GLUTTONY

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

n. excess in eating or drinking, greedy or excessive indulgence

“During a close conversation we were having, she said knew she was guilty of selfishness and greed-and to hell with whoever had a problem with it. LoL. It was pretty funny because it was in one of her more sensual moments of a conversation (although she still meant what she said). But what I think she meant was that she was gluttonous and she was; well over “greed.” Because whatever she liked in sex, virtuosity, madness, goodness or badness; she had to have it to a power over-explainable: excessively. All things considered, I know that in order to balance this thing out, I was going to have to do something for me that would definitely leave a sour taste in her mouth. And with this thing, if she really loved me like she said she did, she would understand-and still be with me, and if she didn’t-she would leave me. I would have to cross that bridge when we got to it in order to be able to determine if this (for us) would be a bridge, or troubled waters ahead. So, here goes...everything.”

-Angie

EXCERPT 1

That night time blindness is a motherfucker.

The decisions and finalities of all that we say, think, feel and do should never be made final in the night-time hours. I don’t trust new decisions made in the night-time from people.

I had my night of contemplation about what I needed to do, and just like I don’t trust night time decisions from anybody else, I don’t make my own decisions final in the night-time either and if I do, the morning will tell me the right thing (if the night-time wouldn’t let me wait).

Morning came. I felt the same.

I figured it was time for me to put my head in front of my heart, some pep in my step and quit being such a sucker and a fool her-by making a decision to look out for me, first. Because one thing’s for certain: she’s looking out for herself first, and not even the love she claims to have for me is going to stand in the way of that. In the bigger scheme of things, I’d be an even bigger fool to think otherwise.

It had been going on seven months into this thing, and for the very first time, on this July 20th morning; I was able to step outside of this ordeal and look at myself to really see what was going on. I had a very long talk with myself the way that I would advise one of my own friends if they were involved in this same exact predicament:

“Regardless whatever feels good and feels right about anything in this, there is nothing, and I do mean nothing “normal” about it-all the way down to the person you’re involved with. I can soften the blow by shedding light on the dark facts of it by stating another fact that you cannot ignore: this whole thing is just as unstable as she is unstable and volatile her literal damned self.

The scariest part about it is that the unstable and volatile person involved is the one with the money, the power, the resources, the access to the media and the ability to turn this lil’ secret love nest you have into a bad-bad situation, that by the time she is done with you; she can have you looking like a completely packaged idiot. In an effort to prove your trustworthiness, here you are having turned yourself inside out to this bitch to the point of having a paper trail of all true facts about you and your part in this-down to your real name-all in the palm of she and her team’s hands. But you on the other hand; have no power in this that you can control other than whatever she opened up to you to reveal in order to give you some security that I’m sure that with the touch of a button, her people can flip and undo to make you look like a damned fool in five minutes of this love nest your ass has set up over here and built with this broad. Without Rene’s help and your documenting everything, 80% of what you have is circumstantial by conversation or testimony. 100% of what she has is all-true, you (and in print).

Fuck who she is, what she tells you, and how all over you she is in an effort to prove her love to you. Use your head. If you were completely convinced of her love, you wouldn’t have red flags all over the fields of your mind constantly reminding you to be on your toes with her. If this was completely and 100% about her getting with you the right way, there wouldn’t be some many things that she and her cohorts do to upset you and antagonize you over silly shit that y’all go through over her tantrums (which are never ending I might add). You can’t win or have a relationship with somebody unstable like her and who has access to knowing things about you that the average partner in a relationship would have to sit back and trust.

A relationship cannot grow healthy with a jump-start and heads up like that. It cannot work, it’s impossible. She didn’t get a chance to get to you like she does everybody else: spy on them enough to have them checked out, meet, get her shit off, part ways, spy on them and tap their phones and whereabouts and shit, then cut them loose after a few or no more trysts. You pressing ‘pause’ on her getting to you “in 3 hours” shifted the game in a big way that forced her to do something she never took the time to do with everybody else: Get to really know you and love you. Now she’s revealed herself to you and what it is she does, and because of-you are indebted to her for more ways than your ass think you are. Now she and her people have to be on you in more ways than they planned for—more than for “love” for you.

This is about life now, and her livelihood-and this thing can get ugly. But considering her-how she is…count on it. She is too volatile, too unstable, and she’s got way too much money, worldly power and influence over the same world of people who are going to send you to the nut house at the very moment she pulls the plug and you’re not prepared to go toe-to-toe with this bitch. If you think that one girl on her team, that one night was enough to set you off on the telephone, what are you going to do when this sick bitch sends the world to your door?

You may not have her money, her worldly power and influence, but you are smarter and savvier than she and her people are technologically smart and savvy. And you had better start acting like it- fast.

They can only and specifically act and move from the inside looking out from her ego. You have an advantage too. And one that you had better begin to value like the world values her over you. You are on the inside, but a part of that same outside looking at her ego, but unlike them; you are in the know about her alter egos, and her real self-having been the victim of her ego and her power. You have her more cornered she and they can push buttons to hurt you but only if you get it all on paper.

There is no way you can relay the intricacies of this complicated story in a matter of three minutes to an hour with a microphone in your face like you can do on paper. And you had better collect your paper trail on her ass and prepare to chronicle this tale to tell in the event that she pulls that plug…that’s your only fight and defense. You can be rested in assured that pulled plug is coming, and they have been preparing it since the first day she came at you in-even in the name of adoration and lust. She’s already seven months ahead of you. You, my dear, had better get seven months caught up in less than seven days-seven hours if you can.

Stop tossing your silly little yellow tape of caution to the wind and going at these seven deadly sins with her devil ass on “love” and a type of loyalty that she wouldn’t give to you even if she wanted to.

She’s got a whole machine behind her that’s got to eat—families to feed-that don’t give two shits about you or even her “love” for you. You had better put as much caution and care into the seriousness of your own life and career as she and her people place on hers and theirs. Start NOW. These 7 months of bullshit is something you can get caught up on in 7 hours or 7 days at minimum! Because that’s the only luck and defense you’ve got in this pickle you’re in dear. If you want to sit back and love her crazy ass like her crazy loves you-fine. That’s between you and her. But be your own machine too-like she has her machine (that doesn’t give a flying fuck about you). That way, if you wish to keep dealing with her, you will be armed and ready down to the wire. But right now at this very moment in time, your shit is on click-click boom, and you’re the one unprepared to detonate when the real war begins. Love doesn’t love anybody. Your time is ticking.”

…is the advice I would have given to someone else, so I answered my self back-the same way.

I spent the night [hand]writing the outline and timeline and prepared to go right in with the story-all truths-my part that I played in this thing and her part too. I had no time for fabrication, lies, and creative cover-ups on either of our parts if I was to get caught up and get this story chronicled and on the go. I put a special star with a circle around it in areas of the timeline where I needed to pull emails to duplicate them in the story, but because I knew she had access to my email account that we used between us; I put that on the back burner-until then, I could write the story around the emails. I knew what happened on what dates and what times because I had so much saved on the “BULLSHIT” discs for a while from January through March when things got crazy and she started freezing and fucking with my computer after I quit her chat room.

I was armed and ready to go.

Bright and early, I got up and went to my school’s computer lab to take my chances. Skipping all classes, I started at 8 a.m. I went to a different lab that I had never talked to her from, feeling like I would have a special kind of peace without one computer in that whole room reminding me of anywhere I sat during the many evenings and days that I would have to run there to beg her to give me my service back at my own home...

From the time I laid my finger on the first key and my thoughts started to flow, I felt something come over me that I hadn’t felt since she had taken from me one of my loves; my outlets-writing (in peace). Although this piece was very necessary for my emancipation, I was writing in peace-regardless. The feeling was like a “fix,” if you will. I was on a roll-just flowing. The story started pouring out. But at exactly 2 p.m., after I had gotten to the part about how Rene and I met, my computer completely froze just like the way she would do my computer at home…

Considering the moment in the story the computer froze, I knew it was her. I had been through this thing with her for long enough to know her moves, and how she moved. It was like she sat there and watched me do the first thirteen pages until she gathered exactly how I met Rene and what had occurred. That was her only missing link to the puzzle (thus far)…

She got her chance to fill in some blanks, so I was kind of relieved that she did read that part and found out that was all that occurred when I met him.

The screen was frozen for about five minutes, no need to panic. Of course I knew what was going on but didn’t worry about it either. I only worried about how I was going to be able to get this ordeal on paper to get myself caught up to date. I needed this.

I didn’t feel stupid or sneaky, actually I couldn’t wait to talk to her so then perhaps we could carry on like normal with one another (I hoped).

Since my breakdown that night, I woke up a little stronger and a little less emotionally detached from her-the worry, the fear.

Since that time, Lauryn’s “Ex-Factor” was the second song whose lyrics were true to life from me to her that I just hadn’t put through my CD Rom’s speakers for her to hear yet-for she had already lost one part of me that (after my breakdown that night) I didn’t have in me anymore for her. I still cared about her and loved her but at this point, I could take her or leave her. If she left me alone it sure as hell wouldn’t be too soon for me. I preferred to take her over leaving her because I knew that [unlike anybody else in my normal life who, for hurting me, I certainly would up and leave and never look back], I couldn’t leave her unless she decided to, because she had unusual ties to me in ways that (because I knew about) I could never really feel back to my “self,” before her. I would never fully have my life back to the way it was before her unless it was she who walked away. If she would walk away, that would leave me no choice-and she knew that too, but she never would, despite at times going off on her own and hooking up with a couple of Hollywood dudes, and few industry honeys [and even telling me about those people in an effort to go her own way] still, she could leave, but she tried hard to-a couple of times.

Call it her karma and my biggest spiritual life lesson; for many years after this and from different spectrums of our individual lives, this predicament snowballed into a mountain that neither she nor I could handle. It became bigger than the both of us after some time that (behind the scenes of her public) I know for a fact-eventually affected her career down to the minutes before her major debacle, and every other flop, and venue cancellation.

This predicament affected my entire life as I once knew it and would never be again, for me. She blew my mind so much and in so many ways, for so many years (even after I started writing the story) that I had to dig deeper into what I already knew about her-because I knew there had to be more (that obviously) she was not going to tell me. I just knew it was more to her story, this “thing” with me, and this whole Internet thing. And low and behold, I found much more than I never even expected.

I knew that the use of “character names” and nicknames was a very big deal with them in her room, so I started my research there. I headed over to a completely different college’s computer lab and sunk myself into that chair all day one Saturday afternoon and began my research first, by researching one of the main character nicknames that she used with me-the most that caught my attention: “Kajira”(the one she said meant: “slave to passion.)I found out that a “Kajira” was indeed a submissive slave in this lifestyle called “Gorean” (very similar to BDSM) where the choice to inflict psychological, mental, and physical pain upon the submissive was not a necessary practice for the lifestyle; but total power exchange, 24/7, dominance and submission, and servitude (especially) was the name of the game.

Upon deeper investigation, I began to look up several nicknames used by she and her friends in the room (whose names I purposely omitted while writing the story) and through searching those names, I landed right into the online game that Janet and her friends were the players of the rituals, and the screenshots from last played. I started printing my ass off when I came upon the pages. It was by the stroke of luck and my memory recalling one particular friend’s name that Janet mentioned to me in conversation before whereby that same friend’s name; I hit the jackpot…and through her page and links, I was over into a whole other world of Janet’s that too, explained so much more to me-it even helped me better understand the jacket cover pics of her Velvet Rope CD: all that bondage, ropes, slave mistress smeared eye makeup, latex body suits, her outfit worn at the debacle, the psychological stress she would put me through-all that. I was floored at these pieces coming together. But when I came upon the video game screen shot of a ceremonial piece, there was a girl dressed in a white wedding dress (a submissive), kneeled to her dominant. Guess the name printed across the top of the submissive?: “Angela.” That was the only non-Gorean name in the screenshot’s ceremony scene. Considering what I had been going through with her-that was no fucking coincidence, at all.

Sitting there in that computer lab and coming upon all this, I thought I was in the “Twilight Zone,” the “Matrix,” and very much apart of the cutting room floor reel of the “The Enemy of the State.” I was blown away. I never said anything to her about all of this but I sure as hell printed it and got the hell out of dodge. I flew home like a bat out of hell, and tucked that evidence away and proceeded without too much more caution. I got a lot of answers to things I hadn’t even questioned.

So even before I studied into her deeper, I knew her moves. I knew everything about her and how she and her people operated. Getting a hold of these first thirteen pages that they intercepted was going to cause one or two things to happen: She was going to completely turn away from me and shut this thing down altogether, or she and they were going to turn it up-in every way.

I waited patiently.

From home (and from the school’s computers), they had me blocked from getting into the room for the duration of that July 20th day.

July 21st –game on.

I came into the room, and the first person that showed their face was “Danielle.”

I knew this was their day to perform for me like never before. I gave audience to it and performed right along with them-there was no shame in my game whatsoever:

“Hey Danielle, so that is your full name?” I asked. (I asked that because “Danielle” was “Daniee’s” full name. “Daniee” was the girl from the Jack and Jill conversation with “Kajira” and me way back in earlier into this).

“Ah yes Cin, it sure is,” she responded.

They carefully took every name that I mentioned in the beginning of those first thirteen pages, extended the spelling of the names, and posted them down in front of me (just to let me know they were combing through each page they had received).

Next, they cracked jokes about Janet’s dancers-calling them “band members” (as I had originally called them in those first thirteen pages) because I was going to try to be as discreet as I could be by avoiding using the obvious: “dancers,” so instead, I called them “band members.”

I sat there to wait to see who was next: “QUEENK” came down.

In those first thirteen pages they now had in their possession, “QUEENKYRA” was the name that I had originally thought to use instead of the name that Janet really used: “QUEENJANET” because again, I was calling myself being discreet (in case this chronology turned manuscript became a published book). I did not want to completely drop the dime on them by turning it into a “tell-all” and putting the spotlight right on Janet.

My main concern was to tell the story-on paper-and put it away for safe keeping-if ever I needed a defense prepared with details to tell my side of this story (should Janet and her people tried to fuck my life up). I didn’t do it necessarily to hurt or tell on Janet simply because I knew I could and had quite an interesting story to tell, but as hard as I tried to write a chronology only, the details of the story could not chronicled in any way other than by telling it as a story. Because of that, I called myself being considerate, by changing names and functions. But after they started their performances, I turned “QueenKyra” back to QueenJanet, turned “Kyra” back to Janet, and turned the “band members” back to dancers-fuck it. I’m not the one with anything to hide in this but in the meantime, I will finish the manuscript and put it up for safe keeping (if ever needed to defend myself)...

The performances continued. I sat and gave them audience.

A guy named “DaveB” came down and posted: “Uh yeah sorry guys but I have to go. I have a big interview on the Oprah Show so make sure you guys watch me! LoL…”

They all “LoL’d.”

Next, the nickname: “College Girl” came down and carried on a skit with another employee who asked: “Yeah uh, college girl. What are you studying in college?”

“College Girl” capitalized: “THE LAW.”

The employee then responded: “Yeah keep up the good work because we need our lawyers…”

I just sighed and watched the show. Lissa then showed up next:

“Um I’m going quit being nice to some people in this room if they don’t stop their lies!”

To that, I had to respond:

“Uh, hello Lissa. Lissa?”

She wouldn’t respond back to me, instead, she posted to “College Girl” that she was Janet’s Public Relations Specialist and that she had some work to do.

I could not believe the scene in front of my eyes. I sat and wondered what kind of public relations specialist and lawyer she would she begin to tell our story to. Now I could clearly see how impossible they thought it could be for me to be able to articulate our story to anyone in my little unimportant life too (which was why they were having such a good ‘ole time running through my life and privacy) because I began wondering the same thing about them-how they would even begin to articulate the truth about what they did? How could they even begin to conjure up lies to divert and thwart the truth-whose details were laced with nothing but crazy! Who could I or she [sit down and] tell all these unbelievable and intricate details to without sounding like a nut?

But how quickly I forgot how a celebrity’s PR team has seen and heard it all. These groups of people specialize in planting or trying to clean up any public story rumored (or in this case: true) about their celebrity client that may affect their “public image” (e.g., anything that may fuck up any commercial endorsements and all else along the lines of any other company, group, or entity who pays them that in turn; pays the people on their teams, glam squads and entourages i.e “could ruin their career)--to hell who they ruin in process, they don’t care. They take full control and advantage of their access to the media in ways that the victim of their bullshit cannot (unless like me-they are diligent enough to tell write the entire story to combat that buffoonery).

They’re talking about “LAW,” please, I wondered how in the hell anyone could defend her when it was she who came into my life and caused me an unthinkable brand of the mental, emotional and psychological stress I never knew was possible + did every possible criminal act under the sun like she was the FBI and had some fucking right to-as if I had some top secret antidote that could stunt her growth in life [that I didn’t have until after and as a result of her fucking crime]! What the hell! I wanted to slap Lissa’s face right through that screen so badly that I could taste the blood in my mouth. “How in the hell could she bring this story to any human being and how could any human being defend her?” I wondered. I’d kill to be a fly on the wall; wondering how she even went about talking over the whole story with a lawyer and her PR people on that July 20th day that they found the first thirteen pages. What did she say? “Hey uh, I met this stranger who is a writer that I ended up liking a whole lot, in fact, we sort of fell in love with each other and then I tapped her home and cell phones, her friends and family’s phones, her computer and her school’s computers and clocked her every whereabout. Without her permission, I also had her investigated to find out every possible thing I could find out about her, and when things didn’t go my way or when she’d piss me off-I’d kindly throw them up in her face, just to let her know that she wasn’t shit and her privacy didn’t mean shit to me. When I retrieved the first thirteen pages of work that she was composing to tell the story of how it all began (in to prepare for her escape from my craziness), I got alarmed, and now I need help getting out of this pickle. Do you think you can get me out of this one guys?”

I sat there in the room and watched “College Girl” and “Lissa” perform until the curtain closed. I left the room for a few hours and didn’t come back until a little later to sit and watch some more of the show.

This time, they were all out of performances related to this pickle we were in and was back to their normal (but now-pensive) selves.

The mood of the room was sort of blasé.

Actually, they were carrying on conversations about something sexual that Janet was obviously feeling envious and a “way” about. That seemed to occupy Janet’s mind over any pickles at this time.

She seemed distraught and hurt more than she was angered and upset.

Her buddy made a statement about this [sexual thing] and Janet simply responded:

“I wish I had’ve,” and then her buddy says:

“But I thought you said that was nasty, didn’t you say that was nasty?” (I guess to make me feel a “way” and “nasty”).

Janet did not respond.

They were inching up to getting something started. I just shook my head and left because I knew that if I would have stayed in the room any longer, it would have definitely escalated. So I never knew what that was about, I simply found it interesting that she could even put her mind on something else outside of the pickle, and was actually happy that she could. She got her curiosity answered (about what happened when I met Rene) and now they were all on alert that it was possible that I may do something about all that I neglected to do for all these months: put everything on paper. With that [now in their hands], I figured maybe perhaps things would change and I wouldn’t even have to worry about pages 14-on.

The next day, she and I talked in I.M-I couldn’t believe it. We actually had an ok day. We didn’t say too much or too little-we both were consciously conscious of every word we said to one another. It was like playing a game of checkers (rather than chess).

Something we were both watching on television broke the ice and somehow, we got on the subject about how we felt about what happened to JFK Jr. and his wife, and how sad it was.

“I kept thinking about what it must look like coming upon the bodies in the water,” she said.

“Yeah, just to think how they suffered beneath that much water unprotected must have been hell,” I responded.

We proceeded to talk about how we were both emotionally affected back when Princess Diana was killed. I told her about how I could not stop crying for like a week and how sad it was that you almost have to wait until you’re dead and gone for people to take notice of the good in you and your many contributions to humanity. I was telling her how stupid I felt for being so emotional about it and I didn’t know that lady from a can of paint, but as the details of her troubled life unfolded-it was all so emotionally tragic that it made me an emotional wreck that week, just hearing about it.

She responded:

"Omigosh, it affected you like that too? I was sooooo depressed, I couldn’t hold myself up, I’d be crying off and on. I was majorly depressed,” she said empathetically—then she paused and finished with: “And yeah, it is a shame that the media did her that way. I hate the media. It’s a trip to know what people will do for a DOLLA!…” she ended with ellipsis, bold printed, capitalized, and emphasized.

In my virtual world, I did one of her moves: *Turned to the wall*

....but said (to myself): “Girrrlll please.” In our world however, I simply responded:

“Yeah, well you know sometimes people gotta do what they gotta do. Everybody feels they have their ‘reasons for doing things’ that from one end, may seem like it has to do with money, but from the other end…may simply be about looking out for themselves (like the one end is and always has been doing for themselves, right?…”

She didn’t respond to my comment, but we talked for a little while longer (back to playing our “checkers-like” talking). She then informed me that she would not be in the room or I.M for the remainder of the day and the next day because she had some “important matters to handle.”

I knew what it was. I knew she most probably had to see her real lawyer and her real PR person to talk about this pickle she was in: (i.e, trouble that she started and monsters that she created). I could imagine what it would be like for Janet and her co-conspirators who were assisting her in all her devilish deeds to be sitting in a room with her lawyers and public relations specialists; trying to decide what to do with “little ole’ me” and my reality versus big ole’ her and her “image.” I figured that she and I would just have to be on some “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” type-shit in this, because I couldn’t see my going on with this thing with her without being armed and ready “just in case.” And if she loved me as hard as she claimed to, she would have to roll with it and understand. We’ll just have to test the strength of her love through this situation. Mine was already being tested every day. She knew what the hell she did, what it was putting me through-and how it was really affecting me-she knew.

My heart felt badly about everything, but my plans for this was still going to go as planned-and this ordeal’s every detail thus far was going to make it to paper, even if not to print or publish. I’m sorry. To that end, as much as I grew to love and care for her-fuck her “image” in front of her velvet rope. Her “image” was nothing compared to what my mind and life was going through and how every single day that I woke up, I mentally set my mind up to be ok with all this in order in keep my sanity because to try and pull away from this; I knew I would be fighting against it in a different way that I knew I could not win: by electing to be her true enemy and adversary. Been there, done that. I cannot win. Sleeping with the enemy was my only strategy, sanity, and peace I could find in it. If I made her my enemy, I already knew that things could be a lot worse for me and knew just what she could do to activate that “a lot worse” [for me].

Combined with the fact that somewhere in this twisted thing, her twisted lifestyle and in her twisted mind, she thought she loved me-that was my comfort and the only thing I could take advantage of (luckily). Because of that, I did want her to understand my reasons for needing to get it all on paper. I wanted her to be just as ok with accepting that, as I was ok with being my open and true self throughout this whole thing that, in the meantime; her people expected me to be ok with knowing that they were setting up landmines “just in case.” I needed some power in this too.

Although she’d already informed me that she had big business to take care of, and that she wouldn’t be around on Friday, I still wrote-speaking her language (third-person), letting her know that I did want to talk and that I was really feeling bad:

Date: Fri, 23 Jul 16:37pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com

Subject: …

I know you already said you wouldn’t be here today but I checked anyways. I really need to talk to you. I have a situation that is weighing heavily on my mind that is stressing my brain that I am going through with someone that I really do care about…I’m dying in my heart and in my mind-help?…I’ll check back with you another time.

That next day: Saturday, July 24th I’m in the room.

Janet and I were talking (about cats).

My friend had this cat that would stalk me whenever I would come over her house and occasionally, Janet and I would talk how much I hated cats (not kittens) because they were so sneaky-how they creep around and have attitudes like women, and how dogs remind me of aggressive men. I told her about my friend’s cat would follow me around the house trying to be my friend, and how that cat seemed to crave affection from me (we’d laugh).

I told her about how I kicked at the cat sometimes to get her to stop staring at me and how the cat wouldn’t even budge.

“You kick my cat and I’ma kick your ass,” laughed Janet-an inside joke of ours where she pulled a line out of her scene with Regina King in “Poetic Justice,” I laughed with her. (I was happy we could still laugh).

We then laughed about how the cat would even take a seat in the chair at the kitchen table to just stare at me sometimes or how it would nibble at my fingers if my hands were hanging off of the couch while I was resting on it.

I told her about how that crazy ass cat would greet me at the top of the stairs whenever I would visit my friend as if to say: “There goes my bitch!” and she would run down the steps towards me at the foyer and begin to follow me around the house.

My friend and I would laugh because when her cat would do stalkerish things, I would say: “Girllll your cat is a straight up dike. She wants some of this pussy-badddddd.”

My friend and I would crack up laughing.

Janet and I would have big fun talking about this cat.

So this particular day in the room Janet says, returning her third-person talk (followed by taking on the cat as a new character of hers): “Cinamon, why don’t you give her some love, she wants to give you some feline love. Let her have some. Give her some won’t you? You know she’s in love with you,” she said (about her catty self).

I posted: “LoL, is that what you call it?”

“Yes Cinamon you know she loves you” she said (seriously).

I responded: “*smile*…I’ll try.”

She paused for a second.

“Cinamon, do you think that she might be obsessed with you?” said this black cat herself.

I responded: “Yeah…I’d say…” I responded-seriously.

She didn’t respond.

In comes silly Lissa pointing at herself: {LissaFOSD}<<<<< “*thinks somebody needs to be giving stalking lessons…LoL!” she laughed-something she got a kick out of-Janet’s countless ways she had to stalk me: my every move, thought and plan. (It was diabolical if I must say so myself. Almost magical).

Janet didn’t respond…

Me? I just looked at them both, and said to myself: “Oh shit, now she’s gonna be a fuckin’ cat next!…Watch. I know her moves.”

She was, and she did.

They carried on in the room and I sat and gave audience to it. I sent another (third-person laden) email to Janet:

Date: Sat, 24 Jul 12:33pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com

Subject: The Cat-and NOT GARFIELD!!!!!!*rolling eyes

Btw I forgot to mention. I’m going to see my friend’s cat for a sec in a little bit too. I’ma squeeze her and tell her how sorry I am and how much I love her…

On the subject line, I made the comment: “The Cat-and NOT GARFIELD!!!!!!!!!,” because after this cat conversation, while I still in the room, a nickname called “Lett” came down with another called: “GARFIELD” that came down afterwards.

Lett asked Garfield: “Garfield what do you look like?”

Garfield responded: “Fat and Orange! LoL!”

That was supposed to be one of their mean lil’ jokes that always consisted of anything that had to do with my orange complexion, my butt, my dialect, my lips, the color of my hair, or my personal business that they’d “overhear” on the phone. Sometimes it would be funny, other times-hurtful. I didn’t respond. Actually I had to laugh myself, because it was pretty funny.

They both left, because that was about all they came in to say.

I left and wrote her later:

Date: Sat, 24 Jul 17:43pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com

Subject: irony

Well I just got back and I was checking for you…Ironically when I went over to see my friend, her cat (of all days-and this has NEVER happened) was asleep! OMG! So I didn’t get to see her to give her some feline love …But talk to you later…

Later that evening, we talked in I.M. She was in a pretty good mood. She was telling me how her own cat was nibbling at her nose and how cute it was. We were just laughing.

Virtually (in my real world), I was back and forth baking some chicken for dinner.

“What kind of chicken?” she asked.

“Chicken breasts with pepper, season-salt, garlic, and onions.” I responded.

“*Staring at you*…” she said.

“*Cleaning myself with my paws and watching you*” she said.

“*Staring at you*…” I responded.

“*Waiting on my chicken*…” she replied.

“*Putting your chicken on a saucer on the floor for you*…” I said.

She frowned: “How come you can’t put it in a bowl for me?”

“Okay, *putting it in a bowl for you*…” I responded.

*Hopping up in the chair at the table* “How come I can’t eat at the table?” she asked.

“Okay, *putting your bowl of chicken breasts on the table for you*…” I responded.

“Atchoo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!Atchoo!ssnarrlllllll!!!!!!!!!:::::::::” said this black cat.

“Um what’s the problem?” I asked, sounding like a serving winch.

“Hint: atchoo! Atchoo! The pepper!!!!!!” she replied.

“Then why’d you let me come this far if you knew the pepper was gonna bother you, you picky lil’ pus! LoL,” I said.

“LoL!….:::::::::::::::snnnarrllllll!::::::::::” she said.

“Okay, I’ll do anything for you baby. I have to go way back up to the store to buy more chicken breasts okay?” I said.

“You would do that for me?” she asked-completely out of her cat character and in her Janet self.

“Of course I would, you know I would. I’ll do anything for you…” I replied (serious about my statement).

(She paused).

“*Smacking my hand on my butt, rolling my eyes and twisting my hands*…” she said.

“Huh?” I responded.

“Nothing, that’s just something that Janet does in the new Scream movie, Scream 3…” she said, still speaking in third person about her contingent role in the movie (that obviously fell through).

“Oh, really?” I asked. “I’m serious, I’m for real,” she responded.

“I’ll see when it comes out…” I replied. (We paused a moment. She wanted to get into another “character.”)

“Are you sassing me?” she asked.

“No you are sassing me, I’m gonna whoop your butt!” I said.

“*About to bend over, shall I?” she asked seductively.

“*Looking at you…” I said, just thinking about her…the real-her (she’s so seductive).

But then he caught me off-guard: “Don’t be sassing or else Joseph’s gonna send you to get a switch! You hear me!” she said (crying out for a friend, confidant and the therapy her soul so badly yearned for).

I frowned, then I responded:

“Yes, I’m listening to you…”

“Be careful not to let him have you…” she sneaked in (and confessed)...

That really caught me off-guard-I paused, my brows raised:

“He’s not very nice huh?” I asked.

It was crazy. She instantly turned into “Penny” from “Good Times”-lying to defend the parent that was abusing her:

“No, no, he’s changed a lot though. He’s much much nicer to the grandchildren. He’s changed,” she quickly defended, wondering if her four walls could talk and tell on her…

(I stared at her):

“*Looking at you(((((((((((holding you)))))))))))))) I love you baby. Do you know that?” I asked her-Janet.

“Yes. I know. I love you too. I really do…” she replied, knowing what I meant-appreciating my sincerity…

It got really quiet between us.

We hung around for a while saying nothing much and got back on later that night.

She was in such a good mood, back to her same ole’ “Jiggs” self again.

Next, she asked me if she could show me a love letter that she wrote (it was posted in the room-the way that 3-paged open love letter she had posted for me back in May was posted. And like that one, I had to speed read to get the gist of it in the 15-20 seconds before the contents of the letter would disappear).

This time it was a short one. It read: “I’m so overcome with so much emotion that I can’t fight it. I know it must be love and if it wasn’t, I can’t understand why I can’t keep you out of my mind despite all, you stay on my mind…”

It was so sweet, but I was so afraid to fully embrace it because I remembered all too well how bad my nose was opened after her last open letter (and what happened shortly after having sent the open letter).

As the screen rolled down, like a kid with a high school crush, she quickly changed her [“to whom it concerned”] by stating that she found that love letter in her boyfriend’s pocket, and it must be to her (or something silly like that). I just shook my head.

We just sat on I.M as I watched her do her norm in the room while carrying on in several I.M’s with her buddies as we sat off to the side in our private I.M for hours-saying “words” to one another until I got tired and ready to go to bed.

The next day I was trying to get in the room from home, my computer was extremely slow. All the words were scrambled and there were blocks within every other letter of everything on the entire page of any page that I would try to access (even a mere word file-again).

When I was on my way to the room; sitting at the top of my screen were the words: “velvetbg3.gif ” (I guessed that was the title of the default name of the front face site pic and file they used to block entrance to the room). I knew they were in the middle of doing something with my computer at that very moment but wasn’t finished just yet.

When I was finally able to get into the room I could see conversation and their posts, but they blocked out the nicknames so that I could not see who was saying what. When I would try to post-my posts, too, would be scrambled with blocks between every word through anything I posted (so that I couldn’t see my own posts-but they could). I was really confused as to why they would be doing something with my computer since she and I had been getting along, but I had to remember that she was still “who she is” and their guards were up even more so since they got those 13 pages. Besides, no matter how much we got along anyways, no matter how “EXCITED” or sweet, and cute she would be; there would always be things like this happening to my computer. I never knew what they were up to-ever; hence, the birth of the 13 pages (and going forward)...

Although I loved her still, I knew I had to do what I had to do.

At any rate, I left, and went up to the school lab to log on. Everything looked fine from there. That confirmed for me they were doing something with my computer at home, so I emailed her:

Date: Sun, 25 Jul 14:32pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com

Subject: Okayyyyyyyyy…

Now what? I mean, can I get some services please? I mean please.

After I sent that email, they then began doing something with the Hell Mail account, because I was blocked from even getting into it until the next day.

Date: Mon, 26 Jul 12:26pm PDT

From: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

To: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com

Subject: Re: [Re: Okayyyyy…]

Hi baby. I came in this morning to tell you what I was going to be doing today but I haven’t been able to…When I got back just about 30 min ago, I still couldn’t. I am AT SCHOOL right now and wanted to drop in here to say something to you since I couldn’t this morning and this afternoon. I miss you very much and I love you. Would like to talk to you just because, (smile). I’ll be back in by 5:30 this afternoon. *MUAH

She wrote right back:

Date: Mon, 26 Jul 12:27pm PDT

From: EsCaPaDxxxxx@aol.com

To: xxxxxxxxxmon@netscape.net

Subject: .

Services?!! Cin?

I didn’t even respond to that email. Whenever I said something specific, I stopped debating back and forth with her “characters” in her effort to cover up her tracks. She knew just what the fuck I was talking about.

It’s over for debating for issues that like, I promised myself...

By this time, my computer was up and running, so I entered the room. Her buddies were carrying on a conversation that they did a really good job of trying to make me not understand the contents of. It was very crafty this time. They stepped their inside-convo game way up (in that one moment) I guess to show me that if ever they needed to take it to that level, they could. And well, if they (especially Janet) wanted to be brazen and wanted me to know something or get it poppin’; they made sure they made it obvious-like in their next conversation they started, it had something to do with Rene (yet, again).

They did the usual: make a nickname up of something specific, this one dropped down like such: *drumroll*... “{Welcome New User}: July24”--the date that I met Rene, however, they kept it cryptic by setting up a staged conversation with a purpose: To make me jealous. It was weird because I didn’t know if this little performance was done to make me jealous because of Jan (considering the fact that she knew I was loving her during this very moment in time), or if because she was back to that female rival-minded mindset--this was done to make me jealous (just in case I ever said or done anything with him...that she felt like I was keeping from her).

Janet (hidden behind her “Jiggs” nickname), was in the room with them talking about the sexual sounds that [Janet] would make in her songs were the real thing because Rene would be doing things to her to make those sounds. She continued with: “You know what they say about those soft-spoken women, you know they are screamers…” said Jiggs.

I just looked at them all with my brow up, wondering what the hell was really going on. They were going wayyyy out of their way to talk about sexual details of Janet’s relationship with Rene, as if I was some girl standing there who had once upon a time, slept with him too, but “just for [my] information” this was how their fucks went down. It was odd, but I continued to watch the show.

Being in possession of my first 13 pages seemed to put a different spin on her curiosity about my being truthful about the contents of Rene and my conversation when he sat down to talk to me. Instead of knowing all that happened to put her curiosity to rest (like I was happy and hoped it would); it seemed to magnify her thoughts (or magnify the mindfuckery that Rene bailed out on her with). I watched them in amazement, because from my point of view and looking at this-this was all way overboard. But from her side looking onto it, it seemed to me that she was merely making me the reason for the drastic decision [she made? or he made?] that uprooted and forfeited over 13 years of a relationship.

Watching them carry on, this day really made me wonder just why Rene was out of the picture. I mean, now that I knew Janet the person, I thought maybe perhaps he set the whole thing up to make her upset at me so that maybe he could pull out. I don’t know. Because truthfully, I sure as hell couldn’t see how anybody could put up with her in a relationship for that long. She’s way too much, and has way too many resources to do things that normal people in a normal relationship would have to build. You can’t build anything “normal” and good with somebody who has the means to completely carve out the: “having to trust somebody” part of the relationship. There’s no experience like somebody who has the means to oversee everything and question you about it every day, and if not-bring a reaction to you that you simply won’t understand-all because of something they had no natural business knowing, yet, (of the two of you) they are the only one in the know about why they are feeling a particular way about why they are bring certain reactions to you. It’s a weird experience.

I say that maybe it was he who wanted out, shit because early into this while in the room, (after my asking him if he remembered meeting me and I joked with him about how often was it that he met a girl whose pen ink exploded in his hand), he did crack the joke: “So Cin, tell me what you look like,” then I laughed and posted something to the effect like: “Ah hush Rene, I’m not going to describe myself. You know what I look like-you’re just trying to make Janet jealous! LoL.” He got a kick out of that and laughed too. My now knowing Janet and her people (unlike then-I didn’t), although it was a joke, a comment like that is a federal offense in her world. Now that I know her and how she is, I figured maybe (in the beginning of all this) he was lurking for a while and watched what transpired between myself and Janet while she hid behind the nickname: QUEENJANET, and he masterminded some way to pull out from there (knowing that he could make her jealous).

Or maybe something did happen that July day that I met him (with someone else) and it just so happened that it seemed like that someone else was me. It could have been that maybe he conjured up a story, about something that happened that night to make her know that he too, is desirable-after all she is “Janet” and he was just (a.k.a) her “boyfriend.”Although they had a relationship, she was free to do what she wanted to do (so I’ve experienced)-and she does just that: what she wants. Or shit, knowing her (now-and where we are now) maybe she simply got upset because he met me first, stood next to me first, talked to me first, and all that.

I mean my knowing how unreasonable, possessive and irrational she can be, it could be one or all of these reasons. Who knows? But considering the fact that Rob+Rene never came back to the room at the same time, my best guess was that her digerati caught the two of them plotting, planning and having “boy talk” and that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back for she and Rene. But now (with 13 pages in her hand and details that she didn’t know) she had a kind of clarity that opened up a whole other can of worms that (from my point of view) was “nothing,” but to her, it was obviously “something.” Whichever version, she believes his story and/or what she caught him doing or saying...and she’s sticking to that.

So after their performance, when I got to school I wrote her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT 2

....So: PROGESS. I was making strides-strides that she couldn’t break. So as far as I was concerned, she could take that dildo and her fist and stick ‘em out all their pussy’s through their anus and out their ears-I could care less. I had nothing to shed a tear over because thus far-at that 2003 point; although what she was doing hurt me deeply; it didn’t hurt as bad because I wasn’t a notch under her belt of bitches. My mind and heart was a little bit stronger because of that one reason. Had I given into her and we got to this vicious point (where we were at this time), I would have been devastated beyond repair. But I knew she still wanted me and needed to conquer that (even if it grew to not be about me anymore, ever in life again). I knew the fight in her-how she fights-and why. I knew it killed her to have something with someone she knew for a hard core fact (at one time) patiently and repeatedly put up with all her “crazy” and loved her crazy ass unconditionally (even beyond what I would normally stand for) that now, she could not reach in any way: romantically, sexually, or emotionally--as a friend, a lover, a confidant-nothing.

Having all things controlled by her and go her way for so long in life, mentally-she could not handle that. I knew too much about her to be out of her control + not love her anymore, like I once did. She had stolen + knew too much about me to let go. I merely became a conquest for her-that in the interim, she abruptly became a bully, a terror, a Tasmanian devil, and a tyrant. From 2002-2005 her head was fucked-and I had control of her heart. And that was my power. Her only power was that she remained plugged in to me still, while busy and plugged into the world.

When she had come down off her public self and when she wasn’t met with the kind of open arms she was used to from me; she was ready to get into her darker self-but I wasn’t playing that game with her. With my feeling stronger, she could have just gone away and I would have been ok with that. I was at that point-no anger, just over her. The thought of talking personal, cybersex, and anything remotely close to being boo’d up the way we were wasn’t even imaginable for me. And she didn’t seem too happy with that plus not being able to have control of things the way she did when we were using her room (owned and controlled by herself and her people). After the “All For You” tour, I guess it felt kind of odd to come back to all this downtime she was about to have, and now for the first time after all these years; not have the comfort of being back in her very own troublemaking ass room-thanks to the birth of my unpublished book, having (as far as her digerati was concerned) infiltrated that whole devilish operation. At this point in time, she was back out of the public eye and was doing her trademark usual: gaining weight, sinking into depression, (and what I knew and had experienced with her-now): gone under; getting dark at the soul and getting into other mischievous and dark things.

I hadn’t seen her publicly since the end of “All For You”-around 2003.

Super Bowl Sunday would be the first time out the gate that I had publicly seen her in almost a year. The day of the Super Bowl, she was very busy. And although we talked for a second (very close to the time she was to go out), we didn’t talk about nothing much, and definitely not too long. The only thing she asked me was if I was going to be watching. I told her that I would-while visiting my mom’s house (I was staying the night there). When Half - Time came, I was sitting at a desk in my mom’s spare bedroom-fidgeting around, while looking back and forth at Janet: looking dark and a lot heavier since “All For You” was over.

Unlike back when we are all boo’d up and having our own private tittygate, all her public appearances (1999-2001) when she knew I was watching-she was looking innocent, svelte, beautiful, and thriving-happy, in love. This time, she was dressed in black and demonic looking--all tight and buttoned up; reminiscent of her Gorean lifestyle (something I found out about shortly after this fiasco and how this breast-bearing thing then-for the World Music Awards where she dressed in white-and later-at the Super Bowl dressed in all black; was ceremonial and deliberate—and why (and not from some Internet conspiracy theories but from what she said to me).

At any rate, I blinked, turned my head and my mother ran into the room and said to me: “Angie, did you see Janet’s titty out?” Believe it or not, I actually missed the moment. When I looked back at the television and saw her clutching herself and exiting the stage-the show was over. I turned the television off and lay down for the night. My mother was back in her room with the door shut. When I woke up the next morning, my mom was gone out for work already. I bathed, got dressed for the gym and left the house. While at the gym, I looked up at the television and there Janet was with that “apology face” yet, I had no idea why her face was on the television screen (looking like that anyways). I stopped the Stairmaster and asked the guy next to me what was going on. Looking at me as if I lived under a rock, he began to tell me all that I had obviously slept and turned a deaf mute ear to through to this very morning.

I hurriedly rushed home to get online [via our new room] to see if Janet or her buddies would show up. Janet didn’t, her buddies did. I said verbatim: “I’m getting ready to get online and find out all that’s going on, but whatever it is-that face she had going on was wayyyyyyyyy too apologetic. It was so overly apologetic that it looked staged and unbelievable. That was too much, just way too much.” None of them replied to that mentioned something about Janet having a photo shoot coming up with Beyonce and Mary J. Blige that I believe she was on route to, or had been at already, so I left the [new] room.

Things got really crazy. As if all these years hadn’t been our own special brand of strange, things had gone to a new level of bizarre: psychological suspense movie-like bizarre.

Nipplegate was the start of a whole different with Janet-a level turned way up from the brink that she and I was already on at this time. Something happened to her after “Nipplegate.” No, some things happened inside of her and did a complete 360-she completely “checked out.” Her mind, her emotions, her soul, her spirit and everything was pitch Milky Way galaxy black. It was that deep and that far gone. She didn’t care what happened to me [and as illegal and unheard of as what she started doing to me was] she didn’t even care what would happen to her. She turned this thing up to a game that felt like: “Catch Me If You Can. But Until Then, You Gon’ Catch This. You Hear Me Bitch!” She refused to continue to allow me to feel victorious in winning the emotional tug of war that she knew she had lost with me-and still (up to this very point in time) never got her chance to bring anything of ours to fruition. This time, she turned her mere voyeuring by “overhearing” to “overseeing” and showed no shame in telling me, showing me, and proving it. I was astonished. She came crashing down into my world like an Armageddon. My head was fucked up. My nerves were shot to hell. Luckily, I had been done writing and chronicling because I did not have the strength to write another word about this entire ordeal-and she was hacking and sending me packet-sniffers and boot-virusing my poor lil’ computers until them shits’ hard drives were toast. She wasn’t going down without a fight to make sure I wouldn’t be able to write and pre-press another word (especially about what she was currently doing).

Into 2004 with a printed book (detailing everything from 1998-2000) and 965-paged chronicle [+ a 365-paged condensed version of that chronicle which detailed everything from 2000-2003] traveling with me, she turned this ordeal turned up in ways unimaginable-unthinkable that made mere hacking and wire-tapping look minor as gossip.

She started fighting, terrorizing, taunting, and going government intelligence high-tech on me. She and her people spiked the notches on this sha-bang that made my head roll this time. And unless you work for Lockheed-Martin, the CIA, the FBI and any other sensitive intelligence government agency that would be familiar with the contents and know-how of the shit I went through, knew, and lived to tell; I wouldn’t even bother explaining to your: “Living In A Matrix Happy-Go-Know Nothing About The Uncomfortable Side Of Life That The Only People Who Can Afford It Can Do-And Get Access To” ass. I wouldn’t even want to disturb your innocently ignorant and special kind of peace. You probably wouldn’t sleep at night and begin to piss in the dark and live in a tent in the middle of your living room. Trust me on that one. You couldn’t even begin to understand or comprehend the sophisticated intelligence she had access to (as written, explained and contained in the 2003/2004 details of those 365 and 965 pages). I couldn’t believe it myself. She fucked my peace of mind and my head up so badly. My preference for buying a black shoe and making sure I could find that same shoe in brown had me stepping out the house in a left black shoe and a brown right shoe. My equilibrium and senses were so screwed that I was fucking colorblind and distraught.

As if I was the one who had any power, control, resources, money, and malefic intent and came into her life turned it upside down; she handled me-one person-with the force of every single paparazzi, celebrity stalker, and non-celebrity that ever caused any and all celebrities since the beginning of time-any harm or stress. She handled me like I was the ambassador for the paparazzi and harassers and she was the ambassador for her colleagues of the world of celebrity-who, in her warped mind, were routing and cheering her on. She kirked out and made no rational sense of anything, and her employee-buddies were working overtime to assist her.

I was the only “regular person” within her reach who for starters, she was very upset and hurt about, and who (in her warped and irrational mind) she saw as the catalyst to all her problems that seemed to connect, come against, rise up and conquered her. Her man was gone and had sued her for money, and took her home. As a result of that, her chef had regurgitated to the courts and sued her too. In addition (and also during this time); the L.A.P.D and media was back at Michael’s crotch, and she had been many months ostracized and ridiculed by the media since Nipplegate. She turned that all on me: everything she was angry about. In addition to her technological gangster (that I had no way to combat), she was having the windows to my car busted at least once a week for about a month-just because (and laughing about it).

If she could have me come home to a boiling rabbit in a pot every day that I walked in the door, she would have. She methodically repulsed me with mental, sexual, deviate vulgarity and at the mind (her mind); she turned rabid, like “Cujo.” She was fatalistic, diabolical, and ruthless. She needed to be put to an abrupt stop. I had to get her done.

She knew how much I valued my privacy and it seemed like she was purposely turning things up (to force me to turn things up) so that I would resort to the very thing that would take my privacy away from me too (and put me in a position to force me into a corner where to expose her would mean to open the floodgates of the world onto me and undo the comfort of having-no more-the privacy that she knew I valued with my life). She got me good.

Her master plan was magical. She predicted my every move like a board game of “Sorry!” that she watched and manipulated like a “Ouiji” séance. She wanted to layer that shit-layer that feeling, layer that sense of loss and security for me (like she was feeling).

Say no more biiiiiiiiittttttttttttttttttcccccchhhhh because if I have to go that route, I’m going to handle you. All bets are off!” eventually became my thinking, my fight, and my doing.

I had endured her kind of pain for half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005. I made the decision to turn this thing over in ways that I knew would affect me; but having no clue or way to foresee the effects of what it would have on my life.

Those four weekly window busts for that one month were reminiscent of my anxiety and nerves half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005. I could remember the first window bust (well, second one-but at least the very first one she had done way back in ‘99 was because she wanted me to ask her for money). These next four times, she had done only to fuck with my nerves-interrupt my resistance and my methodically trying to get away from her, but this time, it cost her money to have done. She was paying, out of pocket, for her own evil that she was too irrational to see had become a habit that she could not break, which gave she and her buddies much ado about nothing. By this time, she didn’t have priority in my life like she once did with me. I had to keep going despite her craziness. As many places as I had been going with all my goings on in my life and living; these four weeks, she never had the window busts done anywhere else but on my street and in front or back of my house-methodically.

Each time I stepped out to the vandalism, I was jumping around like bare feet on hot coals. I was basket case. The first one, she had done while my car was parked out front, I got it fixed. My street was constructed such that it could have very well been gated but it wasn’t. It was a long [about a mile] stretch of street that looped into a “U” shape at the end of the street’s one-mile stretch, where the back of the right side of my street’s homes and apartments (mine included) all had back doors where we could be on the other street behind [us that connected to the “U” from the dead-end].

The second time I had my car parked back there, she had the window busted back there too. The job was so quiet and so professional. No one had heard or seen a thing-not even me-and my bedroom door where I slept, sat adjacent to the back where my car was parked. All I had to do was lift my blind and look up a few steps to where I could see my parked car’s side where the job had been done (but I didn’t hear a thing). When I stepped outside to the broken glass mess, I was amazed-standing there at my car doing the same hot-coal dance and swinging my arms in the wind. It was like I was some psychological Pavlov Dog Experiment where she would pay for physical, tangible, stressful, and costly shit to be done in my real world (whenever it became apparent to her that for any length of time, that’s where I was trying to remain-while leaving her to her own fucked up world with her “people she was hanging out with”). She knew how to make her presence known in ways that she knew I could not afford to financially fight, and in any way should I try to; I would look like I was chasing my own shadows and sleep-walking.

The third time, I parked up the street from my house, mid ways up the one-mile stretch. When I stepped out and walked up to it-same thing. It was as if these motherfuckers wanted to send a clear message: “I could give two shits where you park your car, understand this: You need to know that we know it’s on the street where you lay your head, we’ve got the right car that belongs to the right person who’s going to step out of their own house to begin their day but get this work-first. Understand what the fuck we’re trying to do.”

The fourth window bust (to window number four) was unique. It happened one day I had just gotten in for the evening. I hadn’t even gotten into the house good enough to crank up the television, only my computer where by this time; we had been in the habit of annoying one another and talking slick if I would log on. This day, she laughed and told me to look out the window. My car, parked right beneath my second floor window, had its inside light turned on. I ran downstairs to that fourth broken window. It was a totally quiet job, too, I heard nothing. I couldn’t believe it.

Anticipating week number five scared the dog-shit out of me. With having four busted windows and a police report basically telling me: “Fuck you. Get your domestic life together. Lady, you’re not the First Lady. No one’s going to guard your Honda all day and night,” I was on total edge just knowing this professional was going to come for the big ones now: the front and the back windows. My nerves and anxiety had reached levels unbearable-she made it very hard to resist, fight, and ignore her. And the fact that I could do nothing about it or tell it to a sole (without looking crazy) was absolutely tormenting inside. As long as I could keep moving and going on about my day, things would be fine. But if I so much as slowed down and stopped and stood in one place too long; I would break out and cry where coincidentally, whatever stranger was near and close enough to see me, would offer to pray with me or ask me to recite the Serenity Prayer behind them without a conversation or knowledge about the hell I was going through in my life. I was just that broken.

The intelligence she had possession of and could work from was movie-like astonishing; I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy-wait...yes I would, it was that tormenting. The anxiety and stress in my life was reminiscent of those punches and swings into the air with hot coals under my bare feet, and she enjoyed every minute of it-the torture of knowing I couldn’t do anything about it without looking like a nut. She took full advantage of the fact that I could tell no one without looking insane.

Half of 2003, all of 2004 and the top of 2005’s mind-fuck consistency was enough to let me know that this rabid “Cujo” of a bitch was not going to stop barking, growling, and biting until something drastic [but untraceable, un track-able, and un-pinpoint-able] happened.

She meant business about making me pay for what she was feeling about everything, and had fun having it done because she didn’t even have to put her hands on it or move a finger for it.

She only had to move her fingers to type on a keyboard and fight me-catching my disses or pleads of olive branch extensions that she was not trying to hear, or trust trying. She herself, knew she had gone way too far to try trusting anything, and had experienced enough of my not cooperating (because of she and their “waviness”) that to this 2005 date; yielded nothing to her desire or favor that she set out to do, have, or intended to happen. At this point, none of her craziness was going to end, considering the plethora of diabolical things she could afford to do and have done (unseen).

I had to gather my head faculties, emotions, and senses and make some big decisions and a plan. I considered the fact that if all it took was for me to write a book that told the story about that “Room of Hell” to shut it down, that proved something pivotal and key: That (by way of that room) they must have been doing something that sinister that a nobody (like me) could shine the spotlight on it such that some person on her team felt they should close it altogether when, if nothing sinister was going on as written about, it would have remained opened. Innocent is as innocent does. If somebody who was merely “delusional and crazy” said some things that were impossible and untrue, then any spotlight being put on [an innocent room run and hosted by “innocent people”] could have very well been beneficial to further publicity for Janet as well as it being a vehicle of honest and harmless intent to stay connected to her fans on her turf. But the truth is, that was never the room’s intent from conception and startup. And even before the book could be published (because of their watching its production every step of the way)-they closed the room down (because they knew everything in the book as all true).

I figured that if I got that part done, I could get her, and all this handled too. Maybe not to the extent of truly making it, her, and them stop what they were doing and completely and really go away; but I knew I could get accomplished what I had been trying and make happen for many years: make she and all of them go away stop what they were doing so that I could at least disillusion myself into thinking that they really were gone-so that I could had some disillusioned denial and semblance of normalcy and privacy back in my life that since 1999 to date-was null and void.

She needed to be handled in the most abrupt and unexpected fashion that (because she knows how private I am + how the truth and details of this whole story would make me look crazy) she underestimated would ever happen. She underestimated the fact that I would take it to court with nothing but [the truth] and words on paper against big ole untouchable “her” despite how crazy it would make me look. I gave up that narcotic about caring how I “looked” in the eyes of a world full of ignorant, bedazzled, celebritydrom-disillusioned people and instead; began giving a damn about being heard. Janet’s bragging and laughing about how she couldn’t be stopped is what stopped dancing around in my head as if she was some untouchable force with the power of a God. Hell no. I had to put an abrupt stop to her and this thing, in a way that as private a person as I was, I knew it would affect me.

I just didn’t know how badly it was going to affect my life and ability to make a living. I didn’t predict that. My desperation in getting it dealt with and out of my life was my only hope and aim. So I took it to the judge to get it crackin’: PRO BONO and one-paged raw summary of details.

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