Another two weeks of working in San Francisco, and now I’m home again. It’s been difficult to keep the posts up these last months, with flying in and out of town, trying to perform in my new role, and trying to get enough sleep despite the fact that the balance of harassment in the San Francisco Bay Area versus here in northeast Seattle has been subtly but surely altered these last months.
Over summer here in northeast Seattle, the house to the south of the south mobbing house finally went to a new owner, so now both south and north mobbing houses have new neighbors, who I hope are not involved, across from them, to the side of them, or both. Moreover, I’ve been continuing to post and to appeal for the police to look more deeply into this matter, and because the mobbing has entered the courtroom in Seattle, there may be increased attention on the behavior of the nasty neighborhood watch of this northeast neighborhood and their speculator friends.
But increased caution on the part of the criminal speculators who came to live on either side of me and who, in their own words, perform “clearing by smearing,” does not mean that it’s over. While the last few times I’ve flown between Seattle and the San Francisco Bay Area the wireless harassment or cyber-bullying that I’ve heard on board the plane has been minimal, any quieting may be temporary and done to protect the mobbing. This mobbing as it appears to be done here in northeast Seattle seems in great measure a hate crime, and some of those who are involved appear to have extensive military backgrounds and to enjoy bullying. It’s likely that this is a real estate scam that masquerades as a revenge crime or a shaming crime, one that serves an extremist or reactionary agenda. And because of the open involvement of various of those in the nasty neighborhood watch of northeast Seattle, it’s pretty clear that they invited it upon me when years of calling Seattle Parking Enforcement and the constant filing of other nuisance complaints didn’t have their intended effect of turning over my rental home for speculation. This theory of mine is not without merit. Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll post for you a news story that talks about a common speculative business plan, that of acquiring “cheap” rental housing as an investment. And I still owe you part 2 of the blog on how real estate scammers who fend off police and FBI investigation by calling their victims crazy can end up undermining the due process rights of their victims in the courtroom.
Just surviving in this situation can make it hard to get the blog posts done that I have ideas for and that will help to make sense of this crime, to expose it and get those who do it prosecuted. And just writing the blogs that might be most valuable, about the techniques of mobbing, about the hoaxes or about how it plays it in the courtroom, can mean that I don’t write enough about the day-to-day events in the mobbing. So let me tell you, that these last few times I’ve returned to my home, even if the mobbing on the aircraft was cautious, or even if my seat was changed and that might have been why it was quieted, and even if I hear less mobbing on the Seattle Light Rail or on the bus, I begin to hear it when I get off the bus and it greets me when I mount the steps at home. It’s quieter during the night, and more cautious than when the numerous houses on this street were vacant and in various stages of rebuilding or sale, but the same players are in effect, and it has by no means stopped. These wackos, who appear to merge the techniques of private investigators with radio and low-end hacking; profiteers who approach “property acquisition” like guerilla warfare; criminals who may well have a platform of using satellite phones, WiFi, and even drones to phreak their victims’ communication and entertainment systems; won’t be done until the FBI comes to get them.
And as I write this, there is the sound of the voice of the blond woman who appears to be the latest to take up residency in the south mobbing house. Tonight after I got off the Metro bus and switched to a car share car for the last leg of my journey home, as soon as I turned on the engine of the car the voices of the mobbers popped up on the always-on speakers of the heavily wired BMW. But although there is doubtlessly some hacking involved in real estate mobbing as performed by the mobbers of northeast Seattle, and even though drone is most likely for the following on the Burke-Gilman bike trail that I’ve described in several posts, some of this may be old school following. Last time I came home from a few weeks away, the red SUV of the guy with the tribal tattoos in the south mobbing house appeared to be slowly trailing me the last blocks to this house. Tonight he pulled in to the south house driveway as I sat down to write this, no more than a half-hour after coming home, and he was followed by the blond woman in the white BMW, whose voice I heard in the mobbing within minutes of her arrival at the south mobbing house. This kind of timing is common and part of what I have called the mobbers’ “shift changes.” Even now, the voice of the blond woman who drives the white BMW sounds at my windows as though projected using directional speakers for the purpose of acoustic leakage, even now overlaying the sound track of my late night TV. “Move on!” a man’s voice demands; the mantra sounds like that guy with the tattoos who, like a few others of them, has “Crossfit” stickers on his red SUV. This is nothing new. I’ve often heard him say the same as he gets out of his vehicle if I’m outside, while he looks away from me or down at his feet like the south mobbing house owner does when he makes the same demand outside the house. These are the characteristic techniques of cowards, bullies and crooks. I’ll hear it many more times this weekend; their insults, threats and elaborate statements are increasingly restricted to the essential demand that I “move on”.
The stars are out, it’s still warm outside and it’s almost time to line my steps with pumpkins for Halloween. I’m home again. This weekend I’ll try to post at least two more blog entries. I’ll garden and I’ll feed treats to the cat left behind by a roommate after my own died in this house, the second of them in the horrible first year of the mobbing as the voices of the north and south house owners and their mobbing friends battered my windows and blared into my small home. While I’m here this weekend, I’ll look out at Lake Washington and up at the stars in the sky, I’ll try to mend the summer foray of the moles in the back yard, fertilize my shrubs, and ready the front yard for winter. I’ll watch the birds eat the last of the berries from the brambles, look on as the dog walkers wrap themselves in fall sweaters, and see the cyclists wind their way down the street to the Burke-Gilman as the first leaves fall from the trees.
I’m home again.
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