Vera's Story

Subterranean Secrets!

This is the information that I find most unsettling. Perhaps it is because of my relentless curiosity about the strange noises coming from outside and beneath the house that I continue to be harassed today. The unknown, combined with what I'm certain of, the enormous scope of this thing-conspirators from at least four states and Baja, California, plus the never ending hostility and animosity from total strangers everywhere I go, keeps urging me to get to the bottom of this. The conspiracy is gigantic, my descriptions may seem petty and trivial. But, it's all I have to offer up at this time, so I am including the small details in the hopes that the entire picture will sound substantially suspicious to enough people to move us toward finding out more.

Here are some of the incidents:

Noises and Underground Activity
The Walls Get Painted Overnight
Wet Paint on the Walls Again!
Someone Paints the Inside of the Closet
Camouflaged People up in the Trees
And on the Roof!
A Hydraulic Maple Tree?
What's Beneath the Maple Tree?
Flame Retardant Plants
Easy Access to the Inside from the Outside
Avoiding the Questions
Foiled Photographic Evidence
Noxious Fumes Come out of the Walls
Excessive Energy Being Used in the Middle of the Night
The Entire Neighborhood Is Involved
Evidence of New Construction
My Family's Involvement

Noises and Underground Activity

On most nights, there was so much rumbling, motor-like hummings, whirring and banging around beneath my parents' home, I'd be awakened from my sleep. As well there was always a lot of noise and foot traffic outside the house. It seemed to me, from footsteps left in the mud and the sagging of the chain link fences that separated our house from the neighbors' property, that there were people going from one yard to the other, traversing the length of the block in this way. To support my story of hearing murmuring and smelling cigarette smoke coming in through my window, I'd often find cigarette butts tossed on the ground, and trampled plants next to the side of the house.

On 2 occasions the floor beneath my bed was hit so hard from underneath the bed was jolted up from the floor. I asked in the morning and no one else had heard or felt anything, nor were there any reports of earthquakes on the news.

One night, tired of people trying to make me question my sanity, I dropped the microphone from my karaoke machine into a hole in the drywall and let it slip down about 4 feet where it was stopped at what seemed to be floor level. Curiously, there was no insulation or much framing obstructing the microphone as I dropped it into the wall. Strange because the previous owner was a contractor and had built the house, and my parents had always been concerned about heating and cooling costs, so I'd always assumed there was insulation between the bedroom walls. Anyway, I was going out that night and pressed record before I left at 11p.m. and when I returned a few hours later I had an hour's worth of tape recording various motor-like whirring and sanding noises and murmurings and bumps and clanks and at one point there was a loud whistle and everything went quiet for about 2 minutes and then resumed after a car horn sounded twice. Weird huh? Of course the whole family just blew me off when I came to them with my taped evidence and told me I was crazy and stupid and, "who in their right mind would put a microphone into a wall anyway?.." That tape has since disappeared, along with a few others I secretly recorded of people in my room when I was not present. Some were voices, my sister from Simi Valley searching for something in my room with my mother. When I asked them about it the next day they both denied it, but then I mentioned I had it on tape and my mother went off! "This is my house and I can do whatever I want to, and that's not your room anyway, it's my room and this is my house and you better stop acting like an idiot before we have to have you put in the hospital like Gary!" (Gary is my young cousin who began having sudden, violent episodes several years ago. If he doesn't take his medication, he becomes threatening and has to be carted away. My family likes to imply that we have much in common behaviorally...we don't.)

About a half dozen times I was awakened in the middle of the night by moving trailers loading or unloading in front of several of the houses down the block from me. Since I was awake anyway, I'd go to check it out. They were the big commercial movers and without being obvious, all I could ever see going in and out were motorcycles. But it was the middle of the morning- 2 or 3 a.m., so it was unusual for the area.

The Walls Get Painted Overnight

Then, about a week later, I got in a fight with my boyfriend while at his house and left abruptly, very early in the morning. Arriving back at my parents' home around 5a.m.; an eerie stillness in the neighborhood. Turning the light on in my room I noticed there was something different, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Looking around, I noticed that the walls of my room were very clean; gleaming in fact as if someone had just scrubbed them. They certainly didn't look like the same walls I had left the day before. As I looked closer I could see that they appeared to have been freshly painted. I couldn't believe or make sense of what I was seeing. But when I looked up toward the ceiling there was no doubting what it was. There were long, soft drips of paint, as if whoever had done it had been in a hurry. Still disbelieving, I took my thumb nail and pressed it into the drips. It was still soft. It was fresh paint. What the heck did this mean?! What was going on around here? I started checking around the room, using my car key to press into the drips, trying to determine for certain if this was really what it appeared. (I would like to note that throughout the time that I spent in this house there was a sort of a twilight-zone, unreal quality to everything that was happening. Primarily because it was all so bizarre, but also because everyone around me was responding so inappropriately. I began to doubt myself.) Along with the freshly painted walls, there were soft, spongy places that seemed to have been recently patched. The floorboards had been pulled away from the walls in some places, the nails still lying on the carpet beside them. As I got down on my knees to further examine this strange evidence, I saw that the carpet had been sliced from underneath the bed and the hardwood planks were uneven for a length of about 3 feet. The floor had been pushed up nearly a full inch along this area where the carpet had been cut. Whether or not this happened over the course of the same night or another I couldn't be sure. Without ripping up the carpet I couldn't discern if there was actually some sort of passageway through the floor of the room. Unable to stomach any further duress, or friction with my parents I left the carpet where it lay.

Just about this time my "friend" showed up and tried to drag me out of the house, asking me to return to his place with him. "Excuse me Brock, but don't you think it's a little odd that someone has been redecorating my room while I've been out?" "Well, so, the walls are painted, it's nothing to get upset about." This was the standard type of response I received from my family and from him and a few other people that were in my life at the time this was going on. Either I was crazy and needed to be on medication, or, I was over-reacting, or seeing things and/or hearing things, etc., etc.

Wet Paint on the Walls Again !

This exact scenario was repeated on another morning about a month later. Returning reluctantly to my "haunted residence" accompanied by another adversary I considered a friend, we both entered my room to find evidence of freshly painted walls (it was hardly time to repaint, since the good-Samaritan carpenters had just enameled the walls a few weeks earlier!). In a sort of suspended animation I went around the room with my car keys in my hand, eyes wide with disbelief, sticking my keys into the drips. Looking at Matt (who had already heard the story of the first paint job) for support and proper astonishment he just said, "yeh, so it looks like the walls have been painted. Don't start all this again... do you want to go to breakfast or not?"

I skipped breakfast and asked Mr. and Mrs. Lark what they knew about the "good-Samaritan carpenters" (the whole thing was so mind-boggling I stayed sane by making jokes about it for a long time. Unfortunately, I can hardly ever do that anymore.) "I don't know. We wasn't in there paintin'. We was gonna fix up your room after we finished with the bathroom and the kitchen." Their home, like the majority in the area was taken apart to one degree or another in order to make repairs after the earthquake. In many cases there was major renovating and modifying of structures taking place due to the windfall of insurance money everyone seemed to have gotten to cover damages. "But the walls in my room have been painted again!...Do you wanna see? Come in here and stick your nail in the drip and see that it's fresh paint."

This time my mother answers; being more prone to irrational outbursts anyway, this is right up her alley..."No, no, no! I'm not coming in there and you better not be tearing up that room sticking nails or anything else in the walls!"

The Inside of The Closet Gets Painted

Another evening I returned home after a few hours absence to find that the cupboard space above my closet had been painted. Both the closet and the cupboard space both had been a dingy blue since I was a little girl and on this night the cupboard was bright white. They didn't even try to make it match. I marched into the living room, calmly requesting an explanation for this most recent anomaly-"who painted the inside of my closet while I was gone?" My Dad,"which closet?" "What do you mean which closet, the closet inside my bedroom that has been blue for twenty years and is now white..." My Dad,"well your mother and me was here and we weren't paintin' anything." "But the closet has been painted.. do you want to come in and see it?" My Dad,"O.K. I'll come in there after this show is over." (T.V. and malice are their life.) Did they do this to make me crazy or was my sanity to be an incidental casualty of their late night/early morning projects? There's more...

Camouflaged People up in The Trees

This was too weird to believe, but I saw it more than once at 2 different locations. It was not an optical illusion. On three different occasions I witnessed the palm fronds on palm trees close upwards around some people that were up in the trees at about 7a.m. I saw this in Granada Hills as well as at a friends house in the Robertson/Pico area. I watched this through binoculars and nearly fell on the floor from confusion and disbelief. I've seen few sights as bizarre as these beings up in the trees. From what I could make out it was people clothed in a kind of real plant camouflage. If you can picture what it would look like if the scales of a reptile or a fish were made of leaves and other foliage, layers of organic matter laid one upon the other, this was the appearance of these costumes. A kind of cover-alls made of different plant parts. They seemed to be utilizing these costumes as a camouflage, covering whatever it was that they were doing up there in the trees. It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to just to freak somebody out. They appeared to be entering and exiting from the trunks of these trees!?!?!?

And on The Roof!

One night I got home and went straight to the backyard for something. My dad has some kind of stadium-type light back there that shines out pretty far into the yard. I'm walking back into the house, having a perfectly normal evening, everything appearing just as it should. I happen to glance up to the rooftop of the next door neighbor's house and stopped in my tracks. The strangest vision! It was the rooftop to the structure behind the neighbor's main house. There, easily visible (the moon was big and bright as well), was some man (judging by his stature), wearing this crazy camouflage stuff, with a bow and arrow in his hands, pulled back as if ready to shoot! He looked like some strange piece of zodiac sculpture- the centaur done in organic materials. At this point, I didn't even mention this to anyone. Why bother? What was the purpose for these very cunning disguises?

A Hydraulic Maple Tree?

I watched as a huge branch high up in the maple tree of my parents' front yard raised itself from an approx. 90 degree angle from the trunk up to nearly 30 degrees or so. This was at 6 a.m. and my boyfriend was present once again, and again tried to distract my attention from the impossible scene I was witnessing. But I wouldn't go in and waited until it had ceased it's motion and the faint humming that went along with it had stopped.

I became so certain of some sinister application with the maple tree that I kept some of the branches to eventually show to someone who would care- assuming that I'd eventually meet someone who wasn't involved. Just recently I saw a fiber optics cable for the first time and do you know it is the same pattern as on the inside of the branches that I had saved. Many little circles around a circle in the middle. My father religiously gets up early every morning and goes out and picks up all the large and small branches and clusters of leaves that have fallen overnight (Granada Hills is a very windy place) and often puts them in his trailer to be hauled away "to the dump". He only started doing this a couple of years ago.

I have seen leaves stuck directly on to branches, without the stem connecting them, as if someone had just glued them on..

What's Beneath the Maple Tree?

More on the maple tree... A skinny, little puppy who was living at my parents' house during this time used to shiver often from being cold and preferred the base of the trunk of this tree to lie beside. I was usually barefoot and noticed that the ground directly surrounding the trunk was quite a few degrees warmer than the rest of the lawn; even though it was shaded by the huge, leafy branches above it. Then I noticed that there was a circle surrounding the trunk, about a foot away sort of etched through the grass that had never been there before. This was over a year ago and last time I was at their home ( about 4 months ago) the grass still showed no signs of growing back.

Flame Retardant Plants

The shrubs and plants surrounding my parents redwood and brick home are non-flammable. I mean that I have taken a lighter and held it underneath certain of the branches, green as well as fallen leaves and stems and they appeared to me to be fire resistant. I could not even scorch them, must less start them aflame. I did this experiment because along with the other oddities of this part of town, the plants didn't seem to grow according to the natural ways of plants I'd seen in the past. They would grow on only one side, with the opposite side remaining straight-edged. But I mean really straight as if someone had used a planer on them or something- and never sprouting or getting new growth all summer or fall or never. Or others would swell and expand with new growth at such an unusual rate, their progress was noticeable from one day to the next. The last time I was back they had finally pulled out this one particular shrub that I used to rant about. "Hey have you guys noticed that that plant under the window only grows on one side and the other side is straight as an arrow?" "Have you noticed that that plant hasn't changed all spring while the other plants are growing..." "Why doesn't that plant blossom anymore like it used to?"

Easy Access to The Inside From The Outside

Also unusual was the lack of insulation in the walls of the house. My parents, ever concerned with cooling/heating costs failed to put anything between the drywall which was the interior of my room and the decaying, old redwood planks which are the outside of the house. At least that was the answer they gave when I questioned them about it, "we must have forgot your room." (They bought the house from the original owner who had built it for he and his family. This man was a contractor by trade, so it seems odd that he wouldn't have insulated the house in the first place...doesn't it?) I noticed this while helping out with the renovating process, part of which was pulling off some of the old planks outside and replacing them with new ones. This was not supposed to be my job. My brother was going to decide which planks needed to be replaced, but since it was my room and I was inpatient to fortify my digs-under-siege I got a hammer and went to it. "No wonder!", I thought to myself when I saw how accessible the thin width of the drywall was to the outside of the house. That's why all the noises sounded so loud and the effect of knocking on my walls could be produced so easily.

They produced other sound and light effects through a narrow space beneath my bedroom window that went through to the outside. While searching for something behind the huge chest of drawers that sits in front of the window, I found the window facing lying on the floor behind the drawers. Inspecting the place where it had previously been nailed, I could see the light coming in from outside. I would never have noticed this with the wide pane that sits above the facing and then the big chest of drawers in front of that. This explained how they could make my curtains billow and blow with the window closed, or project images onto my curtains or ceiling- very spooky when you're alone and feeling haunted already!

Avoiding The Questions

I have often come into their home to find the floorboards above the carpet moved away from the walls, the nails or screws laying nearby. When I question them about it they get very hostile and ask me why I am destroying their house, and taking things apart. The pattern of communication is always the same; either turn something completely around so that they are asking me to explain myself (!), or just sort of disregard and/or ignore whatever I'm saying as if my voice were no more than a fly buzzing around the room. Or, if I am really adamant about getting a reasonable answer, a rational flow of discourse, the threats of calling those "that'll have you put away" begin. "We can do that you know, have you put away for your own good. Because you're not right, you're not well in your mind...you can't see that there's something wrong with you because you need help...we'll call 'em right now if you don't straighten-up...etc., etc." This is usually intermingled with pleading requests for me to just "go get on some medicine. There's something wrong with your brain and you need to be takin' medicine." Blah, blah,blah.

Foiled Photographic Evidence

Always wanting to get some tangible proof, I borrowed a camera one night and put it outside the window as far as my arm would reach (the window begins about 4' off the ground) and snapped 4 pictures in the direction I was hearing all the commotion, then went to the front yard and took 2 more aiming straight up into the tree. It was about 2 a.m. , the flash worked perfectly and I felt certain I had gotten something on film. A few days later my mother did me a "favor" and took the film to be developed. What a surprise, the whole roll came out but the 6 pictures of the side of the house and the maple tree at night. Oh well.

That week my parents nailed the screens shut on all the windows because they said they were, "worried about what the neighbors would think", about my attempted surveying. So after that I could only hear stuff happening at the ground level, but couldn't try to get a look any longer. By the time I would go through the house to the front door and open all the locks, the noise would always have stopped.

Noxious Odors

Through the same fist-sized hole in the drywall where I put the microphone the most noxious smells used to waft up from beneath the house. I couldn't identify any of the odors except to say that they were definitely synthetic, chemical type fumes. It wasn't always the same smell either. For a few nights there would be one noxious odor and then it would change to something else. I used to be prone to excruciating migraines anyway, so I often moved to my sister's bedroom or the living room couch when I'd notice I was getting nauseous. My parents said they didn't smell it, that if anything it was, "those damn incense". The cats would come to the door and turn around and leave- they could smell it.

Excessive Energy Used in The Middle of The Night

I started to monitor the little meter that circles around to tell you how much electricity is being used. On days when the air conditioner inside the house and the pool filter in the back yard were both on, the thing went slower than on certain nights in the middle of the night when I'd be hearing a lot of commotion. Meaning, in case I'm not explaining this clearly, that in the middle of the night on Los Alimos St. in a house where they wouldn't even leave the porch light on ("costs too much"), more electricity than it takes to run two major residential appliances was/is being used for something. For what?

The fridge used to turn off in the middle of the night, which is why I started checking the electrical output. The circuits would blow. I know because my mother used to sneak out of the house early in the morning and throw eggs and milk into the garbage. I thought,"that's weird, why is she throwing those things out at this time of morning?" So I checked the fridge in the middle of the night and sure enough, no light, no electricity. A couple of days later I found a circuit breaker in a zip lock bag stashed in the circuit box, of course I took it and hid it. Nobody ever said a word about it. To anyone with some electrical expertise, this must be indicative of something.

The Entire Neighborhood Is Involved

They were blatant about their collusion. They wanted me to know I was outnumbered, surrounded, and an "outsider" when I lived there. I get the feeling that they're using their recyclables as raw materials for whatever it is that they have going on down there.

It wouldn't surprise me if these people had instigated the earthquake. Everyone bemoaned the hardship and loss of life loudly, but it's made a great cover. No one thinks twice about all the jack hammering, ripping up asphalt, relaying pipes and wires, all the demolishing and reconstructing that has been going on since the Valley shook.

That sounds far-fetched, but it fits, if you look at all of this as part of a master plan of some kind.

Evidence of New Construction

Last time I was at the house, I took the opportunity to look beneath the house via the 2 crawl spaces on the west side of the house. One entrance is directly beneath the room that had always been mine, the other directly beneath my parents' bedroom. Beneath my room there was not much to see. The space appeared small, perhaps 20' x 7' x 2'. However, as I illuminated the old boards that separated this underground area from the rest of the house, I could clearly see that the redwood planks closest to the center of the house were not aged like the rest of the unmatched assortment of beams and plywood (who would use redwood beneath a house anyway?). In fact the nails gleamed and the red hadn't even faded from the wood. This construction was recent. It didn't even have a thick coat of dust on it. This reminded me that my parents, who were forever lamenting about financial shortage anyway, had commented a few times on the expense of the lumber that they were using to redo parts of the house. Months before, when I found a receipt for some redwood that my brother had purchased, I figured he was probably stealing from them; buying the lumber and getting a receipt and then returning some of it and pocketing the cash. How else could all that lumber be explained? We certainly weren't replacing that many boards on the outside of the house. Noticing this discrepancy, I of course mentioned it to my parents, who assured me that Lenny would never do anything like that and that we were using more wood than it seemed. Oh. Well that explains it...

My Family's Involvement

Before it became impossible to avoid the fact of my parents' role in all this, I was always trying to protect and warn them about the dubious characters around them. They are getting old and I'd never considered them very savvy when it came to judging people or situations. That seemed to explain their complacency when confronted with facts that just did not add up. For a few years I felt fairly certain that something was up with my brother. They had been supporting him for more than a few years, house payments, food money, etc. , money for his 3 children, but he was always calling needing more. He was very flaky with appointments and "couldn't find a job." Since it takes one to know one, I figured right away that he was an addict. His monthly beer and cigarette bill didn't seem to be a problem to my parents, but they complained constantly about lack of money and I had to hear it- another big motivator to figure out what was up. When my brother also moved back to my parents' house on Los Alimos St. it was obvious- to me anyway. I couldn't understand why they didn't want to face the facts, or why everyone was always so harsh and invasive with me when I was doing my damnedest to get my act together. Between the 3 of them they had the territory covered and there was no peace to be found. Anyway, now I realize that besides a true double-standard, some of the discrepancies were due to projects that I was not aware of. All those years spent exasperating myself attempting to alert my loved ones to the evil that lurked just beyond their lot lines, to find out they're some sort of top dogs within this whole other hierarchy that they are apart of. Having to realize this blew my mind and shattered my heart.

Pranks Designed To

Destabilize My Life And Disorient My Senses

Tampering With My Car
Systematic Harassment
Including Stalking, Voices in The Bathtub!, Assorted High Tech Trickery
Even When I Would Go Hiking in The Hills!
Getting "Zapped"

Tampering With My Car

Immediately upon arriving in Granada Hills I began to have problems with pranks. Kidstuff mostly, but irksome nonetheless. In the first week the antenna was broken off my car. I replaced it, it got broken off again. Then someone was letting the air out of my tires. I'd come out to my car to find at least one tire deflated every couple of weeks. Then there was a succession of mechanical tamperings with the motor of my car. This continued throughout the years that I spent at my parents' home. The result being that I was never certain that my old car was going to make it to my desired destination, or back again, or at what speed I would be capable of traveling. Most of the time it chugged and sputtered along mimicking carburetor problems even after I had the carburetor rebuilt. (Having no mechanical skill and no honest assistance from people I consulted, it took me a year to figure out that they were messing with the distributor cap.) But on a couple of nights when I jumped in my car and took off unexpectedly the power under the hood of my car was like a race car. It was so unusual that I tested it out on the empty asphalt of the valley streets. My shaky, old car easily accelerated to over 80 miles an hour and tore up the steep grade of the 405 fwy. southbound. She was smooth and purring- until I went back home and parked and went to sleep. In the morning the engine was coughing and sputtering like it was before. (This night, plus some unexplained dents and dings that I would find in the body from to time, suggest to me that they were using my car while I was asleep.)

Systematic Harassment

As soon as I would switch off the last light to go to sleep, a steady stream of what sounded like pebbles would begin to hit the fiberglass siding on the roof of the neighbor's shed and slowly roll down the length of the slope, one at a time. Steadily, in the otherwise silent night, a few feet from my window as I was trying to sleep.

When I'd be on the ladder in the backyard picking the fruit from the trees, which I did just about everyday, a voice from over the fence would say, "save some for me." Happy to share the abundance I had, I'd yell back, "who said that?" No answer. So I'd start picking again and they'd say, "are you alone?" The voice was coming from just the other side of the ivy, so I'd get down and go have a look. There was never anyone there. Whether I was lying on the lawn petting the cats, or picking fruit or mowing the lawn, the comments made it clear I was being observed.

One day I was moving an oversized trunk into the house and couldn't get it to fit through the screen door on the dolly. Guys voices from the other house behind our yard yelled out, "turn it the other way!" I did and it fit through the door. But how uncomforting to know you're being watched so closely that people could advise you on what you're doing.

Then the voices began outside my window. The first time it happened I was exercising and the voices were those of young guys sort of hollering and yelling as if they could see what I was doing inside the small apt. behind my parents' house where I was staying. I've never liked levelor-type blinds anyway, and decided I needed to get some better shades over the windows. But even after putting shades and drapes over the windows voices continued to do a sort of narrative of whatever I happened to be doing in the "privacy" of my little home. As the months progressed and I became too unsettled to stay in the room in the backyard, I moved into a room in the house where the voices continued to comment on my activities. These voices were not inside my head, they always seemed to be coming from just outside, or from above the ceiling. Although I tried repeatedly to get a look at the people making the comments, there was never anyone there when I would look out the window or go outside for a thorough check around the house.

Today, it's obvious to me that the inside of the house was wired for sound, and probably being monitored visually as well. With a few strategically placed transmitters, receivers and monitors, all the strange side effects of the surveillance can be easily explained; the voices narrating my activities inside the house, strangers on the street quoting private conversations, and the many and varied indications that my most intimate moments were common knowledge.

They used a speaker outside the bedroom window to bring the din of a busy boulevard to within a few feet of my bed. It seemed my window faced out onto a street with rush hour traffic passing along, but the nearest busy thoroughfare was a couple of minutes away.

People would regularly go into the backyard in the evenings, making lots of noise so I'd be sure to know that they were back there. They used to like to knock over the metal trashcans, and when I would go back to investigate they would knock on the side of the house or set off a fire cracker. Then when I would go back inside they would hit the brass cover over the mail slot on the front door, while simultaneously someone else would knock on the windows on the side of the house, and a voice would say something like, "what's going on around here?" through the open window above the kitchen sink. It was truly harrowing. One night I called 911 because I really felt threatened at this point. There were too many of them and it had became obvious that none of the neighbors would be any help in case of an emergency. I told the operator that answered that there were trespassers in my backyard and that I was all alone and could she please send a patrol car to check it out. I explained that things were getting thrown over and that there was a lot of noise all around the outside of the house and that I could hear men's voices. This is Devonshire Division I'm talking about so her rude countenance didn't surprise me too much, but then she asked me how I knew I had trespassers. I answered that I could hear them in the backyard and around the house and she asked me , " how many are there?" I said I wasn't sure how many there were because it was dark and I couldn't see them but there had to be at least 3 or 4 of them. "Well if you can't see them how do you know they're there?" I was so unwound at this point and so uncertain of myself because of all that had been happening, I couldn't answer assertively as I might today. Or point out to the woman that she was out of line, that I was a resident of this god-forsaken little city and I needed some assistance! Instead I just muttered some kind of "thanks anyway" and abruptly hung up the phone realizing I wasn't going to get any help from their end.

I would get silly, unconvincing threats left on the answering machine. It sounded like young guys trying to disguise their voice and then sound menacing. Although I did not take the content of their messages seriously, it was another moment of my day, another aspect of my life that was being occupied by these adversaries. A steady flow of harassment in one way and then the next.

Throughout my stay in this house I could clearly hear people, usually more than one at a time, walking around on the roof. You may think I was hearing squirrels, or rats in the attic as my parents suggested, but the sound of 2 legged, 150 lb. or so humans does not sound the same as small rodents. Especially when they were making their way down the apricot tree by my window and jumping the last few feet to the ground. I grew up climbing the trees in the yard and going from the roof to the wall to the tree and back again. I know what they were doing and how. But when I would try to tell people no one ever wanted to believe me. The incredulousness on the part of those around me was an important factor in the strain on my sense of my own sanity.

Since initially I was determined to get to the bottom of all of this and put an end to it, still believing that the neighbors on the block were my heartfelt friends, having watched me grow up since childhood, I went to them with my questions. Many of them are over 70 years old and claimed that their hearing would prevent them from any awareness of late night activity, not to mention sleeping pills a couple of them admitted to taking before bed. That sounded perfectly reasonable at the time. After their return, my parents had similar explanations for why they never noticed anything unusual in the neighborhood. One woman however, a widow of about 70 years of age who lived alone two houses down, shared with me that she too had a problem with noise around her house and people walking on her roof after dark. I was glad to find some support for my story, but there was still no cooperation in putting a stop to it or finding out who was responsible.

During the summer I used to like to sleep with the window open and the curtain pulled back, rather than using the air conditioner. But it became so irritating all the light shining into my room from the houses across the street that I had to start pulling the curtains completely to block it out. The lights had a sort of greenish hue and were so bright that it lit up my room enough to read by. I showed this to my niece and my parents and all agreed that it was strange and bright and that I should close my window, pull the shade and turn on the air conditioner. Effectively lending the midnight workers the privacy they desired.

Whenever I'd get up in the middle of the night (I rarely slept straight through), lights would come on from the neighbors' houses, coinciding with my waking up. As soon as I'd enter the kitchen, before turning the light on, the porch light from the house behind ours would go on. When I went in the bathroom , even without turning on the light, the other porch light from the neighbor to the west would come on. First I just thought it was curious but as it happened every single time without fail, it reinforced the unsettling feeling that I was watched- even in the middle of the night.

This effect was worse in Mexico. Every time I would open my eyes in the middle of the night, the second I opened them, a light from one of the houses a few hundred yards away would come shining into my eyes. Well it seemed to be shining into my eyes, at any rate it came on every time I woke up. My room looked out through the front of the house, which was mostly floor to ceiling windows with bamboo shades which she kept rolled up for the great view of the Bay. Can you imagine every night, sometimes a few times a night because I (still) rarely slept straight through, this visual verification that, yes, in fact, you are being watched at all times, even as you sleep!... And don't forget it!

It got to the point where my level of tension and anxiety was pretty high. Living with the realization that I had absolutely no privacy, that my every move was being witnessed by the people in the neighborhood by some kind of monitoring system, and knowing I was quite possibly going to break mentally and /or emotionally if this all continued much longer. This senseless campaign had me constantly wondering about the identity of the guilty parties and the nature of their game. Many of the people that appeared to be involved were the local upstanding, law abiding, church going citizens. But, along with them, apparently united in common combat against me, were these sleazy, thieving, drug addict types whom I had recently been in contact with. It didn't add up. But I'm getting ahead of myself... One of the only places I ever found solace was in the bathtub. The very warm water, the candle light and incense, relaxing music- and I would often masturbate while I was in there- all of this was an island of accessible tranquility within the increasing hostility of the outer world. At first I just used to hear a lot of humming, motor-type noises when I would lay my head back into the water so that my ears were submerged. This was annoying, since it sort of disrupted this little ritual of solace that I had, but I would hum to myself or focus on my own breath and attempt to block it out. Then the voices began to speak to me through the water. I guess at this point the neighbors had gotten hold of a hydrophone. I've seen them advertised since then for affordable prices through mail order catalogs, but at the time it blew my mind. "Vera is that you? What are you doing?" Very clear, very audible. It was usually men's voices, but sometimes women as well. The effect was as if they were right on the other side of the porcelain.

On a hot, stagnant afternoon in G.H. I was driving down Los Alimos St. toward the house when I noticed the huge, leafy maple tree in the front yard was blowing as if in a breeze. But there was no breeze. There are a lot of big trees in the yards of the area and not another among them was moving at all; everything was still beneath the sweltering heat. I stopped at the end of my block to get a good look at this phenomenon. Brock was with me at the time, and typically unmoved by this outrageous sight. As if in a blustering wind the branches and leaves of the tree were waving and billowing. This had it's intended effect and I was floored. Not understanding how this could be done, I didn't know what to think. Nearly a year after the fact, I saw a device advertised in the Info. Unltd. catalog that promised one could "understand the principles behind tornados and create one yourself". That took the spookiness out of the spectacle, but at the time it was really eerie!

Even When I Would Go Hiking in The Hills!

This strange stuff would even follow me out onto the fire trails north of the community when I would go hiking. Tromping along, looking at the trail and concentrating on nothing, my attention would be drawn to a huge shrub or a grove of trees. I didn't exactly hear anything, my attention was just drawn away from the happy, blankness of walking on the trail. This happened often out there. Here's one typical example: I start to get the feeling that I'm not alone, that I'm being watched. Is there something over there in that bush? Very unlikely, but I go have a look anyway. Crouching down beside the apparent source of this feeling, I can see nothing but the usual branches, and ordinary looking stalks of this overgrown shrub. The vegetation is sparse in the chaparral and visibility is unhindered. O.K., so I must be imagining something because I can't see anyone and even though the sensation that I am not alone continues to be strong, I trot off on my way. I've gone about 10 yards when a rock lands at my heels. I spin around to get a glimpse of where it had come from, judging from the way it rolled it seemed to come from the shrub, but there is no one there. Determined to get some mental respite from my aberrant life, I don't bother checking again and continue on my way. Another 10 yards and another rock lands off to my side. This time I don't even turn around.

Another time I was in a sort of gully, making my way down a deep watershed in the same area north of Granada Hills. I'm ducking under exposed roots and dry branches and watching my footing and I seemed to hear something other than myself. It's difficult to describe; perhaps a sound so soft that you don't really hear it consciously with your ears, it just gets your attention. I look off to one side, a slope nearly vertical that's been eroded from water flow. There are what appear to be gopher holes in the mountain side. They must be the home of some rodent I figure, but I also seem to be hearing some kind of murmuring. I lean over to where the hole is and there's air blowing out, warm air. Putting my hand over the other holes I felt the same thing. Maybe this is common-place. But, since I don't ever remember coming across this in the past and it was accompanied by the murmuring, I'm including it here.

Getting Zapped!

These electrical feeling little "zaps" would come through the mattress of my bed, "sticking" me in the back, and I felt them while I sat on a couple of toilets! They felt like a very fine pin prick. But I knew since the very first "zap" that it had to be yet another means of causing me distress. For this reason, I didn't even react to the first few "zaps", because by that time I knew I was being watched and I didn't want to let them know it worked. I guess they really hadn't been able to tell because one day while Brock laid on my bed with his eyes closed, he suddenly jumped up and had a little smile on his face. I asked him what was the matter and he said some little bug was biting him, as he scratched at his back. But, the whole time he was saying this I knew they had just "zapped" him to test it and he couldn't help looking amused.

The exact same sensation (I imagine the exact same device) seemed to come through the porcelain as I sat on the toilet. This happened at Brock's apt. and at the apt. of a former friend of mine in Venice, CA. I don't know how this ray or whatever it was penetrated through the porcelain, but I know I got the same "zap" on my rear end as I had gotten on my back while lying in bed.

Targeted

About The Symbol
Branded Into My Shelves
In The Bathtub!
On The T.V. Screen
On The Desert Floor
In Mexico
Additional Symbols

About The Symbol

The symbol of a small circle within a larger one, like a bull's eye, or the zodiac sign for the sun, seems to be a sort of calling card or representative symbol for these people. The first time I saw it was at my parents' home. Since then it turns up often and repeatedly, confirming the fact that this "game" is not for fun, nor is it localized.

There does seem to be some kind of connection between these people, their reverence for technology, the sun as a symbol for this power, and the belief that the Earth and all her creatures (plants, animals, minerals...humans?) are merely expendable resources. A representative excerpt of a conversation between my sister and I, took place in her kitchen in Mexico. I had just finished blending up a really delicious smoothie. With fresh mango, ripe bananas, pineapple and orange juices, and a heaping of spirulina powder, it truly tasted "the food of the gods" to my palate. Before taking a sip, feeling sincerely grateful for all that the planet provides for me, I held up my glass toward the radiance of the sun and said "thank you"; to Mother Earth, to all of mysterious creation, to the fruits whose sweet energy I held in my hand. Stella interrupted my deeply felt grace to point out that I should be thanking the blender. "Because," she continued, "without technology I wouldn't be drinking that smoothie at all." Well, perhaps she had a point and I could have included Westinghouse in my prayer, but her whole tone, expression on her face and general hostile, seriousness made this moment, along with a few others stand out in my memory.

Branded Into My Shelves

I had several wooden shelves that I had brought from my apartment to my parents home. Carefully sanded and stained by hand, I knew well the surface of each of these pieces of wood. During the months when I knew someone was coming into my room when I wasn't home, I found this symbol, the circle within the circle, burned into one of my shelves. I don't know how it was done exactly, it had the appearance of a brand.

In The Bathtub!

That same week, the bathtub received the same treatment. I used to scrub the tub every time I used it, which was often. I knew the stains, the little pocks in the porcelain, etc. Then one day there was a group of three of these same markings etched into the porcelain in the tub. Quite deeply because I scrubbed the surface many times since then and 4 months ago when I was back at their home the marks were still there; the circle within a circle, 3 of them, placed close together.

I wonder if they could have both been done with the same tool, because a few months later I found some sort of super-heat paint dryer tool in a trailer that had the same size and shape of the "calling cards".

On The T.V. Screen

The television screen would become very dusty since I never turned it on. While sitting on the floor one night I noticed some patterns had been traced into the dust; circles within circles. Four of them, one in every corner, each about the size of a hand. I can't know for sure when they were put there but they looked fairly "fresh". Obviously many people were coming and going out of that house whenever they chose; I wondered if they didn't have keys to the doors.

On The Desert Floor

One of the biggest blows to my bruised psyche came while flying into San Jose Del Cabo. It was my big "escape" from L.A. and I was full of apprehension and hopes of a new life in Mexico. I was going to leave all of that sickness, whatever it was, behind me. If I could just distance myself from my enemies I could get my life back together. So I'm gazing out the window at the cracked and arid desert below, we're about 2 minutes away from the airport and touchdown. Juniper bushes, elephant trees, huge saguaro cactuses, a giant bull's eye built up out of the earth, easily 25-30' across. Enormous, impossible to miss, especially if you're me forever gazing out at the landscape. I'm sure the pilot played a part as well, but the fact is that it was there. It was put there intentionally and had it's intended effect- my heart sank, my stomach went into a knot. My despair seemed to always have room for me to sink deeper into it.

In Mexico

After I'd been in Mexico about a month, plastic Target shopping bags started showing up. This stood out like a sore thumb in this land of simple packaging. Probably somebody got a deal on some up north and sold them to the local businesses. Probably just a coincidence...

Additional Symbols

These symbols could be just another detail in the elaborate setting, designed to distract from the real nature of what they are up to; it is also possible they have some connection to the philosophy or religion they are acting upon, another unresolved question. But, either way, they seem to have a penchant for works of art, or wind chimes, or anything with depictions of the sun. Often inside the waving rays around the outside, is a face with male features. Also, wagon wheels. I know it sounds silly, but I've seen it over and over again. Wagon wheels with the heavy spokes inside, like the wheels for horse-drawn carriages. Another gesture they are using as their own is the old victory sign, or peace sign, made with the hand (like Nixon used to do a lot). They also like things with that general shape (the bunny ears logo for "Playboy" for example), and anything with horns; the sun-bleached skulls of cows and goats are favored.

It's interesting that the written sign we traditionally use as a peace sign, is actually the old rune symbol for death, in the ancient Germanic system. They seem more concerned with death, than with life. All the "chance meetings" I had during these few years had several things in common with one another. They all liked old Nazi memorabilia. Their fascination with this stuff was beyond me, but many of these men were avid collectors. They all had a great deal of respect for the Third Reich and even Hitler, even though a few of them were Jewish. One man had a swastika tattoo, most had the usual skulls, eagles, snakes, etc. They all collected firearms. Prevalent among this group of seedy characters was a white supremacist attitude. They are very hateful toward non-whites. One guy had "WHITE POWER" tattooed in red on his lily white leg. This is another thing that doesn't make any sense to me; how can black guys with dread locked hair and matronly-looking Latin American women be in cahoots with these guys? What is their common ground?

Strange Sightings on The Roadways

Demon Traffic Patterns
Phantom Rush Hour
Street Lights Go Out as I Pass Beneath Them
Freeway Lamps Spin on 10 Westbound!
Hearses And Sound Effects
The 'Open House' Custom
Out-of-state Plates
Escorts From Universities
My Aerial Escort

Initially, I had the feeling that I was being followed, but since there would be no reason for anyone to follow me, much less the dozens of people that it sometimes felt like, I tried to ignore it as a paranoia. Then, it started to become much more obvious. No way to talk oneself out of the facts when these strange "demon traffic patterns" began to occur. I had begun to call the folks involved in my attempted undoing, demons; so the bizarre occurrences that I knew they were responsible for became "demon this or demon that"...they used to do really spectacular attention-getters on the highways and streets of the S.F. Valley.

Demon Traffic Patterns

One of the first displays, which came to be also one of the most frequent, was this view through my rear-view mirror: There I would be driving along the freeway, usually listening to music, thinking about whatever, when I would notice that all the cars around me had either pulled off at an exit or otherwise disappeared. There would be cars up ahead a hundred yards or so, but none at my sides and none behind- until I'd look in the rearview mirror. And there about 1/4 or maybe mile behind me would be hundreds of cars, all with their headlights on, day or night although this usually happened in the dark hours, all lined up behind the cars in the front row which were in a perfectly straight line. The effect is quite dramatic, especially at night or early in the morning. To see this sight at 2a.m. or so when the rest of the Valley resembles a cemetery as much as a suburban sprawl is really unsettling. Since I already felt stalked and hunted ever since I had moved to Granada Hills, these displays just served to illustrate to me the enormity of what I was involved in. Like I said this would happen nearly every time I was on the road. I would try to get my "best friend" Brock to pay attention to this when it was happening since we were often in the car together, but he never seemed to think any of it was very strange. At the time that all this was going on I had no idea that my family or any of my "friends" were involved. I couldn't figure out what was going on, but even when the evidence began to mount, Brock remained beyond reproach in my eyes. Anyway, there would be this legion of automobiles all densely packed behind the front row of cars, moving really slowly, leaving a stark, empty space on the freeway in between them and me. It was so odd. It seemed to say, "you are so out numbered and sooner or later we'll do whatever we want." Depending on my mood or emotional state at the time I was alternately terrified, paniced, or made a joke out loud to myself (and to whoever else might be listening) and tried to concentrate on something else.

Phantom Rush Hour

A variation of this effect could be witnessed consistently from a hilltop north of my parents' home. Still within the midst of some condo developments and the pricier real estate in the area, this particular plateau could be reached by car and afforded a view that stretched from the mountains west of Topanga Canyon over to Pacoima and Sylmar and out into Studio City, Woodland Hills and the mountains that separated the Valley from the coastal canyons. A great spot to feel like you'd gotten out of town with only a 5 minute drive. But soon after I discovered it, I began to get a peculiar addition to the panorama. No matter how late at night I would arrive, no matteer how quiet the rest of the city and streets would be, the overpass to one's left while gazing out would be filled with a steady stream of automobiles, driving bumper to bumper as if it were rush hour, incessantly for the duration of my time upon the mountain. It was such an impossible spectacle because I would often not pass another living soul on the streets of the Valley on my way up to the hilltop. Then when I got up there, it didn't matter if I stayed for 5 minutes or an hour, the flow was continuous. Contained within this one section of overpass ( I believe it must have been where the 405 heads off west to connect with the 118), with no traffic visible on the freeways, either due west, beyond the spectacle, or from the north, the direction they were coming from. Why would this be? Because someone, in fact a lot of people were going to a lot of trouble to freak me out. And what about the expense, the time involved, the organization that had to go into this. How did they communicate, knowing always where I would be and when? And always over and over, why?... When I would point this out to Brock, or Matt, my other "friend" that I sometimes drove up there with, both had nearly the same reaction; not worthy of even noticing. Let's see...there is a strange stillness across the city, and just 5 minutes away from where we are standing there's a bumper to bumper flow of cars, at 2:30a.m. in Granada Hills, on a Monday, orThursday, or other weekday morning, and they didn't find that unusual! That used to bother me so much- the fact that everyone around was acting as if I was losing it because I found all of this totally unprecedented activity curious, unsettling, indicative of something sinister. But I continued to doubt myself.

The Street Lights

Soon after I arrived, the street lights began going out as I would drive by them on the residential streets of Granada Hills and Northridge. I would be waiting at a stop light and the street light nearest my car would go off. Then on the next block the same thing would happen. As time went on this would happen on the freeway as well. Combined with the eeriness of the empty highways and streets this was very disconcerting. Every mile or so the one lamp post I was passing would go dim. This happened on all the freeways in the area; the 405, 118, the Ventura and Hollywood freeways. At other times I would find myself in a traffic jam at 2 or 3:00 in the morning. When I'd finally get through it or past it there was no visible reason for traffic to have been backed up- just a herd of cars that would seem to converge upon my chosen route.

The street lights would also go out when I was out for a walk in the evenings. It wasn't a very welcoming neighborhood to begin with; all the pranks and the harassment going on and a subtle, intangible sense of animosity wherever I went. But I used to love to walk around so I'd do it anyway. Then when I'd be crossing the street the light would go out over my head. At the next curb, the other light would go off. This would continue, following me as I went. I eventually stopped taking many walks around the neighborhood. In fact, toward the end of my sentence in Granada Hills I was basically housebound; probably pretty near to agoraphobia I began to notice.

Freeway Lamps Spin on The 10 Westbound!

One of the all time most outrageous sights I ever witnessed was while returning to G.H. on the 10 fwy. heading west. I hesitate to include this because I think that nobody will believe that it could have happened. But, this whole story is far-fetched, so here's what happened. I was slumping down in the passenger seat of Brock's El Camino. We were on our way back from a typically horrible outing to the San Bernadino Desert. A lot of people were looking in at me and sneering and snickering as they are known to do, so I was slouching down with my head leaning back. This way I only had to see the sky and the big lights as we passed them, none of the nasty people that were looking in. I remember "the presence" was strong on the freeway that night. My head and eyes were mostly stationary as I stared blankly out the open window. Then one street light turned as we passed, seeming to follow our direction. What a weird optical illusion! I thought to myself. Then not 20 seconds later another one did it. You know how they're made with the curved arm spouting off the vertical post? The arm was spinning around at the same speed as the car, as if it had a movable hinge where it connected to the post, not just bolted as I would imagine them to be. It would go as far as being parallel to the freeway, never farther and by then we'd have passed so I don't know when (or how) they went back to their places. Let's see, that would make it 90 degrees of range of motion that it semed to have. Believe me, I sat up in my seat, I had my head hanging out the window, muttering to myself about how " this can't be happening." I tried various methods of testing the consistentcy of the effect. I had plenty of time, it was a long drive home and the freeway is lined with these lights. They were moving. It wasn't me or my eyes or any trick that angle and motion could play. Brock said he didn't see it (what a surprise). "Well look now! Brock! Look at that one! It moved did you see that? and that one! Look quick! It's impossible!" Of course I wanted to pull off and get a close look at one of these lamps. But Brock was driving and would have no part in anything that might ease my mind like going and seeing for sure that the lights were indeed equipped with some sort of movable parts. No, better to have me freak inside and go through the motions of questioning my sanity again and pondering who and why were these people going to so much trouble to make me think I was cracking up. (I've learned from experience that the whole process of questioning your sanity repeatedly places a great strain on it even if you are not "losing your mind". A little outside reinforcement to make you doubt your senses and ability to perceive correctly and you are well on your way to the funny farm. With full mental and resoning faculties in tact, one could be institutionalized from acute self-doubt all on it's own.)

Hearses And Sound Effects

Other nights when I would be driving around, there would be no other cars out on the road, but I would pass 2 or 3 hearses. Perhaps there were an unusual amount of casualties on those nights...somehow I doubted it, and still do.

These sound effects all originated from cars driven and occupied by young guys. They appeared to be somewhere between their late teens and their mid-twenties, nobody I had ever met. While waiting at a red light it sounded the like the car behind me had just rear-ended me. There was no movement to indicate that it had happened however, so I just looked in my rear-view and thought it was weird. Then I heard it again. They were all looking really serious inside the car and they knew I could see them through the rear-view mirrow. If not for the stillness of my car I would have sworn that I just gotten bumped from behind. I got this effect a couple more times from the same type of vehicle and people. They like early model muscle cars and classics.

Another sound effect I'd get a lot was like a heavy metal chain scraping asphault. They'd do it when I was out walking, or driving either one. Especially when there was not much other noise, the effect was quite dramatic. The sound combined with their hostile, aggressive attitude made it seem like a message.

The "Open House" Custom

Another weird thing that I noticed only a few times was the custom of the open windows. Normally, in this residential, family-filled area, even in the heat of summer, people usually have the curtains drawn or the shades pulled down after dark. It's not something I ever gave any thought to before, only when I noticed the nights of exception. I was driving home with Brock one night when I noticed that for the entire length of the block we were passing by, every single house had the curtains open and the rooms that were exposed were brightly lit up inside. It was simply unusual, nothing more. I pointed it out to Brock who didn't really respond as I recall. As we continued on down the road the next block was the same, and the next. There were probably a few exceptions, houses that were dark or closed I suppose, but the effect was startling. Really unusual for this area which closed up around 9pm on most nights. This had my attention, so I made note of the weather outside; it was not a particularly warm evening, in fact it was pleasantly cool. I drove out of our way to see if this "open house" effect extended beyond the few blocks we had passed. In fact down all the sleepy, residential streets that I drove this custom was being observed. Well lit family rooms and kitchens, whichever faced out on to the street, were open wide, the residents inside sitting with t.v.s on mostly, so clearly visible as I passed by. Now whether this was orchestrated merely to be puzzling to those not involved in the charade (like myself), or whether it is part of some kind of quarterly or monthly religious observence I do not know. I do know it was not an unplanned coincidence. Oh yes, and when I arrived at my parents' home, their living room drapes were wide open, the room aglow with the lights from inside.

Out-Of-State Plates

When I could no longer deny the fact that people were following me around I started to try to pin down some certain cars or drivers. Even going so far as to jot down the license plate numbers of the most obvious offenders. What I planned to do with these numbers I wasn't sure, but I went through a phase where I would write them down and try to keep some kind of records. Immediately obvious was the fact that many of these cars had out of state license plates. Now granted, Los Angeles is a cosmopolitan place and there are people from all parts of the world living there, but I lived there for much of my life and I know that this was unusual. That is the way with a lot of these demon-inspired anomolies. It's not that they're so directly threatening (in an immediate sense), or so outlandish that they leap out of the landscape and stop traffic; it's just that they are unusual to the point that they could not be occuring naturally. So, I discontinued my record keeping not long after it began. Realizing I didn't know who to go to for help anyway (yes, hello officer, I have this list of the license plate numbers of dozens of people who have been following me around...), the whole exercise of attempting to keep tabs on things was another drain on my seriously overwrought system. But, my escorts continued. Along with the inordinate amount of plates from such states as Utah (a big favorite), Montana (quite a lot of those as well), Oregon and Texas, the people involved had a lot of the same license plate frames. (You must wonder how I could be certain, in a busy place like L.A., that people were going where I was going and not just heading there themselves. After you've been in their midst for a period of time, you become familiar with what that feels like. Certainly some of my perceptions have overflowed into paranoia, but that is a natural reaction given the situation. ("Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not after you." Kurt Cobain )

Alumni Escorts

Over and over again the frames on the new cars that were everywhere I was were Alumni; either U.S.C. or U.C.L.A. I guess I had noticed license plate frames in the past, if they said something funny or were colorful. But suddenly everywhere I would go I'd see these frames. It just stood out as another example of an altering of the norm. If something is the way it always has been, you don't pay it any attention. It is only when there is a shift in the usual that it catches your eye or your attention. I wondered if maybe I wasn't part of some student employment part-time job. For extra money, alumni students in their early 20's would follow this red Dodge Dart around to see how she was going to react over a period of time. You start to come up with all kinds of theories when things become nonsensical. Without a comprehensible why, the feild is wide open for the imagination to run wild. And mine did.

My Aerial Escort

It wasn't until well into the program that I got my "aerial escort". At first it was just a bright light in the sky, and there is so much air traffic in the L.A. skys that I didn't think anything about it. But on the straight stretches of highway, like the 405 or the 10 fwy., the view unobstructed by buildings, I'd see this light directly in front of me. And it would stay there until I turned and headed another direction and then it would be right in front of me again. Who in the world would be taking the time to follow me with a helicopter? I still don't know but that's what they were doing. Sometimes I'd drive far down the coast in the middle of the night , there it would be. It would always stay either right off to my side or directly in front of me. Everynight. Thats how he got dubbed my aerial escort, everywhere I went he was sure to follow. Lots of days too. When I'd head up to the mountains to get some privacy and peace, there he would come. Flying across the basin headed right for me. I'd hike off to the grassy pasture area and he would get to within what seemed like 1/2 a mile from me. I really don't know for sure, I'm not good at judging aerial distances, but he was close. And nothing else around but me. Matt and Brock saw it too on some mornings when they were up there with me. But they assured me he wasn't there because of me. He was everywhere I was towards the end of my time in G.H. Who's got money for a helicopter?

Another Home Set-up for Monitoring

The Chance Meeting-another Set-up
The Same Systematic Methods

The Chance Meeting- Another Set-up

In the summer when I had just arrived I met a man on Balboa Blvd. when we had each stopped to try to save a lost and self-destructive dog. Actually I had pulled over about 15 minutes earlier intent on saving the life of the pretty collie that was running through mid-morning traffic. This is a perfect example of one of my "chance" meetings with people. So many people entered my life under some similar pretense. Anyway, Clyde stops and asks me what I'm doing; I was having difficulty getting the dog to trust me and join me on the sidewalk and get off of the busy street. Explaining that he loved animals too and lived just up the road, he left and returned a few minutes later with his own dog and a leash for the collie. The plan worked and I eventually got the shell-shocked dog into the backseat of my car, but it had been a draining experience. The entire operation had taken nearly an hour and I had to go to work that afternoon. It may seem farfetched, but I'm certain that the whole situation was a set-up. Anyone that knows me knows that I would never pass by an animal- or a person- in need and not do something to help if I could.

In order for me to return the leash, Clyde left me his phone number and I promised I would call. Of course I did, and we chatted a few moments on the phone and he mentioned that he and his wife had been wanting to get massages and would I be interested in setting up an appointment with them sometime soon. I was a bit taken aback by this request because I didn't remember mentioning my line of work on the morning that we had met, but I assumed I had forgotten and was happy about expanding my clientele.

To summarize, I ended up house-sitting for Clyde and his very busy wife who were always travelling and needed someone to water their plants and care for their aging golden retreiver named Monty. I mentioned earlier that there were only a few, particular locations where the voices and other aberrations would occur; Monty's house was one of them.

Besides the fact that the whole set-up was too good to be true, there were things about the house that had me suspicious from the beginning. This was however, just what I needed, just when I needed it, so I planned to stay for a couple of weeks. The house was equipped with an alarm system, the fridge was full and he was paying me on top of it! This first stint went smoothly and Monty and I got along well. I'd still get the feeling that I was being watched, but at this point I was still trying to talk myself out of what I was feeling because it was too weird to be true.

It became a regular routine. I'd take care of the house and Monty a few weeks out of every month and a half or so. During the Thanksgiving/ Christmas/ New Year's season I was there most of the time. It was then I started to seriously doubt if anyone ever lived there as a primary residence. Besides the fact that the food was never touched in the kitchen (except when I was there) "we eat out most of the time", the house remained immaculate. It always reminded me of a model home when I would arrive; everything just so. Perhaps I'm a much more casual housekeeper, but still, it always seemed like no one had been there since I had left. One night I called to order a pizza from the local delivery place. The way it works is that you give them your last name and they normally have your address already listed if you've ordered before. So I give his last name and they respond with his first name and then list an address in Granada Hills that is not the address I am staying at. Regretfully, I didn't jot it down and go to check it out. He's British and there couldn't be two people with that name in that town.

Set-up List

The Same Systematic Methods

The voices used to come from above the bathroom ceiling, commenting on whatever I was doing. They were also outside the window of the den. Once again I heard people walking around on the roof, but I never saw anyone. In fact I never saw anyone. The license plate of the man next door indicated that he was some kind of a doctor- he must have been retired because his cars never moved. In all the time I stayed there I never got a glimpse of any of the neighbors. Just the family across the street and down the block with school aged kids. I used to see them come and go, but the rest of the neighborhood seemed so static. At night there would often be commotion outside the house. There were always more than just one or two people because the rustling and voices would be coming from several windows at once. The feeling of being stalked and outnumbered was really starting to get to me. So much so that I turned on the alarm one night before I went to bed. This was not a good idea however, as I forgot about it in the middle of the night and disrupted the laser beam on my way to the bathroom, nearly giving myself a heart attack as I scrambed to get to the control box and turn off that seering racket! Even Monty started behaving suspiciously, and I wondered if someone was putting Valium in his water or something because he would sleep through most everything. Within this prolonged state of stress, I've begun to do things out of nervousness (like setting the alarm and tripping it myself) that I would never have done before.

The backyard of the house had a panoramic view of the Valley below. So it's not unusual that there wasn't a scrap of any shades or curtains over any of the windows or sliding glass doors that made up nearly the entire southern side of the house. Coincidentally, across the street and up the side of the mountain was my favorite look-out point where I used to see the strange traffic patterns. Now I was below it and the voices of the people up above used to carry down to where I was at; mocking laughter or some comment about what I was wearing if I walked out into the front yard. Funny, the lot was always vacant whenever I drove up there.

Another funny, little thing that used to happen at this house was the frequent rotations of art work. They had lithographs and paintings on all the walls in all the rooms along with ethnic sculptured pieces from different parts of the world. The pictures were mostly of an elegant/casual/California style and I didn't think much about them one way or the other. But, as I entered my more frazzled stage, the pictures began to change their style. The images became more gothic and dark. A few of the pictures included wagon wheels in their pastoral settings and the churches depicted were stark and gloomy. The best one was a rainy, street scene. With couples in the background under umbrellas, in the foreground stood a young brunette woman, alone in the rain. She had her arms crossed over her stomach, and her black bag slung over her shoulder; she looked cold. She looked like me. It was me, I thought when I saw it. Probably just a case of coincidence and narcissism. Yeh, right.

While searching for something in their garage I came across a collection of license plates. All were in very good condition, clean, up to date registration, all out of state. Montana, Utah, Oregon; there was over a dozen in a paper bag. Since I didn't need any convincing that something was amiss, these I just considered supporting evidence. But supportive of what???

Why did I continue to house-sit at a place where I was obviously not comfortable? Unable to fend for myself at this point, my options were shrinking. The same things were happening at my parents' home, and Brock's apt. as were happening at Monty's. My parents' house was worse because my parents were present adding the additional dimension of emotional demands and upset, and my boyfriend's apartment building in Glendale had the same type of strangeness happening whenever I stayed there. The details in Glendale were slightly different, but the general modus operandi was the same. I was being surrounded and this was the least uncomfortable of my choices.

Set-up List

Who's Involved?

These incidents, when isolated, all seem so petty- and if they were isolated they would be petty! Realizing the risk of this sounding like a whiny tirade, I list the specifics to make it clear- this insidious beast seems to be everywhere.

Strangers on The Street
Marshals And Other Actors
The Phone Company
Drug Dealers And Police
The Neighbors
Some Relatives
Chance Meetings/set-ups
Sheriffs
Radio Personalities
Therapists
Alternative Press
Postal Workers
The Y.M.C.A.
Gold's Berkeley
Etc.

Some Days it Seemed like Everyone...

From comments overheard in supermarket shopping lines, street corners where I would be waiting to cross, conversations of people walking past my open windows, it was beginning to seem that I was somehow known to people that I had never met. It was so unhinging to a very private person like myself to hear some guys in the booth next to me in a restaurant describing what some "chick" had done the night before and realizing that it was a play by play account of what I had done. Then when I was in my car or walking to and from it, people would honk from their cars and wave at me with smiling faces; people I had never seen before in my life. Families and older couples, people that would be described as very respectable in society, certainly not taken to overt greetings of total strangers in parking lots. Especially not me.

Marshals and Other Actors

Early one morning 2 marshals arrived at a house on the top of Zelzah Blvd. where Gil had his home parked. The tenants weren't on the premises but we were and they escorted us out of the house. These 2 men reminded me of Canadian Mounties. They were so clean cut, handsome, big, alert, blue eyes (especially for 6am!) smiles that belonged in a toothpaste commercial. After they left I even commented to Gil on the whiteness of their smiles and the awakeness in their eyes..."Did they look high to you?" Oh well, no matter. Just a fairly lasting impression.

Remember the collie that I rescued and brought to my parents' house? Clyde had stipulated that if I didn't want to keep him, to let him know and he would come and get the dog. The first night was hell. The dog wouldn't stop whining no matter what I tried, but he would get quiet and wag his tail and run to the back fence as if someone he knew were there calling him. It was too weird, I nicknamed him decoy-dog and called the pound. I reasoned that the dog probably belonged to someone in the area who was messing with my head, so I wasn't going to make it easier by giving the dog to Clyde (who was already suspect) who would give it back to the owner. So around 10a.m. a uniformed man arrives from the pound to get the dog. It's none other than the Mounty with the memorable smile. Was he moonlighting at the pound between shifts at the sheriffs department? The whole thing was too weird and I didn't say anything to him, just watched while he tried to round up the dog.

The Phone Company

Some men from the phone company came to check the lines because I could hear other people on the lines, static, clicking, and someone would activate the page/intercom "beep" on the phone in the kitchen. They found nothing, were condesending and generally unconcerned about what I was describing. As they got in their truck and drove away the page/intercom "beeped" three times.

Drug Dealers And Police

The drug dealers I knew in the northeast Valley never got busted for flagrant offenses. One man had his home on wheels parked under a freeway underpass for several months. People would come and go and buy drugs, and do drugs inside.It couldn't have been more obvious if he had put up a sign inviting the general public. The vehicle was unregistered, no tags. Inside were syringes and other paraphrenalia, no one ever even stopped to give him a ticket for street cleaning days, much less anything else.

There is some connection to drug manufacturing, distribution, usage and being a member of this exclusive, sinister organization. Also law enforcement is definitively involved-both police and sheriffs, I know from personal experience. You know those things that you know because the people involved want you to know them? They want you to know what you're dealing with and act accordingly?

This same man owns nearly every conceivable hand and power tool ever made. It was in his trailer that I found the super-heat dryer tool. For a while I hypothesized that my problems centered around some of these sleazy, sick drug dealers and doers that I had met out of neccessity of keeping myself supplied. All the overheard pieces of conversations, interrupted t.v. viewings, and other observations were leading me to believe that I had been video taped without my knowing while having sex with some of these biker/dealer guys. A very disconcerting thought to me. Without ever finding or seeing a tape I can't say for sure, but that's definitely what everything implies.

The Neighbors

The guys that lived across the street from me on Los Alimos were into computers- a mysterious, unknown realm for me. They were rude, arrogant and adverserial from our first eye contact. Throughout the harassment period much of the evidence, noise and people visible in the night would lead back to their house. My parents would never entertain the fact that those nice boys, that never worked, drove restored, classic cars and had people coming and going all night long might be involved with drugs and the problems I was experiencing. Anyway, about the computers, guys started looking me over on the boardwalk or in stores as if they were looking for something. It was so odd and uncomfortable. Then I'd hear, "she looks just like she does in the shower scene." Or "her legs don't look that long, do they?" Or "it's so real the way you can make her move anyway you want." O.K. , so maybe this was just part of the program to freak me out; give me the feeling that I was on the Internet or on videos and hundreds of people had seen me in private, intimate situations. Could be. But these people do an unusually good acting job of appearing that they've seen me before and are somehow sizing me up. Some of the other examples of contrived scenarios are not nearly as realistic.

The 70 year old neighbor from next door (on the eastside) came over to see if I needed anything while my parents were gone. I was wearing a long t-shirt with my bathing suit underneath and he asked me, "do you have anything on under there?" I grew up with this man! What kind of a question was that! Me, ever the docile lamb, I answer instead of kicking him in the balls and telling him to get the hell off my property. "Yeh, I have my bathing suit on." "Let me see", he asks as he moves closer to me. I just sort of laughed it off and moved away and assured him I'd call him if I needed anything. People are so often disrespectful and out of line, I find myself at a loss for words or appropriate action. You expect a certain amount of common respect from people and when they act otherwise I'm often so dumbfounded I can't respond in that moment.

The other neighbor from the other side of the house wanted to shake hands one day, after which he started pulling on my arm, firmly, pulling me toward him, asking me to give him a kiss like I was a three year old. I pushed away and it wasn't a problem, but it was so out of line and getting to to be such a frequent occurance; no one responded to me other than sexually. The whole time he was doing this he was looking over at the house across the street, smirking.

Relatives

About this time one of my cousins called the house to see how everything was going. We only saw each other annually at Easter pic-nics but he had always seemed nice and it was thoughtful of him to call. He asked me how my massage business was going and then said he had been wanting to get a massage. Great! Even though I had regular clients I saw weekly, my business stayed steady but slow. I never seemed to do more than survive and keep my car running, etc. So he came over one night and when it was over he made an aggressive pass at me. Totally inappropriate. Besides the fact that my massages were wholly therapeutic in nature and there was never anything in my demeanor or behavior that would suggest I accepted "tips" or did anything on the side, this man was my cousin! Not a blood relation of course, but nonetheless. Surprising and typical both at the same time.

Assorted Attempted Set Ups

Part of the affect of men consistantely relating to me in this way was a kind of isolation. I got no moral support, or people offering themselves to me emotionally or mentally- it seemed the only relationships available were physical. This held true with women too, for the most part. Either they acted like friends and then robbed me blind, or we'd get a bit of a rapport going and they'd turn sexual. I honestly believe that these were all attempted "set-ups". Whether for viewing at a later date, or for the emotional trauma that each successive, soured relationship would wreak on my psyche, the pretenses were premeditated, the approaches rehearsed.

Since knowing that Brock and my family (and his family as well) were involved, it's cleared up quite a few inexplicables, one of them being the common ground I would always discover with these treacherous liers I would chance to meet. Having only our conversations to go by (and not much expertise in summing people up or the fine art of deception), I would often find so many similarities between myself and whomever I was just getting aquainted with (and too often ended up sleeping with). Wow, we even take the same brand of vitamins, and they care a lot about the planet as well, and I've read that book too, etc. When I finally really got to know some of these people they were the most bigoted, spiritually vacuous, nutrionally ignorant, apathetic people I'll ever meet. But, they'd been coached. Like actors and their directors I firmly believe that these people had had the way to my heart mapped out for them. I really want to meet the producer. Perhaps I already have and don't know it.

A guy asked me for a cigarette one day as I was walking down the sidewalk. Apparently we were both waiting for the same office bldg. to open, so I gave him a smoke and we chatted. He was of Native American descent with long, dark hair and a relaxed way about him. Ever on the lookout for a decent human being I accepted when he invited me to go to lunch later that day. (I am such an easy mark: Long hair, an interest in music and the environment, health foods...plus my chronic affliction with lonliness. Ahhh, hindsight is so clear.) So this normal looking guy proceeds to tell me about a satanic cult that he got involved with when he attended University High in Beverly Hills. This was unexpected and I'm all ears because I'm suspecting some cult activity in the north Valley. He told of drugs and sex in his friend's parents' home in Bel Aire. He said that different people would host the rituals and whole neighborhoods were involved. They would all congregate within the estate of the host family, don black robes, get high and sacrifice animals. My lunch date said the last part bothered him, he didn't like to hurt animals. I questioned him for a few more minutes and we parted. Food for thought, huh? I would often see him after that, either driving behind me or across a parking lot I was parked in. Coincidence?

Sheriffs

One night my car broke down on the freeway. A sheriff's patrol car pulled over to help, which they did, with a minimum of hassle considering my tags had expired some time ago. Within the bright glare from their flashlights their eyes were glassy, their pupils dilated, it was so obvious they were amped. I was wishing I could have demanded a "citizen's drug test" or something because they would certainly have failed. Probably "the authorities" get the highest quality drugs I was musing, lucky devils.

Radio Personalities

I sought help through a well-known radio soothsayer and shrink named Michael Benner. He was on public radio and has a background in hypnosis. Insightful and effective over the air, I thought I'd give it a go. This was before I had any desire to dredge the depths of my psyche. When I saw him I was just concerned with fortifying myself somehow to meet the challenge that was closing in around me- and maybe, I had hope, he would believe my far-out story. Michael, as it turns out, is part of it. I'll skip the ridiculous details of our meeting. The result was me walking out after about half an hour, his words to me as I was closing the door, "Vera when are you going to stop running?" It was an exercise in frustration to sit through his meandering rhetoric for all those minutes. He rubbing his nose and his beard and never getting started with my session- I came there to learn to hypnotise myself. I threw down $60- half his fee and left, leaving behind the audio tape that was recording our session. That must be good, listening fun. On the way out of the waiting area I grabbed one of his flyers. At the end of the text was a design, alone on the blank bottom half of the page. A circle within a circle . If only I'd seen the flyer before hand- I'd be 60 bucks richer.

Therapists

Seeking therapy, I went to the Berkeley Mental Health facility here in town. After crying my eyes out for 50 minutes, the stone-faced nun who had sat still as a statue throughout our initial "intake" interview, began to move. She put her hand to her mouth, she looked at me menacingly, she suggested medication or an inpatient program. The same stuff that people do when they want to be obvious. These gestures, and my subsequent response to them all began one night with Brock. I didn't realize it at the time, but since I was in a really sensitized state on the particular evening when people everywhere we went were repeating these same gestures (and boggling my mind as to why, in the process), it left a deep and enduring impression upon me. Now whenever people do it, it's like an introduction; "Hello there, I too, am one of "them", there are so very many of us." And yes, I realize that my suspiciousness has grown to such exaggerated proportions these days that I probably mistake an innocent response to an allergy, a cold, a flu or an itchty nose, from time to time, as a malevolent silent comment. This is only natural considering the circumstances and does not diminish the fact that for over 2 years now this gesture has been used as a means of intimidation and identification by my antagonists

When I first got here I really felt like I needed some help dealing emotionally so I went to another therapist. Berkeley has a lot of social programs available, why not try another? Besides the fact that this man did not appear to be in any shape to be giving others counselling (a lot of people with problems themselves seem to be drawn to the "psychological arts"), he also waited till I was sufficiently weepy eyed, my soul bared just enough to get at it before he started with the hand over his mouth thing, that cold look in his eyes. It reminds me of sharks when they smell fresh blood in the water; for these people tears or signs of "weakness" are like psychic blood- they move in for the kill.

Alternative Press

Attempting to ascertain who could be trusted and who to go to for help, I contacted the public radio station KPFK. No support was forthcoming. Jon Rappoport has done excellent investigative reporting, unconvering many stories certain people would prefer remained out of the press. He seemed like a man that might know what to do with the fragments of information I had, so I went to one of his Sunday evening "raps" in Santa Monica. When I entered he was talking about paramilitary groups throughout the country, elite groups within the military and the militia movement- the patriot movement I think he called it. The man sitting next to me let me view his notes, as I had arrived 10 minutes into the lecture. In the time it took me to get settled in my seat and find my pen the topic had changed to one of community based subsistance, gardens, neighborly support, things along those lines. It wasn't the riveting, concise sort of lecture I was expecting. From what I knew of his past reporting, both written works and radio programs, this wasn't at all characteristic of his style. It was a full house. The animosity/hostility attitude began soon after I arrived. Damn, I thought, not here too. One thing he said stands out in my mind, "...people say the government is evil...but I say we the people are the evil ones, the government is only an instrument for that evil." (That's a paraphrase, he's got his exact words on video.)

A few months later I was in L.A. again and decided to go to another lecture. Forgetting to be secretive, I mentioned to a few people that I was planning to go. There were 5 other people in the lecture room (2 of which arrived a half hour late), all obviously my opposition, for yet-to-be understood reasons. He stood in front of us for 2 hours, making gestures with his hands and face like "these people" do when they want to be obvious. He managed to talk for a full 2 hours without saying a thing. I would have thought professional pride alone would have prevented him from this display, but obviously I'm not anyone to impress. Honestly, he talked about some "system" of laying on of hands that amounted to nothing at all, when all of it was finally said and done. It was the most inconsequential, tedious, spewage I'd heard in a long time. He made a lot of lists of things, slowly, with many pauses in between. He talked about the content of future lectures in the works, he spoke of the past. He spoke of nothing. Since my presence was obviously hindering the actual meeting that was supposed to take place if I had not been there (and the usual audience had been present), I sat through the whole thing. We had a little chat afterwards, both of us confirming our positions on opposite sides of whatever this thing is.

Postal Workers

While I lived in Granada Hills I received a half dozen pieces of mail in 2 years. I called the post office. I went there personally. I drove to the main annex and filed a complaint. I tried to be intimidating with the mail carrier for our street, after having tried everything else (obviously that didn't work either). Still people called saying their letters to me had been returned "Moved, no forwarding address". My government assistance, which I relied upon to eat, was cancelled. "You didn't mail back the forms." I never got the forms. In the 7 months I spent in Mexico, 2 pieces of mail arrived for me, after I'd already left. They'd both been opened. How many, who knows, but definitely some people working within the postal service are involved.

The Y.M.C.A.

The woman that accepted my application for a scolarship to the Y.M.C.A. in Berkeley was smiling at me the whole time as she said, "there's a 6 month waiting list, so don't expect to hear anything for a while." Something about her made me suspicious (I'm telling you, it's just a "vibe", a presence from these people that's unmistakable), so I went to a payphone and inquired about scholarships and waiting periods and she invited me to come in soon, "because there's a 2 month waiting list." This was/is really important to me to use the facilities so the next day I went back to check on my application, saying I had forgotten to staple my paper work onto the back. The young man went to look for it in the pile from the day before and said he couldn't find it. He asked me if she had stamped it with the date, I said I didn't know. He went in another room and returned to the doorway 5 minutes later with my application in hand. He assured me my financial statement was stapled to the back and there was no problem. Apologetically, I asked if I could just make sure myself and have a look. He brought it over to me. Stamped with red ink on the front page was the date: RECEIVED December 79, 2002. "Shouldn't we change the date here? Yesterday was the 17th."

Gold's Gym Berkeley

When I inquired about memberships in person, the young muscle head at the front desk told me there were not any yearly memberships, only a schedule of payment every 3 months that amounted to $400.00 a year and change. They are all so obvious in there about being my adversaries, shameless. Anyway, not trusting the guy as far as he'd fall if I tripped him, I went to a payphone to get answers anonymously. The young, male voice on the phone was very nice and invited me in for a tour and a free work-out and quoted me "about $340.00, we can discuss that when you come in." for the year, over the phone.

Etc.

Since all this insanity began in Granada Hills, nearly everytime I've gone to do anything, anywhere, I run into the same orchestrated hassles, rudeness, general maltreatment and lack of cooperation. Besides the above mentioned, other companies and organizations have been consistent. Greyhound buses (They've hidden my luggage in the warehouse and driven off and left me, both intentionally), the drivers of metropolitan public transportation buses, clerks or cashiers in most stores, people who work in health food stores and grocery stores especially. And on and on. Maybe it has something to do with a union or something like that. The Satanic Proletariat Movement? So why don't I just move if I'm so unhappy with everyone and everything?... Because, there seems to be...

No Place to Hide

Baja, Mexico
At My Sister's House
My Bus Trip to Corvallis, Oregon
Even in Berkeley

Much to my discouragement, all of the strange occurances continued when I moved to Mexico to live with my sister in Cabo San Lucas. Beginning of course with the giant bull's eye layed out across the desert floor a few minutes from the San Jose Airport. The strange traffic patterns in the rear-view mirror, people making allusions to things in my past that they should have had no way of knowing about, the lights coming on in the middle of the night, guys being really rude and looking at me as if they'd seen me in a porno movie or something. Mexico has a very traditional backbone to it and many of the people are practicing Catholics, somehow I thought I'd find more heart down south. But money is very scarse down there for the Mexicans (most gringos live quite comfortably) so maybe that played a part in their cooperation. Once again, I don't know...

Baja, Mexico

I had a short stint as a cocktail cart waitress at the well-known Palmilla Golf Course (so ironic, since I've always loathed golf courses for the ecological destruction inherent in their deveopment in often pristine, beautiful locations. But, I've been determined to survive through this madness by whatever means neccessary and that was the only job I could find.) The indirect messages started on the very first day. They're all like one, big, happy golfing family down there so I was getting introduced to some of the members and shaking hands. Many of these men golfed everyday so it got to be like a battle of innuendos; they'd be threatening, I made jokes. In the parking lot while I was waiting for my new boss to return from the office, this is the conversation the 3 men standing around me were having. They were going to go to Brazil on a hunting trip, "because in Brazil you can shoot anything; cats, doves, anything you want." Was that menace in his voice or was I imagining it? (These people seem to be referring to me oft times when they speak of a cat, or a dove or a lamb.) Yeh, they were going to go shoot doves in about 3 weeks in Brazil. While they talked one man flipped through thousands of dollars in hundreds, he didn't seem to be counting it, just admiring it. Wow, I thought, these people have more money than I'll probably ever... I don't know, than I'd accumulate over the course of a few of my life times.

Some of the vacationers who came to play the course were positively lecherous on occassion. They would come from all over, Japan, all 50 states, a lot of Canadiens down there, South Africans. Why did these people seem to know me? How did they know inside jokes that only Gil and I should have known? It may not seem so unusual for older, wealthy men to be coming on to the woman serving them drinks in a resort location, etc. But it was the way they did it. The allusions to lambs and doves. A couple of times, different men, said, "hello dove, I mean love, can you get me a beer?" Or "Did you here about that woman that dissappeared up here?" "No actually, I didn't." I'd reply. "Yeh. they think she was kidnapped or something. There's a lot of white slavery down here, did you know that?" " No, I didn't." I'd respond. "Yeh, a pretty thing like you, you have to be careful." "Thanks for the warning", I'd say with a smile and give them their drinks and roll away in my cart to go lament under the slight shade of a juniper tree. I felt even more isolated down there with no hope of hooking up with people who might know what's going on. That peninsula's owned. Throughout this strangeness I've felt certain that I could not be the only one going through this. There is too much time, money, and organization involved to use it all toward the downfall of one, mortal woman.

People liked to tell me to watch the steep incline as I decended in my cart, "we wouldn't want you to fall over into the canyon." No we wouldn't. "Do they ever service that cart for you? I hope the brakes don't go out, that would be a shame." Yes, it would. "I can't wait till dinner tonight , I'm having lambchops. Do you like lambchops?" "No, I'm a vegetarian." "Oh, that's too bad." Lambchops in Mexico? Then I got invited on the trip. "Hey dove, how'd ya like to come to Brazil with me? I'll pay for everything, we can leave this afternoon." I declined.

Reality Sinks in at My Sister's House

My sisiter was very willing to support me until I got a job down there and got back on my feet. She was the last remaining person that I trusted and believed could not be involved in all this malicious mystery. But it soon became clear that she too was a part of what was happening. One morning in her bathroom I was in the bathtub and a mocking sort of laugh came from what seemed to be the ceiling. The kind of voice you might hear coming out of a rag doll with a pull string on the back and a recording inside the body. I felt quite trapped down there, but even if I would have had money to leave, where would I go? That she was involved and that this thing that I thought I could escape was continuing, put me into a severe depression. There are so many little instances that proved to me without a doubt that she and her business partners and many other business people in that tiny pueblo were part of this sadistic order. While I was living there, for about 7 months, I met the families of many of my sister's friends and associates. They made it clear to me through gestures and things they would say, as well as their attitudes, that they too, knew who I was, what was going on, and everyone should just play their part in this sick script that seems to have been written long ago and without my consent.

For a period of over 2 months I stayed in bed, night and day. I've always been very active and my body was aching and atrophying from lying still for days at a time. Why get up? The few letters I had written to organizations I thought could help were never answered. Or maybe they did answer and I never got their replies, or maybe they thought I was a nut and needed a psych. ward more than moral support or housing referrals. This was when I began to digest all that had occurred up until that point. Emotionally I literally dissolved. My family, my friends, my past and any hope for the future were all swept away at once with the realizations that hit me like a tidal wave. I had always said that I wanted the truth; now I had it and I was buried beneath it.

Bus Trip to Corvallis

While I was down there I decided to go and see Brock, who had moved to Oregon. The more time went on the more my mind cleared and I realized that he was definitely in possession of some answers to many of my questions. So I took the bus all the way up from Baja. Along the way, at every stop the Greyhound would make, there would be menacing-looking biker type people leering at me, or looking over in my direction while they made calls on payphones. I intended to do what ever I had to to get answers from him when I arrived. As it turns out, he just stuck to his story about how sad it was to watch what I was becoming and what a pity that I couldn't see through my own delirium. Even though I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had set me up with these lowlifes, had been stealing from me for I don't know how long, had lied to me knowing my grip on reality was hanging in the balance, I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it. I didn't know how to retaliate. I've never wanted to hurt anyone before and I didn't know how to go about it.

The whole way that these people behave is, or rather was beyond my experience. If someone catches you in a lie, you fess up. It's bad enough that you strayed from the truth for whatever reason in the first place, but when the other person calls you on it you have to come clean. This may sound like an elementary school level of understanding of the world, but I tell you that's where I lived; more sheltered than I ever believed myself to be. But anyway...

While we would be driving in his El Camino through Corvallis, the street lights would go out as we approached them. When I pointed it out to him he said he didn't notice. How can you have a confrontation with someone if they deny that there is a problem? How can you get answers if no one agrees that there are any questions? The truth is an irrelevant piece of trivia to these people. They say what needs to be said to achieve their ends, whatever they may be. They will stick to their stories till the end, but now I know better than to believe them. One good thing that has come out of all this is my ability to disern deceit from people. It's like some haze has been lifted and I find it fairly easy to read people now. Maybe people are coming out of their shadows like never before, but it's also a new ability to see things as they are that I never had before. I don't care for much of what I'm seeing.

Even in Berkeley

After arriving in Berkeley it took nearly 2 days before everyone caught on. I was so distraught internally I couldn't even enjoy my few hours of anonymity before it passed. Oh well. It was very possible, I knew, that I might not be able to geographically escape this thing, so it wasn't that much of a blow. Same tricks, new faces. Judging from appearances alone I would think that I'd have much in common with many of these people who behave as my adversaries. What is the key element that binds them together and neccessarily excludes me? This is the question.

Dreamy States And Hazy Memories

Psychotropic Drugs- Getting 'Slipped' Into Nowhere
I Discover My Old Neighborhood Is Involved-Venice, CA
Recollections From Ominous Conversations
Ultrasonic Confusion

The Nowhere Zone

During the time I was a committed drug addict I experienced some unexpected sensations and states of mind. This was due to the fact that the people that were supplying me were giving me other chemicals in powdered form with effects quite different from those of speed (crystal, methamphetamines, crank). This one drug that I got "slipped" several times, put me into a sort of dream-like, trance state that left me speechless, unable to move, feeling shy and vulnerable and totally unable to get myself out of the situation. The way it would happen (in clear hindsight once again) is that we would start out partying together (and mind you I always paid for this stuff, adding insult to injury). I used to get incredibly euphoric on this stuff, bursting with energy. Then after a few hours had passed, we'd do some more and someone would either give me something to drink or give me something different to snort. After I caught on I would never do a line unless whoever I was with would do half. But that didn't work either because they would just counteract the effects of the heavy down stuff with real speed and they'd stay in a strong state of mind. Meanwhile I'd be slipping into a nowhere zone so suddenly, most times I couldn't realize what was happening until it had already happened. After it took affect the people I was with would always change, and get really rude and scary with me. All I could do at that point was to try to find an out of the way place to curl up and wait till it wore off. I don't know what it is about that drug or my reaction, but I always found myself needing to get down off of furniture and on to the floor. The whole thing seemed so unreal. People would continue on with what they were doing as if I was not in a daze on the floor. They'd walk over me, sometimes talk about me in the third person, or speak to me like I was a dog or a cat. It sounds weird and it was. But after I had slept it off the strong impression from the day before would have faded to something like a dream. As if I had imagined them speaking to me that way, and all the bizarre implications they had made. Only toward the end did I actually confront a couple of people with accusations that they had drugged me. The memories were frail, my mind was taxed and I doubted my own perceptions about everything.

I Discover That My Old Neighborhood Is Involved- Venice, CA

One night on my way home I stopped at Chad's apt., knowing he'd be up, even at 3am. He and Dan were there and we all stayed up till morning. Dan intimated that he and his good friend Jack knew about what was going on in L.A., and who was involved, and they had a group of three of them that would meet very quietly to discuss the strange stuff that was happening. He said he knew about the people in the trees and what their plans were. He didn't want to talk about it much until Jack arrived, because you never knew who might be listening. "Right!", I thought. I couldn't believe he really seemed to know about the weird plants and people following me and a malevolent wave sweeping the city. He said his friend was going to come by in the morning, which is why I stayed. We would discuss what we could do to stop this.

So I'm starting to fade, and his friend hasn't arrived yet. Dan gets out a mirror and offers to wake me up. He and Chad had already done so earlier, he said. About a half hour later I couldn't even sit up on the couch, I needed to be on the floor. Then they started to look at me differently, judging how I was doing. I tried to act normal, not show that I was about to fall over, but I could no longer carry on a conversation and the weird demeanor had begun. It felt like I had regressed 26 years or so and was now only 4 years old sitting on the floor of some not very nice people and unable to leave.

I couldn't get up to get food either (they had nothing in the apt.), so my glucose was dropping and creating effects of it's own. I worried that the water had been tampered with so I didn't drink anything either. About this time Jack arrives. The guy who supposedly knows, along with Dan all about the evil bastards taking over the city. Yes, I'm sure they could have answered most of my questions. But nobody was talking to me. The dog and I were both on the floor and I could never tell if they were addressing the dog or me.

Jack brought food for them (it had meat in it and I'm a vegetarian) and drinks. But only enough for 3 because he didn't know I was going to be there, he said. So I sat slumped on the floor trying not to feel like they were making me feel. "Good dog. Now you sit there and be quiet." Says Jack to the floor in between the dog and I. They all went on this way, condecending, domineering, inside joking for a couple of hours. Sometimes they seemed to trail off without making complete sentences, just beginnings of sentences. This is some of the stuff I remember being said:

"...part of what we do is to use people's creativity for other purposes..."

"...food and sleep deprivation puts you into an alpha state..."

"...do they know she's here? Are they going to come by and get her?" (!)

Jack to Chad, "...no you don't know how to use it yet, you stay up too long and don't take care..."

Then Jack was talking about something in french, "...superform" was the only part I could figure out. Then I dosed off for a few minutes, awakened by the dog rubbing itself on my leg with the 3 of them watching. Later on I heard Jack say softly to Chad, "you can't let the dog do that to her up here..."

As the afternoon wore on I napped and came out of it, anxious to get out of there. But while I rested in the bedroom I could here them in the living room, apparently plotting my end. A woman told how many men would be coming over for the occassion. "Ssshhhh, don't talk so loud you wake her up. They won't get here till 8." "Some people are coming earlier, Marcos coming at 7." "She has no idea does she?" "She can't do anything about it anyway." "What if she wants to leave before then?" "She can't even get up. She's not going anywhere." Chad asked Jack how I was doing, "she's about ready to have a heart attack." He said. He was in the other room, I don't know how he knew how I was doing.

I was terrified. After all these months of threats they were finally going to get it over with. Groggy and unsure of myself I slipped into the bathroom to take a shower. The lock on the door was broke so I kept one eye on the door the whole time in case they were going to try to stop me. When I got in there I saw that all the tile had been redone to match the bathroom in my parents' house. An old fashioned pink and burgundy combination that you don't see much these days, they weren't even new tiles- obviously a cheaply-made set. Just another detail to trouble my mind. Then I sit on the toilet and "zap" comes that little electrical pricking sensation I felt at Brock's, and under my bed. Feeling literally hunted I made preparations to leave. Five people sat in the main room as I came out. They looked at me like I was food and they were going to bite into my flesh. Me, ever trying to act normal through all of this, I say I'm leaving and they proceed to tell me to wait till after sunset and we'll have a party, and... I left.

I never saw Chad or Dan again. They had been my friends when we were neighbors, but now I know that my living in that apt. building was a set-up as well.

Recollections From Ominous Conversations

While I was in this limbo state from the unanticipated drugs, people talked as if I wasn't in the room. I guess I remember a lot more than they thought I would, because when I've asked them about it later they deny having said the things I remember them saying. So if they lie about it, it must be worth hiding. pieces of overheard conversations led me toward some of the theories I have regarding the nature of this operation. What do you think?...

We're in Gil's trailer, I'm slumped in a chair, can't even talk. Brock says, "yeh, they're gonna be like Stepford girlfriends." (Do you remember the movie "The Stepford Wives"?

Another guy starts talking about good and evil, and light and dark and how Earth is the realm of darkness and people should get what they can.

One morning I wasn't even drugged and they were speaking about me as if I wasn't in the room. A woman I just met was giving me some candles and a bronze holder. The guy that was there asked her, "Do you know who she is?" "Yeh." She replies. "And you're giving her that stuff anyway?" She did give me the gifts, I thanked her and left. (Forty-five minutes later she was arrested.) When I would overhear things like this it would make me so uncomfortable, I couldn't bring myself to ask him what he meant by his comment. He wouldn't have answered me anyway. I tried to ignore it for the longest time.

On yet another morning, I found I'd bought something different than everyone else. They were quite cunning in their methods of doing a switch when I wasn't looking or giving me one product to taste and another to purchase. So I'm slipping away and everyone else is zipping along and one guy and I start talking. (Inside I know that all these people must be part of this monster that's trying to devour me, but some of them were so convincing when they'd smile and be nice.) The conversation inevitably turns toward who are the predators, who are the prey and what the heck is happening around the northeast Valley? So, we're moving along the conversation, talking about all the strange stuff we've seen and what it all might mean (of course this was only for amusement on his part because he knew what was going on, he was/is helping to make it happen.), and I continue to drift away into speechlessness. He starts to talk about power and when I ask him who's behind everything he says, "it's the anti-Christ." Even in my stupor, something inside me objected to the whole concept. I guess I never believed evil to be very powerful. There couldn't be a human that was so powerful and evil that he was the prophesied anti-Christ (even though I don't know the Bible very well, I know this general concept) And I said as much, as best I could. He just laughed. Then he said, "...they do it with radios and t.v.s" "...the drugs make it stronger."

Later that same day a man who lived in a trailer on the lot recounted a story about the other man's son and the daughter of a woman I had met. He told about walking into the bedroom where the little girl slept, and finding her and the little boy having sex, acting out a porno movie that they had seen. He thought the story was funny, but at the time he said he told them to "knock it off", and closed the door again and left them in there. This happened when they were all sharing a house together a couple of years earlier, which meant the kids were probably about 4 and 7 years old, approximately.

It is unusual for me to doze off into an unexpected sleep, so this occassion stands out in my mind. While resting, but fully awake with Brock on the bed, I remember the feeling of floating, like a leaf falling gently to the ground. Light and slowly, a gentle swaying motion. Then I woke up nearly 2 hours later. I never do that and the thing I remember hearing while "falling", as if in a dream was Brock saying, "...I hope you brought the big ones today...". He was awake when I woke up, so I told him about my "dream". He said that sounded like a weird dream.

One thing he used to do a lot was turn to face the air conditioner built into the wall of my room when he was speaking, as if sharing what he was saying with unknown parties who could either see or hear what was happening by some means involving the air conditioner. He'd also look over in that direction with a knowing glance sometimes, as if sharing an inside joke with that area of the wall. If he just did this to be obvious and add to my upset, or whether there was in fact some device within the air conditioner or even people just outside the room I never knew. The cooling unit was ill-fitted into the wall and there is ample room between the gaps to see the light from outside while inside my room.

Ultrasonic Confusion

The man I went to most often for drugs, used to use an ultrasonic disorientation device, sold as means of keeping animals out of yards, etc. That's what it probably was, maybe it was some other, custom-built device, but I know that it was ultrasonic. It was a long time till I figured out what was happening. I just thought my demeanor and my whole being were altering due to the prolonged stress of being stalked indoors and out, day and night (which of course they were). When I'd lapse into these strange, vacillating states, I figured it had something to do with being uncomfortable with his sexual innuendos and come-ons. I'd become coy and shy like a 10 year old. When I was standing up I'd get fidgety; shrugging up my shoulders and generally not being able to maintain my usual composure. Many times I'd want to leave his trailer, but found myself unable to collect myself enough to get my purse, and go to the door, and leave. It sounds impossible if you've never felt it. And it was probably much more effective on me in those days because I didn't have a clue what was happening and I blamed everything on deficiencies in myself. So since I felt bad about myself anyway, when I'd start to act like a silly child I felt even more uncomfortable because I didn't know what was wrong with me, which made me nervous, which made me act shy and indecisive. I wasn't normally like that and I didn't like it a bit. The effect of my indecisive behavior and preadolescent attitude made it seem we were playing some kind of teasing game. But I wasn't playing. Other times the device had the effect of bringing on a paralytic sort of paranoia.

What finally clued me in was this man's son saying to me one day, "Oh you're here, that means my dad's gonna turn the generator on." "Why do you say that?" I asked him. "Because everytime you come over he turns it on right after." Thank you Matthew. That generator drove me batty anyway from the roaring noise it made . I used to ask Gil why it had to be on and he'd say he needed lights or this or that. No amount of objecting seemed to sway his decision on this matter, even though he was usually quite accomodating. That didn't tell me everything , but it had me wondering. That same week someone showed me the Information Unlimited mail order catalog. Included within is a surprising array of electromagnetic, ultrasonic and Tesla-type devices. I couldn't believe it was legal to sell all this stuff to any bozo with a mailing address (the catalog is free by calling 1-800-221-1705, it's worth checking out). Anyway, there's where I saw the device and it explained how it disrupts the ability of small animals (or even humans, the advertisement warns) to navigate and keeps them in or out of your yard, as you wish. It's adjustable. So the next time I went to Gil's I had ear plugs in. He needed the generator and turned it on, and I was waiting to see what would happen. Nothing. I felt fine. He was looking at me somewhat expectantly, and then he was looking out the window for awhile. It was great because I could tell something was going wrong. Then I forgot and brushed my hair back behind my ears and he saw the earplug and looked out the window and tugged on his ear. I asked him if he had a tickle, in his ear, and he responded typically, "no I've got a tickle between my legs, wanna see?" Feeling like my usual self it was easy to graciously decline.

Migraines: a Means of Control?

The reason I'm including the headaches is because of the reaction I got from my family when I told them I had stopped getting them. "I broke my trigger", I said to brock on the afternoon that it happened. There was a very heated sort of confrontation going on between my parents, who were in the front yard, and Brock and I inside my room. The whole thing had a staged quality, as if I was the only one genuinely getting emotionally caught up in the rhetoric and threats. My father had a smirk on his face some of the time and I thought my mother was going to start laughing. Personally, I just wanted to take a nap. I needed to take a nap or I would surely get a headache because I was feeling pressurized. To make this brief, the confrontation exploded into threats of serious violence, with my father going to get his gun and my mother throwing things in at me through the open window. Part of me was so exhausted and so sick of this type of thing happening, especially with me on the verge of getting sick from a headache, I reacted in a way I never had before. I slammed the window shut, locked it and pulled my shade down to darken the room (which is all I had wanted to do in the first place). I went to my bedroom door and locked it and layed down on my bed to rest myself. There was no more surplus left inside me to care what they were going to do. They banged on the door, they banged on the window, they threatened to call the police (which they did), they wanted access to me so we could go through the depleting motions of an argument. As I layed on the bed in the midst of the uproar something felt different. Never before had I failed to respond to serious demands or ultimatums from them, especially when they came in storming bouts of screaming and yelling. I always just reflexively obeyed. "I don't care what happens now," I thought to myself, "I'm going to lay in this bed and wait for it, whatever it is." Some fear of annihilation had just been shed, I felt conscious of a change taking place. I told Brock, "I feel like I'm not going to get a headache. I don't think I'll get them anymore."

I did get a few more after that when I went to Mexico, maybe a half-dozen in the 7 months that I was down there. Less intense than before. So just like that they went away. After I had spent thousands of dollars on nutritionists, healers, rolfing, accupunture, herbs, chiropractic treatments and deep tissue massages. Nothing had affected them in the least. Daily meditation seemed to help a little but I always had a sense of being out of control of my life because of these uncontrollable headaches.

This is definitely some of the best news of my whole life. So, I tell my parents one day over the dinner table that I definitely do not get migraines any more. "I broke my trigger", I explained. That was just how it felt to me as I layed on the bed and did nothing, I wasn't referring to any sort of bonafide, specified "trigger", since I know little, if anything about such things. They are hard of hearing, but I know they heard me. Neither of them looked up from their plates. "Isn't that good news? I don't get headaches anymore?" Apparently it wasn't such good news judging by their reactions. They kept their heads lowered over their plates and turned their eyes slightly upward to look in my direction. "Oh. You don't?" No smiles, no questions about it, just a sort of long expression on their faces that implied they didn't know quite how to act or what to say. Not the reaction I was expecting, but informative nonetheless.

The subject came up a few months later in the course of a yelling exchange between my mother and I. She was pointing out what a failure I've been and how I had ruined my life, etc., etc. and I get lured into defending myself... "but I don't get migraines anymore. That's proof that I'm getting better all the time." My mother replies, in her disgusted tone of voice, "Yeh, you're so sick you don't even worry anymore." I couldn't believe what I had just heard..."Oh is that what they were from, worry?" I asked. "Well I don't know, I guess." She says. Too late. They've given me the impression that they might know exactly what they were from.

My first nauseating, excruciating headache came when I was 16 years old. By the time I was 30 I used to imagine how many hours of my life had been lost to the pain/sleep syndrome. These headaches were one of the main reasons I never felt certain of my ability to sustain myself out in the "real world". Sometimes 3 days a week would be spent in bed. Hard as I tried to manage them I'd end up calling in sick to work, missing classes. They are very debilitating, as anyone that gets them will tell you. With all the lights out and little food (because migraines make you throw-up) I'd go in and out of a delirious sort of sleep (like you get when you have a fever) and not wake fully till the pain had subsided. After a couple of years of this I started taking Tylenol with codeine (the 3's), or some other Kaiser prescribed pain pills; none of which ever numbed the pain, but they make you pass out.

A very particular emotional state would always accompany my migraines. I've asked other women and it doesn't seem to be a common symptom, perhaps it is and I just haven't been asking the right people. When the sharp pain would begin in my head I would have such a strong desire to be hugged, to be held. I would feel a sudden starvation coming on emotionally accompanying the physical pain. The emotional neediness hurt nearly as much as the throbbing in my temples. Affection or tenderness could literally effect the degree of the discomfort- this fact led me into some strange stituations.

At Present

When I arrived here in Berkeley I was so crumbly I couldn't get through a conversation with anyone without breaking into a flood of tears. The emotional pain and overwhelming nature of this B-movie come to life has often seemed unendurable. But the more time goes on the more accustomed I have become to the facts and they no longer rip me apart inside. Sadness is being replaced.

At the present time I am sleeping near a fire trail on the outskirts of Berkeley. The petty tyrants who run the women's shelter kicked me out (they're part of it too), and I cannot emotionally afford dealing with people with the power to arbitrarily decide upon my staying or leaving when they choose. After dark as I make my way up the street to my "camp", the street lights turn off over my head. The lights in the park go out if I walk through it. This is not something that I can ignore, it's not going to go away. Meanwhile, the basic necessities demand my attention; staying fed, getting a roof over my head, finding a job, etc.- and maintaining composure (screaming at antagonistic strangers on the sidewalk doesn't help matters any, well, maybe it helps a little). Creating a life amidst all this is some rocky business. Without allies, or just some people who are not dead-set against me, this whole situation is such an incline, up hill all the way. The atmosphere is so unwelcoming, so nearly uninhabitable. There doesn't seem to be anyone to trust. Is there anyone out there to trust? The genius who manages the MCF web site said I can get E-mail on his account. Anyone with any info. or words of support, please get in touch.

Along with the changes in lifestyle, my living situation, my relationships and personal demeanor in general that this campaign against me has affected, my faith has been nearly uprooted. I wonder if that isn't one of the main objectives. All great achievements throughout mankind's history were made possible to a great degree by the unquestioning belief and commitment of the people involved. Confidence, focus and determination make things happen. Could all this diabolical haunting of some people by others be aimed at the spiritual, financial, social and psychological dislocating of some in society who would stand in the way of the sadistic or fascistic progress of the others? These people work in packs, they are predacious. The attitude that I get from them is that they have the right to do what they are doing because they can.

I'm certain that the emotional ties I had with my family and those around me were supposed to be a key factor in my downfall. My loyalty to the members of my family, especially to my father, was such that I would have given my own life to protect theirs. That's just how it was; how it's always been. I used to endearingly call my dad "Saint Earl". I had always considered my family some of the most honest, giving people that I had ever met. My emotional fragility and recurring inner torment I attributed to some not-yet-understood facet of myself, probably having to do with being adopted, the standard psychological reactions often described by adoptees. Today, I am not so sure. Apart from myself; what I believe and what I perceive, I'm not too sure about anything anymore. Most of the important stuff is still intact, but my world, and the people that I share it with are new and unfamiliar. The cityscape is ferocious and diabolical. What glimpses I do have into the nature of my coinhabitants and their plans for the future don't inspire me to want to join them (not that invitations have been forthcoming). If they will join forces with each other to stifle the life of an individual, what other plans will they carry out in unison? Without consciences (since they could not have feelings and do what they are doing, I presume they have somehow obliterated their consciences- or maybe it's a mutation from birth and they never had them to begin with...poor souls.), or respect for the liberty of each individual, their course necessarily leads to harm and destruction. Can't we come up with something better than that?

Written during the Summer of 1996, San Raphael, CA.
E-mail: teamarie11@hotmail.com