Monday, September 2, 2013

Storm story

On rare occasions it seems one imagines things. It seemed strange when a tiny thunderstorm blossomed directly above me midnight August 9 and hammered the neighborhood with lightning strikes so close I heard them hit the ground.

Usually, falling leaves or the slightest gust of wind takes out the electric service, but not this time. Instead, the lightning took out phone service, including mine. The neighbors got their phones working within a day or two, but mine took a provider change and two full weeks. Since my internet service is by phone, I discovered my adapter was shot, too.

And, that's what the neighbors told me: the storm took out their phone lines, routers and modems. Isn't that interesting? It was another two weeks getting the part and replacing it, but at least it was cheap.

That's the second phone service interruption in the last year. As with other service interrupts, it came after I made politically controversial statements on websites. But, that's just a coincidence, isn't it?

It was just my imagination that something was horribly wrong with the draconian trust my father and stepmother insisted upon—until July when the trustee finally produced the bank statements, and I saw he helped himself to $177,000, all the assets in the trust. No wonder he wouldn't let me spend anything.

Embezzlement by trustee is a crime punishable by 10-plus years. Add to that fraud and stealing from a person on disability, and he's looking at 15-plus. But, justice isn't automatic; in fact, it's like carving marble with a wet chicken feather.

Meanwhile, my former friend and trusted business associate is laughing because he got away with it. I even paid the taxes for him. Boy, am I stupid. He's a licensed professional. I should have known better.

I suspect my stepmother paid him to do it. I might as well mention names, but not now. Why hurry? The only sure thing I can do is complain on the internet anyway. Like the doctor told me, "add that to your list of complaints."

I didn't imagine those bank statements—as in "OMG dude"—so, I asked law enforcement about it. A guy told me that I needed an audit reviewed by a lawyer. I went shopping for this service.

Lawyers wouldn't take my money or refer it. Everyone told me I'll never recover one penny of this stolen money. I wrote a description and submitted it with supporting documents to the police. They gave it to an investigator who is still in school, and the complaint gathers dust. It's a long way from the DA's approval and a judge doing his bit. The state licensing authority is also inert and mute.

Time isn't on my side, because the narrative of stealing the assets has included "removing" or "eliminating" me, with two honest attempts so far as I know, once by poisoning, once by an attempt to burn down my house.

Having the phone and net fail for so long at this point caused me to become mildly perturbed, an amazing departure from my usual stone composure brought about by low blood pressure. They'll have to try harder, and "they" will. I understand how Glenn Greenwald feels.

And, being so perishable, I wrote this post about the antigravity project a month ago, listing the things I learned as a little kid from other little kids whose parents worked for the Air Force. Talking about that shit today can get me killed, which is ridiculous.

Despite the fact the law never does a thing to help me, I'm not worried. Thieves and killers are little chicken shit motherfuckers. They are easily frightened. It's game on.