1989

No movie tonight because Grimsley came over. I hadn't seen him since January, so we hung out and got caught up on things. He is a big fan of AOC, so we had a few laughs over that, because he knows I am not a fan, haha. And that is all I will say about politics tonight (big sigh of relief from the audience).

However, since I have no movie to write about, I suppose I will wade yet again into the subject of 1989, as it is the overriding concern in my life, the pea (or more likely boulder) beneath my mattress, and unlike The Princess I cannot simply proceed forth in life by placing still another mattress on top of the pea with the hope that it will smooth things over. So I have to talk about it, especially because this year is the 30th anniversary, and tonight I have nothing else to write about anyway.

The details here will have no surrounding context, so if you don't already know the story you may feel lost at sea, though I trust that anyone who has read this blog for a length of time is at least somewhat familiar with the overall subject of 1989 (aka "What Happened In Northridge"), in all it's weirdness.

"Weird" has always been the keyword, and I have spent 25 years trying to make sense of what happened to me that year, in September 1989. I have also very much wanted to close the subject, much like the Democrats want to close the Mueller Report, but Trump's hired hand William Barr won't let them do so. In my case, the secret keepers - both "official" and unofficial - won't let me have closure either, and so I live in a daily state of limbo, of wondering what happened to me nearly 30 years ago. It has been a quiet but unrelenting torture for me to endure, this Silence of Secrecy and it has taken every bit of strength in my soul for me to keep on going in life, but you already knew that if you have read this blog for any length of time.

The rest of this blog will be me just kind of "thinking aloud" and rehashing details that I've gone over countless times in my head, so if you don't know the story it may seem like gibberish, but I think it might help me to type it out, as a way to write down the details and attempt to connect more dots.

I had gone as far as I could go by 2009, when I was nearing the end of writing my book but knew I would not be able to provide a traditional ending, where everything is explained to the reader, for the simple reason that I was not able to connect all the dots. The story of what happened to me in September 1989 was overwhelming in it's detail (and it's significance). I was ultimately only able to remember perhaps 60% of what happened in the general sense, and in total only about 30%, at best, when it came to the details. The secret keepers, who include folks I know and who have known me for years, have never once come forward to help, and indeed have distanced themselves from me and have knowingly left me to twist in the wind. They have gone on with their lives as if September 1989 never happened, and they got away with what they participated in because of the nature of the ordeal, which was a National Security situation, which means it has been classified all this time. But the reality is that these folks are the ones living in a dream world, not me. In the final analysis, they will have to wake up from their dream and face reality, however unpleasant it may eventually be for them.

It may not even come in this life, because of the way America is going down the tubes, but it will still arrive one day. As Martin Luther King said, "the truth smashed into the ground will rise again". And so will the truth about 1989, even if I don't live to see it.

But what I am interested in tonight is how quickly Federal agents came on scene at the Concord Square apartment complex on the night of September 1, 1989. Federal law enforcement agencies are much in the news these days, and if we watch the news in the Trump era, we are seeing how they operate and to at least a political/espionage degree, what kind of crimes they look out for. Which is what makes their appearance at an ordinary apartment building in Reseda in September 1989 all the more inexplicable.

What would the FBI or CIA want with some Regular Joes? Or perhaps one Regular Joe?

The Feds were on site at Concord Square within, I would estimate, 60 to 90 minutes of the end of the action in Terry's apartment.

A domestic dispute would normally be under the purview of the local police department, if police were to be called. So why did Federal agents show up instead?

Why did the situation become so weird, so fast?

I have speculated on a drug deal connection between Lillian and Dave Small and Howard Schaller, which I believe led to the attack by Schaller on our car in the Northridge Hospital parking lot. I have believed he was furious at Lillian because the argument in the apartment brought attention to a hidden drug situation, but again - why would Federal Agents show up within one hour of a domestic dispute? I was shot with a stun gun during the confrontation in the apartment. This could happen a dozen times over in America on any night. In my case, my heart was stopped and I almost died. If it wasn't for the paramedics, I would have.

So, here you have a law enforcement situation, right? And you would think the police department would show up, but that's not what happened here.

Federal agents showed up and they showed up fast, which suggests they had us under surveillance.

But why? Surely it couldn't have been because of a minor league drug deal gone bad.

Does Lillian know why Federal agents showed up at Terry's apartment that night? I believe she does, at least to a certain extent. She foreshadowed her knowledge in a letter she sent to me in June 1989, more than two months prior, in which she mentioned that she was "scared of what's to come", an exact quote. That quote needs to be understood in a larger context, which I will not get into, but you can trust me when I tell you that it leads directly to her foreknowledge that something frightening was heading our way, involving a Federal agency, even if she didn't know exactly what it was all about.

I walked into that situation blindly on September 1, 1989, and I have been paying the price ever since, while criminals like the late Howard Schaller got away scott-free, and even worse, a psychopath like Jared Rappoport was allowed to continue teaching at CSUN for over 30 years. He was the man who kidnapped me on or about September 3rd, 1989, a story I have written about multiple times.

Well, that's all I know for tonight. See you in the morning.  xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  :):)