Beam-focused sound: The Artillery of Property War

It is the short-range technology of beam-focused sound that makes secret the language of the mob.

Sound is a wave, diffused and without focus. Beam-forming sound allows for the placement of sound with near pinpoint accuracy, and the lack of familiarity of the police and the victim with the phenomenology of beam-forming sound gives the mobbers great advantages, setting the stage to meddle in the relationships of the victim and to run a hoax that the victim “hears voices” and has become crazy. Running this hoax successfully on a victim who is naive and fearful can end with the double-whammy of discrediting the victim reports and making the victim himself question his sanity and be panicked into leaving his home.

The primary tools for beam-focused sound are the parabolic loudspeaker and the parametric speaker. I suspect mobbers use both of them. The laser microphone is another beam-focused method of eavesdropping; I won’t cover that today.

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The Theater of Property War

The ties between the Seattle real estate mobbers and development are evident in the theater of war, the property war that mobbing is.

The staging of real estate mobbing reveals the aggressing forces and their motivations. The mobbers positioned themselves carefully for this quiet campaign of aggression against me and my landlords, a campaign dubbed by a voice that sounded a lot like the snarky attorney friend of the south house owner as a “property war.” Probably four years back, in about 2012 when the economy began to pick up again, the houses north and south of me were purchased by two single men. Soon enough, it was clear that I was flanked by hostile neighbors on either side. To carry forward the metaphor of war, my home was immediately straddled by fronts encroaching on borders south and north. That formation, when extended to the house of the nasty neighborhood watch captain who sunk her teeth into me within weeks of my moving in (as would later become evident), constitutes what the mobbers have gleefully called my “triangulation,” not coincidentally a radio term.

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The secret language of mobbing

Suppose that you and your closest friends shared a cryptophrasia, a “twin-language” of unknown semantics, a code that couldn’t be cracked. No matter the crowds that press against you, no matter the watchful eyes, every word you speak is a secret. Between yourselves, you can say anything, share anything, confess anything. If it is within your nature, the fact of speaking in a language that is spoken by no other might have an impact greater than simply uniting you with those few whose mouths move as yours does. This semantic oneness, this sharing of heart and mind, isolates its speakers apart from those whose mouths don’t move in the same way. Language is a key signifier of the pack; those who dwell among the pack speaking another tongue do not go unnoticed.

And then suppose that it’s not twins who share the cryptophrasia, but criminals. They don’t give hand signals during the bank robbery to evade detection; instead, they speak a language whose utterances are unrecognized and unremembered, a language they can claim not to know, one they might claim does not exist. Perhaps, for all purposes, for those who are victims of genocides and mass murders by those of other cultures and languages, the moments before their lives are taken are lived in fear and confusion as the incomprehensible order to kill it uttered in the unshared “other” tongue and by virtue of being unintelligible is kept secret until the bullet bears the message.

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Mobbers at San Jose Airport

It’s the middle of the night and between delays due to a glut of air traffic at Seattle-Tacoma Airport and the inevitable poor transitions between modes of public transport beginning with Seattle’s Light Rail system and ending with the herky-jerky bumper car experience that is Car2Go, I’ve only recently gotten home. As usual, I can hear the mobbers when I unload my baggage, leveling insults and demands as I greet and the feed the cat, unpack laptops and turn on the heat. Still now, they persist, sotto voce and perhaps at longer intervals than usual, but they never stop for long. In my case, being real estate mobbed now for more than two years in this northeast neighborhood of Seattle afflicted by a neighborhood watch association whose alliance with developers and speculators has turned them into criminals, the mobbing has become a contest of wills.

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The FBI gets another bite at the apple

The FBI is just about to get another bite at the apple. At least, a bite at catching the mobbers as they harass me all the way to California using some radio-based system, maybe even a low-power radio station or a drone, which would work kind of nicely since these days you can follow, perform reconnaissance, and even hack from drones. AND, the drone registry is not yet public, which makes it difficult to have a chance of seeing what real estate businesses conveniently use drones for “surveying.”

And then, next week, the FBI gets an opportunity to see how real estate mobbers follow and harass their victims in secured areas of airports and even onto planes. The jury’s still out, but based on living as a mobbing victim for two years now, I’d say they probably do it using cyber-crimes like following over speaker-enabled access points, hopping from WiFi network to network and touching down on the intermittently available public address system, and perhaps even using Boeing in-flight entertainment systems coupled with the cell phones of anyone who has one turned on as I return home.

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Tuesday Afternoon

The owner of the north mobbing house, the one of the noble profession, is home today, so he’s doing what he can to try to prevent me not only from sleeping, but from accomplishing what I need to do for an upcoming release at work. I work at home and one of the real estate mobbers’ chief goals is to ensure that I cannot function, not at home or anywhere.

I always thought it was not logical that in real estate mobbing, at least in the mobbing that afflicts me in this rarefied enclave of northeast Seattle, that the mobbing continues wherever I go. I would have thought it would be more logical, when the goal is to get someone to leave their home, to mob them at home. Then, kind of like a Pavlovian dog, I figured the mobbing victim would begin to associate places other than home with comfort and ease. The problem is likely that to mob in this manner, while it might most effective in teaching a mobbing victim that home is where the mob lives, allows the victim to enjoy peace and well being in his or her life. The goal of the mobbers, male bullies that they are in spirit if not always in body, is to dehumanize and dominate their victim. And, at least in this case, this is what the good neighbors of the neighborhood watch want; this is how the good neighbors who watched my landlords raise their family over the twenty-plus years they resided in this house treat their neighbors.

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Guantanamo in South Cedar Park

Real estate mobbing, continuous monitoring, stalking and harassing done to constructively evict legal tenants and “turn over” a property for speculation, has been named as a violation of Human Rights by Amnesty International. Real estate mobbing as performed by the criminal tenant clearers in my northeast neighborhood of Seattle, Washington, a variant of real estate mobbing that at least in this one case involves the “mobbers” moving into the houses on either side of the victim house and subjecting the legal tenant—me—to continuous harassment day and night within and without my home, is a mobile form of illegal imprisonment that is tantamount to torture.

Sleep deprivation, a human rights crime, as a significant strategy in the “surround sound” system of mobbing used by those mobbing me in northeast Seattle. Let’s take this morning as an example. At the moment, I’m between upstairs roommates. This is an opening that the mobbers like to take advantage of. On mornings like this one, for a few hours before the male owner of the south mobbing house leaves for work, the mobbers use a combination of techniques to penetrate into the sound board-laden fortress that is my bedroom.

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Something’s rotten in the state of—er, Seattle

This last week the owner of the north mobbing house nailed a bunch of planks to his side of the backyard fence, effectively increasing its height. This was after I wrote about some intense harassment over what were probably parabolic microphones or parametric speakers as I was out in the backyard gardening.

Today I went out to the backyard to get a bit deeper into the spring cleanup and realized that there was a break in the fence close by where the north house owner would have been hammering planks into the fence. At the time I figured he was up to something with the planks, though I welcomed the increase in fence height which obstructs line of sight between that house and my own at least along the walkway that goes to the backyard as well as into one of the windows of my home. Now that I see the broken fence, I have no doubt the sneaky scumbucket is up to something.

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