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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
© 2001-2020
Revised and edited, June 2020
carissaconti@protonmail.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.

2000-2001 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 paranormal, something I’d always been interested in as far back as nine years old, but which wasn’t actually happening to me (or so I thought) until now. After this, I would move on to my crash course in conspiracy and MILABS/mind control research, and discover how me, my brother Joe, 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. “Something” (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. 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, Joe and his crazy life “adventures” (i.e., constant cop dodging criminal craziness) 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 Joe and his life (again….endless cop dodging craziness that directly impacted me….) 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 this 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 write ups that formulate the foundation of this entire 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 Joe with questions. Readers will notice that so much of the dialogue is me interrogating Joe 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. Joe 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 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. Throughout this piece I’ve since gone back and added various 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 story 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 roommating 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 as mentioned, since Joe just couldn’t seem to stop being a freaking criminal, mixed up in amongst all of the “Vortex” happenings, 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 Joe 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 Joe 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 1/31/81. 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 our “parents” (when referring to them they should always be put in quotes….) 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 believe these traits had everything 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. Seeming to be unconcerned and out of it all the time, yet very observant, perceptive and alert, with an excellent memory, as well as decisive and fast acting when needed. A bit of a contradiction.

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 to hide. 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 our “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.” Something I’d forgotten about for years until I was about 30 was the way in which these “blockaded in the room” incidents resulted in him having to pee either in the corner of his carpeted room, or standing on a small chair out his bedroom window, since even leaving his room to use the bathroom was prohibited by our “mother.” Just hearing him moving around upstairs to get to and from the bathroom when she was trying to watch TV and forget that she had kids would send her into a tizzy.

Joe began showing 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 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. (Being an actual schemer and manipulator though….that didn’t come way later, as an adult. As an adult he would morph into a full blown manipulative and cunning sociopath who always knew exactly what he was doing in a very intelligent, hyper aware way. Pretty much every conversation, no matter how seemingly friendly and innocent, and every action had a calculated self serving purpose and agenda. Almost nothing was ever said or done for the sake of it. He didn’t know you or give a shit about you until he needed something – then it was “strike up the innocent and friendly conversation,” either for sleight of hand distraction, manipulation to get money or favors, or part of some multi-step shenanigans he was carrying out, as I would eventually figure out the hard way. Almost all “friendly chatty niceness” was just an act. The morph from one to the other wasn’t an overnight occurrence, it took years of negative and traumatic life happenings to reshape him, as we’ll see.)

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 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. Just…..felt a compulsion to draw pics of what he was seeing in his mind. Bodies being stabbed to death, blood everywhere. In retrospect I think it was neg entities feeding these images into his mind.

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? During the time period when he drew this UFO I had a “dream” (also discussed in “Chasing Phantoms”) of standing outside our house in Connecticut in the middle of the night, off to the side of the cul-de-sac, just….watching, as a UFO was parked over our house. Removed from the situation, observing calm/neutral/matter-of-fact on the sidelines. I don’t believe it was just a dream. Not when factoring in how, during the Vietname war, our dad and a military cohort found themselves with two UFOs hovering directly over their heads at a base in southeast Asia. The UFOs didn’t show up on radar, so the military brass inside the base didn’t realize what was happening and had to be manually notififed by those outside. My dad and his cohort stood there with their rifles, looking up at these things directly over their heads, scared. Jets were immediately scrambled, but the UFOs zipped away at lightning speed, over the mountains, long gone before the jets were barely even off the ground. But out of everybody those UFOs could have parked themselves over at that base it just so happened to be my dad. The incident went on to become classified, of course, but he told me about it when I was about 12 or so. This was teh same guy though who, at 16, had inexplicable knowledge that there were secret facilities located within the Adironack Mountains of New York, where he lived, and would repeatedly tell my mom when they were dating with a straight face that he was an alien. Never smiling/laughing, never letting up on this “joke.” Just always the same deadpan assertation/“revelation” to her that he’s an alien. Bit of a bizarre thing for a 17/18 year old guy to insist to the girl that would go on to become the future mother of his kids. Then there was the “dream” I had that took place when I was about 2, when we still lived in Westfield, MA. I was in the field behind our apartment complex on what looked like a warm summer morning, with the golden sunlight……watching as a silver UFO disc was flying away. Without me. I began running after it, feeling completely desperate at the fact it was leaving me behind. My little legs running as fast as I could, reaching up towards it, until my body began lifting upwards in the air, body hovering in mid air, feeling exhilarated that they weren’t going to leave me behind after all. End of “dream”/memory. So needless to say I don’t believe Joe’s picture of a UFO parked over our house was just nonsense. There’s a history there with our family.

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. But, not that he was a some great, nice guy himself who would have cared or done anything had it been brought to his attention. 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 that happened sometime when he was a teen, 15-17 or so, about “lights” in the backyard of his family’s house in upstate New York, 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 “the lights,” that’s all I managed to get out of that story. Exactly the 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 that you could completely zip yourself into, then to be out on his bed, exposed in the open.

Fast forwarding a couple of years, to 1991, 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.)

Joe 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 total 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. My best friend Shirley, who was from Israel and whom I experienced strong psychic abilities with (and is a whole story in itself), was the one who actually let me know about what Joe was up to back in Connecticut. She and Joe had always gotten along really well. She thought he was super cool and unlike any of her other friends’ brothers, meanwhile joking to me if only he was a few years older, and meanwhile as he was mutually crushing on her wishing she was a few years younger. :D I had no idea of his school problems though, since my dad wasn’t telling me anything. But Shirley told me about the dreams she’d been having, where she saw Joe in class, mouthing off like a clown, giving teachers a hard time, and knew that he’d been ditching all the time, and just running around getting into trouble in general, as she described it. Only later on after he’d been left back did I learn that everything she’d reported to me from her dreams was valid, to the letter.

Then when Joe was fourteen, in 1995, 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 checked him in just to humor him, like, Yeah, sure, no problem…..acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world to check a kid into a motel room by himself with a wad of money.

(And even though he was 14 he looked about 12. So it was even more obvious. Joe’s growth was stunted in my opinion due to the malnutrition he experienced while still living with our “mother,” where he wasn’t being fed half the time, and during the crucial time period of the onset of puberty where boys in particular need all the food they can get. In fact if anything, it was full on “games with food” when it came to what our “mother” was doing with Joe. When I still lived at home I’d help fill in the food gaps (and clothing gaps, since she decided she just wasn’t going to buy him any anymore….) but once I got kicked out by our “mother’s” boyfriend before graduation I wasn’t able to do that for him anymore. He told me years later that when he first arrived at our dad’s house at 12, in August of ’93, he was so hungry all the time he was resorting to eating straight up butter as a “snack.” But the lack of food and our “mother” refusing to buy things that he needed was his primary motivation for teaching himself how to shoplift in the first place. It was either steal food, or go hungry. He learned real quick how to steal, as well as how to scam. He and his friends would steal entire cases/boxes of candy for instance, then take them and sell them door to door to get cash, pretending it was for their school. By the time he was an adult he could steal shit right out from under a person.)

Once the motel clerk had Joe contained and thinking everything was good he tipped off the cops, who soon had the motel surrounded. They got him by climbing in through the bathroom window, as my dad later relayed. The night it all went down thoughts of Joe suddenly invaded my mind from 3,000 miles away in SoCal. The thoughts became louder and more maddening “joe….joe….joe….joe….Joe…..Joe…..Joe……JOE!! JOE!!! JOE!!!!!…..” overtaking everything else in my mind. 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. The only time I ever witnessed Joe get emotional, start to actually cry, was when he was trying to let me know what was done to him and the other boys while in lock up by guards. 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 Joe’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 for joyride personal fun as well as chop shop revenue, since he found his way in with the local small time criminals, and running wild. Weed, alcohol, coke, smoking heroin, he did it. (Needles were out of the question though, according to him, since he claimed to be phobic about needles.) 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, as my dad relayed. (Something I would later witness for myself during the incident where the cops would have guns pointed at us, coming up later. Joe started out cuffed in the back, the normal way, but after an hour of chatting with the cops he was cuffed in the front to make him more comfortable…….smoking a cigarette……and shooting the breeze with them in his room about all his scanning/radio equipment. They still booked him, but it was a major sticking point that the lawyer I hired used to get him off. Her argument to the judge was basically a big “Really?? They recuffed him in the front…..and then gave him a cigarette. Then hung out with him talking about his electronics.” Talk with him for ten seconds, no matter who you were – even a cop that had only just had a gun pointed at his head – and he could reel you in.) The cops always coming around to my dad’s house 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, 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, he claimed. An unmarked van supposedly 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. In one of those instances it was near identical to what’s featured in the 2001 movie “The Mothman Prophesies,” where Richard Gere’s character is on the phone with the non-human entity “Indrid Cold,” and there’s suddenly a loud blast of sound blaring through the phone receiver, causing him to jump and pull the receiver away from his ear. Same exact thing, this sudden loud, terrifying and bizarre sound that just burst through the phone in mid sentence, like nothing I’ve ever heard, causing me to jump and yank the phone away.

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. (and have now seen it archived online.) 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 ever since he was a baby……….and that’s not even counting the two separate kidnapping attempts in two different states. The first when was 9-10 when we were still in Connecticut. As he told me after the fact, he’d climbed up to a low hanging branch of a tree in the woods behind our house and was just sitting there, relaxing. There were woods surrounding our entire neighborhood, but the stretch of woods behind our house specifically, located on a cul-de-sac, had recently been largely cut down and paved over with roadway for the impending construction of an industrial business park.

So apparently while Joe was sitting in the tree he watched as a truck parked itself on the road, and a guy got out…..and started barreling through the thin layer of woods between the road and the tree where Joe was. Kind of like, “i’m comin’ for you….” Joe said it took a few seconds to fully realize/process what was happening, continuing to sit there on the branch watching this dude running towards him, like, “wtf???” Then he said he was like “oh shit….!” fully realizing what was about to happen, jumping down and tearing back up the small hill to our house, getting inside our rec room and locking the sliding glass doors with the handle lock and wooden stick reinforcement. Once it had become “too late” the guy stopped, just kind of looking at our house, then turned around and left. Just absolutely bizarre.

The other when he was eleven to twelve, after we’d moved to Mission Viejo. Joe was on La Barca, near the intersection of Marguerite Parkway where our neighborhood was. A white van with no windows pulled up quickly along the sidewalk, throwing open its side door and where there was either one or more guys, can’t remember, who started leaning out of the van/about to jump out of the van to grab him. Joe was quick though with his reflexes and awareness and took off as fast as he could back to our house.

Meanwhile, for some comparison about the stark contrast of how it was for me as a small child versus him, who basically had a bullseye on his back since he was born – when I was a small child living in Westfield, Mass, my mom allowed me to wander around outside, unattended, for hours at a time starting at the age of two while my dad was at work and had no idea. Anything to get rid of me, pretend she didn’t have kids so she could do whatever else she wanted to be doing instead. And where, by the time I was four, I was being given money and allowed to hoof it by myself to the local AM/PM Mini Mart to go buy candy for myself. Shoving some money at me to go find some candy, where I’d be gone for awhile, was the perfect pretense to get rid of me again. So I was navigating through traffic to get there, picking out what candy I wanted, waiting for my turn in line amongst the tall adults ahead and behind me, and reaching upwards to give the guy behind the register my dollar. At age four, once Kindergarten began, I was walking to/from school multiple blocks away by myself, or with my six year old neighbor/friend Justin every day. Again, navigating traffic. Another time when I was six (this was ~1980) I fully wandered off to a neighborhood of houses along Dartmouth Street, found another little girl playing outside in her yard, made friends instantly, since as a kid I’d talk to any little kid like we knew each other forever, and was invited inside for spaghetti lunch. Still totally remember her smiling mother and the watery spaghetti sauce that wasn’t good :D then went home later on, with my mom none the wiser. I’d been gone for hours, full on been inside some stranger’s house, eating, and she didn’t know, and was never concerned about my whereabouts for all that time.

There’s even more examples of navigating the world on my own at a very young age, which yeah, helped foster emotional and physical independence, as well as the ability to competently “take charge,” of both myself and anything else around me (to put it mildly…) but still, it just goes to show the crazy level of indifference as I was left to my own devises. (In 2010 or so I was showing some coworkers laughingly the busy streets I was navigating by myself in Westfield, including North Elm Street, heading north where it becomes Route 202, and one of the coworkers, a woman with a five year old son herself was truly speechless, looking back and forth between me and Street View as I laughed “….imagine seeing some little six year old girl walking along this roadway by herself, just…..walkin’ around….” As a mother of a kid that was pretty much the same age, um, no, she couldn’t imagine that, at all.) I look back on it all and truly believe by this point that on a deep down subconscious level my mom wanted me to get killed, or kidnapped/“disappeared.” And yet despite all that wandering around alone, navigating urban traffic at only four, and coming into contact with strange adults and being an easy grab in general due to being a tiny little female, never once did anything like what happened to Joe ever happen to me. And it doesn’t mean I don’t believe him, I absolutely do, but it just goes to prove a point that I’ll be returning to in a second. Then there’s also how a major accident happened to Joe when he was three where he should have died, but where intervention happened to undo the damage, of which I witnessed happening before my eyes in slo mo. O.o So in the end it was like it never happened at all, and life resumed as “normal.”

But all of 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 one who had several attempts at kidnapping, he was the one who’d been actively harassed on a nightly basis by paranormal stuff since he was a toddler, 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.

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) but it was also due to being only 5’6” (the aforementioned stunted growth thing….) and lacking 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 :D 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. The closest mashup rendition to Joe that I’ve ever seen in a movie would be Edward Furlong as Danny, in “American History X.” His personality/demeanor is so completely Joe at age 12, before moving back to Connecticut and before he changed, and his physical look, with the shaved head and his facial features, is so strikingly like Joe once I got him back to California at 19. It’s uncanny.

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 more 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, stolen satellite dishes (the kind people mount outside their homes or apartments) and converted word processors to “process” it all. 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. A few times I’d hang out relaxing in the rattan chair I gave him, just listening to the Russian jibber jabber, appreciating that I was listening to people up in space.

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.]

 

Joe was also now a perfect shot with a gun, as demonstrated to me with his pellet gun that was designed to be a replica of a Glock 9 millimeter, 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. O.o

I realize now that Joe had 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 clearly 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. While in Portland he was apparently given a doozy of an assignment, something so big that had he been able to complete it would have made national headlines, especially considering this was fresh after 9/11. Within a year of that, after parting ways in life with Joe and moving on to Florida, I was reading a conspiracy book by author Kathleen Keating that was touching on the whole MK Ultra and programmed agent provocateurs/sleeper agents subject. In that book she mentioned that one of the “assignments” that these black ops projects will often give to their mind controlled pawns was the exact hyper-specific thing Joe was told to go do. And he was already a third of the way to the goal. The hardest part involved procuring a very specific set of blueprints of the target, which necessitated a corporate break in and bypassing electronic security. I saw the blueprints myself, so, I know he wasn’t just bullshitting. Parts two and three would have been easy peasy as far as somebody like him goes. After that…dunzo. National headlines, here we come.

As Joe had stood there telling me about the Thems and the this insane, hyper-specific, Big Leagues level assignment and having to “prove himself to move to the next level” 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. I was fucking PISSED listening to what was coming out of his mouth and did everything in my power to talk him down from things. To the point where in retrospect I believe I exerted actual telepathic control over him, subduing him. Because after that he just……dropped it. Bit of a tug of war going on in that situation. In 2013 Tom and I were meeting up in person with a longtime reader of both of our sites and I rehashed this story to the both of them, experiencing body shivers/chills and teeth chattering while doing so. Just a really intense full body emotional reaction after not really thinking about it for all those years, and realizing just how close he had come. Just the story of how Joe procured the blueprints via the corporate break in alone is freaky, due to its total impossibility, as well as a secondary layer to it all that I can’t even get into. But then there’s the outcome that was averted. Just seeing Kathleen talking about that very weirdly specific thing in her book though…..realizing that what he was going to do really is an actual thing…..proving definitively to me once and for all that all this abductions/missing time, disassociated alternate personas, tapped phones/being monitored and tailed, “Thems” and their “assignments” that he was always going on about was really real, that he wasn’t imagining it or delusional, and he wasn’t making it up………………wow. yeah. So that’s the piece of the puzzle that for me proved what was going on with him was genuine.

Joe emanated both power, and quiet/intense “loose cannon crazy.” And part of me admittedly kind of dug it for a period of time, before things went completely off the rails. 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, as I’ve termed it, 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 25+ years now; as of 2020, when updating this document, she’s now dead) “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…” So, no surprise I guess. :/ You know, this kid who somehow belonged to me, and was my deal, not hers, and not connected to her in any way. Your brother. Yours. Which I realize in retrospect was very telling. Joe was always my deal apparently. From the moment he came home from the hospital, when I was six, and over the next few years where I was constantly admonished to back off from always standing over her when she did anything with him, and trying to jump in and full on take over, because “….you’re not his mother!” as I was always told. The reason for my constant hovering and trying to jump in was twofold – one, I was just super excited to have a baby brother and always wanted to be helping out and involved, and two, on some level I didn’t trust her, or feel like she could do the job herself.

The latter was most likely due to Joe’s first head injury accident, which was 100% her fault and completely avoidable. Being the total incompetent dum dum that our “mother” was who never should have been allowed to have babies, she was changing his diaper one time when he was about six months old on the actual kitchen counter instead of on a safe surface. As she full on stepped away from the counter to get a diaper that was on the kitchen table, leaving a vulnerable baby lying there unattended………he quickly rolled over to his left, right off the counter, smacking the hard floor. At that moment I was in the doorway of the living room and kitchen, watching this horror show from afar, with nothing I could do to stop it. So that’s most likely what helped fuel my “hovering protectiveness.” And as Joe even told me when he was ten years old “….I consider you to be my mom, instead of Mom.”

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.”

*****

When it comes to my “family,” the theme of this entire timeline is me – futily – trying to step in and help/save/protect/rescue Joe, since the day he came home from the hospital to the last time I ever saw him in 2002, to no avail. Having to witness his lifetime of neglect and various forms of abuse (haven’t even gotten into how our “dad” treated him…..it was abysmal, making it so Joe basically didn’t receive any genuine love, concern or affection from either parent), and being powerless to stop/reverse/undo any of it, to the point where it haunted my dreams for years. I did what I could, but it wasn’t enough, because I was just a kid myself.

It’s why, despite anything he’s ever done I have never and could never feel a single bitter, negative thought for him. I parted ways with him because I had to, to preserve my own life, quite literally. But there’s no anger or bitterness. He’s stolen from me, dragged me repeatedly into his messes with cops by leading them straight to me whenever he was in trouble, leaving me either to have to run from them, hide (literally…scooting around this way and that on the floor of our apartment, behind this wall, then over into the doorway, arms tight to my sides, then back into the hall again, trying to dodge the cops’ flashlights shining into our windows because I didn’t have enough time to get into the bathroom to hide before they suddenly showed up looking for Joe, beating on the front door with their batons but getting no response….) or face them head on for questioning, where I had to learn real quick the art of the blasé “Straight Faced Lie”; used, lied and manipulated, almost got me arrested to where I was cuffed for an hour and a half, almost got me killed three separate times, the worst with cops’ 9 millimeters pointed at my head, said terrible things to me, just worse than anything anybody else has ever done to me. And yet I just shrug. Zero negative anything. Nobody else could ever illicit such an indifferent reaction from me for such mega bad behavior. But it’s because I was there since his literal first week. It means I know. Therefore I can never hold a single thing against him. Total understanding. (This is the way in which I imagine higher positive stuff, who are known to be able to love unconditionally, can be that way despite whatever heinous attrocities a person may have committed while alive. They have to have some “all knowing” factor that enables them to see every last little detail about a person’s entire incarnational history, to give them the entire full picture of what that soul was dealing with and what they were up against, including possession.)

And he in turn saw everything I was subjected to, and our “mother’s” laser beam of hate and rampaging abuse obsessively directed at me for years, while he stood on the sidelines as a child, powerless to stop it. I’ve tried to explain to others here and there what my “parents” were like, what their behavior was like, the various things that happened to me, to Joe, to our pets. But even if I were to talk for hours and hours it still only scrapes the surface, and will never fully allow for the other person to truly know. But with him…..no explanations necessary. I didn’t have to imitate them to him to try to illustrate something. He could imitate them to me. We were both there, created by the same two “people” and living it together, 365 days a year for years on end, while simultaneously being cut off/isolated from 99% of the rest of our extended families on both sides, making it so that each of us is the only other person on the planet who fully knows. Add in having to step in and take over as his surrogate mother, and all of it created an intense bond, which I think a lot of other victims of abuse and neglect can probably relate to with their own siblings.

*****

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 and have never seen before with anybody else in a photo. 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 actually part of a series of three pics, also taken in Portland. I took the first shot of him from a distance, but 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, unconsciously reacting to this invisible prompting, 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 Joe’s 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 researchers 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 extremely pale white, there’s dark shadows under his eyes, his face is frozen in a strange blank/empty look, and he looks like a zombie corpse. Photoshop’s “red eye” remover doesn’t remove the red either, which Tom later tried for fun, just to see. I showed this photo to my dad when trying to explain to him what Joe 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. 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. (He wasn’t amused however. The look he gave me was nasty.) 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 in any kind of normal way. 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, seems to be symbolic of something going on with him on a soul level.

On a side note, there was another bizarro phenomenon with Joe during the same time period in Portland when I took those zombie corpse looking red eye photos. We were hanging out in the apartment and Joe suddenly wanted to show me (with what I now realize is the telltale “glinty eyes” and “predatorial smirk” of “something else” speaking through a person) the “smoke blowing phenomenon” he could do.

He wasn’t smoking a cigarette at the time he did this demonstration, just to note. And turning his head sideways he slowly exhaled outwards…….and a full cloud of white “smoke” looking stuff emerged. Then he turned back to me with a smirky smile and glint.

I just stared at him like, wtf?? “Do it again…” I demanded.

He did. Again, and again, and again. Able to generate bottomless lung fulls of this strange white “smoke” stuff at will, for no apparent reason. Several more times while living in Portland I’d ask him to demonstrate it randomly, and he always could. It was just always there, and again, had nothing to do with him smoking in the moment. To say Joe had become downright “creepy” by the end of our time together is an understatement. At least when he first came back to SoCal there seemed to still be something “human” about him….even if only intermittently. By the end there was almost none of that left in him. This new “smoke” thing was one more clue that showed that. By the end his energy was very much “demon.” Those glinty eyes and predatorial smirks while saying or revealing something very “telling” and “pointed” is the giveaway of that. I’ve encountered it in several other “people” over the years.

Joe had zero interest in reading, researching or pursuing anything relating to witchcraft, Satanism, demonology or the paranormal/supernatural….because he didn’t have to. He was the walking supernatural, without even trying. Meanwhile other people are desperate for that and spend their lives chasing it around, wearing their goofy goth clothing and makeup, and jewelry adornments, trying to do all these rituals to summon things, killing animals on their little alters with pentagrams. But that’s how you know the difference between poseurs, and the real deal. The real deal just is. No costumes. No alters. No symbolisms carved everywhere. No rituals. No pomp. It doesn’t need that. It walks right past you on the street wearing normal clothing, and you’ll have no idea what it really is.

My psychically inclined internet acquaintance Leslie relayed 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’d already been waiting in the wings, and 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. Whatever he was though by the end it wasn’t the real Joe. It was definitely not my brother. Just some sort of reanimated biological vessel, containing relevant memories and newfound hobbies and interests and likes/affiliations that exactly matched me, things he was never previously interested in or liked before, but which now conveniently linked us together for manipulation purposes, being used by “stuff” for multiple agendas, including to get at me/derail my life. Joe and I were always two very different people, with completely different energies, personalities, astrologies, temperments and physical looks, and which also means totally unrelated interests and talents, but when he returned he was now superficially the “male version of me” in several key areas. I don’t get into the newfound affiliations/hobbies aspect of his return back into my life here in this piece, but that was definitely another component of the endless strangeness I experienced when he returned back into my life, and which I did notice and wondered about at the time…….but didn’t understand. Yet.

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.” It’s also the reason I said earlier that by the end there was “almost” none of the real human side left in him anymore, versus just straight up “none,” and that’s due to animals still being able to get through to him.)

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 frontal lobe injuries (that again, were played down/ignored by my parents) and the traits listed in the article matched Joe 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.” Joe IMO was one of the most dangerous kinds of sociopaths – extremely charismatic without even trying, can reel anybody in after only ten seconds as mentioned, and can steal anything, anytime, anywhere, and right out from under you before you even know what’s happened. And all the while feeling zero guilt, shame or remorse for any of it. And while he would never physically hurt a female, kids or animals (he’s the guy who’d kick somebody’s ass for doing that, if he either directly saw it or even just heard about it), if you’re a fellow adult male? And you’re in his way in life? Providing some sort of competitive threat? Or make the mistake of directly threatening him in some way? It’s game on, as far as he’s concerned.

Also worth noting is that several years after experiencing the supernatural events I’m about to get into, 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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