THE ROMAN SPRING of toomanycats

[PsychoCid]

Perhaps the most amazing thread in AGF history. What a beautifully painted picture of the experience of life, music, and professionalism or a lack thereof!

Reading your experiences makes one feel so alive, Cats. My own were limited, but I did tour with a major theater group before getting into guitar. I can relate a lot of crazy stories on women and group infighting, hah.

Anyway, not wanting to derail. Well wishes to your family and that all financial needs can get sorted safely and quickly. You are appreciated. Never stop shining!

[toomanycats]

Title VII of The Civil Rights Act of 1964 names two different types of sexual harassment in the workplace:

Hostile Work Environment:
Persistent propositions.
Late night sexual messages.
Sexually charged comments.
Invitations to meetings that turn into dates.
Hostile work environment that is severe and persistently pervasive.

Quid Quo Pro Harassment:
Unwelcome sexual advances and solicitations from a person in a position to grant or deny benefit, specifically, employment opportunities. An unequal power dynamic makes it impossible for a person to give real consent, because it is a situation where one of the people depends upon the another for their job.


I was first victimized by Patty.
Patty's crimes are not limited to the sexual harassment and assault I endured while working with her in 2021.
She believed she was entitled to sexual contact with me. When I rejected her she sought vengeance, to "put me in my place" and crush me. Patty stalked and terrorized me both in person and through online communications. Through a conspirator she communicated the terroristic threat through Facebook Messenger that I would be "handled" if I didn't remain silent about what she had done.

I was then re-victimized by law enforcement. On 12/18/22 they refused me service when I was clearly and demonstrably in imminent danger. A psychotic person who had been communicating threats to me for the past year had just sent renewed terroristic threats through an accomplice. I had previously contacted the Sheriff about this mentally disturbed woman on 4/4/22, and they had done nothing at that time. Consequently, my stalker and her accomplice had become emboldened to the point that they were now mocking me because the law hadn't done anything to them. There was no doubt that my stalker was psychotic and deranged. For the previous year she had continued pursuing me both in person and online, had come to my place of work, had been reported to her internet service provider as a cyberstalker by a website administrator, was sending emails signed as a persona "Felicia," and had referred to self-harm. This was clearly a situation in which the North Carolina authorities needed to be involved, be that either law enforcement or mental health professionals. On 12/18/22 I pleaded with the Sheriff to look at the voluminous evidence I had collected. Victims of stalking are advised to keep such evidence and present it to law enforcement. The Sheriff flatly refused to meet with me. I then requested a Keep Check on behalf of the 75 year old senior woman with whom I live, who was in fear for her own safety due to the continued terroristic threats against a member of her household. The Sheriff never patrolled around our home, made a report, followed up, or asked to meet with us.

I was then re-victimized by the North Carolina Coalition Against Sexual Assault. Despite my repeated written and verbal pleas for help, this victims advocacy organization refused to provide me with assistance, citing my gender as the specific reason why I was being denied service. This was discriminatory and illegal. The NCCASA explicitly violated my civil rights.




7/24/21. The day before my birthday Patty sent this creepy grooming video. The next morning she upped the ante by sending a pic of her hand fondling the balls of a phallus. Within a 24 hour period this drunk, horny, ugly old hag communicated the messages that she wanted her mouth on me, and that she wanted her hand on my balls.

9/5/21. Patty proposes paying for sexual contact.

After having associated with Patty for some time I was able to discern a predictable cycle of behavior. Anybody familiar with psychopaths will recognize a similar pattern.

1) Hinting. She would "hint" and "tell on herself." This is perfectly illustrated in the "pay for it" message shown above. Patty constantly probed, tested, and looked for a reaction.

2) Denying & Gas-lighting. When I protested that she had crossed my boundaries she would deny, deflect, and obfuscate. Some of her most frequently used lines included:

“I was just joking (playing, fooling).”
"You're always teasing me (looking sexy, making me horny)."
“I was just kidding to see how you would react.”
“I didn’t mean it like that."
"You misunderstood.”
“You still don’t get me.”
“I never said that.”
“You never said that.”
“I would never do that.”
“I have always respected your boundaries.”
“I just like to give people friendly hugs.”


3) Playing the victim. When I was persistent and forceful in my protests, she would then play the victim, acting hurt and offended. She would claim to be gravely insulted by my accusations. She chastised me for being distrusting, cynical, and suspicious of her motives, as though there was something wrong with me for noticing her aggressive sexual advances. At the same time she would portray herself as kind, caring, trustworthy, benevolent, and long suffering, reminding me of all she had done for me.

This manic, extremely exhausting behavior escalated in intensity over time, reaching a crescendo as 2021 drew to a close. Near the end Patty ceased even bothering to prevaricate. I believe she had grown bored of toying with me and was making her power play. She told me how it was going to be, laying all her cards on the table — a royal flush.

Ten of Spades: “You owe me a favor for booking you gigs.”
Jack of Spades: “If you're going to look sexy then being groped is part of your job.”
Queen of Spades: “I suggest that you grin and bear it.”
King of Spades: “You could be working at Walmart instead.”
Ace of Spades: “I use my contacts behind the scenes to crush and blacklist my enemies.”




9/18/21. More sexual harassment poetry. There is always the "tell" in her messages, in this example the line "I can't put my finger on." She knows that I don't want to be touched, that she is forbidden from putting her finger on me. Perhaps in her psychotic brain Patty somehow rationalized that it was permissible to molest me in the "foreign land" of her Frisco and Felicia mental delusion.

9/21/21.

10/26/21. I am responding to her request that we meet in person for a "date" to discuss gig scheduling. I reassert my boundaries of privacy, inform her that I only want to discuss business, and make it clear that her sexual advances are destroying our friendship.

In retrospect I believe that Patty knew our association would end apocalyptically. In her sexual harassment poems she says that I will disappear in the end. This wasn't prescience on her part. She didn't restrain herself out of fear that her crazy behavior would drive me away because she knew that this was the inevitable outcome, part of the script. That script went something like this:
Act One — Spotting a suitable victim, casing them out, becoming obsessed, stalking.
Act Two — Getting introduced, love-bombing, fishing for personal info, exploiting her victim's weaknesses, using all of her strategies to create drama and excitement, pushing buttons and boundaries, creating her fantasies and fictions, playing her game of abuse and control.
Act Three — Psychopaths inevitably get bored and have to push the limits for continued excitement. I could tell that Patty was getting bored with me in the final months of our association, particularly after I began using the Grey Rock Method and increasingly ignoring her provocations. She pushed it too far (sexually assaulted me) and the whole thing ended catastrophically. I assume that most people flee from her at this point, after which she moves on to her next victim, "crush," infatuation, and starts all over again.
End of story.

However, it didn't end there with me. I added a coda.

CODA I believe that Patty targets people who are compromised in some way, either through drugs, alcoholism, or economic want. She plays her game, and when it's over her victims are too drunk or high to articulate what had happened. However, with me Patty had abused a victim who wasn't high on drugs or in an alcoholic stupor. I also refused to comply with her demands for sexual contact. Having been abused as a child, I recognized in her the type of manipulative predator who preyed on me as a child. In some ways my aspergers makes me vulnerable, though it is also a type of superpower. I remember everything and I obsessively focus and ruminate upon events, dates, times, places, names, conversations, words. Aspergers also inclines me to be a principled fool, an idealist in the spirit of a Don Quixote, or a Frank Serpico, believing that there is a difference between right and wrong, truth and lies, good and evil. Using these abilities I added a Coda to Patty's three act sociopath play, exposing what she is what she has done to me, using the irrefutable proof she provided in her own confessional messages. Patty could not let herself be exposed, hence her extreme response of slandering me, branding me a liar, and even threatening that I would be "handled" if I didn't remain silent. All of this has been thoroughly documented.



10/27/21. Just the previous day I had reasserted my boundaries of privacy, yet here Patty is actively fishing for personal info about my family, particularly as it relates to my Jewish heritage. I made the mistake of revealing that members of my family had been murdered by the SS in Poland in 1940, and that my Ashkenazic grandmother had recently passed at 104 years old. Patty must have told Victoria (NaziGirl) about these things, which explains why she subsequently directed antisemitic rhetoric at me that mocked the Holocaust.

Patty had associates who were openly, outspokenly antisemitic, including Victoria and Allen. These alcoholics, hard drug users, and bigots frequented, and in Vic's case, lived in Patty's home. Victoria had directed hate speech at me about burning Jewish women in ovens. Allen wrote lyrics referencing Jews running from Hitler. After I severed all ties with Patty she used these antisemites to smear me by aggressively spreading the lies that we were lovers, that I had sexual relations with her in the parking lot outside of my gigs, and that I was moving into her house.





10/28/21. She expresses her desire to write a story about the past year and "embellish on some romance." I can only assume, given the harassing sexual content of the thousands of messages she has sent, she means a fabricated romance between herself and I. This is in fact exactly what she did after I severed all ties with her, telling everyone that we had been in a romantic relationship.
She also reveals that Victoria, "does not know who Frisco and Felicia are ."

12/24/21. Christmas Eve. Shutting down her plan to get me alone outside, thereby denying her an opportunity to grope me. I knew better, as her attempts to touch me occurred late at night, after she'd been drinking, watching me perform for three hours while leering at my "package," and getting progressively more drunk, horny, and emboldened. Her lack of impulse control was sadly predictable. Going outside with her would have been like stepping into Matt Lauer's rape office.

12/25/21. The very next morning, at 4:17 AM, she starts right in with talk about kissing. I cannot emphasize enough the insane fanaticism with which she persisted in these unwanted sexual advances, hammering away with requests, insinuations, demands, and assertions that I owed her kisses, hugs, and a "special favor." This rhetoric went on daily, both in written messages and in conversation. Regardless of how many times I said, "No," of how often I repeated the words, "Respect my boundaries," or told her that Suzi was reading everything, it simply did not matter. She just kept coming at me relentlessly.

12/25/21. Later that day Patty goads me about my aspergers, here asserting that she is an empath who has been, "dating somebody for the last 11 months (on and off again) who has avoidant attachment . . ."
In Patty's deranged mind she cannot grasp that the reasons why I am unresponsive to her advances for sex and intimacy are because:
1) She is physically repulsive to me.
2) I have been in a relationship with a woman for fifteen years.
Nevertheless, in the message below Patty verbalizes the fiction that she is struggling in a relationship with me, positing that the reason why it is difficult for her to achieve intimacy with me is because I am neuroatypical.
A year after I severed ties with Patty she was still writing about her self-delusional rationalization, publicly mocking my aspergers on the Facebook page of Amanda (my partner in Velvet Vamps), saying it was "extremely odd" that I had feelings and love for cats, but not for her.

12/25/21. Here I am asserting boundaries and requesting that she stop sending provocative messages. At this point the situation was no longer funny or amusing for Suzi. Patty was aggressively playing the provocateur, sending messages framed as though I was in a tumultuous relationship with her, talking about my moving into her home, and insinuating that Suzi was cheating on me. I continued to endure this insanity for the sole reason that I needed the gigs she was securing for me. My own delusion was in hoping that she would finally come to her senses and respect me, or at least grow bored and focus her lust elsewhere.

12/28/21.She was always working a new angle, varying her approach, including things like requesting guitar lessons in her home, or having me meet her somewhere to collect my pay. On more than one occasion, when a 3rd party was supposed to be present at an appointed meeting as per my request (I had made it clear that I did not trust being alone with her), that other person would mysteriously not show up. Below Patty attempts a new angle, arguing that hugs are medically beneficial, and that I should therefore allow her to hug me. Such was her desperation to have physical contact with me.

12/28/21. She was relentless in her goals of trying to gain my trust and getting me to lower my barrier so she could touch me. She had reasoned with me, offered to pay for it, and began dropping hints about her growing weary of my continuous evasions, saying she was prepared to stop managing me if I didn't concede to the romantic relationship she desired. It was all to no avail, as I was not going to budge. I'd declined far better offers of riches in exchange for doing things much less gross than being romantic with Patty. She finally reached her breaking point and spelled out the deal to me explicitly: If I'm "gonna continue to look sexy," then physical contact is part of the jobs that she is getting me. She suggests I "grin and bear it," in other words, shut up, smile, and comply while I'm being groped. It didn't matter if I didn't consent to this contact. She was just going to take what she believed she was owed by me.
Has anyone reading this ever been sexually touched against your will, when you were young, by a person who had some kind of power over you? If not, then you cannot begin to comprehend the deep, permanent psychological scars such abuse leaves. For Patty to shamelessly and sadistically try to leverage that same kind of manipulative power over me, as a way of getting off sexually, and to boost her ego by way of propagating the lie that I was her boyfriend — this was pure evil! It is also a crime, as quid pro quo sex harassment is against the law. Just three days after writing this, on New Years Eve of 2021, Patty would sexually assault me onstage at Waterside, in Catawba, NC. As this email clearly indicates, she believed it was part of my job to accept her touching me, her motive was sexual, and she wanted me to shut up and accept it.

Performing at Waterside on 12/31/21. My assailant shot this footage. After she put her phone down she jumped onto that stage and sexually assaulted me, then verbally abused me for trying to resist her attack, calling me a "scumbag" in front of my band and the audience. My detailed account of that sexual assault is documented elsewhere in this thread. For the past two and half years I have been telling that same testimony to police, friends, co-workers, my therapist, and sexual assault organizations.

Were you at Waterside in Catawba NC on New Year's Eve of 2021?

I am seeking video of the sexual assault which occurred that night. If you are reading this and in possession of that video then please contact me through this forum. I already possess the following information relating to that assault:

* My own written testimony of the sexual assault of 12/31/21.
* Hundreds of emails in which Patty sexually harasses and propositions me in the ten months preceding the assault of 12/31/21, which establishes her intent.
* An email in which Patty's communicates her intent to sexually assault me while I am onstage "Next time."
* An email in which Patty describes sexually assaulting me and my resisting her at a previous performance on 11/1/21 (The "Bye Bye Birdie" email).
* An email written three days before the assault of 12/31/21 in which Patty says that if I look sexy then physical contact is part of my job and that I should passively submit.


WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU EXPOSE A PSYCHOPATH: Lies, denial, projection, threats, referencing self-harm.

A couple weeks after the sexual assault of 12/31/21 I broke all ties with Patty. She continued harassing me with messages signed "Felicia," stalked me in person at my job, slandered me, made the false accusation that it was I who was stalking her, threatened blackmail, and said she was going to harm herself. Over the course of the following year her sustained harassment would escalate to the point where her criminal conspirator Victoria would send me the message that I would be "handled" if I didn't remain silent. These predators without fear of the law mocked me because the police hadn't done anything to them. I never responded to any off these communications. I continued documenting these threats while repeating my request to the Catawba County Sheriff that they investigate the women terrorizing me.

Patty's message of 7/4/22, in which she alludes to suicide, was particularly alarming. That she was not being held for psychiatric observation was beyond belief. Suzi and I were terrified that this mentally ill lunatic might try to harm us in the act of killing herself. I had reason to be afraid of a murder/suicide scenario, as Patty had previously written that her friend, the former Mayor of Hickory, had murdered a woman at the Newton newspaper office and then killed himself. Patty always telegraphed her intent through her messages. Two weeks after Patty sent the message saying "I cannot go on with my life," she traveled to Statesville, NC to continue stalking me at my job. The afternoon of 7/18/22 I was performing on an outdoor stage at a bar called Clutches with the band Lucid Outbreak. This mentally ill, suicidal person who was relentlessly stalking me, who was sending me messages signed "Felicia," who believed I was an imaginary person named "Frisco," who had previously sexually assaulted me in public while I was performing, and who had previously written about murder/suicide, had me in her sights that afternoon, lurking in front of the stage, leering and recording, causing me such excruciating mental anguish that I pissed myself onstage during that performance.

[Rollin Hand]

You just had to know there'd be a crazy girlfriend in there somewhere....


...and hi @PsychoCid !

[BatUtilityBelt]

In my experience, collaboration takes work from all and can still have difficulty getting things done. When ideologies pop into that equation, it can ruin shared efforts. I don't care who anyone's favorite superhero is, and I don't support anyone pushing their superheroes on others. It is sad when that affects creative endeavors intended to be communally enjoyed like music. "Be excellent to each other."

[tonebender]

Sorry to hear about your band drama issues. Glad you got your money and put that group behind you. Have you thought about an acoustic solo act? I find it to have a lot of advantages and absolutely free of the things you have discussed in this thread. I still like the guys I have been playing with the last 4 years and if not for them all I would do is the acoustic thing. Besides no band drama, the advantages include many more venues that hire solo acoustic acts than bands, the gigs have much better hours and the pay is way better. With the band generally speaking the pay is somewhere between $75 and $150 a person (I have always been in equal split bands) and for a solo gig I get $150-$200 base pay and with tips the total is often over $300. It seems people tip more at solo shows too. They are there for the music whereas at bars/clubs they are there to drink, try to hook up and their funds are more allocated towards success to those ends.

I found it to be harder work than the band in general because; 1) playing the acoustic for 3-4 hours is not as easy as it used to be for a seasoned person like myself and; 2) singing 30 or 40 songs is tough too. Both the band and solo act are rewarding but there is just something special about doing it all by yourself.

[tlarson58]

That was a lot to digest. I had to take a break after reading this to think it through for a bit.

Hindsight is 20/20. The experience challenged you - and there were some good times - but ultimately there were signs all along that it wasn't a healthy long-term fit. You put a great deal of effort into that endeavor without much return (monetary or otherwise).

My two cents says that you're better off changing lanes. Is the collaboration with the female singer still in motion? Perhaps joining forces for an acoustic gig (like @tonebender mentioned) could be an option. The recordings were impressive as well. An acoustic gig or studio time might not provide the rush that a rock 'n roll live gig does, but it's something.

[toomanycats]

Patty documents stalking me in November 2020. I was unaware of her existence at that time.

The origin of Patty's Felicia and Frisco psychotic delusion. She frequently repeated the word "untouchable." She was obsessed with touching the "untouchable," "unreachable" Frisco while he was performing onstage.

Patty finally got herself introduced to me in Feb 2021 while I was performing at the Barracuda Taproom in Hickory, which was my first awareness of her existence. After this I noticed she was at every gig. She told me she controlled the HickoryURock Facebook page, she knew every musician and venue, and could get me work. There were immediate warning signs — her love bombing; the insistence that we were best friends, soulmates, and "twin flames"; her talk about her psychic; and the intense probing into my personal life. Yet she also immediately provided me with jobs. That was the "carrot." I accepted her offer to be my manager while firmly laying down the boundaries of our association.

As a straight man who had moved and worked in gay environments, I believed I was especially adept at parrying unwanted advances and skillfully navigating my way in an amitié particulière. However, dealing with an aggressive, drunk, mentally unhinged, horny old grandma in a redneck rock & roll milieu was something entirely different. I would learn that Patty was de facto immune from accountability or consequence for sexually harassing, assaulting, and stalking me, and even for communicating terroristic threats.

Is Patty protected?
Are the cops apathetic and incompetent in regard to a psychopath and her antisemite accomplice communicating terroristic threats?
Or have they been paid off?
Shortly after I requested an investigation the Catawba County Sheriff sent us a letter soliciting a donation.




3/14/21. "It's time" — time to initiate her program of sexual harassment. Given the boldness with which she announces this offensive — as though she's on a timetable, with subsequent messages describing her, "attachments to young musicians," her "crushes," speaking in terms of "hundreds," so many that her stalking was well known and had become the butt of a joke in the local music community — it seems only natural to speculate how many times she's done this before.

3/16/21. This email demonstrates just about the nicest, most considerate way a man could say, "Lady, I ain't interested." She was my friend and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. No good deed goes unpunished.

I had responded to Patty's declaration of love by saying I did not reciprocate her feelings. That should have been the end of it, but it wasn't. For the following ten months I endured her unsolicited sexual advances, daily receiving dozens of emails. I talked with her on the phone and occasionally met for coffee — all of which subjected me to relentless requests for romance and sexual contact. I endured this harassment because I genuinely appreciated her friendship and also desperately needed the work she was getting me. Throughout our association I repeated the words, "Respect my boundaries!" I said this so many times that in the end she parroted it back as her self-defense, saying, "I have always respected his boundaries." Patty's emails document her sexual harassment and assaults, which prove that she's a shameless liar.


How obsessed was she?

She provided me with a DNA test kit and hounded me for the results.

She indicated that she had hacked into my email and had knowledge of my account activity.

What does it mean, clinically speaking, when a predator wears a "skin suit" mimicking the object of their sexual obsession?
Is this a, "It puts the lotion on it's skin," type of thing?

She was obsessed and possessive of not just me, or of her psychotic creation "Frisco," but also of my professional persona, "The Wizard," which she promoted on the HickoryURock Facebook page. Pychopaths crave continual excitement. Patty's close connection with "The Wizard" was her narcissistic supply, like a drug to her. She invoked my local “fame"and "celebrity," saying "everybody wanted a piece" of me while reveling in her role as gatekeeper. She glommed onto me, literally hung on me, living vicariously through the fantasy of Felicia and Frisco — which she deceptively promulgated to the public as a real romantic relationship between Patty and John.

A female Harvey Weinstein who assigns numbers to her victims. The price of jobs is touching. Below the musicians she enumerated as #1 and #2 are shown performing at Bootleggers in Hickory in 2021. Patty's left hand creeps on #1 as she photobombs.

She claimed that I owed my success to her and dunned me, explicitly demanding intimate contact as payment. When I refused to pay her with hugs, kisses, and a "special favor," she tried to take them by force. I resisted and blew the whistle on her "pay to play" operation. Realizing she could't control me, and furious that I refused to pay, she retaliated by burning The Wizard to the ground.

The cover-up was worse. Patty slandered me, resumed the stalking she'd been engaged in before we'd met, while using an accomplice to silence me with terroristic threats (a criminal conspiracy).



Two emails are shown below.
The first is the final message I ever sent to Patty on 1/17/22.
The second is one of many Patty continued sending after that, this one from 4/28/22, which is signed "Felicia."
Question: After I told Patty she had assaulted me and I severed all ties, why would she continue sending emails signed "Felicia"?
Is it because she's . . .
1) Mentally ill (schizophrenic, bi-polar, erotomania).
2) Drunk and/or under the influence of drugs (prescription or otherwise).
3) A calculating psychopath terrorizing me with her "crazy" behavior for her own pleasure and amusement.
A week later, after messages and threats kept coming, we reported Patty and Victoria to the Sheriff and requested a Keep Check.

My final email states that I no longer wish to associate with Patty because she had sexually harassed and assaulted me.

However, in her message of 4/28/22 Patty feigns total ignorance as to why I have severed all ties with her. She is gaslighting me, as she was also gaslighting the public. She was making posts on Facebook mocking the idea that she was a stalker and sex assailant. At that very moment she was stalking and terrorizing me both at my job and through continued emails.

RE: The title of her message. What exactly should I expect to happen "Any time"?
She initiated her sex harassment with a message titled, "It's time."
She titled a message forewarning me of her intent to sexually assault me, "Next Time."
Like a comic book villain, Patty can't resist telling me what she's going to do.
Insinuations and veiled threats are a part of the psychopath's toolkit, used to keep a victim off balance, instill fear, cause unease, and maintain control.

She has recast herself as the victim, which is another psychopath strategy. I fled from her because she sexually assaulted me. She says I've "turned on her."
She berates me, saying I'm "unreasonable," "immature," not a decent person, and need to come to my senses.
She says she enjoyed our time together. I'm sure she did enjoy harassing and assaulting me, though I am done with it.
She says she's fine and has moved on — presumably to her next victim. I had recently watched her publicly grope a younger man she had moved into her home.

Yet she didn't "move on." Despite being reported as an internet stalker to her service provider, Patty continued to send me email messages throughout 2022. She also kept coming to my job and recording me.


Around the time Patty sent her "Any time" message I had ceased performing in Hickory altogether. A couple months later I joined Lucid Outbreak because Patty had directed Victoria to warn me to stay out of her territory. Despite leaving Hickory, Patty continued harassing me, coming to my job, sending messages, and contacting co-workers to slander and intimidate me.

Some of the ongoing harassment, threats of violence, and blackmail sent from Patty and her accomplice over the course of 2022. Patty directed her criminal conspirator Victoria to communicate that somebody would "handle" me if I didn't remain silent.

Mrs Tmc, my therapist, and I have pondered what could be the blackmail material NaziGirl refers to as, "proof of things that could easily get him in trouble."

Several possibilities:

*Patty, Victoria, and other accomplices could conspire to make false accusations against me (This is not to discount the possibility of a Folie à deux, in which Patty has compelled others to share in her delusions).

*The assertions by Patty and her accomplices that we had a romantic relationship could be part of an extortion scheme in which I will be accused of Alienation of Affection (Patty is married).

*Patty alluded to having access to my email account.

*Patty and Allen set me up to accept a kiss from her at a birthday party, which may have been recorded for future blackmail.

*On 11/27/21 people witnessed me arriving at and leaving a gig in Patty's vehicle.

Below are accounts of these events recorded in my own journal, along with several other entries from that time period.


Entry in John’s personal journal, April 14th, 2021

Patty summoned me to The Sails in downtown Hickory for what was ostensibly a business meeting to discuss future gigs. She bluntly offered me sex, her exact words were, “Will you do it with me?” It was grotesque. I sat with my coffee in that stiff metal chair, half shielded from the sun under a cabana. A Hickory police officer was conversing with a rather loud, homeless proselytizer. Patty’s words would have been no less shocking than if she had reached down into her Depends and flung a piece of shit at me. I was stunned, incredulous, grossed out, mortifyingly embarrassed — more so for her than for myself. Was this a joke? Was I being probed, tested, or punked? I didn’t want to give her a reaction. I ignored what she said, believing it would go away if I didn't acknowledge it. I've been propositioned by aggressive parties before, and when I ignored them they eventually get the picture and cease. My “meeting” with Patty finally ended and we parted ways, her “fucking” query left unacknowledged.

I told Suzi about this horrible encounter. We had an awkward laugh as I assured her I could handle working with this aggressive old lady who has already begun booking me jobs. Suzi finds Patty an object of both derision and comedy. Even despite her lewdness, I feel pity for the lady. She’s the most delusional and pathetic person I’ve met in a long time. It would be silly to expend any anger towards her, as just being herself must be punishment enough for Patty.
Suzi has insisted that I straighten this out immediately, in unequivocal terms that Patty will clearly understand. Patty either can’t take a hint or is completely blinded by her infatuation.



John Journal Entry, June 21, 2021

Suzi has brought to my attention an email from Patty with a photo of her eight year old granddaughter asleep in bed. Patty refers to that little girl as a “party animal.” Considered in itself, it is a benign image of a child asleep. However, in the context of knowing that this child is being molested by her mommy's boyfriend, it is creepy and inappropriate. These wacko women readily pimp out their children.

It is invasive, violating, and perversely voyeuristic to take a pic of a sleeping child. I can't help seeing it that way, as forty-years ago I was such a child. A drunk, horny molester lusting after young flesh pulled up my bedcovers as I lay sleeping. Patty lusts after young flesh too. She has no right to send that pic to a stranger, which is all I am to her. Suzi has implored me to delete this message, as she believes this psycho is trying to entrap me. I've made the decision to save it as evidence. There is something very wrong here. Patty regularly brings this child to bars in Hickory and gets drunk while the kid twerks in front of the stage. When she wants to stalk the bars alone she leaves the kid with a cokehead babysitter. Something unspeakably awful is going on here.



John Journal Entry, July 2nd, 2021

To her credit, Patty has delivered on getting me gigs and introducing me to musicians. The floodgates have opened and I’m booked at most every venue in the area. Association with Patty has dragged me from the domesticity of my cottage in the woods into the shitty underbelly of the local music scene. These aren't “venues” or even “clubs” at which I’m performing. It’s mostly bars, with some winery gigs on Sunday afternoons. It's a nocturnal realm of alcoholics, hard drug users, dealers, criminals, violence, psychopaths, liars, sexual deviants, depressed and suicidal addicts, overt bigotry, and stalking groupies. Many of these people have mental health issues, including Patty. Car crashes, DWIs, knife fights, gunfire, and beatings are all part of this world, occurring around me in a blur as I play guitar every night. If Patty isn’t at the center of these incidents, she's acquaintances with the protaginsists, relishing in the gossip about it in her emails. As Suzi has a taste for real-crime drama shows on TV, she has taken an interest in these emails.

Besides keeping Patty at bay (physically, emotionally, verbally), my greatest problem is working with alcoholics and druggies. Getting paid is a major dilemma, as before anything else addicts need to feed their addiction. Covering bar tabs and procuring drugs takes precedence over compensating me.

There are only three reasons why I’m playing these gigs:

1) To sustain our cats. People have learned of our burden supporting a colony of rescue cats and started bringing cat food to my gigs. The traditional perks of rock & roll are whiskey, cocaine, and pussy. For me it’s Whiskas, catnip, and another type of pussy — the kind with four paws that requires food, trips to the vet, and pricey medications.

2) The unique joy I get from playing guitar with other musicians in front of an audience.

3) The therapeutic benefit of that social interaction vis a vis my aspergers. I've been swept up into this Dionysian maelstrom, though it chafes the strict order demanded that my aspergers mind. While performing I feel connected with “normal” people, both the audience and the band. People understand me when I’m playing guitar, if only through the "voice" of my instrument. Patty has become my "Zorba the Greek." She’s lustful, drunken, unapologetic, remorseless, truly one of the masses of people from whom I’m hopelessly separated, though she has become my guide in that world.



Entry in John's journal, August 17, 2021

There is a very painful subject my association with Patty is forcing me to confront. She is causing profound injury by insisting that she touch me. Even as an adult the trauma of being violated as a child lingers under the surface. Over the years I’ve learned to distinguish between those who want to embrace me out of goodwill, and predators whose motives are sexual. The bad feelings from childhood are easily triggered. This is happening with Patty. I know exactly what she is and don't want this horny old lady touching me, though I still allow very controlled contact, limited to a brief hug goodnight after a gig. We both know her true intentions, as she has very explicitly communicated her lust for me. I’m ashamed for allowing this. My only defense is that I desperately need these jobs to care for my cats. Suzi thinks that Patty is masturbating while she is on the phone with me.

Childhood sexual abuse and aspergers has socially handicapped me. Perhaps my greatest accomplishment is in galvanizing my inner resources and coming to terms with these impairments — though I’ve still been unable to live a “normal” life. Warm and reciprocal relationships are an impossibility. I’ve been unable to integrate into society or maintain lasting friendships and relationships. I’m a nebbish who has become more neurotic and fragile with age, increasingly more pessimistic, and prey to the curse of knowledge. My only escape, other than cats and music, is through a world of conceptualization, contemplation, and immersion in my obsessive interests: books, ideas, art, and guitar. I know that most people don’t get me. Worse than that, there have always been those who perceive my uniqueness as a vulnerability to be exploited and used for their own ends. Patty surely recognized me as such a target; I was apart from the herd, unprotected, naive, trusting, "different," and most crucially, in need of something she was in a position to provide — which was work. Predators smell blood from miles away.

Apart from considerations regarding the moral propriety of touching, or of my neural atypical status being targeted and exploited, there is at present an overarching hysteria about disease, sickness, infection, and illness. Everyone speaks of the necessity of social distancing, isolation, and lockdown. I’m not particularly afraid of Covid-19. I have my doubts whether it is a novel and especially deadly mutation of a virus, though I certainly don't want to get ill. This is reason enough for wanting people to keep their hands off of me and to keep their distance. That Patty wants to put her filthy hands and mouth on me in the context of the pandemic is outrageous! She is the consummate disease spreader! Patty is representative of something more significant than just a carrier of a pathogenic infection; she is akin to the disease that’s spreading in Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice, which is, in its essence, a cultural and spiritual malady, manifesting in madness, insanity, irrationality, and sexual licentiousness. She's a morally sick creature.



RE: THE BIRTHDAY KISS of September 28th, 2021

Last night Allen and I played at the Mountain View Pub. It wasn’t just a gig, but also a birthday party for Patty with her #1 and #2 guys. It is the end of a week of Sukkot and I'm exhausted, having been sleeping in my shelter in our woods, reading Ecclesiastes by candlelight, as I'm wont to do every year at this time. I just wanted to get this gig over so I could hurry back home to my abode in the woods. But a terrible incident occurred in which I believe I was set up by Patty and Allen.

Any Allen Ward performance is a highly unpredictable thing. Despite Patty’s forewarnings, the things I’m experiencing while performing with Allen are shocking. Onstage I feel like I’m playing the straight man in a Martin and Lewis routine. He's often so crazed at the end of a gig that he walks on tables and on the bar. He smashes and destroys his own equipment. At Bootleggers the other night he was humping a beer bottle against the wall and hurt his cock and/or balls. He rams his head repeatedly into the wall. He talks about using cocaine over the microphone. He provokes customers to assault him by insulting their wives/girlfriends, and using racial slurs. He dumps buckets of water and ice on his head. He heaves bottles across the parking lot. When Allen is in this state Patty (and often Victoria too), dote on him like he’s a little boy. They hug him, pick up his broken equipment, bring him more alcohol, and collect his scattered cash on the floor. Patty is constantly running her hands over Allen’s body. It is a sickening spectacle to observe. The other night there were gunshots outside Mountain View Pub. Allen stood nonchalantly on the curb observing the gunplay, as though watching a tennis match. Afterwards he was disappointed that there were no bullet holes in his car.

Allen is a polarizing figure. People either love or despise him. Despite his madness, I'd be the first to admit that when he's on, he's on. When not completely inebriated, nobody in Hickory can touch him in terms of raw talent, uninhibited emotional expression, and charisma. Being onstage with Allen must be just a taste of what Robby Krieger felt backing up Jim Morrison. It is a real, raw, dangerous rock & roll experience. A candle that burns so intensely can’t sustain itself for long, and any given night I’m bearing witness to this man’s auto-da-fé. Any gig with Allen could be the greatest rock show I’ve ever played, or a total fucking disaster. Any moment the whole thing could fly apart, he could disappear mid performance, get arrested, overdose, get beat up, or any number of other harrowing scenarios.

I’m particularly horrified that Allen leaves a gig driving his car. He’s gone through several vehicles in the short time I’ve known him. Patty said he’s had multiple DWIs, but a lawyer she "makes out with" keeps getting him off the hook. Both Allen and Patty have children in their vehicles. There should never be a child in the care of either of these drunks!

After the show Allen insisted that I accept a kiss from Patty, saying it was his "birthday present." They were surely in on this together. Allen has the further motivation of wanting to exacerbate Patty's obsession with me, as this would keep her focus off of himself.

I'm the butt of a joke with this guy, his patsy. My brother Dan (RIP) was also an alcoholic. He did the same thing to me, mocking me as if he knew something I didn’t. Patty, Allen, and my brother all push my buttons to get a reaction out of me. They have a contrary nature that encourages corruption, enjoys humiliating a self-restrained person, and gets perverse pleasure out of making others uncomfortable.

Allen has said I, “Need to be on his level.” He’s obviously not talking about guitar, as I can play circles around him. He means debauchery. He's boasted of snorting coke with a NC State Trooper, and of the night he did blow with a surgeon in Hickory who only broke off in the early morning to drive to Charlotte and perform operations. He chides me by pushing liquor, cocaine, videos of girlfriends masturbating, and stories of the bartenders he parties with after I depart a gig to come home to Suzi and the cats. His tales of sexual prowess are pathetic, as Patty said that Vic tried to fuck him one night on her sofa but he's impotent.

Before I could mount a serious protest Allen had decided the matter, hurrying across the bar to retrieve Patty. He returned dragging the besotted old lady beside him in a headlock. It was a bizarre, perverse, undignified spectacle. She cackled like a witch, her laughing punctuated with high pitched cries of, “Allen!” She knew I didn't want her mouth on me. I felt like I had suddenly been dropped into the scene of an obscene college hazing ritual, where a humiliated initiate is compelled to be intimate with a barnyard animal. He deposited the laughing, drunken Patty in front of me. The even more inebriated Allen draped one arm around my neck and the other around Patty’s. This sweaty, stinking, slurring master of ceremonies then leaned his full dead weight upon our bodies, drawing us into a circle, this coven of three butted together at our heads for the unholy proceeding. I was not in control of this situation and didn't want to do this. This is how my cats must feel when I put them in a cage to go to the vet. A dozen people surrounded us, enthusiastically cheering on the depraved spectacle. We were, after all, in the middle of a bar at just after midnight, the witching hour. Our musical performance was over, but Allen was still very much in performance mode, with all eyes in the room upon him as ringmaster.

I tried to rationalize what was about to happen. As a sane, sober, and reasonable person, being kissed by Patty on her birthday was silly and harmless; it meant nothing, was occurring out in the open, in public, and was in the spirit of the birthday festivity, like giving a co-worker an innocent kiss at a Christmas party. She had procured many gigs for me, including the show I played last night. Perhaps this kiss would count as the “favor” she insisted I owed her. I couldn't think of a more safe and benign way to absolve that debt uncomfortably hanging over my head. It was also a favor for Allen, who was sorta my friend — my bandmate in any case. It was his special present to Patty. I didn’t want to let him down anymore than I ever let him down while onstage performing. I always delivered for this guy, giving him all of myself. That scene in Saturday Night Fever flashed through my mind in which Tony, the introspective, sensitive, empathetic guy, consents to dance with a homely girl who is enamored of him.

For one second I awkwardly capitulated to Patty touching her closed lips to mine, exactly how I pecked my Polish Grandmother, with a brief, benign, and painfully awkward kiss. Patty didn’t dare slip me her tongue. She knew better. I sensed her great unease. She was grievously overstepping the boundaries I'd established. People cheered. What did they imagine was going on? Was I being crowned the King of Fools, like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame? Victoria probably recorded this on her phone. Does she imagine that she has captured material for future blackmail purposes?

After this debased exhibition I quickly made my exit from the bar. In addition to claiming that she had made out with Allen, Shell, Colby, Randy, Flop, LA, and dozens of other men (women too), both young and old, Patty would now boast that she had “made out” with me too.

Upon arriving home I settled into my sukkah in the woods. The outdoor cats are puzzled by this strange aberration in my routine. It got cold last night and I woke up shivering in the early dawn hours. Charlie had ventured into my abode and curled up against my back for warmth. When I came into the house for coffee I told Suzi about last night. She is alarmed, believing that I have likely made my situation worse. She's particularly concerned that somebody might have filmed the kiss, that Patty will use it for blackmail, to promote her ongoing fictions about our romance, or to make her husband jealous. I fear she is correct and I’ve made a huge mistake.


Allen and Patty set me up. I was the titular "cake."

11/7/21

Patty is exhausting me with continuous psychodrama, keeping me off balance. I've called out the lie of our "friendship," a cover she's using as a means of gaining sexual access. I don't want to fuck her! I just want to play guitar, period! I don't care about her sex needs, her psycho family, or her alcoholic and druggie friends. She's sent me a message that reads like the plot of Looking for Mr. Goodbar.

RE: Arriving at a gig in Felicia's vehicle. Entry in John’s personal journal, Saturday, November 27th, 2021

Last night I had a closer encounter with domestic violence, alcoholism, pedophilia, and psychopathy than I ever want to have.
I discovered that I was booked for two gigs on the same night, with two different acts, in two different cities. The first gig was in Newton. The second gig started an hour after the first ended, an hour-and-a-half distance away in Winston-Salem. If I left the first job slightly early, with the gear I required already loaded in a second vehicle, then I could conceivably play both gigs. After consulting Suzi I decided to accept Patty’s offer to drive her vehicle to the second gig.

Patty's daughter and granddaughter were at the earlier gig at The Tavern On Main in Newton. Patty's daughter had crossed State lines in violation of a court order forbidding her from leaving Alabama. She has been charged with a crime involving a knife. Her new live-in-boyfriend accompanied her. He was a hulking, shaved head, slack jawed mutant who glared at me menacingly when I approached their table. He reminded me of the character “Pyle” in the film Full Metal Jacket, the one who kills the drill sergeant in the latrine before blowing his own brains out. At first glance I could tell he wasn't right in the head. My prejudgement was already negatively biased, as Patty had informed me he was being investigated for molesting her granddaughter. Given the trauma I carry with me from being molested, along with my disgust at the increasing societal normalization of pedophilia, I felt an automatic antipathy for this creep.

As our second set ended I heard yelling coming from Patty's table. The kid diddler was intoxicated and belligerent, threatening Patty, her daughter, and her grandchild. He drawled, “Fuck ya’ll,” calling these females, “Bitches.” He stomped to the men’s room, violently kicking in the door. Tibbs was next to me pissing and looked at me alarmed. The ogre then returned to the table, where he abruptly turned his malevolent focus upon me. I had never exchanged a word with him. He menacingly glared at me, began insulting me, and communicated threats of grave bodily harm. His exact words were: “I don't like you." "You're a pussy." "I'm a man." "I'm going to body slam you." This monster outweighed me by one-hundred pounds and he was twenty years my junior.

I heard Tibbs calling me back to the stage to begin our third and final set. I cautiously backed away from this subhuman. Taking a waitress aside, I told her to call 911. This violent pedo needed to be removed from the establishment. I didn't want him swinging on me while I played my Gibson Lucille. I believe that child molesters should go feet first into a wood chipper — and very slowly at that — though the idea of being a yankee Jew arguing justifiable self defense against a good ol' boy wasn't an appealing prospect. I know how the law works around here.

Patty's daughter had fled the bar. Five minutes after returning to the stage and resuming the performance, I observed as a single Newton cop walk into The Tavern On Main, nonchalantly approaching the drunk ogre, who now stood at the bar. They talked for a few minutes, then the cop amiably accompanied the ogre out of the establishment. Goodbye and good riddance to yet one more neanderthal I've had the misfortune to cross paths with in my lifetime.

An hour later I was driving Patty’s vehicle (I was the sober one) East on I-40 to my second gig with Dani Kerr's band at Earle's in Winston-Salem. A call to Patty’s phone came over the car speakers. We were assailed by the sounds of screaming and yelling. The inebriated ogre was at Patty’s home in Hickory, mercilessly beating her daughter and her grandchild and trashing her house. Her daughter screamed, "I think my tailbone is broken." She said a lamp was broken. Was she being beaten with a lamp? It was hard to tell through the sounds of utter chaos. A child wailed in the background. I was horrified! I pleaded with Patty to call 911 and send the police to her home. That man could kill her daughter and grandchild. Helpless animals were boarded in Patty’s home, defenseless against that rampaging drunk. To my astonishment Patty refused to call 911. She hung up the phone and called Victoria, who was in a room adjacent to where the beating was occurring. Vic reported hearing screaming and that the wall was vibrating under violent impacts. Patty then hung up the phone, shrugged he shoulders, and made an, “Oh well” look, as though it was a completely normal thing. I was shocked and anguished to glimpse the hell of utter depravity that occurred on any given night in Patty’s world.

I was obligated to perform in just half-an-hour and expected to act as if none of this had just happened. During the show I looked down at Patty, who had muscled her way to a table in front of the stage. She drank, ate, cackled, and leered at me lustfully, as though she hadn’t a care in the world other than getting into my pants. I now know she is mentally ill. I have reached the limit my tolerance and this cannot continue much longer. She isn’t just outlandish, vulgar and inappropriate — she is morally depraved and evil. Her circle of family and friends are criminals and dangerous to be around.

I couldn't disguise my distress during the show. Matt Eckerd sensed that something was greatly troubling me and asked what was wrong. I tried to communicate what had happened, about the child molester, the beating which was perhaps still transpiring. He made a blustering comment about his family owning lots of land and that they could, quote, “Dig a hole” for the female beating pedophile. He never mentioned it again. He was probably so drunk that he doesn't even remember the conversation today.

I am greatly disturbed that the Newton Police Department let that animal walk away from the bar. If they had detained him he wouldn’t had been able to return to Patty's house and beat that woman and child. The man had communicated direct threats at me just an hour previous.

I am also greatly ashamed that I didn't pull the car over and call 911 myself, regardless of Patty’s protests. I too completely failed that child, and I will never forgive myself for that. Woman like Patty, her daughter, and my own Mother are disgusting, morally weak creatures who fail to protect their own children from monsters. Many times as a child I prayed that some adult would intervene in my own miserable situation from the outside, would rescue me from the living hell I was enduring — though none ever did. I am no less despicable than those adults who looked away while knowing that I was being abused.

Why did I look away last night? It would have been inconvenient and personally endangering to “stick my nose into it.” I'd have been prevented from playing the gig at Earle’s and lost my pay, being stranded way out in Winson-Salem with all my valuable equipment. I'd have been involved in police reports and personally dragged into the entire debacle. The irony is that Patty, as far as she was able, would probably have denied everything I said, making me look like a liar in order to protect her daughter. This is what these woman do. Alcoholism, wife-beating, and sex abuse are probably a way of life for her and her family. She’s likely come to terms with it to the extent that it not only seems normal, but to where she will actually defend it, rationalize it, and actively cover it up. There was also the serious likelihood that if I went against Patty she would punish me financially going forwards. How could I win in such a situation?



John journal entry, January 2nd, 2022

I am suffering from a kind of emotional and psychological shock from Patty assaulting me on New Year’s Eve. It’s painful at a visceral level, like a tooth ache or gut punch. I don’t know how to process it or articulate it. I want to run away from the memory of it, bury it deep down where I don’t have to deal with what happened. I have a duty to honor the commitments I have to other musicians, though at the same time the feeling of vulnerability and shame I felt as a molested child is crushing and smothering me. I feel confused, violated, manipulated, powerless, and humiliated. I hate that woman!




RE: Felicia's "Gang." Entry in John’s personal journal, January 25th, 2022

Last night all the hell that a scorned woman can muster was unleashed on me at Mountain View Pub when Patty and her goon squad drove me off a gig with Eric Biter. Patty was not lying when she said she would use every underhanded and devious trick to destroy those that crossed her.

Last week I told Patty she couldn’t pay me for sex and she was fired as my manager. I told her to leave me alone! She sent an email proposing she meet with Suzi to tell her what a good, loyal, and moral person I am. I did not respond. The very premise of her messages reveals her treachery. The suggestion that I need Patty to reassure Suzi of my loyalty is absurd! Patty is trying to frame things as though there was a love triangle, as though she’s the “other woman” who will now magnanimously lie for me. It is a continuation of her delusional fantasies, just more manufactured drama to keep the excitement going. I would dismiss this out of hand, except I know she is a dangerous liar who propagates fictions. My failure to respond to Patty’s "olive branch" message was a casus belli. It is now all out war and she will pull no punches. It will be ruthless tactics from here on out.

When I arrived at Mountain View Pub Patty was sitting at a table with her gang, who had no doubt already been bombarded with her fictitious version of reality. It was indescribably awkward entering that room. I felt anxious and unsafe. I completely ignored Patty, not saying a word, not looking at her. In the previous weeks I told employees of MVP about Patty’s sexual assault. Eric Biter and a bartender named Laura explicitly knew about it.

During our first break Patty crept up to me as I sat tuning my guitar. I looked up and she was within inches of my face. I was afraid that she’d tried to assault me again, and also of what I might do if she did. I would not let her molest me again. She looked confounded by my unresponsiveness, staring like a child inspecting a puppet whose strings had been severed, frustrated that her toy no longer worked. She began her verbal harassment. I could not process or understand her insane behavior. It defied all common sense and decency. Didn’t she have any self-respect? Any sane and dignified person, after having had their romantic advances rebuffed for a year, then being publicly called out as a sex predator, stalker, and assailant, would stay as far away from their accuser as possible. Yet here Patty was, within inches of my face — aggressive, relentless, demanding, doubling down on crazy, shameless and brazen beyond all comprehension.

I quietly spoke only three words: “Leave me alone.” She directed that penetrating reptile stare at me, her soulless eyes grotesquely magnified by those stupid Austin Powers glasses, repeating her demand for acknowledgement. I said once again, “Leave me alone,” this time loud enough for those nearby to hear me over the music. I failed miserably by Allen Ward’s standards of being “really mean.” Allen would have loudly said, “Get the fuck away from me, you fucking crazy bitch whore!” He would have said it over the mic while dominating the energy of the room. But that’s just not me. Maybe one needs cocaine to do that.

When Patty’s associates heard my voice raise above a whisper they swooped in, as if on cue, joining in behind her like a chorus of fierce harpies. They began mercilessly heckling me. I was startled by their hostility. They must have heard that Patty had sexually assaulted me. Didn’t they have husbands and sons they wouldn't want that to happen to? This coven of bitter, middle-aged divorcees, husband stealers, homewreckers, and debauched bon vivants were whipped into an emotional, drunken frenzy. They taunted, screamed that I was being mean, rebuked me for not having a closure conversation with Patty, saying I should be ashamed for breaking off our romance in such a callous manner. A woman named Celeste shouted that I had duplicitously concealed the existence of Suzi from Patty.

At that moment I had confirmation that Patty had propagated her delusional fantasies as though they were real. Patty said she wanted to embellish the events of the previous year with a romance, and she has done exactly that. Her friends believed she was my loyal and doting girlfriend who was the victim of my callous behavior.

Above the din I heard Victoria Calzeretta scream, “Wait until we tell Suzi about all the sexual things.” All sociopaths and narcissists use blackmail to retain power. So their honey-pot trap was revealed. More like a vinegar pot, soured both by ugly Patty as would be bait and my priest-like demeanor. The optics were absurd. But it was only a small matter that I had never done anything. Facts must never get in the way of a fanatical agenda. Patty knows she overplayed her hand by sexually assaulting me on New Years Eve. What is left is force, intimidation, resorting to threats, blatantly making stuff up and screaming it out loud in public. It is a crude, desperate strategy used by the panicked. Yet one must not discount the effectiveness of such brut tactics when waging a propaganda war based on lies and fueled by crazed emotion.

Like a mentat I calculated all of this in seconds, recalling past events, factoring in what had just happened, and quickly deducing the conclusion. The full scope and horror of Patty’s scheme was clear. She is a person completely bereft of any morality and capable of any treachery.

I was stunned and apoplectic. Regaining my composure, I loudly and assertively denounced Patty’s vicious lies, telling her I was going to get an order of protection. Raucous laughter erupted in the room. Everything after that is sort of a blur. I made a scene, unleashed my aspergers as I very rarely do. People who had no idea of the backstory likely thought I was unhinged. My wrath robbed me of all capacity for eloquence. I remember yelling at Patty from across the room, “I don’t want to fuck you!” I had been expressing that to her, in more polite terms, since April 14th, 2021, when she first offered me sex at The Sails in downtown Hickory. Until last night I had never said it so loudly, bluntly, and publicly. But what kind of gentleman does that? I was now clearly and unequivocally communicating that message, in the vulgar street language Patty herself used and understood. From the looks on the faces of many of the bar patrons my meltdown was highly amusing. The quiet, reserved, swarthy guy in the corner finally had something to say.

As this clamorous confrontation reached its crescendo, becoming the unavoidable focus of attention of everyone in the bar, I vividly recall watching as Patty’s demeanor abruptly changed. She shape- shifted, as though by magic, transforming from an angry, in my face aggressor, into a meek and passive victim, literally scurrying away as though wounded. By way of contrast I stood there starkly in my righteous outrage . . . angry, loud, by all appearances the belligerent aggressor. I saw this unfold as though in the third person, watching as she deftly flipped the script, twisting things to look as though she was the reasonable one, while by contrast I appeared wild and crazed. She returned to the table with her friends and shed crocodile tears. It’s very telling when a skilled psychopath cries. She wiped underneath each eye, one at a time, for maximum theatrical and manipulative effect. It was part of her scheme to frame herself as the victim. She magnified this effect by removing her glasses, smudging her eyeliner, and appearing disheveled and beat up. In that moment I felt deep sympathy for Patty’s husband, knowing what a master liar and manipulator he'd had to contend with all these years.

It was an outrageous, surreal situation. I couldn't fully process it in that moment of tribulation. I would not continue performing while a sexual assailant publicly harassed me, with a rabid gang of slandering accomplices enthusiastically screaming lies and victim shaming me. Though I am not prone to violence, every person has his breaking point. If Patty put her hands on me again — and I believed she was capable of it — then I would go to jail. I profusely apologized to Eric Biter as I told him I had to leave, hoping he would understand.

And so I was driven off my job last night by Patty, loosing my pay, being publicly humiliated, coming home without so much as a dollar to pay my cat's food and medical bills. As I lugged my guitar and equipment out the door of Mountain View Pub Patty trailed after me, no longer crying, but full of chutzpah, emboldened by the pack attack of her accomplices. She frantically waved her stubby arms in the air over her head and strutted in her glory as she loudly croaked in her high pitched voice, "All of this is because of me!” What did she mean? That this was the measure of her power? That she could turn an entire bar against me? She could either grant or take away my ability to work? She could make truth a lie and lies the truth?

On the drive home I was numb, in disbelief at what had just happened. Pulling into the driveway I was overcome by the devastation of the evenings events. I sat weeping in the car, anguished, my forehead pressed to the steering wheel, knowing that monster was back there telling abhorrent lies about me. These were tears of despair cried alone, not the faux performance of a psychopath who had just demolished me, heart, soul, and wallet. I got out of the car and wandered the back woods of my property in the pitch dark, sobbing and confused. I needed to talk to somebody, though it would have been too humiliating to tell a man what was happening. I called my bandmate Dani Kerr, who has been in my home, knows Suzi, and knows my situation. I poured my heart out about being sexual assaulted, about the stalking, harassing, and defaming, and telling her that Patty and her gang had just driven me off a job. I have a gig scheduled this week at Boatyard Eats in Cornelius with Dani’s band, and I know Patty will be there. I begged Dani to forbid Patty from coming to that show. I also told Dani this was the last gig I would ever play with her band. Patty’s abuse and stalking, along with Dani’s boyfriend’s alcoholism and cocaine use, have made this an impossible situation for me.

Later last night I received an email from Victoria saying that Patty was benign, caring, selfless, and had only done what she did for me because she was “nice.” Victoria says I'm mean, selfish, complaining, and have taken Patty for granted.

I do not believe that I am mean, selfish, and complaining for having a problem with:
Victoria’s overt antisemitism and talk of burning Jews in ovens.
Patty booking me with people who snort cocaine in my vehicle.
Patty asking if she can pay me for sex.
Patty exposing me to pedophiles, child abuse, and assault on females.
Patty talking about orgasms, masturbating, her sex fantasies about me, and sending me pics of a dong.
Patty’s assertion that she has the right to grope me as part of our business arrangement.
Patty sexually assaulting me.
I most certainly don’t agree that Patty is “Nice.”



Entry in John’s personal journal, January 28th, 2022

Last night I played a gig at Windy City Sundries with Allen Ward. Sundries is like the default after hours club of Hickory. It doesn’t really pick up until midnight, after which it can get a little scary. Allen pointed out all of the many drug dealers and prostitutes who hang out there. It was pathetic how this small town guy adopted a self-satisfied pose as he acted as the knowledgable tour guide of the ass end of Hickory. He informed me of who sold the best blow, who carried a gun, and other sordid tidbits of street knowledge. Of all the many drug dens in the City of Hickory in which I’ve performed, Sundries is probably the worst. Put it this way — I’ve had to step over a body in the restroom at Sundries. That’s the measure of how bad it is.

If Sundries has any appeal, besides the fact that it is a paying job, it’s in that it reminds me, ever so slightly, as seen through the rose colored glasses of middle age, of my youth playing in bars in lower Manhattan. The West Village and Bleecker Street was safe. It was all of those dives in the East Village, the Bowery, and Alphabet City that felt edgy and dangerous. I remember the mnemonic device I was taught back then: “Avenue A is okay, B is beware, C is caution, and D is death.” Sundries is about a C on that scale, a bit of a cheap thrill, a little dangerous and dirty, a “wrong side of the tracks” feeling — and in those senses very rock & roll.

As ubiquitous as Patty is on the music scene, she refused to book me at Sundries. She never went into the place and spoke with disgust about having to drop Vic off there, as she assumed she was there to score drugs or turn a trick. Thus my surprise when late last night I observed Patty waddling in the back door like an angry duck, escorted by a young male musician named Blake. I'd noticed that his recent bookings had dramatically increased. I’d also heard that he'd moved into Patty’s house. Coincidence? I think not. He has a strong stomach, I’ll give him that. As Patty had unleashed her female flying monkeys on me earlier in the week, driving me off of a job at MVP, I wondered if she’d do the same thing with her male escort. In Patty’s demented mind she likely believes she can make me jealous by flaunting her new “houseboy” in front of me, who several months ago she had described, in an email, as being a dumb redneck with a big cock.

I was relieved that Patty was playing kingmaker with a new prospect, hoping she'd focus her obsessive horndog attention on this guy, move him to #1 on her list, and move on from me. Allen has told me this was my only way out of my stalker dilemma, and Patty's babysitter has also echoed that sentiment.

Alas, I was not so lucky. Patty strategically positioned herself at the bar and directed that piercing predatory stare at me, that gaze of control and intimidation used by both movie screen vampires and real life psychopaths. This is exactly how she ogled me when I first became aware of her existence back in February of 2021. She began recording me with her phone, clearly intending to make me uncomfortable. Patty was in my space, at my job, making me squirm, and there was nothing I could do about it. It was a display of abusive power and control.

I was totally isolated last night, with no friends or allies around me. I already see how this is going to play out with the public. I have told dozens of people about the sexual harassment and assaults I have endured at the hands of Patty, yet it has not become a cause célèbre. Nobody gives a shit, nobody wants to be involved, and nobody is going to cockblock a crazy old lady for me. I’m a grown man who is expected to take care of his own business. I am not entirely unsympathetic to those people who have decided to distance themselves from the situation. For musicians drama is extremely bad for business and to be avoided at all costs. Getting dragged into these disputes can compromise one’s ability to work. I also sense that some people may be gloating over my misfortune and are actually happy to see me fall down. I knowingly went into a cage with a tiger and got bit. Whose fault is it but mine?

The person most fully aware of my situation was Allen, as Patty was stalking him before she latched onto me. I heard the story of their “relationship” from both sides. Allen warned me that she was a creepy stalker who sent him disturbing messages. If Patty’s accounts are to be believed, then both Victoria and herself have had intimate contact with Allen. She detailed her angles of attack upon the man, which matched almost point for point her methods used upon me. Even though Allen knows all of this, he wasn’t going to help me last night. It is reasonable to assume that Patty pushed the same quid pro quo work arrangement on Allen that she tried to force upon me. Allen probably figures that it’s now my turn to pay Patty for her services, just as he did. I’m dealing with street people for whom a deal is a deal. Allen and Patty are dirty players, scrappers, survivors, backstabbers, scoundrels of the lowest moral character. They will stick together.

Consider the milieu in which this situation is unfolding: I am a male musician, performing in a bar, surrounded by alcohol and drugs, in a Sodom and Gommorah environment in which sex is ubiquitous, encouraged by the music itself, and many people are looking for a hook up. Female lust is part of the game and is not at all considered a bad thing. On the contrary, it builds a following for the band, fills the tip bucket, and provides a stable of groupies with whom band members can have sex interaction. This game plays out in every bar around the world that hosts live music. In this environment men sexually use compliant women, and vice versa. In these muddied moral waters a predator like Patty can lurk and hunt with total impunity.

Last night Allen was preoccupied with a more important problem — which he conveyed to me with the kind of exquisite, loving detail only a true connoisseur could elaborate — that his cocaine was too chunky because it had been mixed with too much meth. He’d also already downed a half-dozen of the fourteen or more shots of Fireball he’d drink that night and was a sweaty, tweaking mess, well on his way to the rock & roll oblivion he desperately chases during every gig.

When our first set was over Allen disappeared to the men’s room to take his, “cold medicine.” That's what he calls cocaine when he's pretending to be discreet. It was then that Patty climbed off her bar stool and tottered over to me, with a crazed, dilated pupil, mescaline look in her eyes that I was so familiar with. This predator knew I was isolated, vulnerable, and alone. For a brief moment of surreality I was struck by how this knotted old figure resembled the character on the cover of Jethro Tull’s Aqualung album, with the same lascivious eyes, disheveled hairdo, and slouching gait. Converging and negatively charged emotional associations between Patty, lustful old perverts, and pedophilia raced through my mind. She boldly ambled up to me and got right in my face. The only way I could have stopped her would have been to use physical force. She knew that. I could not flee, as I had valuable equipment with me and was surrounded by a roomful of criminals. She knew that too. She acted like a bully, like a pimp coming after an errant whore they believed they rightfully owned. Despite the turgid mental and emotional tempest raging inside of me, I confronted her with a face of stone, though my muscles and sinews were coiled like a spring. If this groper sexually assaulted me again I might not be able to restrain myself. This was probably what she wanted, as any action in my self defensive would utterly destroy me, she being an old lady and I a younger man. I wanted to use the line Clint Eastwood says in Play Misty For Me, “Get off my back!” But she probably wouldn’t have even got that I was calling her out as a stalker. She would have loved the attention anyways. I couldn't afford to cause a scene, be driven off from my job, and lose my pay for a second time that week. The newest member of our family is a Russian Blue named Smokey Robinson. He required emergency surgery this past week to save his leg, and we are in dire need of funds to pay the vet bill. That is a story that never ends. I turned and quietly walked away from Patty.

Late last night I lay in bed with Suzi and a half dozen cats, ears still ringing, feeling a loathsome contempt for myself. Why was I allowing myself to be subjected to such humiliation for just a few bucks? I stroked the soft fur of Fay, of Mr. Bingley, and Molly, listening to their deep purring, being reminded of why I was enduring this indignity. Halfway between a fitful wakefulness and a restless sleep, I did finally dream of Patty. In my dream her husband Mark was reigning down savage blows, punching, kicking, and pummeling her limbs, torso, and face, bruising and bloodying her flesh. Bones snapped and her orbital socket was shattered. These are exact wounds Patty claimed that he inflicted on her and which sent her to the hospital. Patty’s beating; her daughter and granddaughter being assaulted by a drunken pedophile from Alabama; the pummeling I had endured as a bastard child at the hands of my Mother’s drunken mate — all these images and memories of horror swirled and blended together in my dreams last night.



John Journal, February 26th, 2022

Last night I played a gig with Allen Ward and the Plague Rats at MVP. Allen sent me a pic that could be titled, “Happy drunk hugging an aspie.“ I don't feel violated when he makes close contact with me — even when he chews on my beard. It's a harmless and funny moment I can laugh at. He has serious substance issues, he's a happy drunk, and there's no sexual intent, unlike with Patty.

I have the crystal clear memory of watching Patty’s claw hands lustily glide over the rotund contours of Blake’s body last night. It was bizarre, eerie, and enlightening to watch her grope somebody else in the same way she besieged me. The difference was that I was resistant to her attacks, always turning my back, leaning away, protecting my genital area (the "No No square") with my hands and removing myself from her reach. Patty’s mode of assault is to lean on her victim (laying on them), poking with her tits, running one hand up and down the torso while wrapping the other arm around her victim’s waist for the “reach around.”

I asked Allen if he believes Patty sated her horniness on her new houseboy last night. He didn’t miss a beat, responding, “She maybe most likely did.” Perhaps more than anyone else other than me, Allen knows exactly what Patty is and how she operates. Though I hope this new obsession finally takes her focus off of me, at the same time I sincerely feel sorry for Blake. I don't dislike the guy and he's always been cool with me.

John Journal, April 3rd, 2024

My therapist said there is a correlation between creative people and victims of sexual assault. It's therapeutic for victims to express their pain through art, including painting, poetry, and music. Music does not comfort me. It's a painful reminder that I can no longer perform so long as open threats that I will be "handled" hang over my head. For my therapy I've created an image that is a depiction of the absolute ugliness, depravity, guile, sinister entrapment, and lies that have reduced me to being a client on a therapists sofa.