Neighbor Trouble 2!
“I try to be good hard worker man, but refigermator so messy. So, so messy.”
-Milos (News Radio)
This is a freaky one. I'm sure you all have read the Escapade Neighbor Trouble (if not, click the link and check it out). Well, the other day I did a quick search around the internet for my name (I do this once in a while just to see where I'm linked from), and what do I find? A webpage made by the crazy neighbor himself! It has a recounting of a New Years Eve Party at my old apartment, as well as the whole bottle stacking incident, all retold from his perspective!
Now, one thing you do need to know is that this neighbor is... well... troubled. He is obviously very disturbed and delusional, and normally this is not the kind of thing to make fun of, but when you read this, hopefully you'll understand why I HAD to post it.
First off, here's the link to the PSI Professor's webpage, please be considerate, and don't e-mail him with questions or comments. He seems pretty close to the edge.
And, to make things a little easier for you (finding something on his website is almost as hard as finding something on mine!), here are the choice excerpts about me!
When I do decide to jump in and make a comment, I'll do it like this:
------Hi! - Spat
First off, my New Years Eve Party:
"On December 31, 1996 (New Year's Eve), I was on the phone with Nancy talking about something or other. I had been invited to a New Year's Eve Party in my upstairs neighbors' apartment. Nancy told me, "there would be someone at the party for you tonight." The implication, of course, was that at long last, I was going to meet a willing female. So, I went to the party. I assumed that the two roommates in the apartment (who, according to the typical pattern, had moved to the apartment not long after I arrived (about 9 months), were part of my "protection." One man, Mike, was a New York City Cop, who I invited into my apartment once to check for intruders before I entered. He pulled out his revolver and we went into the then-empty, but disturbed, apartment together -- and he did not bat an eye about my contentions -- then or later. The other room-mate, was Spat (a first generation Turkish-American). Spat had an oldish Oldsmobile Cutlass (or the equivalent GM X-Car clone) with crazy looking stickers all over the vehicle. He had the usual identifiers ("007", "69" and all kinds of other informative and disinformative identifiers). Spat, obviously, was a plant -- Mike, I was less sure about. Spat and Mike both had grown up in Bayside and knew "everybody" in town. So, I went to buy a bottle of liquor to bring with me to the party. There was a "special" display (intended for my notice obviously) up-front. The display was Johnny Walker Black Extra Special (I'd never heard of the Extra Special sub-brand). So, I purchased the bottle. When I walked into the party which was in the preliminary phases of getting started -- at about 9:30 PM or so, I handed the bottle to Spat. I then walked into the apartment -- and a girl who hung out with Spat (NOT his girlfriend, I knew), began to flirt with me. Here was the girl that Nancy was discussing, obviously. She began to engage me in conversation, talking about how she worked at one time at "Blackstone Group". Then she told me about her "brother," who had a "job" in his basement that sounded EXACTLY like mine. Then she asked me how I supported myself. I was PISSED!!
Here I was, a very lonely man, looking for some companionship and maybe some comfort from my supposed friends -- and here is this nasty woman, identifying herself as a SPY against me.... I decided to lead her on with riddles, metaphor and conundrum -- and a blatant (spoken to others, not her) proposition. I was livid -- and, I thought, if I got "lucky", my basement apartment was in the same building. The rest of the evening, I rode her and her friends (I was attracted to a siren from Staten Island, but I figured, correctly, that this too was a nasty set-up) or just sat around, as she put it, "like a wall-flower." I was hoping to get lucky or just relax (preferring the former with an approved and disease-vetted spy) -- I had even, prior to the party -- put all of my papers away in my safe just in case. Some of the girls began to talk about the "UV" protection factors of their hand-creams. Ouch! Finally, near midnight (maybe after), she sat down on Spat's lap and pretended to have a very close relationship with him that she did not have.
And, to make matters even worse, she continued with the obvious charade for another 4 months -- often staying at his apartment -- and even simulating noises from his room (Spat, it turns out, was a male-homosexual)...."
------I had to jump in here and laugh a little!! Is that as opposed to a Female-Homosexual? - Spat
While I was sitting around waiting for Spat's field operatives to arrive (I had met many of them at a party during the summer before -- and at various other times), they began to trickle in 1-by-1. EVERY single one of them brought in something with "Black" in the name of it. There were bottles of Johnny Walker Black (nobody except me brought the "Extra Special") and "Zeller Schwartzekatz (maybe)" and "Black Tower" (definitely) and "Black Sambuca", "Black and White" (definitely) whiskey etc.. EVERYONE brought something with "Black" or a translation either in the title -- or a black-colored liquor. The only liquor that there were duplicates of was the Johnny Walker Black (this was STAGED). Having seen this in action many times before (with Brian and especially on a date in Garden City with a woman who ordered a "White Russian" at a restaurant where parked outside were license plates with "IBF", "G2", "391" and the rudimentary like on them) -- I knew precisely what I was looking at. Plus, I knew anyway that these guys were some of the younger locals and that Spat, somehow, even though quite young (30ish) was the local control. I walked into the kitchen and I saw on a piece of paper: "Miller lives" and at least a dozen "Miller"s written on the same sheet of paper. During the party, we were watching television -- it was a college football game. The numbers of flash-bulbs flashing in the stands were 30 to 40 times more (an estimate) of what I had ever noticed (seen and registered) before. The names of the players who were making the plays were often code-names; the statistics that were put on the screen were code-numbers. The guys were watching television -- and I could not really tell what kinds of signals these guys were getting from the game (I knew they could not read all of the codes -- and I knew that I could!). This was a bolt of lightning -- and I must have laughed for a half-hour.
In hindsight, I believe that I had been drugged for a couple of weeks (opium, I think, because I saw some worm-sign later) -- and I was making the proper connections about what was OBVIOUSLY THERE.
The other item of note was that the MAD BOMBER -- a friend of Spat's who once showed me a bomb recipe he got over the Internet (a very easy thing to find), told me that I lived in a safe house (he may have said, gratuitously, "you're house is safe"). I had this sneaking suspicion that it was in the process of being made safe -- because for the past several days, there was a work crew in the area installing a new phone line (totally unneeded) outside my apartment (the line was initially a different color (silver as opposed to black) -- I had also remembered the new phone lines that had been installed in Tarrytown after I had my first meeting with Larry.
I was making the connections that I had been trained to make -- at an accelerating rate during this period.
Again, it was like the switches were flipping -- and that somebody was indirectly or directly orchestrating the flipping of the switches."
------Pretty scary stuff, huh? Now here's an odd comment about me again that kind of came out of left field. - Spat
"Outside my apartment, as I approached it, Spat and his fake girlfriend came out of his apartment together (it was about 7:30 AM). I was pissed at this obvious charade. I then went back to my basement apartment -- and I began to look at some of the posters I had been buying of late. One of the posters was a BEAUTIFULLY colored and drawn depiction of the Ancient notions of the Elements "Earth, Water, Fire and Air." It began to occur to me that planting this poster on me was no accident."
------Again, he's obviously delusional. In this next paragraph he accuses me for ruining his love life and orchestrating some vast conspiracy! - Spat
"The other thread that was going on in my life was dating Dona. Dona was a Naval Reserve Officer who had trained to be my girlfriend. This, I knew. I also knew that she somehow ran at least part of the local field net -- what I did not know was that she was Spat's control (the control of my upstairs neighbor – her control may have happened later -- but, I don't think so)."
------And here is the part you've been waiting for, his recounting of the crazy, "Psyche" night!
"I can remember being quite exhausted and deciding to go out for a walk around Bayside. I went down to Golden Pond in Crocheron Park (the "Doggie Park") and sat on a bench. I saw some lights flicker and heard a voice from another dimension. It turned out to be Psyche (Psyche was an early Aphrodite clone, I now know -- but did not until yesterday or the day before) who was also Olga Meltzer. I finally "convinced" Psyche to come with me and I would take her "home" with me. She was invisible. We talked for a while on the way home -- she was clutching my arm with such fear and such frenzy that my arm felt as if it were about to fall off. I was angry, but I told her that I would try to rescue her, no matter what the cost (I tried repeatedly and eventually failed for reasons that became obvious only after I looked at the bed of tulips in April 2001 and followed the chain of reasoning to its sado-logical conclusion). I got back to my home -- and for the second time in two weeks, I had locked myself out of my apartment. It was late. I went upstairs to Spat and Mike and asked if I could sleep on their couch.
Mike told me a story about how he had just seen a friend of his get shot at a subway station (Mike was a cop) and that he was upset about it. I told him that I was trying to bring my invisible girlfriend into our dimension -- as she was almost visibly flitting around the room (MIKE COULD SEE HER BUT DID NOT ADMIT TO IT).
He denied that Psyche was there. I said, "Look! There she goes!" and pointed out where she was moving around the room.
Mike pretended to think that I was way too tired -- he was "disgusted" and went to bed. At some point, I had asked Mike to be my "Minister of Disinformation" (I realized at the time that he was the spirit of a man I had known as Bruce Plowman -- who I later realized was my "Animal Guide" (I last saw him a few days ago as a large bearded man at the Nurse's Station at PSI).
Spat (an obvious faggot -- and one of my indirectly identified local field protector agents) was in a room making false noises with his false girlfriend). I was pissed. I fell asleep on the couch.
I woke up in the AM, broke and hungry. I took a few dollars from the table -- and I do not remember whether I left a note. Spat's notional girlfriend (a Cassandra, it is now obvious) was planting false images in my brain.
Suddenly, I thought I was Jesus Christ again -- and it was incumbent upon me to reenact the 40 days in the desert.
So, for a reason that now escapes me, I dragged every bottle that I could find in the 2nd floor apartment down to the first floor foyer and put them all in some sort of symbolic order. I then took rock salt and put it all over the floor. I have no idea what this was about -- but, it was clear at the time that I was starting to "lose it" (lose control over my being in the "duality"). I knew that time was short. I decided to go out for a long walk to clear my head. First, however, I went to McDonald's and got coffee and breakfast."
------And now we see that crazy people like McDonalds too. - Spat
If you have any questions, E-Mail me. Spat@spat-nospam-cave.com