An offer you can’t refuse

Our lives begin to end

the day we become silent

about things that matter.

— Martin Luther King

The “mobbers”—tenant clearers who have been trying to “clear” me from my legal rental home by round-the-clock criminal eavesdropping and harassment for at least two years—woke me at 5:00 am this morning, a day that honors Martin Luther King. Waves of verbal abuse streamed into the house not only from the north and south sides where the mobbers live and work, but seemingly from the house across the way.

That house belongs to the captain of the neighborhood watch who instigated the bullying effort and smugly watched the mobbing unfold, openly participating, especially in the early phases when together with those in the mobbing houses to the north and south of me she would yell and raise a ruckus whenever I opened my doors and windows, apparently attempting to ensure the surfaces of my home were unbroken for harassment projected by directional speaker and radio waves or through vents.

At little more than 5:30 in the morning, the harassment is subdued as her husband emerges from the house and gets into his vehicle, probably to go to work at Boeing. Another vehicle leaves as I leave the windows to fetch sound board from the my bedroom in back. I stack it in the windows that face Lake Washington; it’s not yet dawn. Since a few of the houses in the neighborhood have changed hands, the mobbing houses show more caution when it comes to projecting sound at the front windows of my home in the early hours of the morning and sometimes I can get a bit more sleep on the couch. The Latino or Asian guy with the tribal tattoos on his forearms must have left, I note when I cover the front windows, since the red Toyota SUV with the CrossFit sticker (one of a few CrossFit mobbers, from what I can see) is gone from the driveway of the south mobbing house; he comes back later wearing an “NWCF” sweatshirt (Northwest CrossFit, apparently) . By this time I’ve realized that the weather is mild enough so that I can open the front windows and silence the surface harassment that is being projected onto them.

Now, years since the bullying began, as I remain here documenting the multiple crimes that are included in this real estate mobbing and writing the Washington State Attorney General, the City Attorney, the Mayor and others, the neighborhood watch captain appears increasingly distraught as she comes and goes from her house clutching her cell phone to her ear and banging her trash cans out of frustration. Now she, the developer and real estate agents and investors who’ve defamed and and threatened both me, other renters and our landlords rarely stand in the street gossiping with the owners and other inhabitants of the mobbing houses around me. Indeed, the owners of the mobbing houses north and south keep their cars out of sight; instead there is a regular parade of other vehicles in and out of the neighborhood, people coming and going from both houses under cover of darkness. Few of them walk by, and those who do avoid looking at this house. They go into the houses on either side of me, and continue trying to taunt me as they let me know they eavesdrop on everything I do in my home, in the bathroom and in the bed while simultaneously attempting to stress me with the projection of continuous harassment projected into my legal home every moment of every day. In these last weeks, I’ve seen a woman pull up in what is probably a blue Element (another CrossFit sticker on that vehicle as well as a sticker that proclaims Washington “ROOTS”) and go into the house to the south with her question “What is she doing now” perhaps unintentionally projected into my house and as of late, the white BMW of an attorney chum of the owner of the south mobbing house as well as a mini Cooper with racing strips stack the property line while leaving room for ingress and egress of the vehicles secreted in the garage.

These last weeks, this captain of the neighborhood watch is increasingly gone, leaving the mobbers in the houses north and south to work on me with increasing intensity as I learn how to program a scanner to receive close by broadcasts for those likely radio broadcasts that are transmitted over my radio and TV, or as I research countermeasures I can use to blunt the harassment until the Attorney General investigates, until Seattle Police ask the FBI to investigate the cyber-crime in the mobbing that includes the use of cellphones to lurk and harass, or until the FBI becomes curious about how criminal real estate harassers gain access to devices on board and systems of aircraft in flight for the purpose of harassing victims out of their homes.

The mobbing continues as I sit and write, as I attempt to read, as I do dishes and clean or work in the garden. The harassment follows me from room to room and from moment to moment with threats and insults. There are never-ending attempts to embarrass with men’s voices telling me that they’ve seen me “giz and wiz” or talking about my body, there are childish voices likely manipulated with voice changers tittering when I disrobe or chanting “what you did to those kids.” There is the obvious use of gender with heterosexual presumption in sexualized threats from male voices to “harass [me] real good tonight and get [me] out of here” and highly predatory statements that I hope no one would ever believe if they had to hear them, statements about no one caring about what happens to me or that I need to shut the fuck up and get out, that I need to give them the bot, because they want the lot and they want to build on it. As of late, the mobbing has a decidedly male-on-female bullying aspect, especially when the single male owners of the mobbing houses north and south seem to be home.

The relentless harassment seems to follow a pattern and methodology intended to stress me. And it does. On mornings like this one, the stress is so severe that my head hurts, pressure squeezes my eye sockets, and my temples throb. Mayor Murray and Chief of Police O’Toole, I hope you’ve already asked for detectives to begin to investigate this situation and that they are escalating it to the FBI. FBI involvement is almost certainly necessary given the crimes involved. This is my time, my health, and my life. I remain here to keep my home and to expose a crime that has cost me, a crime that should not occur but that has so clearly occurred before and has so clearly been taught or practiced by those mobbing me, a crime that is acknowledged in Europe and by the United Nations and Amnesty International as “real estate mobbing,” a type of forced eviction done by criminal real estate speculators like the scumbags who’ve monitored, stalked and harassed me now probably more than two years within and without my home and in and out of state, all this with no reluctance to scapegoat me in their campaign of illegal profiteering in real estate.

This blog entry is documentation of the assault I am under as a legal tenant in Seattle waiting for an investigation into racketeering and the crimes associated with it by the State of Washington and probably the United States Justice Department. That’s because it is quite likely that this phenomenon of “real estate mobbing” is a product of abuses by real estate speculators that stretches from east coast to west. This entry is also a preamble for a post I’ll finish later this week about the problem my neighborhood has with bullying and how mobbing and racketeering are shoes that fit.

Stay tuned, gentle reader. Until the City of Seattle, the State of Washington, and the United States Justice Department begins to investigate, I will be here writing. I’ve penned more than 70 entries now, with titles noted for 70 more.

Mobbing is the crime of people who prefer to take. But when they wake me in the wee hours of the morning, the mobbers give me more to write about. ▪

 

 

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