Pimple on Tongue, Ticking Heat Vents
I planned on writing about my fun high school days, scaring the whole Bountiful High football team, along with a few close, drill team, accomplices, willing to be scared to death along with the guys . . . taking the boys of fall, up, behind the Farmington Cemetery, up a dirt road, about a mile, with plenty of time to scare the shit out of the boys' club, with tales from the crypt, mixing imagination with the reality of the spooky place, with the road winding up to the witch's house, forcing adventurous teens, getting more and more frightened with each step, grabbing friends, arms gripped, locked, or pushing each other toward, old creepy animal sheds, not knowing what night horrors could jump out at them, allowing little more than a crack of a twig, to send them scurrying in different directions, the October, harvest moon, showing just enough wicked structures, that may have held untold tales of tortured animals, possibly used for blood sacrifices by the witch, who allegedly killed her husband and son, hanging them from the gnarly twisted burned tree, just outside the front of the house, with a strange wishing well, strange and ungodly circles of decorative color tile, indicating some type of ritualistic ceremonies, this throwback from the Salem witches, maybe a daughter of one burned, drowned, or hung . . . black rod iron, gates, leading to the basement of the house, moon exposing a large field, leading straight to the mountains behind the bizarre house, blank fields open and wild, mountains that seemed to jet straight up into the midnight sky, touching the clouds, reaching for the moon, for some type of solace, and recompense, for the gory fight, that must have ensued prior to the hangings, maybe a dinner, laced with arsenic, a potion, poisoned, clubbed, tricked, a spell . . . I warn the team and the drill girls, of the contents in the house, the broken glass, crackling like the the witch herself . . . and the words on the ancient walls, with the words . . . help, I'm dying you PIGS!
But, those days of fantasy, chills, and night thrills, pale in comparison to the real, scary Halloween realities, I face daily . . . and yes, help, I'm dying you pigs, still applies! As the innocent, is pursued, while predators, daily stalking their prey, live hits, perpetrated by both male and female, assassins in a creed for power, money, influence, greed, prestige, using a special terror of their own, often hidden behind badges of alleged justice, protection, service, really, just badges of betrayal, knowing full well, identities, of their prey and the protected, full of lies, deceit, secret horrors, of intimidation, threats, stalking, and the reality of sanctioned, sought after, and excuse for murder, without merit, cause, justification, other than ill gotten gain, unjust enrichment, fraudulent transfer of name, real, personal and intellectual property, using the local, state and national battery systems--cops, prosecutors, judges, to pursue, chase, trail, track, arrest, jail, invade, intrude, and fight for inequities, unjustifiable lies, working for perks, power, pussy, prestige . . . perfect fraud! With little or no concern for laws, regulations, rules, constitutions, class, honesty, integrity, preferring wrong to right, illusions to truth, and aiding and abetting crime syndicates, mafia, patterns of criminal activity, money laundering, gifts, bribes, favoritism, promoting insiders, and even killing whistle blowers, patriots, the loyal, the good, the honest, and the right . . . with fascist mantras of do whatever it takes, without limits or exception . . . all for the almighty pussy and penis, or sex! Down right archaic, debased, barbaric, and ugly.
Classic Battle Lines of Good & Evil . . . Divine Intel . . . the Good, the Bad & the Ugly!
A guy, just came in wearing sun glasses, trying to act, nonchalant, innocuous, and unnoticeable, and keeps looking outside, much like Georgeanna Hartung, the former clients, who just happened to show up at McDs, coming right to where I hangout, wearing a bright orange and black shirt, with the saying, DROP DEATH GORGEOUS, with the symbolic black gloves, and straining to look this way or that, as if she was expecting someone, a cop, someone, to identify me, so they can do their thing, whatever it is they have planned, not going unnoticed by her former attorney/friend, who has never seen her here in two months or more . . . and at other times, having her show up, looking for me, it seems, by saying, Oh, here you are, or showing up, just days after I started working out at the Summit Health Center, calling me out to the front desk, and her standing in bleachers, wearing a Santa hat, and looking for me, when I didn't come up to the desk, and with several other fed looking people walking around the pool area, totally out of place . . . she, as well as her son, David, turned cop snitches, with her husband getting community service washing sheriff's vehicles, for the 4th or 5th DUI, after crashing his car in a ditch out in Kila . . . he would have been in prison, in Utah, or at least when I was the assistant attorney general over all the DUIs for the DMV . . . special treatment, for George's daughter, Tabitha, who was a deputy sheriff for 7 years, just the way things work around here! The Darrows and the Hartung's, much like the pioneer stock of southern Utah, old family names, dating back to early settlement days, smoking marijuana without a care, charges of $5,000, just up and disappearing, or light community service in exchange for what? Heads up, something is up! Thanks for the warning God!
Heat . . . Pimple . . . Heat
The night I spent with federal agents next to me, at the hospital in Shelby, ditching out, while they were staking out the restrooms across the hall, leaving at 3:00 a.m., there was another, symbolic incident to alert me, that the heat is on me, as if I didn't already notice, with the undercover cop dining with me at Kow Loons in Shelby, a truck, not so stealth, following me down the main street, to the Wells Fargo ATM, driving into the empty parking lot, across the street, going up, doing a U turn . . . nice aerial sign, and coming back out, another truck picked up the trail, with the agents following me to the hospital. At first I thought, that I was fine, and didn't need to worry, since they had not come in the chapel by 12 midnight, but, usually, the normal drill for the hospital, in that room at least, is that the heat coming from the heaters, turns off at midnight . . . but that night, the heat never turned off!
Thanks for the warning . . . continuing on with that thought, as I sat in the reclining chair, watching my true crimes movies on YouTube, free, staying at John's house, where I am paying to couch surf, never knowing how long I can stay, or how long I will be left alone, generally not more than a few days, max two weeks, without taking off around the state, or to another state, is the norm, but, I noticed a small bump on my tongue, that seemed to have developed out of nowhere, with oral intrusion, I wondered, if there was some significance, warning, or sign, that my Intel guy was trying to let me know what was up . . . while watching the first part of my movie at Super One, getting warm by the fire, until I noticed this guy, who I know damn well is assigned to rat me out, whenever I am at that store, with some little nerdy clerk, giving me strange looks before this guy showed up, he is called Cowboy, not the one who used to set up the Republican Pachyderm Club meetings, but, a more distinguished, older gentleman, with a dry sense of humor, and sometimes has either a grand kid or a kid, with him . . . but, he is another one of the local pod squad along with Georgeanna, Dave, DJ, under Jack Strode's direction, who are always signs of trouble . . . he shows up, if I am there in the mornings, afternoons, or evenings, just popping up out of the blue, he showed, and looked suspicious, so I left, went over to Taco Johns, and started to read the Flathead Beacon, still wondering what shit the cops were up to now?
My Intel Guy . . . often gives me symbolic words, in the texts of the material I am reading, as he did last night, when I was thinking about what I had written in the last few blogs, and I ran across a word, as I thought about the exposure of the BearCats or the MWraps, the armored vehicles that are wasting tax payer's money, making them pay for the cops, to stop protecting and serving you, militarizing and protecting themselves against you! As that thought crossed my mind, the work, tikrit . . . showed up, strange word, and not one I have seen before, and don't remember the context, but it did seem to fit in this situation, hell, yeah the cops are ticked, right . . . about filling in the possibilities of actually using these, really ever . . . unless, you have a lock down in Evergreen at an elementary school, where a couple was fighting in a car, which is not illegal, with the cops, blocking off all the streets surrounding the school, using the BearCat, or the whatever the Kalispell version of the armored money pit, is called, along with SWAT vehicles, and riot gear, and you don't think this is a bit of over kill?
Old School Smarts, Talking Down, No Contact . . . Not Deadly Force!
In Utah, several years ago, because they have more money, people, thus tax payer waste, there were two domestic violence situations, that the boys and their toys showed up to, full military gear, tanks, helmets, camoflauge uniforms, and both alleged, stand offs with the cops, turned deadly . . . both guys were killed for having a fight with their wives, not wanting the cops intruding on their personal lives, one guy went from the street and the car with his wife, in hot topic conversation, that he didn't want to stop, so the couple moved in the house, which appeared to be, what, a standoff, with the militarized cops, getting a chance to use their new tanks, clothes, rifles, and helmets, and they, using a no-knock warrant, exigent circumstances, I guess, used a battering ram, if I remember, and shot the guy! That was in Eureka, and the other domestic dispute, that ended up with the cops using deadly force, in Davis County, they even brought in new robots, they got from the Homeland Security Catalogue! Really, the old fashioned guys, who didn't have millions in federal grants, actually, just talked the guy or gal out of the fight, and if they resisted, or there were signs of violence, they arrested them, gave them no contact orders for 24 hours, or longer . . . but they just handled the situation, respecting the Castle Doctrine, this is this guy/gal's castle, and I am an intruder, in their personal and private space!
Tick Right . . . John's Heater, Woke Me Up At 5:00 A.M., Ticking Away
John and I have been friends for about just over a year, and I have spent time at his house, since last winter, when it was fucking freezing outside, and I had just paid David Russo rent to couch surf at his trailer, with the same limitations on my short stays, but with the necessity of a place to lay my head, and once paid, this baby brother of the former deputy sheriff, who calls the cops at the drop of a hat, may be undercover himself, threatened to call the sheriff, for some reason, I think because I had asked him, after being gone a month, and showing up again, if the frat house, with naked maids and swinging sex parties, would rather have me find another place to live . . . no, then the day I paid, Dave either got drunk, or something, but threatened to call the cops, and I said, go ahead, and I will insist you give me my rent back . . . I think he was given the assignment of taking my money, then kicking me out, or acting like an ass, knowing I have zero tolerance for asses, and would leave, with cops hoping I would die in the frigid and brutal weather . . . John came and picked me up and saved my ass from freezing with no where to go, being pissed as hell at Dave, for asking him, the night before I paid if he just wanted the guys at the trailer . . . so, what I am trying to say, is that I know the drill at his apartment too, with the heater, and this heater, was tick, ticking away, leading me to believe, that the cops that were tracking me last night, were even more ticked this morning, so forgoing the morning shower, I followed the warning, not really knowing the roomies and whether they are undercover cops, very likely . . . so I split, and headed to McDs.
Go figure, the other part of the mom/son spy team and rat pack, showed up out of the night, plopping her ass down across the table, acting like this is just part of the norm, kind of like her showing up at Wally's world last week, making statements, like, you are still here, huh, or showing up to the Summit pool, or wherever else, she and Dave, who showed up, just before I left for Shelby, last week . . . all red flags go off, every time these two clowns show up! Trouble, Trouble! These two sheriff connected dip shits, have tried this clown show for at least a year, and have failed miserably . . . but I have to give them the old college try! I think each time they fail, they get more determined to succeed the next time, LOL! Like I am not totally aware of this shit . . . really, boring. But, there is not a day, that goes by, that I don't have to be on 100% alert, through one threat or another. I was just wondering if someone told George to wear the shirt, as a threat . . . Drop Dead Gorgeous, and as I left the restrooms here on Idaho Street at the Big McDs, there as a truck in the parking lot, that said, PAPE . . . Applied Materials!
My dad or PA or in some other language, PAPE, is one of the major players, and a paid hit, is not out of his purview of menu choices, having offered at one time, to send the Polynesian mafia to take care of an obsessed and unwanted boyfriends who was causing me trouble . . . with good old dad, having been one of the originals, along with Shelley, Brett, and Kay Baby, stealing my life, wanting any daughter, but this one, who became an attorney, like he wanted to become, and then, after a near death experience, family planning at its best, saved financial planners and CPAs, for the SEC, state and federal level, through constitutional protections, making them look at their investigations and administrative subpoena's, different, they are not, warrants, as demanded in the Constitution and investigators don't get to download computer hard-drives without a warrant, probable cause, a judges signature, oath and affirmation, listing with specificity what they are looking for, and not some bull shit, letter, regulators and investigators are using in place of a warrant, or writing themselves, then going on fishing expeditions to find alleged fraud! My father and daddy's little girl, Shelley, spent, seven years, hanging out together, while he was hiding from the SEC and she was having her 4th illegitimate kid, out of wedlock . . . first hubby, doubts even the first kid was his, got that last year!
Family Plot Has Two Meaning . . . One a Plan, the Other a Burial Plan, in a Cemetery!
This family plot was hatched a long time ago . . . they just needed Bret and Kay to help! And with a shit load of money from my son, Elliot's band, God's Revolver . . . Hard Rock Band of 2008, coming on the heels of Brett meeting my two son's and hearing the talent, testing in on NPR, with 350,000 hits, just for a kid jamming on the guitar in his bedroom, easy surveillance, and pump a test run, holy shit, sign Isaac, Shelley's son up, as El, and get a fake band, and steal the bank! Same patterns, still steel! Last night, about the time the spies showed up, I was watching a movie, a true crime movie, where a boyfriend or a look a like, for a boyfriend, who allegedly murdered his girlfriend, the daughter of a wealthy couple, a second marriage, with step-dad, working with the doubles or look a likes, involved in the plot, and actually killing the boyfriend, but a look a like for the beloved daughter, working with the crooks, shows up on the very day, that a new part of an ocean front park is being named for the dead daughter, with the look a like, moving in on mother's hopes that her dead daughter is channeling through the look a like, bring her comfort from her dead child, and guidance as to what happened to the daughter, with boyfriend, not hubby being the one blamed for the murder, and him disappearing . . . but spies showed up, and I couldn't find the movie again . . . but, the cops are suspicious, having handled the case, and they ride the double . . . who is convincing more and more people, she is actually the daughter, or it looked that way . . .
Double, Double, Toil & Trouble . . . The Three Witches in MacBeth!
But, my sister, Rachel, 7 years younger than myself, lived in Shaumberg or Shamberg is more like it, Illinois, at the same time I lived in downtown Chicago, and it never failed, when we, who have very similar bubbly personalities, both blond, both blue eyes, even though she is 3 to 4 inches taller, and now extremely better enhanced through surgery, was always considered, or thought to be my twin! That was in the summer of 1992, and Rachel was pregnant with her second child, Matthew, and I was just heading into my last year of law school . . . did that give the family ideas, and as my career, and resume, notoriety, and contributions mounted, not only in the law, but in teaching at three universities, and having a son, kicking out CDs and his band rockin, did they, la familia, work a trade with the government, with daddy and daughter Shelley, being investigated by the same people I sued, or listed as defendants, entertain, the identity switch way back . . . I thought that maybe after I was poisoned, with Shelley a biologist, connections with the Attorney General's Office, and dad, the Gov. Leavitt, family friends, with Dixie, and Shelley and David, born the same day, in the same hospital, plans were firming up and I challenged cops and prosecutors, with associations with the big guys, at the state level, getting more and more pissed, with Rachel, a flight attendant, going to visit both of my daughters, when they had children, as did Sue and Grandma . . . was that with malicious intent, that down the road, they could claim, that Rachel, or Sue, were actually the new grandmas, as it appears now? Dastardly deeds, and real scary, Halloween stories!
Pimped Out Armored Militarized Vehicles & the Pimple or Bump on My Tongue
I almost forgot the pimple or bump, that appeared on my tongue as I sat up, unable to sleep, the new addition to my tongue, that I hadn't noticed before, and that is missing this morning, did get my attention, and always looking for reasons, answers, thoughts and inspiration, if not downright signs, through symbolic representation, I thought about the root word of pimp . . . and remembered that I had mentioned in my blog on the militarized armored vehicles, that now grace the hollowed streets of Kalispell, Great Falls, and Bozeman, that I said a pimped out version of the BearCat or MWrap, would cost another $50,000! To adding "tikrit" to "pimp", equals, they are ticked off at the fact that I said, the pimped out versions would cost more, to the tax payers, to get all the possible bells and whistles. Somehow, comparing armored vehicles to low rider, rap singing, cop hater, pimped out rides, must have pissed the cops off even more than just ratting them out! Anyway, God moves in mysterious ways, and fact is stranger than fiction!
Scared Jack-O-Lanterns on the Front Porch
As I left John's house, on Glenwood, remembering a cop car, slowly, coming out of the Gateway Mall, right at the time I was walking home from Taco Johns, taking my time, thinking that DJ had guests, of the excuse to try to get me to sleep somewhere other than at John's house, who is just the guy in the middle, who is the messenger, between the parties living in the house, with Shannon, Greg and John, wanting me to get rid of DJ the only non-paying resident of the place, with neighbors complaining, allegedly, at just the time Shannon and Greg want to get rid of him, that they are going to report him to the management, so he needs to go . . . politics makes strange bedfellows even in a small groups, with the couple, getting a letter a month or so ago, giving them 30 days to clean up their act, or they were out, and trespassing beyond that, which was the kick in the ass that they needed, great people, but things were going down hill, so the letter worked, and now, they wanted the squatter who had taken over the entire front room, never leaves, and has stuff spilling out of the apartment to the landing, bugging the hell, or allegedly so, with the neighbor threatening to call management, and getting John and them kicked out before winter . . . but, I never felt right, after seeing that DJ cleaned the house, just that day . . . privy to surveillance?
My gut, told me this was a planned plot, most likely with Shelley, Greg, Shannon, and maybe DJ, if he is undercover, showed up, out of the blue too, but I realized that if I bought the alleged threat, that they could then use the same one on me, or DJ would complain that I, also am just a guest too, but I am paying rent, but management could be used to get me out, kill two birds with one stone . . . and vindictive roomies, who teamed with DJ, now that it is clean, to get rid of me, after paying . . . but that all going on, with John, the real name on the rent, and a long term tenant, just staying out of everything, it struck me as strange that DJ, who could have just as easily, as planned, been booted out of the apartment, but for my sympathies, and feeling like I should wait, and might be being played by Shannon and Greg, who never mentioned the now mounting angry neighbors, who just as I thought, didn't do a thing in the last two days, since the entertained expulsion, but now the tables turned on me!
So with that background, cops, cops, and more cops, all friends with George and David, connected with the sheriff's department, but with local city cops, stalking me last night, with them totally slowing down at where I am staying, making me turn back down the street, and coming in the back way, behind cars and the other buildings, thinking there might be another stake out, going on . . . but as I walked down the street this morning, hours before it was light, I noticed lights dancing and flickering out of my peripheral vision, not seeing them the night before, but the two fake pumpkins, appeared to be shaking, scared, in a state of fear. I thought, this could have several meanings . . . my sons and maybe my daughters, and probably their spouses, read my blogs, and they could have read about the close call in Shelby, that could have gone terribly wrong, with me having my ass shot, drug up and dumped over the Canadian border, just miles away, and without ID, having been confiscated from me over the last year, and with all means of getting new ID blocked, border patrol cops, or their buddies, who are all located in the Shelby area, and with the prison near, could say I was an illegal alien, trying to sneak into the USA, and shoot me, like they do the Hispanics, and nobody would know the difference between me and a Canadian, without ID . . . or, they could have hauled my ass to the nearby prison, and either detained me as an government, enemy combatant or homegrown terrorist, for forcing law enforcement to follow the U.S. Constitution, in opposition to the Patriot Act, that does away with all rights, leaving this constitutional law attorney, on a collision course, in a game of chicken, with the guys who were never trained old school, and believe it their right, their duty, and their power to take this girl back of the woodshed and give me a whipping, or just kill me!
The Really Scary Stuff is REAL . . . Worth Shaking Over
I am sure, that my children, having written about them just yesterday, and referred to Jack-O-Lanterns and Edgar Allen Poe, with them knowing full well the risks their mother is taking everyday, fighting guys and gals, not to mention family with connections to the FBI, CIA, NSA, and all the power and access to either set me up, frame me, arrest me, incarcerate me, detain me, without charge, or cause, for an indefinite amount of time, without a hearing, or any rights, or just murder me, know too well, how it feels to not have contact for a whole year, before, when I first left Utah, for fear of my life, and not wanting to expose them or cause any harm, not calling or contacting, for fear of reprisal, retribution, and retaliation! I referred to Greta, my oldest daughter, who is going to attend the University of Montana Law School, next fall, wanting to move up now, will add some needed support, therefore, the deed needs to be done soon, with job apps and resumes flying, and a move coming at anytime, but I wished her a Happy Birthday, October 3, and referred to her as My Little Pumpkin . . . the October Baby!
We had rust or dark orange carpet, in the house, my children were raised in, in Ogden, Utah, on Eccles Avenue, and that was a time of vast study, intellectual growth, smart educational toys, reading the classics and long lofty dinner discussions between their father, who had a master's degree, and myself, getting first a bachelors, and then starting a masters, having much the same thoughts as my grandmother, former dean of women, at Southern Utah State College/University, that children are to be seen and not heard! And overall, during a normal, nightly dinner for the first 15 years of their lives, they heard their parents discuss politics, religion, philosophy, and other enlightened discussion, therefore, the orange carpet became my sign for smart, intelligence, good decision, etc. And pumpkins, are very much a part of my children's lives, we had a great pumpkin patch with 64 pumpkins in our garden in Provo . . . so, that is how this brain works, with only God, able to keep straight, all my colors, signs, and symbols, that have developed into a code, as complicated as the federal tax code, as my husband, and nemesis, Brett Todd Stuart/Stewart, said, knowing full well, the way my mind works, and using it to send messages, like, Drop Dead Gorgeous . . . with head stones in a cemetery, with the word, RIP, Rest in Peace . . . on the orange shirt of Georgeanna's, seeing it first thing this morning!
However, the Pumpkins on the Porch Were FAKE, JUST LIKE MY DOUBLES!
The scared fake pumpkins, can have a double meaning for he doubles . . . these orange signs of Halloween, shaking, with flickering lights, can also mean that the fakes, for the multiples, or doubles, are scared shit-less, with the recent blogs, the Zip Trip to Shelby . . . done to ditch their sorry asses, and leave them in the dust, without time to make up the trip, with mindful motion, separating the real from the fraud broads! I know, that for every sex crazed rogue friend of Brett's, there is a surveillance crew on my side, working to figure out what there former bosses, and possible heroes, and heroines, relying on my accomplishments to get money, power, perks and you know the drill . . . who are going after their superior up line, due to age, time on the job, experience, longevity and access, trying to get an education, with spy on spy . . . cop on cop, and agent on agent, being, not only duped by their tactics, but with the older guys, knowing the weaknesses, the follies and the typical failures of new agents, spies, and Intel. But, the fakes, should have been arrested, but for alleged and imagined credibility through access, lies, fraud, conspiracy, collusion, and the illusion, relying on past graces and power, yet stealing it now . . . have refused to listen to me, assumed I am the criminal, fallen for twisted roots, T&A, if not preferring . . . see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil of superior agents!
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