Returning To Journaling
Haven't written in this journal in 8 years.
I thought about starting another but felt like writing here anyway.
It seems like a distant dream when I was this partying fool chemically ascending his way through spirituality, philosophy, intellectual pursuits, learning new trades, artistic endeavors, and sexual decadence.
It all seems so surreal now.
No one from my old Live Journal days is here anymore. People move on. Natalie, who got me involved with Live Journal and inspired me to write got married, had a child, and then, unfortunately, died of a brain hemorrhage in her sleep. Still have fond memories of her.
Sometimes I look at old photos of myself from back then. The emaciated, wide-eyed guy who thought that was a good idea. I cringe. Nowadays I'm in a battle to lose weight.
There were many great moments and great things that came out of that period. I learned a lot. I was so incredibly focused. Focus was never a strength of mine. I learned new skills. I was artistically on fire. I met some cool people and had some ethically hedonistic fun. Chipping off chards of what looked like a diamond and sticking in a beautiful glass blown pipe was so gratifying at the time. I can't even wrap my brain around that now.
I was like Seth Brundle in the David Cronenberg version of the movie, "The Fly" and I was "brilliant." But just like the movie, parts of me were falling off and I was deeply concerned that I was becoming that creature. It was time to stop.
It was a fun time that ended up becoming dark and incredibly stupid starting with a crackhead slime bag meddlesome neighbor who wouldn't mind his own business and forced his way into mine. He actually would have made a great candidate for something like the main character of another Cronenberg film called, "Videodrome." He was even worse than Max Renn.
This was the genesis of what Targeted Individuals call "street theatre" and I would begin to be harassed by him and a handful of other sleazeball clowns from his circle.
May 27, 2005, was the date where I started to hear voices. I was the beginning of my electronic harassment, remote neural monitoring, and dream harassment. All initiated by an ex-girlfriend from the Houston area who had the maximum restraining order served to her. Although this is started out ugly and stupid it evolved into a whirlwind interdimensional and intertemporal experience that would introduce me to a whole new reality. This is all to be saved for another date. I'm burnt out on most of the subject.
A lot of factors went into me not writing, not making music, not doing much. A lot had to do with the attacks and the drama. I lost my cool apartment, which given the situation, was a good thing. I stayed with my sister for about a year and then I decided that my life was going nowhere, I wasn't going to succeed in the entertainment industry and there was no point in overpaying to live in an over-crowded, polluted, degenerate place, hoping that someday things will be different.
I was pushing 40 and I was done. It was time to live a quality life. I wanted a home with a yard and a garden. I wanted to meet a woman who wasn't dysfunctional, insane, or looking over my shoulder for a director or some other appealing prospect. Hollywood is full of that. There's always something better around the corner. That is of course until you lose what you have. It's a comedically tragic cycle. It's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" on crack. I wanted kids. I wanted a new career. I want to be more outdoorsy.
The opportunity arose and in February of 2006, I moved to Salt Lake. It was an affordable Winter Olympic town with good people.
It paid off. I got myself a little fixer-upper home for me and my cat. I got my yard and garden. I built a backyard swing. I had a good job at the Grand America Hotel. I was learning how to ski. I found a cool little Burning Man scene. I had a brother and his family not far away. There were great restaurants. It felt like living in a resort. Everything was golden.
But unfortunately, the electronic harassers and astral travelers were still attached to my brain, still attacking me. They were making their superiors believe that I still lived in Los Angeles, a deception that would continue for the next nine years.
Needless to say, all of the sequences of events took away from my artistic endeavors. I just recently got some music equipment from my sister and as I started to compose I realized that I hadn't touched a synth keyboard in nearly twenty years. That was shocking. Time flew as if I was disembodied and had no idea what year it was. That reference is also for another time.
My Targeted Individual experience would gradually become more and more intense electronically and astrally with each year. There was no chance of any street theatre now. I was long gone. If there had been I would have photographed all of it and put it on my old emhdf.com website on a link called "The Ass-Clown Gallery" with funny captions under each picture. I gave up the domain five years ago. I was burnt out on putting any more energy into it. I wanted to think about better things.
Through repeated attacks on my brain and nervous system getting worse by around 2013-2015 I ended not being able to accomplish much, often just sitting on my couch, blank and not moving. I would just get drunk and play videogames.
By 2015 the attacks made me not able to hold down a job and I lost my home, my cats, and 95% of my possessions. My brother who lived in the area literally had to fly me back home to Washington, DC to be taken care of by family in hopes that I would somehow recover and get back on my feet.
I've been in Washington for over five years now and I'm still being attacked by the same idiots. The only difference now is that I can use the pandemic as an excuse for not getting anything done. But now their deception is that I live in London, England, where I apparently have a ghastly imposter who uses my identity to steal, get laid, and get people to do things with him. That's for another post.
Now I feel that my brain is freeing up for personal interests. I feel like writing. I feel like making music. I feel like doing computer artwork.
One of the keys to surviving electronic harassment and psychological attacks is to be brutally honest with yourself. Understand yourself. Stay grounded in reality. Consider your psychological flaws. It deflates their motives.
It's been a long and twisted journey, the last 15 years. There were some extraordinary times and times where I thought maybe my life was over.
There was something posted once on social media that I took as my own: "God only gives you as much as you can handle. Apparently, God thinks that I'm a real bad-ass."
And on that note, I think that I am ready for the next chapter.