The Church Parking Lot (plus weird horror movies)

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

1) The Devil Commands (1941) 

2) The Uninvited (1944)

3) The Seventh Victim (1943) 

4) Eyes Without a Face (1960) 

5) The Devil Rides Out (1968) 

6) Voodoo Man (1944) 

7) Plague of the Zombies (1966) 

8 The Old Dark House (1932) 

9) Night of the Demon (1957) 

10) Onibaba (1968).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not certain.

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

                                                                         ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 (four years 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 how 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.