September 14, 2025 (The Little Girl from Venus)

Hi guys. I have a little Sunday afternoon story for you about my early childhood in Reseda. It's another tangent in our 1983 Investigation, but I think it is relevant, and perhaps you will think so, too. As you may know, I lived in Reseda from birth until New Year's Day 1968, when my family moved to Northridge. I was 7 years and 8 months old at that time. As can happen when one is a kid, my mindset changed with my surroundings. I had a new neighborhood, a new school, new friends, and while I didn't immediately forget about my Reseda pals (or our Hatton Street house), I wasn't living there anymore, and so those memories faded over time. I never really thought about The Tract, as we called it (and it was also called Meadowlark Park), until I was 44 and started attending the annual Thanksgiving dinners at Pearl's house, which was on Lull Street, just around the corner from my childhood home. I also lived on Burton Street (with Dave Small) from 1995 - 97, and I house-sat at Diane's on Jamieson in 2009. Those two houses were about 1/2 mile from the Tract, so they also put me in the general vicinity. But the deepest memories came back when I started working for Pearl in 2010.

We took daily walks around the Tract, which, for the record, is made up of three streets: Keswick, Hatton and Lull, running east/west, and bordered by Hesperia and Yarmouth, north/south. Zelzah runs up the middle.  

One of the memories that returned during this time was triggered by a house on Keswick Street, just west of its intersection with Hatton Place. When I saw this house, I was struck by an intuition. I immediately named it after the man I remembered living there when I was about five or six years old. One or two readers may know this man's name, but I will call him "Z". The first time we passed this house, I said, "Look Pearl, it's Z's house" (except I used his full name). The interesting thing was, I didn't stop to consider this instant identification, nor to consider that, many years later, this man lived in another town over ten miles from Reseda. I didn't stop to consider that (as far as I was aware) there was no record of Z ever living at the Keswick house. I just said, "Look Pearl, there's Z's house". And I said it because of a memory.

Later on, I wrote a story, based on this memory, about a little girl who lived there, Z's daughter. This story is included in my book "The Summer of Green Parrots" (available on Lulu and Amazon, hint hint). Let me give you the short version:

When I was little boy, I was taken to this house on Keswick Street by my friend John, who was a year older than me. If I was 5 or 6, John was 6 or 7. He wanted to go to this house because a little girl lived there who rarely came out to play. If you remember being a child in the early 1960s, that was how kids socialised. We knocked on each others doors and said, "Can Johnny come out and play?" or Keekoe or whoever it was. In my memory, I didn't recall the name of this little girl, only that John said she hardly ever came outside. He said we should go and visit her, and ask if she could come out to play. I always remembered the porch of this house, which was shaded by shrubbery. The porch still looks the same in 2025. The porch is what triggered the memory.

When John and I rang the bell, a tall man answered the door. John asked if the little girl could come out and play, and the man said "No, not today". We smelled an ammonia smell wafting out on cooled air. One of us asked what it was. The man said it was an artificial environment he'd created for his little daughter.

"You see, she is from Venus", he told us. "She cannot breathe Earth's atmosphere. That is why she must stay inside."

I later learned (as the memory showed) that the little girl was ill. Hence, the ammonia smell.

The tall man had a soft European accent.

I included the story in my book because Z lived in the Tract, and his story, which I subtitled "The Little Girl from Venus" now struck me as a beautiful fable. This man had taken his daughter's illness (which must've caused him great sorrow) and for the sake of two little boys who came to his door, he turned it into a fairy tale. Instead of saying, "she can't come out and play because she's sick", he said, "she from Venus and cannot breathe your atmosphere." How wonderful of him to say that, and to make it into a fairy tale.

Recently, the tale has become clearer. I've realized that I visited that man on my own. I've had memories arise deep from the subconscious of going to his house to enquire if his daughter was okay, if she was back from the hospital. I remember that the man, who besides being tall was also balding, always had interesting things for me to snack on, like figs, or macadamia nuts, and other things I hadn't heard of like almond roca and toffee.

He was a highly educated man, very worldly, and he'd tell me stories about a great many things. He told me where he was from (a country in Europe), and he showed me where it was located, on a map of the Mediterranean region.

Later on, I met the man's wife, a beautiful woman. I remember her smiling at me.

They showed me their little girl, whom I had been asking about. She was small. Maybe two years old. 

One day (and this is very clear), they told me they were going have to move. There is a specific reason but I cannot reveal it. I was sad to hear this, and asked if I would ever see them again.

I don't know how they replied, but I believe I did see them, many years later, and the reality of that is a life-changing Fairy Tale.  

Thanks for reading, back soon, tons of love. 

September 11, 2025 (The February 1983 Rush Concerts)

 Hi everyone. In continuing our story of the Reading Center aftermath (and our ongoing 1983 investigation), I want to talk a little bit about some movie-title triggers from around that time (January 30 through early February), and also about the four L.A. area Rush concerts that I mentioned in the last blog.

If you are a regular reader, you know about my 1980s movie lists, and how the titles of those movies can trigger memories of movie dates with Lilly. I have recovered many memories through the use of this technique, even using films we didn't see, or didn't see together. The latter is the case with "The Entity" and "Videodrome", both of which were released on Friday, February 4, 1983, just five days after Super Bowl Sunday and the Chi-Chi's/Gary Patterson Incident.

My friends and I (or Lilly and I) often saw movies on (or close to) their weekend of release, and whenever I thought of "The Entity" over the years (even long before I thought about 1983), I remembered three things:

1) That I saw it with friends, not with Lillian (who did not like horror films). 2) That it was one of the scariest films ever made. 3) That the movie title triggered a feeling of depression. I think I wrote about this in a previous blog. The memory had a residue of melancholy because after the movie, we (Grimsley, me, and one of his friends), had parked near the Northridge mall and "gotten stoned". Even when I was a regular pot smoker for 19 years, I never liked smoking in the daytime. It always left me with a feeling of ennui, like my life was passing by, and in this case, after "The Entity", I remembered that the melancholia had to do with Lilly, and in retrospect, I thought it meant, "There I was, 'hanging out with my buddies, getting stoned' when I should've been with my beautiful girlfriend". 

But when the Chi-Chi's memory was recently recovered and quickly became ironclad and 100% verified, I reconsidered the "Entity" trigger.

What was I really depressed about that day? I wondered. Meditating on that question caused a notion to "bubble up":

I remembered that Lilly had been sick all week, and had not been in school. And because she went to CSUN, this meant I had not seen her. This notion opened a vein of information. "Videodrome" triggered a similar feeling (and it was also a horrible movie).

I began to remember that Lilly missed several weeks of school at this time. How many weeks? 2, maybe 3. Her reason was that she had the flu (a really bad case). More meditations showed that I called her (or she called me) every other day or so for an update on her condition. As the days passed, I began to worry. A normal case of flu lasts, what? A week at most? I wanted her to be well. In addition, her attendance at CSUN was how we saw each other on weekdays. My memory of "The Entity" now showed that I was concerned about Lilly as we sat in Grimsley's car and smoked pot. He may have enquired about her in an insinuating way, which made me feel even worse about "hanging out and smoking pot with 'the boys' " (ala the memory trigger).

Fast forward now to a third "movie trigger": "The King of Comedy". That Scorsese flick (starring DeNiro) opened on Friday February 18. I remembered seeing it in Westwood, once again with Grimsley (long before he acquired that nickname). "King of Comedy" triggered something...but I couldn't tell what. It took a second meditation to unearth the corresponding emotion. When it "bubbled up", I was surprised.

The feeling was "happy day". When I went to see that movie, I had just gotten the news that Lilly was about to return to school after being out more than two weeks with the flu.

Of course, I had no awareness of the Chi-Chi's Incident at the time. Nor the Reading Center Incident and it's aftermath. All I knew was that Lillian had had the flu - for three weeks. I'd been very worried about her, but now she was better and was going to return to school. Maybe after President's Day, which was Monday February 21, 1983.

That narrative rang a strong bell.

But then I wondered, "What about the Rush concerts? I know I went to at least one of those."

I meditated further. The first Rush show was at the Long Beach Arena on February 14. Valentine's Day. I used that as a marker. I still wasn't sure which show I went to, or if I went to more than one, but I was sure I (or we) must've bought tickets in advance, which would've been before all the trouble started. When would the tickets have gone on sale? In 1983, they didn't promote concerts six to nine months in advance like they do now. I figured the Rush shows went on sale somewhere between mid-November and mid-December 1982. In those days, I still had some money from unemployment checks. Because of the recession, President Reagan had Federally extended the unemployment to an unprecidented 18 months. Thus, I continued to get checks until mid-1983 (more on that subject in a future blog), and it meant I had money to go to all four Rush shows if I chose to. Concert tix were only 15 to 20 bucks in those days.

But I was certain I went to at least one show, and I was guessing Lilly went with me, or had planned to go, and I figured we must've bought our tickets when they went on sale in late 1982. We hadn't gone to many major concerts in '82. The one big show would've been a dream for Lilly and me: Cheap Trick and Rainbow were gonna co-headline The Forum! I was driving an old, red Phymouth Valiant at the time. I remember taking it over the hill to a ticket broker to buy a pair of front row center seats for the two of us. But it turned out too good to be true. The concert got cancelled. Talk about getting the rug pulled out from under...

But getting back to the Rush concerts in Feb. 1983, the first one was on Valentine's Day, as noted. I thought, It makes sense that we might've bought our tickets for that show, since it was Valentine's Day and also the first one on the four-night L.A. run. I still wasn't sure, but I used it as a marker, and meditated on the concerts again, as a whole. In memory recovery, you never "lead the mind on". You never pre-suppose anything because it can paint a false picture. Therefore (or for instance in this case), since I was 100% sure I attended at least one of those Rush concerts, but unsure which one, or if Lilly attended with me, I set what I call an "umbrella" over all four dates. Then I used the protocols of self-hypnotic meditation (the most important of which is a blank mind) to allow the subconscious to reveal whatever data it might release, based on the intent of that meditation.

Here is what arose: I began to get notions of riding in Lilly's car ("Peanut", her Audi 5000). I was in the passenger seat. Dave Small was in back. The three of us were going to one of the Rush concerts. Which one was still unclear, but I maintained the Valentine's Day "marker". Lilly said something about "breaking her (curfew?)" or "getting out of her house" (escaping?). This would've been during the time she supposedly had the flu.

Here's where things got really strange. Because of this, I'm going to couch the details.

Lilly told me and Dave that she did not have the flu, that it was just a concocted story. She said that because it was Valentine's Day, or because it was the night of the concert (or both), that she "made them" let her out of the house. Keep in mind that all of this is only two weeks after the Chi-Chi's Incident, the Reading Center Incident, the aftermath of those incidents, and everything I've reported about my own experience during that time (early February 1983). 

Lilly then proceeded to tell me and Dave an exceedingly unusual story about her own experience during that time. In the meditation, my reaction to her story came back somewhat clearly. I said, "It's not that I don't believe you, it's that I'm having trouble with the (science-fiction) aspect because I don't know much about...(redacted).

Dave said, "I believe you, Lillian."

Lilly said to me: "I need you to believe me, too."

I repeated my answer. "I do believe you. It's just that that other part's a stretch. But I'll take your word for it."

Lilly swore me and Dave to secrecy. I remember Dave's exact words: "You can count on me, Lillian".

He seemed to have no doubt of what she was saying.

I would soon learn (not long after the concert) that she was telling the truth about everything she said.

I still don't know the exact date of the Rush concert, nor exactly when Lilly returned to school.

Two incidents happened after the concert that are staggering to remember.

One of them happened in my bedroom at 9032.

The other happened at Lilly's house a few days later (date unsure). That's all I can tell you right now, but our narrative will continue in a couple of days.

Thanks for reading, tons of love, back soon.

September 9, 2025 (At the Airport with Ann)

Howdy, folks. Every time I write to you lately I have more new information to divulge, even before I've had time digest it. And though I am profoundly grateful to God that I'm getting my memories back (thus recovering the history of my life), those memories never should have been taken from me in the first place. Taking away a person's memory is like murdering them while keeping them alive, and it's a heck of a thing to realize that other people have known more about me and more about my life than I myself have known. It's one hell of a thing to come to grips with.

Anyhow, let's pick up where we left off in the last blog, with me standing on the darkened outskirts of an airport tarmac with Ann, two paramedics and a policeman. Sounds like a movie script but it's not. It's real life circa February 1983. Re-read recent blogs if necessary.

 At the airport, Ann took me aside, out of earshot of the paramedics. I remember being very scared and saying, "I haven't done anything wrong. Why are they taking me away? Are they taking me to jail? I haven't done anything wrong."

Ann gave me what I will call a "pep talk", saying she didn't like the situation any more than I did, but there wasn't much she could do except to be present; to "bear witness" as her authority permitted (and on a side note, Ann may have been "unofficially" affiliated with the Navy, and specifically ONR, the Office of Naval Research. If so, she was recruited for her scholastic abilities, possibly right out of high school).

I was terrified about being in this unknown situation, to be taken somewhere without any say-so. Ann commiserated with me but said there were people above her. She couldn't get me out of it. She said she would try to make sure I was back home as soon as possible. Within 24 hours? I'm not sure. She promised she would use the authority she had to monitor the situation and demand my quick return. I asked her "will my parents know where I am?"

I was frightened.

I remember very distinctly that Ann wore a hat, possibly a ball cap. My meditation showed a "red hat". I later wondered if it was sports-related and if it was a USC hat. I distinctly remembered Ann saying to me, "Adam, look at my hat. I want you to remember this hat, remember the color, because they're going to take away your memory of tonight, but if you remember my hat it will be a marker." She also said she would be present when I was returned from this ordeal. "Remember my hat and the memory won't be broken".

The memory picks up, after that, at a facility I'm not comfortable revealing. I'll say that it's (almost) a household name for those with an interest in aerospace, but it isn't Edwards Air Force Base, a facility I've mentioned in other incidents. I have a flitting image of getting on a helicopter to be taken to this facility, but the mode of transportation is not crucial. 

I also now have a burgeoning memory of what I experienced at this place, but at the moment, I'm not comfortable revealing those details, either, except to say my memory of the Reading Center Incident was taken away, and that sodium pentothal and polygraph exams were employed. Maybe I will give a more detailed description at a future date (even soon) but not today.

When it was over, I was brought back to the Valley (the location and by what means unknown), and when I got to wherever this was, Ann was waiting for me. She had on the same hat that she wore on the night of the Reading Center Incident, and she said, "See? I told you I'd be here." She said something similar to the paramedics and/or authority figures who had brought me. They seemed irked by Ann's undaunted manner, and the fact that they couldn't overrule her, even though her own authority was "off the books", provable but unacknowledged.

They were bugged that she was there to pick me up, just as she said she would be when we were standing on the airport tarmac, 24 or 48 hours earlier, when she told me to remember her red hat.

I think the return trip happened in the morning or afternoon, and I have images of riding around with Ann "for a while", just me and her in her green hatchback (Toyota, Nissan, VW), and I think we stopped at her Dad's house, Lilly's house. 

That last memory has developed, just yesterday, into something so extreme - so unusual - but already 100% verified as real, that once again I can't write about it yet. Not until the dust settles. This extreme memory does not involve Ann, but just me, at Lilly's house. To say it has astounded me is the understatement of the century.

I'm assuming that the timeframe of all the things I've recently written about, from the Super Bowl Sunday Incident at Chi-Chi's Restaurant (involving Gary Patterson), to the "Gary wants his piece of paper back" Incident the following day, to the Reading Center Incident not long after that, to my memory of being with Ann at an airport, then taken to " a facility" and returned, with Ann waiting as described in this blog...I'm assuming all of that happened between Sunday January 30 and Friday February 4, 1983.

I am currently studying the dates February 14 - 18, when Rush played four concerts in the L.A. area, two at Long Beach and two at The Forum. At least one of those concerts is crucial to our storyline.

Thanks for reading, tons of love, back soon.    

September 5, 2025 (The Aftermath of the Reading Center Incident)

Hi folks. Sorry about the delay since the last blog. Since then, my memory of the Reading Center Incident and its aftermath have developed to the point where the whole thing is blowing my mind (for want of a less psychedelic cliche). For real, though, this one has knocked me for a loop, because of the information and personnel involved, and because it goes all the way back to early 1983. Lilly and I hadn't even been together two years when it happened.

I think what I want to do, as far as writing about it, is to present the entire thing in sections because there is no way I can get all of what I've recently learned into one or two blogs. I also know that I'll be tempted to sidetrack, or insert related items as they occur to me, even if they aren't directly related to the Reading Center Incident.

For instance, this is the kind of tangential item I'm talking about:

A few days ago, I was thinking about Randy Rhoads due to some correlated data from the Reading Center Incident. I remembered playing "Mr. Crowley" over and over when I first began using the studio in early '83. I was in there by myself trying to learn the solo to that song. But that memory data got me to thinking: "Y'know, I was fortunate to see Ozzy twice with Randy Rhoads." Once was at the Sports Arena on New Years Eve 1981, a legendary and unforgettable evening. But I couldn't remember the month or year of the first Ozzy/Randy concert, and assumed it must've been in 1980. Bands don't usually tour more than once a year, or play the same city twice, but when I Googled it, I saw that Ozzy did indeed play Long Beach on Saturday June 27, 1981.

I thought, OMG, because that placed the concert only one week after the Van Halen show Lilly and I attended at The Forum on June 20 (beyond legendary), which itself was only 4 and 5 days after our back-to-back Rush and Van Halen shows in Las Vegas. I remembered every one of those concerts in vivid detail, except for Ozzy at Long Beach. That one I remembered going to, but the memory lacked detail, and I thought it was the previous year. 

Why is that? Why did I not remember the first Ozzy show with Randy Rhoads in the middle of all the others during this incredibly wonderful time in June 1981? Lilly, did you go to that first Ozzy/Randy show with me? Something tells me you did. I remember Randy walking around the floor in gym shorts before the concert.

Anyway, that's the kind of tangential info that will find it's way into these blogs about the Reading Center Incident, because we're examining my history, and of course, that history includes Lillian.

Getting back to the Reading Center, I actually drove up there last night. I can't remember the last time I was there, although it may have been in 1995 (30 years ago!) when I was buying pot from Shecky. Here comes another tangent: After the Northridge earthquake, when my memory began coming back, Shecky gradually removed himself from my life, slyly and deliberately, and when I went to the studio that night in '95, he had "buffers" guarding the door. I remember having to say to a guy standing in the small parking area, "Look, I've known John since 1983. My name is Adam." The guy said, "Wait a minute and I'll see if he wants to talk to you." In 2008, I found Shecky on MySpace to tell him Dave Small had died. He did not respond. In the past two years, since 2023, I've recovered some blocked memories involving Shecky, and in retrospect, I don't think he was the world's best guy (sorry, Sheck). I also don't believe that his "sudden appearance" at Dennis's studio in late June 1983 (the first time I met him) was a mere coincidence. I have good reason for saying these things (as The World's Greatest Detective, I do my homework), but we're all out of tangents for the moment. Let's just say that Shecky was a shady guy, a less-than-honest person, and we'll get back to him in another blog.

But yeah, until last night, the last time I was at the studio was in 1995, when I drove up there to buy pot from Shecky (and boy, am I glad I don't smoke that stuff anymore and haven't for 28 years). 

Because my memory of the Reading Center Incident has astounded me, I had to return to see the place in person. When I got there last night I parked in front, on Woodley, then walked through the alley to the studio, which looked smaller than I remembered it. Isn't that always the case, though, when you return to a place years later? I stood there in the darkness (I deliberately went at night) and I got goosebumps, because I remembered "that's where the paramedic truck was parked."

I don't know if I mentioned this in the last blog, which described the Incident itself, but in the aftermath, I remembered refusing medical attention, and telling a paramedic, "I'm okay. I just want to go home." Recent meditations have broadened that memory. I now know that I was asked to "at least let them check your blood pressure." Anything said was to urge me into the ambulance (the square "box" type), and I remember hearing words like "retinas" (scorched retinas?) and a paramedic (possibly a woman) saying, "You may not want medical attention but you need it."

I remember having an IV in my arm, and being told they were giving me a sedative. I remember the feeling of leaving the studio's rear parking area, going down the alley and seeing several police cars lined up there and on Woodley Avenue. A paramedic commented on the scene. And, as mentioned in the last blog, there was possibly a helicopter overhead. 

In the past few days, I've had two meditations that revealed a vivid and astounding memory. I was taken by these paramedics to what I believe was an airport, I'm guessing Van Nuys or Burbank. The imagery showed a wide expanse of tarmac, but in a darkened area away from the commercial strip.

This next part is crucial. One of the paramedics was nervous and wanted to be done with the whole thing; with me, and his role in the aftermath. He figured he'd done his part, having dropped me off. Now he just wanted to get the heck out of there. But another person present (either a second paramedic or a police officer) informed him he had to wait because a person was going to arrive to (vouch for me?) (oversee my transfer from paramedics to another authority?) To bear witness?

I don't know exactly how to put it.

But it's 100% certain that the paramedics now had to wait until this person arrived. They (or at least one of them) wasn't happy about this development, and said so. Someone else, maybe the policeman, said (paraphrase): "We're all in the same boat here." He may have said something about Feds.

Finally, the person we were waiting for arrived.

It was Ann.

She had some kind of authority in this situation. Don't ask me what it was, but she had it, and she must've retained that authority years later in 1989.

You can imagine my astonishment when this memory came back, of standing on an airport tarmac with Ann, in February 1983, on the night of the Reading Center Incident.

I may have told you about the phenomenon of recovering a long-blocked memory. It feels recent, because you've never been aware of it before. And if it is vivid and visceral (as this memory was), it can seem like it happened last week instead of over 42 years ago. 

Thanks for reading. Tons of love. Back soon. 

August 27, 2025 (More on the Reading Center Incident) (extreme)

 Okay folks. Hold onto your hats. My memory of what I called the "Reading Room Studio Incident" is now much more developed, and as such, it is one of the most disturbing things that has ever happened to me. In some ways, it is the most disturbing. If you read the last blog, you'll remember that it involved Dennis, at his studio, that it happened in 1983, and that it was possibly connected to the Chi-Chi's Restaurant Incident on Super Bowl Sunday, which involved the drug dealer Gary Patterson. Go back and re-read my recent blogs if necessary.

Now, going forward, the first thing we must do is correct the name of Dennis's studio. It was in a converted garage in back of a facility (possibly a former residential home) near Devonshire and Woodley that I remembered being called "The Reading Room." I was close. I knew it was run by a man named Paul, and in double-checking it last night, using his name as a search term, I found links to Paul K., a teacher of children with learning disabilities (he's now 84, apparently still living and teaching). His facility was called the One-to-One Reading Center, not the Reading Room, so now we've got that cleared up.

Here is a link for Paul: https://therapynext.com/Profile/PaulKlinger

I remember meeting him, and going inside what we called "The Reading Center" for short. I think he had a fridge filled with soft drinks. I remember him as a very nice man whom I met once or twice, and I stress - before we get started here - that he has nothing to do with what I am about to report, except that he was the owner of this facility, and thus there is no way he did not know what took place there. We will examine that aspect later. 

In the last blog, I reported being illegally detained and tortured by Dennis, inside his studio. I gave you a "framework" of what he did to me. To again put in context, when I wrote that blog, I thought this incident was directly connected to Gary Patterson's harrassment of me over a piece of paper he'd given me at Chi-Chi's.

But as I pondered it later on, I wondered how did Dennis get me in that position? How did he overpower or subdue me? It's not like I would've stood there and let him put on handcuffs.

While meditating on this question, a scenario "bubbled up". "Bubbling up" is my phrase for blocked memory data rising up from the subconscious. I remembered being in the studio with Dennis. In the early days, when he first acquired the place, I was often there alone, jamming away by myself. I remember trying to learn the solo to "Mr. Crowley." But this time he was there, and I was going on about something. I was pontificating - about bad guys, maybe "criminals", maybe Gary Patterson, and crimnal cocaine dealers. I may have said something about bad guys "getting what was coming to them". In the meditation, this scenario rang a strong bell. I remembered that what I was saying seemed to irritate Dennis, though not (at first) to the point of anger. Just enough to answer me back, if we were arguing. More likely, it was me "mouthing off." That's the way Dennis would've seen it. Well hey - I've never liked bad guys. And I didn't know he was taking it personally. But I don't think we had a heated argument.

In the meditation, I next remembered this: one day, when I was in the studio with Dennis, he offered me a giant line of coke. I gladly accepted because even though coke was not like speed, it was better than nothing, and this line was enormous. "Thanks, man." Then I remembered he offered me a second line a little while later. Keep in mind that my speed trip had just ended (see recent blog). I said "great, thanks". He wanted me to help him move something first, I think, and then he would give me that second line.

Here's what bubbled up in the meditation: when Dennis eventually chopped up that second line (another huge one), I snorted it. Then I started feeling woozy. "What's going on? What was that?" A bit of dialogue popped up. "You'll snort anything."

If this scenario is correct, and it rings a strong bell, Dennis subdued me by pouring out a line of crushed Valium (or another sedative drug) or Valium mixed with just enough coke so I'd snort the whole thing without question.

What's 100% certain is that he did indeed subdue me. My guess is in the aforementioned manner. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a chair by the west wall of the studio, in handcuffs. Dennis's anger was now coming out, talking about "You think you're so smart (or a badass) (or whatever)...you've got a big fucking mouth." 

In the last blog, I gave you a gist of his manner after this. I told you he threatened to hurt me. I said his mask of sanity came off. 

But folks, that wasn't the half of it.

Here is what yesterday's meditation showed. My notes will assist this description:

August 26, 2025 (Midnight): New data in the 1983 Dennis Incident reveals it to be possibly the scariest and most crazy of anything I've experienced. I said in a previous entry (or in my regular blog) that at first I detected "no electronic devices" in this detainment. That changed in today's meditation. I very quickly had the perspective of looking at the rear wall of the Reading Center Studio. That would be the east wall, facing it from the west wall, where Dennis had me seated in a chair. I got the feeling of heat and a "light show" going off against the east wall. At first, I thought "strobe light". But I already sensed it was something extreme, and my mind flashed to x-rays. I thought Dennis had set up a machine (old & analog) that projected x-rays against the wall. Not controlled x-rays in the medical sense, but "naked" x-rays, pure x-rays. X-rays as a weapon. I had an image of a sphere. I kept thinking "basketball", but if a sphere was part of this situation, it was possibly part of the x-ray setup.

Then my mind gradually suggested (while maintaining the general picture) a switch from the term X-rays to Gamma Rays. "Gamma Rays" rang a bell, which was rung again even louder by a phrase:

"Gamma Gun".

"Gamma Gun" struck me as something I heard Dennis say. He was "off his rocker" by this point. It would be easy to say "he was possessed" but he wasn't. He just straight-up lost all control.

He wanted to show me what the Gamma Gun could do. He turned the lights off in the studio, as reported in the last meditation entry. He set everything up, and then the "light show" began. It felt like an atomic bomb going off inside my head. A person is not used to "non-Earthly rays". The meditation showed flashes of orange and/or purple light. Like having an x-ray explode in your brain. I also had the notion that Dennis demonstrated the "photon" effect, the "donuts on a rope" stream of light that I would later see in 1989 at the Wilbur Wash.

He may have told me he could shorten my legs with this (thing, weapon, machine). I can't say for sure that it was a gun. He may have said that it could shrink a person. When he stated these things, his manner and voice were maniacal. He bounded about the darkened room. "I'm a demon!" He meant "a demon in his cult". In his cult, he was king, according to him. "The cops can't touch me". He may have used a setting on this (gun?) to show me that he could burn a hole in the wall, if he wanted to.

This imagery was conceptually clear enough to place it in the conscious mind.

I was psychologically aware, in the meditation, of what I experienced and felt, in that room in 1983, while Dennis had me handcuffed and bound and was showing off this evil device.

It was like an air-heating microwave x-ray light show that exploded in your brain. It turned you inside out for a second. Dennis thought it was funny. 

It's impossible to describe, in words, what it felt like to be in that room with that weapon going off.

But it happened, and it was real, and I believe the LAPD knows about it.

I had a vision of various people entering the studio (I mentioned Pat Fordyce yesterday). Today, I thought Dennis's younger sister may have come in and tried to get her brother to let me go.

In the meditation, my perspective switched to outside, in the parking lot. My breathing was slow. I held it steady and saw a police car with red and blue flashers. I asked, did the police come? and I got a very strong notion that Dennis had locked himself in the studio and was "threatening to burn it down" with his weapon. I got the notion of a helicopter overhead. It wasn't strong enough to give credence to the presence of a copter , but the "Dennis Barricade" was well over 75% clear. I had the notion that Pat said to someone, "He's still in there, and he's threatening to burn down the neighborhood." It's possible that a fire truck was on the scene, but the strongest image was of a police car, and someone pounding on the studio door, telling Dennis to come out, but he refused.

My breathing slowed further, and I had "subterranean" ideas that LAPD took me (and maybe Lilly) to Devonshire Division. For our protection? Medical examination? If they did this, they took us separately. As mentioned in yesterday's notes, Lilly was there, waiting in a car, but she was too scared to enter the studio. Dennis had demanded she come in, if they wanted him to let me go, but Pat or Lys came inside in her place.

A huge thing for Dennis, when he was "going off" in the studio, was that he was "untouchable". 

"I'm King!" he said over and over. ////

Those are my notes from yesterday's meditation. The term Gamma Gun gets stronger and stronger. This morning, I had a strong feeling that Paul K. spoke to Dennis at some point. We've noted that, as the owner of the Reading Center, there is no chance he would not have learned of this incident. Especially if the police were involved. The scenario of Dennis locking himself in the studio after I was let out, is growing very strong. Pat was there. The police were likely there. There is no way Paul didn't find out.

The notion I had this morning was that Paul quietly confronted Dennis. This would've likely been days later. He said something like "I can't have that thing on this property." He may have threatened Dennis with eviction.

As to where Dennis got the Gamma Gun, I can't say for sure. But I believe there were others in existence in the area of Reseda and Northridge. It's possible it's the same thing I saw at the Wilbur Wash in September 1989, when they had to call Jerry Brown and a National Guard unit to shut that situation down. You guys know that's not a joke.

And Howard Schaller also had a weapon, which I have referred to as a "sodium silver nitrate gun" that shot light instead of bullets. I believe he surrendered it at an incident at Lorne Street School in July 1989. That incident was peaceful, a reunion of sorts. Lys was there, she knows. Lys was all over the place.

But that's another story for another day. My point is that there may have been more of these Gamma Guns, and if there were, they caused one hell of a problem.

In closing, I have to say that words cannot possibly describe what I experienced in that studio. It's been covered-up for over 42 years. This account doesn't come close to the terror of that afternoon and evening.

I hope someone cares, besides me.   

August 24, 2025 (Horrific Incident at the Reading Room Studio)

Hi guys. I'm back yet again. Three blogs in one week, almost like old times...

Let me start by telling you a story from the year 1968. The likely month is January. My family had just moved to Northridge from Reseda. I was 7 years 9 months old. This was to be my first semester at Prairie Street School, after attending Lorne Street from kindergarten through the first half of third grade. I started at Prairie after the Christmas break and found my new classmates friendly. Several introduced themselves right away (possibly at the teacher's suggestion). 

But there were two boys who didn't like me, and my first day at Prairie ended on a frightening note.

These boys were older. They were at least one grade ahead of me. I don't know how they knew (or knew of) me, but they were waiting for me by the gate when school was over. They had mean, scowling faces. One had straight, light brown hair hanging over his brow.

They closed in on me and said something like, "We don't want you at our school", or "We don't want your kind at our school." I don't recall if they poked me in the chest or physically threatened me, but I was scared. A teacher saw them and told them to leave me alone.

Well, I don't know if this next part happened the same day or a few days later, but one day very close to my first encounter with these boys, they harrassed me again, this time chasing me on their bikes as I rode home from school. I was riding down Sunburst Avenue in what is now called "Sherwood Forest". I must've got there from Zelzah instead of cutting through the college, but I was new to Northridge and maybe didn't yet know my way around. Or maybe the mean boys chased me in that direction, I don't know. I remember pedaling as fast as I could to get away from them, but they were older, taller and stronger than me, and they caught up to me near the intersection of Sunburst and Osborne.

They knocked me off my bike and I went sprawling in the street, less than fifty yards from my family's new house. I was terrified of these boys and thought they were gonna beat me up. The worst part was that I didn't know why.

Fortunately, an older boy saw this happen, a teenager, sixteen or seventeen. A surfer-type, blonde hair and a tan. He seemed to know who the mean boys were because he didn't ask questions. He didn't say, "What's going on here? Who are you guys and why did you push that kid off his bike?" He just told the two boys to get on their bikes and leave, to never bother me again, and if they did, he would kick their asses. Then he told me to pick my bike up and go home. The two boys never bothered me after that, at least not while I attended Prairie Street School.

Their names were Paul and Donald. And they both live in Northridge to this day.

Now let us fast forward to 1983, and continue with the Chi-Chi's Incident on Super Bowl Sunday.  

I have more detail from that incident to reveal. It came in clear as a bell in meditation. Shortly after her confrontation with Gary Patterson at his table, I asked Lys what was going on. She said something like "I wish I could tell you but I can't", and when I pressed her, she said: "Adam, think of it this way. What if you had the opportunity to be part of something that would really make a difference in the world, would you take it?" She may have put this in first-person terms: "I was asked to join (this cause) (this group) where I'll have an opportunity to really do something important with my life."

I also have a follow-up detail from Chi-Chi's that happened after the incident, perhaps the next day. You'll recall the piece of paper I mentioned Gary writing on. That image persisted in the meditation, thus I felt it was important. I'm still not certain what that paper contained. My best guess was Gary's phone number (as noted in the previous blog) or a list of names. I am sure he gave me that paper (which could've been a restaurant napkin, a piece of torn newsprint or a pocket notebook page), and I folded it up and put it in my wallet. 

This next part is very important. I remember it clearly: David Friedman phoned the next day (or came to my house), saying, "Do you have that piece of paper Gary gave you? He wants it back." I must have looked in my wallet or shirt pocket, and I didn't have the paper, which I specifically remember was folded up. I told Friedman I didn't have it, and I thought the matter was over. But he asked me again, the same day or soon after. "Gary wants that paper. Can you try to find it? Did you give it to someone?" I think I got upset at that point and said something like, "Look, Freedy, I don't even know Gary. He sat down at my table and harrassed me. I don't have his piece of paper. I've looked for it and I can't find it. Tell him to stop bothering me." Friedman insinuated that finding the paper was a big deal. He called a third time to say: "If you do eventually find it, Gary says to tear it up and throw it away". I said I would do that, "now please F off."

That's where the Chi-Chi's memory stood as of yesterday. But yesterday was a landmark, folks. And not in a good way, either. I had a horrible, awful memory come back, of an incident at Dennis's Reading Room studio. I don't know the exact day it happened, but it may closely follow the Chi-Chi's Incident on January 30 because it came out of the same consecutive set of meditations that produced the Chi-Chi's memory.

It began while I was focused on Gary Patterson's piece of paper. I was thinking about David Friedman's repeated phone calls, and I asked myself "what happened next?" Suddenly, I had a vision of Gary on my doorstep, then inside my bedroom, lit with sunshine (indicating the Sun in the west, or afternoon). There were flashes of someone with him. Friedman? Dennis? I don't know. Gary says: "Do you have that piece of paper? I need it." This was followed by an image of glinting steel handcuffs. I am 95% certain that Gary came to my house wanting the paper, and I said, "I already told Freedy I don't have it." I think Gary didn't believe me, and threatened me. As I write, I'm getting an image of Gary looking through my wallet, then finally saying (paraphrase) "Okay, I guess you are telling the truth". I don't know if he put me in handcuffs in my bedroom, or used other means to intimidate me, but this is what came up next:

I got a sudden flash from Dennis's Reading Room studio, which he'd only recently acquired. In this flash image, I saw myself alone, sitting in that studio in handcuffs, and I immediately got a chill down my spine.

I knew - right away - that it represented a horrific memory of an actual incident. I maintained my slow breathing (a meditative technique) and let it play out, and what it showed was this:

Dennis detained and tortured me and held me captive in his studio on an afternoon in early 1983. The "Polaroid" of this memory is still developing, but what was clear in the meditation was that his mask of sanity was off. He had me in handcuffs. He wouldn't let me go. I don't know the specific reason this happened, but it may have been because of a drug transaction or whatever Gary Patterson was alluding to when he came to my table at Chi-Chi's.

It's important to note that - if it was a drug transaction - it likely involved a lot of money, and I was not involved in the transaction. I didn't use cocaine, and I never sold or distributed drugs.

Dennis had counterfeit money, and was dealing cocaine at the time. What came out during the memory of this incident was his well-hidden hatred and jealousy of me. I believe he made comments about Lillian. He may have had "the usual tools" of these bad guys: a cattle prod, switchblade,  handcuffs, other things with which to bind me. Possible electrical devices, though none of those were prominent in the meditation.

What was prominent was that someone wanted Dennis to let me go, and he wouldn't do it. He told me he could (beat the shit out of me) or (break my legs). He was emotionally out of control. This incident lasted several hours. He made his jealousy of me and Lillian clear. He expressed his hatred of me. It was like he was another person from the Dennis I thought I knew, but in fact, this was the real Dennis.

He wouldn't let me go.

Someone came to the studio to try to negotiate my release. Was it Pat Fordyce? I'm not sure. Dennis's counterfeit money may have been an issue. I know all of the stolen Zilch equipment was set up inside the studio. Dennis did not try to hide it. Whatever he was angry about, he took it out on me, in a situation that I would classify as one rung below what Jared Rappaport did to me on September 2, 1989. What Dennis did was very bad, and criminal, and it got buried for 42 years. 

This is no joke, folks. But what am I to do with all this knowledge? It's a hell of a thing to find all of this stuff out at 65 years old, and to feel that my adult life has been one long attack by bad people.

We'll continue with more 1983 revelations very soon, maybe even two days from now.

I'm stunned, folks, and I don't know what to say.

Thanks for reading, back soon, tons of love.

August 22, 2025 (The Chi-Chi's Incident on Super Bowl Sunday 1983)

Hi folks, I'm back perhaps a little quicker than expected. In this part of the story (and for the rest of our 1983 Investigation) we'll be examining incidents and situations that may be unpleasant. However, we must press onward.

Returning to the Chi-Chi's Incident, the picture became clearer yesterday. When the memory first came back (earlier this Summer), I recalled Gary Patterson coming to my table, acting as if his sudden presence was a surprise or coincidence, and then sitting down and "being snide", sort of "lecturing me about my life". That was all I had and it didn't at first seem crucial. 

I should pause to explain how blocked memories return. Sometimes "the whole fish" comes out of the water at once, or most of it does. When that happens, you are stunned. You know that a major, unremebered incident has "bubbled up" to the surface. What is more common, though, it that you start with just a fragment of a memory. This has happened to me over and over, and it happened with the Chi-Chi's Incident. I had no awareness whatsoever of that incident until I started running through my movie title triggers for 1983. "The Year of Living Dangerously" (released on January 21) left a mark. I associated it with depression, a bad day or week. I saw that film, though I don't remember if it was with Lillian or my friends. But I knew it was a bummer, and I also knew that the Lancaster Speed Run took place at around that time (see previous blog).

That's when I got a flash of "sitting in a restaurant with Gary Patterson", and that's how these fragments arise. They are images from blocked memories that "bubble up" from the subconscious when triggered by temporally-associated memories from the conscious mind.

"Sitting in a restaurant with Gary Patterson" developed, as many of these initial fragments do, like a Polaroid photo, slowly but steadily. Another apt comparison is a jigsaw puzzle; the more pieces you put into place, the quicker the rest fit together. It's also obvious why this particular fragment was interesting to begin with: Gary Patterson was a notorious person, a very bad guy, a drug dealer associated with Eddie Nash. Had the fragment showed just "me sitting alone in a restaurant", I might never have developed it further. But it showed Gary sitting at my table, and I knew it had to be investigated. 

A problem, to start with, was that I couldn't recall the name of the restaurant. That left me without context. Context helps a great deal in memory recovery. If you know where something happened, and when, it helps you to remember what happened. "Sitting in a restaurant with Gary Patterson" was already associated with January 1983, because it was triggered by "The Year of Living Dangerously" (January 21), and the Lancaster Speed Trip. Because it was associated with January, I then recalled watching the Super Bowl in the still-unknown restaurant. This made me think it was a sports bar. But I somehow knew the restaurant had been at (or near) the intersection of Nordhoff and Tampa, across from the Northridge Mall, and I couldn't think of any "sports bars" that were ever located in that area. I next thought of Mexican Restaurants, and Googled "Popular Mexican Chain Restaurants From the Early 1980s". "The Red Onion" came back. I knew it wasn't that. We had a Red Onion, but it was further out on Corbin or Topanga Canyon. I ruled out Acapulco, which wasn't well-known at the time. Then I thought it might've been El Torito, but that didn't ring a strong bell.

I got more specific in my Googling. I like the Google AI because you can ask it questions, and it's almost uncanny how it responds. I asked, "Was there a Mexican restaurant located near the intersection of Tampa and Nordhoff in the early 1980s?"

The answer was "Yes. Chi-Chi's Mexican Restaurants was a chain that had a Northridge, California location, across from the Northridge Fashion Center at Tampa Avenue and Nordhoff Street..."

An immediate look at Google Images confirmed Chi-Chi's facade and interior and I knew I had the right place. My certainty was further cemented when I found a Reddit thread about Chi-Chi's famous "Mudslide" drinks.

"OMG", I thought. "I remember Mudslides. Dennis loved Mudslides. He talked about them all the time, and even mixed up batches himself." Thus, I now had my location, and some context: "Sitting alone at Chi-Chi's Mexican Restaurant (across from the Mall) on Super Bowl Sunday 1983, watching the game and waiting for someone (probably Lilly) when Gary Patterson approaches my table."

This is how a blocked memory fragment develops.

As noted, my first impressions of Gary's visit were interesting but did not seem overly-consequential. I thought he'd sat down with me, asked a few snide questions about my personal life ("So, still unemployed? How's the band? Whataya do for money?"). The way I initially remembered it, I sat there thinking, "I don't know this fuckin' guy. Why is he prying into my life?" But in my memory, he was just "Arrogant Gary", David Friedman's friend, a guy I jammed with once and bought pot from two or three times. "Why did he get so personal?" was my impression of the developing memory.

This prompted further investigation, which involved more meditation on the incident.

Three days ago, I had a breakthrough. I now had a clearer picture of Gary's appearance. He'd come into the restaurant with a friend, a female friend, and when he started talking to me, and asked if he could sit down, he told his friend to "go wait at their table" or to "go get a table". In other words, he told her to leave us so he could talk to me alone. She did this, and Gary sat down.

Folks, I am going to "couch the details" here. Not completely, but somewhat. My initial memory was that Gary had been snide, had asked me personal/rude questions, and had got up and left at some point. The new, more developed memory, showed that wasn't the case. Oh, his visit was intimidating, but what actually happened was that he tried to present himself as my ally, in a "word to the wise" kind of way. Gary told me that, though I didn't know it, I was in a situation that could get me hurt. In my meditation, phrases like "stuff going on behind your back" and "stepping on people's toes" came up. I got a strong image of Gary holding a pen and writing on a small piece of paper. This image persisted and I knew it was important. "What was he writing?" I wondered. I still don't know, but I have a feeling that it may have been his phone number. "Give me a call if you hear anything about it", meaning whatever he was talking about that was "happening behind my back".

The new memory very clearly showed his female friend returning to our table (my table) and asking "how much longer is this gonna take". She was waiting for Gary to go sit with her. He snapped and told her to "just go back and fuckin' wait for me. I'll be there in a few minutes."

The memory then showed Lilly arriving, just as I initially assumed. I had a flash of her sitting down at the table, but I couldn't tell if Gary was still there.

Finally, the memory developed further. The next part was extremely clear, enough to almost place it in the conscious memory.

Lys was there also. She arrived with Lilly. I mentioned what had happened with Gary (who may have still been at my table when they arrived). I asked Lilly some questions. She indicated she had no knowledge of what I was talking about. But Lilly was nervous. She had only just turned 18. Suddenly, Lys got very upset.

She went to Gary Patterson's table, where he was now sitting with his female friend, and she read him the riot act. Lys basically tore Gary a new one. I remembered getting up from our table (where I had now been sitting with Lilly), and walking over to Gary's table to calm Lys down because I didn't want any trouble. Lys may have said something to Gary like, "I'm not afraid of you" or "No one threatens my friends!" I had to coax Lys away from Gary's table, and that is where the memory stands.

I will attempt to develop it further.

It is important to note that Dennis got his new studio at around this time, in a converted garage at the Reading Center near the intersection of Devonshire and Woodley. Dennis and Gary had an association through David Friedman, and both Dennis and Gary were heavily involved in the 1989 Event.

We will continue our 1983 Investigation shortly. Thanks for reading, back sooner than usual, tons of love as always.