I ask myself what defect of character do I have that allowed such shit like the death of Renate Vettleson to happen?

Rarely am I ever at a loss for words.But now, as I speak, I am at a loss for what words I feel, think, hear, etc. And, sometimes when my mind stumbles thus, I say crude things, which are now suitably repaired with strikethroughs.*

But, I found out last night that someone I knew once–but who I didn’t know well enough–had committed suicide- six years ago! My life has been one that has missed many things, but this for me is another wake up call.

In 2008, when Renate apparently killed herself, I had been enduring particular assaults for decades and, in June of that year, I was shot in the back with a Taser.

And, one month later, this, below,  happened, to Rena–and sadly, neither of us were able to share the horror of such an experience with each other, because neither of us knew the horrors that those like us were suffering!

We didn’t know each other well enough, or were able to share out loud the oddity that is having such a life. But in July, 2008, Renate wrote this on her blog:

yes, it happened today again, July, Monday 21, 2008 at around 12.30 pm while walking guidedog – I was sprayed, target with some electgronic waeppon – I don’tknow, my face hurt and I was in pain on all body parts which were not covered – please, we need help, do not ignore this problem, it’s diabolic, a crime against human rights – if it needs to stop – life’s are being destroyed – human life is too precious to be subjected to this kind of torment Do not ignore this social problem.

Here is a hard link to the story of Renate Vettleson, University of Minnesota graduate in social work and a gentle soul as I recall her now.

–I knew her, but I did not know that she was enduring what I was enduring at the time. http://multistalkingcallforaction.blogspot.com/

There just isn’t enough time on the planet to describe such things as the moment you become aware of something important. Something HUGE, and something that is despicably evil.

Yet in these moments, I personally am able to reflect upon my own defects–and, in this case, I was NOT a better friend, nor even a truly caring person.

I am stumbling right now, believe me on that. Believe me hard, real hard. I am stumbling right now, in my own head. I want to bash a brick on my head to not believe that what I just read is true, or real. I want to not feel the empathy that wells up in me-and I want to cry. To cry for a woman who I knew, but did not know well enough to know that she and I shared similar inner struggles.

But I have been mocked for doing just that, by complete strangers who think it is all a joke–strangers who hide behind the mask of sanity in their daily lives, who masquerade as clowns, and who get paid to do so.

That last thought is complex–you have to read what I have written about for the last ten years to fully get the drift.

But, apparently, Renate Vettleson killed herself. And mark my word–you fuckers will pay for that.

I knew Rena, by face and by name. I knew Rena in ways that could make people cry. And I knew that Rena was so lonely, so desperate, and so trapped in her disability that she struggled with words to describe it. And, she reached out to me, back then.

Rena–who was legally blind (here is something that you too can add to your dossier, that phony bag of tricks that clownishly portrays some cartoon version of ‘me’ to those who are self-indulgently/self righteously civic minded, and who easily overlook what you are perpetrating upon people, who easily just follow along and who ‘push the button’ every time–the same dossier that I will hunt you down for, and kill expose you for some day, after I survive your tactics, and the good guys save the rest of us from what you are doing–and I will kill you reveal you slowly, with a smirk on MY face;-) **

But I knew Rena. I knew her in such a sad way that I will not publish it, nor will I even provide a clue about how I knew her any more than this–my first encounter with news of her passing. But I will say that she accurately described in her blog what it is that you have done to her, to me and to others .

AND, I will now take up her banner, and seek others who knew her as well. You will not go unpunished for what you did to her.But Rena, as I recall, never hurt a soul. And she did not deserve to be lab-ratted by your types.

I remember Rena walking along, touching whatever rails she could lay her hands on; I remember her feeling her way to the here and there of a certain college; I remember her seeking conversation, and seeking affirmation as a human being–with her words, her polite demeanor; her inner voice, perking up the courage to try to reach out to others and connect.

And I remember how sadly even she knew, the world does not treat the disabled fairly. She always had an urgency of sorts in her manner like a quiet, but rushing stream–an undercurrent of something flowing in her that need an outlet.

Rena, tonight, becomes my totem-my fire. She becomes in this recent moment of revelation, my will to live, and to tell her story, at least that tiny bit of it that I can vouch for, or remember.

She becomes, for me, one more reminder of my own selfishness as well–that selfishness that did not reach back in all the time when she reached out- ( and this I write to her mother: Mother-if you still cry out to the internet and ask it questions about your beautiful daughter–your child, murdered by a vast conspiracy–please call me, anytime at all, right here on this blog–leave your number. AND, I will seek you out starting tomorrow–because your daughter was someone I knew, in some way. And in some way, I am one piece of her story, that perhaps which she gave me, to give back to you.

And she was delightful-and a bit capricious–and I was too self centered, too unable to seek her; and to trapped in my own lack of ability to appreciate what she was going through.

Frankly, I am crushed right now, and I need to digest what I just learned, 6 years too late.

Mother-if you are there? I have a story to tell you about your daughter-and it is really quite beautiful- Rena was beautiful.

Especially, I remember her hands, sometimes, like butterflies. Her hands could find a flower lined path where others only saw rails, or walls–I remember her voice sort of slight but girlishly husky, very sweet, and always temperate-aware that others were looking, maybe laughing–but NEVER-NEVER was Rena crazy, or out of touch with who, or what was in front of her, mocking her or not.

Rena would not lie, either, from my remembrance of her character. And in the case of what I just read on the internet? I trust her words. I believe that what she described, actually happened. And I believe that her writing what she did? I believe she did it to leave us a clue.

Mother–come to me, I am calling you, because I have stories of your daughter to share-she was beautiful–and she was good in every way.  And, if this helps you for even a moment–I will tell you my fondest memory of Renate–she could stop, and look at you, but really, her face was feeling the sun-she was like a sunflower that way! Her eyes sought light, and she seemed to relish it.

And me? I was just another asshole that she talked too once in awhile-another worthless piece of human refuse who at the time, did not value her enough, or guide her in the direction that could have benefited her the most–back to you, and in conversation about her.

How could I have known? Which of us in our selfishness, or self absorbed personal miseries can suitably absorb the pains of another?

As of tonight, I am still stunned, and disgusted–heart broken, learning that she did what she did. IF in fact she did kill herself. There appears to be some hint that she was not at her own memorial service–maybe you mother, can shin a light on that?

I am not shocked anymore–but a similar event happened to me, just one month before. And I bet, there are more of us.

I was Tasered in the back by some of the shittiest little cowards I have ever encountered on this planet. Neither of whom could take me face to face and unarmed, but who were able to shoot me in the back-another story entirely. And these events, from what I have gathered, in the same city, and likely within blocks or quarter miles of each other.

And everyone knows that ONLY cowards shoot people in the back, and only cowards would condone it; and only cowards would persecute a blind girl as well***

It is these types that can find the time to harass a blind girl. It is these types who have no moral code whatsoever who can and do what they do–because as the main dictum of the fascist society posits “there’s strength in numbers.” The fasces itself represents the organization individuals bound together.

Yup–in numbers, the strength, apparently, to stalk a blind girl to death.

But, I begin to see a pattern now. The pressures exerted on me–and Iam still alive somehow–by those who seek to crush me or conform me to their ‘ideal’–to force me into pushing the button alongside of them–are immense.

Renata’s mother, if you are out their, I need help to tell her story, and my own, after that. I can also say this: I always felt like she needed a friend, an ally, and a compassionate observer in her life–and now, I know why.


* harsh words, are nearly always just just that-words; rash, but harmless. Yet words are perhaps the most powerful–bar none–of the weapons that the state will use against you. AND that state prefers to think itself knowing of what words mean–and prefers also to try to use ones own words against them. Failing the war of words, they resort to pictures, or other means of creating an image of a person that fits their description.

Meanwhile, the state can, and most often does the exact things that they will infer your words could/might cause. If I say ” I oughta kill you,”you can infer, based on my life history of never having killed a soul, that my words, are just words.

The state on the other hand, kills people daily-or, in the very least, mauls old ladies, the mentally ill, and others.

And the state-the modern, American surveillance state, is guided by religious words as well, despite decades of “progress,” attempting to winnow the religion out of the law, and failing. Thus, again, I am trapped here, without recourse to the protections of the law for decades–though I see that some are currently trying to limit the scope of this recent surveillance down to “three years and four months.”.

Or, as the old saw goes “one’s words are a trap, set in one’s own mouth.”

Such is the war of words.Even I get tongue tied sometimes, trying to explain the dilemma of being moderately literate in a black and white cartoon democracy.

Unfortunately, as my life for these decades has been one of being trailed, entrapped, hounded and pursued over the words I choose to describe various abuses of authority–and those authorities who have made an absolute mockery of free speech  protections( the paradox and irony of being persecuted for words BY those who are charged to uphold the constitution is immense. Lenny Bruce understood that beter than me for sure)–and those authorities who for over a decade pursued me with dubious vigor–I often use words provocatively, by reflex when I am under attack.

AND–as will be revealed, I have been under attack for decades. It is in no way to be construed that the latest rounds of attacks are ‘recent’ in any way shape or form, as these recent attacks (the last 6 years or so) are informed by the round before it, and the round before that.

In fact, I began logging, journaling, or otherwise enlisting the aid of eye witnesses, etc. in or about 1997, because the state, its agents, and and it’s mechanisms at that time, had blatantly attempted-and failed–to set me up for a most egregious crime, which I will demonstrate later.

** when I wrote this last night, and said the words that are highlighted, I was also concurrently searching for information about Renate. AND most interestingly, one of the pages that just *somehow* appeared in the links was one that featured the names and addresses of government workers.


Now, in the internet bag o’ dirty tricks, the writing of the highlighted phrase above, combined with a ‘click/search’ of the names of government workers–well, you get the idea. This is how they have stacked the deck, since before, and after I knew Renate. We will outlive you.

And, after searching the information provided by uncle internet, the name Renate Vettleson does not appear in those GOV worker links AT ALL. You can search them yourself:


So, why were these put into the search results? Oh, the MYSTERIES of Google, and Auntie NSA….

note to self: Eric Peterson/sen too?

But, apparently, the French–or, is it the Swedes? Are just dying to know all about Rena–or not.

7   135 ms   133 ms   113 ms  ae1d0.mcr1.englewood-co.us.xo.net []

8   120 ms   125 ms   121 ms  vb1600.rar3.denver-co.us.xo.net []
9   126 ms   111 ms   114 ms  ae0d0.cir1.denver2-co.us.xo.net []

10   111 ms   118 ms   116 ms []
11   199 ms   161 ms   174 ms  xe-11-0-1.was14.ip4.gtt.net []
12   237 ms   161 ms   173 ms  peer1-gw.ip4.gtt.net []
13   168 ms   169 ms   167 ms  wordpress.com []

For more information on, you can visit the site or IP directly.

Hostname: xe-11-0-1.was14.ip4.gtt.net
ISP: Tinet SpA
Organization: Tinet SpA
Country: France
Longitude: 2.350000
Latitude: 48.860000

– See more at: http://www.iplocationfinder.com/

*** I use the word ‘girl’ to describe Rena interchangeably with  ‘woman,’ and I do not intend to sound pejorative. Perhaps because if you had known her, you would have known that she invoked–at least in me–a sort of paternal or brotherly response, because she was indeed vulnerable; and also, she was very gentle, and frail.


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