the badge

friday 22 january 2016

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recently I was telling my friend about the one and only time since this whole mess began in 2007 that I have ever seen a federal badge. the subject came up because she’d been looking at federal badges on youtube.

it’s in my journals somewhere, and maybe I’ve even written about it before in this blog. but since I lack the ambition to go digging through blogs and journals, I’ll just write it here.

my journal would tell me the day, date and time that this particular federal show was staged. all I can say now at a three-year remove is that it was in 2012, in the fall, on a nice day. I was on my back porch, which faced a large alley that runs between third street and fourth in the hellhole I call turners trolls.

sitting there smoking on a very nice day, and down the alley comes walking a middle-aged man I’ve never seen before. this in itself is bizarre, because I sat smoking on those stairs countless times, and knew every face, every body, every voice that ever came down that alley day or night. turners is a small place, and the very center of town, where this happened, even smaller. if you pay attention, as I have been forced to do by the situation I’m in, you notice immediately the face that is new, the face that doesn’t belong.

so down the alley strolls the face that doesn’t fit, into my yard, and right over to me smoking there on my back stairs. he walks over to me so purposefully, so intentionally, never casting his face around to see if there’s someone else he can talk to, that I can only conclude, both then and now, that I was his destination in the first place. that it was me and no one else he was gunning for, so to speak.

he asks me about the vacant house next to mine, which is for sale by the bank that foreclosed on it. but as his questions continue, he reveals that it isn’t really the house he cares about, but the man from whom the bank took it back.

at some point during this discourse he tells me his name, despite the fact that I haven’t asked and I don’t give a damn what his name is. I think he even shook my hand. and after he gets done with his unwanted name, he says he’s with the department of justice, and I become internally frozen. a fed, I’m thinking. this guy is actually saying out loud to me, the little piece of mob bait, that he’s a fed. this scene is already so otherworldly that I’m now stunned, and then he makes it worse: I’m required by law to tell you that I’m armed, and with that he opens his tan corduroy jacket to show me his badge on his chest and his gun in its holster.

being stunned, as an aside, is something that the feds constantly use against me. they know that some people with asperger’s get stunned and locked up very easily by the behavior of neurotypicals, and the feds take mean advantage of this tendency of mine to freeze as often as they see an opportunity to do it.

my head, mostly frozen, is asking a million questions: is this guy who came down the alley to find me and is showing me his gun going to arrest me for something? is this the day the feds finally come into my home, give me some documents, and tell me badge and gun and all that yes, I am their piece of bait, and yes, they have been protecting me undercover all this time and now that’s going to change? now they’re going to treat me like a person?

the things I want and need, the things I’ve waited for for years, do not happen. yet again. he does not come upstairs with me, give me documents, tell me that yes, I have been in undercover protection all this long time, but from now on things will be different. the protection will throw off its covers, I will be kept informed of what’s going on, and my needs and wishes as a human being will be considered.

he asks me to show him where the man who owned the empty house lives, and I take him there. it’s just down the alley. after we say our good-byes, he walks into the backyard and up to the first floor door. but I have told him that the man lives on the second floor.

I watch him from behind a dumpster. he never goes to the second floor. he looks around for me, doesn’t seem to know I’m still looming, and walks away into fourth street from the side yard.

truth:

DOJ agents do not walk down alleys in dinky little places like turners trolls, in broad daylight, carrying guns and pretending to look for deadbeat landlords. they do not, and I will never accept that they do. such a thing would only occur if they were pulling some kind of a stunt, protective or otherwise, on their own private piece of mafia bait, who happens to live in little turners. such a thing would only occur, here in tiny turners, if a stunt were being pulled on me.

questions:

why does a law enforcement person show me his gun and badge if he is not going to arrest me? okay, maybe he’s questioning me about someone who has committed a federal crime. but why do I have to see the gun for that? wouldn’t the badge suffice? I was answering his questions anyway, without all that, so why the drama? the man he was asking about is someone I loathe, someone from whom I tried three times to rent one lousy apartment in 2011, and who is certifiably insane. he hacked into one of my email accounts twice (is that a federal crime? doesn’t matter. I didn’t tell the agent about that), and for all I know he’s been up to all sorts of other chicanery. but if this man is truly the reason for the DOJ guy’s visit, why does he not knock on this man’s door and talk to him, show him the gun and the badge? why does he walk away?

I believe that most rational people would agree, if they thought about it purely objectively, that there was absolutely no plausible reason for this man to have behaved in the way that he did, except for the fact that I am what I am: the feds’ own piece of bait and property, on whom endless tricks are endlessly played. I think most rational people would conclude, as I did, that this man came down the alley specifically to see me, to show me his gun and badge loudly outside the abandoned house. to protect me from someone? to perform yet another federal test of character, test of reactions on me?

my friend thinks he spoke so loudly outside the empty house and did the gun and badge thing because there was someone lurking in that house from whom I needed protection right that minute. it’s an idea I’ve never had myself, and yet it’s as likely as anything else. and it’s certainly true that I never get told, in an above-board and human-being sort of way, when someone who means me harm is very close to me. I get told by such dramatic stunts on the parts of the agent, I get told by frantic and lunatic code, by drama and stunts, and when the stuff around my person gets thicker and crazier and more extreme, then I know.

like the time so long ago now when matthew came power-walking down main street wearing a very thick winter parka (code) on a very hot and humid june day in 2008, in order to get between me and someone very near. it’s rare to see matthew, or any of them, move with that kind of speed. when they do that, when they add speed or a gun or a badge to their usual code and drama, I know it’s a very bad day.

 

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read…   why did I go…   the matthew… 

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2016 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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