skysurfer.media

There is no choice but to start this day with hope. 2024 will go down as a year of failures. After several years of pursuing justice against a tyrant of a slumlord, and following the death of my friend and partner, I ended up with a lien against the property I live on. My landlord went to court and literally lied to a judge to keep from paying me what the courts had awarded me saying he was only responsible for groundskeeping and that he was not the property manager at all, he has refused to divulge the information I have every legal right to, and he continues to violate my privacy and harass me on a regular basis. Law enforcement is well aware of the violations but they tell me it’s a civil issue, while actually helping further the fear mongering. My home is eavesdropped on by what have to be electronic means, and I don’t think it’s just google and amazon unless these people have hacked into places where they shouldn’t have access. Complaining about this insistently only gets a standard offer to have one’s space scanned for radio transmitters, but technology has gone much further than that now. Beyond parabolic mics and water pipes, I think a conversation can be picked up from space these days. Plus, home computers are basically just bidirectional spy machines and the argument over who should be in control is nothing new. But I reserve the right to privacy in my home, that I should be able say anything I want when nobody is around – without fear of repercussion – and that is not honored here, completely the opposite. Meanwhile, I am regularly bated by whatever I say while police get into position to maybe make an arrest. e.g If I say, he’s lucky someone doesn’t put a rock through his window, then someone leaves me a landscaping stone… If I say, he’s lucky someone doesn’t beat him up, they leave me 2×4 boards about 4 ft long… If I say, he’s lucky someone doesn’t blow him up, then they leave me cardboard tubing — AND, there will be my landlord having called the police and telling them he’s worried abut being vandalized, beaten, or blown up… and there will be the police, in position in case the intelligence is actionable. Things I say, therefore, out of context and without regard for my privacy, continue to be used as justification to keep me on watch. As if my landlord is ever going to train me to serve him with my words?!? He’s a crook with a God complex – he wants to be worshiped, but he’s just a con artist and I’ve proven it. I mean, he literally wants to be worshiped. He believes he’s been imbued with the spirit of Jesus and that he deserves to be treated with the same respect that one would show the Lord – and he believes that you must earn his respect. But legally he’s just the trash collector? He’s a psychopath on a power trip with me, and while he keeps claiming to be gaslighted there are a lot of lies told to keep his ‘reality’ alive, and a lot of truth that’s been covered up. I deserve credit for considering due process, communicating my grievances legally and in writing, and due diligence in researching the law to the best of my ability. I also deserve credit for reaching out for legal help and for considering others – I don’t make personal issues public unless such issues also affect others, such as the over billing and poor quality of the water. But I’m treated like a criminal? Although I have been framed for multiple crimes I didn’t commit, the worst I can honestly be accused of is yelling and screaming and stomping my feet – and I deserve credit when I take it behind closed doors, too – I will not stop venting in my home if I’m upset about something, and will I never give up my free speech. I own my words and I most certainly won’t be censored by the trash man. 2024 was to be the year of Respect – I said, you can show me respect or I will command it, and I do believe my landlord owes me an apology and some restitution… so yesterday, on New Year’s Eve just like on Christmas Eve, he waited for me to get home and showed up in the driveway to collect the trash, which is not the usual case – he just looks at me, grins and leaves, gloating over his success in disrespecting every wish he could this last year taken from anything I say, with complete disregard for the law. Police perch down the way in case I yell at him, or worse. In the privacy of my home I say, he must think I’m stupid… I deserve some credit for self control – I’m like a tree top flier, I say, taken from that song about being two steps ahead of the game, and how his quest for power is like his obsession with eliminating trees here on the property – but that, for every tree he gets rid of, God plants ten more… so, he got a chainsaw and started cutting off the top of my favorite tree on the property, as if he’d been a fly on the wall offended by my speech. This kind of thing persists off the property, too. There is a preponderance of evidence that I’m being targeted and that these people have done everything in their power to keep me from having any social or financial support. And all this because they want my soul and control over my words and thoughts? I have continued to maintain my sovereignty by God and I will continue to stand for independence even against those who are supposed to be responsible for protecting such liberty. I could list the failures of this year, from being harassed with vomit and shit, no holidays or travel, not even for a day to the coast – severe social engineering, and I am so fucking tired of the contrived setups with people who just keep trying to get me to commit federal level crimes and obviously don’t give a damn about me. Yesterday only got worse when I finally decided not to take on any more rejection and headed out of town to a light show I had wanted to share with someone, but I didn’t even make it there alone as my jeep overheated on the way – a blown head gasket. So, I’m beginning this year with no friends and the money I would spend on electricity going to rebuild the engine. I’m still several thousand dollars behind my goals, which would not be the case had someone or other not interfered with my job, and God Knows I could use a lover. But the year is not a total loss. I have held my ground and I am still succeeding despite so many failed dreams this year. One thing that’s changed is that I’ve given up deadlines for goals, so I can suffer these setbacks and still persevere. I’ll still make it to the coast, and I’ll eventually have a boat with a motor. I will still fly. And there will be other light shows and other holidays. What I was not able to get in 2024, well, maybe this year… 2025 will be the year of Justice, very personal justice. It has to be.

Well, I guess Christmas is over.  I didn’t get the new car I hoped for, and I didn’t get included in anyone’s plans.  As usual, I cleaned up the house for the possibility of company, but nobody came over.  I haven’t left the house all day, just watched football and cooked.  I made a good dinner which I ate alone… I usually message anyone I can think of with a ‘Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!’, but this year I just focused on finding someone who might want to go see some holiday lights.  But there is no one.  Nobody called me or sent me a card, no messages.  Nobody asked what my plans were or expressed any interest in me – in fact, it was the opposite, with a couple of guys who seemed quite happy that I was alone and they were not in the last few days.  I’ve never been so lonely in my life.  Nobody knows me and nobody cares.  I don’t have any friends.  It’s my favorite holiday, but nobody wants me for Christmas again this year.

Severely depressed. Like every Christmas, all I have wanted is someone to make plans with… I should be doing last minute shopping, wrapping presents, or cooking something. But there’s no one on my list and no one to call. I haven’t had any friends in a very long time. I have reached out and I have been easily available for anyone who wants me, but there’s only been more social games and a few niceties along the way.

On the day before Thanksgiving I ran out of gas and was walking a few miles back to my home for spare change when total strangers came to my rescue, picked me up, and took me and my can to the gas station, instead. They filled my tank and reminded me how nice people can be. I met with one person for coffee, but with more of those insulting games – this time with a child doing cartwheels, and the same woman who identified herself as a federal agent, showed up after my friends death with a stuffed bunny, asked me all kinds of paranoid spiritual questions, then tried to ‘extinguish my third eye’ with her thumb… she was pretending she didn’t know me this time. Another guy offered me a massage, which is nice, but women are regularly run off or set up with someone else – that is, unless there’s a hidden agenda requiring some contrived setup. And new neighbors from down the street brought homemade cookies, the same ones who previously brought a portable propane weed burner…

It’s not clear why there is so much focus on me by people who do not want me to succeed. I’m generally liked by people I meet and I would absolutely have friends if it weren’t for someone or other running interference in my personal life. It is clear they’re abusing professional privileges, as the invasions of privacy are still so blatant. I’m quite certain the neighbors down the way are favored by the same Jehovah’s Witnesses who run this place and have been responsible for so much psychological abuse, and they seem to be prompted. The torch they brought was taken from a monologue only a fly on the wall could have heard, one in which I talked about such a thing like it was the Sword of God that could destroy the landlord’s temple of an office. In reality, the pocket version isn’t even good enough for weeds – and the eavesdropping word games continue, anyway.

Christmas cookies are appropriate for this time and it was certainly healing to accept… but I do think they were prompted. They probably didn’t know about the fallout with my mother over a batch of cookies. You see, it’s an appropriate gift from a neighbor down the street, but from my mother it was simply the least she could do to make herself feel her obligations had been fulfilled while continuing to dismiss my needs and wishes, and continuing to make plans with other people, even my friends and neighbors, while leaving me out. I yelled at her over this and we have not made amends. One of the most insulting holiday gifts one year was a zip-lock bag left on the back porch with one piece of my mother’s famous pineapple upside down cake, and another with some tea bags from my dad. It was proof positive they’d been conspiring with neighbors at the time, an that I had been excluded again.

Although the last three years since Barbara’s death have been mostly about paying off bills and getting through the holidays, it’s typical for me to make batches of treats to give out during the holidays. I’ve made large amounts of syrup, truffles, cranberry sauce, and so on. One year, we did Halloween Baskets, with an Autumn variation of Easter eggs… and on the year Barbara died, cookies were on the agenda. That was the plan. It was a stressful year and we decided that was the solution. Her Birthday would fall on the 20th, and neither one of us were accepted by our families. She had insisted on getting supplies without help the weekend before, and she overdid it. She got very sick a few days before her Birthday, suffered from complications with medication she was taking, and died the day after. And I still have one cabinet filled with ingredients for all different kinds of cookies.

Biscotti was on the list, but the neighbors from down the street didn’t even live here at the time. And biscotti is what they brought, which is good because it’s one of my favorites. But there is a concern about ‘someone’ with an ulterior motive. After Barb died, I said out loud “ok, let’s go get some shoes…” on a day I was going to buy shoes. I think out loud a lot, and usually intentionally, but the same ‘feds’ who are so hellbent on my spiritual well being are still very upset about things I said more than 30 years ago regarding divination, mediums, and the spirit world – and that day a pair of slippers just Barb’s size showed up where I was looking for Men’s size 11 boots, while a couple of people stood off monitoring me… as if I might think Barb’s ghost is walking around elderly with cold feet? There was another similar situation. But not for a minute do I think she’s behind slippers, cookies, or anything else. She’s in Heaven, and I’m still fighting the people who were isolating us. I consider the focus on mental health to be an insult to me, and disrespectful toward her. And so it is most appropriate, I am enjoying homemade cookies and a pair of slippers for myself today.

This year, like any Christmas, my favorite part are the light displays. I’ve been enjoying the night driving while I make deliveries, despite the traffic, with all the new cheap inflatable decorations and LED arrays. I didn’t decorate this year since I haven’t been socializing here. I was being isolated by the Jehovah’s Witnesses when Barbara defended me and that is how we got together… so, they isolated us both and there was no one there for me when she died. In fact, the landlord stood outside and ran people off. But there has been no stopping me from going to see light displays. There are several around Oregon within driving distance. On the year she passed away, we had planned on going to see the Pastega lights, a local tradition at the Pepsi plant that was being hosted over at the fairgrounds ever since Pastega died. I couldn’t find anyone to go with me the following year, but I went anyway. Last year, I just went alone. And this year the collection has sold and much of it is in a new location in Albany, but it’s a walk-through event and I’m not planning on going… but I did decide to do something.

It started with a list of different light shows I’d been to and would like to see again. Then, I was listening to the radio and I heard about one of the best in Oregon, and it’s in Salem. On the same station, there was a trivia question asked about which candy is purchased most during the holidays, but used for decoration and not eaten. I guessed candy canes which turned out to be right, but I didn’t know the people who called in with the right answer got free tickets to the light show. That decided it. I bought a ticket for one vehicle that day. Now, it’s the day before Christmas Eve and my only plan is to go see a light show sometime before Jan 4th when it ends – tonight would be great. But all I want for Christmas is still just someone to make plans with me. And all I got was someone who humored me, then condemned me for wanting to celebrate the holiday and would not make plans for Christmas at all, just one more puppet for a Jesus cult.

So, today is December 23 and the landlord is running around collecting trash like usual. Last night, a woman asked me how my daughter was, asked if she was out also making deliveries… and I’ve heard I have a daughter, but still haven’t been officially informed by anyone… there is chronic stalking and my home is eavesdropped on, but nobody talks to me. Or, they just humor me. I’ve asked valid questions and pursued every legal course I know, but I’ve been excluded. I think I’ve been cheated and I feel owed. It is clear now that my aunt and cousins live here and they’re on the side with the money – I no longer get deliveries to their restaurants, and my aunt has helped the Jehovah’s Witnesses deprive me since I was a kid. She’s likely to be scapegoated if things go back to court, but it doesn’t matter. No one has talked to me about my father’s death, either. Still. I think this is about possession of the assets, and that’s all. While I have been averaging less than minimum wage with a high cost of doing business to maintain my sovereignty as an independent adult, these people all help cover up for each other while they lie, cheat, and steal. Needless to say, I am not getting them anything for Christmas and not expecting anything. It’s also not clear why my other cousins, people from Humboldt, and even people from east of the Rockies are here from my past – and no one talks to me.

One day at a time. Today is another work day, and I’ll fantasize about things like a hug and maybe someone to go for a walk with on Christmas. There is no reason to complain. I’m not the only one suffering abuse from religious extremists. They regularly invade people’s privacy and exploit them, especially focusing on the children. And I’m not the first to be targeted by them. Even those outside of any direct harassment deal with censorship and population control that goes too far, and its only intended to push a moral agenda that most people do not support. Me, I need to make a few hundred more dollars to achieve this month’s bare minimum goals, and I’ll still be several thousand dollars in debt. Live cheap, keep working… and I will always keep dreaming. In that, I am invincible. I will always be convinced that life is about making dreams come true… so I continue, with or without anyone who wants to go with…

It’s December 1st, 2024 and things have not gone my way this year. I’ve just come through one of the loneliest Thanksgivings ever and I have no plans for Christmas or New Years. I’m beginning this month a thousand Dollars behind my goals, not a month ahead on my bills like usual, and business has not been good. My home is eavesdropped on, anything I say used against me, and I am regularly stalked and harassed out in public. I don’t have any friends. Strangers love me, but I have enemies who do not want me to succeed. I’m succeeding, anyway, but they have set me back tremendously.

In just this past year, my landlord lied to a Judge to keep from having to pay me thousands of Dollars I was awarded by the Court over fraudulent water bills, and now the bills have only gone up. I have proved that management is stealing $50k a year from the residents but nobody cares. They have cleaned up a few of the more run down places, but there’s still no plan to replace the water pipes, a source of ill health for everyone who lives here. Management continues to do what they can to depress the property value, doing little about the drug addicts and thieves. I would update my death map to reflect the most recent overdose suicide but that unit is already highlighted. And I keep getting framed for crimes they know I didn’t commit. This is all a matter of record. They’re crooks.

Living here is like being on house arrest. I am not treated with respect and my rights are not respected. The overall police presence in what should be a retirement community is insane, but the con artist of a slum lord gets protection while some of us just get exploited. To this day, nobody has bothered to talk to me about when and how my father died, nor has law enforcement responded about inheritance, guns, art, and property I believe I’ve been swindled out of. There is ample evidence of identity theft along with the barrage of misinformation, and there is obviously a lot of money at stake considering the resources squandered on slandering me. Why anyone would have a vested interest in keeping me from succeeding, I don’t know. The biggest problems stem from Jehovah’s Witnesses and their set of pathological beliefs. But nevermind the fear mongers, there’s family involved, too.

In the last year it’s come to my attention that my Aunt has business here, at least 3 restaurants and surely more. I’ve seen her and two people I believe are my cousins at one of these places, and that confirms that it’s my older cousin who had a relationship with a woman I wanted very much. The problem is multifaceted. Going back to my childhood, I remember my Aunt always calling my Mother for financial assistance and I remember my Father cutting her off saying, “We’re not funding her cocaine habit anymore.” Ever since, she would take whatever she could get from my family, and anything intended for me she would take for her sons – apparently, even love interests. I don’t believe she would have money if it weren’t for my Father and my paternal Grandfather. She is not qualified to make decisions on my behalf, nor have I been adequately informed about her behind-my-back dealings. While I could do nothing about her depriving me when I was a minor, she does not have any legal authority in my life as an adult. We haven’t had a conversation in 25 years and these people are not considered friends.

My plans continue, regardless. The Cash Cow, my jeep, is the labor of love that keeps me in business. I’ve been working as a gig driver for two and a half years, currently for GrubHub, and I’ve made well over $50k legitimately. It’s expensive to keep in operation. The jeep is not an efficient vehicle but it’s built like a tank. I have replaced everything at least once, and it’s still an evolving work in progress. I stopped keeping receipts on it years ago. I have had this vehicle for more than a decade and I plan to keep it for life. It was designed for making deliveries, too. It’s a 1976 AM General Jeep DJ5 with a windshield from a 1955 Volkswagen split-window bus and the grill form an old Ford F-100 — I promise, a page with pictures soon. I’ve added a solar panel, an awning, and upgrading all electronics. It’s got Mercedes hubcaps from a 190, and the dash and doors are wood. I’ve just finished repairing the cowhide fur panels on the doors and ready to clean up the windows and put them back on… I am still running around without doors, as of today, and it’s below freezing out. The stereo works, anyway, and soon this vehicle will become a mobile ground station for drones.

The flying machines, along with the photography and the music, are all things I have continued to work on, even as life has become isolated and unproductive. I don’t write as much as I used to, but I am still planning on publishing a book. It’ll be called, Vignettes of Indigo; Or, How to Defeat Jehovah’s Witnesses Using the Power of Your Mind. And I’ll write more poetry in the future, I’m sure. Currently with photography, I’ve removed duplicates and uploaded about 26k pictures but I haven’t found a self-hosted photo/video management solution that works well. I am ready to start producing video and The Skylight, this site’s live streaming channel is ready to go live as soon as I take the time to schedule content. I still practice guitar just about every day. But everything is on hold while I focus on work and money… and getting through the holidays. So, this site is on the way to becoming a blog and a showcase for my personal projects, and a little more. One change I made this last year was in giving up deadlines for goals, because they’re easier to keep, and in that way I’m still on track despite all setbacks. So, stay tuned. 2025 is going to be awesome.

indigo@skysurfer.media

One thing is for sure.  I don’t matter to anyone except those who have a vested interest in my failure.  Nobody cares about me.  Nobody knows me or misses me.  I have family from both sides who live in this town, old relationships and tons of people I’ve done business with… there are people from all different parts of my past here, but nobody talks to me.  They deprive me of news that I might benefit from or need to know, even refusing to tell me about my own father’s death.  There’s ample evidence of identity theft and fraud, but law enforcement refuses to do anything about it.  I’ve been framed for crimes I didn’t commit, slandered in one study or another, and subject to regular psychological abuse.  People go out of their way to keep me from celebrating the holidays or sharing time with anyone, especially if it’s romantic or sexual.  They won’t even let me have friends… I’m regularly followed, eavesdropped on, and someone or other runs interference in every possible personal relationship I encounter.  It’s Pavlovian condition response training, with iterations of vomit, shit, anything negative or disgusting associated with anyone sexy or otherwise attractive.  I’ve heard every fear the fear monger’s can conjure blamed on me and I’ve even been shot at.  My best friend in the world died in the midst of my coming to terms with the fact that my father was gone and they barely allowed anyone to hug me, harassing me with bloody rags and guilt trips instead.  I didn’t do anything to deserve this.  I really didn’t.  Now Thanksgiving is next week and it’s clear there isn’t anyone thankful for me again this year.  I put many years of effort into changing this, fighting for social justice and demanding answers, but I’ve been ignored.  I’m distraught.  I’ve been thrown away and nobody cares.  I know what I stand for, but I don’t matter…

I’m at my wits end this morning.  It was another horny night, extremely isolated.  My home is eavesdropped on without a doubt.  Most recently, my landlord had me robbed because he felt threatened by something I said.  I am treated like a criminal by the Jehovah’s Witnesses who are nothing more than a deceptive Jesus Cult posing as humanitarians while they exploit and deprive anyone who disagrees with them.  They have stolen land and money from me, and involved themselves with family to the extent that I may have a child they’re refusing to tell me about.  Any expression of being upset about this, even in writing, is considered a mental health concern and I am summarily ignored.  I am not okay with the results of my attempt to get information that I have every legal right to – and it’s the landlord and law enforcers who have abused their power, while I am still just a law abiding citizen.  At this point, I cannot even go for a walk without raising alarms anytime of the day or night.  I am constantly watched, or made to feel that way, and accused of being paranoid when I complain… but this is not a secret, it’s been going on for so long.  My landlord makes no attempt to hide the fact, just hides from me when all I’ve asked for is information.  Now, it seems clear his intentions are to go against any dream I have and he takes this very personally that I insist on leading my own life.  He’s a criminal.  It’s been proven that he lies, cheats, and steals.  He might also be guilty of murder in more than one circumstance.  But he gets legal protection?  …and I get no answers.  There is no due process in this situation.  It’s like living on house arrest because I’m upset about what they’ve done to me and they’re concerned about my thoughts, but I’m not guilty of anything.  I don’t deserve to be treated this way.  Now it has become clear that they are still running interference with any possible personal relationship I may have, and they’ve taken their toll.  I don’t have any friends and the holidays are here.  All I want is for someone to talk to me and make plans with me, so their goal is to keep that from happening.  Why are they so afraid of my success?  My family had a fortune and I think they may have some vested interest in keeping people from knowing that I’m capable of managing my own affairs.  I’m sure they want to manage the raising of any children, no matter who the mother is.  And I’m tired of being humored with little pacifications, stalled, then ignored some more.  These people are part of a Religion of Denial, hellbent on exploiting the truth while trying to hide it.  I’m not the first person to have complaints like this.  They are NOT Christians and I do not believe they will be accepted in Heaven, but what can I do?  I’ve been deprived by professionals I did not choose to employ and there is more than enough evidence of identity theft and fraud to constitute probable cause for an investigation.  But instead of justice, it seems the invasions of privacy and subsequent isolation will persist at least for as long as I own this home, and any complaints will be condemned.  This is wrong.  Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s all happen in the next two months and my hope to have plans for the holidays looks the same as when I try to find someone who wants to float the river in the Summer.  This has been going on for years.  And I’m not supposed to yell or cry – even things I say in the privacy of my home are punished.  Seriously, I am criticized and condemned for my words and they don’t want me communicating with anyone.  This is not a personal mental health crisis, either.  I’m a victim of ongoing psychological abuse by a man who’s criminally insane and who’s protected by a pseudo religion that’s nothing more than a set of pathological beliefs running on stolen money and power.  I am not okay with this.  I did not choose to be part of this and I do have legal rights, but nobody cares.  Happy Holidays, indeed…

I am more socially isolated than I’ve ever been and things are not getting better.  Driving by places like the pumpkin patch where they have a corn maze makes me feel like I’m on the outside looking in, excluded and unwanted.  It’s not the kind of place I would go alone.  All I have wished for on every holiday is that someone would make plans with me.  But it’s like floating the river in the Summer or wanting to host BBQs – the Jehovah’s Witnesses believe I should be treated with the utmost of disrespect and I am continually slandered and people run interference in my personal life.  Having a personal and private relationship is hopeless.  And nobody cares.  It appears that the woman I’ve spent so long yearning for has married at least one other guy over the years and none of the players involved in such a long psycho game think I’m worth talking to.  I live in a place that’s like being on house arrest with constant eavesdropping, tracked where I go, and the overseers have demonstrably used all the information they can against me.  These people depend on government money and power but they can’t even answer an email?  Rights in this country have become a facade.  So I will be back out in the world today, still with no doors on my jeep – this is my job and my entire social life.  The other day I made a delivery to a neighborhood on the outskirts of town and then I had to return to pick up a delivery at a restaurant in that neighborhood, and when I returned there was the same woman standing out at a bus stop staring at me as I went by.  So, I waved… and she called the police and reported that I was stalking her and circling around.  I heard the call go out on the police radio I was listening to at the time and as I drove back past her she was on the phone pointing at me and visibly upset.  Unfortunately, the local authorities enable this kind of paranoia about men.  I think they gave her a courtesy ride to work to make sure I wouldn’t attack her on the bus or something, and I’m offended that the call went out on the radio to begin with.  There was a similar situation where I kept getting deliveries around Bodhi and they tried to claim I was stalking them.  Police showed up there, too.  But there is nothing illegal about driving down the street, even if a business owner doesn’t like you.  And in the case of the womb the other day, I’ve seen her recently in a couple of other places.  Honestly, I think I’m getting stalked and it’s driven by the same Jesus Cult and DHS.  And the number of times the police have been called on me here where I live is truly insane – but nobody will communicate with me directly.  So, I continue to be a law abiding citizen and a victim of psychological abuse at the hands of an evil landlord who actually believes he IS God while he calls me crazy.  I’m not dying my beard blue for Halloween like I had imagined – it’s raining, I’m afraid it would never be white again, and my only plan is to make some deliveries.  I’m still working on the doors and I really prefer not having them, though they do serve a purpose in this weather.  So, I’ll still be waving at people who stare and I’ll still be offering my number to anyone who wants to make plans with me.  So far, for so many years, that has been futile but there is no better alternative than to keep being available.  And for those who owe me, I’m still waiting.

October 24, 2024

This is a correction to my last post, Unfinished Requiem, and some further explanation for anyone unfamiliar with my story.

I suffer from a condition called prosopagnosia, or face blindness.  Basically, the brain separates faces from other patterns for the purpose of recognition.  For most people, it takes only .2 seconds to identify someone they know.  With prosopagnosia, however, faces are treated like any other pattern. It’s as if that field in the database of people is blank.  So, I depend on things like voice, hair, location, and so on. This is also why I’m bad with names.  Most of the time, this condition is severe and it’s usually seen in stroke patients.  In my case, it may have been caused by a pretty significant electrocution I experienced decades ago, or it may be the result of a small undiagnosed stroke.  I do display other stroke associated symptoms, especially when I’m tired.  Whatever the case, my symptoms are mild but it’s not a condition that gets better with age. I have lived with this condition throughout my adult life, though I don’t usually talk about it. For the most part, I just wing it and go on instinct. And some people are easier to recognize than others.

Enter the shapeshifters. Prosopagnosia comes in two varieties, under recognizers and over recognizers. A patient who has had a severe stroke may not be able to recognize friends or family members in the under recognizer version. I’m an over recognizer, prone to thinking I know someone just because they look similar enough to someone I’ve met. The most common time for me to confuse people is when they work at the same place and I won’t realize they’re two different people until I see them together. In general, men are usually easier to recognize because women’s bodies, hair, and personal style change more. But some people are downright shapeshifters – they’re different every time I see them, so they’re the easiest to confuse. Add to that, those people who intentionally try to disguise themselves and along with personal variables… well, it takes me more than a fraction of a second to connect with someone, and I like name tags.

I get along just fine without a service animal (which would have to be a parrot), but stress and tiredness make people more difficult. Alcohol was the worst for this condition. And combined with love and lust? I could confuse people of different heights and hair colors in the same hour. That is how the saga of Leticia began 23 years ago. The first time I saw her was standing at a farmer’s market in California, but I retreated from a lack of confidence – then, she showed up where I was staying, came around the corner and just threw her arms around me and introduced herself, and I continued to see her there for a few months. Recognition was never challenged. But, I had never really made eye contact with her until one evening we met where she was staying and had shared some mushroom tea. I had quit drinking and wanted a vision quest. I recognized her intrinsically, then. And three days later I went to see her leave on a bus going to the East Coast… I lost my mind for weeks. That Fall was when 9/11 happened and she was staying in the D.C. area at the time. So, I went there. We had several arranged meetings but it was clear that I was out of my element, and she wanted someone else. I went back to the West Coast and settled into dreaming and making do with who I could. I had gone back to drinking, too. In retrospect, I knew things could have been different had I not… while I struggled to quit again, I knew she was coming back to California.

Skip ahead to my being sober for almost eight months, though I still had one foot in the ring of alcoholism, and I got drugged. Probably the most terrifying experience of my life, I was handed a pot pipe loaded with PCP. They call it getting dusted on the street and it’s done to take someone out. It was given to me by a hypnotist who then tried to keep me there but I got away. And that night, I think I saw her. I raged. I protested against God, the Government, and anyone who would come between us. And I got so sick I almost died from a walking pneumonia. She moved back later that year in a relationship, and I was living in a van, still protesting, and drinking again. This is how the game of passing messages began. Apparently, her status or mine kept us from being together, but nobody could stop the freedom of creative expression. Chalk arrows, notes, t-shirts, bumper stickers, radio, anything that worked – she even once left a message in one of my journals while I was gone. And I would see her… everywhere. That is how so many other people got involved.

There’s a long version to this story, and some covered in the archives of this site, but I’m trying to bring the focus to the current state of affairs. After a few more years of protest, I burned out. So, I came back to Oregon. I still don’t understand why we can’t be together, if she ever wanted me. And if she didn’t want me, why spend all those years acting like a jealous wife and trying to get me to chase after her? It’s true that I’ve missed more than a few opportunities for one reason or another. The first two that come to mind have to do with a black wreath on the door of a pink lit apartment, and a yellow boat in the fog. And I know she went to great lengths to be with me beyond those. I know she’s still monitoring me, too, but I don’t know why she can’t just call me on the phone or knock on the door like a normal person. The game of chase became more like me being stalked. And my expressions are so closely monitored it constitutes an invasion of privacy. I never woke up to the sunrise in her eyes or had her arms around me again. In fact, we never even kissed. And so it is, there are a lot of unresolved issues.

Now back in Oregon where I’m from, the game followed me here 18 years ago. I’ve learned it was not the government that kept us apart, nor some local special interest group, but the jehovah’s witnesses who have been opposed to my success since long before I met Leticia. This was not clear until recent years, though looking back there are numerous examples of their intentionally disrupting my plans and interfering in my relationships – this has been the subject of many letters and recent legal actions that are not in the scope of this writing, except to clarify that I live in a mobile home on a property they control and that they continue to be my number one adversary for more than a dozen years of sobriety. I will certainly write more about this later. In the years that have passed, so much has happened in my personal life and hers, and so many other people have become involved. There are numerous people in this town from Humboldt, many of Leticia’s friends, and other people from my past, even relatives. But nobody talks to me. There have been numerous missed connections and way too many contrived situations, but the murmur of messages being passed has not stopped. Plus, there is more than one Leticia. It’s frustrating enough that I cope with prosopagnosia, but when I have published posts about my yearning there seem to be about half a dozen women in this area who think they may be her.

There was a situation like this recently when I had a delivery to make to a hospice. At the desk right inside the door sat a woman with dark hair, wearing a mask and talking on the phone – and her name tag said Leticia, but she ignored me. I snapped a picture of the food and continued with my job. It bothered me this may be her for many reasons, but one of them is that I’ve had this fear that I could end up being one of those elderly people in a home waiting for someone who was never going to come, and that on my dying day it would just be part of her job. Then, as luck would have it, I had another delivery to take and she was standing there without a mask… my eyes fixated on her name tag, a hyphenated name that didn’t include her maiden? A quick look simply didn’t give that sense of deep recognition. I think it’s not her, and I continue on with my job. But then, I doubt myself and I wonder if I’m in denial because she doesn’t want me. I wonder how many times she’s been married if it is her, and how hyphenation works if a woman has been married several times. Days pass and nobody is at the desk the next times I leave food, which is usually the case. I keep questioning myself, but I realize that if anyone wanted me they could be here.

This is where the sigh of relief comes in. I often write to vent my thoughts and feelings, even if there is no intended audience. It began with journaling, and these days I write an occasional blog post which I don’t always publish. That was the case yesterday when I posted about the hospice and the other Leticias… then, as luck would have it, I got a delivery going there – and there she was, just standing there with a completely blank name tag. Gorgeous. But I think she doesn’t know me. The Leticia I first fell for is from Bolivia, born in April, and I think she has a PsyD from a school in San Diego. I also came across old contact information from a job she had with the Parks Dept., if I recall. I don’t know what she’s doing here but I have reason to believe she lived in Santa Clara for awhile, and I think she travels back and forth between here and California for her job. Is this the same person I’ve seen in Mexico on a few occasions? Or here with my mother in southwestern print? Showing up late for the King Tide? The one who’s stalked me in my social interactions but won’t talk to me? I want the woman who was willing to go to Hermosillo, the one in Nevada, who played games at the border in Tijuana – that is who I left chalk arrows for when following them led nowhere. In every one of these situations, I have failed. I am no longer worried that I might have to wait until the end of my life, but the message is the same. Here I am. Game over.

My email doesn’t seem to be working these days, although I only ever got Russian spam, anyway. Comments are working. And however it happens, people seem able to find me whenever they want. Part of that is because I’ve made myself so conspicuous. I am available for anyone who wants to get to know me, or make plans with me. It is still my wish for the holidays, like every year, that I won’t get left out. I’m not under the impression that anyone wants me, but I am still seeking closure. There are way too many unresolved issues from past years involving money and family, and way too many other people have been involved in what should have been a personal relationship. I’m owed some explanations, at least. So, I am back on the public stage today where most of my social life resides, transient as it is, making deliveries and paying off debt. Piloting Old Rickety, the Cash Cow (which is my Jeep), is like being in a one-float parade… I always feel like I should throw candy at people. I will publish a page on the Jeep soon. I am pretty easy to find. And for those who prefer, I have a phone number.

Indigo (458) 309 1308

Why did you do this to me? Did you know that one of my big fears was that I wouldn’t see you again until I was diagnosed terminally ill, and that you would be the one to bring in the suicide machine? And now, I can’t get the image out of my mind – you, just standing there staring at me, at a hospice! It’s bad enough I’m still trying to process seeing you with a new baby and yet another man. I still see you at the chowder house on the coast, driving in the desert, and out of the corner of my eye in so many places. Add to that, I’ve even confused others for you…

And did you know that you’re not the only one named Leticia? Yes, I get messages and it’s never clear from who, partly because you’re not the only source – but when I write a piece expressing my desires, apparently it affects about half a dozen women in this area plus a few who do not share your name. To complicate matters further, I’ve come to the conclusion that two of the Leticias have daughters named Alina, two have brothers named Mike, and at least two have careers in mental health or law enforcement. It’s not clear who’s who, however, because nobody talks to me. Nevermind the fact that I’ve gone to such extremes to make myself available.

I started this draft a couple of days ago but I’ve just decided to go ahead and publish it unfinished. I keep getting messages about pregnancy – and you surely know our history in Humboldt. I don’t even know why you (and many others) get these blog posts because they’re not on my site, so my activities are clearly tracked. And all I want is for you to come talk to me, not to your phone near me, not to other people about me, not conspiring with my landlord or my mother – just come talk to me. I’m sick of all the social engineering of my life, tired of the all the fear mongering and shaming, and I’m exhausted. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, so you turned me into a mental health study? I didn’t do anything to deserve this. All I expected was a cup of coffee and a conversation. My dream was to walk with you and talk with you, not to be stalked by you. Now you owe me some closure. Please. Don’t keep treating me this way for yet another holiday season…

Posted on craigslist and flagged, as usual.  The holidays are here and I have no friends and no plans, censored missed connections, and a home that’s as public as a coffee shop… not to mention, I’m barely welcome in any coffee shop.  My plans for the Summer were mostly sabotaged, though I continue to persevere.  Giving up deadlines for goals has alleviated some stress, but I am still overwhelmed with more dreams than I will ever have enough time, energy, or money for… also, as time goes on, things just get more expensive, and I keep getting slower.  Apart from social connections, there are still health issues and financial concerns.  There are still a plethora of unanswered questions.  Things are still unresolved with Leticia (and love, in general).  And I still have to deal with an evil landlord, his entire evil family, and their evil followers… plus, they’ve rallied numerous people who are well meaning but ill informed and I get harassed on an almost daily basis.  I believe this is the result of religious politics and problems with the Jehovah’s Witnesses and my family that date back to before I was born.  I didn’t do anything to deserve this.

———————–

From this morning to Leticia:

Are you aware I’ve been seeking contact information for you for over two decades, and while you have not stopped stalking me? You know, yesterday was my Mother’s Birthday and you’re involvement with my family has really cost me. You didn’t think I was worth talking to even when my Father died? Did you take them on one of your exotic trips, or just help yourself to the things that were promised to me? Having a PsyD does not entitle you in my private life – I am not one of your patients. Now the holidays are here and I’m still waiting for you to come to me. Please stop the master manipulator games and just have a one on one conversation with me for a change. It’s bad enough there are others who want me gone in the broadest sense of the term. You are aware the place I live is like being on house arrest, right? This is how much you love me forever? It’s a legal situation, too, and I’m the one who’s been deprived. You left me out! Please make it a priority to resolve this with me as soon as possible and stop the harassing messages in lieu of direct communication. There has never been anything stopping you from talking to me as far as I know, and you know how far I’ve gone to make myself available. You are far from being the woman who threw her arms around me so long ago, and it’s clear you never really wanted me, but whether it’s to make friends or say goodbye, please don’t let another holiday season pass the way things are now. This is not a problem that will just go away without personal involvement.

———————–

The rest of this site will be updated soon, but my main focus these days is just paying off debt.  I would have been debt free last year if doordash had not unfairly deactivated my account, or if my landlord had any respect for the law.  So, I am suffering significant setbacks but I am still succeeding, and I will never give up.  As for the photography, it’s a sad state of affairs with inadequate software to manage tens of thousands of images in the cloud.  More work needs to be done before photos will be back on the site, and it’s the same with a live stream – these Summer goals are now Winter goals, and skysurfer.media will be live in 2025.  Stay tuned.

I have not used WhatsApp for many years and I was surprised to see an old flame appear in my contact list.  Apparently, it was because I have a new phone number and it wasn’t blocked.  The following are the last two messages I have sent, and I am now deleting that app and her contact info.  After the first message, there was some seriously strange social activity – I think I saw her in uniform in a police car (stalking me) and after the farmer’s market a couple of weeks ago, I see no reason to go back there, either.  Really, I have done nothing to deserve this.  She, in this case, will remain anonymous since she’s been peripheral to so much but she’s not the main character in my saga, anyway.  I am posting this because it’s clear the second message wasn’t received and I’m not okay with the lack of closure.  Similar to the fiasco with the coffee shop, the right thing to do for a woman who doesn’t want a man is to politely decline.  There is nothing stopping this person, the other, or others from simply saying, ‘thanks for the compliment, I’m flattered but not interested’ – instead, I get used as a tool to get attention while being ignored, then monitored everywhere I go..  Whether it’s a love note to a sexy barista, a message to an old lover, or a poem to someone I still yearn for, there is simply no reason to treat me like a predator for being a man.  The anti-male sexism has become so extreme these days that guys get condemned for looking at a woman, and the campaign against me has become ludicrous.  I still think I’m worth talking to, but this is a goodbye, after all.  I have gone to great lengths to be available, but I just get dismissed.  So, no more WhatsApp…

9/5/24, 8:46 AM

Good morning…
There’s a quiet haze in the air, no wind on a slow morning.  The color raises a primal sense of alert, smoke at sunrise.  The heat is coming.  I see your picture and I’m surprised.  I thought you blocked me, though now I realize that was my last number.  Sitting down at the gravel bar where we first met in person, I have a fantasy about floating the river with you.  But that would entail a ride in my jeep and we know how you feel about that – it does look less like a cartoon now, but more like a cow.  And I look more like the abominable snowman.  It has been good to see you recently, all the same, with and without those turquoise rimmed glasses.  You’re always taller than I remember, and I’m always preoccupied… but it should go without saying, I would love to have you in my arms again.  You’re beautiful, and you were the greatest lover in all my life.  You will probably block this number now, and I will wish you the best.  I don’t expect a reply.  A heron has come to fish along with an osprey, the ducks have moved on, and the traffic keeps flowing like the river.  My day is the same, accommodating the weather and taking care of myself. I won’t bother you with any more messages, but know that you are welcome in my life.  I still live in the same place, and this is my new number, should you want to connect…
— Indigo

9/8/24, 8:05 AM

In retrospect, I am deeply offended by the bizarre amount of social engineering in lieu of direct communication when you (and others) have my phone number and know where I live.  What’s with the plethora of silver cars that next day, or all the uniforms and yelling?  I may never know what happened so many years ago for Christmas, but I have seen the woman of my dreams with way too many other guys, even paraded in front of me half naked with the guy who drugged me, and clearly in contact with my neighbors and my family – even in Mexico – but not me.  And the last thing I need is more stalking by people who would rather gossip about me than talk to me.  I guess no good love story is complete without the element of betrayal, and I remember the insults, the deceit, and the rejection, too.  To this day, I just want someone who will make plans with me to go places and do things, but you’re part of the puppet show designed to manipulate and I deserve more respect than that. This morning I woke up crying about how my dog suffered for seven days before passing away, and how isolated I’ve been for the last two decades.  After my friend passed away, while still coming to terms with the death of my father, I realized that the people who have loved me the most are all dead.  Nobody cares about me.  I didn’t do anything to deserve the psychological abuse or violations of privacy where I live, and I have exhausted my resources seeking social justice.  So, this is a farewell.  I think you were a beautiful mirage in my despair and a hopeless fantasy thereafter.  I’m already thinking about the holidays this year and the onset of Fall is bothering me, but I’ve become a one-man show and I will maintain my independence.  So, you people can have the festivals and the farmer’s market, the parties, BBQs, and camping trips with friends – this is the only town where I have experienced such pretentiousness that people actually think they have a right to decide if I should be allowed to drive past a coffee shop, or have a non-alcoholic beer… it’s hopeless to think about cross country skiing or getting a Christmas tree with a lover when the fact is I’m barely welcome at the bowling alley.  And for what significance you had in my life, I think it’s broken now and was really never functional.  I do genuinely wish you the best.  There is no reason for a public response.  I’m deleting your contact info now so you won’t be hearing from me again, and I won’t be waiting for answers from you. Goodbye.
— Indigo

So much for fun and planning in the land of sex and money – anything could happen.  Or, not.