I’m attracting trouble again

jerk

This morning I was making my way to the station, when I think a guy threatened to punch me. It was very odd.

I was walking beside a main road, when I saw him coming towards me on my side of the pavement. He wasn’t big, but he was wiry, tense and with a look of utter rage and hatred, staring straight at me. At about fifteen feet away, he began punching at the air in front of him, all the while looking at me. I stepped to one side so that I wasn’t in his path, he stepped to the same side, still punching. I stopped, not sure what else to do. He kept coming, still punching, I didn’t move. Finally he stopped and stood in front of me, fists flailing in my direction, but not quite reaching. I stared at him trying to find an expression that didn’t look scared or aggressive, I probably just looked blank. Then with a jabbing finger he pointed to one side, presumably to suggest I walk around him. I did, waiting for him to thump me as I walked past, he didn’t and I caught the train. Too strange to deal with at seven in the morning.

At work we got guilted into using the new mess room.

‘We redecorated this for you all! Why aren’t you in it? Don’t you like it?’

So the smokers sat outside the new room on rocks (no benches here) and the rest of us sat inside on the most uncomfortable chairs in the world. They have some fancy new ergonomic design (remember they were acquired from another business that was throwing them out) and they slope downwards. So when you sit on one, you slowly slide off. The only way to stay on the chair is to constantly press your feet against the floor. This is fucking up my back. I’m going to pinch an old, battered wooden chair from one of the gardens and put that inside.

Word of the day: orey-eyed – expressing anger through the eyes

Life goes on…

‘You don’t understand!  I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I could’ve been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.’
– On The Waterfront

wall

Last night I dreamt that a man was staring in my window, he had huge eyes and quizzical look on his face. It’s the same as how people look at me in the street, an I’m sorry, but what are you? expression. I woke up feeling creeped out and couldn’t go back to bed until I’d had some crisps.

I’ve mentioned that management have promised us a new mess room at work. And today we finally moved away from our rat-infested grubby hole to the beautifully clean, sparkly white room. It’s filled with furniture that was discarded from local businesses, plus some fancy white cups and saucers that we aren’t allowed to use because they’re for guests.

There’s also a clock that connects to a satellite (apparently) and a hi-tech fridge that has an LCD display telling you the temperature. The chairs are clean, the floors are shiny, the walls are white.

The managers were everywhere asking us how much we liked our new space. We ran away and had break by the old rat-infested grubby hole. Clean and shiny is weird.

Word of the day: Aischrolatry – worship of filth, dirt, or smut

Don’t know Jack

fish

letter section - Copy

Continuing the investigation into Jack, who left a letter in one of the gardens I work in asking for help because a rebel offshoot of the Illuminati are torturing him. My original interpretation was this might be an art project or a joke. I’m always curious to investigate anything about the Illuminati though. Having found Jack’s Facebook, I spent the last blog looking at his Friends’ list (since there wasn’t much else on there) and these were the things I noticed…

The two people described in the letter as Jack’s father and his brother aren’t on his Friend’s list, although two other with his surname are. So he is in contact with his family, but perhaps estranged from his father and brother – his father is described as a victim of the abuse (although I found the Facebook page of the ‘main abuser’ of the dad and he is a young guy, in his thirties maybe, which is an odd dynamic). His brother is described as a member of the ‘growing abuse network’.

Nobody on his Friends’ list looks odd or even artistic (us arty types, you can spot at a glance) and Jack’s page shows no sign of creativity, which makes me think this is not an art project. And nobody looks rich or important, like the kind of person I imagine who would be in the Illuminati or Freemasons. These are just normal people going on holiday, meeting with friends and having kids. And there is too much tragic detail and effort to create convincing normality for this to be a joke.

I’m thinking this isn’t an interesting mystery at all, more a sad story of mental illness.

letter section

I have one more lead to follow, hopefully that will conclusively answer the question: what’s really happening to Jack?

 

Jack’s Facebook page

k.jpg

To recap: A colleague found a strange letter from Jack who claimed he was being tortured by the Illuminati and was trying to find someone who could help him before his mind was destroyed. I don’t know yet if this is a joke, an art project, mental illness or the genuine description of the twisted shenanigans of a powerful elite. Previous post here

Yesterday I found Jack’s Facebook page and have been trawling through trying to find  clues. There is frustratingly little to work with. No photos or anything on his timeline. No profile photo. Although Jack’s likes include a survival school, the SAS Survival Guide, A Rosicrucian Order and a Facebook page about napping.

And he has Friends listed. On that list, I’ve found three members of the ‘growing abuse network’ including one (DW) who Jack calls the ‘main abuser … of Jack’s father.’

There is nothing remarkable on this terrible abuser’s page. DW is in his thirties, I’d guess, unremarkable. Photos of him hanging with the lads, with his mum, in Waterloo station, supporting Pride. There’s a photo of him with a wolf’s head, is that sinister? Him at a casino. He doesn’t look like a member of the Illuminati to me, the only time he looks posh enough is at a wedding.

However, he has no friends to show, which is odd isn’t it? He has a timeline that goes back to 2012 and I know he has Friends because Jack is one (which is odd in itself, why would Jack want an abuser as a Friend?)

JH, the second member of the ‘growing abuse network’ on Jack’s Friends list has a similarly innocuous page. Only personal posts are when he got married, and a cake (and unspectacular cake, not the kind the Illuminati would have). He likes the New Scientist and a band called Death and the Penguin. He’s an ordinary guy, again in 30s ish (I’m terrible at working out ages from a photo) no Friends to show, no sign of wealth, power or evil.

And finally on this list, FM. He has one photo on his timeline, of a street side cigarette stall (don’t know where) that has the same name as him. He has no Friends, no photos except for his profile photo which show him as a normal looking guy, maybe thirties, drinking from a mug.

THESE PEOPLE ARE ALL NORMAL. The only weirdness is their lack of listed Friends. Is that because of Jack? Did the letters cause them trouble? Or is this their ability to ‘hide’ that Jack talks about?

I need to cogitate, I think I have a theory forming, but I need a night to let it percolate. And if you have any theories, please share…

 

 

The Illuminati are torturing Jack!

Illuminati.jpg

So after a night of no sleep, I collapsed in bed about 8.30pm. Slept fabulous and woke up feeling zingy and refreshed, thinking What a fantastic long sleep, now I’m ready for a new day, insomnia’s fixed! Then I looked at my phone and it was 9.30pm. Bugger.

Did the same thing at 10pm, and midnight. And which point I felt so zingy I couldn’t even try to sleep, so I got up and played Patience.  Finally slept until 5.30am and woke up feeling like I’d been crushed under a boulder.

Anyway, all this is irrelevant, you want to know about the letter..

Blanked letter top
Part 1
2nd blanked
Part 2

 

Blanked letter person
Part 3
Blanked final
Part 4

There is one other record (I could find) of someone getting this letter in London, this year, which is pushing me towards the idea that this is an art project or game.

Above Top Secret

Tomorrow I will start investigating the different names (will they be untraceable? Is that what he means by ‘their computers cannot be searched for’?) If I can’t get anywhere with that, I’ll contact the email address on there, there’s also a phone number, is it wise to call it?

Right now I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, so it will all have to wait. Does any of it look familiar? Any theories? (I love your theories…)

Note: If it’s difficult to read, I can scan it in tomorrow, the photos were taken on the grass in the wind, which isn’t ideal.

 

Bigger than you might think

 

IMG_20190205_154202

People are strange when you’re a stranger
Faces look ugly when you’re alone

People are Strange  – The Doors

Phrase of the day: el semaforo de medianoche (Venezuelan Spanish) a pushover, literally ‘a traffic light at midnight’

Today a set of traffic lights was found lying in the road on the estate at my work. Weirdly there was no obvious place in the street missing a traffic light and it didn’t look like sabotage. We tried to work out where it came from using the No right turn and Park closed features, but there were too many options and we’re too easily distracted. The current theory is that some workmen replaced this one with a new set, but then forgot to take this away. I was surprised at how huge it was.

On the train this morning, fabulous woman had dyed a streak in her hair orange and had rings shaped like claws. I think she’s turning into a tiger. I tried to catch her eye, see if I could start a conversation, but she was in the world of her phone screen and didn’t notice me.

Here’s another one of the traffic lights. My muddy foot bottom left for scale.

IMG_20190205_132014

Nature’s bubble wrap. And ants.

medinnalla 2

“Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise”

Word of the day: myrmecophilous – having a symbiotic relationship with ants

This morning my train got cancelled! Which means I ended up sitting in a carriage with all the wrong people, going from the wrong station. I’ll have to wait until Monday to see Angry Staring Man and the twins again.

Melianthus
Melianthus seed pods ready to be stamped on

 

However I did make two interesting discoveries today. One was that the seed head of Melianthus (pic above) makes a very satisfying popping sound when you squeeze it, far more delightful than bubble wrap. I showed some to Dan and his eyes grew wide as he began popping feverishly away, then I showed Jessica and she was soon jumping up and down on them. I reckon I could market them:

Melianthus bubblepop! The all natural way to relax.

Bubblepop, no plastic, no toxins, just soothing pops to ease your mood.

ants.jpg

 

The other discovery happened when I pulled back a dead leaf and discovered an ants’ nest underneath. They hadn’t even bothered burying their army in the ground. The swarms of flying and pedestrian ants quickly fled to hid under another leaf, but I got a  photo.

Oh AND the brilliant Calmgrove has been doubting the veracity of some of my words of the day and has challenged me to use them in a story. I’m not sure how that would prove anything, but I think it’s an excellent idea all the same. It won’t be easy, but I’ll see what I can do.

Ah look at all the lonely people tum te tum te tum te tum te tum te

IMG_20190330_102948

“I like to prowl ordinary places
and taste the people-
from a distance.”
― Charles Bukowski, Play the Piano Drunk Like a Percussion Instrument Until the Fingers Begin to Bleed a Bit

Word of the day: Farrago – a confused mass of objects or people, any disordered mixture

I’ve been spending the week paying attention to my fellow passengers on the morning train. I only see for them for a short time each day, when at my most befuddled and slow, and when everyone is sitting silently, also befuddled and slow. But over the months, I’ve noticed little dramas play out and the fascinating oddballs become apparent (this isn’t an insult by the way, I am definitely an oddball, oddballs are my people.)

For example, there are the twins, two young men who aren’t twins, but travel together with the same hairstyle and clothes and rucksack. When one gets a haircut, the other gets the same a few days later; when one starts wearing shorts the other does the next day. They get off at the same station and walk side by side, hands in pockets, the same loping walk. But they never speak to each other. They don’t sit together or acknowledge each other in any way. My conclusion is that either: they are psychic, although I’d assume they’d start wearing the shorts on the same day. OR: one is stalking, following and copying the other who doesn’t know how to get rid of him. One day I’m expecting a punch up.

Then there’s the large, middle-aged woman who wears biker boots with spikes on them, a pink streak in her hair and huge colourful jackets. I love her. She’s my hero.

Then, sometimes, there is the angry staring man.

Stones and aliens, some answers and speculations

IMG_20190615_091205

‘I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.’

Michelangelo

Word of the day: Dealate – insect divested of its wings

One mystery is solved! The encyclopedia of all important knowledge, Calmgrove, knew why buildings in the UK have so many stone babies and small children scattered around them. Here is his brilliant explanation.

‘Fat winged babies: these are called putti, Italian for ‘male children’. They were originally a pagan figure, a representation of Aphrodite’s child Eros, better known to us as Cupid, but substituted for cherubs in Christian iconography. Cherubs themselves derive from Hebrew cherubim, fearsome angelic beings but over time tamed down to podgy infants with ridiculously inadequate wings.
As to the St Paul’s putti, I suspect some of them are a reflection of London’s poor — the orphans, beggars, climbing boys, young pedlars — a reproach to passers-by and an encouragement to engage in some charitable work.’
I love the idea of pudgy infants with only vestigial wings so that they can no longer fly, dodo angels.
thing
The alien space tank on the roof of a building has not been so clearly explained. An air conditioning unit (thank you Boo) and overhead Gantry Crane (thank you Darnell) are two excellent suggestions. I’m not going to spin this into a drama, but all I’m saying is, keep an eye out for inexplicable alien space tanks appearing on top of buildings in your town.

London’s many stone babies

smaller

Somehow, Hamoudi has now got Jinjing into the drumming. This morning they were emptying out all the kitchen cupboards trying to find makeshift maracas (rice in tupperware) drums of different sounds (buckets, saucepans and the bin) and cymbals (they hadn’t figured this one out, but mugs, metal spoons and a frying pan hanging on the wall were all possible candidates.)

This led to Neville being annoyed and slamming doors, playing his music loudly (Miley Cyrus???) and singing.

So I ran off to central London.

Wasn’t sure where I was going, but ended up at Bank, first spotting this weird doodah on top of a building. Couldn’t get any closer to work out what it is. A machine anteater? A caterpillar tank? An alien invasion happening very slowly – like Tripods, but not tripod shaped? Any ideas?

IMG_20190615_090021thing

I know this doesn’t help much. But, what the fuck?

Anyway, then St Paul’s appeared.

IMG_20190615_090259

One thing I love about London is there is no uniformity to the buildings. Shiny new chrome can be next to a dome over 1,400 years old.

St Paul’s, like many English buildings, is filled with statues of toddlers and babies, which suddenly occurred to me is a bit weird.

IMG_20190615_091151

Especially when so many don’t look very happy.

IMG_20190615_091444

The carvings below were especially disturbing to me, since they seem to show two winged babies being whispered to by evil ghost babies.

IMG_20190615_090714

Look!

creepy

I know some of you (Calmgrove?) are knowledgeable about old buildings, so maybe someone can tell me a reason.

The din had calmed down by the time I got home. Hamoudi had a plan about going busking with their makeshift drum kit. I suggested they got Neville to sing with them and he was quite enthusiastic. Sorry London.