Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Straight to the Heart of the Matter (Part One)

"You can measure a man by the
opposition it takes to 
discourage him." 
Robert C. Savage

How many gang-stalkers does it take to destroy a targeted individual (TI)?

(Or, since love knows no tweakers: How many gang-stalkers does it take to UNscrew a lightbulb?)

I've endured over 100 known perpetrators since October 2006, when I first became aware of the stalking. No doubt there are many more people involved of whom I am unaware - and then some...

But, in answer to the question, it only takes ONE gang-stalker to destroy a life - and that's the one you, the target, want to look out for, because the rest are just blowing smoke and biding time.

Thus far, I am my OWN vigilante. No one watches my back but me - not then, not now, not EVER.

However, NOW when the Dog & Pony Show begins anew, I no longer get angry. Every storm turns into rain. My anger was a mask for sadness. Too many people, including those few who still claim to love me, lie to my tears.

They tell me I'm "tripping" and deny that the gang-stalking is real, yet the proof is in the disdain, dishonor and devaluation I experience every day.

Moreover, the very people who eschew the stalking are the Travel Agents providing tickets to my "trip
"!

Sad to say: What has happened, IS happening and/or will happen to me as a result of being gang-stalked doesn't really matter to ANYONE but me.

Many times I've wished the gang-stalkers were as tired as me, as if wishes are dreams come true, pigs fly in real time and chivalry isn't a dead virtue -
which believe you me, it is, and deader than a door nail...

Again I've been remiss in blogging because from April through June I had a bad-ass-gangster-in-the-truest-sense-of-the-word boyfriend who promised to "set things straight" and make it "right". He took me - quite by surprise (though not against my will) and quite literally into the gaping maw of the beast, in an attempt to get straight to the heart of the matter.

I just want to testify: The proverbial "twain" really does meet, albeit somewhere within the dragon's realm that is riddled with denial, confession, sweet talk, patter and jive.

* * *
Approximately four weeks ago, me and my gangster did a 180 on Highway 70 at 90 miles an hour in rush hour traffic and continued on at breakneck speed heading straight for the local organized crime ring, affectionately known as the Compound.
Luck would have it, the denizens of the deep were in-house. True Confessions came after the Home Boy formalities. I didn't think those present would validate me... but they did.

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