2014 (Part Two)

 Returning to our story of the CSUN Media Building Incident, which occurred at around 9pm on Saturday, August 30, 2014, we left off with my confusion at the sudden arrival of three specific people at that location, and David Friedman's apathetic admission that he'd lured me - not only to go on this walk, but into what seemed to be a trap at the building. See the last blog for details. After noticing the two men and one woman standing at evenly-spaced distances from me (apprx 30 to 40 feet per person), the next thing I remember is standing directly in front of the Media Building's front door, the same one I entered for nine years every Thursday while school was in session, to attend the CSUN Cinematheque. The theater is just beyond that front glass door.

On this occasion, I was standing there with Friedman and his daughter. I have a vivid recollection of saying "I feel dizzy", and his daughter saying, "Dad, I don't like this. I want to leave."

My dizziness was the result of being triangulated (i.e "scanned") by the bad guys who surrounded me. See previous blogs for details about the electronic devices used in hypnotic "scanning" (and keep in mind that not all hypnotic states are deep and zombie-like. In a light hypnotic state, you are fully alert, though malleable). Friedman, a sociopath if there ever was one, had lured me into a trap - with his 12 year old daughter present - in which I was surrounded in the midst of what I thought was an ordinary CSUN walk. Two of the three people who surrounded me were a brother and sister (very close friends of Friedman's).

The third person who surrounded me (from behind, see last blog) was John "Shecky" Mallis, the drummer from my band Disturbing the Peace. I knew Shecky from 1983 until 1996, when he supposedly moved back to his hometown of Chicago. But here he was in Northridge, at CSUN, in 2014. What was going on?

I knew since the 1980s that Shecky was a drug dealer who grew pot in large quantities. He had the balls to raise an entire backyard of high-grade, strongly scented marijuana plants that could be smelled from the street. When our band was using his garage to rehearse, I asked him about this because being in that proximity made me nervous. He told me there was nothing to worry about, that he'd paid a "fee" (which I believe was 10k?) to become what he called "a gardener". 

At the door of the Media Building, I again stated feeling dizzy. This was likely due to vertigo, a by-product of the scanning. I watched the male of the brother/sister team produce a key, with which he attempted to unlock the glass front door. As this happened, Friedman's daughter repeated her unease. "Dad, he says he's dizzy. I don't want to be here. I'm going back to the car."

The female of the brother/sister team apparently didn't want to stick around either. She said something about "why did I agree to do this?" (or "I only agreed to do this because...") and then offered to walk Friedman's daughter back to their car, which would also give her an excuse to leave. Friedman sloughed her off with a disgruntled "go, then!", and the two females departed.

At the door, the woman's brother was fumbling with his key, trying to put it in the lock. Even in my dizzy state, it occurred to me that this guy should have no reason to have a key to a CSUN building. Yet he did, or seemed to. I still don't recall if his key worked, or if he had to call someone inside the building to let us in, but either way, we were soon inside.

I didn't see the Key Man after that. He must've high-tailed it. John "Shecky" Mallis was no longer present, either, having left the scene after I was triangulated when the incident began. That left Friedman and me in the lobby of the building, where the Armer Theater is located. Friedman was ultra-nervous. "Wait here," he told me. I was now relatively docile from being scanned, therefore I followed his instructions. Still, I wasn't a pushover. "Why are we here?" I asked him.

"Because someone wants to see you," he replied.

Friedman walked away, entered the Armer Theater, then emerged a minute later with two brothers in tow. Both are close friends not only with Friedman, but also with a relative of mine. The older of the two brothers is a screenwriter who, at the time, had just signed a contract with director Paul Verhoeven. The writer and his younger brother were attending a mini-celebration in his honor; They and a few other people were having a small party in the theater. I think they were screening a film.

The brothers saw me and vice-versa. I acknowledged them and again asked, "What's going on?" adding, "Friedman says someone wants to see me. Is it you guys?" The writer said, "No, it's not us." I said, "Well, who is it, then?" He said, "Here, follow me. You'll find out who it is in a minute."

Friedman decided that the situation was getting too hot for him. "I'm gonna go. My daughter is waiting at my car." With that, he was gone. I followed the two brothers around the corner from the lobby and into a short hallway that had classrooms and offices on either side. The three of us entered an office.

"I'll ask again," I said. "Who are we waiting for?" I'd been on a walk with Friedman. I had no idea we were coming here. The writer said, "Yeah...um...sorry about all of this. It wasn't my idea."

"So who are we waiting for? I'll wait about two more minutes and then I'm leaving."

"I'd advise you to wait," he replied.

"What is it, a surprise?"

"No, but someone wants to talk to you. Wait here and I'll see if he's coming."

I stood there with the writer's younger brother, mumbling variations of "what the hell...?"

About five minutes after he left, the writer returned, followed by a tall man with dark hair, dressed in casual business mode. He wore glasses. You might say he looked like a college professor.

And in fact, he was. 

Folks, to my utter stupefaction, I was looking at my kidnapper, the guy who abducted and tortured me in his house on September 2, 1989. I won't mention his name this time around. Instead, we are calling him The Greaseball. As we know, he is Dean of the CSUN Cinema Department. And, he is also a friend of the sceenwriter, who - on a side note - was inside his house while I was being held there (in Sept. 1989) - and therefore knew I was captive. He was in cahoots with The Greaseball. This screenwriter is a profoundly bad guy. He got very nervous when he saw my reaction to The Greaseball in the office. "Is it okay if I go back to the theater?" 

"I'd rather you wait in the hall, in case I need you. You, too," said The Greaseball to the brother. "I'm just gonna talk to Adam for a minute, but..." - and he shrugged, as if to say "you never know."

Here is what I remember. After the two brothers left the room, I was incredulous. "Sit down," said The Greaseball. I did so, in a chair by the side of a desk, which he now sat behind. I was livid. In my normal state, I would've gotten up and left. I was afraid of this guy, from a retrospective standpoint, but I was also unafraid. It's hard to describe what a light hypnosis feels like. You feel very "in the moment". You deal with what's right in front you and you take the situation "literally", as if you can't back out of it (which you would if you weren't hypnotised).

He tried some "light-hearted humor", something like "so, we meet again" or "Happy Labor Day. What is it now, about 25 years later?" In fact, it was. Monday September 1st (two days after this) would be Labor Day 2014. The day after that would be the 25th "anniversary" of when he abducted me.

I remember saying something like "why aren't you in prison?" or "You should be in prison".

"Now, now, Adam. Let's not start off on the wrong foot. I'm being cordial with you; you can be cordial to me." This is all paraphrased, but close. I couldn't believe I was sitting across a desk from this s.o.b. "What do you f-ing want, and why should I talk to you?" He tried one more attempt at humor. "What? Are you still mad? Here, wait a sec...I've got a baseball bat around here somewhere. Let me find it, you can hit me with it if you want."

I grimaced. "Tell me what you want or I'm leaving."

Now, he turned serious. "I, um, may be in some trouble because of you. I have a potential problem here at the University." He explained that my blogs, which were then on MySpace and which he was aware of, could be found in a Google search. "Okay. I know that," I told him. I didn't say, but suspected he knew, that a majority of those blogs were about The 1989 Event, and a lot of them were specifically about him and what he did to me. "My students can find those blogs, just by Googling my name", he said.

I wanted to say, "serves you right!" Perhaps I did.

"Some of them have read what you wrote. It got back to the University President, and I'm facing a suspension. I could lose my tenure because of you." I felt like saying, "You're lucky you aren't in prison!" I know I said, "You kidnapped and tortured me." In other words: tough shit. "It's not my problem if the University fires you." He insinuated that it was my problem. "Don't threaten me," I said. 

"Okay, okay, Adam. Let's be cordial again. Can we do that?"

"What is it that you want? Why was I brought here tonight?"

"Because of those blogs. After I found out about them, I tried finding them on MySpace. But I can't, I..."

"MySpace is gone now," I interrupted. "They've changed the site. It's music-oriented now. They don't have blogs anymore. They took all the old ones down." In fact, this had happened very recently. I initially converted to Blogger (this website) for that reason.

"Well," he said, growing angry, "Someone must've archived them, because some of my students have found them. Tell me where they are! What's the url? I have to know what you wrote about me!"

"I have no idea how your students found them," I said.

"Did you save them? In a zip file or anything like that?" I told him the truth. You tend to be literal under hypnosis.

"In fact, I did. I have every blog I ever wrote on a thumb drive."

"Ahh...now we're getting somewhere. Can I see that thumb drive?"

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. Look, Adam, I need you to bring me that thumb drive so I can see what you wrote."

"No effing way."

"Cordial, remember? I'll tell you what - we can make a deal. I've got connections in Hollywood. You bring me the thumb drive, let me keep it for a few days. I'll read all the blogs then return it to you, and we can write a script together. Make some money out of this whole thing."

That is paraphrased, but he actually made such a proposal.

"Go eff yourself!" I told him. "I wouldn't give you that thumb drive in a million years!"

His face flashed from disappointment (he actually thought he'd convinced me) to determination:

"Okay, Adam. I'll tell you what. I'll give you three days to think about it. After that, I'm done being cordial. Three days, got it? School will be in session. The semester starts Tuesday. You can bring me the thumb drive right here in my office."

"No chance. I don't need three days. I'm not giving you that thumb drive."

"Three days", he repeated. "I'm advising you to bring it to me."

"I'm leaving," I said, and got up to show myself out.

He followed me into the hallway, where the screenwriter and his brother were still waiting. They asked to talk to me, so I walked with them back to the lobby, where three other men were now milling. From their looks, they ranged in age from mid-50s (like me), to a decade older (like The Greaseball). All were casually dressed. One wore a Porkpie hat. They apparently had been part of the screenwriter's contract celebration in the theater. As I waited for him to tell me whatever he wanted to tell me, The Greaseball asked for a picture to be taken of him with his BoHo friends. The four of them stood side by side. The picture was taken by the screenwriter's brother.

Folks, I found this photo online. It may still be available. If you know The Greaseball's name, use it as a search term along with "Armer Theater" and "CSUN Cinema Department". Try different combinations, and if that doesn't work, get creative. And remember the one guy's Porkpie hat. I was standing there when that picture was taken.

The screenwriter never did tell me whatever he claimed to want to tell me. Along with being a profoundly bad guy (which is a whole 'nuther story), he is a distracted sort. You could say he has smog for brains. I was so pissed off at this point (hypnosis or no hypnosis) that I just wanted out of there. I don't know if I attempted to leave by the main front doors (where we entered when this incident began), but I know for certain that I did exit by a door at the south end of the hall where The Greaseball's office was located.

He followed me, angry again after the photo was taken of him and his collegiate buddies.

"You'd better bring me that thumb drive!" he called as I neared the door. I don't know if I answered or kept walking. His friend with the hat was in the hallway now, and wondered what was going on. He said something like "why are you hassling him (meaning me)?"

The next paraphrase is how he got his nickname. The Hat Guy said something like, "I don't want to know what' going on with you, Jerry, but I'm thinking I should keep my distance. Aren't you getting too old for this shit? Look at you, man - you're melting. What are they gonna do, keep recharging your batteries till you turn into a puddle of grease?"

That is why I call him The Greaseball. For the record, he is not Italian.

I left the Media Building by the middle set of glass doors at the building's south end. I was beyond upset by this point. Jerry the Greaseball continued to threaten me about the thumb drive until the doors closed, upon which I found myself facing  a guy we'll call "D". In years past, I'd have named him, but I am warier now, or maybe just exhausted, having gotten no results or acknowledgement from 33 years of taling about this stuff. So, let's call him "D". That's his first initial. I've known him since 1971, when he lived across the street and we went to the same Junior High. Until 1982, I thought he was my friend. Then he orchestrated the Zilch burglary, which set the stage for all that followed. Read previous blogs if interested.

This guy has been a drug dealer since at least 1983. Now, here he was, at the rear of the CSUN Media Building, waiting for me when I came out. The fact that he was there, for this incident, shows his connection to Jerry the Greaseball. Jerry is not someone that any normal person would have anything to do with.

But "D" was there, right when I left the building, and he, too, berated me. I don't recall exactly why, but I'm sure it had something to do with the following things:

1989. "D"'s association with Jerry, and with the screenwriter (and drugs and pornography).

These are some evil people, folks. "You have no idea".  Thank you, Jeremy Irons.

Evil. Not just "bad guys" (though they are that at a basic level).

John "Shecky" Mallis was back, standing to the left side of the exit. He must've waited outside while the incident occurred in the building. Sheck saw how agitated "D" was, and how I was not taking any of his shit, and he tried to de-escalate the situation. "C'mon, D...chill out." Except he used "D's" full name.

I walked past both of them now, down the cement path leading south to the Drama Building.

"Where's Friedman?" I said to myself and to no one. "He brought me here, didn't he?"

I then saw a figure on the lawn about twenty yards down. "Where's Friedman?!" I repeated.

"Hey, Adam. It's me, Pat."

I approached and saw that it was indeed Pat Forducci, who had not been present until now. I don't know exactly why he was there. Maybe to monitor the other guys. "C'mon, I'll walk you home", he said. He mentioned something about vertigo, and that "D" was an a-hole. He said I probably wouldn't remember anything about this night, and he was correct. I didn't remember it until Fall 2025 - 11 years later.

Pat was caught up in the same cult, and its secrets, that entrapped and compromised David Friedman, which led "Freedy" to use me as a chess piece. Some friend, eh?

Pat was severely compromised, also. Caught up in a bad and secret lifestyle. Both Friedman and Pat died before their time.

This incident was followed by another serious criminal event two days later.

See the next blog for details.

 

   

2014 (Part One)

I don't currently have another memory to report (nothing new has come up), but I do have some investigative context for what we've already compiled. I'm interested in what we'll call the Halloween Event from 2014 because it is the first time I can recall being with you in a non-church setting, other than our introduction at Pearl's house in January 2010. To me, this indicates that our encounters happened in two phases:

The first, from January 2010 through (I'm guessing) 2011/2012 included our introduction (which happened before I became Pearl's caregiver) and the parking lot/classroom incidents at the church which I've recently written about.

The second phase seems to begin in October 2014, with the Halloween Event, then our secret meeting in the Fireside Room on December 28th of that year, assisted by your friend (who was also with us on Halloween). These late-2014 events carry over into what feels like a lot of activity in 2015. My most prominent memory from that year is the Good Friday Event on April 3, but I have others that potentially occurred (or originated at) your house, like the trip to Dollar Tree, and some vague glimpses of other meetings at Pearl's house. All of this happened in 2015.

I have another picture of us riding in your Mom's car. It might've been on the same trip to Dollar Tree. I clearly recall you saying that it would be the last time we would see each other for a while because you were going (to Hawaii?) to be a summer camp counselor.

So, those seem to be the two phases of our personal encounters, get-togethers, meetings, etc:

January 2010 thru perhaps 2011/2012 (a guess on my part), and then 2014/2015 (for certain).

Question: why was there a break of two years or longer? And why did things resume when they did? What led you guys to come to Pearl's house on Halloween Night 2014, the first incident I remember from the second phase?

Now, I'll add the context I mentioned. This comes strictly from my end of things. As you know, I've had an unusual life, that - in places - has unfortunately included a lot of unwanted and unwarranted interaction with criminals. Put simply, I've been a victim of violence, some of it extreme. Many if not most of the people I knew were bad guys, though I wasn't aware of this when we were younger. I thought they were my friends.

You may or may not know about The 1989 Event. It included, as a participant, my next-door neighbor at the time - a CSUN Professor of Cinema - who was, and will always be, one of the worst people in the entire world (no exaggeration). As everyone knows, he abducted me from my house on the night of September 2, 1989. That story has been told a million times (one day it will hopefully be acknowledged). He got away with what he did, which would've put most people in prison for decades if not life. He wasn't even fired from CSUN, even though the University was absolutely aware of his actions. Instead, he gradually got promoted, and is now Dean of the Cinema Dept. Imagine that.

This lowlife (we'll call him The Greaseball) is now 76 years old. He's been teaching at CSUN since 1988; 38 years, which must make him one of the longest-tenured professors at the University.

Which brings us back to 2014. On Saturday August 30 of that year, after my dinner shift at Pearl's, I drove back to my apartment and walked up to the Northridge Little League baseball field (on Devonshire Street west of Reseda Bl.), where a Beatles tribute band was playing. They're called "Ticket to Ride". I've seen 'em a bunch of times, they're great. When their set ended at around 8pm or slightly later, I headed back to my apartment. But on my way down Reseda Boulevard, I got a call from the late David Friedman. He said he was in Northridge, with his daughter. "Wanna go for a CSUN walk with us?" I was planning to go home, having already gotten most of my daily miles on the walk to and from the concert. Also, Friedman could be a major-league complainer, always bitching about his job or domestic situation in Woe Is Me mode. Thus, I didn't look forward to hanging out with him. But he had his tween-age daughter with him, a good kid who provided a buffer for his kvetching. I agreed to meet them at the corner of Reseda and Superior Street, from where we strolled the short distance to the CSUN campus. By now, the time was around 8:30. We walked south on Etiwanda, past Plummer, but instead of going diagonally through the Business complex (as we usually did), we maintained course on Etiwanda, heading toward the south border of CSUN on Nordhoff Street. The subject had somehow turned to movies. I must've been telling them about the school's fabulous Cinematheque series, which I attended regularly from 2009 onwards.

Friedman asked me what building it was in. "The Media Building," I answered. It's also known as Manzanita Hall. The architechture is distinctive. He asked me to walk them past it. We turned east, on a walkway that lines up laterally with Dearborn Street.

About 50 yards from the building, Friedman stopped and began fiddling with his phone. I probably kept talking about movies with his daughter. Perhaps 30 seconds later, still waiting for Friedman, I noticed a figure walking south on the path next to Sierra Hall, which ends at the front door of the Media Building. The figure appeared to be a woman. As she approached, I thought I recognized her.

Almost simultaneously, I was alerted by a noise behind me. I turned around to see a man standing about thirty feet away. He had something in his hand about the size of a phone or a tv remote. I recognized him for certain, and something was wrong because he shouldn't have been there. He'd moved to Chicago in 1996, eighteen years earlier. "Shecky?", I said, mildly incredulous. He didn't respond. Friedman looked up from his phone. The woman had now closed the distance to where I could see who she was; a close friend of David Friedman's.

Then another figure caught my eye to the north, on the steps above Sierra Hall South. It was the brother of the woman who was now standing by the door of the Media Building. I was getting a funny feeling.

"What's going on?" I asked Friedman.

"I tricked you," he said. "Sorry."

(to be continued soon)

I love you and trust you can feel it. 💗

The Church Classroom (Happy Halloween Season!)

You are the undisputed Queen of Halloween, so let the season begin and let's enjoy every day. 💀

I have another memory involving us. It begins (I think) in the church parking lot. It must begin there, because I picture myself in one of the school rooms on the east side of the property. Think of the long, east/west parking lot, then remember how, in a recent blog, I described parking toward the far end in my early months with Pearl. I initially parked down there because the closer slots were full, and after I noticed you one day, I deliberately parked there the next time, hoping to see you again.

In my most recent memory (recovered two days ago), I see myself in this classroom. It could be a Sunday or Tuesday (for Golden Agers).

A tall lady is in the room with me. Collar-length straight brown hair, swept across her forehead. Freckles. You know her. She's a long-time church member who was in the choir when I joined. She sang with us until around late 2015.

Anyway, she's in the schoolroom with me in this memory, and she says (paraphrase) "what are you doing here?" and I say "I'm supposed to wait for (You)". I don't know if I used your name, or if I even knew it, but I probably did. 

I may have said."She wanted me to help move some books." That image is also in the memory, me carrying books into the classroom.

So, I'm in there waiting for you; you are supposed to be back any minute, but it's taking longer, and I say to the tall lady "this feels weird" or "I feel weird" or something like that, because it feels like I'm in a vacuum or a time warp.

The memory has an isolated feeling that is different than any of our other encounters I've described. I must have mentioned this feeling to the tall lady, because I distictly remember her saying (paraphrase): "That's because she put you under a spell." She might've said hypnosis instead of spell, but I think she said spell.

She went on to mention a "situation" at the church, and that You wanted to talk to me in secret. I've written about this aspect before, regarding incidents that took place in 2014, but this encounter feels much earlier. I have a hunch that, while I was waiting for you, another one of your friends entered the classroom, a plus-size girl (teenage or young adult) with long, wavy hair, who was a church regular back then, and who often read bible passages onstage in my first year in choir. She made a joke to you about, "wow, you sure have a lot of guts to take a chance like this." That is extremely paraphrased, but she meant the whole idea of having me in that room, under a spell, in secret.

But she agreed to be a lookout, because Pearl would be leaving in about 15 minutes or so, exiting the Choir Room, or The Fireside Room (if it was Golden Agers), and I had to be "back to normal" (de-hypnotized) and ready to pick her up. So, this girl volumteered to be a lookout for you. Here's a funny, possible detail: I picture an egg-timer in the classroom. Did you bring an egg-timer specifically for this purpose? Or is that my imagination? (Side note: in memory recovery, it is important to stress which details are less than vivid). The egg-timer is 50/50 for me.

Anyway, I think you had about 15 or 20 minutes to talk to me, and you did so. By now, it was just the two of us in the classroom. The tall lady had left, and your friend was outside being the lookout. You and I were alone. I think you did most of the talking, and I am 51% sure of some of the things you said (51% being probable rather than possible). However, all of what was said is between us.

I also have images of moccasins and saddle shoes. Did you ever wear either type of footwear?

I'm extremely curious about this memory. I'm certain it's from an actual encounter, and I'd love to know when it happened. 

Getting back to Halloween, I've also had an image (just a flash) of "meeting you" (being reintroduced to you) at a booth on the church grounds. A wooden booth. I remember the Fall Boutique they had every year, and the Rummage Sale. Pearl always went to those. In this flash image, someone says to me, "Oh, have you met (your name)?" or "have you met our witch?" I say "no", and I'm directed to this booth, where you are waiting, in costume. I realize I may have this image conflated with a certain photograph, but because it has persisted in meditation, I ask about it. Did they ever have a Witch Booth at any of the Fall Boutiques?

I'm super excited about this Halloween Season. If you are the Queen, I am at least The Prince!

I love you beyond measure.  💗 

You and Me (plus 90s Music)

R.I.P. Dolly Parton and Tim Curry, she (of course) a giant of American culture (and philanthropy) and he a great actor who did a lot more than the roles he was known for, like Frank-N-Furter in "Rocky Horror". Speaking of his costumed roles, you no doubt loved him in "Legend" (an underrated movie - by Ridley Scott of all people - that is one of my favorites). And of course, we love him as Pennywise in the original "IT." Both Dolly and Tim Curry had been in poor health for a long time, so their deaths weren't entirely unexpected. But still...

Anyhow, I think of you all day long, every day. I hope all is well and that you are holding up in this heat. The last few nights haven't even cooled off. I go for my walk between 7 and 9 pm, and it's still close to 90 degrees and very humid. Yow. 

I've been listening to '90s music, so I have another list for you. Did you like the music from that era? I love it. My favorite 1990s groups were Soundgarden and Alice in Chains, both of whom transcended the grunge/indie genre and graduated to playing arenas while maintaining their artistic integrity. I initially liked Pearl Jam, too (and saw them at The Troubadour before they were huge), however, while "Ten" is a classic album (and a 10 from start to finish), in my opinion they were only able to produce snippets of their original brilliance on their next two albums, "Vs." and "Vitalogy," and weren't very good after that. One of the things, though, that made the '90s so great, music-wise, was that it was melody-oriented. In that way, it was similar to to 1960s, when there were a lot of talented bands who could write hooks. Some were one-hit wonders, others had a few hits and maybe one classic album. Since we love lists here at the blog, let's look at a dozen of the greatest songs of the 1990s:

"No Rain" Blind Melon

"Hey Jealousy" Gin Blossoms

"Name" Goo Goo Dolls

"These Are Days" 10,000 Maniacs

"Linger" The Cranberries

"Kiss Me" Sixpence None the Richer

"One of Us" Joan Osborne

"Feed the Tree" Belly

"Fade Into You" Mazzy Star

"Sweetness and Light" Lush

"I Only Wanna Be With You" Hootie and the Blowfish

"Golden Blunders" The Posies

(P.S. Don't give me a hard time about Hootie. That's a great song and you know it.😉)

I am also a big fan of Radiohead (though I don't know that they qualify as strictly '90s), and of course King's X, one of my favorite bands of all time. Both bands had their heyday in the 1990s, though the above song list is (I think) more reflective of the vibe from that era.

Well, we're closing in on the month of September, and of course, September 1st has special significance for me. I don't mark it much anymore, but for many years, I considered it the start date of what I now call The 1989 Event (also known as "What Happened in Northridge"). Through years of dedicated research, I now know that September 1st, 1989 was only the start of the endgame of a much longer scenario that went on for much of the 1980s and grew extreme in 1988.Those who follow the blog know that story "ad nauseum" (which is also my punk rock name). Therefore, I shant repeat it now (though I reserve the right to do so at any time!) For anyone unfamiliar with my writings on 1989, just use the Blogger search box and try different keywords, like that year, or "What Happened in Northridge", CSUN, Concord Square, 9032, etc.

I am 66 years old; my first memory of The 1989 Event returned in October 1993, almost 33 years ago. Thus, I can divide my life into two halves now:

The first half is from birth to age 33 and six months. During that time, due to deliberately-induced amnesia (memory blockage) I was entirely unaware that anything untoward had happened to me four years earlier, or that I'd had an unusual childhood. I basically considered myself a Regular Joe (although I was always my own person). 

I can still (and will always) remember the moment my memory came back: I was inside the home of the late, questionably great Dave Small. The date was approximately October 20, 1993, about 9pm. We had just quit Shecky's band and were jamming, trying to come up with a fresh sound to start our own group. Not another version of Disturbing the Peace, but something new. Dave was way into all the music of the early '90s, as I was, and he played me "Gish" by The Smashing Pumpkins, who I hadn't heard of at the time. I was inspired by Billy Corgan's guitar sound, and trying to come up with some riffs. Dave was playing bass.

He paused to use the restroom, and this is what happened to me:

I heard a voice in my head. Not a schizophrenic voice, nor an imaginary one. I've come to call it "sub-aural", like a tiny (but actual) human voice, as if someone was speaking to me from inside my ear. This was the first time I'd had this happen. I heard something like, "Hey Adam...remember that time, at (such-and-such) apartment, when (so-and-so and so-and-so) tried to kill you?" I'm obscuring the names because there's no reason to mention them at the moment. The point is that this sub-aural "voice" acted as a trigger. As it was "speaking", I experienced the simultaneous recollection of the incident in question, which was a near death-experience I suffered inside a Reseda apartment on the night of September 1, 1989. My heart stopped after I was assaulted. And as shocking as it was to remember that, it was even more unnerving to know that I hadn't remembered it for over four years. Furthermore, no one had told me about it. When was the last time you nearly died, and your family and "friends" kept it a secret? 

That's why the second half of my life, from 1993 until now, has included an intensive and ongoing investigation into what my life has been. In my research, I've discovered that much of it has been hidden from me through deliberate memory blocking. For those unfamiliar with that process; briefly, it is possible to block a person's memory (of an incident, an event, or a given length of time) through several means, hypnosis and drugs being the most common. Radio signal is another one. 

Over time, God has helped me overcome the memory blocks of 1989, and while I have yet to fully comprehend that year, I now know that memory can never be erased (which is what the bad guys hoped to achieve), but only blocked. And I have learned, and proved, that blocked memories can be unblocked though meditative self hypnosis, a reasonably simple process that involves quieting the mind and focusing on an intended target.

I've been quite successful at this.

All of this brings me back to You, so let's put aside 1989 for the moment.

I've written about several encounters we've had, experiences we've shared. I have a couple more, maybe a few. These aren't yet as clear as the others. I'm still trying to work them out, so instead of stating them, I'll pose them as questions:

Did you once come to church dressed in Goth attire and makeup? I've had imagery of this. Did some people get offended? If so, too bad for them. If this happened, I think it's awesome! ✌

Did we once go, with your Mom in her car, to Dollar Tree, but it wasn't your Dollar Tree, and we went to a closer one because your Mom didn't wanna drive that far (all the way to your Dollar Tree)? I think we did, and I think I remember the one we went to, but they didn't have what you wanted, which was why you preferred the one you liked and had wanted to go there. And when we left Dollar Tree, did you ask your Mom if we could go to Walmart (perhaps to look for the same or similar items) but she said no because it was too far, there was too much traffic, etc? Did that happen? I have a feeling it did.

Here's one I am certain about: one Sunday at church, right when the service ended, your Mom or Dad asked me if I would come talk to you. You were sitting in one of the back rows. I said I would, and I did. Do you remember that? I think you didn't want to leave unless you got to see me (because of all the stuff that was going on at that time in 2014/2015). I sat down. Your Mom and Dad left us alone for a few minutes and we talked. I don't yet recall what we said, but it feels beautiful in retrospect.

I think we should be together. That's just my opinion. You don't have to agree, but I hope you do. I know many years have gone by, but many great years remain. And what is time, compared to love? 

I think we'd make a great team, a great couple. For one thing, we'd be the greatest supernatural investigators since Ed and Lorraine Warren, though we don't necessarily have to do Haunted Houses (we could, though).

More than that: the Whole Thing that's happened this Summer - the dream I had on July 1 that returned you to my life; the knowledge that we've had a lot of involvement. It has to have happened now, for a reason. And then there's the way we met, in 2010. Who else had a First Meeting like the one we had? I mean, c'mon. That alone is a story for the ages. I'm still remembering things about you and me, and I have a feeling that you came over to Pearl's house maybe more times than I've realized.

I'll keep working on it. I hope you will, too. Please keep in mind the things I've said.

I love you every day and all the time. 💗 

Good Friday 2015 (continued)

In addition to asking if you mind me writing to you, I suppose I should ask the question in another way: do you want me to write to you? I ask because I've been writing to and about you unsolicited. I've also been describing my recently recovered memories of our personal encounters and I don't want to overstep my bounds. I don't want to write anything that would dismay you, and of course I've tried to use my best judgement in that regard by never using names, keeping things vague where necessary, etc.

But you have the final say. Now that I know you have been in my life, in a way that only you could have created, I don't want to lose you. You foresaw the future. I love you.

Anyway, I guess I'll continue the story, since I've seen nothing to indicate I should not. We left off on Good Friday, April 3, 2015. We were at at your house for a champagne toast, and were sitting at the dining table talking when a man burst into the house. See the last blog for reference. This man had followed us from the church, hovered on the porch uninvited, then he finally gained entrance by intimidation. We've seen, however, that this man can use many degrees of temperment when necessary. He's clever and doesn't just storm his way into a situation. He smiles a lot; he knows when to use charm or claim influence. Claim he has a right to be somewhere.

But he still wasn't welcome in the house. Your Mom may have told him so. He sat down anyway. In hindsight, and because I've had a lot of interaction with this man, I think he wanted to monitor what was being said, in particular to me. He was concerned about what I might be told, things I might learn. He didn't want me at your house, talking to you and your parents, but he couldn't (or wouldn't) come right out and say it. He's very good at "keeping his cool" when he has to.

One thing I vividly remember is talking to your Dad about the military. He had served (in Vietnam?). I mentioned that my Dad was in WW2. Forgive me because I don't recall what branch your Dad was in (Navy?), but I know for sure that your Mom wanted him to show me a special dress cap he had saved from his time in uniform. At first, your Dad was reluctant to do so. He felt it was...what? Like showing off? I don't know, so I won't speak for him. But your Mom appealed to him to show me the cap, and he finally did go get it and wore it for a minute or two. I don't know if all of this occurred while the Uninvited Man was at the table.

I will now describe something that's indicative of why I ask your permission to reveal these things. If I am saying too much here, let me know:

I vividly remember a ceremony in the kitchen. It was not unlike a marriage ceremony. Perhaps it was more of a "bonding" ceremony (I wish it was the former). We were standing side by side. Before this, you were very busy, rushing around for all the necessary things that were required to complete this ceremony. Was a ring (or a symbolic ring) involved? And if you can believe it (which you can since you were there), this ceremony was presided over by the man who was uninvited. All of a sudden, he was helping you (or us). I don't know how this turn of events happened.

But then, you wanted to show me your room. And he went back to being confrontational. At first, he said nothing and waited while you showed me some of your favorite things, and we may have talked about mutual interests like movies and other stuff. It turned out we had a lot in common.

I vividly remember you writing something down on a piece of paper (a strip of paper?)

Did you ask me to write on that paper, too? If so, what did I write? What did you write?

Did you fold it up and put it in a special book? I think so.

Your Mom came in at some point because the man was giving her a hard time. He didn't want you talking to me alone. You said you still had some things to show me, and your Mom said to hurry it up. But the man preempted her. Suddenly he was in the doorway of your room. He got belligerent. Your Mom ordered him to back off, but he wouldn't. He'd seen you fold up that piece of paper, and he wanted to know what it was.

"What'd you write on that paper? I saw you put it in a book. I need to see it, show it to me!"

You said no. You stood up to him. Your Mom again ordered him out of the house.

I think he kept pushing, though, and you ended up showing him the piece of paper, just to get rid of him.

If I stood there saying nothing, not intervening, I apologise. It would've been because I wasn't sure what was going on.

But you can see, from this and other incidents, why I don't like this guy now.

I don't know where Pearl and her daughter were while all of this was happening (and I'm still not 100% sure that Pearl was with us that night). But I was expecting her daughter to give me a ride back to Pearl's house. I was her overnight caregiver. And I was told by this man that he would be giving me a ride back. I may have asked why, or protested...

I vaguely remember him talking to me as we drove away. That is the current state of my memory of that night.

I love you more than I can say. 💗 

Good Friday 2015 (The Toast)

Quick question: do you mind me writing about us? I hope it's okay. If not, just give me a sign and I will stop. Also, if you ever want to talk for any reason, you can get my phone number and/or email from the Birthday Card Person, who was also in the car with us at Cleveland High on Halloween Night 2014. I believe you know who I mean. 

I'd like to return to 2014, and actually to Good Friday 2015, which I outlined in another blog, but before I do that, I have another quick question: did you ever come to Pearl's house on occasions other than that Halloween night? I've had recollections - unverified bits and pieces, as yet without context - that you came over at least once for a Blessing Ritual or something like that. It was something metaphysical that you were in charge of. I'll meditate on it to remember it more clearly.

And now, to Good Friday, which in 2015 was on April 3. I mentioned in an earlier blog that I sang in choir that evening, that the service likely ended around 8pm, and that I spoke with your Mom in the parking lot. She complimented me on my voice (very kind of her), and when this memory came back, I vividly remembered us talking about music, harmony singing, and specifically those kinds of vocal groups. Your Mom was a fan of the greats of 1950s rock, and she definitely "knew her stuff" on the subject.

We talked for a few minutes, possibly about other things as well. I don't recall if Pearl was with me, or if she was still inside the church with her friends, but when she came out, your Mom (who knew Pearl) proposed that we go over to your house for a Good Friday toast. Pearl may have declined, at first. After all, she was 90. But your Mom said, "Just a quick toast. C'mon, Pearl. It won't take long. I have some champagne", etc.

I think Pearl's daughter was with us, and she convinced her Mom to go. Being Pearl's caregiver, I would've done whatever was decided. I think you were waiting in your Mom's car.

We did end up following you guys to your house, for the Good Friday toast.

But before we left the church, something happened. A man came out to the parking lot, saw us talking, heard our plan, and asked if he could come along. I think the answer may have been "no", or "it's private", but he followed us there anyway, though he was not invited into the house.

We had our champagne toast and talked for a little while. 

Then there was a commotion, and the man was in the house. He entered the dining area. Someone (a young lady? Perhaps your sister or a friend?) had been asked to keep an eye on the man, who was lurking by the front door, refusing to leave, and I believe she said she tried to keep him out but he kept ringing the bell and demanding to be let inside. And when she finally opened the door, he brushed past her, came to the table and sat down.

(I'm gonna stop here. I'll continue later unless you say not to)

I love you. 💗

The Church Parking Lot (plus weird horror movies)

Let's start with some scary movies, just for fun and because Halloween will be here before we know it. Here are ten of my favorite weird ones (keeping in mind that not all horror movies are weird). In no particular order, they are:

1) The Devil Commands (1941) 

2) The Uninvited (1944)

3) The Seventh Victim (1943) 

4) Eyes Without a Face (1960) 

5) The Devil Rides Out (1968) 

6) Voodoo Man (1944) 

7) Plague of the Zombies (1966) 

8) The Old Dark House (1932) 

9) Night of the Demon (1957) 

10) Onibaba (1968).

Two good Witch movies are "Bell, Book and Candle"(1958) starring Kim Novak. You probably know that one, but have you ever seen "Night of the Eagle"(1962), also known as "Burn Witch Burn"? It's a British production based on a book called "Conjure Wife", and in my opinion, it is one of the greatest horror movies ever made.

Lastly, for tonight, let's do two classic Ghostly Romances: "Portrait of Jenny" (1948), starring Jennifer Jones and Joseph Cotten. I love this film and have seen it multiple times. The other is "The Enchanted Cottage" (1945).

Now, here's another new memory, arising from a single meditative image: the parking lot at RUMC. Sensing its importance, I focused hard and it continued to develop, slowly like a Polaroid photo. This is how the process began: I was wondering if I had any encounters with you before Halloween Night 2014 (not counting our initial meeting in January 2010). Was it possible that we saw each other during the nearly five years in between? In self-hypnotic memory recovery, one sets the intent by speaking (softly but directly) to the subconscious. In this case, I asked: did I (see her) between January 17 2010 and October 31 2014?

What came back, as noted, was an image of the church parking lot.

In my first years with Pearl, 2010/2011, I had little connection to the church. I basically only drove her there and picked her up after service. I also drove her to Golden Agers meetings on Tuesday afternoons and (once a month) to the RUMC Women's Group meetings (Pearl's group was nicknamed "Luanna/Ruth", honoring two former members).

In those early years, Pearl was ambulatory and had all of her faculties. She didn't need my help entering or leaving the church, thus I would arrive early and wait for her in the parking lot. Depending on the length of the sermon, the post-service gathering in the Fireside Room (for coffee and cookies), and choir practice, my wait could vary. I tried to time it as best I could. Sometimes I got there ten minutes before Pearl came out; other times I had to wait close to an hour.

Here is the image from my recent meditation, with the above intent in mind.

I'm parked in the lot, toward the west end because the slots near the main entrance are full. Church is still is session. I'm probably a half-hour early on this day. 

My car is directly south of where the church school is located. School, preschool, Sunday School? I can't say what it is (I'm still new), but it's a children's school, like many churches have, and I'm parked close to its gate, waiting for Pearl to emerge from the choir room to my west.

I'm sitting there waiting, and I notice motion in my rearview window. A young woman has exited the preschool gate and is walking in my direction. She has long hair. Is it braided? (It may be on future occasions). And is she wearing black glasses? Maybe one time, but not another.

Did I park there more than once, hoping she'd come out again? 

I'm not certain.

All I know for sure is that she's striking. She has a unique look. But is there something else about her? 

                                                                ***

That was the start of this memory, and of course, I'm referring to you. I'm more than 51% certain that it happened, meaning that it's crossed the 50/50 threshhold to become probable rather than merely possible.

I recall you wearing a colored T-shirt with the RUMC School logo. Your car was parked near mine. You were headed to it, either to leave for that day or to retrieve something from your car or put something in it. I thought wow, who's that girl? and I probably did park in that area the following week, hoping to see you again.

Here's where the memory stands now. You can tell me if it's correct or not:

I had parked in this spot for at least two Sundays (there's also a chance it was Tuesday and "Golden Agers").

On one of these days, you may have noticed me. Did you walk up to my window and say something like, "Excuse me, but do we know each other?" That's paraphrased, and would indicate that you (like me) also had a memory block of January 17, 2010. But I could swear that you saw me sitting in my car and came up and said something. Maybe it was more like, "We've met. Do you remember me?" And if I said no, you might've said, "You will. I can't tell you why, though." Or, you might've said, "Do you wanna get a cup of coffee and we can talk about it?" If so, I would've said, "I can't. I'm waiting for Pearl."

I don't yet know our exact words, but I'm almost certain I saw you in the parking lot, at least once, and that it led to a short conversation. My current guess is that it happened in Spring or Fall 2010 (during a time when church school was in session).

I have another brief memory associated with that one. On another Sunday, you had car trouble. Is that possible, and did Triple A come? It's not crucial; I'm just wondering about the accuracy of detail. How close am I overall?

I love you and hope your week is off to a good start. 💗