The real estate mobbers, those criminal spectulators or those who hired them, who have been trying to forcibly evict me from my legal home and convince my landlords to sell have shown increased caution as of late. This since a formerly vacant house on the other side of the south mobbing house was sold at a King County Sheriff’s auction a few weeks back.
The house was purchased by a guy who rehabilitates and flips houses—a house flipper, yes—but the feeling I get from him, an affable man of European origin who has been friendly to me, is that he is an ethical businessman who doesn’t shy away from taking part in the work from which he seeks to make a living. He and those working with him seem a breath of fresh air in this unfriendly enclave overrun by a dysfunctional neighborhood watch and influenced by an elderly and scheming builder who hails from a more conservative state as well as from a time when “clearing by smearing” was likely how you ran the residents off a property to “acquire” it. At least, given what I’ve heard this builder said about there being “ways to get [me] out,” that’s what I’m given to believe.
It’s been somewhat quieter for me at home this last week or two as the rehab process has started up next door to the south mobbing house owner. The couple in the new house just across and up the street have also been home much of the time and and are currently hosting guests. These occupancies seem to be putting a cramp in the mobbers’ style, and giving me a bit more room to breathe.
But as soon as the new couple across the street closed their garage and went inside for the night, and as soon as the rehaber south of the south mobbing house departed, the harassment intensified on both sides. The guy with the tribal tattoos who brings the child to the south mobbing house was in place; at least his red SUV was and remains there for the first time in a few days, and when I went out to cycle I could see the bald head of the owner of the north mobbing house in his kitchen window, bowed over the sink. When I came back, the nasty neighborhood watch lady came out and slammed down her trash can lids to start things off, and then the mobbers picked up on both sides.
It’s common that when the north mobbing house and south mobbing house owners are both home, the harassment is intensified and they work assiduously to wake me from sleep and to ensure I am sleep deprived. If they weren’t already criminals, they’ve now become criminals as they’ve attempted to salvage a failed criminal forced eviction by working all the harder on it.
I noticed tonight a fairly obvious case of lowering the lights to obscure identity and perhaps to make me uncomfortable. When I went out to water, lights were on throughout the house of the south mobbing owner. Then the lights in the south house were dimmed or shut off and I heard a slight sound and saw a person moving behind a car. It was the south mobbing owner in near darkness, going to the his trash cans which he these days keeps between our two houses and close to the windows of my dining room where I work most of the time. I watched as he put something in the trash and then returned to the far side of his house. After he entered the house again, the lights were turned on and up throughout the house once more.
I wrote in a recent blog about how being mobbed was like being Harrison Ford in The Fugitive, that there was no one-armed man in my mobbing. But tonight I was reminded that there might well be a one-eyed man.
After cycling I went out to water. I was soon followed by mobbing harassment from the houses on either side. Directional and ventilation harassment would seem to be opposites in that one is beam-focusing and the other highly diffuse, but the source of the sound can be heard when you listen and is sometimes easily detected . Even now, as I sit at my front windows to write this, there’s surface harassment on my front windows—both the south and north mobbing houses have facades that extend past my own windows so it could easily be either one of them or could even be a speaker set up by the nasty neighborhood watch lady across the street. This technique of barraging the front windows with harassment is very common when either the north or south mobbing house owner or the tribal tattoos guy to the south are around. It tends to be pretty aggressive and can be a fairly vicious technique.It’s almost as though they have to really hammer me to prove their masculinity.
God forbid some “chickenshit conformists,” in the words of Jello Biafra, try to bully a woman and don’t succeed in cowing her into submission. Biafra also wrote a nice song about “macho insecurity,” which I have often found apt in the last years of life in the land of the nasty neighborhood watch of the northeast. This becomes especially evident in how the men involved in this seem to especially get off on it when they have each other to work against. It’s even more of a circle jerk than when I go out to garden and they all immediately come outside to rub and spray their cars.
I was still out there watering a few minutes later when an oversized white SUV charged up the street, pulling to the side of the road pretty much on top of my own vehicle, and probably deliberately so. They popped open the back and waited, and soon enough the south mobbing house owner slunk down his driveway with some luggage and put it in the back of the SUV.
Note that the departure of the south mobbing house owner does not mean there is no harassment. Even when no cars are in the driveway and the house appears to be vacant, there is mobbing harassment from the house. It is increasingly as though the charade of actually living in the house falls away and it becomes clear that the house is just a place in which to secrete systems of ventilation and speaker harassment, as though it is just a base for harassment transmitted through a shared slab, and as though it is no more than a launch pad for a drone or a tower for neighborhood surveillance. Seeing these things and the part-time residences and frequent absences of those who “live” in the houses, I find myself wondering where else they’re working and from how many other structures in how many other cities they ply their criminal trade. The longer they hold their houses, the greater their foothold in the neighborhood, the more the property values increase, and the less suspicion they arouse.
If there is a shared wireless network of speakers between the two houses, one house can manage it when there is no one to monitor from the other house. It’s also possible, and even likely, that these white coated criminals who think they’re so clever would use VoIP, or even software-defined radio to transmit harassment remotely over cell phone and software-defined radio, giving themselves alibis all the while because of the unfamiliar methods they use to commit their crimes. What Who Me? is the mobbers’ whodunnit. I wasn’t even there! By alternating remote harassment with an onsite presence they might also hope to confuse the victim: If you “hear voices” when they’re gone as well as when they’re there, maybe they are in your head.
I’ve seen them here before, the one-eyed man and his wife, a middle-aged and unfriendly looking couple, picking up or dropping off the south mobbing house owner. They seem to have a number of large SUVs. They live down the street, on the waterfront, close to where where I once saw a drone hovering as I walked down the hill to start my bike ride.
That’s all for tonight. I hope to get a few more blog entries written over the weekend.