The LAPD came to our apartment in Gayley Ave many times.
The first time they were answering a 911 call made by my brother, Andrew.
Once, they arrived with sniper rifles (I think?- I am not sure what kind of guns they were, as I am not familiar at all with guns). They might have simply been tazer guns. I remember exactly what they looked like.
And Eric, the guy who stole my angel/ghost story in 2005, stole the beige jacket (the concept not the actual thing) along with a bastardized version of Caelestis (to match his bastardized Dean) and an idiotic differention and change to my character’s name.
My beige jacket, i.e. my soul, is destroyed.
I ripped the cloth in many places last summer, in 2012, while Nena and Luci were laughing at me and Luci asked me to make her drugs (a million times over) and Nena listened while I told her about my rights to Twilight and Nymph among other things. Nena said she didn’t care.
And my laptop broke. I wonder if it is still a limited edition computer. And sadly I know that, no, it is not.
Nena, also, stole my light blue t-shirt, and I am not sure if she took the light green one too? (the light blue one had an anime girl’s face on it with long flowing blue hair, the green one had a cartoon girl listening to music on her headphones with red braided pigtails, red? More like maroon). They were from BP in Nordstrom. Those shirts were from the 90s. My mom bought them when I was around nine or ten years old.
She also went through my red folder, which held stories (including The Host and The Casual Vacancy) I was working on.
Kristin Stewart and Robert Pattison and other people of the Twilight cast along with SM and the two cops who arrested me broke into the house we are currently renting that same summer of 2012.
The cops helped them by making sure I couldn’t go near them to stop them from taking my things. And JKR joined in on the fun, among others.
The two cops said it was legal for the celebrities to steal from me.
The male black cop called me dirty and ‘Arab’.
Kristin S broke the swan bath salt holder, which was a decoration in my sister, Anthea’s bathroom. (Anthea is my older sister).
She also stole my silver chain, the one I had from 2002 onwards. She hypnotized me with that. And once I was walking down the street led by Nena (I have no idea why or where we were going) when she stopped walking at Ashton Ave and they all converged: the celebrity assholes, the cops, Nena, Kristin S and the rest of the shitheads, and the Ashton neighbors telling me what to do. What to break: the street, and how to do it so they could collect money from my family and so the dirty rotten cops could arrest me, as they pointed out I was a good-for-nothing anyways and obviously just needed a little push.
They also told me to kill a celebrity couple, which is just plain disturbing.
They started to repeatedly hypnotize me after that. They all found it highly amusing that it worked so well.
And I am sorry but I will not and will never kill anyone.
I shouted about SM being a sado-masochist and many other things.
During this time I started writing a story I was dedicating to my little brother, Andrew. And I was calling it The Host and I had a love triangle in it centered around the girl with blue eyes. (A character people I went to school with as a child will probably recognize).
And yes all my friends and others know I have the bad habit/neurosis of buying and attempting to understand the people who have stolen/taken from me. I tried to explain that, but they just laughed in my face. And kept stealing even when my mother got an extreme fever and almost died.
And maybe they were right to laugh.
Because yeah my friends are like that: old and those almost new ones from 2012 alike. They will gladly read an old story with old characters from an old friend in the known guise of the work/creation of people from an earlier and older generation. And they will not care to support or be kind to me, not even a little bit.
Edit: My older sister, Anthea, bragged last year about giving Daniel R Choate status and when I ran to Ralph’s to talk to Obama, Anthea went there a few days later, from San Francisco, and dressed in the same clothes as I had worn and left the house laughing and smirking that she was and would be the only great intelligent pretty good-looking remembered one in our generation.
Anthea also hit me and beat me and my mother up in front of these same celebrities and bragged about trying to kill us (me, mom and Andrew) and about how she would be joining the FBI or CIA in the future. And then because that wasn’t, taunted us telling us to ask what she would ask to be allowed to do first. She also laughed that she was the one who told Obama about Pakistan when she was not. Even if, yes, Anthea ran the streets of England and the East Coast of the USA using the name ‘Bridget’ often (the name the CIA agent in the movie Zero Dark Forty originally before it was changed to Maya after my shouted insistence in Ralph’s another day).
And yes Eric hacked my computer and while I was telling stories to my hacker who broke in to JSTOR who killed himself while I could hear who insisted he was the hero/superman by stealing documents from JSTOR but that I was the evil criminal for walking into Ralph’s and telling Obama the truth about a class assignment from history class in Haileybury (2002-2003).
And no I was not the one in that classroom who said Pakistan that was Dom. I was the one who mentioned Osama’s kidney failure, which I had read about in the news, and how there would have to be many hospitals within a feasible distance to him for him to survive and not be noticed, because Pakistan is not a terrorist country. Apparently that was close-minded and bigoted of me to say. I know now why. It probably helped that the history teacher made us learn about the war after that.
I think I may have attempted to break Justin Bieber’s leg with a baseball bat and Dee from Twisted Sister was there for some reason.
And yeah I know. It sounds like a crazy dream or an odd nightmare, but it’s not. That is all the truth and the neighbors and the places around here where most of these things happened all have security cameras, but I don’t have any way of getting copies of the footage, sadly.
And now it is far too late.
I ‘broke the street’, got handcuffed, mom got me out, paid a lot of money and then some to people she knew already wanted it and had planned for it.
And here’s the scary truth:
I know everyone in Haileybury knows WB filmed there before they had the right to (if they ever did) and worse than that they promoted bigotry and burning hands. And Andrew’s hands got burned and Haileybury called this a bullying practice akin to hazing in frats. Except they didn’t call it hazing (until much later), when we were there they still called it fagging. I explained to my year that this word held possible connotations that were not really there.
And yeah, I took part in telling the asshole asshat off when he joined twitter and getting that account taken down for a while until he knew to market himself properly.
Daniel R broke into the attic flat in Cambridge (the gated one) when I was in Haileybury and demanded the alcohol. I told him it wasn’t mine, he said he didn’t care and he pulled a knife out of the knife rack in the kitchen and threatened me with it.
I tried to freak him out with my words, that didn’t work and he put the knife in my hand and told me to cut myself with it. I was scared shitless and so I obliged. And carved poems into myself, crying confused and scared.
I showed them to my roommate Louise Greenwell who thought it was funny. She is an editor now in England and she refuses to like my page for all her talk back then of loving my writing and thinking I was cool. I suppose everyone moves on? Louise Greenwell went to school with Rupert G before she came to Haileybury. She told everyone including me that he was a freak and a weirdo.
Sophie Baird used to come visit me in my room and read my writings. Her favorite character was Gaia who she asked, if I ever made it and could make it into a movie, if she could be played by Emma W.
This was the same room that JKR and her cronies stole stories from. That is my only degrees of connection to these people.
Maia knows some of the people in the band Good Charlotte.
My sister, Anthea, knows Edward Saatchi (Sideshow Bob) and many others.
And sorry, I still don’t care.
I don’t give a shit.
They are all Hollywood bullshit.
And to the people described above: I want my things back. And I know you will never return anything and that is sad but I am letting go of this anger.
And I don’t need them back anyways.
I remember every story I have written.
And hopefully they will be published someday and if I am called a hack or a plagiarist, then forgive me if I laugh or smile and find it funny.
This is why.
Sadly, this is all true.