Planetarium Part 1
Everything I write from this point forward in this chapter is the absolute truth without any stealthy omissions or double entendres (though there’ll be plenty of those) to obscure the honest intent.
Every word quoted was really spoken.
Every description, every detail, every time I myself couldn’t believe it was happening, but sure as I’m alive today there must be a God, without any doubt, I will prove to you that God does exist.
And aside from that, even when I died those times, which was also proof when I came back, but the question you should be asking is how is he still alive?
And my answer is faith.
Now if you’ll kindly flip to the next page, which is the next chapter, we can begin our little adventure I like to call Goblin’s Cup. (Don't actually go anywhere)
I should warn you that you will be in for some disappointment ( for some, because I’m still alive), because I never even came close to retrieving the sought after challis a goblin, but I actually got so much further away than when I even started the contest, that God had to step in and prevent my enemies from imprisoning me with incredible acts of natural disasters.
On a side note, and before I forget, there’s a group of a few hundred or even a few thousand individuals in the town of Bayonne who have made a hunting sport out of stalking a human prey with the champion being declared by virtue of my death.
Collectively, they use cell phone blocking devices, cellular receivers that can intercept phone calls and reroute them before they reach their intended audience, emp disrupters, microphones and micro video cameras hidden throughout my property, GPS trackers, poisonous gases, chemical warfare, and the list goes on, all in the interest of trying to kill me without anybody but myself getting blamed.
The chemicals hanging in the garage were so strong that the fumes leaking out the garage door peeled the wood strips off where they were holding the front windows in place and turned them into crumbling twigs.
Those fumes were so potent in the house that even in the dead of winter when temperatures were so cold you could barely stay warm with the heat blasting (that, and they purposely prevented me from having heat) the nazi Hunter in the next room over still kept a fan blowing towards the open window in his room on a 24/7 basis.
See, part of the torture was convincing me I was in a normal living situation and not “the death box” created to turn successful businessmen into suicides in under a year.
When I moved in, I was making about $2,800 a week after taxes working as a consultant at Deloitte.
The plan was to move further away from the city because I work from home anyway, so why not save up and get myself a Ferrari?
Well, let me tell you why not!
About a week after I moved in and was using the household Wi-Fi, I started noticing emails disappearing off my account and the rate of incoming emails slowing down from one every minute or two to one every hour or more.
All of a sudden, my inbox went from 1,200 emails a day to 6 or 7 emails a day.
And the ones I received were nonsense from things I wasn’t even subscribed to.
I immediately realized I was in trouble, but I had no help.
No support structure.
No protection.
Just me and God.
But let me tell you, when God is on your side, you don’t need anything or anybody else.
Having God in your corner is like being inducted into the coolest fraternal order, getting invites to all the hottest, underground secret parties, never having to work, or eat, or even poop.
None of that.
It's all the human condition.
But with God, all that disappears.
Suddenly, even food is just a distraction from clarity of consciousness.
I have God on my side, and with that, I challenge the whole world, all 7 billion, to dare oppose me.
And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, with evil on all sides just waiting for the slightest slip to invite their assaults, I shall fear no evil.
For though art with me.
Back to the torture; so Hunter was a Nazi straight from the Midwest, recruited to be a soldier in the Bayonne Nazi militia they have growing over there with dreams of world domination and the technology to disrupt globally when the time comes.
I still to this day believe that all postal mail-initiated identity theft can be rooted back to a person living in Bayonne.
That’s how every citizen there makes a living.
My landlord Evan was receiving mail on behalf of every person who ever even stayed over more than two nights in a row.
When I went to throw away the stockpile of mail that collected, which was otherwise just old and useless, he stopped and said, “No, I need them.”
My jaw just drops open, and I stared him in the eyes.
The horror of renting from an identity thief just became a reality.
But who would believe me without any proof?
He lets out a mischievous grin decidedly a confession of sorts and then punches me in the chest in an effort to conquer the conversation with manipulative redirection tactics.
I brush off his hit as I would a girl giving me a love tap when I made her laugh.
Now let’s see if he’s really guilty.
I swing lightning quick, but without the intention of landing a blow against him.
He raises his arms in a defensive block, but not cute and innocent like a playful friend, but rather fast and protective like a criminal who just got found and still thinks he can escape capture.
I shake my head.
He plays psychological verbal warfare with me, and I am no match for his skilled craft of forcing my fight or flight reaction into overdrive with nonsensical statements.
Let me give you an example, which in turn is why you failed at floating under the river like my mom said you would.
Where’d you just go?
Oh, you’re back now?
Okay, well, the trick works a lot better when spoken to an unsuspecting victim.
My example is mere child’s play.
Amateur at best.
I have no interest in learning the craft of mental deception and psychopathic word play to torture my fellow countrymen.
I think people who do that to others are impotent cowards who don’t have the strength to stand alone on their own merits and feel fulfilled.
They lack self-love.
They lack inner light.
They lack heart.
But most of all, they lack personality.
That’s truly the worst.
When all you do is manipulate people to win conversations, sure okay I lost that round, but I didn’t enjoy talking to you and you have nothing of value to speak of besides how to manipulate, which you keep a secret, so again, nothing to add to the conversation.
It’s like putting an onion and 4 apples together in a basket and telling a child to pick one.
There are no mathematical odds of picking the onion.
No child would ever pick the onion.
Talking to a psychopathic manipulator is like picking the onion.
“Why didn’t I choose the sweet apple?!” I scream as I wake out of a nightmare and continue writing my tale of how God and the devil made a deal, and now they’re both after me.
We’ll get to that.
So, I’m paying Mr. Onion money to stay in his dilapidated house with no heat, poisoned water, redirected pipes in the basement that funnel water from the neighbor’s basement, gas fumes tearing at the lining of my lungs, and burning my eyes, cold air in the winter and hot poisons all year round, email and online presence completely compromised and no longer in my possession.
I still don’t have access to my original Gmail email address.
If anyone is communicating with or receiving communications from that email address (chennyd18@gmail.com), just know that you’re most likely an accessory to an identity theft crime by not reporting it.
Don’t worry, the police are neither for nor against God in general, so they have no interest in the paperwork for such a crime.
Speaking of which, I contacted every single law enforcement agency out there to try and file a report while my brain was all scattered from being manipulated that nobody was willing to give me even five minutes to sit down and let me explain how my life has been stolen from me.
So, back to the beginning.
When I moved to Bayonne, it was right after my boss told me she would be extending my contract an additional six months.
I did the math, and living in cheap, broke ass Bayonne would save me enough for a Ferrari.
So, I moved.
Two weeks later, my contract was ended without explanation, and I was given until the end of the week to finish my assignment.
I decided that was no coincidence.
I found evidence someone had been hacking my emails via my mobile phone, so I started taking screenshots of what I found and saving them to Google drive.
That's when my phone suddenly seized control of itself from me; went through each picture I that I had screenshotted, deleting each one.
Then, the phone factory reset itself, erasing all the photos and all my saved passwords and accounts to websites.
I lost access to all my Gmail accounts without any possible way to recover those screenshots.
I tried to salvage what I could, but since they stole the brand new Google Pixel from me right when it first came out a few days after I got it, and then repeated that same process again with the replacement that Google sent me, I was up shit's creek, and my paddle was also made out of shit, so in terms of evidence, I had none.
And buying a third brand new Pixel for the third week in a row was not in my budget or a realistic option in terms of surviving the attack by the unidentified cowards (at the time; now I know, but my forgiveness outweighs revenge.)
...to be continued...