Saturday, July 9, 2011

When The Target has Too Much Time on His Hands---Part One

I took some vacation days at work beginning on June 30 and ending July 12. I had thoughts of protesting against my oppression as well as others to honor the holiday that is supposedly a celebration of our "freedom---Independence Day." All though, if you're an inbred idiot from Lancaster, Pennsylvania; it's a holiday to gawk and awe at colorful sparkles. I had anticipated on parading through the streets with a sign to spread awareness of organized stalking that included a URL to a website covering the issue. I was however overcome not only with euphoric excitement, but fear as well. I was becoming fearful that the police would concoct a reason to arrest me or have me committed to a psychiatric hospital.

The skies became too dark (even under the street lights) for everybody to see my sign by the time I made a decision. I was feeling frustrated, so I decided to go for a walk through the nightly streets. Everything seemed peaceful at first, but took a stress-ridden turn by the time I reached the corner of Orange and Queen Streets. A police officer stopped in front of me, flashing his lights while beeping his siren. There was nobody in his way, so I was under the impression that he was stopping me. I waited to see what he wanted. The officer drove onward instead of questioning. Some innocent bystanders at a nearby tavern seemed confused about the officer's reason for performing this action. "What the hell?" One of them said. They then mocked the officer by mimicking the sound of his siren. I stared in rage at the police car and saw a fire police jeep pull from an alley to follow the squad car. I immediately realized it was a harassment skid. I flipped them both my middle finger. "Whoa, that guy's flipping them the bird," one of the tavern patrons commented. I continued walking and passed a couple of Black Street Thugs while close to the corner of Queen and Walnut Streets. The thugs engaged in directed-conversation by saying "He's trippin'(Ebonics for 'going crazy')."

I arrived home and turned on my kitchen light as I entered my apartment---I have flood lights instead of bulbs. One of the lights flickered rapidly and immediately ceased functioning. They can destroy all the flood lights they want, I don't give a shit!" I thought (this has happened before). I went to bed an hour later to find my stalkers' Electronic Harassment Unit depriving me of sleep through the use of synthetic telepathy. They forced my arms and other parts of my body to violently jerk. This action was performed with the use of an algorithm similar to one described in Chapter two of Stasiland written by Anna Funder.

To Be Continued...

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