A most familiar fear and physical uneasiness are my companions once again. The psychological noose is tightening. The MIND-MANIPULATION is going into full effect since I believe that the U.S. Secret Police are growing impatient with me remaining outside of their custody:
Each day I remain outside of prison is one more day in which to gain
focus and strength! The FEDS don't like the idea of a "force of
nature," a predatory animal, an unknown quantity, an anchorless and
rudderless derelict, being able to purchase food, drink and, GASP!!
maybe even a bacon double-cheeseburger at the local neighborhood
Burger King (Murder King to REXCURRY) without a house-arrest ankle
bracelet. Such freedom must need come at a tremendous price:
"We'll drug his ass into a comatose stupor. He'll be so cranked-up he'll be afraid to look into the fucking mirror." I see itchy-and-scratchy! I'm hallucinating! I see red-laser-sights, momma!
With my plans to flee the country, knowing that I have, perhaps, less than a couple of years remaining in the UNITED STATES of AMERICA (the U.S.S.A.), the U.S. Secret Police have determined to undermine my finances in the construction of my new home. The money will be next to impossible to obtain within these two final years since I will have the T.A.G. of "homicidal maniac" stuck to me wherever I seek to find work.
This is a bitter reality: Having an unearned and undeserved label, a stigma, if you will, makes it damned near impossible to earn any steady income. I project, "My destination is SKID-ROW since it is only a matter of time before all avenues for self-support are cut-off completely."
Fellow OBJECTIVISTS, I'm in deep financial shit!!