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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book

Dianetics Video

One of the major breakthroughs for my ability to handle the games that were being played on me came from a video tape I found at the local library in Parkland. The video was a short 30 minute introductory tape for the book written by Ron Hubburd called Dianetics.
       The basic knowledge I got from it was how we remember things and how we store them in our minds. If we experience pain, conflict or some kind of trauma, we store those experiences or feeling quit differently.
       Like a computer we file things under pleasure or pain. Then when something triggers that memory, well can experience the incident or feeling all over again.

It got me thinking about what I'd experienced around that period of time. I was learning a song by Third Eye Blind, (The song that plays at the end of the movie Cruel Intentions while Sarah Michelle Gellar is crying). During the time I'm grooving away at the four cord song, the neighbor lady pounds away at the door. She complained that she could hear me playing while she was in her house. It was a nasty experience of which you could call "conflict." Although I would have to listen to her daughters play their piano at times, they couldn't tolerate me playing my bass during the day or at any time for that matter.
       A week or two later I was at a jam session and the house band had the same song on their song list; so of course I requested to play the song with them. It turned out to be very difficult to cop the right groove. When I finally did get the groove, it seemed different from the song played on the radio by the original artist. The next thing I knew; was that I was standing on the stage and my mind wasn’t on what I was doing or where I was at. My mind was back at home in my cage and the "conflict" that arrived pounding on the door. The neighbor lady was harassing me. The same feeling of a turned stomach and I couldn't play the simple chord progression consistent at all.

The next day, I plopped in the tape of the same song I had recorded off the radio and "bam," no problem. I had the groove instantly. I had to wonder if the band was paid to play it with a different rhythm to throw me off at the jam session. I'd know some of the bands to dog me, but the Dienetics video tape explained to me just what kind of things were going on, and why.
       I realized just how they must have planned to get to me mentally and I wasn't going to fall for it anymore. And as you might imagine, I wanted to find out a little more about who was involved just to back my suspicion. My goal was to learn how to see it coming. As in Stupid Rule Number 88;, the rule inspired by Axel Folly, the character Eddie Murphy he plays in the movie Beverly Hills Cop. The deal is -- Axle’s experiences are planed out, he controls his environment -- so he's like a cat who can smell the shit coming.

I decided to play a game. To create my own environment by the way of stimulating it to see if something will appear before me. That is; I wondered if I could get the bitch next door to call the police and whether a bad cop involved with the city's conspiracy would show up. I wondered if they’d send out one or two cops and whether they would show up at the same time. If one cop showed up it would most likely be the one in the area closest to my place. I knew that a simple noise complaint would most likely only bring one in most cases but I wanted the bad cop. A bad cop would be aware of my address and he might hear it mentioned over the radio. Therefore, if there was more than five or ten minutes, before a backup arrived, chanced are he’s a bad cop. Chances are that he might even wear a phony badge. Then how would I get them to show up?
       My experiment was planned to happen the next time the bitch next door showed up pounding on my door to ruin another song. Though I'd usually wait to until she was gone before having a serious practice, I had an experiment to do. As I was enjoying myself -- playing my bass one day -- bang, bang, bang. You know who it was. The problem was I was too confident and she backed down on her bitching. She said, “I’ll just call the cops then.”
       “Go ahead.”
       She turned to walk back out to the end of my drive way, so I had to act fast. See, I'd saved some eggs for a long time for the special moment. I was hoping they were good and rotten by then and I couldn’t resist. I reached for a couple eggs and stepped out of my door and said, "Hay, I've been wanting to this for some time.” When she was about ten yards away from my door, she turned around to look at me and I lobbed one at her. I didn't even try to hit her because the object was just to freak her out.

You see, ever since I fell out of a tree when I was in seventh grade and broke the ball off my arm and dislocated it out of the socket in my shoulder. I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if I wanted too. The funny thing was is that she turned sideways to make it difficult for me to hit her, but I still hit the fat bitch in the hip.

Off she went to the phone to call the cops. I went out and picked up the pieces of shell from the driveway and got the garden hose out to wash away the egg yolk. Then I waited for the action.
       First up was the good cop of course. He really didn't like having to show up at my place. He could tell what I'd just done to destroy the evidence. I could tell didn't want anything to do with me or the bitch next door. I told him of the fire and game the city had been playing on me. Then lord and behold -- about ten minutes into my spiel -- a second cop showed up. He was a little short one too. All full of piss and vinegar. He was threatening me up and down. Telling me how not to mess with him. He more or less took over the whole situation and the guy that answered the call just stood back at a distance a watched.
       The only time I was a little bit scared was while the good cop walked over next door to talk to the bitch, the short runt (the bad cop), asked for my drivers’ license and I had to step into my trailer to get it from the counter next to my kitchen sink. The short runt entered my cage without asking for permission. He was just being nosey, but at the time he was so hostel I was afraid any possible plan to have him plant a gun and blow my shit away.
       I figured the neighbor across the street probably had a video camera aimed at my place the whole time so I got him back out-side of my trailer where I felt safer. After having him get into my face to tell me how tough of a guy he was he walked over to the bitch’s house again. And that's when he must have talked the bitch into taking out a restraining order against me. The deal was that he wanted her to have the power to just call the cops up and have me hailed off to jail whenever she wanted to.
       The runt came back over to give me his last effort to convince me of how tuff he was and not to be messing with him. Before the two cops departed, I tried to push a copy of my book off on them, but they refused to take it.

A few days later I received a visit from the two younger girls from the crisis clinic. They wanted to see how I was doing and I assured them I was alright. I was doing alright considering that I’d just smoked a bowl and I was more upbeat without cops hanging around. I’m sure they realized the tantrum I threw during their visit earlier was an act because of the cops being there. They too seemed different and I guess it had something to do with the fact that they had read my book. I assume they understood the things I was going through much better than any knowledge they would have gotten by asking the conventional sicky-people questions. I informed them that they had been used by the crooks they worked for.
       I said, "Those cops brought you girls around for the sole purpose of trying to get me to say that I'd thought about committing suicide. If I would have said anything of that sort, they would have had me wrapped up in a strait jacket in a heart-beat and it's why there was a backup cop even though the one had been by earlier by himself. They would have used your testimony to throw me in the funny farm."
       They looked back at me with a creepy expression on their faces as if they realized I was probably right. No doubt, they were witnessing something going on that people don't experience every day, especially in their profession. They had got-ten sucked into a big conspiracy game and it was the real deal, not just a poor boy against a bad cop story and they realized that there was nothing they could do to help me.
       I asked what they thought of the book and they said, "Gee you've been through a lot, we feel sorry for you. Wish we could do something for you."

Something I didn't expect at that point in time was when one of the girls said, "You’re a good writer," and the other nodded in agreement.

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:


Dead Man


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