Off the seat of a bicycle
Chapter 82 Scorn

Once the thing really got going, I had no options.

Everywhere I went they sent a person to stare at me, and then this person would note whoever I talked to. Afterwards they would approach anybody I spoke with and tell them the vile story.

Sometimes the people I talked to were very obvious in response, and would stand back and stare.

One day I ran into a friend at Wal-mart. She was a manager at McDonalds and I knew her for years. Everybody liked her and whenever we saw each other, we always spoke. So we spoke for about 5 minutes about government housing and her kids in school.

After we parted, I rejoined my friend Rick and we were standing in sporting goods when my lady friend reappeared and walked-by a few aisles away. I nodded my head but her response was a wide-eyed stare. I knew immediately they caught her right after we parted.

Later she confirmed that they said something, but I didn’t ask what it was because I had no defense against the social onslaught. I will tell you however, at that time I thought it was about bike riding, and had no idea they were giving people a sexual component to my story.

After a while I got the impression that my followers told everybody around me, so I didn’t know who was informed or not. It’s a police tactic that I hadn’t seen before. They cause the targeted person to assume everybody is watching and judging. They cause paranoia.

My response was immediate withdrawal from my usual places. I decided to talk to nobody and when business dried up, it became a simple matter of avoiding the specific people assigned to follow me around.

It was personally devastating to lose my business and customers and what few friends I had, but I took it. Bicycle riders know how to take it. People from abusive homes know how to take it. I didn’t like it, but I took it.

In reality however, they were trying to get me to throw into the judge and ask for relief. I figured out later, the judge would push me over to the prosecutor who would offer some down-played sex charge related to stalking. They would have me sign something and then they could throw the sex charge publicly, and doing that could force all manner of personal havoc with my wife’s job in the schools. Plus they could demand I move from my house.

This whole thing was about forcing me out of town.

Behind the scenes

This story is very complicated to tell because there were several facets to the public scorn.

At the same time they were following me around telling people the vile story, they were also interfering with my mail. They were tearing open every piece of financial mail that arrived in my name at the rural lockbox. They didn’t bother my wife’s mail.

The interruption in financial mail continued from that year, 2000, until 2005. In the later years, much of my financial mail simply stopped arriving. Bank statements, brokerage statements, credit card bills, the electric bill, checks from the brokerage house, checks and letters from the lawyer: everything was intermittent. I got about three-quarters of the mail that was due, but I never said a word.

I knew it was about dollar-hate. It was about drug pay-offs and black-feared people who want to control sex. It was about my anger.

My hand was eventually forced because some of the missing mail started showing up a year late. I talked to the local postmaster, but nothing was done. I called the 800 number, but they said the local postmaster handled everything. Finally I got a phone number and talked to some guy who solved the problem.

But there was more. My friend Chad.

Yes, I ran into another friend at Wal-mart during the scorn.

Sporting the cool-guy trailer-fashion haircut, Chad had an opinion about the Dixie Chicks for speaking out about our drunk-driving President, but was okay when another country star shot a tame bear in a pen and reported it as a genuine wildlife kill.

Chad was a drunk ... cause thems your country values folks ... drive until it hurts, and if it hurts somebody else, then that’s just part of the great statistic.

This guy had been lording over my life for a number of years. He was the guy who knew everything about everybody, and knew the cool people and enjoyed throwing farks on everybody who thinks he’s their friend.

He was an assistant manager at the paint store for a number of years and I used to sit and talk to him about painting. I didn’t like talking about people, but that was his field of expertise.

They say there are three measures of intelligence. Highest are the people who talk about ideas, next are the people who talk about things, and lowest are people who talk about people.

But information about people is a currency that can be used to increase one’s stature in society. It’s used to establish who you know. It’s valuable for letting others know that you’re politically important, and whoever owns this information also controls the street.

True power however comes from the people who manage these street gossipers.
I saw George Bush Senior at the theater one night. I caught his eye and challenged him ... you're not so tough, who are you ... and his ceyes shot back, I have people do that for me.
Rather amazing. He told me the root of his power was of course people ... the people he knew ... the ones he impressed ... the one who dedicated loyalty to the man. He was ledgendary.

Control of society is about winning favor over street gossip. A man can be a total sociopath and corrupt to bone, yet if he charms the street gossip, then he will control society. Bush was nothing like that.

I don’t have any street gossip to sell. Therefore I have no political currency. My work on a bicycle was purely about constitutional law. I was demanding equal protection under the law under the most abstract of thinking.

The gossipers don’t know constitutional law. In fact the gossipers are about ending constitutional restraints on their lives because they don't understand it ... but who can argue that they should? This is the people among who I lived; the most conservative haters of liberal thought and constitutional jurisprudence. This is why my haters refused to make a charge in court. This is why my haters chose instead to make a mock of me to the street gossipers.

Chad was a street gossiper. He was also an admitted drunk driver, and bragged to me how he raced around in his dolled-up truck but couldn’t remember how he got home.

Chad was popular ... probably not really since he could shut his mouth about people.

He also complained in front of several people that I drove too slow on the highway. He said this despite the fact that I pulled a heavy work trailer and had been targeted at least once by the folks who cause wrecks with business vehicles so they can get a big injury pay-off. Yeah, Chad thinks it’s smart to race around in a big truck while he's drunk because he had no responsibility.

Then at the paint store, whenever somebody pulled up, Chad would have some negative thing to say about that person before they walked in. And then when that person entered the store, everybody was looking at them with disdain. So one day I walked in and everybody was looking at me the same way, and I knew Chad was bad-mouthing me in front of people.

I got no charm. I just wanted to get my paint and go. So I took that dam fool Chad to task with the manager who shut him up, at least by outward appearance. But you know people like him keep telling rotten things about people until the end of Earth because that’s their power. That’s their street currency.

Chad walked up to me in Wal-mart that day, but his wife walked the other way even though I had been to their house to give them an estimate. You see, I knew his wife, but this incident was about scorn and so she left it to the big man of the house. And big man Chad made a point of telling me he was going to come over to my house … but how many times had I invited him before? Three times I invited him, but he wouldn’t stoop that low.

He would never be caught dead going to the house of somebody like me who was reviled. But now that the chips were down on me, suddenly he wants to make an appearance? He wanted to gather some information to further throw shit on me to everybody he knew.

Suddenly I saw the guy standing in front of me. Oh I knew what he was long ago, but this was different. That was the day I saw Chad the drug dealer.

That’s exactly what I saw. Clear as day. The man sold drugs, but not a lot … and only to trusted friends … and then I saw more … he was there because he knew policemen … yes that was it … Chad sold drugs to his police friends.

What a fucking laugh. The police send in a drunk driver who sells them drugs.

And folks … that’s the real story in America. The drug dealers own the police and judges ... and don’t you think for a minute that’s not true. When somebody gets busted, it’s only because they stepped on the toes of somebody higher up. Exactly what happened to me.

I saw Chad that day but I didn’t say anything. Honestly, in another time or place I would’ve called him out and his eyes would’ve told me the whole story. He was a fool to stand that close and let me see him. But I was under tremendous pressure emotionally and thought my best course was to take whatever shit they threw at me. So I said nothing.

In response to his wanting to come to my house, I told him to call me three weeks beforehand so I could get the grass cut. I let him think he crapped on me again.

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