Friday, December 11, 2009

It's a rainy day, which always makes me nostalgic, remembering the way things used to be…

posted by Bill Arnett @ 1:40 PM Permalink

…and causing me to marvel at how things turned out, how I turned out, and just when I became paranormally and preternaturally prescient, and learned to not only live with it, but to love it until it began to scare me unto the point of death.

My fellow comrades, the Vidiot and Sailor, have for some time now urged me to write a book, something I hesitate to do as it would more likely wind up in a 50¢ Fiction Clearance Section of a bookstore, if it was possible to find a publisher willing to take a chance on a totally unknown and clearly half psychotic writer. Oh, alright, a totally psychotic writer.

As I have mentioned to Sailor and the Vidiot, my life was greatly affected by music and, considering the era in which I grew up, the seminal music of a bunch of ragtag, mop-headed kids tearing up Hamburg, Germany, then their home country of England, and then crashing into America like a bull in a china shop and taking every country to which they traveled by storm.

The Beatles, of course and quite obviously one of, if not THE greatest bands that ever graced a stage is the group to which I refer. They had a way of uniting people, embracing them, and caressing their minds with the words of John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

So, in light of my previous writings here of those days when I grew almost too open minded, obtaining skills I would not have believed possible and using those skills to remove from society all the wretched criminals I could off the streets of Sacramento particularly and the country in general using talents difficult or impossible to describe.

Have you ever picked up a ringing phone and just said, "Hi, john, what's up?" Leaving John to sputter in amazement at how you could possibly know who was calling (this was 15-20 years before the invention of caller I.D.). The best explanation for this phenomenon I've heard is that the mind, signals moving almost as fast as light, would go down the list of possible callers, work and recreation times of those persons, probabilities of a reason for a person to call, and would virtually instantaneously derive the name of the caller, enabling the, "Hi, John, what's up?" Prescience beyond the normal and accomplished without conscious thought. It was just there, and happened to me more times than any statistical analysis (I believe, although I'm no statistician) would or could consider possible without the subjects and methodology to study this strange inner talent. The mind taking or making quantum leaps of logic without wasting time consulting the conscious mind.

And how, you might ask (or not), do I relate these latent abilities to the music of the Beatles? Consider these words of John Lennon and Paul McCartney from the Sgt. Pepper album:
I’m fixing a hole where the rain get in
And stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go

I’m filling the cracks that ran through the door
And kept my mind from wandering
Where it will go

And it really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong
I’m right
Where I belong I’m right
Where I belong

See the people standing there who disagree and never win
And wonder why they don’t get in my door

I’m painting my room in a colorful way
And when my mind is wandering
There I will go

And it really doesn’t matter if I’m wrong
I’m right
Where I belong I’m right
Where I belong

Silly people run around, they worry me
And never ask me why they don’t get past my door

I’m taking the time for a number of things
That weren’t important yesterday
And I still go

Fixing a hole where the rain gets in
Stops my mind from wandering
Where it will go
I somehow fixed the hole in my head and, without outside distractions, my mind wandered within itself until I became able to look at a bail application and within seconds tell you either where the skip was, or through whom I would locate him with amazing success.

When these abilities advanced to the point where, as I used to jokingly say, "I'm so scary good at locating people I scare myself," until that day I spoke of before that I woke up and realized it was true.

I would work tirelessly M-F, but weekends were for my wife and son, sacrosanct and inviolable. After the Agent Orange cancers practically destroyed me and left me in constant neurological pain with no hope of respite, and despite the two mountain-sized handfuls of medications I need to help lessen the pain just enough to forestall complete, utter destruction of both my mind and body (true chronic pain is a bitch), to turn my thoughts from fixating on self-destruction I listen to these inspiring words, again by John Lennon and Paul McCartney:
It’s getting better all the time

I used to get mad in my school (No, I can’t complain)
The teachers that taught me weren’t cool (No, I can’t complain)
Holding me down, turning me round,
Filling me up with your rules

I’ve got to admit it’s getting better,
A little better all the time (can’t get no worse)
To admit it’s getting better,
It’s getting better since you’ve been mine.

Me used to angry young man
Me hiding me head in the sand
You gave me the word I finally hear
I’m doing the best that I can.
For me the line, "It’s getting better since you’ve been mine." is a direct reference to my Warrior Woman; she keeps me centered, even back in our skip hunting days when I knew I could find anybody, anywhere, at any time I wished and simultaneously becoming terrified with the skill with which I could assume any persona I wanted.

I mentioned, I believe, that I located 98% of my skips from my office (if you were running around from address to address, good luck because luck would be the only thing enabling you to catch a skip), and because of that I could be anyone I or my skip could imagine. In fact I had roughly six or eight distinct identities for which I had constructed entire backgrounds: Ron Callister, Philip and/or Raoul Anderson, Don Caruthers, John Sebastion and many, many more, all personas I could slip into and out of like a pair of gloves. I knew each and all of these characters so well that nothing could shake me out of one of them unwillingly. Is there such a thing as willing schizophrenia? Complete assumption of a fictitious identity at will?

Well, I promised I would write more of my old experiences. Over the course of my next few posts I will reveal how I could get the long distance detail on any home number; the way to obtain the address of unlisted numbers, even if you have no idea of the name attached to the number; how I was able to get information from any welfare department in the nation ( a guy may be hiding well, but his girlfriend had to obtain money and talk to mommy); and I'll detail scams and ploys that I have tried to teach others without success (maybe one of 500 would grasp what I was doing, but still never master the skill); and actual scams I have used to capture skips that will leave you shaking your head in disbelief at the simplicity. Scams so easy that a possible trainee would say, "OH, that can't work!" which meant that it was true, it was never going to work for someone who didn't believe in it and run these scams with absolute confidence. Another prospect shown the door.

All accomplished with scams I helped develop and perfect. No inside contacts anywhere, they get mad, fired, quit, go on vacation, or worst yet, want money. I do not, or did not EVER pay anyone for information. I got all the above information above and much more all by myself. The only agencies I never cracked open like an egg were IRS and Social Security, not because I couldn't, I just never had the need to do so.

So stay tuned, it's gonna get interesting. But that's just my opinion, you are free to form your own.

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