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The Vortex

Living for a year with my brother in a paranormal apartment…
and some stuff beyond that

 

by Carissa Conti
© 2001-2018
Revised and edited 2006-2017
carissaconti@yahoo.com

 

Note: I wrote “The Vortex” in 2001, after leaving the “apartment from hell” as I came to call it, and while the events were still fresh in my mind. There were so many events to document and conversations that took place, if I hadn’t written it down right then, then it would be highly distorted were I to go back at this stage and try to remember it all. Back then I was a bit ADD, even though I don’t actually have ADD. But being able to complete something that I started was an unusual feat for me at that point, since my mind was scattered and I lacked any sort of direction or purpose in life. So it was a triumphant moment when I finished this piece, but it’s because I was absolutely driven to get it all down. I’m glad I did, in retrospect. This document is actually a “mini book”, not a regular article, so, just to point that out. (click on the numbers at the bottom to move forward through each section.) I know a few people have begun reading it only to realize Wow…this is long. !! Indeed, it is, but, it’s a mini-book, and the only one like it on this site. So, just think of it in those terms if you choose to embark on it. Also, the later pages of the document have more “woo woo!” stuff happening than what was initially going on at the beginning. Things didn’t just start out in an explosive way right from the start. It built up and built up, gradually getting worse and worse, until it became all out.

That year ended up becoming my crash course introduction into the rest of my life. Things decided to take a turn and veer off into a full time study of the fringe, paranormal and conspiracy. Subjects I’d always been interested in, as far back as nine years old…but which weren’t actually happening to me (or so I thought…) until now. After this, I would move on to my crash course in MILABS/mind control and abductions research, and discover how me, my brother, and now my current boyfriend Tom fit into the picture. We learn in stages, and usually don’t move to the next stage until we’ve completed the preliminaries. Much like school. Somebody (my higher self?) decided I should be enrolled in some crash course schooling in 2000, and this is an account of that. It’s the ultimate example of living in two worlds.

The brunt of the events of this write up took place between May 2000 – May 2001, during the year where Joe and I were rooommating in an apartment that I nicknamed “the vortex.” The adventures didn’t end there though, as I found myself experiencing more paranormal weirdness, but of a different variety and for different reasons, after we moved out and I found myself renting a room in a house during the summer to early fall of 2001. So the end of the document covers that whole situation. Unfortunately though I’m lacking specific dates for when all the anecdotes took place that are covered in this document. However, a few years ago I re-discovered that everything discussed in this write up was in fact documented in written form. In one of my boxes of life memorabilia were a bunch of journals from over the years, including one from this time period of 2000-2001. And towards the end of that particular journal I was writing about “all the paranormal stuff that’s been going on in our apartment,” as I’d noted. In between talking about my work and money situation, and my brother and his crazy life “adventures,” and other assorted daily life happenings and musings, I would resume trying to get this whole paranormal story down, including descriptions, dialogue, and sometimes even little drawings and all, picking up where I had left off in previous entries. Though usually it was stuff that had already happened months ago, so I was trying to play “catch up” to get the story to the present. Hence, why there’s the lack of specific dates for most of these events. I see where in my journal it says things like, “Other random incidents since that time…” or notes like “To be cntd. tomorrow, or whenever, Topics to be covered: [followed by a list, itemizing out various events to be documented]”

It’s weird because I’ve pulled this journal out before to re-read some parts of it (after not looking at it for years), but because I was specifically looking for entries concerning my brother and his life and job situation I didn’t really pay attention to the rest of the contents, of which included this material. So I totally forgot that I had a handwritten record of much of what happened. Including a couple of very minor incidents that I decided to leave out of what eventually became the final version of “The Vortex,” only because they seemed so petty compared to some of the larger than life things that were going on. So, this explains why I was able to “remember” so many details when it came time to type it up, including the back and forth dialogue. It’s because I had a written record to refer to if needed.

And I really wished I’d had a good camera, or even better, a video camera, to try to take pictures or vids. But the camera I had at the time was nearly busted, and I didn’t have a spare dollar to my name back then to buy a new one, let alone a video cam. I also seemed to have a force squelching me down, trying to get me to not do anything in the way of documenting things even with a semi-busted camera. (As it was, I did actually have two photos at one point that seemed to show some stuff, but they’ve since mysteriously disappeared.) This probably played a big part in my later obsession with documenting my weirdness in full detail, with a log book, exact dates and times, and shit loads of photos (taken with a brand new camera once I had spare money) that all had notes written on the backs, as evidenced by the bulk of the write ups that formulate the foundation of my website. A case of “Not going to let things slip through the cracks again.” So I learned, big time.

Something kind of funny I noticed years after writing this was the way in which I always seemed to be pummeling my brother with questions. Readers will notice that so much of the dialogue is me interrogating my brother to get to the bottom of things, since he wasn’t very forthcoming with information. I never consciously noticed that way back when. But a large part of why this write up exists is because I did that.

When I took a look at this piece after having not read it in a long time the wide-eyed innocent voice of it all really jumped out at me. I don’t have that voice anymore. My brother and I were caught up in something that I wasn’t fully comprehending at the time and had no idea just how serious of a situation I’d gotten myself into. At any rate, I’ve decided to keep the voice and nearly all of the original writing of this piece intact – it’s a snapshot of who I was at that time. In order to get here, and be who I am now, I had to go through there. Which is something that most people can relate to, and why many people wouldn’t trade their earlier negative or crazy experiences for anything, because they are what shape us and spurs us into growth. I can’t help but see how I would change some of the writing were I to be doing this now, but, it’s just way too big of a file to completely re-do. So, it’s going up “as is” for the most part. At several points I have gone back in and added some additional (mostly non-paranormal) scenes of the everyday aspects of life at that time that were left out of the original, because it helps to flesh out the plot a little better (in my opinion), including some additional insight at the end. But just know, that as much stuff as I get into here, the complete story of what I went through in bringing Joe back to California and our time rooommating together, until I finally parted ways with him in life for good in February 2002, is so complicated and so over the top that there is absolutely no way to get into it all here. There was his constant cop and criminal drama mixed up in amongst all of the “Vortex” happenings, since Joe just couldn’t seem to stop being a freaking criminal, as well as the abductions/MILABs undertones, of which I wasn’t even consciously aware of yet at the time. So the main focus of this write up centers on the paranormal happenings, with very little of the side drama. I did take the time however to compile the entire sordid story together in a book for myself (quite literally a book, which I had printed via Lulu Press), but which can’t be shared with the public due to the nature of the constant criminal/cop nonsense. It actually overlapped with MILABS mind control/“agent provocateur programming” as I later figured out, and some of which I do touch on in “Chasing Phantoms” if readers are interested.


Preface

It might help the reader to understand who my brother was before digging in. When people read what went on in this apartment, they may start to wonder “wth?? How??” It all traces back to my brother at the core, although certainly I have to take some responsibility as well. So as a preface, I’ll try to summarize the life and times of Joe as best as possible:

My brother Joseph, or Joe as we called him, was 6 years younger than me, born January 31, 1981. With dark brown hair and fair skin, he took after our mother with the Scotch Irish genetics. I took after our dad who was Hungarian/Italian/English with my light blonde (then dark blonde, then brown blonde) hair, dark brown eyes and Italian complexion. Joe was a really cute kid, facially perfect, and didn’t have the problems I had with bad eyes and needing glasses and eye operations and such. Whereas I was genetically flawed, he in turn was the strong, healthy, good looking kid.

An important thing to note about Joe straight off is that when he was a baby he’d had several accidental head injuries. Yet, this never seemed to really register with my parents about why he was the way he was. Joe’s whole personality overall was very detached from reality. Very mellow, laid back, quiet, well mannered, spacey, and very much off in his own world. I do think this had a lot to do with the head injuries affecting some things about him, making him come across as if he wasn’t sharp. Even though he actually was.

From the time Joe was a toddler, he was attracting in “stuff” it seems. A better way of putting it would be that he seemed to be harassed by negs. As a tot he didn’t want to stay in his room and would keep leaving to come in my room, sometimes even sleeping in my bed. Starting at age three or so, when he was better able to communicate, he would say that he heard “breathing” in his room. Something was there in his room, “breathing” and it obviously scared the crap out of him. My mom never took him seriously – she was emotionally detached (and downright unfit to be a mother), but that’s another story. So she didn’t believe him, nor care, because he was interfering with her TV time. She’d just keep putting him back in bed, brushing it off. Sometimes my parents would outright spank him for it, then try to block his doorway with something to keep him forcefully barricaded in his room. Weirdo abusive behavior that I delve more into in the “Appendix” section of my book “Chasing Phantoms.”

He also showed signs of obsessive compulsive disorder starting at age three. OCD manifesting in a young child usually indicates that there are some stressful things happening. With Joe, he developed this thing about his feet. He always had to have sneakers and socks on, even in the baking hot summer, and his socks had to be tight, and his shoes laced up skin tight. He would NEVER, EVER, in the entire time I knew him, ever wear sandals or flip flops. I remember him crying silently to himself at the age of three because he couldn’t make his shoes tight enough on his feet. In retrospect, I think this “foot binding” thing had something to do with energy, and grounding himself. Joe was not grounded in this reality as a kid, which is why stuff was happening to him.

By the time Joe was in kindergarten and first grade he was already gravitating to the troubled kids for friends. He already had problems with school work, due to a learning disability (later self-diagnosed by him as being dyslexia…it’s the reason he had such trouble reading, and insane trouble with numbers) and he wouldn’t listen to authority of any kind. But he was always so nice and mellow and laid back and charming about it all that his teachers and school administrators couldn’t help but really like him and be taken with him. He came across like a nice kid who just kept making bad choices. And in a way that’s the truth – he wasn’t a schemer who manipulated people in a calculated, devious way. He just did what he felt like, off in his own world, and didn’t listen to the rules, and wasn’t affected by guilt, threats, or authoritarian instruction. You could yell at him and his response was to just stare back at you, turn around…and do it again. And again. And again.

When Joe was seven, he started drawing the morbid pictures, of cemeteries and dead bodies coming out of the ground, corpses with knives sticking out of their bodies, blood dripping everywhere. They were actually kind of comical and demonstrated some artistic talent. Everything he did was cloaked in a layer of humor. Laugh things off, play stuff down. And it might not seem like much except, Joe wasn’t really exposed to horror movies. (I myself also did not grow up watching any of the well known horror/gore movies of the 70s and 80s. They weren’t allowed in our house. Which as a side note I can say I’m actually grateful for in looking back. Kids shouldn’t be watching that shit.) And we only had basic cable, and this was the far less complicated 80’s when it came to television options, so….it’s not like there were even TV shows where he would have been exposed to this sort of imagery on any kind of a regular basis that could account for where these pictures were coming from. And he didn’t have any friends to go hang out with, where he would have been watching stuff at their house. I still have one of these pics actually, since I saved a group of his drawings that he’d done around this time period. Including one of a UFO. The UFO one was very telling, because that was another thing he didn’t really have exposure to. So why was he drawing that? It was around the time period that he drew this UFO that I had a “dream” (also discussed in “Chasing Phantoms”) of standing outside our house in the middle of the night, off to the side of the cul-de-sac where we lived, just….watching as a UFO was parked over our house. Being that our dad found himself with a UFO parked over his head at a military base in southeast Asia during the Vietnam war means I don’t believe it was a dream, and I don’t believe Joe’s picture was just nonsense.

All in all Joe’s personality was someone who didn’t want to be a nuisance, to anybody. He played with his toys, Legos and matchbox cars, drew, and spent the rest of the time riding his bike or roaming around in the woods outside our house. We had an isolated existence, due to our Borderline Personality Disorder mentally ill mother keeping us away from our entire extended family on both sides, save for only our maternal grandmother. While I at least got to meet some of my cousins when I was very young, before everything was permanently cut off, Joe never was able to meet any of his numerous cousins, aunts or uncles, or his paternal grandmother, grandfather and step grandfather while he was growing up. On top of the fact we lived in a semi-rural town with absolutely nothing going on. So this isolation also played a major role in what shaped him. Total lack of social stimulation, and alone day after day with a stay at home “mother” who didn’t interact with him at all, no hugs, no love, just total stone faced emptiness, which my dad never realized. I myself was at school all day, so I also didn’t know. I only found out about her total lack of interaction with him when he was home with her during the day once he was older.

When Joe was about nine or so we all woke up hearing loud banging going on in his room. It was Joe, in a terrified state, trying to get away from whatever was in his room. He kept smashing into the wall and closet door over and over, seemingly unable to actually get out of the doorway right next to it. He was so scared he could barely talk and could only say something about “the lights…” Just kept talking about “the lights” in his room. And the breathing. Years later my dad would relay a paranormal “woo-woo” story to me that happened sometime when he was a teen, about “lights” in the backyard, at night. Whatever it was it had scared the shit out of him and was so whack that he was unable to effectively describe what it was, or what exactly even happened, even as an adult all these years later. Just something about “lights,” that’s all I managed to get out of that story. Same as Joe.

If my parents thought that Joe’s constant talk about the “breathing” going on in his room at night and other strangeness was just a phase, or the imaginings of a small child then they were wrong. If anything it just kept getting progressively worse the older he got. So by the end of our time living in that house, before we moved when he was ten, he was taking his sleeping bag and sleeping in his closet to try to hide from whatever it was that was apparently comin’ round practically every night to harass him. It was safer to be in a tight, enclosed space wrapped in a bag then to be out on his bed, exposed in the open.

Fast forwarding a couple of years, when my parents were divorced and we were now living in Orange County, California with my mom. At this point in the game she was almost completely copping out on being a mom since there were no eyes on her. It left her free to do and behave as she pleased now, total freedom with zero repercussions,which she took full advantage of, disintegrating into crazy abusiveness. (Prior to the divorce she hid her abusiveness from my dad, letting loose as soon as he was at work, acting like a total lunatic half the time, then snapping back to “normal” once he was home.) My brother was eleven and twelve at this point, and was running around being a delinquent. Stealing and shoplifting food, candy, clothes and miscellaneous items, starting fires, smoking cigarettes, and getting weed and alcohol from his friends when he could, sneaking out of the house to run wild in the middle of the night and jumping out of his second story bedroom window to accomplish that. He had detention too many times to count, had been suspended a few times as well, and was even arrested at one point, for something, I don’t know what. And then ran away. His OCD was also in full swing at this point, and he was changing his clothes three times a day, showering several times a day, rubbing his mouth and lips into a raw rash, so convinced was he that he had “food on his face”, as well as constant q-tipping of his ears and blowing and picking at his nose – a general obsession with keeping orifices clean – and then the ongoing feet/shoes/socks issue that was as strong as ever, dating back to when he was a toddler. Later on when I got him back to California he had even more OCD traits going on, which I’ll get to in a short bit.

At this point Joe had also begun consciously astral projecting – something that my dad and our paternal grandmother can apparently do, and do/did often. I’ve never had an interest in it, and instinctively shied away from it. In fact, I adamantly opposed it when my dad tried to convince me when I was 15 that it was neat and I should try it. No thanks. Instinct told me it was an area that was bad news, something where one could easily get in over their head if they don’t know what they’re doing. But Joe fully embraced it.

On top of the delinquent behavior Joe had begun demonstrating some psychic skillz and phenomenon as well, with the onset of puberty once we were in SoCal. Psychic abilities is something happening on both sides of our family, and both of us inherited it. Though we both demonstrated very different abilities, manifesting at different times in our lives for different reasons/triggers. He had “his stuff,” which was always over-the-top and bizarre, and I had mine, which was subtle and “normal.” Once it kicked in for Joe though it didn’t take long to figure out that some really off the wall “stuff” happened whenever he was around, and that he’s a magnet for it. When I was by myself…nothing, nada. But as soon as Joe showed up…cue the three ring circus music.

The next few years would be absolutely crazy with everything that went on, for both him, and myself. It would fill a book. So the highlights that are relevant for this are that Joe ended up going back to Connecticut to live with my dad right after turning thirteen, in 7th grade. He wound up being held back a year, because that’s just how bad his behavior and school “participation” had disintegrated. The American public school system is awful, they’ll pass kids along who can’t even read, so if a kid gets full on held back then you know it’s bad.

Then when he was fourteen, something snapped. He broke into a gun shop and stole a gun, then went on a convenience store robbing spree. With the money, he got himself a motel room, with the intention of catching a train first thing in the morning to New York City. The motel clerk who checked him in tipped off the cops, who soon had the motel surrounded. They got him by climbing in through the bathroom window. The night it all went down thoughts of Joe suddenly invaded my mind from 3,000 miles away in SoCal. They became louder and more maddening, overtaking everything else in my mind to the point that I finally had to just stop what I was doing in the middle of work and go find a payphone outside to call my dad back in Connecticut, see what was going on. And that’s when I learned what happened, and that Joe was now in jail. He spent the next three years in various juvee jails and psych hospitals, including one called Vitam.

And that’s what finished Joe off. You can see it in the pics that were taken of him when he was 15, 16 years old, when he was on home leave, visiting my dad and his new wife and their new baby daughter. You can see it in the face and the eyes. He looks deadened and haunted. I only heard a couple of minor, surface level stories about what went on at Vitam, and it wasn’t pretty. Whatever I do know about it is bad enough, but it’s not even the half of it, I know.

After Joe got out of Vitam, and was “mainstreamed” back into the public high school, he lived a paradoxical life. He worked at the local bicycle shop and became quite the expert on bikes, with bikes becoming his life – fixing them, customizing them from pieces parts taken from different bikes, and riding them everywhere. He pulled honors and A’s in school, shattering everybody’s expectations. (I saw the certificates, showing the honors/high honors semester after semester. And a couple of years ago when doing a search on my brother’s name on the ‘net, which I periodically do, a search result came up which I’d never seen before for an archived Hartford Courant newspaper entry listing Joe for the high honor roll for ’99. Not just regular honors, but high, which as far as I understand means straight A’s) But all the while doing drugs, stealing cars, and running wild. Weed, alcohol, coke, smoking heroin, he did it. He’d disappear for days at a time – a week at a time – then re-emerge out of nowhere and ace tests and pull high honors. Then turn around and get yanked out of class and sent to the principal’s office, because he stood up in front of the class giving a report about why he sympathized with the Columbine killers (this was in ’99, so Columbine was still a fresh event.) or maybe because he’d shown up at school totally shitfaced, yet again, then puked Jagermeister all over the principal’s shoes. The cops were making regular visits to my dad’s house, yet it was all so confusing because he was so damn charismatic and likable. Even the cops liked him. They didn’t want to have to bust him for anything. Over and over he was given multiple, endless chances by cops and judges to change his ways, because they were rooting for him, but he never did.

During 1999 Joe and I were back and forth on the phone, a lot. More so than ever before. But we had his personality change to thank for that. It started in late 1998. Previously, trying to talk to him on the phone was like pulling teeth. All you’d get were one and two word answers, and then he’d get annoyed and bored and go. I never gave up though, and was always trying to maintain contact with him. I had that intense – and inexplicable – concern for him and bond going on that didn’t make much sense to anybody around me at the time. The amount of money I sunk into him, and the fact I was willing to die for him, literally placing myself in the line of police guns at one point, was…….insane I guess. I have yet to meet anybody who was so insanely latched onto a sibling with intense concern as I was for him. It was obsessive. It’s what drove me in all of my interactions with him, and why any of “The Vortex” even happened…and continued to happen….long after I should have walked away. So sometime around ’98 he changed, and I remember having our first meaningful conversation one afternoon, where he actually talked to me, and I think it had to do with something woo-woo. After that, things took off.

It seemed to be by design in retrospect. I think something wanted us to connect, and wanted him to be in my life for what was in store down the line. There seems to have been a plan shaping up, which I was completely clueless about.

Throughout ’99 Joe entertained me on the phone with his endless adventures of supposedly investigating illegal chemical waste dumping being done by Amtrak. He was even supposedly shot at one time, while trespassing and poking around on Amtrak property. He proudly kept that bullet holed T shirt tacked up on his wall in his room. The enter and exit hole go through the armpit, and you could see the faint drips of bloodstain…not from his blood, but actually from his friend who was with him, whose arm was grazed by the shots. I myself had absolutely nothing of interest going on in my life at that time, so the conspiracy kept me riveted. He also reported that he had all kinds of paranormal happenings going on in his room in my Dad’s house, and again, I really dug his stories, and didn’t doubt it, because I’d seen the foundation for it when he was just a kid.

Then there were the “THEMS.” Joe was now being followed and monitored by “THEMS” in black cars. They would park on the curb outside his work, watching him. An unmarked van tried to run him off the road one night when he went for his usual nighttime bike ride. Weed-induced paranoia? Or the truth? All I know is he also claimed that They were tapping into the phone line……and I do actually have proof for that. Several of our conversations had obvious, unexplainable audio “disturbance” and overt interference, the same identical type experienced by me and my boyfriend Tom when we would be talking to each other over a landline phone years back. Joe and Tom are the only two people I’ve experienced that audio disturbance with. Joe also mentioned happenings that sounded like flashes of abduction memories. Including the one that coincided with him being gone/missing for almost a week. During that week he remembers being in some facility and being wheeled down a hallway on a stretcher sort of thing; the hall connected/passed through these all white, rounded dome shaped rooms; He was being wheeled to one of these rooms, where “something” was done to him.

The conspiracies and intrigue were growing by the week, and I was totally hooked. Joe had no reason to make it up, I thought. Why would he invent something like this? See, the thing about Joe that would keep you hanging on was that every once and awhile he could actually generate some proof. I saw that bullet holed shirt. I saw the high honors certificates and heard my Dad’s confirmations about Joe’s almost unbelievable performance in school. I heard the phone tapping craziness. I’d been witness to the paranormal woo-woo that followed him around like a magnet. There was tangible proof for this wacky, paradoxical life he was leading. Bizarre shit just followed this kid around in life, and had since he was a baby. (And I haven’t even gotten into the two separate kidnapping attempts in two different states, one when he was about nine, the other when he was 11-12, or the fact that a major accident happened to him when he was three where he should have died, but where intervention happened to undo the damage, of which I witnessed. O.o So in the end it was like it never happened at all, and life resumed as “normal.”)

But this is why, when I later had full knowledge about the “Thems” and their involvement in things, I just assumed it was completely all about Joe, and had nothing to do with me. I couldn’t even comprehend that I was on anything’s radar. It was all Joe, and had always been about Joe, as far as I was concerned. I was nothing. He was the one with all the powers and abilities, he was the interesting one with all the first hand street smarts and the exciting life, always getting into adventures.

Joe reached the end of the line in his senior year when my dad told him that he was out of the house on June 1st, and the locks would be changed. That’s when I began shaping up a plan to bring him back to SoCal, so he could come live with me and my then-boyfriend Steve. Then his high school informed him in January of 2000 that despite his grades, he would not be eligible for graduation, because he’d missed too many days of school. So now my “bring Joe back to Cali” plan was speeding up. But as soon as I heard that I called up his school in the middle of the day from my then-job just to verify this myself, asking to speak to the principal. The secretary sounded suspicious when I announced who I was – “Joe C___’s sister Carissa, from California….” – and the principal sounded downright leery when he first picked up the line. I was truly surprised she actually put me through, and that he accepted the call. I wasn’t expecting to get anywhere. But then again, Joe was so notorious there was probably a part of him that was genuinely curious. And as I explained to him, I had to confirm things for myself, whether it’s true that he’s really not being allowed to graduate for missing too many days of class……only because Joe is always telling so many stories you just can’t know what to believe. Before I bring him out to California I just have to know whether he’s telling the truth, I explained.

Once he heard me admit to the fact that Joe’s always telling so many stories that you just don’t know what to believe he actually loosened up and relaxed. Probably figured he was dealing with a sane person if I recognized that about my own brother. But yes, indeed, it all turned out to be true. Joe was not allowed to graduate unless he completed summer school requirements. Which, considering my dad was kicking him out three weeks before graduation, means it wasn’t going to be possible. Not for Joe, and how he was. I knew him enough to know there was no way he would try to juggle being homeless and “completing bullshit summer school requirements” (despite the fact he’d pulled down all A’s semester after semester). Not happening. He was too touch and go. Joe was better off being brought out to southern California, “the land of opportunity,” to come live with me. Coming to California, with me paying for everything and helping him get started with a new life meant he actually stood some sort of chance. Being left in Connecticut as a homeless kid with no real money, no car, just a bike, no other family, surrounded by the biggest low life druggies you could imagine when he was a total addict always needing something to numb his brain, and being expected to show up to some bullshit summer school schedule on top of all that, for classes he’d already gotten A’s in….he stood absolutely no chance.

In fact this entire time period I later described as “beat the clock.” The race was on to try to get Joe out to SoCal before he died. There was a short time period where I was not in contact with him in ’99 because he’d been so nasty and rude to me over the phone that I stopped my desperate reaching out to him. But then I’d had this hyper realistic “dream” one night where he died. And thus overrode my anger/frustration and called him up anyway, extremely concerned about his well being, and resuming our long distance contact. I later found out that during that exact time period when I’d “dreamed” about Joe dying he’d put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger….but the trigger “jammed.” I now realize/recognize in retrospect that my hyper realistic “dream” wasn’t really a dream. It was a real memory of the way things had originally gone. There are some HUGE implications there, but, we’ll just leave things at that.

So that’s when I brought Joe out to California, trying to beat the clock for when the next death attempt would happen. Between him putting guns to his head and his drug use and crazy lifestyle it was only a matter of time. January 25, 2000, he stepped off a train at Los Angeles Union Station, running from Connecticut. I felt triumphant, feeling like I did it, I’d beaten the clock and won. I look back at that and laugh……totally fucking clueless. O.o

Joe was 19 now, although he looked no older than 16, (same problem I’ve always had, looking younger than I am) mostly because he was only about 5’6” and lacked muscle bulk. His preferred look I’d come to learn was the tight white Hanes T-shirts, his huge Paco jean shorts down to his knees with the duct tape wrapped around the edges that were falling apart ;) and at first his Nikes, but which later changed to black steel toed boots. He kept his head shaved short and had a couple of homemade tattoo symbols etched into his arm, done himself with a needle and ink bought from the store. He also had a “tool belt,” for lack of a better term, which consisted of his various knives, and at one point a Motorola hand held police scanner thing. He was never at any point not armed and fully equipped. His look was reminiscent of Fight Club’s Project Mayhem “space monkey” army, and factoring in his very white Irish/Scottish/English skin, several people mistakenly took him for a skinhead.

After getting to California Joe began working out religiously every day, sit ups and push ups, and within a year had packed on his desired muscle bulk in the arms and chest, and even appeared to have grown an inch or so, and finally began looking his age.

As mentioned earlier Joe developed even more OCD traits by this point in life. One of them was his whole bit with “hoarding,” a trait associated with OCD as I only just learned. He was a complete pack rat, stuffing his room with stolen goods that he hoarded, stuff he didn’t even need, to the point where his room was a cram jammed filthy disaster area. He was worse than a raccoon. But paradoxically he was obsessive with the hygiene as always, such as the need to keep his fingernails clipped down to the quick – anything longer than that was dirty – as well as shaved head at all times, because hair was dirty too, burning the leg hair off his legs with a lighter !!! and slathering deodorant on throughout every day. And his “feet binding” thing progressed to point where he would wear several pairs of socks with steel toed boots. ALWAYS had to have his feet and ankles bound up and sealed off tight, and was never without this set up unless he was sleeping. He had a LOT of weird OCD quirks.

At the beginning Joe lived with me and my then-boyfriend Steve (whom I was about to break up with anyway) in our spare room. Then we moved into our own apartment as roommates on May 27, 2000. The apartment was what I’ve come to call The Vortex, in Rancho Santa Margarita, (south Orange County). The apartment was middle of the road, not super fancy, but not ghetto-y either, on the second floor with dual master bedrooms, each with their own bath, along with the large main living room/dining room area, kitchen, and a small balcony off the living room with the sliding glass doors, and like many apartment complexes in SoCal came with a garage as well. Though we didn’t have any money, so the only furnishings to be found were in our respective rooms. So the living room/dining room area remained as one big large open room that Joe stored some of his things.

(I’m really flying along here, leaving most everything out, for space constraints. It’s just to give the bare bones surface scratching explanation of who my brother is, why he would have attracted stuff in and what our situation was in general, so readers will have a foundation for what they’re reading.)

After Joe got to California, “stuff” broadcast loud and clear what was really going on with him. Before “stuff” breaches your realm in such a major way it seems they have to. Free will. It’s something I’ve since learned, concerning the “occult rules.” As I wrote in my article called “The Hidden Puppetmasters:”

“For those who aren’t familiar, before flagrantly breaching your reality in some freewill violating way, neg forces need to let you know who they are, whether point blank stating it outright, or giving you these hint-hint, read-between-the-line statements, and thus get permission from you to proceed. Because that’s just how this place operates. They know what this place is and how it operates, and the way they look at is, it’s not their fault if you don’t. Not their problem if we haven’t taken a good look around, noticed things, questioned things, put any of the quite obvious pieces together, and/or have chosen to listen to the many “nothing to see here, move it along” “Gatekeepers” who do their best to ridicule any consideration of that aspect of reality. That’s on us. But they upheld their end of “abiding by the rules” and letting us know what the deal is with them. So if you choose to proceed anyway, and invite them in despite what they’ve point blank told you and revealed….then that’s you agreeing. Now they have more freedom to breach your realm and violate you in ways they weren’t allowed to before. And the longer you allow them to stick around, the more and more they can do to you, and the more your personal reality/realm can be breached.”

Had no idea about any of this though back at the time Joe first re-entered my reality. Since Joe would be responsible for almost getting me killed on three separate occasions (one of those three times being when I had police guns pointed at my head, referenced earlier) as well as almost getting me arrested, and end up costing me thousands of dollars, it had to be announced. But I didn’t listen, pay attention or see it. Because I didn’t know. And I also didn’t recognize what he was. I naively thought I was just dealing with my brother, a regular person. But this is why awareness is everything.

Joe flat out told me on a number of occasions, “Am I real, Carissa? I sure don’t feel real. You don’t feel real to me, none of this does.”

“Of course you’re real Joe…” I would answer, frozen.

“Am I? Are you sure? Are you sure about that? Am I real?” He looked at me with a smirk. Like a predator, toying with its prey.

Then there was the night that he got drunk in February of 2000, shortly after arriving in SoCal. It was the drunkest I’ve ever seen him, so bad that I actually hid the rest of the bottle of brandy so he wouldn’t do any more damage and kill himself. In that drunken stupor he relayed to me, “The only reason I’m here…is because of you. You wanted this so badly that you made this happen. I’m supposed to be dead right now Carissa…I’m supposed to be dead. Don’t you understand? You made this happen….it’s all you….I’m supposed to be dead. You wanted me here so badly that I’m here…I’m alive….but I’m supposed to be dead…It’s you…”

I froze up, paralyzed when he said that. I couldn’t speak. Went blank. On a subconscious level I recognized what he was saying. Coming to terms with that wouldn’t happen for another two years though. Some things take time to process, and have to happen in their own time, when the mind can finally handle it. It took two more years of “happenings” to get me to a place where a bombshell like that could be processed.

Also straight off the bat when Joe arrived to California he was demonstrating his newfound “inexplicable” knowledge of radios, electronics and all things techno-gadget. By the end of us being roommates he would have half his bedroom filled with electronics, police scanners, radios, satellite dishes (the kind people mount outside their homes or apartments) and converted word processors to “process” it all. I have two pics of this in fact. He demonstrated how he could pick up transmissions from NASA 3,000 miles away and he tuned into MIR so I could hear, back when it was orbit. Not that we could understand what was being said, since they were speaking Russian. ;) The first time he was demonstrating his equipment when he’d first moved in with Steve and I, I asked him – How did you learn all this??

The brother I knew growing up was not like this. He was off in his own world, and never played around with electronics. This “New Joe” was something else entirely. He looked at me with a strange smirk and those glassy, far away eyes that he’d get many times. “I don’t know Carissa. I just know it. It just happened.” He would always answer that way any time I asked. He just “knew” how to do this one day. It had just “happened.” Just inexplicably had the knowledge. He also had this weird thing about drawing some kind of strange “grid” thing. He said it was just “in his head” and said he showed the drawing to somebody and was told it had to do with “Earth’s ionosphere.” I had no idea what the “ionosphere” was and had never heard of it, but later found out it ties into what the HAARP array in Alaska is involved in.


[Joe in his room. This pic shows a lot of different things, including the phenomena I mention at the end of this intro, about how in two years worth of photos I never managed to get one photo of Joe looking straight at the camera with both eyes unobstructed. Also, the gray bullet holed shirt that he tacked up on the closet door is visible, towards the right side of the photo. And then of course, all the electronics, including the Brother word processor, the satellite dish, some large aluminum tube “antenna” thing, regular antennas, and the various radio equipment. The rattan chair is something I gave him, and it’s what I’d sit on when listening to the transmissions from NASA and MIR. There’s even an “orb” going on, whatever those are. And as noted by a ‘net aquaintance whom I showed the pic to, there’s the multiple sticks of deodorant on the top of Joe’s dresser, something I didn’t pay attention to but which she noticed right away. But it illustrates what I mentioned earlier about the way Joe’s OCD manifested with regard to hygiene. Just obsessive to the point of multiple sticks of deodorant going at the same time. This pic was taken towards the beginning. By the end, fully half the room was filled with electronics, once he inherited my ex boyfriend Steve’s cast off equipment that he was trying to get rid of, to the point where I needed my friend Mike to help me dismantle the craziness when it came time to move and Joe was in jail. If I’d had the kind of digital camera I had now, versus the old school film camera I had back then in 2000-2001 that was breaking down on me, I would have gotten more pics obviously and even video. But this was back in 2000, I didn’t have much money back then.]

 

He was also now a perfect shot with a gun, and quite the expert with hand-to-hand combat. He would always practice his mish-mash version of martial arts/hand to hand in the living room, trying to show me moves that I could use to defend myself. I remember Steve sitting across the room, glancing sideways at us, VERY nervous as Joe did this – not nervous for my safety, but nervous at the presence Joe emanated. To say he put out a feeling of “power” is putting it mildly. It was something else. Later on at a liquor store in Portland in early 2002 a couple of tough looking black guys started moving in towards me, but then stepped aside and looked down at the floor when this little 5’6” white kid charged down the aisle towards me. It probably didn’t hurt either that the temperature was in the mid-20s and Joe purposely had no shirt on to make a point to people. :D

I realize now that Joe had apparently been programmed/mind controlled at some point during his time in lock up, and possibly at other times in his life as well even before that (if we’re going to say that we’re both abuductees dating back to childhood), as well as after he was released. He was also most likely a MILAB, all of which I delve more into in more detail in “Chasing Phantoms.” The giveaway was when he revealed that he had an alternate personality that he called “Shawn Hill” who would run around doing (criminal) things that Joe could barely remember. One time when I had been trying to speak to him on the phone long distance, before he moved back to California, he was in “Shawn Hill” mode, which was short, brusque, and a bit nasty, and he did not want to answer to the name Joe. He insisted I refer to him as Shawn. I had laughed nervously, but refused to comply. And later on, right before we permanently parted ways in life Joe began talking about how he was being given “assignments” by “Them” (that I had to forcibly talk him out of) to “prove that he was ready for the next level.” I would later discover it was all word for word verbatim what Gunther Russbacher outlines in his article ““Mind Control in Amerika – 5 Easy Steps to Create a Manchurian Candidate,” where he discusses kids who are caught up in the jail/juvee system being taken and programmed with sleeper agent/“agent provocateur’ programming, and where they must take on various assignments to prove to their handlers that they’re ready to move to the next level. As Joe had stood there telling me about Them and the assignments and having to prove himself his eyes were glazed over, far away, in a relaxed, compliant mode, speaking as if he was literally rehashing something he had been programmed to say.

Joe emanated both power, and quiet/intense “loose cannon crazy.” And part of me admittedly kind of dug it. But there was a reason for that. After being alone in life for so long with no real family – even alone while in relationships – and always finding myself unprotected and vulnerable, it felt REALLY good to finally have somebody around who had my back, for once. My mom and her random boyfriend had thrown me out weeks before graduation, encouraging me to drop out of high school (not even kidding) and treated me like I was last week’s trash. My dad was 3,000 miles away and nothing seemed to register with him no matter how negative or crazy. He’d always been completely useless as a protector, completely mentally checked out, and where it was made clear that Joe and I were first marriage leftovers, an uncomfortable intrusion into his new life, with his new wife, and their new house, and soon to be new baby. And as our “mother” even admitted during our August ’98 fluke meeting (the one and only time I’ve spoken with her in person in 20+ years now) “You were thrown to the wolves!” (making sure to say this using the passive voice, instead of active voice. I “was thrown,” by some mysterious unnamed force that like, jumped out from behind a bush or something and “GOT ME!” Not “I threw you,” using the active voice, which would mean she would have to take direct responsibility. But this is the same woman who always refers to herself in the third person, and my brother as “your brother.” Not “Joe” or “my son.” Just always “your brother…” You know, this kid who somehow belonged to me, and was my deal, not hers, and not connected to her in any way. Which I realize in retrospect was very telling. Joe was always my deal apparently. Mine. From the moment he came home from the hospital in fact, when I was six, and over the next few years where I was constantly admonished to back off, because “….you’re not his mother.” And as he even told me at ten years old “….I consider you to be my mom, instead of Mom.” So really, it’s no surprise. But I digress.)

But here was Joe, basically acting as my personal bodyguard whenever we were out, having my back. It felt absolutely awesome. In public when we were together Joe was always eyeing everybody and everything up, on top of things, always alert and ready to pounce. I had absolutely nothing to worry about in terms of anybody messing with me, or us. It felt REALLY good to have that……….for once in my life. Joe demonstrated that protectiveness when he was a kid. But back then he was just a kid. He could only do so much. Now… he was old enough to follow through and actually do serious damage to people.

The irony is that Joe could protect me like a personal bodyguard in life, seeming to have my back…….while simultaneously almost getting me killed three times, acting as a walking portal and a “vector of attack.”

*****

What stepped off that train in Los Angeles was not my original brother. I didn’t realize until two and a half years, and two states later, while living in Fort Lauderdale and buzzed on wine one night that in the two years worth of photos that I’d taken of Joe you can’t see his eyes directly in almost any picture. Originally I had written here that you couldn’t see his eyes in any of the photos except for in one, however, there are actually two as I now realize. In the first photo taken in Portland, Oregon, he was working outside on his car with the front hood up, and I tried to grab a shot of him doing that. Right as I was taking the shot he scrunched up his face to make a weird expression to ruin the shot, and so you can actually see one of his eyes open in that pic. The other is squeezed shut. And there’s some weird distortion going on with his wrist/hand area that I can’t figure out. Maybe it was the angle but it doesn’t look right. And in the second photo where I finally managed to get an eye in the pic it was part of a series of three pics, again taken in Portland. I took the shot of him from a distance, then had an invisible voice urging me to get closer with my camera. So I did, and took another. “Get closer….closer….closer……” it urged, and I did, taking the third and final shot from only about a foot and a half away.

In the first two shots, like in every other picture, there’s an excuse for why you can’t see his eyes – the brim of his hat is bent down, obscuring them. (the brim of his hat where he used a marker to scrawl all the strange symbols that he was always seeing in his mind, symbols he would later tell me he saw in an underground base during one of his abductions, symbols that a lot of people say are “alien” in nature.) In the third, because I’d been “urged” to get up as close as I could to him, I managed to actually get one of his eyes on camera, from a side angle, looking at the right side of his face. And it’s completely red. And I don’t mean camera “red eye” – his pupil itself is red, from the side angle. His face is white, there’s dark shadows under his eyes, his face is blank, and he looks like a zombie corpse. Photoshop doesn’t remove the red either. I showed this photo to my dad when trying to explain to him what my brother had turned into. You can even see some of the scrawled alien-esque symbols on the underside of the hat brim, like the icing on the cake. But it didn’t register with my dad at all, which was nothing new with him. He himself walks around in a programmed daze, his alters popping up from time to time, giving clues, as I note in my book.

I had the photos developed while Joe was still in my life back in Portland – but didn’t see them until after I got to Florida. When I saw it, my stomach did a flip flop. I clamored over to the box where my pictures were kept and yanked them out, and began sorting through them like mad, trying to find the other pics of Joe that I’d taken in the past two years. I pulled them all out, there were maybe a dozen total, and began flipping through them. Flip, flip, flip, tossing them off to the side. With the exception of that other pic where he’s working on his car and his face is scrunched, showing only one of his eyes, over and over again there was an excuse for why you couldn’t see his eyes. Right as I would take the shot he’d just happen to glance down, or to the side and away, or around completely so I’d get the back of his head. Or his hat was covering them. In another shot, the picture mysteriously cut off… right at his eyes. You see his grin, and his nose…but his eyes are cut out of the shot. There was one photo where I took a pic of his face, full on, for fun while he was standing right next to me one night. (Not that it was fun for him. The look he gave me was anything but amused.) And that pic never came out on the developed roll. There was an “excuse” though…..that was my old camera, which was breaking on me, and sometimes pictures just wouldn’t come out. Since it wasn’t the only picture that it happened with, I didn’t even question it at the time. But later on, pooling that together with all the other shots……well, you know.

What this means is open for interpretation. It usually isn’t that difficult to get a picture of somebody straight on, with both eyes open, looking directly at the camera. And yet I can say that I never actually managed to do that. During the two years he was back in my life I don’t have even one picture of him where he has both eyes open, looking at the camera. The odds on that are pretty weird, to say the least. Eyes are supposed to be the “window to the soul” as they say, and so the lack of pictures showing both of his eyes, open and clear and unobstructed, could be symbolic of something going on with him on a soul level.

My psychically inclined internet acquaintance Leslie had told me back in 2005 or so that the real Joe exited stage left when he was about 17, after drawing in neg entity attachments due to his heavy drug usage. She had no way of knowing that as I hadn’t told her about the drugs, but she could see things play out in her mind, and that’s what she saw. Something “happened”…..and the way she carefully said that word was a read-between-the-lines hint that he had either witnessed, or been directly involved in, something EXTREMELY negative, something so bad he literally couldn’t handle it on a soul level and bailed out. And that’s when the switch/deal/agreement was made with something negative who took over the body.

She was extremely puzzled about this as she relayed it to me over the phone, as she was unaware that something like that could even happen, and kind of trailed off in confusion to ponder on it for a short bit. She reported that the Joe that came back to me was not the same Joe. “A few of the original cells, but not the same core,” as she wrote in an email. What the true story is of Joe, I’ll probably never know. He could have had a co-pilot (or several…) navigating his wheel along with him, or he was gone completely, leaving behind a shell being piloted and controlled by who knows what.

And that’s the Reader’s Digest condensed version of Joe. Charismatic, intelligent in many ways, dumb in others, good looking, a magnet for the paranormal, abduction/mind control victim, funny, afraid of nothing, professional criminal, and sociopath. (And I say sociopath, and not psychopath, because sociopaths are created, whereas psychopaths are born. And the hallmark trait of a psychopath is abuse and killing of animals, something Joe did not engage in. As a child he loved nature and animals, and post-lock up animals were literally the only thing that could even get through to him anymore and elicit any kind of genuine niceness and compassion, what he referred to as “fur therapy.”)

A few years ago (maybe around 2009 or so) I came across a write up somewhere on the ‘net talking about the link between sociopathy, and……injuries to the frontal lobe of the brain. As mentioned earlier, Joe had experienced a frontal lobe injury (that again, was played down/ignored by my parents) and the traits listed in the article matched my brother to a T. The learning disability/trouble with school, the inability to learn from his mistakes, and the way he would not listen to authority, period. And then his lack of fear, leading to his penchant towards criminal behavior. (fueled by his astrological configuration which was very……willful, to put it mildly. Aquarius sun, Scorpio Moon, Sagittarius rising, and Chinese Year of the (troublemaker) Monkey. O.o )

I’d also come across a write up/compilation article of some sort on the web detailing all the traits of a sociopath, things that were so specific that it was like I was reading a personality profile of Joe himself. It had checklists from different sources, DSM IV manual excerpts, psychology report excerpts, and even the author’s own commentary too it seems, and it was just absolutely uncanny in how accurately it portrayed Joe. I copied and pasted the write up into a Word doc, which I still have, but I never noted the URL or source, so now I’m unable to find it on the web to post a link to. Because instead of trying to sum up Joe, going on and on, which I could do all day, I would prefer to just link people to this write up. Be like, “Here, read this. With the exception of these five things, all the rest is completely Joe. THIS is who Joe was.” I did searches on the ‘net of specific sentences in that write up, but nothing comes up now, unfortunately. Only the excerpts from other well known sources that the author quoted come up. oh well. Someday I’ll retype it and post a link.

Also worth noting is that several years after experiencing all of this I came across the book “Practical Psychic Self Defense – Understanding and Surviving Unseen Influences” by Robert Bruce and let me tell you….I REALLY could have used this book back when living in this apartment. Seriously. His book describes so much of what I experienced here, to a T. I had nobody to go to when all of this was happening, nobody recognized any of what I was describing when I told them and some even thought I was making it up, or going crazy. So I really wish I’d had his book back then. Unfortunately it wasn’t published until 2002, a year after I moved out. My then-boss Felicity found what bits of paranormal stuff I was willing to divulge amusing, and didn’t disbelieve me, but she was no help. My Wiccan/Pagan buddy Tiffany had no clue what I was talking about, and I figured she might know since she’s a practicing Wiccan. But being Wiccan doesn’t automatically equate to being paranornally aware. She wasn’t knowledgable about the “cosmic” stuff like that, as she jokingly told me. My buddy Mike also couldn’t help me despite the fact he was also going in the Wiccan/Pagan direction. He helped me “clean” my room after I was attacked by an entity but, that’s about all he was good for. He didn’t understand most of what I was experiencing. My buddy Julie thought I was making everything up, as I later learned. And my ex Steve probably thought I was going crazy, based on the way he talked to me over the phone in a tone of voice that was a mixture of befuddlement, and cautiously humoring me because he had no idea what to do or say about anything I was claiming.

Robert Bruce’s book is basically a comprehensive handbook of what neg influences are, where they come from, what they do, how they operate, and how to rid them. And it’s full of so many uncanny details that match up to what you’re about to read here, from the interdimensional portals/doorways, the disembodied hand, the golden “sparklies” and floating white balls and black circles, the “hitchhikers” and energy vampire nature of entity presenses, the “large creamy blobs” as he calls them which I describe as the blue-white shapeless blobs, stuff crashing and banging around into stuff in my room, the knocking on the headboard, the waves of cold chills eminating from a localized point, on up to the full on physical attack from an entity that sucked the lifeforce out of me in order to keep itself going. And just tons more stuff. My copy is all highlighted up for that reason, because it’s nonstop stuff I’ve experienced. It’s all in his book, and I can’t say enough times that I really wish I’d had his book back then. So if anybody reading this is also experiencing anything like what you read here…then get his book.

So, with all that in mind, let the games begin…

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