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Monday, September 30, 2008, 12:23am

Reminiscing: Bear Street Elementary School

As I confront my own mortality I realize with sadness that a lot of my experiences, my memories, will be lost to all time if I do not blog them, if I do not write them down. I know I cannot possibly hope to jot down every experience I have ever had but hope I have the time to blog about many of them. Perhaps some of my experiences may be worthwhile to members of my extended family whom I will never have the pleasure of knowing.

I was born in 1968 and was blessed to be a child of the 70's. This may sound odd to some of you, who remember all too well the Vietnam war, civil unrest, a carefree attitude toward drugs and other goings-on that are not particular positive. But as a child I was pretty well insulated from all of that; though the Vietnam war was televised, I never was allowed to see it and as a 5-year-old it made up no part of my particular life. On the other hand, I do remember the striped shirts, plaid pants, poofy women's hairdo's.

I was very blessed to attend a wonderful elementary school by the name of Bear Street School. I went to school there from approximately 1973-1979 (ages 6-11). It is gone now--demolished to make way for more Southern California housing. But it was such a wonderful school. Maybe it was because of the ongoing war that the teachers and faculty there really wanted to protect the children, the future of America. I really felt like I was part of a family there. At least once a week they used to gather every student in the lower grades into a large space where we would all sings songs, accompanied by the school "songmaster" on her guitar. We would also, the whole lot of us, watch films together there in this large, open area on occasion. Everything was housed in a large building, with classrooms on the perimeter and this large, open space in the center. I remember ribbons in women's hair and lots of sandals or other open-toed shoes.

If I am nostalgic than it is natural. I never really experienced the sense of family I felt at that school at any school since, though I attended some outstanding institutions. Perhaps other students there had different experiences; I can only speak for myself. I remember Mrs. Fisher, my outstanding first-grade teacher whom I would meet again, much later, in high-school; she had become a mentor, one who teaches other teachers. I remember laughing in her class. What a wonderful memory--a memory of laughing. She made me and the whole class laugh a lot. Her job of course included the important task of teaching the children how to read. Up high on the walls, around the perimeter of the classroom were those revered poster-cards with a big capital letter and a matching picture. At one end, you had a big "A" with a picture of an red delicious apple; at the other end a big "Z" with what must have been a picture of a zebra, though I do not recall that card as well. The card I remember most is for the letter "I" with a big picture of a strawberry ice cream cone; this strong recollection probably has to do with my affinity for food.

I was always good at reading, and must thank my mother for this, for she, as she herself told me, taught me to read when I was four. I cannot remember very much of that young age but I don't doubt it for a minute; Mom was really proud of me and our relationship was, well, best when I was still quite young.

Another wonderful teacher was Mrs. Cantu, later Mrs. Nash (or is it the other way around?). She got married after I left her class and changed her name. She always wore a scarf in her hair, wrapped as to create a ponytail; and open-toed sandals with lovely painted toenails. Of course I had a crush on her as did every young boy in the class, no doubt. She taught creative writing and handwriting, and I'm sure I was driven to produce the best fiction I could. I remember creating an enthralling tale about Superman meeting a dreaded sea monster, including my own illustration of the violent encounter. I wish I still had the paper! All the teacher's aides at the school were equally beautiful and gorgeous and wonderful, in their poofy hairdo's and 70's clothing style.

I began my enterprising climb up the career ladder here, landing my very first job in the school cafeteria. Believe it or not, they would let students such as myself (all of eight years old? nine yeard old?) be cashiers, taking and making change. Not with any cash register, mind you: Just with a small cash drawer. All the calculatin' had to be in your noggin'. What a wonderful, real-life way to teach kids math, though I wonder if they lost money this way? Maybe it came out the same on average! Speaking only for myself, I can tell you I was very accurate and thorough. After all, we talking about 50-cent lunches here, a significant sum to a kid. Plus they could buy extras such as cookies and other goodies for 5 and 10 cents.

The manager's name was Gladys, and her black hair was always bundled up under a hair net, as she worked behind the window where the women cooked and served the food. To my recollection it was only women who worked in the cafeteria--no men. Students could be male or female, but if you worked back there they made you wear the hair net, too. Hey, why not? I think the hair net made me feel important the few times I worked there, though I'm sure I was teased for it. Let 'em tease. I got a free lunch out of it and 50 cents to boot, if memory serves.

In fifth grade I had the privilege of having a remarkable teacher named Mr. Leatherman. I can still see his face. He was such an animated, energic educator: A wonderful, convivial man who didn't brook any disrespect but wasn't afraid to roll up his sleeves and play checkers with any student. He did. And he won--almost always if not always. He never played easy on the kids--if you were going to beat him, you were gonna have to do it fair and square. I laugh now when I remember his face lighting up when he unleashed the devastation: JUMP, JUMP, JUMP, JUMP! Wow, I just lost four checkers in one move. I am laughing as I write this, but I wasn't happy at the time, at least not initially. He had a way of making you laugh even when you lost. Maybe it was his way of teaching us not to take everything so seriously.

Mr. Leatherman wanted us to achieve our full potentials and to that end allowed us to choose our own areas of research. I chose to study the U.S. presidents. To this day, if you give me a name I can tell you whether that person was ever president or not, and lots of other tidbits, such as the fact that Andrew Jackson's nickname was "Old Hickory." At one time I used to be able to recite them in order, but I cannot do that anymore.

Once, Mr. Leatherman said something to the class that really hit me hard. He told us that now was when our characters' were being forged; that only one person in a hundred after the age of 18 would ever change his character or habits. What kind of a person did we want to be? Are we happy with the person we are right now? I really took his lesson to heart. Only one in a hundred change after the age of 18. Before that I had not done much self-analysis, and I used to tease other students a lot. I resolved from that time that I really, really wanted to be a good person, the best person I could be. I have never forgotten his words.

Bear Street was...

  • the place where I had my first job
  • the place where I had my first fight
  • the place where, after eating something that didn't agree with me, I walked back to class late, after the bell, paused at the back of the classroom with all eyes upon me, and summarily puked my guts out all over the aisle, accompanied by a grand chorus of "Ewwww!"
  • the place where I first learned dirty words and where dirty jokes were told and learned
  • the place where one fellow student proceeded to unzip his pants and pull out his penis to show the other few of us sitting around him under the table (and if memory serves, he proceeded to pee as well)
  • the place where I sneezed a full handful of snot into my hand, and then had to hold it and conceal it there for the remainder of class, having nowhere to wipe it or put it
  • the place where a coed hiked up her skirt in front of me and began straightening her underpants, and as I looked on in amazement, rebuked me with, "God, you would look"
  • the place where I defended my brother from bullies
  • the place where I was a teasing, conceited little jerk
  • the place where I began to mature
  • the place where my little fat ass was picked last for every baseball and football game

Bear Street was headed by a principal named "Bea". She really was your pal. I do not remember her last name, because "Bea" was what I called her. She was on a first-name basis with everyone, even the students. Such was the atmosphere at Bear Street Elementary School. Will such a wonderful elementary school ever come again?

Monday, September 29, 2008

Physical update

One thing I did forget to mention yesterday is that the criminals have been shooting some directed energy "bursts" directly at my heart. Not a lot, but each such shot is significant. And today and yesterday I have been feeling what feels like heart pains. I am not sure because I have not seen a doctor recently, but the last time I took my blood pressure the upper number (systolic?) was in the 130's, which I think is classified as prehypertension.

Of course a major reason for the possible heart damage is all the suffocation they do, the deprivation of oxygen. Partly this is related to my blog entry for yesterday, particularly the part relating to being overwhelmed by pain. That's not what happened to me, but an incident that happened during the sleeptime of Friday night/Saturday morning made me think about relationship between pain and hurting one's self. To reiterate, I have no intentions of hurting myself and never will. But the Saturday incident is sort of related because the criminals were attacking me viciously and I did not defend my body to the best of my abilities, as I would usually.

The criminals have been very, very aggressive with round-the-clock suffocation attacks (resulting in sleep deprivation among other maladies), and because of this, I believe that in the early hours of Saturday morning I just was not thinking clearly. Normally I would try to block their "energy bursts" with my hands or arms, but I just laid there and took it. They suffocated me to their heart's content (and possibly to my literal heart's permanent physical damage); at some points my body started to spasm a bit because of the lack of oxygen.

So, I did not hurt myself, but if I hadn't been so incredibly tired and sleep and oxygen deprivated, I would have been thinking more clearly and would have taken measures to mitigate the criminals' attacks. This lack of action on my part got me thinking about other "sub-optimal" behavior of human beings in pain-related situations, and that's what led to yesterday's blog entry. But in my honest opinion I do not think I was overwhelmed by pain, but rather "overwhelmed" by lack of sleep, oxygen and clear-headedness.

Incidentally, I blogged yesterday that I thought I was being attacked by my neighbors because, at the same time the criminal(s) finally ceased attacking me Saturday morning, I heard the movement of what sounded like a large metal object, such as a pipe, against the adjoining wall. This was very, very similar to sounds I heard in Beijing, China, in fact, against the walls of my apartment there, every night once I began to be seriously attacked there on a regular basis. (Please see previous entries for my account of life in Beijing, China.)

Politics and politicians

It's strange how we expect our presidential candidates to know everything about everything, and yet no one person can know it all. Emphasis seems to be on knowing facts and having preconceived ideas and philosophies about all political matters, foreign and domestic, even though the constant state of our world is one of change. My two cents' worth here is that I think a candidate of high intelligence and quality analytical skills is preferable to one with knowledge of a lot of facts and a host of preconceived strategies and persuasive ways of expressing them.

Experience is over-rated, especially when it comes to matters of national and global importance. This is because world events are too much in a state of flux and change to ever have enough related experience to basis decisions on alone. Instead, we need a candidate of high intelligence who knows how to analyze situations and events and synthesize creative, useful solutions. In my opinion it is a sad state of events that you never hear, from either candidate's mouth, the words "I don't know." They are afraid to say it; and yet that would be the honest answer to many of the questions that they are posed. Each candidate seems to always have an answer, presented in very haughty, presidential style, to every question posed; yet if you look at their answers over time you find that their answers change, sometimes by 180 degrees. I would rather have an honest candidate who is consistent in at least the logical, analytical methods at which they arrive at answers than one who always has the answer, no matter how hasty or ephemeral it may be.

Nobody knows everything. It's scary that my candidates think they do, or that even have an opinion on everything. It takes time and effort, considerable time, to analyze, synthesize and formulate a logical, defendable position on an issue, and the bigger and more important an issue the more difficult it is. It is unbelievable to think that any candidate should been able to expend such effort on every conceivable issue, on every matter of debate, on every question asked of them. To never hear the simple words "I don't know" from either candidate is very, very scary to me. In short I hope for a time when we can respect a candidate's honesty and judge a candidate more on her/his intelligence and analytical abilities than his/her ability to come up with a quick, pat answer under pressure.

Sunday, September 28, 2008

Physical update

Just lots and lots of "suffocation attacks". Just know that even though I don't blog about it every day, the criminals continue to attack my body with directed-energy weapons. It appears, sadly, that it is being done to me by individual(s) in a neighboring apartment/office. I do not doubt that attacks can be done by plane or other aerial vehicle (and they have attacked me in this fashion before) but it is probably much too expensive to do on a daily basis, and I am attacked on a daily basis, especially at night.

My visit at my congressman's office

I am living in Newport Beach and my congressman is Congressman John Campbell. Recently (on the 23rd) I met with a person who works in his office, Mr. Christopher Bognanno. He was a very nice gentleman, and I was able to cover most of the topics I wanted to discuss (although only briefly because we only had 20 minutes). I talked about my concerns over directed energy weapons and their huge potential for abuse (and my belief that criminals are using them against me as well); reasons in support for legalizing all drugs; and the incident that happened to me at JFK airport in 1998, where I met a very suspicious-acting Arab (see my October 23, 2007 blog entry for more info). Mr. Bognanno agreed to look into some of the policy related to these issues and get back to me, including whether or not it is legal in the United States, under any circumstances, to experiment on an American citizen without his/her' consent. I think the people who hurt me are criminals and do so for criminal reasons, but I think they do most of what they do under the cover of law. We all know how well our laws protected some innocent foreigners who were unlucky enough to be "renditioned". All the renditions, imprisonment, waterboarding, chaining up, and sleep deprivation has happened under the cover of law. It has all been--and for what is going on now, continues to be--legal. That is the greatest sadness of all.

More about pain

I had another interesting thought about pain today. It occurred to me that sometimes the body gives the mind too much pain, to the point where it is counter-productive survival-wise. This is a pretty weird thought when you think about it.

Previously I've blogged a lot about pain. Just to review my beliefs for newcomers:

  • All pleasure/pain comes from within you, not from external sources. What happens externally to your body can be considered inputs upon which your body reacts, either giving you pain or not
  • There's really only varying amounts of pain, not pleasure (pleasure = the absence of pain)
  • There seem to be "two brains" in all of us, one where our "minds" are located (cerebral cortex) and one more primitive brain (hindbrain/cerebellum). Inputs seem to be processed by the more primitive hindbrain and then either the hindbrain routs pain to our conscious minds or it does not
  • You can control and even stop pain by controlling your thoughts and/or holding your breath (literally)

I've a written a lot more about pain and torture in previous entries (torture is the purposeful infliction of intense pain on another human being). one. I guess I consider myself somewhat of an expert on the subject, having to deal with it, or at least the threat of it, on a round-the-clock basis. At any rate, the aspect of pain that I wanted to blog about here is how it sometimes points out our evolutionary flaws, genetically speaking. Consider: Too little pain is a problem, for if there's no pain when you slip and brake your ankle, you may do nothing about it and continue to walk on a broken ankle, injuring it further. (Of course, some "painful" situations are handled automatically by your nervous system, such as your hindbrain automatically jerking your hand away when you accidentally place it on a hot stove.)

The interesting thing is, your body can give you too much pain as well. What happens is that when the hindbrain gives us pain, we have a choice to make: We can (1) do something about the external stimulus (input) that the hindbrain is reacting to, or (2) do something about the hindbrain. To put it more clearly, we can (1) fight the external problem or (2) fight our body. Almost always we will try to fight the external problem. (Note that I did not say source of the pain! The source is our bodies. Pain comes from within.) But sometimes, when our bodies give us too much pain, we will fight our bodies instead. This is a breakdown of evolution because this is against survival of the organism! Really it's a genetic flaw; an ideal body would never give its conscious mind pain intense enough to turn against itself.

The ultimate failure of the organism in this regard is suicide. Suicide happens when the body gives the mind so much pain that the mind turns against the body, killing it. The stimulus for the pain could have been anything: A boyfriend leaves you, your arthritis prevents you from walking, etc. But usually the stimulus will be a chronic one, one that is not easily mitigated or remedied. When your wife decides she doesn't love you anymore, nothing on earth will make her come back to you. The stimulus need not be a physical one. But the result is the same: The body may overreact and give the mind so much pain that the mind, unable to solve the problem, and weary of the chronic pain, turns instead against the body and kills it.

I already hear some of you saying, "Yes, but this may be evolutionarily beneficial to the community rather than the individual organism.

And to that I say, nonsense. Where is the evolutionary benefit in that? If the organism's very existence was truly a threat to the community, it could leave the community. Or at least the organism could be employed in such a way that it would die in such a way as to be of some additional use to the community, such as a soldier sent off to war. The person committing suicide-- and forgive me for being blunt here, but I must--this person's body is not used literally, as in food for the community or to build a war; the "suicidee" does not die fighting a war with a community's enemies; the organism does not sacrifice its own life to save another. Moreover, considering that some people commit suicide simply because a lover leaves them, in such a case there is no evidence for any threat to community by such an individual. Lovers associate and disassociate all the time in a society, especially a human one; this has been a common theme through evolution. Most human beings will not commit suicide over such a "disassociation"; but some will. This must be viewed as a genetic flaw in the organism, a case when the body gives the mind not too little pain but too much.

Suicide is the ultimate failure of the genome of the organism. For those wondering, I myself would never commit suicide, or at least I think so; and I have been through ungodly pain--pain far out of proportion with my ability to do anything about the external stimulus provoking it. But there are some that can be "stimulated" into committing suicide; and a fewer some for whom the amount of stimulation required is actually very small.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

I wish to get the "forehead scar" evidence back up because they are pretty much killing me over it. The attacks have really been escalated--vicious and nonstop--and I do fear I will have a heart attack very soon.

Still I do not wish to embarrass celebrities. What I will do is to name the movie and the actor's role in the movie, rather than explicitly name the actor. My focus is on the evidence rather than on any particular actor. Please forgive me if any of this causes embarrassment to any celebrity. But this evidence is very important--perhaps important enough for the perpetrators to kill me over.

So, reader, please pay careful attention to the foreheads of the actors in the following roles in the following movies:

MovieRole
Blood DiamondLead male role
Casual SexThe two female lead roles
Catch a FireRole of character named Chamusso
GhostLead male role
RenditionRole of the newbie CIA agent in Egypt
The BeachLead male role

Monday, September 1, 2008, 3:10pm (Labor Day)

It is indeed a day of labor and great sacrifice. Last night the governmentally involved murderers attacked me viciously; but I will not go into details of what they did, as I feel this only helps them refine and improve their attacks.

I saw the movie 300 last night and really appreciated it. Leonidas was a true man of honor, and I found some parallels between him and myself. I too consider it an honor to fight, and if necessary, to die fighting against this monstrous group of people that is damaging people's brains (and other parts of their bodies) with directed-energy weapons. I think simply that they are trying to "take over the world," and it looks like they have already made great inroads in that regard, as I see people from all over the world with the telltale scar on their foreheads.

In fact, if you look, you will be able to see this scar on many people's foreheads in many, many movies. You just have to be aware of it and pay attention. However, I do notice in many shots that directors/cinematographers are cropping the shots just below the scar, so that often you have close-ups that do not include the top of the head and scalp.

I wish to reiterate that I mean no disrespect towards anyone with this scar, but rather I am trying to bring to light a great evil that is being perpetrated against the masses. These people did nothing to "deserve" being shot in the head with a directed-energy weapon. A terrible crime has been committed against these people.

I have noticed that scar is easier to see when it has just recently been "made". Over time, the scar tends to shrink and flatten--as my own scar has done over the years. I want to photograph my own scar and put it on this website, but I must see a photographer to get it professionally photographed, as it is not easy to capture. My scar is about 15 years old, because it was about 15 years ago that the murderers did this to me.

Coming up this week I plan to visit my political representatives and talk to them directly about what is going on. I will also begin circulating a petition to ban directed-energy weapons and another to legalize drugs. Meanwhile I will be sleeping in my car in public locations, as this is the only place for me to sleep that is even marginally safe. It would be much better for me if I had a van, and I will work on securing one, but unfortunately my credit is ruined because of what these murderers have done to my life. I will also try to repair my credit. As you can see I have much work ahead of me.

Peace and liberty to all.

 
 
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