
ass somewhere and thats why we can communicate. I tried not to listen to "them".
When the nurse tried to give me a Respidol pill without telling me that he was giving him a pill
or what kind of pill it was, I got scared. It wasn't like the Respidol pills I had taken before. I didn't
believe it was Respidol. The nurse got offended when I questioned him. I refused to take anything or
let anyone do any procedures on me until my family was contacted. The nurse became annoyed and
began to treat me like some kind of a spoiled child who wasn't all there.
I became so scared that someone in the hospital was going to hurt or kill me, that I held an ink
pen in my hand like a weapon. I was going to stab whoever tried to harm me. I lay there balled up,
wishing I was dreaming. After a while I calmed down but I was still afraid. I decided to try to reason
with the nurse. I didn't trust him, but I hoped that if I told him what I was dealing with, he might not

find it necessary to hurt me. I tried to explain why I was so fearful. I told him about the drug busts, my
problem with "them", and Morgellons. The nurse didn't believe I was anything except psychotic and
he wasn't taking anything I said seriously now.
I got a call from someone about two in the morning. They said, "Welcome to homo burger, may I
take your order". When I told the nurse about it and asked if there was any way to find out who had
called, the nurse said he had not heard the phone and acted like I was delusional. The nurse was
treating me like I was a piece of shit and I wondered if he might have had something to do with the
call.
The next day a counselor came to see me. I tried to tell her about the things I was dealing with. I
talked about Morgellons, the drug deals, and my hearing voices. I told her that I had been dealing with
it for thirteen years. I was hesitant to tell her too much. I could see she was skeptical.
The next day a psychologist came to see me. I tried to confide in her and she seemed to see that I
was not having any significant problems with my mental health. It seemed the more I talked the more I
was scrutinized. Everything seemed so logical and clear to me that I thought everyone could see it.
My ideas were still a long ways out there for most people though.
When my wounds had healed somewhat the counselor, who had spoken to me earlier, came in
and told me that I was going to be moved to the mental ward. I was hurt because I thought she
understood what I had talked about. She said they could keep me there for five days to evaluate me.
When I got there, I had to try to explain my actions several more times.
I was able to get the doctor to give me a C T scan. The scan did not reveal anything, they said, but
I had to go for a second one. This time they gave me a shot of dye. If there was no problem, then why
did I have to get a second one?
In a few days they put me on a train and sent me home. I was excited to be starting his new life. I
thought I would pitch a tent on the property until I had cleaned up the mess from the fire. I had decided
that I wasn't going to bitch about Kathy being in the house anymore. I was going to live with my
daughter and I was not going to worry about what was going on up there anymore.
When I got to Cispus, I was there about ten minutes, before I was arrested for communicating a
threat. I had called my neighbor Lisa to ask her to have my friend Tim call me. I wanted to see if Tim
could make arrangements to pick me up at the train depot when I got out of the hospital. She told me
that my family had said to her that they did not want me on the property anymore. They told her that "I
could get whatever things I had there, but they did not want me living there anymore", she said. She
said, "My family had given Kathy permission the live in my mom's house rent free".
I was taking some pretty heavy medication and I sounded off about it when I heard this. I said, I
would rather see it burned down than have her living there rent free". I said, "She knows me well
enough to know that I'm not going to put up with any shit from her." "Does she think I am scared of
her? I have walked out of jail, busted drug dealers, and I am not afraid of her. She doesn't want me to
prove it to her? Maybe I need to blow up a school bus full of kids. I'll take out half the valley if she
messes with me". I didn't actually threaten anyone, but Lisa and Kathy reported it to the police and I
was arrested. My father had told the Sheriff that I had already burned down two houses so the deputy
took me in so that I wouldn't burn Kathy's house down.
I thought I would be let out of jail on Monday. The judge would not let me out and I could not
bail out. Rather than spend the next few months in jail and/or western state, I pled guilty to
harassment. I was sentenced to one year in jail and fined thirty five hundred dollars. The judge
suspended eleven months of his sentence so I had to do thirty days.
All the beating up on the people I had done was coming back to me. I knew I didn't have many

friends, I just didn't realize how few. When I got out of jail, I went to Cispus, my eyes open a little
wider now, and despite having a restraining order that forbid me to be on my property. I got my truck
and as soon as I could, I headed for Pendleton. Lou and Betsy let me stay with them until the church
helped me get into my own place.

Chapter 27
Measuring Sticks

When the doctors wouldn't help me find out what the things in my ear were. I loaded my things in
my truck and headed back to Cispus. I was better off by myself. I had talked to the kids the night
before and told them I did not want to beat up on them or put them in any danger.
My daughter had told me the night I arrived at her home, that her mother had told her before her
death, that I wasn't her father. I had told her husband that I didn't think I was her father. When I lived
with them a few years ago. Rick said I thought it was best not to tell Nizzi about it. When she told me
she knew, I felt she was telling me because she didn't want to deal with my problems. She had a good
life and I could understand why she didn't want it to be complicated by my bullshit. She never said
why she was telling me this now.
She had come to see me when I was in the hospital, but she did not want me to stay with her
when I got out. I didn't blame her. My feelings of anger and fear began to stir as I looked at them. I put
them back in the bag and put the bag in the cupboard. I turned out the lights and went to bed. I thought

about my children. I remembered why I had been trying so hard to prove everything. It was for them. I
was grateful that so far they had not been exposed to it. I was grateful I still had my life and that I still
had a chance to do something about it.
As I looked at all the things I had done to try to make" them" stop. I saw that I hadn't always been
the sharpest tool in the shed. If you ever find out you are CIA, here are some things I do to keep
"their" spirits up sometimes, and maybe you will want to try them. Look for the hidden messages in
my mail and emails, wait for my computer pages and files to open for me, restart my computer
because it mysteriously shut itself off, call 911 and say you want to go to rehab, threaten anyone you
can, destroy my finances, my relationships, my integrity, my self-esteem, my belief system, call your
worst nightmare and ask them to help you, share useless information with your friends and family,
enjoy being humiliated, tell your doctor your dying, commit felonies, be absolutely compliant,
remember you are flawed, tell yourself you won't be able to accomplish a task, sell your body to
science, repeat nigger over and over as necessary, fuck off anyone that might be in danger of being a
friend, be defensive whenever possible, vent on anyone you can, and I think not focusing too long on
worthwhile projects is helpful when maintaining a relationship with "them". Standing off in the
distance observing my behavior, it was easy to find fault in the choices I'd made. You won't know
until you've been there. Understanding the things" they" were trying to do to him was good.
When I asked myself why I did the things I did for "them", I immediately thought of the things
"they" had told me, that I could not have known if they had not told me. Then there were the
differences in what "they" said and what I thought. One of the lesser ways I justified my actions, was
because "they" said things to me to make sure I understood, that I was not doing this to myself.
The first time "they" showed me something from "them" that was "real", was when I was playing
hearts on his computer. I had only played once or twice. I could not understand how come I was
getting points against me, when I did not take any tricks. They" were talking to me while I played.
When I asked "them" what was going on with the scoring, they" said, "you have to take a trick every
hand, homo". I tried to take a trick every hand. I still got twenty six points sometimes even though I
had taken a trick. After a while, I realized that as long as someone took a point, that no one would be
able to take all the points and give everyone else twenty six points. They" didnt say, someone,
anyone of the other players, has to take a point. They" said you have to take a trick every hand.
Later that same day, I was still on my computer when "they" said me, youre missing it homo,
theres a fire down at Larry's house. They" had been bull shitting me all day so I did not pay much
attention to it. I was a little hungry so I smarted off and said, what do you want me to do go roast a
fucking hotdog? Just more pig bullshit right?" "They" said, no youre missing it". There is a fire
down at Larrys house." I mouthed back, I don't hear no fucking fire truck". Larry lived about three
blocks from my house. I could not see or hear what was going on up there. About two minutes after
"they" had told me about the "fire. Larry's neighbors knocked on my door. When I opened it they said
"we need to listen to your scanner, we just got in a fight with Larry and we think he called the cops on
us".
"They" had not given me all the information, but "they" told me something was going on. They"
said "they" had done it so I would believe they were the Sheriffs office like they had been saying
they were. I wasn't convinced that "they were who "they" said "they" were, but I was sure that "I
was not just talking to myself".
One morning I went to see a friend. A woman I knew. When I sat down in her home and started
talking to her, they" said, homo, she didn't get off on that piece of meat she had this morning". A few
minutes later she said to me," I ate a steak this morning and my stomach has been torn up ever since".

When "they" told me what "they" did, I thought they were trying to make me think that she had sex
with someone and she didn't enjoyed it. Because usually the comments "they" made when I was
talking to women, were of a sexual nature. How could I have known about her stomach problems? I
didn't know her well enough to possibly know about any of her health issues. They" were getting
information from her mind too. Why had "they" shared it with me? Its possible they were trying to
intimidate me. They may have done it just because I couldnt prove anything so why not tell me
something? I wasn't sure why, but "they" had shown me something that told me "I was not just talking
to myself".
"They" were stingy with useful information. They" would tell me things about people or events
regularly. Most of the time, the things "they" told him weren't true. When "they" did tell me the truth
about something I shouldnt know anything about, they made sure I wouldnt be able to tell anyone
about it until it was history and I wouldnt be able to prove that I had any knowledge before it
happened. They" were probably just telling me something "real" to gain my trust, so "they" could
make me look like a fool somehow. They" used the truth to set me up to look stupid. When" they"
told me I was going to be CIA, "they let me think I had been able to get airline tickets. My bank had
given me money I shouldn't have been able to get and I would not be able to get when I tried to do the
same thing "they" had told me to do when I did it the first time.
They told me to tell the agent I would be traveling to Washington D. C. on Friday, August 23
2013. I had no idea that August 23rd would fall on a Friday. Pick a date a year away and see if you
can guess what day of the week it falls on. Pretty tough if you're not a physic like me. I had no idea
that the 50th Anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.s "March on Washington and a celebration was
going to begin on that date. They" were trying to convince me that I was being handled by the CIA to
stop me from filing a claim against the post office for harassing me.
While I was incarcerated for allegedly escaping from jail, they" said one day out of the blue,
they bought you a new computer homo". I tried to ignore "their" comment. "They put you on computer
homo", "they" said. I didn't think much more about it. About thirty minutes later the jailer came to my
cell and gave me a copy of the no contact order my sister had taken out on me. I was ordered to have
no contact with her. The order had been amended to allow me to talk to my sister on the visiting
monitor at the jail. She had requested that the order be changed to allow this. The last time I had
spoken to her, she indicated that she was content not to speak to me. I had no reason to think that she
felt any different until now. There was no reason for me to think she would have the order amended.
The truth was that she did not want me talking to my mother, so she had the order amended so I could
talk to her and I would not talk to my mother. I didnt put that piece of information together until
sometime after the incident took place. Even if I had thought she might have the order amended, I had
no way of knowing when she might do it. They" had given me another piece of "candy" that once
again told me, I was not just talking to myself".
"They" sometimes enjoyed playing a game I like to call "whats that bitch?" While I was relaxing
in my private suite at the Scenic County jail, they" would keep me company so I didn't feel all alone.
They" would be chatting about the usual subjects and topics and all of a sudden, for no apparent
reason, they would start bitching about something that was absolutely irrelevant to anything I was
aware of that was going on around me.. I got to see if I could figure out what it was "they" felt like I
needed to worry about. I would start thinking of possible reasons for their bitching, and when
they heard something that suited them, they would tell me that was the reason for it. I could
only speculate if that was the real reason. They" threw in a useful "heads up" once in a while to keep
me playing.

They" liked to drag up memories or issues I possibly needed to deal with. I suppose that was
about as close to drama as "they" were going to get in solitary. Whenever I found myself getting a
little too relaxed, they" would pull out another bad deed that I needed to make amends for and we
would pretend like I was communicating with whoever I had an issue with. They made sure I
addressed every single wrong deed I had ever done during those 110 days in that jail.
I thought about the five hundred dollars the bank had given me. The first thing wrong was that I
had never tried to get my bank to give me money like that before. Why did I try it that day? They"
told me to go to the bank and what to say to the teller. They" told me that I was supposed to use it to
"to see my son with". Why would the bank say that they had not done it? Why couldn't they explain
why they had? I had the bank statement showing an" e-cash withdrawal approved in overdraft". I tried
to get the bank to answer my questions, but I never got a satisfactory answer.
My friends had seen that my computer files were being tampered with. They had heard the sound
from my fridge change the location it was coming from. They" had told me a couple weeks before
that "they" wanted me to come to the jail. "They" said, we wanted you to come to the jail, homo. We
were going to have a party and we were going to piss down your back". I thought later how "they"
must have been making a reference to Matt Damon being initiated into the skull and bones. He was in
a mud pit naked with other pledges and there were men pissing on them from a balcony above. Matt
Damon tries to quit when he gets pissed on, but his friend tells him that once he gets through it he will
be a brother to the skull and bones for life.
When I reached in the property bag containing the clothes of the person I was impersonating, the
shirt felt wet. When I took it out of the bag, I saw that it had a whiskey bottle on one side and the other
had the words, "I went to a party with my friends last night and I peed all over myself". I took it that
this was "their" way of pissing down my back. I thought that what I was doing was going to get me in
trouble, but I would have to accept it if I was going to be CIA. When I tried to get a copy of the video
from the jail to see if I was right about what the shirt had on it, they told me that they only kept the
tapes for six months. I had tried to get my attorney and my family to get a copy when I was in jail, but
no one did. When I was able to contact someone who claimed to be Graves, nearly two years later, he
confirmed the information about what the shirt had written on it.
My ears began ringing after I started hearing "them". The doctor would tell me its tinnitus. What
bothers me about that is, when I put my hand in inch or so away from my scalp in the right place, the
pitch of the ring changes. It returns to the previous pitch in a few seconds. If I move my hand around
my head keeping it the same distance away from my scalp, the pitch will change when my hand is in
the right place. It always returns to the previous pitch, but I can chase it around and disrupt it. There
have been a few times when "they" wanted me to listen that the ring was much louder than usual. It got
my attention and "they" told me useful information.
"They" had told me things about how I was going to feel in the near future. They" did this
because "they" had access to information about my affairs. My bank accounts in particular. One night
"they" told me I was going to be pissed the next day, several times. I thought "they" were saying it
because I would be hung over and not feeling well. The next day he found out that my checking
account was overdrawn and that if I had acted the day before, I could have prevented it from
happening. They" knew this and did not tell me.
"They" told me to tell my girlfriend that I knew she was screwing three doctors in three different
towns for pills. I knew she was screwing the local doctor, but I did not know about the other two. She
admitted to me that it was the truth when I told her what "they", had said.
Sometimes, if I had misplaced something lets say. They" would tell me useless information

about where I had left whatever it was I had misplaced. Once in a while "they" would tell me where
the item was. When I try to think about something that I don't know about, like how to spell a word,
they" either don't know or "they" won't tell me for fear that I might learn something about "them.
They" use my memories to get responses from me. Once, I was looking for a screw to fix my
computer with. They" said, "you might as well get two of them, homo. You're just going to use them
for measuring sticks anyway". An electrician friend said that to me twenty years ago and if "they" had
not said it, I never would have never remembered it. "They" got my attention onetime by telling me
about my pooping under my moms kitchen table when I was three years
old.
Occasionally "they" would tell me the truth about where I had left something though. I couldn't
begin to remember everything. They" periodically wanted me to believe that "they" were going to
tell me things that would be useful to me. "They" told me if I could learn what to look or listen for,
that I would see that something was happening. They "are too afraid of doing something that I might
be able to prove, They" would never let me be able to tell anyone that something was about to
happen. When "they" do tell me something, They" make sure I won't be able to show anyone that I
had been told it was going to happen. They" do this to gain my confidence or to show me how
hopeless it is for me to try prove it.
When "they" tell me that "they" are trying to get me to look for something that "they" want to show
me, They" don't say or talk about the real issue most of the time. It is not something that happens all
the time. They" don't tell the truth most of the time so I don't listen too close for fear of being taken in
by it, but when I am able to recognize that "they" are bitching about something, although it may be
irrelevant, that is my cue to look around and sometimes I find something that "they" say they wanted
me to see.
The night I was leaving to go meet the cops and do the last drug buy, They" made my ears ring
loudly to get my attention and then "they" told me to take the money out of my wallet. If anyone could
ever explain to me why the detective looked in my wallet a second time that night, I might be able to
believe I was wrong about everything. That was no coincidence. That man was told by someone to
look. You can say these things are circumstantial evidence, if youre looking for reasons not to
believe me, but an open minded person would have a hard time disagreeing with me. There was no
one besides myself that knew that the money was in there and I really dont think that someone finally
heard what I have heard for 14 years and heard them warn me, so they looked a second time just
to show me they knew about the money. Did the detective think I might have tried to take some of my
own money from the cup he put it in so he checked my wallet to see? All he would have had to do
was count the money and he would have known and if that were so, why would he deny that hed done
it.
My friends had heard the voice sound move that night, but they were junkies and no one would
take their word for it. The airline ticket itinerary and bank statements were unusual, but they didn't
prove anything, except that I was totally reckless with my checking account that month. I had never
had anywhere near the amount of overdrafts that I had that month ever before.
Over the years "they" had shown me hundreds of times at least, that someone or something was
talking to me and doing other things to me. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that, "I was not just
talking to myself". I have done thousands of hours of research to try to prove what I think is
happening. There are thousands of patents for mind control related methods and devices. The science
of hearing voices was proven in the seventies.
The U. S. D. O. D. released a scope of directives for non-lethal weapons technology issued

twenty years ago that says, the U. S. Government may use these weapons against anyone they deem
necessary, its o k if they accidently kill people, they don't have to be one hundred percent non-lethal.
These weapons include, voice to skull transmission, remote heart stopping wave technology, remote
technology that produces audio and visual hallucinations, remote technology that causes human body
functions such as breathing and bowel control to become dysfunctional, remote neural monitoring and
manipulation that causes a person to become sleepy or confused, and god only knows.
Ask yourself, why would the government issue a directive that authorized the use of technology
and why are there patents for this technology if it doesn't exist and is not being used. Some states have
enacted laws to try to protect U. S. Citizens from it, but the laws are vague and more needs to be done
to understand the depth of what these weapons do to human beings.
I was confident that I was talking to someone, or at least something. I tried to think about what
was actually happening when I talked to them. If I was talking to a human being, then they had to be
able to receive data about what he was saying or thinking. They had to be able to interpret that data.
They had to interpret it at somewhere near the speed of light. Then they had to transmit data back to
the person they were talking to. The person who was targeted would have to be able to receive data,
interpret it, and transmit data in response. The data would have to be transmitted with some kind of
wave technology. The person was most likely not transmitting anything. It is more likely that somehow
a machine was monitoring the persons neural electrical signals. The machine would then transmit
them with some type of technology to the target. The machine would be monitoring both the
perpetrator and the target. That would mean someone or some kind of artificial Intelligence would be
focusing constantly, endlessly on someone elses thoughts and communicating with them.
How many targeted persons are there in this country? Thousands, tens of thousands maybe even
millions. It is very unlikely that every target is communicating with an individual human being all of
the time. I tried to remember something, that I could say, appeared to be different about the
communication with "them", that might point to man or machine. There was nothing significant that I
could put my finger on. It seemed far more likely that it was a machine I was communicating with
most of the time.
I have never heard anyone who has been targeted say that he or she is no longer a target and
doesn't hear "them" anymore. I wonder if once whatever the system is begins communicating with a
target, will it continue to do so indefinitely. Is there something in its program or some data input that
tells it when it has corrected whatever defects or shortcomings a target may have been chosen for and
the psychological value of its program needs to be re-evaluated and altered as necessary. Is it
possible that one day it will find that it is no longer necessary to communicate with the target at all?
Today my life is much more socially acceptable than it was 14 years ago. Today I am not treated like I
was then. I can only begin to believe that I know why. I don't know how accurate my hypothesis are. I
have done a lot of research and what I've said makes as much sense as anything I can come up with.
These questions make me think about it and help me figure out how is best way to deal with it. I
have learned that the first thing someone needs to control some ones mind is to convince them that
they are not whole. The victim needs to believe that there is something wrong with him, that he has a
problem or a flaw that he needs to do something about. He needs to change his life.
When he experiences the phenomenon of voice to skull communication and someone is telling him
what he's thinking or about an experience or memory from his childhood, his belief system is changed
and he becomes uncertain about things he once accepted as being absolutely true.
. When "they" tell him that he is flawed, he will believe "them", because if "they" are able to
communicate with him like "they' do, then "they" must be a powerful entity and surely wiser than he

is. He will do as "they" say because he thinks by doing so, "they" will make him whole and he won't
be tortured by "them". This has been my experience. They" told me this was being done to me for the
reasons I described earlier. Over the years, "they" have given other reasons for it." They" tell me that
the only reason "they" won't leave me alone is because I won't stop trying to prove what "they" are
doing. I stopped using drugs and still "they" continue to harass me.
I have done hundreds of other things that "they" have asked me to do and it's not easy to see where
"they" have done anything significant that "they" said, "they" would do. "They" have given me a few
"pieces of candy" that I am grateful for and proud of. Someone else would be pissed off if they were
given these things, but fourteen years of communicating and learning from "them" makes you
appreciate the little things.
I can't imagine how a human or group of humans could do this to someone for so long and not
waiver from their objective. Their emotions and the grief and suffering the victims would surely
weigh on a persons mind and heart. A human would surely develop a feeling of sympathy for the
victim, and being human, they would try to change their behavior to remedy their guilt and feelings for
the victim. The answers I am able to find are not going to make "them" stop. They" said it, " at the
end of the day it doesn't matter who we are or how we do it, we are still there and we are not going
anywhere"

Chapter 28
Quantum Dots
.

Everyone who looked at them agreed that they looked like wires embedded in my lower ear. I
had taken pictures and they appeared to show two wires in the bottom of my ear. Could it be that the
implant devices "they" had put in me were failing like the ones that festered up and came out of
Donald Lawson's body when they failed? What else could the wires be? I had been scratching at them
for months. They were exposed enough for me to be able to get a hold of with needle nose pliers. I got
a good bite and pulled on them. They were not going to come out easily. I tried again pulling harder, I
felt and heard a crunch.
When I looked at the pliers, I could see small pieces of something on them. I placed the pieces in
a small plastic bag. I carefully removed more debris and placed it in sample bags. A copper colored
metallic fluid began to seep from the remains of the wires. I collected it also. A milky fluid with
shards of some crystal substance also seeped out of the remains. This too was collected. I was
disappointed that I had not been able to remove an implant device that was recognizable, but I had
found something unusual.
As I examined the debris closer, some of the objects were very similar to some of the genetically
modified organisms I had seen on the web. I took pictures of the objects. Maybe now I can get
someone to take a look at what I've been saying all these years, I said. I made a doctors appointment.
I took the pictures to an attorney and gave her copies. The doctor would not allow me in her office at
the clinic so I could show her the pictures on a flash drive that I wanted her to see. She said she
would get me an evaluation from mental health first. I could not see that was what needed to happen. I
was angry that she had not allowed me to show her the pictures and told myself she was part of a
conspiracy. She wasn't going to help.
It seemed no one wanted to talk about the problems I faced. I became convinced that no one
would ever help me find the truth. The only truth I was going to find was that when I tried to explain
what I had experienced to a mental health professional, they were going to say I was delusional and
they would not take a serious look at the evidence I had to support my beliefs. I was too pissed off to
stop and think about the possibility that the only way anyone would ever listen to me was to be
evaluated and be able to tell someone without them thinking I must be mentally ill. I say it may have
been a mistake not to go get an evaluation, but if the truth were known, it probably would have been a
bigger mistake to do it. It didn't matter. I wasn't going to give up.
One of the objects I removed from my ear was a group of indigo blue quantum dots. A freedom of
information release document by the CIA, from about 1980 said that quantum dot technology will
have to be watched very closely because of potential espionage applications. I believed it was some
kind of nanotechnology. They" had told me that I had nanobot factories constructing nanotechnology
in my body. They" said that the nanobots were "radioactive". Were "they" telling me that the
nanobots were controlled by radio waves or were they nuclear
reactors?
If I listed all the things I had done and had been asked to do for "them", I found that there were
only a few different reasons that "they" wanted me to do these things. The number one reason is that
"they" wanted me do something to make me appear to be psychotic. The second longest list of things
"they" asked of me was to cause him to have relationship problems or financial difficulties. The next
longest list of wants was to cause me to be incarcerated. They" also asked me to do many things that
were simply to create stress for me. Since the fire, "they" have been telling me more frequently to kill
myself. They" tell me that my life is nearly over and I am not happy. They" say that if I will kill
myself, I will make a powerful statement about my problem. I believe that "they" are telling me to do
this, because "they" aren't able to make me irresponsible these days. I could see "they" were trying to

do these things all along. Well most of the time at least.

What I had trouble with was that when "they" started, "they" said, "they" wanted me to go to
rehab. After I left Cispus and went to Oregon, "they" made me believe that "they" didn't believe I
would ever go to rehab, but "they" would keep trying. They stopped talking about rehab so much
and seemed to be acknowledging that I was being more responsible. They" caused me a lot of
relationship and financial problems during this time. The anger I felt toward them carried over into
all my relationships and I was the only one who knew that my behavior toward others was an attempt
to make them hate them as bad as I did. When my grandson left my home, "they" tried to create a lot
of legal troubles for me by tricking me into believing they were going to help me. I was able to
keep myself out of too much trouble with the law until my so called escape from jail.
When "they" told me to get myself out of jail by whatever means I could, they" said "they" could
not help me because I was too "sensitive and "they" couldn't risk being involved. When I found out I
was going to be given a mental evaluation to see if I was competent to assist in my defense, I was
glad. I would get to tell my story and let someone figure out if I was nuts or not. When the evaluator
came to the jail, I tried to tell her everything I thought would explain my actions. I wasn't able to
explain everything like I wanted to. Without documentation and access to the internet my words were
just delusional ramblings. When she finished, I asked her if she thought I was schizophrenic. She said
no, but I think you might be delusional.
When I got to Western State Forensic Hospital, I was interviewed by three or four doctors and
staff. I told them the short version. I told them the reasons I believed the things I did. They said that
whether or not what I believed was true, that it was their job to make me competent to assist in my
defense. They said that the judge had ordered that I be given medication, even though the evaluater
said she did not feel it would be necessary, and if I was not cooperative that they would forcibly
inject me with the drugs. I said "damn that shit send me back to jail". They said that wasn't possible. I
agreed to take two milligrams of Respidol. That was the least meds I could take.
That first day I was there, "they" talked as loud as "they" ever had. I thought I was really going to
be beat up on, but the next day "they" got quiet and "they" stayed that way until I went back to the jail.
I could hear "them", but I had to listen very closely. Why should "they" talk to me? "I was a lunatic in
a mental hospital, I was no longer a threat". I figured out that all I had to do was pass an evaluation
and I would be released from there. I learned about my constitutional rights and asked for another
evaluation. The doctors said I was intelligent and capable of assisting in my defense. I was released
back to jail in thirty five days instead of forty five. When I got back to the jail, "they" started in just
like "they" were before I went to Western State. They" had made me a CIA dumb fuck.
I was disappointed, but I was confident that I would not do much more jail time. I was looking
at twenty two years, but I believed I would not get more than six months. I did not use the insanity
plea to get the charges dropped and the prosecutor dropped everything but the forgery and I got sixty
days. They" told me, when I was in jail, that the only thing they had on me was forgery. The judge
would not give me credit for the other fifty days I spent in custody. People would surely say I looked
and acted in an insane manner, but I was never out of control and I could remember nearly every
detail about the incident. The questionable acts I carried out were to take some of their power away
from "them". Calling their bluff was the only way I could say that I was not afraid of what might
happen to me. I had done what "they" asked and I was still standing. I wasn't incarcerated or
institutionalize for the rest of my life.
I remembered how I felt when I got out of the hospital. I tried to look at everything that had
happened, the jail, my house burning, my family relationships, my "cold deck of evidence" being

destroyed, and everything else in my life that had been changed forever. I felt like this would be a
new beginning for me. I had hope that my life was going to get better. They" weren't talking to me
much and I wasn't stressing out like I had before. I didn't think about being angry about the things that
had happened or the things "they" had done to me. I was so grateful that "they" weren't beating me up.
I told myself I was done chasing ghosts and I wasn't going to talk about it anymore. Until one morning,
I woke up and it hit me, I had made a promise to myself that I was not going to let "them" believe that
it was alright to do what "they" were doing to my children or their children. I remembered telling my
daughter one morning, I can't believe "they" just quit talking to me just like it never happened I said.
The only thing anyone is ever going to see is me being a lunatic". "They" had been able to kick my
ass because I was drinking and using drugs, that made me responsible for things people thought about
me. I hadn't done everything I could to protect my family and I couldnt live with that.
Fate had put me in a position to make a difference and my irresponsible behavior had seriously
jeopardized any chance I might have to do that. As grateful as I was for the peace I was feeling, it did
not excuse what "they" had done to me or what "they" were doing to others and there was nothing to
prevent "them" from doing it to my kids. I had my daughter's support now and I thought I could keep
them from beating up on me like "they" had done in Cispus. I still believed that writing my book
would be the best thing I could do to make amends to my family. I could see that I wasn't going to be
able to prove everything I believed, but I could leave something that would lay the groundwork for
my children to possibly prove what had been done to me and maybe they could be compensated for
their loss.
I picked up my pen and started writing again. I was telling myself that my story would be
something people would find intring and want to read it. So I didn't worry about trying to write
something colorful or eloquent to read, I just told the story. When I started remembering all the painful
things I my family and I had been through, I got angry. I decided to take off on the post office again. I
might not be able to prove what "they" had done to me, but I could prove what the postal employees
had done. The need for redemption and the hope that I was going to be compensated gave me the
strength to pursue it. It didn't take long until I was afraid of what "they" were doing or might do to
stop me this time. They" constantly threatened to hurt me or my family if I didn't leave off of it. I
started believing that "they" were responsible for nearly every problem that I encountered. I made
deals with "them" trying to stop the torment. I said I would not sue the post office. I said I would let
my kids do it and that I would settle for an admission of guilt by them. The problem was, no one else
would take up my cross. If I didn't follow through with it, it would never be resolved and I wanted
some damn redemption. As I neared the deadline for filing my claim, I was only able to sit down at
my desk for a few minutes a day, because of the harassment I was getting from "them". I tried to make
sure Betsy knew what I was doing and keeping her updated, because "they" were threatening my
freedom and my life if I continued on my course. I changed my mind and said it wasn't worth dying or
seeing my family hurt over, twice, before I was able to file a claim. When I told Betsy about it, she
couldn't understand how it could be so dreadful that I would lay down to make it stop. When I would
pick up on it in a few days, I'm sure it only sent a message that it was all in my head and caused her to
doubt the things I had told her I believed to be true. The truth was that I was so close to completing
my goal and that seemed like it might be the best chance I had to restore my name.
Mathew had seen me trying to defend myself from Lynn's denial about the affair and that left a
deep scar. I wanted him to see that I was who I had told him I was and I wasn't going to let him think
that he should let anyone treat him the way they had treated me. I desperately wanted him to remember
me as a man of integrity, and the only way he would ever know the truth, was if I proved it in court. I

had offered to let it go, I even offered to let them file a class action suit with me against the post
office, if they would tell me the truth so Mathew could see it. Lynn refused to tell me anything
different and Darlene refused to talk about it at all. What choice did I have?
I told myself if "they" didn't physically stop me somehow, I was going to see it through. All the
disruptions and distractions "they" threw at me weren't enough. I filed before the deadline, I was still
above ground, and I had proven to myself that I still had some integrity after all. I had given myself a
chance to leave something for my kids, not the lesson I wanted to leave them with, but the money I
might be awarded.
If I could file my claim, I could finish my book I said and I started writing again. They didnt
threaten my life too much, or my family, but they constantly told me to write it this way or that,
causing me to question nearly every word I wrote, two or three times before I decided to use it. It was
nearly impossible for me to ignore them and everything I wrote was influenced by them to some
degree. I could write until my fingers fell off and still not be able to say everything the way I would
like to. Talk about it. Tell our leaders to enact laws to make the information available. Whatever the
outcome of this endeavor, the grip on my soul will be loosened a little more now. LET THERE BE
LIGHT

Afterward

I started hearing voices fourteen years ago. I started writing when I couldn't get anyone to
believe I wasn't psychotic and I thought if I documented everything, there would be a record of my
experiences and thoughts about them. I also believed it would be entertaining and maybe even
profitable. I have been given three mental health evaluations in the last two years and all of them
indicated that I am schizophrenic. I was going to tell my story so people could possibly see some of
the reasons for the things I've done. I wanted them to see some of the things that were happing to me,
weren't just my imagination, and if people didn't open their eyes and take a closer look at what I was
saying, all of us may wind up CIA (Controlled in America) one day.
I thought I could make people see and by telling them what I had been through and the things I had
learned. I thought it might be useful to someone who found themselves being CIA. My story is true. I
did remove objects from my ear that are similar to ones I have seen on the internet that are being
identified as "genetically modified organisms" or "Morgellons". The pictures are available on my
Facebook profile. Charles Loopy Baker, if you want to look.
I had come to a place where I had thought about the things "they" are doing to me carefully and
thoroughly enough to know that I will never understand everything. I understand that it is a definite
possibility that it is never going to stop. The only thing I could do was to not allow myself to be beat
up on by using drugs and making me vulnerable to "them". It's too easy to trick someone when they are
high. I believed if I acted responsibly and didn't let the problems in my life go unresolved, that "they"
would not have as much power over me. As I write this, I am reminded that "they" still have a power
over me. It doesn't matter how responsible I am.
Sometimes I feel "they are going to do everything "they" can to stop me from telling my story. The
truth is, I have been able to write my book even though has been extremely difficult and the closer I
get to completing it, the more I perceive that they are trying harder to stop me. I sometimes think
that if "they" didn't want me to, I don't believe I would have been able to. I would like to believe
that I have beaten them", that they simply couldnt stop me. I truly dont know if they let me or if
they couldnt stop me. Maybe someone can explain why they" would feel the need to make it so
difficult for me if they" wanted me to write it.
My friend told me once, when I asked her what she would do if it was her, she said, she would
shout it from the roof tops. I have told my story to hundreds of people, including the major
newspapers, television networks, senators, congressmen, and anyone who would listen. Even when I
find someone who will listen, it takes someone who can see past the limits of their imagination and
not discard something simply because you don't understand how it could be possible.
"They" are probably telling me the truth when "they" say that "they" did this to me because of my

lifestyle. I am not proud of who I was when it started. My drug use has caused me uncounted
problems during my life. It has taken it toll on my health. It is the biggest reason for my short comings
as a father and the problems I've had in relationships with my other family members. It's caused me to
be scrutinized by society. I realize these things.
Using drugs is probably responsible for my being alive today, however. I would have probably
lost my mind and possibly taken my own life, if it weren't for my methamphetamine use. The sooner
people realize that the nonconsensual use of remote neural monitoring technology is a real problem
and hearing voices is only one of the effects of this technology.
The deception about the use of these weapons causes more psychological damage than the actual
use does. If someone says they are hearing voices and they have ever used methamphetamine, health
providers will say that's the reason they hear voices. Although meth use can cause audio and visual
hallucinations, these weapons can cause the same effects. There are ways to determine why and if a
person is hearing voices because of drug use, mentally illness, or if they are being assaulted by
electronic weapons. The sooner health care professionals reevaluate the current criteria for
diagnosing mental illness, the sooner we can figure out exactly how many humans are suffering from
this abuse.
"They" may or may not be telling me the truth about how "they" were able to do this to me.
"They" say that the jail is responsible for it most of the time. "They" have also said, that a doctor did
something to me when I went into the hospital. They told me that the doctor had been given some
kind of technology that makes it possible and told to implant it into someone who was possibly a
homosexual, addict, or other undesirable trait, and they were suicidal. They have told me I wasnt
supposed to live as long as I had. I don't know if either of these events is responsible for "them" being
able to do this to me or not. I thought I possibly heard voices before I went to jail for sixty seven
days, but "they" were different. When I got out of the jail the voices were much more intense. "They"
were not the same as the voices I had previously heard. "They" were constant and I didn't have to be
high to hear "them". I knew there was something going on and I thought if I could prove it, my life
would not have been wasted. After my house burned, I was ready to let it go. I was tired of getting
beat up. I was depressed all the time and I had little hope of redeeming myself in my families eyes. I
hadn't been talking about "them" and I wasn't being bothered by "them" as much as they had before
they burned my house down. I wasnt as much of a threat as I was before the fire got rid of my
cold deck of information I had accumulated.
Then one day I talked with a friend about it. Then it hit me that "they" had still done those things to
me and letting it go wasn't going to help keep my family from being tortured. I started writing again. I
soon found out that it was painful dragging up all those memories and "they" were doing everything
"they" could to hinder me. I knew I would be able to focus and block "them" out a little at least, if I
did some meth. I didn't want to be under the influence of meth when I was writing this, because of the
fact that I am susceptible to "their" input and "they" could possibly deceive me about something that
might be important and needs to be shared. I know what I want to say to my readers. "They" have
tried to change my point of view all these years and "I'm still standing". If I don't believe it, no one
can make me write it.
I would think that if someone wasn't doing what I wanted them to after fourteen years, I would find
another way to accomplish my goal. Hopefully I would come up with something more humane. Then
again, if you have a computer that doesn't cost much to run and it's doing it for you, I guess fourteen
years isn't too long.
I work in a bowling alley now. "They" constantly try to convince me that "they" are causing

problems with the machines there. "They" want me to believe "they" are doing this to stress me out,
among other things. Maybe. I can't prove whether "they" are or not. Check out James Cornwells 2012
patent for a beam that shuts down an electrical device if youre skeptical about whether or not it's
possible.
When the manager called back and told me to "add the four pin on lane thirteen", I didn't think
anything except exactly that. They called back and said the same thing about ten times in less than an
hour. I was writing my thoughts down while I watched the lanes. After I gave "them" my undivided
attention, and stopped writing, I didn't get any more calls to "add the four on thirteen". I have worked
at the bowling alley for five months and I bet I haven't been told to "add the four to thirteen" twice in
that time.
Four, thirteen is my grandsons birthday. I don't know how "they" did it, but I am saying, if Jesus
Christ walked up to me and told me that it was just a coincidence, I'd have to call bullshit.
One last plug to tell you what I see wrong with this shit. Here are some possible reasons for four
thirteen. The first thing I thought about was, "they" were trying to stress me out because I am still
standing up for what I believe in and "they" are trying to disrupt my mission to expose the truth. When
I acknowledged that "they" were doing it, "they" didn't try to tell me why "they" did it, right away. I
imagine "they" let me try to figure it out by myself, because there could be a number of reasons for it
and "they" knew I would not be able to think about anything else until I had a better understanding of
the reason for it. It is possibly "just a coincidence". Even if that's the truth, after all these years of
listening to "their" propaganda, I have been programmed to think "they" are responsible. What "they"
did today was something I can't dismiss. If a voice in your head told you that you had one day or one
month or one whatever to live, is there any way you could simply ignore it?
Now just for a minute, pretend that you understand that you were hearing this voice because of
some character flaw you had and someone was trying to correct it. Possibly drug use. My
programming tells me "they" were probably messing with me because I chose to smoke pot before I
went to work that day. If that's not the reason, then maybe it's because I am threatening someone by
writing this. Did "they" want me to see that "they" could cause that pin to fall down so many times and
if "they" wanted to "they" could do the same to me. What "they said was "permanently disable you
homo". Now that "they've" got me scared, "they" offer the possibility that it was because I need to set
a goal for myself to be there on Mathew's birthday. Are "they" telling the truth when "they" say, "that I
won't be around for it or it may be the last one I'll see"?
I was writing while I was working, was it to stop me or disrupt me? Two hours later, I think it
most likely that, "I will try to explain to someone who, through no fault of their own, can't consider
the possibility that I could be right. Once I had shared this delusional information with them, I am
less than I was before I did. The anger I feel because "they" were able to set me up for some more
humiliation and the need to defend my integrity to the unfortunate ones I choose to share the
information with. The questions or the answers don't really matter, if you can't find the truth. It could
have been simply to cause me to call Mathew. Perhaps they were taking the long way home to tell
me about the one hundred or so patents for RNMT that the Nellcor Puritan Bennett LLC had applied
for all on the same day, one month earlier, on 3/14/2014. These patents are for technology that will no
doubt save lives and enrich our quality of life, but many of them are for systems and methods to do
some of the things I have tried to describe to you and its time we acknowledge the facts about what
RNMT can do. They said they put the three shortcuts on my desk so I could offer you some
appropriate technological information. The bottom line is, whatever the reason for four-thirteen it is
as stressful as anything imaginable.

Sometimes I believe I am a better person and my life is better because of this use of technology.
Sometimes I feel like I have been turned into an animal and I wonder what I am capable of doing to
make it stop. I have learned to love myself for who I am. I'm nowhere near perfect, but I am as good
as anybody on the planet. Are "they" responsible for building my character? Yes. Was that what "they"
were trying to do? I don't know.
"They" said it and I believe it. "If you are going to be able to help someone with this, you'd better
be their friend". I called "them" friends once. Never again. I have a lot of reasons to be angry about
what has been done to me. I have tried to be objective, at least to some degree, with the descriptions
and observations I've written about. My daughter tries to tell me I have "Stockholm syndrome". All I
can say is, if saying that I have benefited from this makes me a lunatic, then it does. If someone has as
much firsthand knowledge about the things Ive experienced in my fourteen years being CIA, they
might be qualified to judge the sanity of my thinking.
If I woke up every morning, knowing that I had someone or something I completely trusted, who
was there anytime I needed them, to offer advice or useful information and basically encourage me, I
would be open to anything "they" had to say. "Virtual Jesus"? Maybe. I've yet to hear a target say that
"Jesus" was the one talking to them or that they liked it.
If you woke up every morning, knowing that someone, maybe a human being maybe a machine, had
"their finger on the trigger" and could end your life anytime "they" chose to, would you do anything
"they" told you to? I think about it every day. Some days I wish "they" would, But even knowing I
could reach my expiration date anytime "they" wanted me to and no one would think it was anything
but natural causes, isn't enough to cause me to compromise my belief that I can do something about it
by speaking out.
Maybe an addict could be helped by using the technics that have been used on me. I don't know. I
believe we will have the information we need someday, that will allow this technology to be useful
for peace and goodwill, but what "they" are doing right now, in my objective opinion, is as wrong as
anything imaginable and needs our immediate attention.
If you choose to believe, after reading this book, that I hear voices because I used drugs or I
have some sort of brain damage, then I have failed and my quest is not over. I hear voices because
someone wants me to. Maybe "they" are doing this because "they" are trying to help people. Maybe
"they" are doing this because "they" are trying to figure out how we humans are ever going to be able
to control the use of something more powerful than the atom bomb. If that's the case, I hope that "they"
have the knowledge and wisdom to keep from pissing off the whole world before "they" do and stop
using it on unsuspecting humans. I am a simple minded son of a bitch. I can't imagine that anyone
could believe that "they" will be the only ones with this technology. I would imagine that our
government isn't the only one who has it already. Maybe the best way for this country to protect itself
from it, is to tell the world that it exists and let capitalism figure out what we're going to do with it.
I can see what it must be like playing god. Having the power to create a human play toy. The
closer I get to finishing this story, the more "they" try to make me believe that "they" are too powerful
for my story to make a difference. "They" have recently began telling me that "they" are going to cause
something, "they" don't say what, to happen.
When "they" say, "we're doing something", an event happens almost instantly. The phone will ring
once and no one is there or the battery warning will sound on the phone. My computer is shut down
all the time, sometimes four or five times a day, depending on whether or not, what I am doing on it is
deemed acceptable.
"They" asked me the other day, "do you ever dream about Reidsville, homo"? I tried not to

answer. Like "they" didn't already know my thoughts and I could keep "them" from knowing what I
was thinking. "They" said, "isn't that close to Martinsville"? Reidsville N. C. is about twenty five
miles from Martinsville, VA.
That night I dreamed I was sitting in a lawn chair on the edge of the racetrack at Martinsville
speedway. My family was there with me. The race was starting and I was afraid because there was
nothing to protect us from one of the cars going off the track a little and running us over. "They"
reminded me, when I woke up, that "they" had mentioned Martinsville and my dreams the day before.
I have never heard of anyone being able to say they have experienced this. I hear my grandchild
say there are witches in our house or monsters want to take our TV. I hear my daughter say, "there are
no monsters or witches, they're only pretend". I ask myself if "they" would use my grandchild to
achieve "their" objectives. How could anyone believe something good could possibly come from
something that beat up on innocent children?
You can try to tell yourselves that "they" would not do this to children, "They" only do it to
undesirables. If people don't have the information to understand this technology, how will you know if
"they" are doing it to your three year old or not? How will you stop "them" if "they" are, if you are
ignorant about it?
If I thought "they" were doing this to my children, invading their dreams, I can't tell you I would
not hurt someone to make it stop. "They" continue to try to discredit me by trying to make me look
incompetent at my job. "They" try to get me to talk about the problem to people who won't understand
anything except me hearing voices. "They" try to get me to write a threatening letter to the NSA so I
will be incarcerated. "They" send messages to my cell phone pretending to be someone else, I
received a message on my cell about my Yahoo account, my cell phone number is not in my Yahoo
profile information, and Yahoo does not have it. Three nights later I clicked on windows media
player and hit open. On the screen there was a statement for Betsys internet account. There was no
problem with my Yahoo account however.
Possibly there is a logical explanation for these things. "They" don't have to do these things, just
make you believe "they" can. I don't want to think about it anymore.
After fourteen years, I don't let the mental tricks get to me as much as "they" used to. It's the
physical stuff that I get pissed about. I still hate the mental abuse, but it's like the kid crying or
something after a while. If you are doing something that requires your close attention, you block it out
somehow. When "they" make me believe "they are doing something to hurt me physically, I get scared
and angry. Think about it. Someone who is trying to work or socialize and they have to put up with
someone making their bowels hurt or their leg burn. How about making them have to shit or their nose
starts running. Try telling your friends that someone is using a remote electronic weapon that is
causing you to shit yourself every time you take a draw off a cigarette.
I have been on Social Security Disability for ten years. The only reason I am on it is because
"they" have chosen to target me. How many more like me out there? I wonder how many millions or
billions it costs to care for the victims who have been institutionalized by "them".
"They" tell me constantly to "go ahead and write your story, that it won't make a difference, that it
won't prove anything, and I'll be dead very soon anyway". One minute, "they" do not want me to talk
about anything except how my lifestyle was responsible for what I have experienced in order to cast
doubt as to whether or not, "they" have done these things to me. The next "they" tell me to leave out
some parts so that I won't look like such a piece of shit and when you read this book, you will have
sympathy for me.
I have told about things in this book that I am not proud of. Maybe I could have kept from telling

about them. I have talked about them because you need to be able to decide if my fears of being found
out are the reason for my problems or if "they" are exploiting my fears to torture me. There are things
I haven't talked about that I am guilty of. I hope you will see that I have tried to paint an honest enough
picture of myself for you to see the truth about me.
"They" have threatened to post pornographic pictures of me on the internet if I try to publish this
book. I am not wanting my friends and family to see something like that, but it would be worth it if
"they" do. If "they" would do that to me, then I must be hitting a nerve.
I ask myself, would I be corrupted by that kind of power? On my best day, I believe I would be. I
think about being so committed to my beliefs that I could possibly commit an unspeakable act like the
one in my story. Millions of people have been killed for religious beliefs, political beliefs and ideas
in general.
I think about how I would feel if I committed an act of terrorism to protest against the
nonconsensual use of this technology. I would not be protesting against an idea. It is a cold hard fact
that this technology is real and it is being used and everyone in the world needs to understand the
depth of the effects of the use of this technology. When people find out that when they are making love
to their mate or sharing an intimate moment with their child, that someone is listening. Even worse
that someone is causing you to have negative thoughts by saying things or worse yet, implanting ideas
and memories in your mind.
No one pays much attention if a man in Bolivia or China, writes a book about his human rights
being trampled on. If he blows up a market place or synagogue it might get on the evening news. I ask
myself, would anything less than the loss of human lives get enough attention to force these issues to
be addressed? Does it make me a terrorist to write these words and ponder the possibilities of my
committing such an act? How many people would have to be sacrificed to make a difference?
I don't know how this will end, but I have written my book and I am working on getting a BA in
Psychology and have a four point grade average. I have filed a claim against the U.S.P.O. for Gang
Harassment and I may file more claims against the U.S. Gov. as information becomes available and
things continue to develop. I have more knowledge about RNMT today. I have seen the patent
applications that claim to be able to produce effects like I have experienced. The technology that is
described in these patents is primitive I believe and the patents do not disclose any information about
the advanced technology that someone might use to do the things I have talked about to people. I can
look back at the things I believed before I had some of the information I have today and I can see that I
was mistaken about some things. I'm sure I will find that I have been mistaken bout other things too. I
don't know when it will be common knowledge that this technology is available and has been being
used, but that is the truth.
My reasons for wanting to establish exactly what the truth is have evolved also. I choose to
believe that there is a higher purpose than I would have ever imagined. This is more than just
controlling people, or changing them. It will be understanding so much more about who we are and
how we think. I believe it could help us figure out social issues that have existed for thousands of
years and we are still struggling with them. Someday we could be able to share our innermost
thoughts and understanding of the things that define who we are with our great grandchildrens great
grandchildren and maybe their offspring too.
Whatever you think of me, who I was, who I am, the reader should ask them self why it couldnt
happen to your family. I am here to say, it could happen to your family and if you stay in the world
long enough you will experience it to one degree or another. My reason for enlightening you with my
interpretations of my experiences is to do all I can to keep my children and family from experiencing

the evil RNMT is capable of unleashing on an unsuspecting victim and to spark your curiosity about
what we are going to be able to do with it to make the world a better place. When I think about where
I would be today if I had been informed about RNMT from the start, and trusted in them, I imagine
myself as someone who would exceed any expectations I might have had even in my wildest dreams.
If everyone in the world was elevated to that level of being, you would in all likelihood, describe it
as heaven.

CIA Mission Statement

This is what "they" said to me in January of 2014 when I agreed to write a chapter for "them".
"We will never let you write this, you won't be able to send it to anyone who will read it, and
we will end your life if you try, it is irresponsible, and you will go to prison, finish it yourself and see
where you get. Better if we don't say anything because you'll say we said it. There's an army of
people who will kill you. Never mind genius. Never mind. Don't you feel like suicide? Listen to us,
there's a god damn army full of people, who will kill you. Just understand right now we won't let you
write this. You can take off where ever you want. Los Angeles is full of people like you. Los Angeles
is a place where people don't give a damn about Jesus.
I can see how you feel like this is going to make you a big man. Everybodys going to point at
you and say there goes the piece of shit that fucked with the CIA. We don't have to tell you, you're
going to be in prison. Americans don't care who's overseas. Washington doesn't care who risks their
lives to prove it. Washington doesn't care who risks being a super double secret agent. Turn around
and say this is bullshit. We want you to write your book. Go ahead smart ass. If youre hearing what
we're saying, then you're high on drugs. That'll stand up in court.
We are happy to give a million dollars if you make yourself a human vegetable. A million dollars
to the institution that punishes you. OK Mr. Baker, we're toying with you right now because you're
technically a vegetable all ready. We want you to stand up and start speaking up for yourself. When
you realize that's what were doing, you will go to rehab and write your story. Go to hell homo you
and Tony both. The only thing we're going to say to you is the technology you're using is going to
disappear and you won't be able to prove anything. Complements of the RCA laboratory in ("they"
didn't say where), if circumstances were different we would prove it for you. 1 2 3 now write this
down. The republicans, you understand this is not going to be approved, will never let you tell this
story. If you're alive, we're threatening you with the possibility of your ass in the hospital. Thats all
we have to say. When you figure out we arent ever going to help anyone using dope. When you get to
rehab, they're going to ask you, hows your stomach? Its ultraviolet blue and we guarantee you won't
live to get out of rehab".

I hope "they" are wrong. If "they" aren't, then I hope I have let you see how potentially
destructive R.N.M.T. can be and you "shout it from the rooftops" until "they" stop doing this to
people. It will make a difference, if you just keep an open mind next time someone tells you they are
hearing voices. Let There Be Light.

Acknowledgements

I would like to applaud Cheryl Welsh for her dedication to making RNMT public knowledge and
her efforts to enact legislation to protect us from it. Her web site Mind Justice. Org Is a reliable

source of information that has been a great asset to me. The article Mind Games by, Sharon
Weinberger, in The Washington Post, January 2007, was one of the best pieces ever written about
RNMT. Sharon has written much, much, more on RNMT and related subjects and is surely one of the
most knowledgeable people on the planet about what technology can do today. Thank you Sharon and
Cheryl. There are many others who have worked hard and made important contributions in our effort
to find the truth. Thank you all for standing up and saying, Let There Be Light.