where is he

saturday 22 august 2015

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long time no write here. long time no write anywhere.

I don’t recall whether I’ve said it here earlier in this blog, and don’t at the moment have the motivation to check back and see, but I now have a therapist who does not think me a delusional and who believes me concerning the law enforcement versus crime types theater that has existed in my life for nearly eight years. I have had this therapist since 2013, and it’s a relief not to be called a wing-nut, in whatever euphemistic PC terms therapists have used to call me said wing-nut.

last night I was doing some housecleaning. I happened upon a notebook from the summer of 2008, a summer that has been much discussed in this blog. the summer when the dramas between my protectors and those who hunted me was at its most bizarre, and most ugly. there were not nearly enough notes on those pages to suit me: I didn’t keep up the written notes as well as I wish I had, but I was taping things onto recorded journals too. that summer. that summer out of a movie, that summer out of time and place; time and places as I had never known them before.

I’ve tried before in this blog to quantify the rage I feel at the fbi, and can only fail. never can I find the right combination of words to describe it accurately, so that anyone reading the words would get a good sense of the hugeness of the anger. and the anxiety, and the sorrow, and the resentment. i was bait, I was property, but I was not a human being.

it’s been a long time now since undercover man extraordinaire, matthew the bold and the brave, has put his carcass in front of my face. the longest time ever, I’m sure. so long that I no longer know exactly when the last time was that he did it. august 2014? september?

when I don’t see him for a while, I engender daydreams: he’s dead. or he’s finally quit working for the fascists. or he’s been assigned some other territory and will never gawk at me again. I have engendered the daydream many times over the last seven years that he will one day do right by me, even though the rational part of me knows perfectly well that if he were morally capable of doing right by me, he would have done so long ago. but there’s a part of me that needs so ferociously for someone in the fbi or dea or atf to finally do right by me… and matthew, having professed his so-called love for me back in that evil summer 2008, has always seemed the most likely candidate for a moral conversion. there are no moral conversions among the ranks of the various gangs of federal police. at least not for me.

seven years later, I have still never written in my blogs about all of it. baffling that the story of one wretched summer has still never been fully told, that the undercover tales of one ugly summer could fill a couple of hundred pages if I were to write it from beginning to end. an absolutely ludicrous pastiche of costumes, codes done with cigarettes and cigars, hand signals, planes, motorcycles, helicopters, dogs, whistling in the dark, gunshots in the dark, lies, manipulations, very sleek black cars with connecticut plates, and more, and more. and all the time I was the bait, and I was the property not allowed to be taken by the other side, but I was not a person.

only part of me wants to know where he is. most of me is content not to see him, so that the daydream that he could be dead and gone can be allowed to grow. because only if he’s dead can I be certain that I will never see his face again. and most of me wants that very much. can you imagine the anger, can you imagine the sorrow? probably not.

and as to ginger rubberboobs… there was some trouble with her last year several times, shooting off her psychotic mouth at me. finally I asked a detective in town if he would have a word with her. did he? I don’t know. he said he would, said he’d tell her not to speak to me. I don’t believe much that people say anymore. in any case, I daydream often that she’s locked up in a federal prison, where she belongs, and that they’ve sunk the key to her cell in the sea in a block of cement.

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read…   why did I go…   the matthew… 

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2015 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

the beast speaks

wednesday 28 may 2014

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ginger rubberboobs, aka the mafia chick, had words for me today.

this is now an unusual stroke, as she hasn’t spoken directly to me since the summer of 2008. driving by me in her white chariot on the streets of greenfield (while I was being protected from people she had sent after me), sticking her arm up to wave, turning her face to me and YELLING, Hi there.  since then she has sometimes spoken about me, in my hearing, when we are in the same store and she has someone with her. she has also sometimes bullied me in her car (NOT the white chariot as of 2010), crawling slowly along the curb, following me, smirking out the passenger window (yes, leaning right over from the steering wheel to put her unlovely face at the passenger window) as I walk on some street.

but as of this past december, she is ramping up her revolting appearances. I have seen her five times since new year’s eve, five times in as many months. I haven’t seen her five times in five months since she moved out of turners trolls in december of 2007. moved to erving. but I think she might be back in troll-town.

so what did she have to say… I was walking up seventh street, and she was driving down. in a chariot I’ve never seen before (she has changed chariots often since 2009). she pulled the chariot over, stopped it, put her unlovely face out the window and loudly proclaimed: Miss Anne Nakis, you better stop talking about me or your ass’ll be in court.

now, I’ve been talking about her since 2006: eight years, as she has likewise been talking about me. I’ve been writing about her now and then on my blogs since 2008: six years. and suddenly now, this particular day, she decides to get her thong in a knot over it? now she wants to bully me again? she bullied me in a plethora of ways for the seventeen months we lived in the same building (aug 2006-dec 2007), and her greatest coup was to steal money/drugs from mobsters in connecticut, tell them I did it, and get me hunted. and that’s not enough? far more than enough? I’ve known many a drug-addicted (like her), alcoholic (like her), insane person (also like her) who would have been fully content with the seventeen months of devious, underhanded, unrelenting bullying and harassment. would have considered that enough of a victory over someone they detested. but rubberboobs had to get her mob pals on me. apparently even a vicious, sadistic, drastic move like that wasn’t enough to satisfy her hunger for power over me for more than… six or so years. now she needs to launch a new campaign, one that begins with attempts to bully and intimidate me out of my right to free speech?

I can talk to anyone I want to about her and say anything I like, just as she can about me. we both have free speech. only in my case, anything I say about her is the truth as I have experienced it. she, on the other hand, lies pathologically. I know this. I’ve been on the receiving end of it.

I’ve thought about this a good bit today, and have decided that one very possible reason she is acting up again now is that someone has got her jazzed up. someone who knows me, who used to be my friend, and to whom I have talked about the rubberboobs abuse. two candidates, whom I will call Joni and Lulu.

lulu was my landlady in 2012. she told me she met rubber at her church in 2010, that rubber had a brief period of turning to religion. I have since won a legal judgment against lulu (though she hasn’t paid yet, of course), and if lulu ran into rubber somewhere (at church again, say. rubberboobs flirting with religion a second time?) and, furious at me over legal matters and of course no longer my friend, then she could have fanned the flames of rubber’s ever-irrational fires.

and then joni. she and I have been friends four different times since 1991, most recently this very year. joni knew rubber long before I ever did. knew some of her family too. anyway, the first three friendships with joni ended with her throwing a temper and walking out of my life. this gave her a feeling of power, I’m sure, as each time she got to be the dumpER. but this past april she called me on the 25th, we spoke, I hung up, and have never called her again. the simplistic and shallow among you are no doubt thinking: you ended it so that this time YOU could be one with the power. you are, as simplistic and shallow minds always are, quite wrong. joni was telling me all about her plans to move far away by the end of this year. very far. so she was going to end the relationship anyway. we weren’t going to be spending anymore time together after that. I couldn’t stand this fourth ending looming up in front of me, hanging over my head like damocles’ sword. so I decided to end it sooner rather than wait for what was looming. get into the pain of the ending straightaway. but joni, who has very definite control and power issues, could have become so radically bent out of shape over the fact that this one time anne decided to end things, that she ran into rubber somewhere and, in that loud and very mean way joni has at times, gave rubber an earful, fanning those psychotic fires.

unless either joni or lulu makes an admission, I’m never, of course, going to know for certain which one of them I have to thank (irony) for mafia maid’s flare-up today. but knowing these three women as I do, I am quite certain that rubber was made looped-up by someone, lulu and joni are the best two candidates on offer. the only two, really. with ex-friends like these, who needs enemies.

what did I say to rubberboobs today? only one word. the aspergian shock I experience when people behave outrageously most of the time leaves me tongue-tied. later I think of all kinds of clever riposte I could have used, but in the period of shock, I can produce little or nothing. all I could croak out there on the sidewalk was the single word DIE. it may not be clever, stinging, or witty, but it is a one-word truth. I have wanted her to die for a very long time. so that the abuse will be over once and for all.

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2014 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.