rose#2

 
     June 2009: I was trying to adjust to the death of my grandmother. I didn’t look my age. My wardrobe was complete. My perfume collection was complete. I could read without noticing the creepy sounds of our street. I could smile real smiles.
                     I was chatting with Malaysian boys via YM chat. I thought that I was chatting with Mr. E. They sounded like him. They even used this sign : ~. Mr. E. happens to use it…all the time. Then they started to scare me: big time. First of all, 1 of the YM M’sians began to type , " I see." rather frequently. It got to this point- I was talking about my Mama and about my clothes on that evening, where my Mama was sleeping, what I was drinking…and the YM M’sian typed " I see." and then " Yes, I see". And then it became " I can see you." And then it became " I can hear your words."  But "I can see you." made me tremble. It scared me. It started the 1139692215381012143 phase.
 
                The guy who is being "framed" here… ( I hope that he’s just being "framed")[…..]
                …he used to tell me that he’d like to smash and bloody my face.
                He went ballistic a few days after we buried my grandmother and said the usual words: "I’ll make you the coward." and "I’ll make you the first bit of hell
                that you have to pay."
                For almost 4 1/2 months…I’ve been made to feel that he’s somehow behind part of all the 1139692215381012143 chain gang/ evil fraternity acts
                which have been making me ill and making me miserable. I suddenly look my age.
                My lines and sentences are being used against me. Especially " 29 39 instead of the 50 50" and " October 14 1969" …which happens to be his birthday.
                A former professor went as far as this— Asking me if there was such a thing as a perfect crime. Then another lawyer tells the class, " I have a kind and
                generous heart." But he just looked directly at me when he said it. Then on my last day there (Manila Law College) he’s the same bloke who told the class, "
                Nanggaling kasi ako sa Malaysia. I’ve just come from Malaysia." He didn’t look at anybody else in the room…just at me. Expecting me to react. I didn’t
                react. I was tired. We just had a quiz on the meanings of people’s initiative and constitutional amendments etc. I’d just paid 3000 php for a textbook.
                And Mr. E was always telling me: " I’ll meet you with an entire legal fraternity!"
 
                Then there’s Mr. YM who quotes lines from that erotic entry about Mr. E and yours truly. Using Mr. E to really get to me and to harm me.
 
                Then he went silent…has been silent for 4 1/2 months and it makes him "look" bad but since the 39 69 29 10 14 mind games, abuse and emotional torture
                 from the 39 69 29 10 14 gang of abusive strangers EVERYWHERE I GO …have not ceased…. it looks like he’s part of the gang.
                 I’ve been waiting for him to prove to me that he wouldn’t stand for this type of very sick joke- – – what’s the very sick joke- – – all these strangers
                 who have been victimizing me left and right and in between ( that’s my heart you’re trying to freeze there) making it appear that he’s the one
                 who wants to "accidentally" murder me!  He hasn’t acted in a manner that will manage to make me believe that he would not want to kill me, murder me,
                 make me suffer, or even just, " I don’t like what’s happening, Francess." " They are making me look like the ‘mastermind’. Who’s behind this? Who are
                  these crazy animals?"
                " I couldn’t hurt you."
                 and most of all: " This has to stop. It’s ruining you. Let us make it all stop."
 
                I asked my sister to come home. I asked her to count the numbers on the things that I touch, look at…become parts of the activities I engage in. I buy a
                preloved bag and the serial number has the number 21 and 33 and 69. Softdrink bottles 151125 or 11216169. An assignment costs 32.90 or 42.63. Lately
                it’s been 10 and 14. And F and E. I’d scream but my voice will break. My sister would understand when she sees the creepy fraternity attacks. My
                Mama has been pretending not to notice.
                What happened to the number 7 or the number 9? Why just these numbers on my "stuff"!??! Who generates these numbers for MY life? Hey stranger,
                 you’ve your own life. What’s the matter? Aren’t you contented with yours, huh? You want my life? It’s not yours to take. Get away from me! Go away.          
                  Immediately. Now, there’s another word that Mr. E. used to ‘use’ on me. Apart from "Incredible" and "dear".
 
                 And so, he must be part of the "fraternity chain gang attackers". Name of his dogs are big signs. Lot, Pepper, and Ophelia
                
                 28? I don’t get it and I don’t want to know. Go away. All I did when I was 28 was to kick myself out of 1 graduate school…so that I
                 could transfer…earn my degree and diploma…and (oh no..here we go again…such fun for the slipper/tsinelas ahem gang!!!!) get married…start
                 a family. A real husband…and normal kids. get rid of an ugly scar…get rid of the broken heart…make sure that i’ll have a tombstone w/ my name
                 on it…about 30-40 years from now.
 
                guess Mr. E. isn’t being "framed". It’s probably him. WinZip and IACSAT, huh? ….Give the evil plan an eternal rest. Please go away.
 
 
October 2009: Outside my window, there’s a bird that sounds like a cricket. It seems trained. It quiets down: a certain time at night. It starts to bother #11 Lactao: at a certain time during the morn. When I look at a mirror, a dog starts to bark. My neighbors don’t know how to handle metal with care. I’m surrounded by barbarians. I’m miserable and sad. What’s the worst part? If I start to sing or if I play the piano/electric keyboard or if I tinker around with my sister’s guitar…the creepy barbarians ( and the children of the creepy barbarians)- shut up. Then they return to their patent "creepiness"  as soon as my voice breaks…my hands abandon the keyboard.
I hate where I am. I hate wearing earplugs. I hate it when the PC hangs on me…when it’s 3:32 or 1:06 or 1:11. It’s not strange. It’s creepy and sadist. It’s hateful.
I especially hate mr. bangbangpukpok. He’s the undead with the hammer that just doesn’t quit. He seems to be building something endless. I can’t see what he’s building. I don’t care to know. I just want him to disintegrate, as soon as possible.
 
 


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