2018.12.01 16:17 campbellsouup Secret camera video
2020.10.24 04:30 oomie_zoomie Some absolutely weird shit has been happening
Couple of buddies and I had an experience where the ghost launched our cameras off of the balcony at us...our video cameras were on tripods...and the cameras landed outside of the front door (we stayed at the front door for a long time). After one of us got murked on the stairs, the ghost threw a flashlight, a soda can, and a photo camera out of the front door as well. I have never seen a ghost throw things this hard and I especially have never seen or experienced another ghost launch our video cameras which were on mind you.
Just played a game today on amateur with my little brother (his first ever game) and this ghost started “hunting” us on minute 3. Our lights didn’t flicker but he was definitely chasing us and somehow he breathed in both of our ears at once while on opposite sides of the house. We had freezing temperatures at opposite sides of the house. We heard doors opening and closing at the same time...all throughout the house. We physically saw the basement door and the garage door open at the same time and heard an additional door which turned out to be the child’s bedroom door.
Then after the “hunting” “began” we hid in the lockers in the garage where the ghost continued to walk around us and “hunt” for probably a solid 2-3 minutes even though our lights weren’t flickering. Then he’s leave and instantly come back. Long story short, we both just left the game.
I talked to some of my buddies about what we experienced and nobody seems to know what exactly it could’ve been. I’m just hoping that maybe there was a secret update to make the game extra spooky for Halloween or something, and if the intention was for chills, they’ve done well. I no longer want to play this on two player, 4 players is my minimum.
submitted by oomie_zoomie to PhasmophobiaGame [link] [comments]
2020.10.24 03:43 wdpk Secret camera video
“All truth passes through three phases. First it is ridiculed. Secondly, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.” - Arthur Schopenhauer
Note that this FAQ is a work-in-progress
What is gangstalking?
Also known as organized stalking (the preferred term), cause stalking, or a myriad of other terms, it is a phenomenon in which a targeted individual (or ‘TI’) is subjected to harassment by a group of perpetrators (often called ‘perps’). It is not, as the term ‘gangstalking’ implies, street gangs doing the stalking, but mostly stems from three-letter agencies/governments targeting people for a variety of reasons. It can take several forms.
For many, it involves more analog experiences, such as: - a feeling of being followed in public - odd occurrences in one’s daily life (personal belongings being rearranged in one’s house, for example, or threatening phone calls)
2020.10.24 02:25 gnjapp I never thought I would need to expose my self in such a personal and vulnerable way. It’s been about a year since I first realized I was a rape victim.
Year from hell
Let me start by saying I never thought I would need to expose my self in such a personal and vulnerable way. It’s been about a year since I first realized I was a rape victim. Just like many others, it was by someone I trusted so much. After speaking with so many people that have also been in similar circumstances and knowing not one that got justice I felt so lost. I truly felt that it would be an open and shut case once I decided to move forward with charges. When I came to reality that it’s not that simple I thought I could just let it go. Something inside me as the memories and pain that I have suppressed for so long and being certain that I wasn’t the first or only, I realized my internal dialog has forced me to tell my story. No one should ever feel so alone. Hopefully I can be a voice to at least one other. Even better maybe it will inspire others to tell their story also.
I moved to Toronto in 2016 and started working a male strip club. I met and befriend a man that was basically my type to a t. Dominant good looking arrogant and a military srgt We got along pretty good but also would butt heads often. I actually found him to be a bit of an asshole as did pretty much everyone we worked with, he had a way of making you see past it I guess.
A year later he ended up having a room available in his home. It was furnished in a nice neighborhood and the rent was great. Not to mention I found him very attractive so I thought why not.
I moved in and from the moment I arrived he was super welcoming. He made a smoothy and said I was welcome to anything in his home and was just all around nice. It was not at all what I expected being that he was not really that type at work and we flirted in an argumentative way often. I was so surprised by his behaviour that it was the first thing I raved about when mutual acquaintances would cautiously ask how living with him was.
The first day we hung out for a hour, he showed me around his place and I drank the smoothy and ate with him. I settled into my room which was on the first floor of his house. Maybe ten minutes later I crashed at the foot of my bed. Not at all uncommon for me though I thought as I’m known for passing out everywhere at anytime. I woke up suddenly about 1 ½ later after having really bad sleep paralysis like never before. Being someone who’s open to supernatural things I got sage and saged the place like crazy. He laughed at me after I told him. 🤦🏾♂
We got along great for the most part. Always flirting and “ joking” about having a three-way with another gay friend of ours. Never thinking that it would ever happen but still hopeful lol. Typical straight gay friend stuff for me. The part that always intrigued me is that he liked when I had dates over because according to him I would clean my room regularly lol. A few time he would knock on my door to see what I was up to and would peak over my shoulder to see what was “going on”. I would tease him and say I’ll leave the door open so he could watch next time. At some point during the time I lived with him I started sending him videos to which he never complained. I figured since he would come to my door when things were happening might as well give in to his curiosity. At the time I was ok with it.
On my birthday in 2018 I came home around 2ish after being out with friends. I told him earlier that I would be home early. Not that it should have really mattered in my eyes but I came home later. When I went up stairs to the kitchen he was sitting in the living room like a strict father. I was happy to see him at first because he was just in shorts and I secretly joked to my self, oh it’s my birthday and no one is home maybe this is the time. Instewd he asked what I did, and I said sorry I thought you would be sleeping. Then he said what did I tell you about leaving lights on. I was like” uh what??” in an angry tone he approached me and said “You left the bathroom light on in your room!” I was like “ok.. sorry”. I turned around irrated thinking to myself, why are you in my room to begin with. I walked to the patio, closed the door and sat down. As I was lighting my smoke he threw open the door and said. “I won't ask again.” Which I replied “Good.” He stepped out side and said. “Don’t you dare sass me.” I replied “ ok Dad.” With distain. Seemed like a lot of anger for a bathroom light but I didn’t read into it to much past him being his usual controlling self. I went to my room afterwards and text him to never speak to me like that ever again. He ran down from his room and demanded “meet me on the patio in 2 mins.” I replied “nope I’m good”. He demanded I do and I kept refusing to which he called me condescending names that someone who isn’t in control would. I went to bed and didn’t speak to him for a few days.. after this point I pretty much just kept to myself and stayed in my room. I shouldn’t have been surprised as he was always this kind of person when I previously worked with him but over all I still liked living there as long as I kept a distance.
After a few months I start feeling like something wasn’t right in the house. I would wake in the morning and feel like my room wasn’t the same or I remember thinking I had conversations with someone but couldn’t remember who or the details of what was said. On more than a few occasions I asked him if we chatted or if he had someone over the previous night. The answer would typically be that he had stayed at his parents or he was sleeping early the previously night, but generally that he wasn’t home. I just assumed that it was me being paranoid about being in the house alone. Most nights if he wasn’t home either his girl friend or the other roommate would be there if he wasn't so I just let it go. ( See text messages at the end)
One morning I woke up and I felt a bit groggy but nothing to out for the norm. I hadn’t gone out the night before but I had been working quite a bit on a cooking reality show during the week and an tv shopping gig on the weekends. So basically every day was 8 to 12 hours. This day I happened to have off so I attributed the extra sleep to catching up. The weird thing was, I was sleeping with my head at the foot of my bed. Even more strange there was “ body fluids” on the right side of my abdomen and rip cage. When I took my pants off to jump in the shower it was the same thing on my thigh… I thought to myself, 35 seems like an odd age for something like this to happen for the first time? The weirdest part is I felt like I was strangely clean externally in other areas, without going into details. That’s embarrassing enough to share but I don’t know how else to help paint a picture of my thought process.
Things got weirder after the first time I started feeling things were off. We had a door with a coded lock and an alarm code. I told him that I was worried someone was coming in. I asked if I could have the alarm code and if he would mind changing the door code. He kind of laughed it off as I guessed I didn’t ask with enough urgency. The feeling I couldn’t shake so I asked him multiple times the same thing. Each time more serious than the last. During this time I was convinced that someone was breaking in which I told him repeatedly. He gave the door code to friends and neighbours which being the only one two floors down from everyone else made me uncomfortable. Once I walked out of my room and the neighbour just walked in to the house after typing the code in. When I told him that made me uncomfortable he got agitated and said he trusted him. I told him I understood that but it wasn’t really my point. He just kept assuring me that no one was coming in but said he would change it. Never happened. Another thing that I always found very strange is that he would constantly accuse me of not locking the front door. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I lock the doors of even my friends condos when I enter. So much that people have complained to me about it.
Physical things got a bit worse in the weeks to come. Another morning I woke up for work. At this point I was still working about 5-7 days a week. I went to the washroom before getting ready for work. I had to go pretty badly. Not to be graphic but the only thing that came out was not what would expect and more than enough to be concerned. It freaked me out, but more than anything I was confused. Even worse I was notably swollen and torn. I started to lose it but didn’t have much time to process it as I had to be at work early and need to hurry and shower. I wish in had more time to process or realize the severity of what was quite possibly happening. I got to work and after finishing getting the contestants on the show I worked on ready, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I thought to my self, how could something so invasive happen to me without me waking up?? I'm a deep sleeper but within reason. I thought to myself, did someone drug me? I remember thinking I knew where to get at home drug test. That weekend I got it and hoped it would help me sort out what my mind couldn’t.
A week or so later I went to bed like any other night. At some point in the night woke up suddenly to a sharp pain in my ass. I was only awake for a brief moment but the pain was so severe that what ever happened to me previously was exacerbated so much that I was horribly torn. I remember being upright at the foot of my bed feeling a sharp pain. Looking back and seeing a white man standing behind me, I fell and hitting my bed and passing right back out. I woke up the next morning and I tried to pretend to my self that it wasn’t Alex, but I’ve always known it was. I didn’t put this in my journal for the longest time nor have I ever told anyone this quite frankly because I was ashamed that I never told anyone in the beginning. If I had only said this at the beginning would it have changed something? I really didn’t want to believe it was him for so long that I almost block it out. When ever this memory came up I would just supress it.
I secretly (since I didn’t want to lead on that I knew what was going on) started recording voice memos on my phone and IPad to try and sort out what was happening while I slept. I also had Alex to at the have the door sensor beep when the door opened. That was turned off after a few days..
On June 1st of 2019 I had a guy come over. While in my room after a few minutes, I heard my roommate come down the stairs and could hear him outside the door. A while later I walked the guy out locked the door and went to bed. At this point I wasn’t always recording myself sleep but something told me that this night I should. Sure enough something happened. You could hear someone coming down the stairs opening my bedroom door walking in over the plastic desk mat on the floor, opening some kind of bag. There was then a brief break followed by the sound of removing clothing and sexual things happen. I truly didn’t want to believe consciously that and I really didn’t want him to know that I was aware it was him. I knew that his gf was out of town for work and often if that was the case he would say that he would also leave. The next day I confirmed with him that he was home and when I asked if I woke him up he said “lol I wasn’t bothered”.
After reviewing the recording I in a round about way I asked him if he had tried waking me up. He said no? and that he would never just walk in my room while I was asleep. I laughed and reminded him that within the first few months of living there I had woken up to him on top of me to which I screamed and woke up. We attributed that to him thinking I had left and he was turning off my room heater. His girl friend and the other roommate later told me he was very embarrassed by that. So I brushed it off as nothing. Not to mention the whole issue with my bathroom light.
In the middle of June Alex and his Girl friend went to the Dominican for a vacation. Alex checked in and asked how things were going. I said I was good, and asked “how’s your trip.”He told something bad happened on the first day and that he would tell me when he returned. I asked if he was ok and he said he would explain later. That same night I did something specific that should be private. The next day he sent me a text in regards to the details of what I did. This kind of freaked me out and made me a bit paranoid. Keep in mind, I often shared with him the sexual things that I did, however this wasn’t typical for me nor did I even allude to this situation. Knowing what he did for work I thought, is he watching me? Does he have a camera at the door? He was pretty specific, is it in my room? His job out side of bartending we will get to later.
On Canada Day we hosted my two friends to watch the fire works. One happened to be a tenant at an apartment owned by Alex's girl friend. The three of us noticed that she was pretty quiet that night but the night was fun over all. A few days later Alex asked her to leave. Apparently what happened on their vacation a week prior was enough to break up. It was strange though, as they never fought when they got back and they would laugh and act as if nothing happened. I just assumed that whatever it was that happened specifically was no longer an issue. Wasn’t my business so I didn’t ask. Suddenly one day she was just gone.
The way he acted while she was gone was very strange. He would say overly affectionate things and was being way more attentive. We would often exchange massages and sometimes when he was sitting on the couch watching tv. I would lay in his arms and he would cuddle me. I just assumed he was sad since he was hurt by what had happened and maybe a bit more emotional than usual, which he never really showed otherwise. During this time he would always ask if my close gay friend would come by, pretty much every other day in fact. The same one that we already joked about having a three-way with. When he finally did come over we all just flirted as usual on the back patio off the kitchen. We talked about what we would do when the timing worked better. During that time we brought up a gay porn star, to which Alex knew exactly who he was by name and also mentioned a few gay porn sites that we were both very familiar with. We were a bit intrigued as too how he was so familiar. He responded by stating. I know a lot of things. The way he said it was kind of creepy but at this point knowing what he had done to me mixed with his new attention he gave had me like a pendulum. I went back and forth between wanting to catch him in the act of what he was doing to me to have him punished to wanting to know just for the fact of knowing and being curious about it. It wasn’t a long visit as Alex had to leave for work. We talked about meeting up again soon. At this point something made me feel like if we did something consensual together it would take away from the fact that he had already been doing whatever he wanted without my knowledge.
One day about a week after his gf had left, she returned with a friend I guess to pick things up. Alex had said if she ever comes back to tell him as she was banned from entering without him home. To be honest I thought that was ridiculous so I just didn’t acknowledge that she was there. The strange thing is a half hour later he asked if she stopped by. I said “yes I think she did. Did she call you.” He said no but she must have known his work schedule. I asked “ okay, but how did you know she was there?”He said “I just had a feeling she might need stuff.” I was a little tripped out as I already thought he might be monitoring the house in some way. It makes sense to think so given his job. At this point I just let it go as nothing.
During the time I had made plans to move to Spain. I was super excited as I had done everything in Toronto that I set out to do and the business I had my makeup studio in was being sold so I had to close. I also felt like I hadn’t been able to get any physical proof as to what had happened and to be quite honest, at this point I wouldn’t have been interested in pressing charges. When I told Alex my plans to move he seemed upset and told me he didn’t want me to leave. I said well if I ever come back I would see if he had space in his place again. Ever since going on a trip to Spain two years prior my heart was set. I had bought my ticket and set the wheels in motion to get my visa. I also told him im he should buy the salon my studio was in as an investment since the price was so cheap. He was interested and he asked to see it. After giving him a tour of it he told me that he didn’t really have time to own a me run this type of business but that if I didn’t leave he would buy it for me and that I could pay him back over time, but I had to stay. I told him that was very generous but my heart was set on moving to Spain. He said fine and that he was excited to have our other mutual friend move in anyway. I laughed and asked if he was trying to make me jealous based on how he phrased it. He just laughed and said he was joking. It kind of made me worried about my friend that was moving in, but based on how our friendship was building I must have rationalized his actions as my fault and as an isolated incident. He made me feel more and more as though we were good friends. Keep in mind this all progressed from the the moment I first asked him about waking me up the night that something happened in early june. Prior to that we talked and hung out far less. I realized later on, all this new found attention and show of friendship was just his was of trying to create a sense of loyalty to him. Very sociopathic, but hind site is 20/20.
Things while his gf was out of the house got stranger. I recorded my sleep nightly. I didn’t feel the need to review as much as I bought a camera and put it in my room in clear view. The first morning I had it there I caught him on camera coming in my room looking right into the camera and walking out. I’ll explain more about this later. Funny that he never came into my room…
One day we were on the back patio having a cigarette (this is typically where we hung out) he mentioned to me that a customer from Remintons’s would be coming over to have a drink and drop a gift they had bought for him. He asked me to stay in my room until he left, I started questioning more about him.
I asked him how he started his career working in the gay bars. He told me that after coming back from his time in the military deployed in Afghanistan that he wanted a way to make money and knew that it would be easy to get a bartending job in the gay world and make tips without much experience. Totally a fair statement and very true. He told me how the first place he worked was a gay monthy event that was kind of alternative and he made a ton of money working in his underwear. Turned out it was a gay sex party called Bober. From there he figured why not work at the strip club that we both bartended at together called Remington’s. He said he was banking so much money it was crazy. I’ve worked in gay clubs and also worked at Remington’s as a bartender. I didn’t understand how he felt like he made so much more money working at a strip club cuz I sure didn’t. I would say I would average 2-3 times more at a regular gay bar. I asked if that is why he was so persistent about getting a job at flash, a men’s private sex club that at the time he was working at. He said his gf suggested many times he come work at her bar but after ten years working with this crowd he knew how to make money in this environment. I said so you basically learned how to exploit gay people?” joking but more passive aggressively to be honest. He just said” I guess you could say that.” I went to my room and the man bearing gifts from Lululemon came over. He stayed for about an hour and then left. I was then free to leave my room.
By this time I was starting to realize the person I was beginning to trust even after what I knew he had done was hiding a lot. I had always known he loved attention be it male or female, old or young. That on its own means nothing really, but after all of this and him also having visitors over from the male sex club he worked at I had more questions.
I started worrying more about the fact that he was bringing people from that environment to the place we lived. Some of them he claimed to be quite close friends with. I was already worried about other people breaking into the house previously and knowing that he was close with patrons of the strip clubs didn’t make me feel any better. Especially since I knew he gave out the door code to his friends. I even started to think the worst types of things like was he possibly giving access to these people and knew that they were breaking into my room? Was he getting paid for this? I worked in that environment so I know how fringe some of these peoples interests could get. Now knowing that these people were bringing him gifts who knows what could translate too. Since I had no evidence to truly suggest that, I forced my self to stop thinking that extreme. Either way it would be him that’s responsible if that was the case.
One morning I ran into Alex in front of my room. He was cleaning the entry way rug and the front walk way. We had a casual conversation and at some point he popped into my room so I could show him the pull out couch I had rented from him had come apart at the base. I guess I must have mentioned it to him at some point as he brought it up, I actually don’t remember telling him as I was afraid to mention it, being that I was always worried about getting in trouble. When he walked in he made a very obvious point to mention the security camera which was at the end of bed and asked why I needed it. That bothered me for many reasons. 1 I know for a fact that he saw it in my room the day I set it up as I have him on camera looking right at it. 2 the fact that I had been complaining about my not feeling safe for so long and asking to change the door code, and three realizing that he had access to the camera footage at anytime if he wanted to. I mentioned all of these things to him. He swore he had never seen it and that he was never in my room. The weirdest part for me is that he mentioned that I hadn’t had anyone over for a long time. In my mind I was thinking we’ll that’s true. I haven’t more specifically because I hadn’t healed from the trauma my body had experienced. In fact it would be healing and then suddenly get worse over and over. It had been a couple months by this point. Looking back it should have been more of a strange comment to have him mention my sexual activity. As I said earlier though it wasn’t out of the norm to discuss these things.
In mid August I heard a recording of someone coming into my room. I could hear him removing clothes after dropping a bag on my floor. Shortly after I heard a woman’s voice pleading with Alex but using the name Xander, saying stop it and that I was clearly asleep. This went on for a few minutes. He told her that I wanted it and if she didn’t like it she could leave. The sound was mostly inaudable after that so I’m unsure whether or not she stayed or why the woman didn’t stop it from happening. The craziest part was this was the first time I knew it wasn’t only just him. I’m hoping that woman whomever she is sees this. To hear an actual conversation was really terrifing, however the video footage on my camera I had purchased was missing for the time period from when this took place. The camera was triggered by motion and would usually trigger every 30 seconds to minute with the slightest movement or sound. This terrified me as I realized that this wasn’t the first time that there was video footage unexplainably missing. At that point I realized that the video was being erased before I would even wake up. I didn’t even occur to me until months later but he had previously told me that he did monitoring of video and emails for the for the government. Investigating information for cases of people and groups under surveillance. That was when I first moved in. At this point in me living with him two years later, he changed his job description and dumbed it down, making it sound like he was just a person forwarding emails… whatever that means. He said he couldn’t go into much more detail than that. I knew that he was part of the military he was very mysterious to the details of his job within it.
Up until that point I was so torn. I couldn’t decide if I cared about what he was doing or not. Knowing that he was bringing other people was really the tipping point for me. I couldn’t figure out what that meant. Maybe I felt like it was my fault for always being so forward or maybe I didn’t mind as crazy as it seems. Looking back I guess it was I partially because I felt like we had become such good friends and I knew that if he was ever found guilty he would never be able to live a normal life and he would most likely go to jail, but relalistically that friendship only truly developed after my first accusation of him coming into my room. I literally balled my eyes out for what felt like forever. Hearing something and knowing someone had witness it and having confirmation of a name made the realism of it all come out in ways I had never imagined. While reviewing it I thought no one was home and I pulled myself together and tried to brush it off completely. A rational reaction would have been to call the police but I felt like I couldn’t ruin his life. Probably one of my biggest regrets is not dealing with it sooner. I felt like after all the flirting and making it obvious that I was into him that I was basically asking for it. It’s so cliché but I don’t think you can truly understand that feeling until it happens to you personally.
The strangest thing about it was they came home later that night and it was like he knew what I had found out. I went upstairs to cut some watermelon, as usual I offered them some. His gf said she was fine but Alex barked back at me saying. No! I don’t want any watermelon.” Being jumpy already after hearing what I had I just said no problem and vanished to my room. I thought to myself ok I have a trip to Vancouver in few days. Maybe I can make sense of everything while I’m away. For the day’s up until my trip he wanted nothing to do with me at all and I don’t think I really saw her either. He was completely irritable and would avoid me at all cost. I couldn’t help but to think that he must had heard my reaction to listening to what I heard.
While I was in Vancouver I mostly tried to not think about it. I did reach out to the friend that me and Alex joked about having a threesome with. I texted him saying. “Girl you’ll never guess, it actually happened finally, nothing like you would ever imagine though.” Reading back that message is so strange. I think I must not have wanted to think about it for what it actually was. I was being raped. I just couldn’t except that someone I trusted so much would do it without my knowledge. Especially when they didn’t have to.
That same night I went to go to bed but as I layed down I felt a bit anxious so decided to go out for a smoke first. I stopped in the washroom in the lobby on the way quickly. Suddenly I was violently ill throwing up all over the entire washroom uncontrollably. It was awful. All over the walls everywhere. It took me over half an hour to try and clean up. I was to humiliated to tell the cleaning staff. The worst part is the baseboards in the washroom are still damaged. It almost like a reminder everytime I use that washroom of the inner stress I felt about the situation. To become violently Ill was symbolic for me holding everything inside.
Alex’s gf had rented out her condo to a friend of mine at the beginning of 2019. The first day when she took possession, Alex and his gf did a walk through of the premises. My friend called me right after and told me how much she clicked with his gf, saying they were soul sisters. She said the same when she gotten back! It felt great to know as when ever you introduce people in this manner it reflects on you. The only comment that my friend had was that Alex kept trying to linger around the place. His gf kept insisting they left but he was reluctant to. A couple weeks later Alex showed up again at her apartment basically unannounced. He text her before coming up stairs and banging on the door since he could see into her place but she didn’t respond since she was ill. My friend was terrified and told his gf about the scenario. She asked her that Alex no longer come to the place and didn’t contact her. His gf apparently apologized and said it would never happen again.
Months later my friend was worried someone was breaking in. She contacted alex's gf but she didn’t respond for almost a week after, she also said that she sent a video showing someone being in her place while she had been at work all day. The only people with access were Alex and his gf. When Alex’s gf finally brought it up to me, she didn’t seem very concerned but stated that obviously she care about anyone’s safety especially a woman’s and would look into it. Though Alex constantly would show up to the apartment uninvited and the woman living there also had concerns that someone in a black car was watching her in the parking lot across the street. I informed her that they drove a black Tesla. When I informed her of that she looked terrified.
After I returned from my trip from Vancouver I was a little nervous to come home. At this point I had checked the camera while I wasn’t home and I saw Alex in my room with a woman that I had heard about but never officially met. He was saying terrible things about me, it would have been surpring to hear him say such aweful things if had been two weeks prior, however as previously mentioned since the week prior to my departure his treatment towards me had done a 180. I knew that they were leaving on a redo vacation apparently to makeup for their first one going so aweful. I knew it would only be a few days once I was back that we would be around each other so I just hoped that things would be better when they returned.
On the night of august 31st I had a friend come “over”. Being together for about 5 minutes, Alex barreled down the stairs and started to bang on the door. I responded can I help you in an irritated voice. He’s ask what are you doing? Are you home? I said yes can we talk later…? He mumbled and said sure. The next day I was sitting with his gf on the back patio of our house. We had a normal conversation then suddenly she said. I’m starting to worry that Alex is a bit racist. To that I thought ummm ok why?? To be honest it threw me off as he was always very PC when we would talk and was surrounded be people of all races. If anything I just thought he thought of him self as better than everyone. At this point in the conversation, he was just standing on the other side of the sliding glass door so it made me feel awkward. She gave some different examples that were a bit racist but standard stereotypes that you hear from people. After that Alex opened the door and......
submitted by gnjapp to rape [link] [comments]
2020.10.23 20:31 dogeman87 Video camera secret
I struck literal gold. One moment, I was digging around on the beach with my girlfriend Shauna, flirting and kicking up sand. The next I hit something hard.
I yelled over to her, and we uncovered a small box. Inside the box were countless gold coins. They were so worn that I had no way of identifying anything on their surfaces, no distinguishing marks or dates or images. What I was certain of was that it was gold.
See, I knew what gold felt like. I’m a jeweler and coin trader. Most of the time, when you feel “gold,” it’s an alloy. Hard, lightweight, shiny.
Real gold is malleable, and it’s heavy as hell. I could feel in my hand how heavy those coins were compared to normal ones. I also noticed that the markings were deformed because of how high the gold content was. At the time, I figured I had stumbled upon an unknown cache of pirate loot.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
A historian later told me that they had dated the coins back to the fifth century. I told him that was impossible. I live in Maine, and, in case you weren’t aware, America wasn’t settled by Europeans then. There were only Native Americans, none of which could have made currency like the kind I’d found.
“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “The tests are quite clear.”
“Maybe you should try again,” I told him.
“Won’t change anything, sir. Carbon dating is really accurate.”
They had tested both the box and the coins. They were the same age. Unlike me, they were more interested in the box. Its craftsmanship was of an unknown origin. There was artwork gilded on that no one had seen before. It was intricate, truly amazing, and I couldn’t believe that I had just dug it up by accident.
Their conclusion was that someone had made it to North America earlier than thought before. This was not unheard of. It’s common knowledge now that the Vikings made it to America before the Europeans. Why not some other civilization?
Problem was, we’re able to identify Viking and European artifacts. I’d guess a few dozen people looked at those coins and the box. No one knew who had made them. The coins themselves didn’t match any known currency. The box was made of Sequoia, which, given the trees’ location on the west coast, made little sense at all. What kind of civilization traversed the continent at that time?
In the end, they said they needed to do more research. They would keep me updated, if only because I had found the treasure. I was told that I had made one of the greatest archeological finds in history. The coins would potentially teach them about a lost civilization, rewrite our understanding of North American and maritime history.
They were wrong. To their credit, they could not have known the implications of what they had found.
My great-uncle killed himself three days later. Hung himself with a cord from his kitchen blinds. His death was surprising, but not unexpected. I know how that sounds. Let me explain.
His wife had died two years ago. Breast cancer. She was only seventy-three. He’d been devastated, as had the rest of us. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He had counseling, support from family and friends, visits at all hours of the day. It wasn’t enough.
He eventually returned to his normal routine- golf, reading, TV, cards with friends- but he wasn’t the same. A cloud hung over him, or so I was told at the funeral. Why wouldn’t it? He had lost his wife to a horrendous six months of pain. Anyone would be devastated by that.
Apparently, though, he’d been good at hiding his depression. His therapist claimed he had been deteriorating over the past couple months. We berated her, asked her why she hadn’t told us or anyone else. She said he had never seemed suicidal, and that she had to keep her clients’ information confidential, even from family. This, as it turned out, was true; my mother wanted to sue and hit a brick wall when the lawyer explained everything to her.
I was sad, sure. I cried for a couple days. Shauna took off work to take care of me, because I couldn’t take care of myself. I hadn’t been particularly close to my uncle, but having a family member kill themselves is pretty brutal.
My grandmother was hit hardest. She had been his sister. She was eighty-four at the time, much older than him but a lot closer than you might guess. He’d been her only remaining sibling. The other, my great-aunt Sherry, had died of a stroke.
I figured that these things happened. People died. I was lucky to have three of my grandparents and my own parents living. My brother was healthy. My girlfriend was healthy. I was healthy. I was twenty-six, but I was not naïve: I knew any one of us could drop dead from anything, at any time. Life is precious, etc., etc.
What I did not expect were the deaths that followed. First it was my old friend from college. He got into a car accident two days later, slipped into a coma and died. I had already been reeling from my uncle’s suicide. The death of a close friend only knocked me more off-kilter.
I took off a week of sick leave. I was pretty high-up at the jeweler’s shop I worked in, and they understood. There was no official bereavement time, and my losses wouldn’t exactly have qualified under our policy. Still, there was no limit to how much sick time we could take- that provision had been removed when a manager had suffered from a year-long battle with leukemia- so they were more than happy to give me the time I needed.
I was grateful. I thought I’d be ready to go back Monday, try to get into a semblance of a routine again. Shauna was unbelievably supportive. She took care of all the chores, talked with me for hours, let me cry when I thought I couldn’t cry anymore. Not once did she complain or suggest that it was too much for her.
Then everything went to shit.
My brother was hurt first. He works at a manufacturing facility, maintaining equipment and SOPs. He lost three fingers to a faulty machine. I visited him for an entire day and didn’t leave until he went into surgery.
His recovery would be the best news I would get. Two of his fingers were able to be reattached. The pink had been too badly mauled to be sewn back on. He would tell me later that he didn’t care. Who needed a pinky? That’s what he told me, at least. He was very upbeat about it all.
He was not upbeat when the other accidents occurred.
My second cousin was killed in a climbing accident. He went alone, which we had repeatedly told him was dangerous. His wife got worried the next day. The police searched the area and had no trouble finding his body. Based on the injuries he’d sustained, they guessed he had been alive for some time before succumbing to his wounds.
I could not imagine how horrifying it must have been, lying beside a cliff in the middle of the wilderness, with no way to call anyone because there was no cell service, forced to lay there and let yourself bleed, cough up blood for half an hour until you started losing consciousness.
Shauna was still supportive, but now I was legitimately losing it. I was shell-shocked. I couldn’t do much more than watch TV or play video games. She told me I needed a therapist. I declined. I told her I was dealing with it in my own way. That was bullshit. I was dealing with it by drowning myself in sorrow, drinking so much I passed out one night on the couch and woke up with a headache that made me think I’d had my first migraine.
That morning, between my pounding skull and her incessant talking, her legitimate concern that burned my mind like fire, I got the last call that I would remember before going insane.
It was for Shauna’s work. They wanted her to come in for a couple hours. I told her I’d be fine. She locked up the alcohol and said she would be back before lunch.
She never came back. Instead, I was greeted by two somber-looking police officers. I had broken into the cellar at that point and was drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey when they knocked. I almost fell onto the front porch before they steadied me and brought me inside.
They obviously knew what I had been through. They were very reluctant to share what had just happened. I think I was rude to them. It’s hard to remember now. When I’m drunk, I lose track of my surroundings. I liken it to a dream state, where you know what you’re doing in the moment but only have flashes of it later.
One flash was clear. I remember them telling me that Shauna had been murdered. I jumped off the couch, stumbling, almost tripping over my coffee table before I went into the kitchen. They followed. Thank God they followed. I went for the largest knife I could find, but before I could use it they had me pinned against the wall. They were saying something, probably something comforting. I tried kicking at them. The kicks were weak. They subdued me on the couch, told me to calm down, that they understood what I was going through.
I’m guessing the guy I tackled was calling an ambulance or a suicide hotline. He didn’t expect me to be sober enough for what I did. I lunged for his legs, took him down, then the world went black.
I woke up in a jail cell. I wasn’t held there for long. The officer I had assaulted didn’t want to press charges. I had been drunk, in grief, and I had suffered more tragedy than he had seen one person deal with in a lifetime. And it had been a matter of weeks. He was sympathetic, to say the least.
He did warn me to get it under control. Another officer would not be as kind, he said. He gave me a number to call for a therapist. He suggested I call a trusted friend or family member to help me get through the next few days and weeks. He told me he’d personally call my work and tell them to give me a month off, minimum, because no one could be expected to function after losing so many people.
He was such a kind man. I wish I could have entertained his requests. Instead, I went home and got blackout drunk. I passed out on the floor, woke up in my own vomit, felt a huge bump on my head, then went straight back to the wine cellar before realizing I was about to get myself killed.
I had most likely come very close to alcohol poisoning. More than once. I didn’t want to be the next dead family member. That thought got me on my feet, working through the headache that made my brain feel like it was swelling against my skull. I sobered up, made a few calls, arranged to have my parents stay with me for a while, and tried my best to distract myself with old sports reruns.
Things got easier once my parents arrived. They took care of me as if I was a teenager again. My mom did the laundry, my dad cleaned, my mom cooked meals that made my mouth water just looking at them. They talked with me for hours. My family was their family, and they were just as devastated as I was about my cousin and girlfriend and the others that had suffered tragedies in the past month. The difference was that they were in their sixties, veterans of grief, my mom having lost her father to ALS and my father having lost two siblings to HIV, back before it was treatable.
You never get accustomed to grief. It’s always hard, no matter how many times you go through it. Some people manage to recover and live their previous lives. Most are irreparably changed in some way. I was the latter. I didn’t think I could ever return to my job, to my life. I felt like I would be betraying the memory of my loved ones by going out to bars again and watching TV. I refuted the idea that getting back into my hobbies would help me recover.
I didn’t refuse for very long. My parents are persuasive. They are the best kind of people. They are persistent, but not in a mean way. They wouldn’t let me go out until I promised I would do something. A game of golf, a movie with a friend, a get-together that another cousin was having- I had to attend one thing for every time I left the house.
It was therapeutic. So was my therapist, of course. She was great. She didn’t pull punches, told me that it would do no good to kid myself about what happened but to, because dwelling on the past would do no good in the future. “Remember and move on” was how she put it. She didn’t mean move on in that I should just go about my life like nothing had changed. She understood. All she recommended was that I not let tragedy stop me from what I wanted to do.
I was doing well. I was feeling so damn good about myself until the latest news hit. The office called me on a Saturday morning, which at the time somehow did not concern me.
My therapist was dead. She lived alone, and she had been found rotting on her couch, barely visible through a side window. Apparently, she’d taken sick leave the past couple days, and someone had obviously been concerned.
I went into the rabbit hole again. I asked myself what I had done to deserve this. I asked why death had to follow me like it had. I wondered if I was not in a coma-induced hallucination, because the sheer amount of tragedy that had befallen me seemed impossible.
That’s when I realized: it was impossible. You hear things like what I went through all the time in the history books and the news. You shake your head, say a few prayers and move on, accepting it simply because someone else wants you to. But what had happened to me was different. So many different people had been hurt, killed, in ways that I still could not understand.
The autopsy of the therapist showed that she had drowned. In her house. Like, how the fuck? There was no water anywhere in the bathtubs or sink. They even checked the goddamn basin in the laundry room, and that wasn’t full, either. Besides, she would have been found in the water if she had gone that route.
No, I knew that something was off. I didn’t tell my parents about my suspicions. I pretended to feel better, to go out more. I even planned on going back to work in a couple weeks, sooner than they had expected, sooner than they felt comfortable with. My boss was very understanding. She thought it wasn’t healthy to come back so soon. She told me my position was not in jeopardy and that everyone was sympathetic with my situation. She was not lying.
I was. I lied to my parents, to my work and my new therapist. I didn’t tell them about my suspicions.
I didn’t tell them what I found in my bed that night.
It was one of the fucking coins. I knew it the second I saw that piece of gold glinting in the starlight. I had no idea how it had gotten there at first. I considered calling the museum that had taken the coins, seeing if they had lost one or if they had been stolen. I immediately realized how bad that would look. They had kept me updated about the whole research process. They would know if something had gone missing. If I showed them that I had one of the coins, they would think I had stolen it. They would arrest me and I’d be sent to jail again, this time without a therapist or family to support me, left to rot in my own mind. I’d probably kill myself, I realized. I needed constant support back then.
If no one had brought the coin, and I hadn’t taken it, then that left only one option. The supernatural.
Okay, you’re probably thinking about how crazy that sounds. Why would I jump to such an immediate conclusion? Several things. One, the obscene nature of the deaths I had experienced around me. No one goes through as much tragedy as I had at my age, unless they’re in a warzone or an impoverished country or bring it on themselves by their actions.
Two, the therapist’s death. The police were still baffled by how she had died. Time of death put her squarely in the house, because she had died no more than two hours before they had pulled up. It would have been very difficult to transport her body back inside so soon after her death. Besides, there was no body of water deep enough in the near vicinity to do the job. She wouldn’t have been taken in a car, either, because they would have found something on her, some fibers or other forensic evidence.
The third piece of evidence was sitting right in front of me. The coin. I realized then how stupid I had been. I had brought everything on myself. I had taken those coins, the ones that had seemed amazing at the time and had equally amazed archeologists and historians alike. They had marveled at how such a secret had been hidden for so long in the sand, how no signs of the civilization had ever been uncovered.
I understood now. People might have found it before, but they would have returned it. The treasure was cursed. It had to be brought back to the very spot I had found it. I knew how impossible that would be, breaking into a museum and stealing a priceless artifact, avoiding guards and security cameras and God knew how many other measures had been taken place to secure it. They were held in storage, which was about the most secure place I had ever seen, more secure than banks or the jewelry shop I worked at, where we kept a lot of priceless artifacts locked up in two fireproof safes in the back.
Fortunately, no one knew where I had found the treasure. My girlfriend had, but now she was dead. I had only told them that I had been on the beach. They hadn’t questioned where exactly I had discovered it for some reason, and if they had I would have told them I didn’t know. It would have been an honest answer, but I remembered now, more out of desperation than anything. I could picture the shape of the rocks around the site, the remoteness of the shoreline, how Shauna and I had been the only people around for miles.
Shauna was mostly the reason I remembered. It was one of the last times I could remember her smiling. Those images had gotten stuck in my head recently. It was hard, thinking about her all the time, but it was also refreshing, going back to times when I had been so happy and innocent.
I knew what had to be done. I just didn’t know if it was possible. How the hell would I break into a secure museum? Bring back the treasure and bury it before I got caught? It would not be found again, I was sure, at least not in my lifetime. The last thing they would suspect was that I would bury it where it had been found. They wouldn’t even suspect me, either, unless I slipped up at some point. In all likelihood, if I succeeded, they would check the black markets for the next half a century and wait for the coins to turn up, not knowing that they had been removed from human hands for a long time, hopefully forever.
I did not wonder about who had made the coins. I still don’t. I didn’t care if it was some ancient civilization or aliens or Europeans that had somehow cruised across the ocean a thousand years before Columbus. I cared about saving the rest of my family and friends.
I wanted to blame myself for what had happened. I couldn’t. Even then, caught up in grief and shock and a host of other emotions, I had a shred of logic left in me. I knew that there was no way I could have known what I’d found, no way anyone could have known. Shauna had gone along with it, hadn’t she? Everyone had. The historians had been thrilled. I had, too, thinking I had found the most important artifact in decades.
Now I had to steal that knowledge from them forever. Surely they had not finished studying the coins. I could not care less. I had to return them, to prevent more deaths that would surely follow if they remained in the hands of historians. Who knew? Maybe tragedy would leak through to them, to anyone that laid eyes on the coins, to the entire fucking country for all I knew. By stealing them, I might be saving millions of lives. A plague could sweep through, one worse than the Black Death or AIDS or Ebola, one that would never be traced back to the coins but would continue regardless.
Maybe they would trigger anarchy, an overthrow of the government or other governments in the world. They could cause civil wars. Nuclear war. Hell, they could probably summon an asteroid from space and blow the planet apart.
I didn’t want to find out. I had to figure out how I was stealing the coins. I had to find the exact spot I had dug them up, bury them, and absolve myself from my crimes, making sure I was never discovered or even suspected, because if I was they’d find out what I had done, where I had buried them, and the entire thing would start up again. Most likely, whoever returned the treasure to the museum would suffer tragedies that they would never blame on the supernatural, because a part of me had always believed in such things, was more susceptible to the unbelievable than a scientist or most other people in general.
The coin was still lying on my pillow. I stashed it in my drawer, below a pile of swimsuits that I hadn’t taken out for some time. No one would find it there. If they did, they might not recognize what they had seen and just leave it. Either way, I had nowhere else to save it. I had no safe or secret compartments.
What I was about to do was stupid and could get me in prison. If I failed, I might condemn thousands or millions of others to death. I might trigger the end of civilization. I figured I was overexaggerating with that last one, but I couldn’t know. The treasure had already taken so much in such a short period of time. It was impossible to say what it was capable of.
I was going to steal the treasure and bury it. I had no choice. When it was done, I would forget and, like my first therapist had said, move on with my life. I’d return to work, find a new girlfriend at some point, let my parents go back to their home in Connecticut and rediscover my hobbies.
Or I would go to prison. Or I would die. Or a million other things might happen. I was many things back then, but you can’t say I wasn’t determined. I felt like I was responsible for more lives than any leader in history, any doctor or politician or president or king. I was delusional, I was grief-stricken, and I was angry.
I was not going to fuck this up.
submitted by dogeman87 to nosleep [link] [comments]
2020.10.23 09:28 WKMahler Camera video secret
Fresh Facts, September 11, 2001 by William K. Mahler Thursday, October 22, 2020.
September 11, 2001, the moments forever etched into the psyche of every human being in the United States and beyond as the most terrifying day of our 21st century lives.
Who knew who, what, when, why, where and how? Federal investigations go as far back as Bin Laden’s attacks in Africa during the Clinton administration. The attack to kill Bin Laden order by President Clinton only infuriated the Islamic state fundamentalist leader into a vengeance no one could stop. President George W. Bush was fully aware of the impending attacks but failed to recognize the immediacy of the plans to obliviate a large part of the unsuspecting majority of the US public.
Back in the early 1960’s, a simple honest man known as Cecil R. Freeman of Hyannis, MA became the Massachusetts Civil Defense leader while President John F. Kennedy won the White House and celebrated and resided within 20 minutes walking distance from Cecil’s Hyannis home he shared with his wife Anne and their two daughters, Janet & Deborah. CIA deputy director Raymond S. Cline personally handed President Kennedy top secret aerial surveillance photos of Cuba detailing the whereabouts of nuclear missiles communist Russia installed in secrecy. The missiles if launched would completely wipe out all of Miami Florida in under 5 short minutes if launched with little or no warning to save the population from a fate worse than anything citizens of Hiroshima and Nagasaki experienced at the hands of the United States in August of 1945, effectively ending WW2.
During the 1960’s, Janet Morris met and married Christopher Crosby Morris, a Harvard grad to her New York Academy of Sciences and together the two embarked on a journey that would take them to the pits of illicit drug trading, almost being killed by the mafia, to the heights of fame in the world of books and music and eventually to the attention of retired deputy director of the CIA, leader of the United States Global Strategy Council, Ray S. Cline.
Leonda Kim Emmerich, born to Deborah Emmerich and her husband Dan, quickly became my friend at an early pre school age in Eastham, Massachusetts, meeting by random chance at a car accident scene. From that day forward, we knew we would be forever friends despite the long distance between Eastham and Hyannis, over 25 miles in rural Cape Cod, during a time when antenna television was the majority norm and dirt roads were common place.
Summer 1984, Elizabeth Homer, school friend of Leonda, was my neighbor and summer girlfriend. One day, Leonda showed up with Liz at my South Yarmouth home and I fell for her head over heels, quickly forgetting Liz. We played hide and go seek and Leonda “hid” with me in my bedroom 😊
Leonida’s aunt Janet learned of this adventure, so she decided to investigate as to why I tried to bed Leonda. Janet, walked into my home unannounced and entered my bedroom, where I as a 16-year-old teenager lay in bed. After a brief talk, she was under my head and above my pillow as we shared a lifetime of future in under 40 minutes. In fact, the thriller “The 40 Minute War’ became talk between us. A novel that would transform our lives into almost complete madness 16 years later.
A couple of days later, Janet and her husband Christopher stood in my bedroom as we detailed a document with their real names, and myself using a pseudonym, Thomas Baines. “Weapons Of Mass Protection”, detailed airpower superiority in a non-lethal chaotic age of current times, circa 1980’s spanning to this day now, in 2020 and beyond. The three of us spoke of the United States Global Strategy Council and a trip to the middle east that both Janet and Chris would venture forth upon during the mid-1990s. Janet walked away with a magic eight ball toy, a gift she tothis day uses in her business decisions.
By Christmas Eve 1988, Leonda and I met for the first time as adults at the now defunct Mill Hill Club of West Yarmouth, Massachusetts and by May of 1989 we married in Yarmouth Port, Massachusetts. Any memory of my meetings with Janet and Chris were completely devoid of my presence of mind at all times, until, Janet and Chris gave Leonda and I our first personal computer and I experienced the internet for the first time. Janet & Chris had already been the senior fellow and research director of the United States Global Strategy Council, protégé’s to CIA Deputy Director Ray S. Cline. Then, a trip to the middle east including the homeland of all twenty 9/11/01 terrorists but not before a trip to communist Russia and the Department of Psycho Corrections. While there, the Morris’s witnessed firsthand, infrasound, digital and psychological weapons not ever used in the United States or anywhere else except Russia, specifically, Moscow. From that meeting, M2 Technologies Inc. was born from an idea in the summer of 1984 to reality mid 1990’s to an online presence not too long before September 11, 2001.
August 29, 2001, as a performing artist, I created and recorded a song that is eerily prescient of September 11, 2001 and it was done before a live audience, two weeks ahead of September 11, 2001 and has been widely discussed and proven to be about September 11, 2001. When played backwards, amidst the Arabic sounding language, somewhere around the 3 ½ minute mark, the words “I saw Saddam” is plainly heard in reverse, nowhere in forward. During the ‘Forward” performance, my imagination at that exact moment seen the bust of Saddam Hussein, from mid chest up to his beret covered head.
September 10, 2001, I spent the late afternoon to well into daylight the 11th online in an internet relay chat room with twenty middle easterners. One of the twenty left the conversation and the rest, became photographic history as two snapshots exist of the computer screen and forever placed into the Usenet binary archive. Both photos display all twenty of us, name for name in the chat room. Coincidence? Not at all.
Come September 11, 2001, I spent the morning at Barnstable District Court when the terrorists struck towers one and two. An attorney told me we were at def con one, New York had been bombed. An fm radio broadcast aired the exact moments when tower two was struck, live, uncensored news, real time complete with a horrified expletive using broadcaster.
One week after the national tragedy, CNN reported the lead terrorists had used University of Arizona computers. Raw data access logs to Mahler’s dot com reflected repeated visits for almost a full month leading up to the terrorist’s departure from the University to be in the north east. All logs were delivered to Janet & Chris Morris by Leonda personally and no one else but Janet & Chris had them. That is, until President Bush learned of the document “Weapons Of Mass Protection” and the thriller “The 40 Minute War” the fictional tale that quickly and without remorse became dartboard center bullseye non fiction reality since the books release to the public August 23, 1984. Complete Deja-vu for Janet, Chris and myself.
When President Bush said “Weapons of mass destruction” for the first time to a national audience publicly, it took less than 5 minutes for my inbox to explode with activity that lasted for weeks when there had been barely a trickle of activity over many years and why? “Weapons of Mass Protection” the document was at my domain and M2 Technologies Inc. too. I had been writing about benefits of non-lethal technologies and the document was a center piece in Yahoo Groups and eventually at the same time, the Usenet, freely accessible via GoogleGroups.
Summer 2003, as I dialed Sony Media Software to resolve technical issues surrounding the installation of Sound Forge 5, a man simply known as George gave me Sound Forge 6 at no charge for version 5 was in his words “full of holes’. Less than ten minutes after the call ended, I realized George was actually George W. Bush, president of the United States. Not too long after, within days to a couple of weeks, none other than a blue jean and green tshirt wearing president Bush bought a medium coffee unannounced at my place of employment. No security at all, only a store video camera and two teenage workers and myself have any proof he paid cash and drove away in a white box truck to places unknown. He looked me less than 3 feet in front of me directly in the eyes as I stood silent believing he was the president, it’s why the song “Living Lies (Headed To Louisiana) exists today.
As for “Prelude To September 11, 2001 – Leonda (I’m Coming Home)” it is for sale complete with the lyrics at https://mahlers.net
Despite the massive attention online, life was strangely quiet as if not one person except for Janet, Chris, Leonda, myself and George Bush knew anything at all.
We knew, but who else?
William Keith Mahler
Thursday October 22, 2020.
submitted by WKMahler to u/WKMahler [link] [comments]
2020.10.23 05:17 the_yung_dragon I don't know how I'll ever trust my parents. They kept layers and layers of secrets, but read through my journals as a kid. I recently found they had previous marriages and joined a cult and so much more.
As children, Mum and Dad always seemed quite boring. We were raised in an ultra-religious family. Dad worked, ate, and slept. Mum cleaned, shopped, stayed silent, and slept. He worked 90 hours a week as a cab-driver, and she raised six children alone.
They met each other in their mid 30s after a religious leader set them up. Two dates later, they agreed to marry.
They had six children -- fewer than they wanted -- and insisted on knowing ever aspect in my life. I would catch them reading our journals, browsing our internet histories, and stealing property they disliked from our room. Dad set up video cameras all around the house.
To us kids, they presented themselves as simple and boring. We were not privy to any stories from before they married each other and had children.
In 2018, they sold the family home and moved to the outskirts of a small city. My siblings and I found our own homes, and many of us chose to not stay in touch. A few months later, Mum and Dad realised that marriage would not hold without children to release their anger on to they decided to divorce. Who knew that two dates and a blessing from a religious figure wasn't enough to know that they were right for the rest of each other's lives? The divorce got messy and they were eager to reconnect with us so that they can spill the beans on each other and gain leverage.
First Mum told us that Dad married someone else when he was younger. I came to Dad and was like "Hey! What the fuck?" He explained that it was his dancing partner, they used to do The Twist to Chubby Checker, and they fell in love. They married and got along well, but she didn't wanna have kids, so he divorced her. But he had to one up my Mum, so he told us that she was also married to someone else before.
I came to Mum. "Hey! What the fuck?" And she explained that she was 20, and naiive, and foolish. The man she married "had a low threshold for stress" and she divorced him by 22. (I doubt her story because my Mum is the most stressed and neurotic person I know.) But she wouldn't let Dad get away so easy. So she let it slip that Dad was married TWICE before.
I came to Dad and chose my words carefully. "I know you've been married previously," I told him. "But I just wish I knew more about you before you had us." "Yes, I married someone else before and I didn't tell you because I wanted to appear to be more religious to you kids." And I corrected him. "You married twice before, and you are still not telling me everything." And he revealed to me that he knocked up another lady and did the "noble" thing by marrying her even though they were not right for each other. They fought throughout the pregnancy, and then she had a miscarriage, and he divorced her. And Dad then told me that Mum spent five years in a South African Rudolf Steiner cult in the 1980s where she had African "servants", practiced free love, taught at a Waldorf-Steiner school, "smoked 10 bongs a day," and eventually left for an intensive six week rehab program.
It was at that stage that two of my siblings had had enough, and alleged that my Mum had routinely sexually abused them as children. I cut Mum off then and there so I've never had the chance to confront her about this or the Steiner cult.
Dad is now retired and mellow. When I sleep over at his house, he knocks on the door and doesn't come in unless invited. I guess he won me over. When I confront him about his long list of lies, he apologises.
When he feels uncomfortable telling me the truth, he usually just tells me that he doesn't want to talk about it or he cries. When I was younger, the only emotion Dad would show was anger. When I remind him about the threats, blackmails, and beatings he committed a few years ago, he replies "I'm sorry. I don't remember, but I believe you."
It's very possible that he doesn't remember. He was always overworked and underslept. Working 90 hours a week as a cab driver would turn days, weeks and years into a singular blur.
But then he follows up his apology with "I know we could have done better raising you. But all of my life I was working to provide for you. Not like your mother, who never did a thing. Don't let her take your inheritance when she never worked for it. If she doesn't make me sell this house, it is yours after I die."
And then I realize that Dad hasn't stopped playing games, and he never will, and I can never trust either of them. I can kind of forgive Dad. He physically and emotionally abused us because he was tired and poor and stressed. He brought his anger home from work. It's not justifiable, but it is explainable.
Mum can go to hell. Sexual abuse is neither explainable nor justifiable.
I'll provide a list in the comments below of all of the additional secrets they kept.
submitted by the_yung_dragon to offmychest [link] [comments]
2020.10.22 12:32 The1stMasturbater76 Video camera secret
At his jobs they've proved it don't matter if the mayor, the chief of police, the detectives he told about your rapes, your landlord, your children, your mothers, anyone. When it comes to your stalking victim you're blind to how many people despise you. So you are all ok with Stacey and her aon stalked INSIDE her apartment ? They automatically know now all the dumb shit from Tgifridays (Thanks Naadira) IS ON CAMERA AUDIO AND VIDEO
IF THE ONLY WAY TO KNOW SOMETHING IS STALKING CYBERSTALKING AND CELLPHONE SURVEILLANCE.
ALL CRIMES ALL FELONIES
SAYING YOU'RE NOT STALKING A STRANGER WHILE SHOUTING SEXUAL INFO OF ANY KIND ABOUT HIM MEANS YOU HAVE TO BE LYING ABOUT SOMETHING
IF HE DID NOT ASK YOU TO WATCH HIM JERK OFF AND YOU'RE ADAMANT YOU SECRETLY DID SO YOURE ADMITTING TO BEING GANG RAPISTS
AND I LAUGH AT HOW SIMPLE MINDED YOU ALL ARE BECAUSE OF THAT
submitted by The1stMasturbater76 to u/The1stMasturbater76 [link] [comments]
2020.10.22 06:43 Holydust42 Video secret camera
Yesterday, several fansites posted previews of LOONA taken from the LieV VLIVE yesterday, which appeared to be taken through windows from outside. Many fans were understandably disturbed by this, and immediately started accusing these fansites of being "sasaengs" or invading their privacy. Since these LOONA fansites have a history of taking photos of the girls at secret schedules such as this (which aren't listed on the fancafe schedule), this issue has surfaced time and again. It has also been a point of contention between hanbits and wuebits on Twitter, which has led to some nasty stuff being said and done towards each other. As such, I wanted to pen down my thoughts on yesterday's incident.
Fans who oppose the previews from yesterday tend to cite these few reasons: (1) They shouldn't have known about this schedule or their location, since it's not on the fancafe schedule! (2) It's illegal! It goes against BBC's policy! (3) They're infiltrating on the girls' private lives!
I'll discuss these reasons in detail below, before giving my own thoughts on the issue.
1) They shouldn't have known about this schedule or their location, since it's not on the fancafe schedule!
I refer you to the list of such events/schedules which fansites have taken photos at, which I compiled myself. Those marked with a # are not listed on the official schedule, while those without the # are listed, but venue not stated.
It would seem then, that taking photos at events not listed on the official fancafe schedule is a clear violation of BBC's explicitly stated policy!
- 소속사 및 숙소, 연습실, 샵 등 공개된 스케줄 이외의 공간의 방문을 자제해주시기 바랍니다.
- 이달의 소녀 공식 스케줄은 이달의 소녀 공식 팬카페 내 '이달의 스케줄' 게시판을 통해 안내드리고 있습니다. 공식 스케줄을 제외한 이달의 소녀 멤버들의 사적인 공간으로의 방문을 자제해주시기 바랍니다.
- Please do not visit these places not listed in the released schedule, e.g. the agency, dormitory, practice room, salon, etc.
- Official LOONA schedules are uploaded on the "Schedule of the Month" board in LOONA's official fancafe. Please do not visit the LOONA members' private spaces, outside of those listed on the official fancafe. (translations by me)
Filming and recording are illegal acts that violate copyright and artist's or exclusive rights to the show under the concert hall. Electronic devices that can be filmed or recorded except for mobile phones are never allowed to be brought in. If the mobile phone in possession is found to be used for recording or recording purposes, they will be immediately asked to leave. If an electronic device that can be filmed and recorded in a concert hall is found to be brought in and used, the data of the tapes, film and memory cards will be confiscated and erased before leaving the concert hall. Audiences are responsible for any damage to the device during this process, and ticket purchases are non-refundable.LOONAVERSE Concert Notice:
Clearly, BBC allows photos and videos to be taken in the concert and posted later on. They do ask fansites to delete photos from their cameras from time to time, but on a whole (especially during the ending stages), it's a free-for-all when it comes to taking as many photos as possible. I have taken photos at the LOONAVERSE concert myself, and posted them as well.
- Any recording activities and live streaming are illegal against the publication. Any video recording device or recording device is prohibited on the show day.
- Spreading out any recorded voice or video to the public may cause you to get involved in legal remedy, and may have disadvantage to attend future shows promoted by Blockberry Creative.
공항 내부 (출입국 게이트를 포함한 촬영이 금지된 모든 보안 구역, 면세 구역, 수하물 수취 구역 등)에서는 촬영이 불가합니다. Filming is banned in the interior area of the airport (all security areas where filming is prohibited including the immigration gates, and duty-free areas, baggage claim areas, etc.)However, at nearly every single LOONA airport schedule since that notice was posted, fansites have taken photos past the security clearance area. This was most notably seen on 191127, where post of the Noi Bai Airport photos were taken inside the departure and duty-free areas. It would seem then, BBC's managers and security haven't enforced this rule at all. They have sufficient manpower and resources (and if they don't, they've had enough time to hire more) to deal with fansites who take photos past security, but they haven't enforced this rule. This is an implicit signal that they're actually okay with this, which is why they allow this to happen again and again.
2020.10.21 23:13 boywithpowers Secret camera video
Hey everyone- here to share my personal thoughts/struggles and inside experiences from the side of someone doing pedal demoing professionally (I use the term professionally hesitantly) for just under 2 years now....and why I would love to see this sub flourish. A little long but hear me out!
First of all- thank you u/amgarrison85 for starting this. When I saw the notification pop up I thought “whyyyy did no one think of this before 🤦♂️”
My own demo channel is called SpiralCasterPlaysPedals and I started out two years ago in the same way a lot of people do...set up my camera at whatever angle I could get it propped up- mic’d my amp, and tried to jam some stuff with a bunch of the modes of the pedal (first for me was a Volante)
I think in my head I was hoping it would immediately take off- I asked my friends to watch- family members- music students (I’m also a full time private music teacher)- etc...
Amazingly, I got a LOT of support from my musician friends and a small group of followers I had built up over the years just making music in various bands- and looking back on those early demos now...I cringe at the quality but I’m also proud of myself for learning as I went and improving little things along the way to where I am now.
My point is- that support and enthusiasm from my friends and fellow musicians is exactly what GOT me through those early days and motivated me to pursue it further. guitarpedals is a great forum and I’ve been a contributing poster for years but I picked up pretty quickly that original music and demos get kind of buried for one reason or another amongst the sea of NPD posts. Not that I don’t love a good NPD...
So here I was...two months and 6 videos in...and my friends start losing interest because, well, they have their own lives to pursue and can’t always stop and comment...and posts on guitarpedals generally would generate a few nice and helpful comments but not much to latch on to from a motivation standpoint. guitar banned me immediately upon posting one of my vids (where all I do is play guitar mind you) and I read their rules carefully 🤷♂️ I’m still banned to this day and I even apologized and asked for a second consideration- ha
It left me (and I’m sure many many other people pursuing demos) in this boat of....well how the heck am I supposed to even get eyes on my work? It’s not like there are record labels for demo artists to do the marketing for them. YouTube algorithms favor high followemarketed/ad-placeable content and it’s no secret at this point. Many demo giants like Andy, Mike Hermans, Dennis Keyzer, Living Room Gear Demos, PedalZone, etc all got into demoing at an age when YouTube was simpler and more transparent/fluid with content. I’ve had many talks with people in the industry about this. YouTube’s algorithms simply used to be different. And most benefitted from backing of famous guitar shops, distribution companies, and there being far less fish in the sea.
That being said- those are all extremely talented cats and some are even friends of mine now- and they certainly earned their positions.
BUT. Where does that leave this newer generation of demo artists? How are we supposed to even show people we exist? There are very limited options, Instagram being among the easiest, but there just simply are not many other avenues out there.
I work alongside Anne Sulikowski, Devon Blue Whitaker, Ryan from DITD, Noise Generator FX, Megan L, Ponderer, ForeverBroke, Max Decay, Collecto/Emitter, and so many others that create extremely professional content for dozens of companies (often just for trade of the pedal or very small payment) and we pour DAYS of work into each demo including conception/learning the pedal/writing/filming/recording/mixing/editing and then hours of social media is always involved surrounding any new release.
If you check the YT subscriber count for a lot of these people that are breaking their backs, many start to slow down to a trickle around 2k-3k or a little more. And that doesn’t say anything about the quality of their work- it’s because on top of YT suppressing people like us, our work is also very niche and more artistically focused/driven as opposed to more standard players that might appeal to a mainstream audience.
All of us do our work in hopes that the buildecompany will re-post or share our videos, because that is truly the best way to grow...but in reality, many companies are often too slammed or hire outside people to handle their social media- so even this isn’t always a guarantee.
Not trying to rant- it’s just simply that- there truly isn’t a place for people like us to post that isn’t our own social media bubble and feel comfortable about. And that can be disheartening. Often frustrating. Even in other music or pedal-related subs, there is always this (sometimes unspoken) vibe of “get out of here- you promoter, you!” Often it’s just straight up in the rules. And sometimes understandably so.
But again- so...where exactly do we promote? Where do we share? Where do we come for feedback? Or even just to show something we’re proud of that we hope can create discussion?
I hope pedaldemos can be that place- and I hope it doesn’t just turn into a place for tasteless self-promotion- but rather for all of us to share mindfully what we work hard on and discuss/further expand knowledge on the realm of effects and music we all enjoy. Anyway- I’ve taken enough of your time. Thanks for bearing with me 😅. Just some thoughts
Much love, C (SpiralCaster)
submitted by boywithpowers to PedalDemos [link] [comments]
2020.10.21 20:58 LionsTigersOctopus Camera video secret
Not mincing words, I was attacked at a Trump rally in my neighborhood, Othello, this past Saturday, October 17, at around 3:00 PM
I sat on this story for a few days because I needed 1) some time to process it, 2) to collect evidence to prove my version of events, and 3) to figure out next steps. Now that various false versions of what took place is getting out there, I decided to take back the narrative.
Before continuing, know that I've already gotten the most important feedback I could receive. From my wife: "I would've preferred you weren't there, but I agree with why you went." From my Krav instructors: "You made it home alive, which is the point of Krav. Good job. [fist bump]"
Speaking of which, while this photo looks bad, considering I was in a 6-versus-1 fight where three used flag poles as weapons, Krav 100% saved my ass. Unequivocally.
I'll keep the sentences brief because there's a lot of ground to cover.
A day or two prior, I got word that there would be a Trump rally at the parking lot of King Plaza in my neighborhood hosted by leaders of the local Vietnamese Trump-supporting community.
(Note: This does NOT mean that all Vietnamese-Americans support Trump. Trump support among Vietnamese-Americans is more commonly found among the first and 1.5 generation--parents' and grandparents' generation. There are seemingly plenty more Vietnamese-Americans who are apolitical or Biden supporters).
These events are organized in secret, ostensibly to avoid any counter protestors from showing up and to fully control the physical space they occupy. However, in doing so, it comes across as though their rally is occurring with out objection from the community. (Note: Thanks to social media, I obtained a list of the event organizers. One of the organizers was featured in a Seattle Times article published a few days ago.)
I decided to show up and counter protest.
Alone. (Yes yes...I already got feedback)
I made a sign in Vietnamese. Front: "you pay more for Vietnamese sandwiches than Trump pays in taxes." Back: "China owns Trump. Trump is a traitor. You are a traitor." I walk to the rally as it was only 5min from my house.
Now, here's where the building security footage I obtained comes in handy.
I position myself about 15-20 feet across from the booth Trump rally booth where they were about 50 attendees congregated. I held up my sign over my head with both hands (i.e. I wasn't flipping anyone off, signaling for a fight, etc.), kept silent, and braced for the boos and jeers.
Rally attendees walked over to me and used both their bodies and flags to surround me and block my sign. I tried walking away, sign still above my head. They followed me, continuing to harass and intimidate.
One guy (I have his name) moved himself to be slightly in my path and shoulder checked me, doing the whole "don't touch me bro" routine. I told him I didn't and that I had every right to be there, and then I walked away from him. This was the first physical assault.
I kept moving away from the people following and surrounding me, but they continued. I was still surrounded by bodies and their flags when the guy who shoulder bumped me did his routine again. This was the second physical assault.
Surprised by the second second assault and taunts, I turned towards him and observed that the guy's posture, the flag pole he hand in his hands, and everyone else surrounding me with their flag poles were all signals of an imminent danger to my personal safety.
So I took measures to defend myself.
Sparing you the play-by-play, I have video (which you'll see eventually) and photo evidence of 1) being outnumbered 6v1 against people with weapons, 2) trying to create distance and space between me and my attackers, and 3) those attackers continuing to chase me and attack me with flag poles.
Police were eventually called, took statements, and left. No arrests were made. One of the officers escorted me off the premises. I walked home.
Thuy came home from work and took me to urgent care. I received a few stitches.
I have footage taken by a bystander. I have the building security camera footage. I have photos of the attackers. I have the names of two of the attackers. I'm trying to identify three more.
I do intend on taking legal action.
I was put in touch with someone from the ACLU of WA and the Seattle Times, the former of which did email me with an introduction. I shared my account and some evidence to both the ACLU and ST; I'm still waiting for a reply.
I have a copy of the police report. I'm waiting to hear back from the sergeant on the possibility of a detective being assigned and how I can proceed with any legal action.
A couple of eye witness accounts from those not involved in the rally corroborate my story. One eye witness has subsequently been harassed by one of the rally organizers with demands to remove her post from social media. The eye witness has kept the post up.
A local Vietnamese newspaper (Người Việt Ngày Nay) already published a story about this altercation. However, the completely fabricated and lied about many of the details--many of which had Thuy completely ROFL. I was never approached by this newspaper for comment. Their complete misrepresentation compels me to look into any libel law infractions.
And, as you would imagine, those involved are already twisting the story to fit their narrative.
But, slight problem for them...I have evidence.
The optics look bad for them. If they had stayed on their side and just booed and cussed at me, then none of this would've happened. However, it turned into a 6v1 brawl with weapons, and video shows them chasing to attack me with them. Once again, Krav FTW.
I have a general idea on where I go from here. But, in the event I hit any dead ends, then I may come back to seek guidance from you all.
I may edit this post to provide more clarity and context. For the time being, it's time for my first coffee.
submitted by LionsTigersOctopus to kravmaga [link] [comments]
2020.10.21 13:57 ItsWedMyDudes Secret camera video
Anyone see this story?! USA TODAY investigation showed Florida lagged behind other states when it comes to identifying and offering assistance to children who were placed with foster parents accused of sexual and physical abuse.
"Unaware of the abuse, caseworkers continued to pack the mobile home beyond capacity with children. For seven years, foster kids came and went, at times living in such cramped quarters that at least one child slept with Hazel (abuser) and his wife in the master bedroom.
When deputies arrested him in 2019, the Hazels were the longest-tenured foster parents in St. Augustine. More than 70 kids had passed through their home. The stream of kids finally ended in 2019, when a 13-year-old told detectives that her foster-turned-adoptive father had “raped me like I was his wife. She said Hazel had raped her since she was 5. In later years, he directed her to masturbate, then recorded it with his iPhone. Police found a secret video camera he installed in the bathroom to spy on her in the shower. "
Please explain how adoption is a good choice again?!?! I'd rather not be born.
submitted by ItsWedMyDudes to prochoice [link] [comments]