My Miracle (a few thoughts and questions)

Wow! I asked for a sign, and I got one. You responded; you couldn't have been more clear, and as a result, I've been floating around on Cloud Nine since yesterday afternoon. By the way, I looked in my diary to see when I discovered the dual-handwriting birthday card, and it was on June 4. So, that was when this whole thing started, for me, at least. Then, it really got rolling on July 1 (as noted in the last blog), and here we are. I think yesterday will go down as a Magical Day (in the cosmic sense) because not only did I get your wonderful message, but I started to hope that what was described in those lyrics could be repeated in real life. If it is possible (or becomes possible) to see you again, all I can say is "I can't wait." 💖

On my end, the best I can do (besides continuing to write) is to come to church, which I am going to do soon, hopefully by Fall (maybe by Halloween?), and absolutely no later than Christmas Eve. I'd come next Sunday if I knew you were going to be there, but I don't know if you attend regularly, and also, this is all predicated on the hope that you would want to see me (though I should probably refrain from making any assumptions). I've been meaning to go to church for a while now, and I did go to a choir reunion in August 2022 (a while ago, I realize). What's prevented me is that I'm shy. I know that sounds ridiculous because I was in choir for over five years and I knew almost everybody in church (at least to say hi to). In fact, for those five-plus years (November 2014 to March 2020) I had the best attendance record of anyone, including the two pastors from that era. I only missed five Sundays in five years. But I was always (or usually) with Pearl, and I felt that people knew me as "Pearl's caregiver" and not as an official member of the church. I guess the main thing is that I am shy, and after Pearl died, I felt nervous about going back without her, especially after the long gap with Covid. But having said all of that, I have been meaning to go back, and if there's a chance that you would be there, I'd go back at any time (if you want to see me).

I've also thought, alternately, that I can simply follow your lead. You know how to make things happen. For instance, the dual birthday card (if that in fact was you). I've had another recently recovered memory, from August 24, 2024 (the 100th anniversary of Pearl's birth) (sorry about all the parentheses), in which The Person Who Sent Me That Birthday Card asked me if I remembered your family. I was with that person at CSUN on the night of the indicated date. A secret event was occurring (the kind that I don't remember until years later), and the person said: "Adam, do you remember the ********'s?" I'm not sure what else was mentioned, but I know I must've answered "yes" because I always remembered you and your parents from church, even though our all of personal encounters were blocked. I guess my point is that you seem to know the person I'm referring to, who - as noted - was in the car with us on Halloween Night 2014. And maybe this person was in contact with you and/or your Dad in 2024, and finally, if you were the other writer on my birthday card, then you guys have been in contact recently.

The bottom line, as I say, is that you know to make things happen, so should I just follow your lead? I realize I'm speculating, but I feel like this could be the best Halloween season ever, and I just can't tell you how wonderful it's been to remember that you have been in my life. You are a Miracle to me.

I love you. Back soon.

How I Turned Up Out Of The Blue (For You)

I hope you don't mind me writing to you here at the blog. I have no idea if you read, though I hope you do and I think you may have mentioned it many years ago. Anyway, if you're wondering how I showed up, out of the blue in July 2026, after all these years, and if I haven't described it already, it's because I was researching January 2010 for the book I am writing called "Diane's House", the title of which refers to a job I had immediately before becoming Pearl's caregiver. Through much research, I learned that the two jobs were connected - by circumstance, you might say. In other words, I became Pearl's caregiver because of things that happened at Diane's house, which resulted in Pearl's broken hip, and I've already written (vaguely) about how that happened. 

It's a long story that will be fully detailed in the book, which is actually gonna comprise at least three volumes. The first will run about 600 pages. 

But anyhow, I was researching the month of January 2010, to see how the job at Diane's house segued into my becoming Pearl's caregiver, and in the course of my meditations, I uncovered the major incident that occurred on January 17, which I have also recently described. That recovered memory, in part, is how I was re-introduced to you (so to speak). Before I say anything more, I am aware that you may know more about this process of re-introduction than I do, because you have superior perceptive and craft-oriented abilities. I consider myself able to cover most of the psychic bases, but I've never met anyone like you. You are an entirely unique person who knows things in advance and can make things happen over a long span of time. No flattery intended, just being honest, and you already know these things about yourself. You don't need me to tell you.

I said that my research led to the discovery of the incident at Pearl's house on January 17, 2010. And that is true. But in actual fact, in those recent, initial meditations, I didn't recall meeting you that day. That was because I was focused on the crime aspect of how Pearl's hip was broken on January 1, and how it was associated with concurrent events at Diane's house (located a half-mile north of Pearl's) in the days that immediately followed.

Here is how the memory of our introduction came about: 

Right around July 1st, about six weeks ago, I had a dream. I can't pinpoint the exact night because I didn't write it down in my diary or my meditation notes. I did write, on July 4th, that the dream "occurred in the last 72 hours", which is how I dervied the approximate July 1st date. Another thing about this dream is that I had variations of it two nights in a row, and both times, it felt pulsed.

By that, I mean that it almost felt like it was sent to me, like a message. It's the kind of dream that wakes me up within my sleep, like a switch getting flipped. In such a dream, I can almost feel the awakening spark, and all of a sudden I'm inside and part of this dream that has a lucid quality. In a recent blog, I mentioned another such dream, also involving you, that was so vivid, I did wake up and spoke aloud the most pertinent details so I wouldn't lose them: "Halloween Night, a Friday, in a car at Cleveland High School".

In the July 1st dream, I was aware of being with a small group of people, three at most, maybe two or only one. Who they were wasn't clear. This dream wasn't vivid like the Halloween/Cleveland High dream. All I knew was that "we" were supposed to "go to the church" (Reseda Methodist) to meet with or find a certain lady, meaning you. Why we were to meet or locate you there wasn't clear, but the feeling was urgent, and that was the extent of the dream. It lasted just a few seconds, but I had it two nights in a row, and because it repeated, and had that awakening spark, I wrote the scant details down in my diary, including your name, which was already familiar to me from my church years.

The details of this brief dream are written down in my July 4th diary entry, which included a report on the Shepherd of the Hills fireworks show in Porter Ranch, and a short review of the awesome Beach Boys concert I attended the night before. Despite those two entertaining events, it was the dream that held my attention. It wouldn't let go, and so, on the next afternoon (July 5), I did a meditation on it, to try and see if it might be a trigger for a blocked memory.

And it was. My meditation that day revealed our very first meeting on January 17, 2010. On a side note, I discerned the exact date through extra detective work. 

I was astounded to remember this meeting. When I think of it, my heart melts, because of you, and because things like that don't "just happen" except by God's design. You know what I'm talking about because you were there. And for me, that memory was followed by many others that have since flowed, once the block was broken, and I realized I actually know you (or knew you or had encounters with you or however you want to put it). As I see it, we know each other reasonably well (and in some ways, very well), despite the fact that most of our meetings happened a decade ago. That is because of the intensity of those meetings, things that were said, the directness with which you say things, and other factors.

I mentioned in the last blog that I will pick up our story on Good Friday, April 3, 2015, and I will do that.

There is much to tell, and I hope you are still with me. Of course, I'd prefer to tell it all to you (and only you) in private, but I have to take this opportunity to get your attention. You tried to get my attention years ago, and I failed to adequately respond. For that I apologise profusely, but I just didn't know (not like you did), about all the important things I'm now aware of. For everything you did, every effort you put forth, I am grateful beyond measure (and to your Dad and blessed Mom, as well).

I hope you don't mind me saying that I love you.

Two last details, for now, concerning research. A few months ago, I received a birthday card that appeared to have two different styles of handwriting. I didn't notice this at first, and not until I was about to put the cards away (I keep them all and store them, every year, after they spend several weeks on my bookshelf).

Before I put this year's cards away, I read them one final time. I don't get a lot of birthday cards, but anyway, as I re-read this one, I was struck by what appeared to be two different styles of handwriting, which I had not noticed when I first read the card. This happened in July, as all the dreams were occurring and the memories were being revealed. The card was sent to me by someone we both know (who knows you, in other words). This person was also in the car with us on Halloween Night 2014, when we were parked at Cleveland High School. I'm not saying you sent me a birthday message, but...did you send me a birthday message? 💗

The other thing I noticed was in my diary. I found it while I was looking up October 31, 2014. I kept reading after that, and saw that three days later, on November 3, I watched a movie called: "I Married a Witch".

There's no way that was a coincidence.

(Back soon. Give me a sign if you read this....)

December 28, 2014 at Church (Important Stuff)

Let's go back to the beginning of what we've recently been working on. I'll be vague where necessary and avoid naming names for privacy, but this is important so let's talk about it. For me, it's astounding to remember.

As mentioned in a recent blog, I met you on January 17, 2010, at Pearl's house, before I began working for her. As you know, it was a magical encounter. As far as I am aware, I did not see you again until Halloween Night 2014. If I am wrong, please correct me. On that night, you guys (you and "M") came to Pearl's house, in costume, ostensibly to trick or treat, but really to get my attention. I came out to the gate and of course you two were taller, lol, than most of my other customers that night. I think you said "we know you from church". But the thing was, I wasn't yet part of the church. Until November 2014, when I joined choir, I only ever dropped Pearl off in the parking lot. Maybe you saw me with Pearl at a church function, like one of the boutiques, or luncheons? Also, on a side note, your Mom (a great lady) was in one of the RUMC Women's Groups with Pearl, and Pearl knew "M" and her Dad. Anyhow, you two returned a little later that Halloween night, with a third person (whom all of us know well), and after talking to Pearl for a few minutes, you convinced her to let me leave with you guys, and I did. It was me and the three of you, and we drove first to (your house?) and then to Cleveland High.

I now remember well what we talked about there, sitting in the third person's car. Before a few days ago, I had no memory of the incident at all. While we were parked at Cleveland, an "extracurricular" situation may have developed, involving a police officer (and a safety concern), but vagueness is in order, and I will say no more about that. The bottom line for Halloween Night 2014, is that we had an important talk in the car.

Fast forward to December 28, 2014. It was my seventh Sunday in choir (I joined on November 9, 2014). This is from another recently recovered memory:

The service had just finished. I believe I was in the courtyard, perhaps just milling about. I was apart from Pearl, and - as I have considered the evidence of this incident - I've wondered if she came with me to church that day, or if she stayed at home. 

Here is what I remember for certain: I was in the courtyard and was approached by "M" (whom I knew by sight and whose Dad I had met several times). "M" told me to follow her. She said the matter was urgent. Time and stealth were of the essence. She said (paraphrase) "just follow me and don't ask questions". I followed her into one of the rooms in the building just west of the chapel. It may have been the Fireside Room or a classroom.

The point is that you were in there. "M" brought me in to see you. Vagueness is crucial here, but as you know, I did not recognize you (and I am sorry). My memory was blocked, and my failure to recognize you - just two months after our Halloween meeting - shows how powerful those memory blocks are (at least on me). I know it was upsetting, and I'd like to go back in a Time Machine and kick myself because you are an unforgettable person. But getting back to the urgency of that meeting, there was something you and "M" wanted to tell me. Vagueness is again in order, and in truth, I still don't remember the exact details of what it was, only that it had to do with you losing your job or being transferred (through no fault of your own).

I know we had to hurry, to finish up our meeting, because you guys didn't want a certain man to catch us together. In fact, if I recall correctly, his son (who may have worked at the church) came into the room we were talking in to warn us that the man was heading our way.

He found us and broke up our meeting. I remember him telling me to follow him into another room. I will return to this part of the story later on, but it might be in a separate blog.

This next part is very important: At some point, likely not long after, I reentered the church (perhaps to hang up my choir robe) and overheard the man harassing you. I believe (though I am not 100% certain) that I went up the steps that lead to the stage, wondering what the commotion was about, and I observed this man berating you (in the aisle in front of the stage) about having spoken to me.

On a side note, when this memory returned (a few days ago), it was accompanied by a very creepy feeling.

To your credit, you stood your ground while the man was hassling you. 

I remember what you said, but vagueness is in order, for now.

I am not 100% certain that this Incident of Harassment inside the church occurred on the same day of our clandestine meeting (December 28, 2014). Logic, and the available evidence tells me it did, and I'll keep working on it.

When he was done with you, the man told me to follow him back into the choir room, and I did. I'm sure I must've asked him (paraphrase) "what in the world is going on?" Another creepy feeling accompanied the memory of standing in the choir room with him. I don't yet recall what he said to me, but it probably had to do with you, and our meeting, and I think I stood up for myself. I get uppity, you might say, when anyone threatens me, even if they do it "in so many words" while smiling.

As I say, I'm wondering if Pearl was there that day. My diary (which I use to corroborate evidence) gives no indication whether she was there, or not. I'm guessing she wasn't, because she surely would've wondered where I was, and would've come looking for me. Finally, on another important side note, although this entire event happened after church was over, and most of the parishoners had probably gone home, I think there's a chance that at least one (or maybe a few) people were still on the grounds. Someone must've overheard the raised voices (including mine).

One last memory detail from this incident: two other men came into the choir room, just after the man in question was done "talking" to me (threatening me? cajoling me?) (a combination of both?) (not sure).

These two men seemed not to like me, which was strange because I'd never met them before.

Vagueness is crucial here (for now), but the memory of being in the choir room with those two men (and the things they said to me) was accompanied by a very creepy feeling.

That is all I will say, for now, about December 28, 2014.

In the next blog, we'll pick up the story on Good Friday April 3, 2015, which may be the next time I saw you.

I love you. Back soon. 

You Are Amazing

For a Certain Lady:

You are amazing. You know who you are. You knew what was going to happen, years in advance, and you said so. Did you mention the black onyx crystal? Did you say that it never lies? I'm no slouch, but I am not on your level (as far as knowing the future), so forgive me if I get a detail wrong. Question: did you mention that SOAD song in 2014? You know which song I mean.

You once said you wanted to "be a part of it". My weird life.

What would you say if you were "It"?

You are It. You are Amazing and Wonderful, and Beautiful, and a whole lot of other phenomenal things.

And what if Your Life was also unique, and astonishing, and I wanted to be part of It?

What would you say to that? (We've been through this, years ago. You've known it but I haven't until now).

I would love to talk to you in person. I now know I once did, but my memory of our encounters was subsequently blocked. I trust you know that. I used to see you in church, in the Fireside Room, not often but once in a while (because you were not attending RUMC regularly after 2014), and if you can believe it (and it's true), I "knew who you were"...but I had no idea that I actually knew you, and that we had talked, and had significant encounters.

Because my memory was blocked (and did not become unblocked until July 5, 2026), I had no idea that I met you in January 2010 (in what seems like a magical scene from a David Lynch movie), nor that we had many meetings and talks after that.

Bad people blocked my memory, but I don't wanna talk about them now. I want to talk about you because you are the hero in all of this. You are the one who persisted. You are the one who knew the future.

I wish no one else was reading this because I'd like it to be private, but I have to tell you anyway, and until I can tell you in person, I have no other way.

I love you.

You have changed my life this July, and I thank God you are in the world.

The Power of Memory

An important note about recovered memories:

When a buried or blocked memory returns, it feels "brand new" to the person recovering it. This is because, despite the length of the interval, the incident in question is being remembered for the first time. Thus, when I energetically report an incident from 10 or 16 years ago, it's because - to me - it feels like it happened yesterday (or maybe last week). 

Lately, I've recovered many memories from 2014, which feel brand new to me.

2014, as it turns out, was a noteworthy year.

Pearl turned 90 that August. We had a big birthday bash for her, with many friends from church and in her Reseda neighborhood.

Two "bad guy" incidents happened very shortly after that. Bad guys, as I have learned (through the recovery of blocked memories) were plaguing Pearl (and me, by extension, as her caregiver).

Pearl turned 90 on August 24, 2014.

Within a week, two incidents involving the late (not so great) (but attempting to be honest) David Friedman took place. Both happened at CSUN. One occurred at the Cinema Building (which houses the Armer Theater). This incident happened on Saturday, August 30, and involved several bad guys (friends of my brother), and one of the world's worst people, who works in the indicated building. I'm being vague, even though I don't need to be.

On a side note, if any of my readers wonder who this guy is, and how he could be one of the world's worst people, I understand that question, because a person would have to be supremely horrendous to qualify as one of the worst people on Earth.

But this guy qualifies, and you know who he is. And if you don't, all you have to do is Google.

Think "Jerry Sandusky/Penn State" and then transfer that to CSUN.

The second incident that happened after Pearl's 90th birthday also involved David Friedman. It occurred in the gigantic CSUN parking lot located at Lassen/Lindley. I wrote about this incident in a previous blog. Many bad guys were involved. Cocaine dealers/porno people/swingers/cultists...call them what you will. They all know me and I know them. They seem like ordinary people, and I had thought they were friends (and family members) of mine. But now, I know better, and I am going to shut them down if it's the last thing I do. I am the Righest Wing Person on Planet Earth, as far as law enforcement and justice are concerned.

And I am relentless beyond this life. 

Both LAPD and CSUN (California State) PD showed up at this incident. The bad guys (as usual) went free. This is not a reflection on the PDs involved. The bad guys have high-level connections that protect them, connections beyond the PDs' reach.

Very early this morning, I had a dream (which felt "pulsed") and because I am immersed in (and dedicated to) the recovery of blocked memories, I forced myself awake to make note of the details. Sitting up in bed (at around 6am), I spoke aloud what was vivid in my dream:

I said, "It happened on a Friday, on Halloween Night, in a car at Cleveland High School".

This was my immediate capture of what I perceived to be a blocked memory, which bubbled up in an early morning dream.

As I write, this dream-memory has been concentrated on and has developed.

I am more than 51% sure it represents an actual occurrence from Halloween Night 2014.

I haven't ruled out 2015 (or the years 2010 to 2013), but the evidence so far (including that from my diary), suggests 2014.

Halloween Night 2014, in a car parked at Cleveland High.

The power of dreams, and of magic, and of God and of memory. 

Even More Truth

We left off on January 17, 2010, with the multifacted incident that occured on that date at Pearl's house, which was covered up by a certain man we've been concerned with. We call him The Pastor.

He blocked my memory (through the use of hypnosis) of what happened that day. Now, we must ask why he would do this, especially if he is a Christian Pastor.

This man entered the bedroom I was in, while I was talking to the young lady mentioned in the last blog.

She left the house, and this man hypnotised me shortly thereafter. 

He is extremely slick. He makes you feel like he's your best friend. He wears a permanent grin, but it feels pasted-on, like it doesn't reach his eyes (and yet it sometimes does). "Extremely slick" is the key phrase here. There's a reason he got hired by whoever hired him to do what he does. He was in Los Angeles for 9 years, from 2009 (how convenient, because I was at Sue's house then) until 2018. He started in 2009 at the Wilshire Methodist Church as an associate pastor. He didn't become the pastor at Reseda until March 2012.

So, what was he doing at Pearl's house on January 17, 2010?

That's an extremely good question, and I have some proposed answers if anyone cares to hear them.

Beyond that, listen up.

I've said this before, but the man in question is NOT from Reseda. And if you are NOT from Reseda, and you show up and throw your weight around by bullying women and hypnotising me, to block my memory of a crime commited against me - at Pearl's house (my Godmother), then you have seriously miscalculated your importance.

Few people know the origins of Reseda, or Northridge, or CSUN, which was originally called San Fernando Valley State College.

This guy's from Canada. He's likely a top operator in whatever agency he works for. I'll give him that. He's intelligent. He knows the bible front to back. If I am not mistaken, he told me (in a conversation at the Winnetka Ranch House mentioned earlier) that he had a connection to McDonnell Douglas.

The guy ain't stupid. He extremely smart. But he's "clever smart" (not intellectually). He asked me what books I was reading (because he had access to my diary and wanted to know how I'd answer). I said I was reading Oswald Spengler, and he tried to show that he knew who Spengler was.

And he did a good job faking it.

The guy is slick, slick.

But then there is The Ranch House, a situation in Winnetka (a few miles from RUMC) that is so extreme that it requires a special blog.

The Ranch House has to do with sex and hypnotism. And this man was there.

He calls himself a Christian Pastor, and he knows the Bible inside and out. And on the surface, he appears to be a "leader of people".

On a side note, in the Old Days, when I first met him, he drove a distinctive car - a red Cadillac, with either whitewall tires or white Landau roof (or both).

That was in 2010/2011.

But when he became pastor at RUMC, he "garaged" that fancy car.

Why?

Because I would recognize it, that's why.

I would recognize it from Pearl's driveway, and it would trigger other memories.

I last saw this guy at CSUN (near the gym) in yet another hypnotic situation on August 24, 2024, the 100th anniversary of Pearl's birth.

The guy was agitated when he arrived because he had to take last-minute red-eye connector flights from Hawaii (or wherever he was) to get to LAX, and then get ground transportation to CSUN.

He was all stressed out when he got there. Wanted to know where the Brown Center was at the gym.

The guy has definite connections. He knows about Underground CSUN (which very few people know about besides the many people who live down there).

This guy is extremely bad news.

But I know who he is and I want to know why he is a pastor in the Methodist Church.   

More Truth

Let's go back to January 17, 2010, the day when I was at Pearl's house, and was accused - by an unbalanced woman - of doing something I didn't do. I remind readers that, of necessity, I am keeping all details vague. However, I can relate them in detail in court (should the opportunity miraculously arise), and in the long run, this woman will find herself in God's Court, because she deliberately set me up. In doing what she did (which was intended to send me to prison), she is no different from a male rapist.

But let's forget her for the time being.

I reacted strongly to what she did, and said I was going to call the police. They may have actually come to the house (I am unclear on this), but what I am 100% sure of is that a man came into the room and tried to calm me down. I am ordinarily a calm person, but as bad guys know (who have tried to mess with me), I will go to extremes to protect myself. I have been plagued and beset in my life by criminals and psychotic people; thus, I defend myself when predatory situations have arisen.

This wicked lady found this out. She had her phone in hand, and was threatening to call 911. She had pressed the 9 and the first 1. She showed me her phone and was daring me to get her to press the final 1. I said "go ahead and call them!", but as noted, I don't currently remember if the police came.

I do, however, remember that a man came into the room (a bedroom in Pearl's house). He tried to calm me down.

All of the ladies (including the accusatory lady) who had come to the house to see Pearl (who was still in the hospital) had left by this time.

This man told me to calm down, said that he would settle the situation, that there was no need for lawyers or police.

A little while after that, a young lady came into the room. She was beautiful and very kind.

She was a genuinely good person.

She and I talked. We had a nice conversation. She was in the room with me for perhaps...45 minutes? 

It was a rainy day. She forgot her umbrella when she left, and had to come back into the room to get it.

The man who had told me not to call the police or a lawyer re-entered the room after she left. He knew her.

He knew hypnotism (and how to "re-set" me), and he subsequently (on the spot) blocked my memory of the entire encounter at Pearl's house.

I therefore never remebered meeting this wonderful young lady until about three weeks ago (in July 2026).

Can you guess who the man is, in this situation?

It's Important To Tell The Truth

Let's start at the beginning, with Pearl's broken hip. Her hip was broken in an incident occurring on January 1, 2010. She did not "fall on her neighbor's porch" (as the news was reported to me by my sister three weeks later). Something else happened (I'm being vague), and it was extreme, and it was violent, and it happened inside Pearl's house. How do I know this? Because I was there when it happened. I can testify to it in court if anyone is interested (but of course no one is because it would lead to the takedown of satanic California).

On a side note, if you are wondering why I would not already know how Pearl's hip was broken (since I was there), and why it would be news to me when my sister inaccurately reported it on January 23, it was because my memory of the incident was blocked. Read my most recent blog for details of how memory blocking works.

Suffice it to say that the circumstances in which Pearl's hip was broken were covered up. Pearl was 85 at the time, which means that a lady of that age (and her dignity) were made expendible so that some sex swingers and cocaine dealers could escape consequences for their involvement in the situation. I can name the ones most closely related to the incident, all of whom are people I know. Above them are Hollywood and the State of California (which includes CSUN and what lies beneath it).

On another side note: folks, if you think you know how evil Hollywood and the State of California are, maybe because of Harvey Weinstein, or P. Diddy or whoever...to quote Jeremy Irons, "You have no idea."

Those guys are just the Famous Monsters who got thrown under the bus, and their crimes, while despicable, are small potatoes compared to those of the bad guys who run the show.

I can tell you exactly how evil the corporate entities and individual elites who run Hollywood, Los Angeles, and the State of California are, and how they surreptitiously incorporate a drug economy into the mainstream, and how they engage in the private practice of things like white slavery (coercing certain women into false marriages). (Hey, Pastor...how ya doin?)

Yes, I can tell you a lot. Which is why they would never have me in a phony, systematic L.A. court. Not only can I tell you things (meaning everything I know, which would take weeks on the stand), but I can do it articulately, and in fine-point detail, in a way that no consigliere defense attorney could refute.

Now that we know the basics of Pearl's broken hip, let's fast forward to January 17, 2010.

I was at Pearl's house that day, though I was still working for Sue at the time. Sue is the subject of my upcoming book, entitled "Diane's House." For the record, Diane was Sue's late sister. Her house was located a half mile north of Pearl's. On a side note, Sue is a practicing Methodist in her home state of Washington. She considers herself a Sovereign Citizen and is nuttier than a fruitcake and evil. None of which is a reflection on genuine Methodists (or Christians of any denomination).

We are only scouting out evil people, a job we must do in the present age.

As previously noted, I love the Reseda United Methodist Church, which I was introduced to by Pearl. As also previously noted, I joined the choir there in November 2014. 

On Good Friday, April 3, 2015, I got a nice compliment from a lady after the evening church service. She told me (in the parking lot), "You have a good voice."

I said "thanks", and we talked, and it turned out that this lady knew vocals. She was a big fan of Elvis and The Righteous Brothers. I am a lifelong music fan myself, and may have mentioned The Beatles and Beach Boys as my vocal favorites.

My conversation with this lady is integral to the story I am telling.

We now reverse to January 17, 2010. As noted, I was at Pearl's house that day. Several ladies arrived, hoping to see her, perhaps to check on her recovery, but she was not home. She was still in the hospital.

During the time that these ladies were in Pearl's house, I got accused, by one of them, of something I did not do.

The accusation was EXTREMELY SERIOUS, and it resulted from a situation ENTIRELY and DELIBERATELY CONCOCTED by my accuser.

It was so serious, and so patently false, that I reacted by refuting her allegations to the point where I wanted to call the police on her (or ask for a lawyer).

On a side note, this woman is a horrible person and a member of the RUMC.

The other ladies who had come with her to Pearl's house (to check on Pearl) (who wasn't there) witnessed what this horrible woman did to me. They know how she set me up and created a false scenario that, in her mind, would allow her to accuse me of something I didn't do. On a side note, she is a nutjob.

The payoff to this segment of our story is that I was so upset by this woman's false accusations against me (after she deliberatlely set me up), that I almost started hyperventilating. Another RUMC lady, who was there and who I can name (and detail our conversation), told me she would bear witness for me if I needed her to do so.

To be continued...     

Magic

 San Diego Chicken + Dollar Tree = Magic💘

The Pastor

July 17, 2026: The thing is, this guy was a great pastor. We only had two during my time in choir, but he was my favorite, always smiling, exuding positive energy. His sermons were inspiring and succinct. If you had asked me, just three years ago, I would've told you he was a superb guy.

Then, while meditating in Fall 2024 (about 20 months ago), I discovered he was involved in something I call The Ranch House Event, which took place in March or April 2011 at the Winnetka home of a female parishoner. I was present at this event, which is detailed in my upcoming (four volume) book. The Ranch House is shocking, but because it was explained to me as a group effort to fight bad guys (I am being vague here), I took this man's word for it. I didn't know who he was at the time, nor that he was a pastor, even though I'd first met him at Pearl's house 14 months earlier, in January 2010. How is this possible, you ask? How could I join the choir in November 2014, think this pastor was a superb guy, and have no awareness that I'd met him almost five years earlier under extremely sketchy circumstances, and in fact had encountered him numerous, previous times?

Because my memory was blocked. That's why.

Those of you who were around in the 1980s might remember Bill Cosby, a comedian who got famous in the '60s. Cosby was known for his clean-cut humor. He didn't "work blue". In the 80's, he promoted Jello Pudding on TV and became "America's Dad" in the #1 sitcom of the era, "The Cosby Show," which ran for eight years.

Of course, America and the world now know that Cosby was a serial rapist who got away with his despicable crimes until the early 2000s, when the accusations started rolling in. Why is this pertenent to our discussion? Because Cosby used techniques to cause women to "forget" they were raped.

Before Cosby, no one had heard of "getting Roofied" (meaning drugged), and no one knew that getting drugged in such a way would cause the victim to have no memory of what happened.

I am not using Cosby as an example of his method because this pastor did not drug me. I am using Cosby as an example of a man who was widely accepted as the textbook example of a wholesome guy. Except he wasn't. In truth, he was diabolical, not only raping women at will, but causing them (through the use of hypnotic drugs) (and possibly other means) to have no memory of what they'd been through. And in that respect, he is like the pastor who blocked my memory of numerous, significant incidents.

Cosby likely didn't use violence. Thus there were no extreme subliminal triggers that could potentially rise to the surface in the memory of his victims. And the women had likely gone to his house voluntarily. But he had sex with them, after "roofie-ing" them, which left them with no memory of the incident.

Until their memories came back, years later.

I am perhaps the world's foremost expert in recovered memory. I know the entire process: how memory is blocked, and how it eventually returns. Memory cannot be "erased", only blocked.

That's why Bill Cosby eventually went to prison, and will rot in Hell.

As for the pastor, he used hypnosis to block my memory. He called it "re-setting" me, and he used a series of finger movements, subtle commands to turn my eyes up and down, my head side to side. He had me count backwards from a number like 20, or 100. I don't know for sure. But he did it all with a genteel smugness, like he was my friend, like he was my partner in some grand experience.

I can detail everything he did, explicity, because like Cosby's victims, I have my memory back.

But the problem is, this guy's a Spook. Besides being a pastor (which I believe he is), he also - without a doubt - works for an intelligence or military entity, be it American or otherwise.

For the record, he is Canadian. I don't know if he is also an American citizen.

But I do know that he inserted himself in my life. 

He is not from Reseda. He does not know me. He has fucked my life up enormously by hypnotising me and blocking my memory (under the guise of "altruism" or "patriotism").

I will continue to investigate him. I hope I have allies, because I am sure he has victimised others who know what I am talking about. I don't care who he may work for. I'm not afraid of cults or agencies.

I only care about my loved ones.

This guy made a gigantic mistake by injecting himself into my life.  

Church and Choir

Folks, I want to talk about church and choir. I have a story to tell, but because it's so huge, I will have to relate it in segments. And as you might imagine (knowing me), it is part of the much bigger and continuous story of my life, but church takes precedence over all right now, so here goes.

I joined the choir at the Reseda United Methodist Church on Sunday, November 9, 2014. It wasn't intended on my part (I didn't ask to join), but I am grateful that it happened. My five-plus years of singing tenor with my friends is one of the absolute highlights of my life. I wish I could go back in a Time Machine to do it all again. My tenure with the choir came about because Pearl fell down onstage a week or two before the above mentioned date, and her daughter was given notice that she could not continue. Pearl was banned, prohibited or whatever you want to call it, from being onstage with her fellow singers because (as I was told by her daughter) the church couldn't be responsible for her safety. I had a fit about this (which is noted in "The Summer of Green Parrots"). Long story short, Pearl was one of the longest serving members of the RUMC congregation, since 1953. My response was, basically, "How dare they kick her out!" I offered to ensure her safety by sitting with her onstage (as her caregiver), and the choir director said, on that very first Sunday, "If you're going to sit with us, you shall sing." I protested (at first), but that's how I became a member of the choir, which turned out to be one of the greatest experiences of my life.

Fast forward to 2026. Because of what I know now, through the disciplined daily practice of meditative memory recovery, and because I am a dedicated criminal investigator, I question small or seemingly insignificant things, in this case, "Who determined that Pearl was banned from choir"?

And why was she banned, after one single fall on a carpeted stage, in which she was uninjured?

Concerning the first question, I thought about who could have made the determination that Pearl was banned. I thought it had to be the church hierarchy. Not being a church person at the time, I wasn't sure who that was. Was it a bishop? Did the RUMC have an administrative board? I also considered the pastor, but the truth was that I didn't know.

Now that I know much more about the RUMC, I know it was the pastor who made the decision that Pearl would be banned from the choir, at a church she had belonged to since before he was born.

This blog series is about that pastor, and I am wondering if I need an attorney, because I know much more about him now, and the way he inserted himself into my life. He blocked my memory of many significant incidents. He is a profoundly bad guy.

As I say, I can tell a long and detailed story about him, and situations involving the RUMC, which by the way, I love, and I despise those who corrupted it. 

Does anyone care to listen?

(to be continued)

Important Message For My Friends at the Reseda UMC

Hi everyone. This message is for my friends at the Reseda UMC, though I don't know if any of them are readers. I need to get in touch with a lady (intials JF) who used to work at the church but lost her job (or was transferred) in December 2014. She had (and maybe still has) a friend (initials MJ) whom I would like to contact, as well. The second lady and her father were friends of Pearl's. 

It is very important that I speak with these ladies, especially JF, as soon as possible. If anyone knows how to contact them, and could act as an intermediary, I would be grateful. Thanks.

P.S. I love you guys and will be seeing you before too long.     Adam

June 28, 2026 (It's A Gas!)

Hi folks. Let's talk natural gas. You've heard of the Aliso Canyon storage facility, notorious for the methane leak in 2015/16 - the worst in United States history. That facility is located in Porter Ranch on top of a mountain just west of Mission Point. At ground level, it would be just a few miles from Northridge. If you are a curious person, like me, you remember that leak, and you ask, "Where did all that methane come from?" Then you Google and find out it is stored, with other natural gas products, in huge underground caverns (up to two miles below ground!) which were once filled with crude oil that was extracted by refineries in the early 20th century. When the oil was all pumped out, in came The Southern California Gas Co. They started filling the enormous (now empty) caverns with natural gas (piped in from other locations) in the 1940s.

It was at this point that So Cal homes were built and converted for natural gas (stoves and heating). Citizens took it for granted. Then in 1994, there were huge explosions during the Northridge quake, that reminded everyone of the gigantic gas caverns underground.

Let us now bring in our late friends Pat and Friedman for further exploration.

In October 2010, they took me on the infamous Pat/Friedman Tour, which included many stops at notorious criminal locations in northeastern Northridge and Granada Hills. One of the things P and F wanted to (and did) show me were three Gas Company "stations", hidden behind landscaped rises in the residential neighborhood bordered by Lassen Street to the north and Marilla to the south, and laterally along Shoshone Avenue. You can Google Street View them or visit in person. The stations are not visible from the street. They are hidden by tall hedges, and situated next to houses. You'd never know they were there, if not for the signs, which warn of "high pressure gas lines", i.e the kind that blew a hole in Balboa Boogalord on January 17, 1994 and sent flames billowing skyward.

An interesting fact about the southernmost of these three Gas Co "sector stations" is that it's just up Shoshone Street (no more than 100 yards north), of the former, long-time home of a family well-known to all of us, the scion of which is the best friend of one of my relatives.

Since we are being curious, we might ask, "What's behind the walls of these stations?" Likely Gas Company equipment, right? Perhaps meters, pressure regulators, heck...I don't know. But just stuff like that. We might also ask "does anyone monitor these stations? Are there Gas Co. employees on site?"

Folks, I walk by there a lot. I've never seen so much as a truck or an unlocked gate.

Maybe these stations are mostly automated, then. Okay fine.

But what about the storage caverns underground? Does the Gas Co have access to those?

You'd think so. Obviously, to reach the mountaintop (where the Aliso facility is located), and then to be piped into homes across Los Angeles, the gas has to pumped from two miles below the ground. How does it travel? Through pipes, of course. So, what if there's a leak or some other problem in the underground pipe system? They'd need to have a human being, a Gas Co employee (or employees), go down there and fix it. Right?

How would those employees get down to the storage caverns? For comparison, we can ask how geologists or miners get deep underground. "By elevator" would seem to be the answer.

What would you folks say if I told you that there's such an elevator behind the high hedges and walls of one of these residentially-blended Gas Co stations? You might say, "Wow, how do you know that, Ad?"

And I'd reply, "Because I've ridden on it. All the way down to the bottom, where the storage tanks are."

Pat Forducci, who died three years ago today, seemed to have "special connections". I don't know if they involved DoD or an Alphabet Soup agency, but there were times when he had access to inaccessable places. One day, in 1988, with the help of other people (including Lys, who also had high-level connections), Pat took me behind the wall of the station on Marilla Street. I believe there was an escalator there, inside an enclosure, that went one or two levels underground and connected to the deep-range elevator. Now, I don't know if it was a single elevator, or if we had to switch (like you do in some skyscrapers). But we got all the way down to the bottom, which looked like "Journey to the Center of the Earth," with jagged rock walls. The difference was that there were catwalks and railings, and a pit emitting flames. I remember Pat telling me to walk to the railing to check it out. Was it some sort of pilot light?

I have no idea.

There were also high, steel control panels down there, with lights. Everything was built into solid rock.

Why were we down there? I don't know the entire reason. Part of it may have been just to show me the cavern. On a side note, before we rode back up, Pat asked me: "Guess how far down we are?" I was thinking in "stories", like a building. I may have said, "I dunno...ten stories?" Pat said, "No, much deeper than that." I said, "20 stories?" He said, "Think in feet, not stories." I said, "Man...I don't know. 500 feet?"

He said, "You aren't close. Try ten thousand feet. Two miles."

When this memory first came back (last Summer), I had a hard time believing that figure. Until I did some Googling on the Aliso facility. And Pat was right. We were two miles below ground.

Someone else was down there. A bad guy we all know. We encountered him on one of the catwalks. He was holding a lady hostage. That's actually why we went down there, I think; to free this lady from the bad guy in question.

I recall getting in the elevator to go back up to the surface, with Pat and Lys (and maybe others, perhaps even Friedman).

When we got back to the top, to the Gas Co station on Marilla Street at Shoshone Avenue, we took the escalator back up to the hidden enclosure, where a law enforcement officer (Sheriff's Dept? State police?) was waiting for the bad guy. 

This happened in the summer of 1988. On the Pat/Friedman Tour in October 2010, as we drove past these sites, Pat insinuated there had been, over the years, some sort of (literal?) power struggle between LADWP and Southern California Gas Co, and that's why some streets have brighter streetlights than others, in that neighborhood. Actually, there was much more to his explanation, and it involved the high pressure gas lines, but that's all I will say for tonight.

Thanks for reading.

June 14, 2026 (King's X)

Sigh. Yeah, folks, I not only missed all four Rush concerts, but I missed King's X, too, at The Whisky last night. Unlike the unaffordable (for me) Rush shows, KX was eminently doable except for one issue: the Metro Red Line Subway. King's X has played The Whisky on all of their recent tours (last fifteen years?), and for those shows, there has usually been one (maybe two) opening acts, with the boys going on at apprx 9pm (9:30 at the latest) and finishing their aweome set by 10:30 to 11pm. All of which gave me time, in years past, to catch the Sunset Boogalord bus back to Highland, hightail it on foot up to Hollywood Boog, and catch a late Red Line train to NoHo, where my car was parked (sorry, but I won't pay 10 to 20 bucks to park in a sketchy lot on Sunset Strip).

Have you ever ridden the Red Line (or any line in the LA Metro system)? Beyond the safety issues (it's mostly okay), the main problem is reliability. Sometimes, a station (or the entire line) is shut down, without warning, as I found out weeks ago after parking at the Red Line NoHo station to ride to Universal City for a birthday lunch with my sister at Bubba Gump.

Sorry, station closed.

I had to take a long-delayed shuttle bus instead.

The point is, a late night ride on the Metro subway system is a roll of the dice. If you get there on time, you'll (probably) catch one of the last trains. But there's also a chance that the late trains (on any given night) will be cancelled. And for this King's X show, there were three opening bands (instead of one...or two). KX would not go on until 10pm, and be done by 11:30. I checked the Metro schedule, and the last (guaranteed) Red Line train left Hollywood & Highland at 12:26am on Saturday night. After that, roll the dice. That gave me less than an hour to leave the show, catch the Sunset bus (what if it's late?), fast-walk the half mile from Sunset up to Hollywood Boog, and pray that I not only made it on time for the last train of the night, but that it hadn't been cancelled.

You know what? No can do. Wouldn't be prudent.

So I am now at the point where, if going to a concert involves anything more than the slightest amount of stress, I won't go. Sorry, but I've seen a lot of shows, for over 50 years, and I'm not gonna pay huge prices or worry about getting home. I already go to almost every show by myself (which sucks), and have done since 1997.

So yeah...it's a bummer, but my concert-going days are mostly over, unless there is no hassle involved.

I like Disneyland better. Yeah, it costs a lot. But you can stay all day (for 16 hours if you want), and you know its safe, with no sketchy transits back home.

God bless rock concerts, but I was born to go to Disneyland.

My life's biggest influences (besides Reseda and my parents): The Beatles, Disneyland, Gilligan's Island.

June 12, 2026 (Rush)

Hi folks. We have now passed through Night Three of the Rush concerts at The Forum. I won't ask you what you think, because we all know they are incredible in this strange new incarnation, and we've seen (even on YouTube if we weren't there) how phenomenal Anika Nilles has been in these shows. Alex and Geddy made the right choice, eh?

Unfortunately for me, this is the first Rush tour since 1997 ("Test for Echo") when I did not attend a show. The current Forum shows sold out on Ticketmaster before I even got in the online "queue" as it's now called, and the resale prices have been more than I can afford (or am willing to pay). Thus, I have not seen (and will not see) any Rush shows this tour, but I take solace in the fact that I first saw them at Long Beach in November 1978 (on the Hemispheres tour), and on 31 more stops along the way. I've seen Rush 32 times (more than I've seen any other band), and I was at their final concert with Neil on August 1, 2015.

So that will have to suffice, for now. I wish I had seen one of these current shows with Anika, who has instantly become the most famous drummer on Earth, but I cannot battle the economics of 2026.

Anyhow, if you went to any of the Forum shows, I'll bet you blew your mind.

As for me, I am blowing my mind in an altogether different way. I am primarily a Crime Investigator these days. I strive for and spend time every day to recover blocked memories from my past. My mission in life is to expose and defeat bad guys, by which I mean violent criminal predators who have gotten away with everything they've ever done. I am in a war against evil, from which bad people emerge.

It sucks to talk about this, and it sucks because no one cares or will listen.

As always in the modern age, the 24/7 Turnaround rules the day and year, daily distraction is the only constant, and the years pass by like months.

Anyhow, the saving grace for me is that I am learning many things each day about my life. I am recovering memories that were blocked by bad people, and I pray I will learn more, and I am grateful for the Lord's help in this battle. I also pray that the battle will soon be over, because I am profoundly tired. I don't trust good guys or bad guys. No one has the guts to step up and tell the truth. 

God Bless Rush.  

May 23, 2026 (Evil Must Be Exterminated)

Folks, things are very bad. In fact, they can't get much worse. Recent revelations have shown not only that bad guys knew where Pearl lived (as previously reported), but that they were in her house.

Folks, listen up, and listen good: Bad guys broke into Pearl's house when I was there. There were two of them. We all know who they are. This happened, by my researched estimate, in late November or December 2014, right after I began staying overnight as Pearl's caregiver. She was 90 years old at the time.

Folks...listen. Are you listening? I was her caregiver. She was 90 years old.

And these two pieces of garbage entered her house in some kind of "truth or dare" creepycrawl best understood by their fellow cult members - the bad guy "swingers" and coke dealers with whom they associate.

Their adventure was a joke to them. I can describe what they did in detail. I can describe most of the incident.

For some reason, they seem immune to arrest and prosecution. I've known them since the 1970s. I went to jr. high with one, met the other one at College Records. I've "hung out" with them, considered them my friends, gone to concerts with them. I repeat: we all know who they are.

YOU KNOW WHO THEY ARE.

But in my case, I didn't know what they are until recently.

They are sexual predators, and may even be registered as such.

And in November 2014, they broke into Pearl's house, on one of my first nights as her overnight caregiver, and one of them intimidated her in a sexually abusive and horrific way in her bedroom.

I was there. I witnessed all of this and I am fucking horrified beyond belief.

These guys need their skulls crushed. But even that is too good for them, when you know the extent of what they have done, going back to at least the 1980s.

Goodnight. 

May 9, 2026 (David Friedman again)

Folks, we need to talk about David Friedman. We did so in an earlier blog (February 23, 2026), but we need to invoke him again because he is (or was) a font of information, even though I didn't know it when he was alive. Friedman visited me a lot during the time I was Pearl's caregiver, usually accompanying me on CSUN walks, often on a Saturday night. The poor man was woebegone, always worried about his job and his failing marriage. He didn't talk about much else; it was difficult being his sounding board on these occasions.

Nowdays, in this era of ridiculous infotainment life and outrageous prices, I extend my CSUN walk up to Ralphs market in Granada Hills. I do this to save gas money, and I get my nightly exercise at the same time. On my way up to Ralphs, I pass the giant CSUN parking lot at Lassen and Lindley. About six months ago (apprx. November 2025), something about that parking lot triggered a memory of a walk with David Friedman.

One night, perhaps ten or twelve years ago, he came over and instead of going southeast through the campus, as we usually did, he wanted to walk down Halsted toward Lindley, and when we got to that street, he asked if we could turn north toward Lassen. He seemed nervous about something - not his usual domestic angst but something that was happening in the moment. As we passed the Lindley dorms, I asked him what was up: "Why are we going this way?" He said, "Let's just cross the street first. I'll tell you when we get across."

I said, "Okay" and when we reached the big parking lot, he said, "We're being followed." I said, "What do you mean, 'we're being followed'", thinking it was just more Friedman paranoia. I should point out that he wasn't on drugs. He'd even quit smoking pot by this point. But he was on edge, and kept checking his phone. I repeated: "Whataya mean we're being followed?" He said, "Well...it's not 'we.' I'm being followed. But in a way, you're the one being followed because they're using me to follow you."

By now, I'd had enough. I said, "What is this about?" and he finally explained what was going on. A group of people - bad guys we all know - had being following Friedman in his car, all the way over to my building. He used to park about a block away, and I would meet him and we'd walk through CSUN, but on this night he had been followed, which was why he suggested an alternate route. He referred to this following practice as "tagging" and he seemed to think he was in trouble that night: "for some of the things I've told you".

I wasn't aware that he had "told me" anything.

"Tagging", according to Friedman, was a form of triangulation where a number of cars (two or more) follow a subject and triangulate his position by using electronic devices. An operation of this type was apparently underway on the night Friedman led me on this walk. After letting me in on what was happening, he tried to link me to his trouble by asserting that I was in trouble too, by association. "You're in trouble because you are with me". That is paraphrased, but close to verbatim, and Friedman was couching his terms. He didn't want me to know the extent of the trouble he was in.

When we crossed Lassen at Lindley and reached the huge CSUN parking lot, suddenly there was Pat Fordyce. He must've driven up in his car, but he may have parked somewhere (perhaps in the lot). I say this because I can't remember for certain if he was on foot or in his car when we encountered him. But he was definitely there, and he warned Friedman that his pursuers were nearby. Pat was also versed on this "tagging" business. On a side note, recalling the Pat/Friedman Tour of October 2010 (described in a recent blog), we again see Pat "assisting" Friedman on this occasion at Lassen/Lindley (perhaps in 2014), when in real time they didn't seem to know each other. Of course, we now know they were both cult members, involved in sex and cocaine, and they may have known each other a whole lot better than we realized.

Getting back to the incident, after Pat warned us about the automotive "taggers", Friedman suggested we should turn right at the top of the parking lot. In my memory, part of his reasoning was that we would be out of range of the bad guy's devices by being away from Lindley Avenue. Another part was that, according to Friedman, "they couldn't enter that section of the parking lot without chancing arrest" (perhaps because it was outside the bad guys' area of protection).

It is important to note that the bad guys (who we ALL KNOW) are protected, at least to an extent, by an Authoritative Entity, be it a police department, or a corrupt State system, or by links to Influencial Cocaine Suppliers. The point is that they are protected...to an extent Thus, they know they are not going to get arrested for merely "tagging" and following someone with their iPhones or electronic devices. Heck, they didn't get arrested for torturing my Mom in 1988 at the Seventh-day Adventist Church. 

So it's not unusual that the bad guys in this situation did not get arrested or detained.

What did happen, after Pat warned Friedman that the bad guys had triangulated our position, was that a car appeared and pulled into the parking lot. It rolled down the northern entryway we were on, the east-west strip just south of the hill.

This is the part of the story where you need to fasten your seatbelt, because in that car were Two People We All Know, and they were involved in a cocaine transaction that went bad.

(to be continued)

Meanwhile, Rolling Stone has released their All Time Top 100 Guitar Solos, of which maybe 20 are deserving, but of course that's Rolling Stone, a magazine so corporate and lacking in ideas that it named itself after a famous rock band. Let's do our own guitar solo list, every one deserving of its place, because unlike the clowns at RS (where the Hipster Factor figures in), we truly know us some guitar, and we are experts on guitar solos.

Here are the Top Fifteen: 

1) "Burn" Ritchie Blackmore

2) "Comfortably Numb" David Gilmour

3) "Rock Bottom" Michael Schenker 

4) "Still So Many Lives Away" Uli Jon Roth

5) "Desert Rose" Eric Johnson

6) "La Villa Strangiato" Alex Lifeson

7) "Starship Trooper" Steve Howe

8) "Crying to the Sky" Bill Nelson

9) "Something" George Harrison

10) "Riding on the Wind" Tipton/Downing

11) "Blue Sky" Dickie Betts

12) "White Room" Eric Clapton

13) "Just One Victory" Todd Rundgren

14) "Lady Fantasy" Andy Latimer

15) "Phoenix" Powell/Turner 

Of course, there are the legendary FM radio solos: "Stairway", "Watchtower", and "Freebird", which I saw the original Lynyrd Skynyrd perform in 1976 in San Bernardino on a bill with Black Sabbath and Peter Frampton...who himself was about to chart the biggest selling live album of that era, "Frampton Comes Alive".

Rock lives. So does truth.

God bless and tons of love.

April 20, 2026

Hi folks. I'm listening to early Iberian organ music, trying to break, at least temporarily, from my daily Wagner habit, which has transfixed me for over two years now ("Parsifal"and "Lohengrin" mostly). I just finished watching one of the best documentaries I've ever seen, music or otherwise, about Lee Kerslake, the great Uriah Heep drummer who became even more well known as part of Ozzy Osbourne's first band, which was initially supposed to be a band (called Blizzard of Oz) and not just an Ozzy solo vehicle with backing players. The documentary focuses on the last few years of Kerslake's life, as he battles cancer and substantial physical difficulties, but what shines through all of that is his indomitable spirit. I must cut in here to say that he had the same birthday as me. We Aries are incapable of giving up, no matter how grim the going gets, but the thing about this guy is that he was even more unstoppable than most.

The storyline is largely about his "bucket list" desire to record and release his first solo album, which he begins working on at age 70 (his cancer in remission). He hopes to complete it before he dies. Old friends like Ian Paice and all the members of KISS visit him during this time.

Besides being a great drummer (Ian Paice compares him to John Bonham), Kerslake was also an all-around musician who played piano and was known as a fantastic harmony singer. As a former choir member myself, I very much appreciate harmony singing, and it's interesting about Uriah Heep...their album, "Sweet Freedom" was one of the first I ever bought when I "graduated" from Top 40 radio to "serious rock". I bought it with my paper route money in the Summer of 1973. Later that Summer, I met Pat Forducci, who was a huge Heep fan. I liked them, had the one album, and also knew their classic songs "Easy Livin'" and "July Morning", and I thought David Byron was an incredible singer, but it wasn't until about 2020, when I bought "Demons and Wizards" and "The Magician's Birthday", that I realised how great this band was. On a side note, I used to play their music (along with Canterbury bands like Caravan) for Pearl to energize her when her dementia was bad. The last album we ever listened to together was "Demons and Wizards". You can read about it in "The Summer of Green Parrots".

Listening to these records, almost 50 years after they were released, I began to finally appreciate Uriah Heep, who I now think should be included with Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath on the list of all-time hard rock greats. Their strength was songs, rather than flashy playing, but they also had superstar musicians including Gary Thain, one of the most fluent and unique bass players in rock history. In fact, the rhythm section of Thain and Lee Kerslake was what made them so powerful and provided the backdrop for the organ of Ken Hensley, the standout vocals of Byron (the best of all the classic early hard rock singers), and the guitar work of Mick Box, the last original Heep member who is still alive to this day.

Anyhow, watch this documentary (available for free on Tubi). It's great just for showing the power of music. You don't have to be a Uriah Heep fan to enjoy it. 

Sorry I haven't written for a while. It's been a combination of being busy writing my next book (the shocking "Diane's House") and being affected by the revelations within it, which are new to me since 2024, due to deliberate memory blocking by bad guys and my own (successful) efforts to retrieve those memories through self-hypnotic meditation. You know how that works. Anyhow, I've gone through a bit of an anxiety-related depression. I've recently felt precarious in my life, and of course that's not a subject I wish to blog about, nor would you wish to read it (unless you are a bad guy, in which case it might make your day).

At the moment, I'm just coming off a five day span when I was without electrical power in my apartment. As if my life wasn't weird enough, right? At first, the outage was in my unit and the three surrounding mine on both floors. The other 27 units in the building were not affected, and the three others that did lose power (besides mine) had it restored in less than 24 hours. For some reason, mine took five days. DWP said that a certain type of coil burned out in the main switching box and had to be specially ordered. 

The late, occasionally great Steve Jennings had a saying that I've never forgotten. He said there are certain situations in life where the only prudent answer is "oh."

That was what I thought during the five days I was sleeping (and spending parts of my evenings in) my blacked-out apartment. I just thought "oh." I have learned by trial and error not to complain too much. Look up a guy named Paul Bennewitz.

Anyhow...I hope you had a nice Ritchie Blackmore's Birthday. Can you believe he is 81? My electricity was fortunately restored in time for me to watch the livestream video posted by his wife and bandmate Candice of a birthday interview with Ritchie that she moderated, 54 minutes long. It was so popular that RB fans clamored for more, and they ended up doing an additional two interviews, both also near an hour long. That's almost three hours of Ritchie answering questions, including great insights about Edward Van Halen, Tommy Bolin, Rory Gallagher, Brian May, and many other guitarists and musicians. They're on Youtube if you wanna check 'em out. Ritchie has health problems that he mentions late in the first clip, and in the early going he appears tired. But he warms up after that and when he does, he becomes the great rock n' roll storyteller that he's known for being. And very funny. Ritchie is one of the great dry humorists in rock or anywhere else. 

Speaking of guitarists, I went to see Uli Jon Roth on Friday April 10 at The Canyon in Agoura Hills. Grimsley drove. It was an improved experience over the 2024 Uli show at The Whisky, which was also quite good but in a sardine-can club that lacked a video screen for Uli's visuals, which contain replicas of his Star Wars-inspired oil paintings, and are an integral part of his show. The sound and visuals at The Canyon were top notch, as was his band, which features two additonal guitarists who sometimes "triple up" on Uli's lead breaks, creating an effect that is sonically breathtaking for the audience but seems like a walk in the park for the musicians.Uli played his standard 3-hour show, two sets, the first unaccompanied, playing classical pieces on his Sky guitar to backing orchestral tapes. On a side note, it is unfortunate that a musician of his stature has to play this type of music in front of an audience who, in the SRO areas near the bar, are drinking with friends, and are much more interested in their ongoing conversations (which are shouted over the music) than they are in what is emanating from the stage. Drunk people who talk over the music at concerts is a modern day phenomenon, but all-too regular and tolerated. Sigh....(but I am still glad I went). 

I had a nice birthday lunch at Bubba Gump in Universal Citywalk, treated by my sister Vickie. I hadn't been to Universal since the Rush Clockwork Angels concert on November 19, 2012. The Gibson closed ten months later, on September 6, 2013, to make way for the Harry Potter attraction at Universal's theme park. So, 13 1/2 year's since I'd been there, but it was fun and the food was great (a gigantic order of fish n chips for me).

That's about all I know for the moment. I'll try to write more often. Gotta get my mojo back...

Thanks for reading. Tons of love as always.

February 23, 2026 (David Friedman)

Folks, in the last blog I mentioned The Pat/Friedman Tour, a walking and driving excursion through the northeastern sector of Northridge (but centered in the White Oak Avenue corridor) that featured the disclosure, by Pat Forducci and David Friedman, of "locations of interest" (criminal incidents unknown to me before this night) that occurred in the 1980s. The Tour took place during a party I attended in that area in October 2010. I was invited to this party by David Friedman, who picked me up from Pearl's house and drove me to it. 

David Friedman, if you knew him, seemed friendly enough, if troubled and self-centered. He only ever talked about himself and his endless grief from work and his family life. In all situations, he painted himself as the victim, but in truth, David Friedman was a predator, at least as a young adult.

I happen to know this from what he did to me in early 1983.

Some context: David Friedman's dad died suddenly on January 7, 1983, at age 49. David was not yet 20. I recall him observing a traditional Jewish mourning period of several weeks. At the time, I barely knew him. My focus was on Lilly and my music. I was 22 and naive, as I would discover over four decades later.

In 1983, David Friedman knew more about my life than I did. The secret parts, anyway. His dad, Albert Norman Friedman, had worked at Lockheed's Skunk Works and was therefore a high-clearance individual with DoD connections. When his dad died, and after his period of mourning ended, David felt freed up.

No one was left to restrict him. No one to tell him what to do.

David was a sociopath, and what he did, now that his dad was dead, was to take from the family closet some classified electronic gear his dad had stashed, from Lockheed or Korea or wherever. He took these gadgets and brought them to my house, where he used them to take advantage of me. I'm talking about the "scanners" that would later be used on me by various bad guys (whom we all know) during the horrific summer of 1989.

David Friedman introduced these devices into the group of our "friends" in January '83, when he was 19 and I was 22.

I will now tell you about a memory I have, blocked for over forty years but recovered in 2025, of being in a courtroom with David Friedman and at least one of his sisters. His mother may have been there, also. Someone had filed a case against him for what he did to me.

I can picture him in front of me in a line outside the Van Nuys Courthouse. Have you been there? It's a distinctive setting. We were waiting to enter the building, and I can see Freidman attempting to speak to me in line, to try to influence the case against him. His attempt didn't work. Someone shut him down on my behalf. Lys? I don't know. Lys (or Ann) always seemed to be there in these situations.

In another memory, even clearer, we were with Friedman's sisters in a judge's chamber in a downtown LA courtroom. This was a different occasion. Folks, I attended TWO court dates with these people over what David Friedman did to me. His sisters testified for him. I think Lys was there on my behalf. I don't recall anyone else but perhaps my Mom?

Folks, the judge (or court commissioner) was only there to ARBITRATE. I don't know what her decision was, but I definitely recall her saying to the assembled, "You're aware I have to seal this record."

True story.

Thus, somewhere in the records of the crooked, occult Los Angeles County Court system is the paperwork of this David Friedman case. 

On another occasion, likely also in 1983, I found myself INSIDE the Friedman house. The context of how this happened is not yet clear, but his remaining family was Cult. I could tell you things about that night that would make your head spin. Basically, it was a sting operation into which I was "inserted" as a wedge. Bad guys whom we all know were present. A helicopter was overhead. It was a big time LAPD operation on the people in that house at that time. True Story, yet completely covered up because Northridge is porno and cult central, involving CSUN and extending all the way up to California State politics. Cocaine runs California, and especially Hollywood, and coke is controlled by cartels, who have an uneasy alliance with rich California long-term connected pols like Gavin Newsom and the Pelosis. The Left Wing pols in this state are pure evil and criminal. Child abuse on a demonic scale is connected to Hollywood and this can be shown by the extra horrific 1976 event at the Devonshire House next to Northridge Park. I was present at this event as a 16 year old witness. 

Hollywood (no matter how much money it generates) must be ENTIRELY SHUT DOWN. We cannot continue to live in a 24/7 disposable "news cycle" where only the turnaround matters, where one murder is followed by the next, and everyone is famous for three minutes.

But yeah...if you guys wanna do something HARD CORE (and make yourself a legend), do a relentless Los Angeles County FOIA on those sealed court records from the 1983 David Friedman case (involving me). Those records exist (unless they've been destroyed), and you can find them.

In closing, David Friedman was a bad guy, a sociopath. He did bring me my beautiful dog Alice (who begat the beautiful Trixie), and he did attempt to tell the truth in October 2010, when he and Pat Forduccenburger made their many revelations on the Pat/Friedman Tour. But he was still all fucked up, though not as much as some of his associates. 

Thanks for reading, tons of love.

February 15, 2025 (The Miracle and Kennedy High)

Hi folks, and Happy Belated Valentine's Day. I hope it was a good day for you. I walked down to Maple last night, hoping for a repeat of the 2023 Valentine's Day Miracle. It didn't happen, but I stood on the grassy hill, trying to recall what we said. I remember a lady with a phone or a tablet that showed a list of topics we were not supposed to discuss. I don't want to say any more about that night (because I feel I shouldn't), but there were other people present, and if I'm not mistaken, part of the Miracle was filmed.

Most of you know that things sometimes happen to me that I don't remember, and thus am not aware of until years (or even decades) later. That's because my memory gets blocked, and that's what happened in this case. I didn't remember the Valentine's Day Miracle until three months ago, in November 2025. I'm not sure exactly what triggered the memory, but I confirmed it by meditating to fill in the details. Since it was a genuine Miracle, I wanted (and needed) to make sure it really happened; that it wasn't my wishful thinking.

And yes, it really did. And it leaves me optimistic. That's all I am comfortable saying.

Let's see, what else can I tell you? Have we done the Kennedy concert? Have I mentioned driving to Kennedy High School last Fall? I thought I hadn't been back there since the day of my band's lunchtime gig, in January or February 1982, but returning last November triggered yet another blocked memory of being taken to the school by Pat Forducci and David Friedman (both now deceased), between 2010 and 2014. I'm working to pin down an exact date. On a side note, have I told you about The Pat/Friedman Tour? It occurred in October 2010, during a party. Pat and Friedman brought me outside, drove me around, and showed me some lifechanging things. Both wanted out of a situation they were in. I don't know what they gained by telling me what they told me, and showing me the locations we drove to, but on another day, their "tour" continued, and on that occasion, they took me to Kennedy High School. Pat and Friedman knew secrets about my life that I hadn't been aware of, and at Kennedy, they showed me the front gate, asked me what I remembered about playing there, and insinuated that something unusual had happened. I asked what it was.

"You'll remember it," they said. When I asked why they couldn't just tell me what it was, they said something like, "We're not supposed to be showing you any of this stuff." They said they'd gotten in trouble last time they did it (at the October 2010 party).

"You'll remember it eventually," they repeated about Kennedy.

Curious about that show (and even moreso after a meditation brought back recollections), I drove up there last November, and the first thing that struck me was "what a weird place to put a humongous high school". Have you ever seen Kennedy High? It's gigantic. I thought Cleveland was big, but this school, by my estimate, is half again as large. On top of that, it has an enormous quad, and a two-story main building. The design still looks futuristic even though the school was built in 1960. But the weirdest thing of all is the way it seems to have been "cut"  or "spliced into" an old residential neighborhood - the narrow, curving  streets of which are dwarfed by the behemoth school. One street is particularly unusual: a stark, chopped-off cul-de-sac that runs into the monolithic wall of the 118 freeway.

Drive there yourself and check it out.

As I walked around the school, I tried to recall the concert 44 years earlier. Before this, for decades, when I thought of the Kennedy gig, all I remembered was the purple & black striped leotard I wore, and that we opened with Judas Priest's "Solar Angels." I also remembered a woman, who was there with her teenage daughter, asking if I was Italian (because of my dark wavy hair). 

But in November 2025, when I walked around back, to the north end of the school property, where the parking lot is, I remembered a different set of circumstances.

Something weird happened at our Kennedy concert. 

This sense became acute by the parking lot on the school's north side. I had the feeling of being detained there, and that others were detained as well. And, I had the strange feeling that an altercation took place in the concrete breezeway behind the platform we performed on, located on the quad. 

I mentioned my friend Ed in the previous blog. Go back and read it if you need to. Ed may have been at the Kennedy concert, watching from the sidelines with his pals. This memory came to the surface during my November 2025 visit, while I stood and looked at the parking lot. I felt there was an argument or fight between Ed and some other people, perhaps even one of my bandmates. I could swear that Ed knew about Zilch, and was pissed that anyone would steal from musicians, which started the fight I have mentioned. Ed's brother joined in, and a singer they worked with. Another acquaintance fought against them.

At the school, I got the strong feeling that I was brought into a classroom to get me away from this battle. I think my street clothes were in there. A military person was in the room, too. He explained what was going on.

Later, in the parking lot, some of the detainees, including the singer I mentioned, were loaded into buses. 

I remember being in a vehicle that took me somewhere after the concert, due to the fracas that erupted. Apparently, certain people were watching that show from the shadows (in the breezeway) because of what I went through after the Zilch Robbery, which is looking like a huge can of worms. 

This is why it's so important to create an accurate 1982 timeline. We need to know the exact date of the Kennedy Concert. We also need to know exactly what occurred on the day of the Zilch Robbery, after Lilly pointed out the loose window glass.

I think something huge happened at the Golden Glenn studio on the night of Zilch, and I have reasons for stating this. That incident set off a chain of events that included what happened at Kennedy, and changed the course of that year for me and my perpetual Valentine.

Thanks for reading. Tons of love.

February 1, 2026 (One from the Heart and Mustangs)

Hi folks. We're going back to 1982 again. I wrote about Francis Ford Coppola's "One from the Heart" a few months ago, and I want to revisit the screening I attended with Lillian on Valentine's Day '82, because I have new information. Over the years, I've occasionally thought about that movie, not just for it's incredible art direction and the fact that it broke Zoetrope Studios, but because (despite the critics), I thought it was a very good romantic film, with a beautiful, hopeful ending, and also because in memory, I associated a melancholy feeling with seeing it that day, with Lilly, at what I long thought was a theater in North Hollywood or maybe at Laemmle Universal. For the record, my strongest memory-image from the film was of Frederick Forrest singing "You Are My Sunshine" to Terri Garr.

Last year, I found the dvd of "One from the Heart" at the library, re-watched it for the first time in over forty years and wrote a blog about it, as noted. And because I now had this latent sense of an incomplete memory about our movie date on February 14, 1982, and because the screening occurred just two weeks after the Zilch Robbery (involving my band members), and also our gig at Kennedy High School, I knew I needed to meditate on the whole scenario. I did so, and lo and behold, I learned (with some additional Googling) that Lilly and I in fact saw "One from the Heart" not in North Hollywood but at Grauman's Chinese Theater, and that - indeed - it was a premier screening, for which tickets had to be specially ordered. My meditation revealed that at least one of the film's stars was there: Terri Garr. And maybe Frederick Forrest, too, but certainly other cast and crew members, including perhaps an assistant director, and there were speeches made about the making of the film, and dedications. One speaker mentioned the significance of its release on Valentine's Day, which he related to the power of love.

And then I remembered this: there were two interlopers who tried to crash the party. Terry and Dennis. I hate to even mention them, but they are unfortunately part of this story. They may or may not have had tickets to the movie, but they caused a scene, directed at Lilly and me, and I believe they were thrown out of the theater after disrupting the proceedings. Whoever was speaking on the stage at that time remarked on the interruption, and when the movie was over, Lilly and I were offered an escort to my car (or our separate cars). I'm not sure if we drove there together or met at the theater, but I believe Lys was present and acted as an intermediary.

Anyhow, I remembered that Terry Meissner, who had an outsized sense of his importance in the world, said that Terri Garr had "smiled at him" in the theater. He talked about that for days afterward, and it not only proves that he and Dennis were at the screening, but it also showed Terry's delusional narcissism. He later had similar fantasies about Mary Steenburgen, whom Dennis met in Florida during the filming of "Cross Creek". Dennis later interacted with Malcolm McDowell, Mary's husband. Terry (who was close to Dennis at the time) was obsessed with Mary Steenburgen for a while, and talked about her as if he knew her, using a crude reference for her last name.

The important takeaway for "One from the Heart" is that it was a special screening at Grauman's Chinese, and that film crew and actors spoke beforehand (emphasizing the Valentine's Day motif), and also that, when the speeches were interrupted by a commotion in the audience (the dispute between the ushers and Dennis and Terry), the person onstage NOTED THIS INTERRUPTION. Whomever was speaking pointed out the two individuals who tried to crash the party, and it was a serious enough incident that Lillian and I were offered an escort out of the theater and to our car or cars when the movie was over. True Story!

I've been doing pinpoint memory recovery for early 1982, and have also recollected an incident at my house (9032) involving the same two individuals, and an Easter Basket that Lilly brought me on April 11 of that year. It was Easter Sunday. Long story short, these guys stole my Easter Basket, which may seem like just a stupid prank, but it was more than that, because Dennis, in particular, was on a rampage after being outed by Dave Small for the Zilch Robbery on February 1 (44 years ago to this very day). Terry was in cahoots with him at the time. 1982 (my first full calendar year as Lilly's boyfriend) was marred with many violent incidents involving Dennis, which were subsequently blocked from my memory. One was the terrifying overnight "kidnap" in his white pickup truck that I mentioned in a recent blog.  

I want to also tell you about Malia's birthday party, which occurred at her house in March '82 (and at which something extremely scary happened), but that may have to wait for another blog because I need to talk about Pearl's Broken Hip, an event that took place on January 1, 2010, close to 28 years after the Zilch Robbery, and the Kennedy High concert, and the screening of "One from the Heart". Pearl's hip was broken nearly three decades later, and yet at least one of the same players was involved.

Can you guess which one? I thought you could.

A complete run-down of that event will have to wait, but for now I want to talk about the aftermath - what occurred after Pearl was injured and was taken away in an ambulance, when the situation was being covered up.

As you guys know, it was covered up. The participants had to adhere to a Storyline. I'm sure the EMT who attended to Pearl was told to keep quiet. In my memory, "official people" appeared at the house, among others, but what stands out is the car I was put into.

I was placed inside a car that was going to leave the scene of this incident. The location of this car was in a driveway on Pearl's street. I'll refrain from giving the exact location.

The aftermath was hectic, to say the least. Several people wanted to ride in this car, so many that straws were drawn (so to speak). One of the people chosen was put in the back seat with me. His name was Ed. The kicker is that Ed may have been at the Kennedy High School concert, 28 years earlier, in January/February 1982. It turned out, unknown to me before then, that Ed was a friend of mine. 

But while the riders were being selected, a young woman wanted in. Her appearance is clear in my conscious memory. She had a "sponsor", a lady who was vouching for her, who claimed the gal knew me from a "past association". I call her Katie. She was not chosen by the others to be one of the passengers in our car, but they agreed to give her five minutes to talk to me in the back seat. She said she had once met or known me, and she showed me some scars on her back or her neck. I've since remembered her from a 1982 incident at a house party on Aldea Street in Northridge. I call her "All American Katie" because I believe this terrible incident at her house happened on the Fourth of July and because, in my memory, she was sitting at a piano in her living room, wearing an American flag halter. Strangely (and astoundingly), I also associate her with a little girl I knew from my childhood in Reseda, named Katie McCormick.

Mustangs are also associated with Katie, and with other memories, and by Mustangs, I mean both the car and the mascot for Andasol Avenue Elementary School in Northridge. 

In the January 2010 "getaway" car (which was not a Mustang), I remember her showing me the scars on her back, then asking if she could give me a hug. I said okay, then she got out of the car because her alloted time was up, and the rest of us, including Ed, drove away.

If I had to guess all the people in that car, I'd say Ann, me and Ed, and maybe Lillian, Lys and Helen.

We drove around and stopped at a Denny's or other all-night restaurant.

The rest of the night is vague, and though the story doesn't end there, that's all I have time for today.

Thanks for reading, tons of love. 

January 22, 2026 (Don Simpson)

Hey guys, just a short one this time. Do you remember Don Simpson? He was one half of the megaproduction duo of Simpson and Bruckheimer, who had humongous hits like "Top Gun" in the 1980s.

Jerry Bruckheimer is still with us. He made a comeback with "Top Gun: Maverick" in 2023, a film that - my goodness gracious - opens at China Lake. Don Simpson died almost exactly 30 years ago, on January 19, 1996. He was a heavy substance abuser.

What would you guys say if I told you I met Don Simpson? Would you scoff? I have, of course, told you of meeting Presidents and all kinds of famous celebs, so maybe you wouldn't doubt Don Simpson. But what if I told you I met him at a party, and that he approached me? And that he was angry enough to accost me.

What would you say about that? And what if this party was a porno party? Where? In Northridge, of course. Everyone knows that Northridge is the porno capital of Los Angeles (if not the world).

Yes, folks, I met Don Simpson at a porno party on Hiawatha Street, at a house between Encino and Jellico. You can Google Map it, or I can show the house to you in person. I didn't go to this house by myself, nor voluntarily. John "Shecky" Mallis took me there, in concordance with Dennis and the late David Friedman. Victoria Principal was there. I only mention her name because she was not a nice lady. 

Other famous people were also present at this house. The bad guys I've named must've brought me along for some objective I am unaware of. Maybe because they were ordered to. Who the F knows with these cult people?

Don Simpson may have been aware of this objective. He may have known he was being blackmailed and exposed. And at first, he blamed me, as these people always do. They assume I am "in on" this cult stuff, but I am not and never have been. I didn't live their coke and sex lifestyle and knew nothing about it until I was put into the middle of these situations. And when Don Simpson realised this, that I wasn't behind his exposure, he apologized to me the next day, at another house in the Hiawatha Street gauntlet I was supposed to run before I would be set free. I could show you that house, too, another huge "not-very-Northridgey" fake McMansion. Fake rich people inside. Swarthy occupants. An angled driveway that Simpson drove up and parked his Porsche Targa on, to berate me then thank me one last time.

I was later told that I was "the guy who destroyed Don Simpson's career", and if true, if I was actually The Guy, and not just an unintentional final nail in his rotten Hollywood coffin, it means that this encounter on the Hiawatha/Jellico driveway must have happened no later than the mid-1990s, when he was still vital and before he died. 

My guess is the early 1990s or late 80s. Maybe after he made "Days of Thunder" in 1990.

But folks, I must tell you, Jerry Bruckheimer is a whole 'nuther story. Have you guys ever heard of Devonshire House and the movie "Odd Man Out"? You should do some research on that one, especially Devonshire House circa 1976.

Talk to you soon.

January 14, 2026 (crime report)

 Hi folks. This is gonna be another blunt crime report, so be prepared. I wish there were cheerier things to write about, but "the hits just keep on comin'" (as they say), and I am so shocked and disgusted with what I'm learning about what I'll carefully call The Pearl Situation, that it's a wonder I haven't become physically ill. If a color could depict my feelings about this, it would be the reddest Blood Red you could imagine.

I will soon be 66. Not ancient, but I have now lived half those years under the secretive yoke of scumbag drug and pornography people - CULT PEOPLE - who have taken advantage of my naivety about their world and the history my life.

My health is not good. I'm living with a hernia the size of a grapefruit.

I am basically alone in the world, and my only concern is getting the truth into the open. To do this, I write. 

I'm thinking a lot about John Mallis lately. We knew him as "Shecky", but that name's too cutesy for a guy I mistakenly thought was a friend, and who I've recently learned was a hard-core drug criminal who used me for ten years and then walked away. So let's call him John instead of Shecky. The first time I met him, he was sitting in a director's chair on the small lawn adjacent to Dennis's studio in back of The Reading Center on Devonshire and Woodley. This was in late June 1983. The director's chair was probably supplied by Dennis, who had worked on movie sets. John Mallis was sitting there shirtless, tanning his already bronze skin. He had on a pair of aviator shades, and had his practice pad in his lap, and his drumsticks. John is a drummer, and a good one.

Lillian may have dropped me off at the studio that day. It was either her or Dave Small. Dave and me were in need of a drummer at the time. Dennis was on the outs after the Zilch robbery in February 1982 (though ironically we were still using his studio) and when this John guy mentioned that he played drums, and had a kit inside the studio, that was good news for us. We may have jammed that very first day.

Now I will reveal something I've regretted for over four decades. Lilly and I had planned to go to Knotts Berry Farm on July 1, 1983, for the grand opening of Camp Snoopy. She loved Snoopy; I was a Peanuts fan since childhood. Our date was set: Knotts and Camp Snoopy on July 1, opening day.

But then I met this drummer named John at Dennis's studio. Thinking back, it was like he was posed there, on that tiny scrap of lawn, in that director's chair, and I am willing to bet that he knew Dennis before he put his drums in that studio. Their whole setup was a scam that, at age 23, I failed to recognize. And when he offered to jam, I eagerly accepted. And this is what I've regretted all these years:

I told Lilly I couldn't go to Camp Snoopy, as we had planned, because I had "just met this drummer." She was understandibly disappointed, and I felt bad but stuck to my decision to jam, and ever since then, I've wanted to go back in a time machine and kick my own ass because Lilly had her heart set on going to Knotts and Camp Snoopy on opening day, and I had agreed to that, and I cancelled our plan on a whim. I still feel horrible about it.

We did end up going, a couple days later, maybe even on July 4, one of our two anniversaries. And we had fun. I have a strip of photo booth pictures that depict this. We also got our potrait drawn by a caricaturist, with me as a surfer, Lilly as a beach bunny. I have that, too.

But I made her cry by cancelling opening day, and I am going to go back in a time machine and and punch myself in the nose for doing that, especially because I did it in favor of John Mallis, a criminal drug dealer who wasted ten years of my life, and who worked behind my back with other lowlifes to set me up and destroy my relationship with Lilly.

I now believe that John Mallis knew Dennis before he "moved in" to The Reading Center (which was also a drug drop). In the early 1990s, John Mallis used a "scanning" device on me to get me into his car for ride-alongs on his drug deliveries. He had been a pot grower for many years (in his backyard) and was now trying to move into cocaine. He needed me along for some kind of cult credibility. My presense would make him a "made man". He had a bad temper, and his mask came off on these drug runs when I told him under hypnosis (or scanning) to let me out of the car. That's when I found out he wasn't my friend and never had been. Like Dennis, he was only ever a criminal drug dealer.

And he has somehow turned up, again through Dennis, in connection to Pearl and Helen.

In July 1989, Helen took me to her mom Pearl's house, to get me away from the insane, violent situation at my house: the legendary 9032 Rathburn Avenue. But the bad guys found out I was there, at Pearl's house, and they came and a confrontation ensued. The main bad guy was a close relative of mine. Another was one of his associates, whose name I won't mention because he is a very dangerous and well-connected Northridge individual. And another of the people who showed up at Pearl's house, to threaten Helen and me on that day in July 1989, was John Mallis.

Yep, all the way back in 1989. Can you believe the bad guys were involved with Pearl and Helen back then? Or that they even knew where Pearl lived? It makes me sick.

This was at a time when I was not in any band. John Mallis had kicked me out of the band I founded, and out of his Winnetka garage, where we rehearsed, in the late Summer of 1987, ostensibly for wearing nail polish and listening to black metal. On a very important side note, Dave Small and his then-girlfriend Kelly Wilson (who later married Terry Meissner) lived at John's house in 1987 and part of '88, and they moved into the legendary Burton Street house in Reseda in September/October 1988. This will become crucial in our investigation.

Returning to John Mallis: he was a chronic pot smoker, but much more than that -

When he moved to Archwood Street in Winnetka in 1987, he immediately started growing high grade marijuana in his backyard. Rows of it, like a cornfield. He grew impressive plants, high grade pot, and he did this within a mile of the West Valley LAPD station. 

His plants were pungent. You could smell them from the street. I was still rehearsing with him and Dave at the time, and was concerned about this pot smell, but John assured me there was nothing to worry about because, as he put it, he was now an acknowledged "gardener". Though he never said so, the inference was that he paid a hefty sum (ten thousand dollars, a lot in 1987 money) to become such.

One question: to whom might he have paid that money to?

Let us switch gears now, to talk about the Meissner House on White Oak Avenue just south of Nordhoff. The Meissner house was inhabited by that evil family, the Meissners, and after Elmer Meissner died in 2002, his wife Jean moved to Arizona. She died in November 2005. The house has not been inhabited since she moved.

Folks, we are talking a seven figure, million dollar property in the heart of "Sherwood Forest" Northridge. Who in their right minds, possessing such a property, would not sell it or rent it...I mean, who the F are you kidding?

The Meissner House has been blacked out for almost one quarter of a century.

The reason it has remained empty is that the Meissners - Jean, Elmer and their POS son Terry - were supremely evil people who would make Charles Manson blush. Jeffery Epstein was an amateur in comparison.

But the thing about the Meissners, is that their behavior was accepted or looked the other way at, right in the middle of their suburban street, which is not separated by long driveways and giant hedges and acreage like the estates of the Los Angeles Elite, who can hide in their surroundings. 

Astoundingly, the Meissners did their swinging thing just yards from their neighbors' house, and just feet from the street. 

The Meissners held swinger parties in their backyard in which people fucked each other in their pool, in front of an audience of Elmer and Jean, Terry's parents. I was there, at one party in 1988, so I know.

I was also victimised in 1982 and 1983 at the Meissner House (so was Lilly)...and I know the truly evil things about this horrific family. You can ask Sandra Mussey. She knows.