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.


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TERRORISTIC THREAT: A crime involving a threat to commit violence communicated with the intent to terrorize another. It may mean involving danger to another person that may include but is not limited to recklessly endangering another person, harassment, stalking, ethnic intimidation, and criminal mischief. A threat involving violence to any person with intent to place any person in fear of imminent serious bodily injury.

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cy·ber·stalk·ing [ˈsībərˌstôkiNG]. noun. The repeated use of electronic communications to harass or frighten someone.

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SEXUAL HARASSMENT ALLEGATIONS
Sexual harassment can be:

* Severe: a single instance can be sexual harassment if it is sufficiently severe.
* Pervasive: a behavior can be sexual harassment if it is repeated frequently enough.
* Unwelcome: the harasser knows, or reasonably ought to know, that the behavior is not desired by the victim.

Retaliation against someone who reports sexual harassment is illegal.


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I was first victimized by Patty. Her crimes are not limited to the sexual harassment and assault I endured while working with her in 2021. Patty felt entitled to sexual contact with me per a quid quo pro work arrangement which she explicitly spelled out in writing. After I publicly rejected her sexual advances on the evening of 12/31/21 she retaliated by denying me the ability to work in Hickory. Patty and her associates then slandered me with the claim that I had been romantic with her, was a lair, and an unreliable musician. She stalked and terrorized me both terrestrially and through online communications, using Victoria to communicate the threat that I would be "handled" if I didn't remain silent.

Patty Decker and her antisemite criminal conspirator, Victoria Calzeretta.

I was then re-victimized by the Catawba County Sheriff. Since 4/4/22 this law enforcement agency has had knowledge of written threats being communicated to me. Such communications from Patty and her conspirator continued throughout 2022, including messages from Patty about self harm. There was no doubt that my stalker was psychotic and deranged, as for the previous year she had continued pursuing me both in person and online, coming to my place of work, being reported to her internet service provider as a cyberstalker, sending emails signed as a schizophrenic persona "Felicia," and saying she couldn't go on with her life. During this time there was a child in the care of this mentally disturbed woman. This was clearly a situation in which the North Carolina authorities needed to be involved, be that either law enforcement or mental health professionals. My attempts to bring this to their attention fell on deaf ears. On 12/18/22 the Catawba County Sheriff refused to look at written terroristic threats communicated to me by Victoria on behalf of Patty in which I am warned that somebody would "handle" me. That day I pleaded on the phone with a deputy to look at the meticulously detailed evidence I had compiled, insisting that I was in imminent danger from this mentally disturbed, suicidal women who was engaged in a criminal conspiracy by communicating threats through an accomplice. This was not a civil matter. I was attempting to report felonies, hate crimes, terroristic threats. A child's safety was involved. The deputy refused to meet with me or look at my evidence, inso doing committing a misprision of a felony himself. I asked the deputy what legal right I had to defend my family if these terrorists actually did send someone to my home to "handle" me. He said that I must be able to, "Articulate the reason for my actions." I responded that a police report documenting the threats I had received would assist me in justifying my actions should I be required to act in self defense. Yet this deputy still refused to meet with me and look at my evidence. I then requested a "Keep Check" around our home. I know for a fact that no Sheriff's vehicle ever passed our home in the following week because I was up all night standing vigil myself. With soft on crime cops like this, it's no wonder that a criminal like Vic felt so emboldened as to mock me about the law not having done anything to her boss.

Living is the rural North Carolina has taught me why Jews hide in places like this. My own family hid upon arriving in this country. Baruch Spinoza, whose portrait hangs in my study, had to hide within his community in Amsterdam. I've spoken with a magistrate and a local rabbi about my situation, both of whom candidly admitted that there are a lot of rednecks around here, and strongly suggested that I should consider moving. My mind wanders back to a time when I had first moved to NYC as a teenager. The first job I got after arriving was at a law firm called Cleary Gottlieb Steen & Hamilton. I delivered inter office mail between the lawyers that occupied ten floors of a building on States Street. During my lunch breaks it became my habit to explore the narrow cobbled streets at the tip of Manhattan. To this day I could probably still navigate them blindfolded. There was a hole in a wall shop on Orchard Street owned by an old Jewish man where I used to buy fruit and nuts. He always wore a short sleeve shirt and I became fascinated by the numbers tattooed on his forearm. I asked one of the partners about this while delivering mail to his office, and he explained to me that it was a camp number. Afterwards I would look at those smeared digits and think about the camps. I knew that my Mother's family had originally come from Poland, though it was only years later that I discovered they were from Konin, and that members of my family had been killed in the mass murders carried out by the SS in the woods outside of that city. It seemed incomprehensible. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine that one day, here in America, a mentally deranged psychopath like Patty could openly stalk me, harnessing the vitriolic hate of an antisemite accomplice to terrorize my family and I with written threats, and that the police would deny me my civil rights under the law, just as Jews in Europe were denied their rights under the Nuremberg Laws. Perhaps that is why the old Jewish shop owner had worn short sleeve shirts. That tattoo was a reminder, a message, and a warning to the future.

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. An employee named Erika cited my gender as the specific reason why I was being denied service. Refusing my request for help because of my gender was discriminatory and illegal. The NCCASA explicitly violated my civil rights.

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There are too many instances of Patty's sexual harassment and confessions to present here. Below are shown some examples out of the many hundreds, with commentary provided for context.


7/24/21. The day before my birthday she emailed me this creepy grooming video. The next morning she upped the ante, sending a pic of her hand fondling the balls of a phallus. This horny hag was communicating the message that she wanted her mouth on mine and her hand on my balls. She was hell bent on breaking through the barrier I put up between us.

9/5/21. Patty suggests paying for sexual contact. Her use of the hypothetical is proof that she knew she was way over the line.

After associating with Patty for a short time I was able to ferret out her motives and extrapolate 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 a man for it" message shown above. Patty constantly probed, tested, and looked for a reaction. She also knew I was in a compromised financial situation, which was a disadvantage she sought to exploit.

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.”

This verbal dance of my constantly demanding she respect my boundaries and her constantly trying to dismiss her transgressions by way of any of the above excuses went on for almost a year. This thread of persistent underlying tension runs through all of our correspondences. It was not the imaginary sexual and romantic tension that she lied about to her friends; it was the tension felt by a victim being ceaselessly harassed by a relentless predator.


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 and how that debt was yet unpaid with the “special favor” I owed her.

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.”




On 9/18/21 Patty sends me 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 she is forbidden from touching me. In her psychotic mind Patty rationalized that it was permissible to molest me in the "foreign land" of her Frisco and Felicia mental delusion. On 9/21/21 she publicly declares on Facebook that I am her "Crush."

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. Utilizing these abilities I added a Coda to Patty's three act sociopath play, exposing her for what she is and what she has done to me. I used my own testimony and records, along with the corroborating, irrefutable proof of her own confessional messages. Patty could not let herself be exposed, hence her extreme response of slandering me, branding me a liar, and conspiring with NaziGirl to threaten 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 my being a Jew, which explains why Vic subsequently directed antisemitic rhetoric at me about the Holocaust.

Patty had associates who were openly antisemitic, including Victoria and Allen. Victoria directed hate speech at me, laughing about burning Jews in ovens. Allen sang lyrics he had written about Jews running from Hitler. Patty herself spoke of her family's deep rooted antisemitism and how they mocked and detested the Jews they encountered while living in Palm Beach, Florida. After Patty sexually assaulted me and I severed ties with her as my manager, she retaliated by using her antisemite associates to direct viscous smears against me, slandering me with the lie that I had been her lover, that we "made out" in the parking lot, and that I was leaving Suzi to move into her home.





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.
In this message Patty also reveals that Victoria, "does not know who Frisco and Felicia are." This self disclosure is of extreme importance, as it reveals that Patty was selectively targeting and gaslighting me with her Felicia and Frisco rhetoric, while simultaneously keeping everyone else in the dark about the disturbing, sexually harassing messages she was sending to me daily. With the exception of Suzi, nobody knew of the sadistic, perverted abuse I was enduring at the hands of Patty in order to continue working. I was continuously being subjected to her verbal harassment and increasingly aggressive sexual advances.

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. Note how I purposefully mention Suzi, as I did at every opportunity as a continuous reminder to Patty. It did not matter.

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 continuously worked new angles of attack that would allow her to be alone with me, and most importantly, allow her to touch me. She had me meet her during the day for "dates" to collect my pay. She pestered me to drive to gigs in the same vehicle. She suggested we have a hallucinogenic drug experience together (Mrs TMC told me some creep once tried to convince her to do ecstasy so he could her into her pants). When she requested guitar lessons in her home I insisted that a third party be present. I knew she didn't give a fuck about guitar, but I needed the money. On multiple occasions, after Patty made false assurances, the third party mysteriously failed to show up. Shown below is one of Patty's more ludicrous schemes to achieve intimate contact with me, in which she argues that hugs are medically beneficial.

12/28/21. She was relentless in her goals of gaining my trust, getting me to lower my barriers, and touching me. She had reasoned with me, tried to convince me in countless ways, and even offered to pay for it. She 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 to no avail. I was not going to budge. I'd declined far better offers of riches in exchange for doing things much less disgusting 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. One of Patty's favorite movies is Deuce Bigalo: Male Gigolo. I know this because she was effusive about it. Though I'm sure it greatly amused her to treat me in this same way, as an object for her own gratification, for me is was humiliating, demeaning, degrading, and disgusting. 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. In the attempt to protect herself from the consequences of her actions this vile woman tries to establish the false narrative that she is the victim, that I won't leave her alone, and that it is I who am stalking her.

Shortly after the sexual assault of 12/31/21 I severed all ties and communication with Patty. Nevertheless, she continued harassing me with messages signed "Felicia." She stalked me at my job, slandered me, accused me of stalking her, threatened to harm herself if I didn't resume communication, threatened blackmail, and had her conspirator Victoria communicate the terroristic threat that I would be "handled" if I didn't remain silent. Patty and Victoria mocked me because the police hadn't done anything to them. I never responded to these women, though I continued documenting their threats while repeating my request to the Catawba County Sheriff to investigate.

Patty's message of 7/4/22 alluding to suicide was terrifying, which was by design. Months previous she had written that the former Mayor of Hickory, who was her friend, had murdered a woman in a crime of passion at her job at the Newton newspaper office, then killed himself. Patty always telegraphed her intent. I knew she was only telling me this story as a warning. Both Suzi and I were concerned that this mentally ill lunatic might actually go off the rails and act out her murder/suicide fantasy to obtain the "Kiss before dying" she wanted from Frisco. Two weeks after alluding to self-harm Patty showed up at a job I had with Lucid Outbreak at Clutches in Statesville on 7/18/22. That afternoon she had me in her sights, lurking in front of the stage, leering, and recording. My anxiety and mental anguish was so acute that I pissed myself while performing. I was outraged that the cops hadn't detained her for psychiatric observation and prevented this from happening.

[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's own documentation of stalking me in November 2020 while I was a member of The Fried Melon Blues Band and was not yet aware of her existence. After I was introduced to Patty, and the bass player of FMBB heard about her crush on me, he suggested that I "Take one for the team" in the interest of the band. This attitude is representative of the headwind I've fought against as a male victim of female sexual harassment, assault, stalking, and threats.

The origin of Patty's Felicia and Frisco psychotic delusion. She frequently used the word "untouchable." She was obsessed with putting her hands and mouth on the "untouchable," "unreachable" Frisco while he performed onstage.

My first awareness of Patty's existence was when she got herself introduced to me in Feb 2021 while I performed at the Barracuda Taproom in Hickory. After this I saw her at every gig. She told me she ran the HickoryURock Facebook page, knew every musician and venue owner, was an "event coordinator," and had the power to get me lots of work. There were immediate warning signs — the love bombing; the insistence that we were best friends, soulmates, and "twin flames"; the talk about her psychic; and the intense probing of my personal life. Yet she immediately provided the promised jobs. That was the "carrot." I accepted her offer to be my manager while simultaneously laying down the strict 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 different. I would learn that Patty was de facto immune from accountability or consequence for sexually harassing, assaulting, stalking me, and even communicating threats.

Is Patty protected, or are the cops simply apathetic or incompetent about an antisemite communicating terroristic threats to me?
After the cops refused to look at the written threats they mailed us a letter soliciting money.



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. It also reveals that in the beginning I was tolerant of her infatuation, while at the same time setting firm boundaries. She perceived my empathy as a green light to escalate her sexual advances.

I made it clear to Patty that I did not reciprocate her feelings and desire. That should have been the end of it. But it wasn't. For the following ten months I endured unsolicited sexual advances. I received dozens of emails daily. I talked with her on the phone and occasionally met for coffee, enduring her relentless requests for romance and sexual contact. I appreciated her friendship and desperately needed the work she was providing 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.

Patty is a female Harvey Weinstein. She assigned numbers to her victims. The price of jobs was touching. In the pic below the musicians she enumerated as #1 and #2 are shown performing at Bootleggers in Hickory in 2021. Her left hand creeps on #1 as she photobombs for HickoryURock.

Patty asserted I owed my success to her and demanded 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 physically resisted her while publicly blowing the whistle on her "pay to play" operation. Realizing she could't control me, and furious that I refused to pay her with sex contact, 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 her accomplice Victoria to silence me with terroristic threats. In legal terms that's called a criminal conspiracy. The Police looked the other way while this crime took place, refusing to look at my evidence or investigate.



The two emails shown below are my final message to Patty on 1/17/22, and one from her on 4/28/22 signed "Felicia."

Question: After I accused Patty of sexual harassment and assault, demanding that she leave me alone, why would she continue sending me emails signed "Felicia"?

Is she:
1) Mentally ill (schizophrenic, bi-polar, erotomania)?
2) Drunk and/or under the influence of drugs (prescription or otherwise)?
3) A psychopath terrorizing me with "crazy" behavior for her own amusement?

She feigns ignorance as to why I have severed all ties. She was gaslighting me, just as she was doing to the public, making posts on Facebook mocking the idea that she was a stalker and sex assailant, while at that same time stalking me both online and terrestrially.

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 part of the psychopath's toolkit, used to keep a victim off balance, fearful, uneasy, so that control can be maintained.

She has recast herself as the victim — another psychopath strategy. I fled after she assaulted me. She says I've, "turned on her."

She berates me as "unreasonable," "immature," not a decent person, saying that I need to come to my senses.

She enjoyed our time together. I'm sure she did enjoy harassing me and feeling me up.

She says she's fine and has moved on. I have watched her groping her new victim, who she has also moved into her home. She did not "move on," continuing to send emails and stalking me at my job.

When Patty's "Any time" message was sent I had ceased performing in Hickory altogether. Victoria warned me to stay out of their territory. Two months later I joined a band outside of Hickory, Lucid Outbreak. Patty followed, continuing to harass me with emails, by coming to my job, by contacting my co-workers to slander, intimidate, and threaten me.

The ongoing harassment, threats of violence, and blackmail sent from Patty and her criminal conspirator Victoria over the course of 2022. I was told I would be "handled" me if I didn't remain silent about what Patty had done to me.

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. Something is very wrong here. Patty regularly brings the child to bars and gets drunk while the kid twerks in front of the stage. When stalking the bars alone she leaves the kid with a cokehead babysitter. Something unspeakably awful is going on here.



John Journal Entry, July 2nd, 2021

In moving to rural North Carolina we gave up the worldly ambition of Manhattan and accepted a life of austerity whose simple rewards are love, domesticity, nature, books, and art. We did not know that the cats already living here were the real landed gentry and had not calculated them into our finances. Playing gigs is the solution to this dilemma. To her credit, Patty has delivered on getting me those gigs. I've been introduced to many musicians, the floodgates have opened, and I’m playing at most every venue in the area. Association with Patty has dragged me away from 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, but seedy 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. As Suzi has a taste for real-crime drama shows on TV, she has taken an interest in Patty's emails.

Besides keeping Patty at bay my greatest difficulty is working with alcoholics and druggies. Getting paid is a major problem, as addicts need to feed their addiction before anything else. Covering bar tabs and procuring drugs takes precedence over paying 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 by 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 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. I'm referring to Agape in contrast to Eros. 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. The things I’m experiencing are shocking. 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 the bar. He smashes his 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 polarizing and people either love or despise him. Despite his madness, I'd be the first to admit that, when he's not completely inebriated, nobody in Hickory can touch him in terms of raw talent, uninhibited emotional expression, and charisma. Being onstage with Allen is just a taste of what Robby Krieger must have 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. At every show 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; at 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 named Shell she makes out with gets 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 a schlemiel like me squirm.

Allen says I, “Need to be on his level.” He’s not talking about guitar, as I can play circles around him. He means his level of debauchery. He boasted of snorting cocaine with a NC State Trooper, and of the night he did lines with a surgeon who lives in Hickory, who only broke off their partying in the early morning hours 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 hurried 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!” 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 aberration in my routine. Last night it got cold and I woke up shivering at early dawn. Charlie had ventured into my abode, curling up against my back for warmth. When I came inside for coffee I told Suzi about last night. She is alarmed and believes I've 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 keeping me off balance with continuous psychodrama. She's sent me a message that reads like the plot of Looking for Mr. Goodbar. I've called out the lie of our "friendship," which is a cover she's using while trying to gain 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 suicidal schoolteacher son, stabby MD daughter, whoremonger husband, or alcoholic and druggie friends. The only person in this entire group I have sympathy for is her molested granddaughter. I've tried to explain to her that she has a moral duty to protect that child.

RE: Arriving at a gig in Patty’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 drunk monster outweighed me by one-hundred pounds, was twenty years my junior, and reminded me of the monster my Mother is married to who used to body slam me when I was a boy.

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 fearfully fled the bar with her child. Five minutes after returning to the stage and resuming the performance, I observed as a Newton cop walk into the bar. He nonchalantly approached the drunk ogre, who was standing 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 gig with Dani Kerr's band at Earle's in Winston-Salem. A phone call came over the car speakers. We were assailed by the sound of screaming and yelling. The inebriated ogre was at Patty’s home in Hickory, beating her daughter and grandchild, trashing her house. Patty's 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. She hung up the phone and called Victoria, who was in a room adjacent to her daughter and grandchild. Vic reported screaming and that the wall was vibrating under violent impacts. Patty hung up the phone, shrugged he shoulders, and made an, “Oh well” look, as though this was a normal thing. I was shocked and anguished to glimpse this hell of utter depravity.

I was obligated to perform in half-an-hour and expected to act as if none of this had 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've 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.

I couldn't disguise my distress during the show. Matt Eckerd, sensing that something was greatly troubling me, asked what was wrong. I tried to communicate what had happened with the child molester, the beating which was likely still transpiring. Matt made a blustering comment about his family owning lots of land, saying they could, quote, “Dig a hole” for the female beating pedophile. He was probably so drunk that he doesn't remember that 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: Patty’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 did not lie when she said she would work behind the scenes to destroy those that crossed her.

Last week I told Patty she couldn’t pay me for sex, I fired her as my manager, and 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 treachery, as it insinuates that I need Patty to reassure Suzi of my loyalty. 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. Last night she demonstrated that it is all out war and she will use utterly ruthless tactics in retribution for my having refused her.

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. That’s just not me. Maybe one needs coke to be crude and forceful.

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 knew that Patty had publicly propagated her delusional fantasies as though they were real. She had written that 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 Victoria Calzeretta screamed, “Wait until we tell Suzi about all the sexual things.” Sociopaths and narcissists use blackmail to retain power. The honey-pot trap was revealed. More like a vinegar pot, soured by fat-old-ugly Patty as bait and me with my priest-like demeanor. The optics were absurd. It didn't matter that I had never done anything with her. They had been curating an alternate reality for months, and facts would not get in the way of their fanatical agenda. Patty knows she overplayed her hand by sexually assaulting me on New Years Eve. What is left is force, intimidation, threats, 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, deducing the full scope of Patty’s scheme. I was confronting an entity bereft of any morality, capable of any treachery.

I was stunned and apoplectic. Regaining my composure, I loudly denounced Patty’s vicious lies, saying I was getting an order of protection. Raucous laughter erupted in the room. Everything after that is a blur. I 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 eloquence. I yelled at Patty from across the room, “I don’t want to fuck you!” I'd been expressing that to her, in polite terms, since April 14th, 2021, when she 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 unequivocally communicating that message, using the vulgar street language Patty 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, 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 effect. She was framing herself as the victim, magnifying the effect by removing her glasses, smudging her eyeliner, and appearing disheveled and beat up. In that moment I felt deep sympathy for her husband, knowing what a master liar and manipulator he'd had to contend with for all those years.

It was an outrageous and surreal situation, a moment of tribulation. I had to walk off my job. I would not continue performing while my sexual assailant used a rabid gang of slandering accomplices to enthusiastically harass me, screaming lies and victim shaming. I am not prone to violence, though every person has his breaking point. If Patty put her hands on me again, then I would go to jail. I profusely apologized to Eric Biter, telling him I had to leave the room.

So it was that I was driven off my job last night by Patty, loosing my pay, being publicly humiliated, coming home without so much as a dollar for my cats. As I lugged my guitar and equipment out the door Patty trailed after me, no longer crying, full of chutzpah, emboldened by the pack attack of her accomplices, frantically waving her stubby arms in the air over her head, strutting 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?
That she could either grant or take away my ability to work in this town?
That 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 at the bar telling abhorrent lies about me being sexual with her. My tears of despair cried alone were real, not the faux performance of the psychopath who had just demolished me, heart, soul, and wallet. I wandered the back woods of my property in the pitch dark, sobbing and despondent. I needed to talk to somebody, though I was too humiliated to tell a man what had just happened. I called my bandmate Dani Kerr. She has been in my home, knows Suzi, and knows my situation. I poured my heart out about being sexually harassed, assaulted, stalked, and defamed by Patty, describing how I'd just been driven off a job. I have a gig scheduled this week at Boatyard Eats in Cornelius with Dani’s band. I begged Dani to forbid Patty from coming to that show because I'm afraid she'll sexually assault me again. I also informed Dani this was the last gig I would 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.

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. 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 heard that he 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 this new “houseboy,” 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 in February of 2021. She began recording me with her phone. Patty was in my space, at my job, making me squirm, and there was nothing I could do about it. This was a display of abusive power and control.

I was totally isolated last night, with no friends or allies. 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 nobody gives a shit, wants to be involved, or 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 mauled. Whose fault is it but my own?

The person most aware of my situation is Allen, who had warned me about Patty and her "weird" messages. She'd been latched onto him before she turned her focus on me. I've heard the story of their “relationship” from both sides. Allen called Patty a stalker. Patty claims that both she and Victoria have had sexual relations with Allen. Patty explicitly detailed the angles of attack she used upon Allen, which exactly match the methods she has used upon me. Regardless, Allen was not going to help me last night. There can be no doubt that Patty pushed the same quid pro quo arrangement upon Allen that she's now trying to force upon me. Allen probably figures that it’s now my turn to pay for Patty's services. I’m dealing with street people for whom a deal is a deal. Allen and Patty are both dirty players, scrappers, survivors, backstabbers, scoundrels of the lowest moral character. They will stick together in the end.

Consider the milieu in which this situation unfolds: 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. I haven't engaged in any such dalliances since entering into the local music scene — though certainly not through lack of offers. In such muddied moral waters a predator like Patty can lurk and hunt with 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.

After our first set Allen disappeared to the men’s room to take his, “cold medicine” — what he calls cocaine when he's pretending to be discreet. Patty climbed off her bar stool and tottered over to me, with the crazed, dilated pupil, mescaline look in her eyes that I was so familiar with. The predator knew I was isolated, vulnerable, alone. For a 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, my muscles and sinews coiled like a spring. If this groper sexually assaulted me again I might not have been able to restrain myself. This was probably what she wanted, as such an action in my self defensive would utterly destroy me, she being an old lady and I man. I wanted to use the line Clint Eastwood said in Play Misty For Me, “Get off my back!” 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 this week. The newest member of our family is a Russian Blue named Smokey Robinson. He had emergency surgery earlier this week to save his leg and we are in dire need of funds for the bill. I turned and quietly walked away from Patty.

Late last night I lay in bed with Suzi and the cats, ears still ringing, feeling a loathsome contempt for myself. At the gig Allen sang about Jews running from Hitler while Patty cackled and encouraged her boy. Why am 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 beatings; 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. Patty is Gollum, a small, ugly, twisted, broken creature; a slinker and a stinker torn between repentance and lusting after her "prize," her "precious."



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 says there's a correlation between creative people and victims of sexual assault. It's therapeutic for victims to voice their pain through artistic expression. This may include painting, poetry, and music. Music does not comfort me, as it is a painful reminder that I can no longer perform so long as there are open threats that I will be "handled" hanging over my head. I have found comfort in words, in writing about my experience. 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.

[toomanycats]

Tonight, on NBC's The Voice, the woman with whom I played my final gig before going into the exile which is necessary for my safety will appear on that show. Her name is Christina. She's not only an amazing singer and performer, but also an incredibly gifted songwriter, as well as a kind, intelligent, considerate young lady.





I was extremely fortunate to be able to both perform live with Christina and collaborate with her in recording a couple original songs. This is in fact the second person I've worked with locally who shorty afterwards went on to gain national recognition. Dani Kerr, who I worked with in 2021 through being a member of her band, performing as a duo and a trio, and recording and producing one of her original songs, appeared on season 18 of America's Got Talent in 2023.

I'm so happy for Christina and can only imagine the excitement she must feel, being so young, so full of enthusiasm, possessing such an overabundance of natural talent, cultivated to an exquisite degree by strenuous effort and dedication to her craft. As I told her, she has it all, the whole package, and she needs to share that with the world. That same exemplary talent with which the audience of The Voice reacted with such glowing approval, I got to see up close and personal, in the rehearsal room, and through vocal tracks she would send and which I was bringing to full production. The girl's voice gave me chills when working on those tunes.

At the same time I feel this great joy for my friend's recent success, I can't also help feeling a mixture of apprehension, even dread. I know the world she has now entered. I passed through that fire a long time ago, when I too was young. That had all seemed so long ago, in the distant past, until my recent encounter with malevolent evil dredged all that horror to the surface.

As fate would have it, Christina is from the same small town in North Carolina where my stalker sexually assaulted me onstage on 12/31/21 at a venue called Waterside. Christina has performed there countless times herself. Earlier this year she asked if I would perform as a duo with her brother at Waterside. I was forced to decline this offer of employment as a musician. The truth is, I'm afraid to ever go back onto that stage, or any stage for that matter. Earlier this year a friend told me that they saw Patty presiding at a table in front of the stage at Waterside with her entourage.

Christina explicitly knows who my assailant and stalker is. I spoke to her about my ordeal at considerable length in the course of explaining why I could not play the gig with her brother, or play with anybody else for that matter. She was very understanding and sympathetic, actually encouraging us to pray together for my protection. I appreciated her reaching out to me with a salvific rope and was not whatsoever offended. Her appeal for divine protection from the evil confronting me genuinely gave me comfort. She understood my paralyzing fear. I bared my soul to Christina, telling her that I perceived her as a guardian angel, a transcendent messenger who had been sent to speak comfort to me in my hour of deepest despair. I sincerely meant those words, insofar as my materialistic, modern, rationalistic, learned, Pharisiac and worldly soiled mind could reconcile the existence of divine intervention. I found myself able to translate what Christina said to me into terms of poetic truth akin to Novalis's magical idealism. Our conversations lingered on the subject of how the Jewish and Christian religions respectively viewed the proper repayment of evil done to oneself.

Around the same time I declined to play the gig with Christina's brother, I was asked by The Family Guidance Center in Hickory to perform at an event they were hosting to bring attention to victims of sexual assault. I asked Christina to perform at this event with me as a duo and she enthusiastically accepted. A week before the event somebody in management at The Family Guidance Center had my therapist relay to me that I was disinvited to an upcoming group meeting where victims of sexual harassment, sexual abuse, and sexual assault would share their stories. I was so profoundly hurt and insulted at being so blatantly discriminated against that I informed them I did not have the heart to perform at their event.

That incident was painful, not just because it made me feel like what was happening to me doesn't matter, but also because I do have such great empathy for women and the fact they are most often the victim in abusive situations. To be honest, I prefer musically collaborating with women more than I do with men. Sure, with men you've got that testosterone fueled, libidinal energy playing off the equally powerful impulses and drives of the female, which produces that magical thing called rock & roll. Though it can be glorious in its full expression, that kind of raw art can also be volatile and exhausting. When working with men you have to contend with, for one, the male ego; it's a fragile thing and is easily bruised.The male ego also wants to be in charge, which creates tremendous negative tension when you get multiple alpha males vying for leadership. Then there is the immaturity factor. It's amazing how so many men, after strapping on a guitar, being put on a stage in front of an audience, and given a few drinks, revert to an adolescent maturity level. I never saw any of the female musicians I've collaborated with over the past several years behaving like that. The women were more mature, conscientious, better prepared, more steady, and the creative process was much more sharing. Plus these ladies have a better sense of style and a general awareness of the value of aesthetics and artistic presentation . . . which are all important things to me. That was my experience working professionally with local female artists Donna Gant-Latham, Dani Kerr, Amanda, and Christina.

Of course, if we were to discuss romantic and sexual relations with woman, then I would say that yes, I have experienced them behaving immature, volatile, and even crazed. They're not all perfect angels ya know. But those are things I've dealt with in my personal life, which have nothing to do with my professional role as a musician, artist, collaborator, and performer. My relations with all the female musicians I've worked with have always been strictly professional in that sense, with the caveat that I also considered them friends. There's only one woman I've worked with in the timeframe under discussion who was unable to separate the professional from the intimately personal and sexual; who was incapable of respecting my boundaries and actually used the guise of friendship to advance her underlying sexual agenda; who used her position of power over me by way of being able to provide me with jobs as a means of subjecting me to relentless sexual harassment; who eventually sexually assaulted me after I refused her unceasing advances; and who indeed behaved in a manner which would be considered, by any normal and sane person, as extremely immature, volatile, crazed, and even criminal. That person is my former manager Patty Decker.

I would like to now say my own prayer for my friend Christina, as she embarks on her own musical journey, into a world where everybody may not have benevolent motives towards her talent, beauty, and kind heart.
Please let her be shielded from any person who would seek to exploit, demean, and manipulate her.
In short, please Lord, protect this young lady from any Pattys.
Amen.

And because here on AGF I have referred so much to Suzi, otherwise known as Mrs TMC, I'll include this pic I took of her in April of this year while we were on our way to watch Christina and her brother perform at a bar down the road called Vintage 28.

Suzi has had to endure my misadventures in the local music scene. She is not a typical guitar player's girlfriend, this former socialite from the Upper East Side. Though she is a boomer, Suzi curiously lacks the rock & roll genotype of her generation, though there are other compatibilities and common interests which drew us together. There's been a Pygmalion aspect to our relationship, in that I've had to educate her about basic rock & roll stuff, like who Led Zeppelin and Van Halen are, and the difference between a Les Paul and a Stratocaster. I've watched her on the phone, exasperated as she told alcoholics, stoners, and deadbeats I've played with that they should be ashamed for holding out on me. It was under my direction that Suzi held her tongue while I endured Patty's relentless sexual harassment. Suzi knew how desperately our cats depended upon the jobs that this woman who called me her "Crush" was booking for me. But the greatest indignity Suzi has suffered was having to flee her home when the police refused to investigate the terroristic threats sent by Patty.

Though it is indiscreet to discuss a woman's age, an exception must be made in this case. Suzi is pushing eighty years old. She's some kind of freak of nature and I'm not entirely convinced there isn't a mouldering portrait of her hidden somewhere in the back of one of our closets. Many times we've had the experience of arguing with bureaucrats who refused to believe the legal documentation in front of them proving Suzi's age, which directly contradicted the evidence of their senses. While I've frequently referred to my stalker as an "old lady," Suzi is a decade older than her. This disclosure of Suzi's age is a relevant fact with important bearing upon this story. Suzi and I have much discussed our belief that the stalker used the fact that I was with an older woman to lend plausibility to her lie that we were engaged in a romance. For the record, it's not true at all that I'm attracted to "old ladies." I like beautiful women and I like Suzi. From the time we first met eighteen years ago in Manhattan, when Suzi was a spry 59, and I had not yet reached the peak of my ennui at 37, the difference in our ages was never an issue. I can't deny that it hasn't pushed some people's buttons, though this was certainly not our intention. Patty and her circle of associates are a female hive mind mostly comprised of drunken, gluttonous, single/divorced, highly excitable, sexualized older ladies who feverishly chase younger musicians around town. These women likely perceived the relationship between Suzi and myself as provocative, weird, and perversely titillating. This may have exacerbated their group psychosis, encouraging them to believe Patty's outrageous lies and fantasies about us having a romance. Perhaps these woman wanted to believe that romance with a younger musician was possible for a woman like Patty, because by extension that meant that such a thing was possible for themselves as well.


- - - - - - -


Erotomania, also known as de Clérambault's syndrome, or old maids disease, most often occurs in women and is listed in the DSM-5 as a delusional disorder. The object of the delusion is typically a male acquaintance who is unattainable due to status, marriage, or lack of interest, though the object of obsession and unrequited love may be imaginary (a "phantom lover"). The delusional object may be replaced by others over time, or may be chronic in a fixed form. Symptoms include an unshakable belief that the unattainable person secretly loves them and is romantically interested in them. There may be delusions of reference, wherein the object of obsession is believed to be communicating their love by subtle methods such as body posture, numbers, and clues such as meaningful clothing choices. In extreme cases these delusions may include the belief that the individual is predestined to be with the object of their obsession. Denial is characteristic with this disorder, with the obsessed person not willing to accept the fact that the object of their delusion may be married, unavailable, or uninterested. Problematic behaviors include harassing internet messages through email, unwanted gifts, and contacting friends, family or co-workers. Risky behaviors include violence, stalking, and crime. Particularly troublesome cases require pharmacological treatment, electroconvulsive therapy, and supportive psychotherapy. Erotomania may present as a primary mental disorder, or as a symptom of another psychiatric illness such as bipolar I disorder or schizophrenia. Symptoms may be precipitated by alcoholism, substance abuse, and the use of antidepressants. There may be a genetic component involved if there is a family history of psychiatric disorders.



Though this description matches Patty's behavior almost point by point, the problem with this diagnosis is that she had the self-awareness to direct Victoria to send terroristic threats warning me to remain silent about what she'd done. That is something a psycho-sociopathic criminal would do, not a mentally ill person who is totally unaware that their actions are wrong. Indeed, previous to my severing all ties with Patty, numerous times she had preemptively offered me an apology for what she knew she was doing to me. Though she knew what she was doing was wrong, she'd laugh it off by adding an "LOL" at the end of every sexually harassing message . . . and then keep doing it anyway! Perhaps the most diabolical thing of all was Patty asking Friso to forgive Felicia, as she was here simultaneously admitting that she was committing transgressions, while at the same time offering an apology couched in terms which would call her mental stability into question, thereby absolving her from guilt. If you can grasp what I am saying here, then you will comprehend that my struggle was against cunning evil on the level of Moriarty.

- - - - - - -


Suzi specifically requested that I share the "555 chaser/runner" message of 9/20/21, the "I'm about to start some trouble" message of 9/21/21, and the “Alvis” message of 1/5/22. This trio of emails will provide a particularly revealing look inside the mind of a manipulative psychopath groomer.



555 chaser/runner

As a senior female sex predator, my assailant is a statistical outlier. A masters thesis or doctoral dissertation in psychology could be based upon analysis of the hundreds of messages in which she reveals the cunning of her hostile sexual advances.

She asserts that I've been ignoring the "special bond" we have. The reader will be aware that ignoring Patty was part of the Grey Rock Method I was attempting to employ to make her grow bored and cease these unwanted advances.

She is aware that I'm scared of the intimacy she is attempting to force upon me. I most certainly was afraid of Patty at this point, having become aware of just how mentally disturbed she actually was, and also feeling afraid and trapped in an abusive work situation upon which my livelihood depended.

I had made it absolutely clear to Patty that I did not want romance with her and that our association must be strictly limited to business and friendship, yet she persisted in sending messages like the "555 chaser/runner" along with making continued requests for physical contact. In countless emails she expresses her growing frustration and disappointment that I did not want the intimacy, sexual contact, and romance she offered. She even writes of begrudgingly accepting "friendship on my terms" . . . though that was merely a feint on her part, a falling back so that I would drop my guard and she could plan her next angle of attack; and there always was another attack, preceded by pushing, poking, prodding, and testing. She often complimented me on my intellect, though I believe she perceived me as stupid and gullible because of my Aspergers. She was correct, to a point. There are qualities about myself that make me a vulnerable target for the type of manipulative tactics she employed in her attempt to leverage the physical contact she desired. After all such approaches failed, and I had turned down her suggestion that she would pay for physical contact, and I had contested her assertion that such contact was a requirement of my job, Patty resorted to physical assault to obtain the sexual contact she desired. She felt so self assured about her right to touch me and be free from any consequences that she told me in writing before actually committing the assault what she was going to do, using language like "Next Time," saying that I should "Grin and bear it," and warning me to "Watch out."

The fact is, she did get away with it.



As has been previously demonstrated, Patty always told on herself. True to form, in the "555 chaser/runner" email Patty refers to herself as "the chaser" and to me as "the runner." By using the terms "chaser" and "runner" Patty provides a bluntly honest description of the true nature of our association. Chaser/Runner, Predator/Prey, Stalker/Victim . . . any of these pair of terms aptly describes Patty as the hunter and myself as her fearful quarry. The degree of delusion and gaslighting evinced in this email is truly astonishing: Patty believes that we are "twin flames" with a "unique" and "divine" connection; she attempts to use numerology as a way of convincing me that I cannot escape this fate; she fantasizes that I am her partner and that we may buy a house together. Patty asserted that her psychic was encouraging these notions. Whoever that charlatan is, I hold that person partially responsible for the hell I have had to endure. Patty was pushing these delusional fantasies, psychic predictions, and numerological forecasts upon her friends and associates as though it was a fait accompli. It became clear that these women had fell for that ruse when, after I publicly declared that Patty had sexually assaulted me, they ganged up to aggressively call me a liar, threaten me, victim shame me, drive me off jobs, while continuing to push the false narrative that my assailant and I had been "twin flames," romantic partners, that I was going to be the future step-father of her son, and other ludicrous fantasies and outrageous falsehoods. In the sense of psychological pain and trauma, those heinous lies told about me being sexual with Patty, which her associates aggressively propagated after she assaulted me, felt like being violated and molested all over again. The pain was as deep and piercing.


"I'm about to start some trouble"

But Patty was coming at me with a coordinated, sustained, two pronged attack. The previous day she had written that it was my fate to be with her. In the "I'm about to start some trouble" message of 9/21/21 she suggests that Suzi may be starting an affair with another man and is about to break up with me. The idea was ludicrous, though by sending these messages Patty must have believed that she could fuck with my head while pissing off Suzi, thereby disrupting shalom in my home. Patty knew that Suzi read all of my emails, as I'd warned her numerous times to not send me anything that would disrespect my partner. What was most insulting about these messages was the thought of how stupid Patty must have thought I was. I wasn't stupid. I knew exactly what she was doing, knew how she was trying to manipulate me, and knew that she had no respect for either myself or Suzi. It was disgusting how this lunatic was acting out as though there was a love triangle between herself, Suzi and I. But if I wanted to continue getting the jobs this abusive horndog dangled in front of me I had to hold my tongue about this manufactured psychodrama which she got off on.

"Alvis"

The third of the trio of emails Suzi wanted me to share is the “Alvis” message of 1/5/22. This one requires some context. Doesn’t Madder is a band who regularly gigs the circuit in and around Hickory. Their guitar player is a guy named Alvis. As Patty says in this email, Alvis' girlfriend, a woman named Diane, handles the bookings for the band. Understand, I’ve never met this woman, nor her unnamed friend in this photo. I’m sure that they are both very nice ladies, and if I may be so bold as to say, enchanté. These ladies have it together . . . which is more than can be said for Patty, who came off like a fat, dumpy, desperate, cheap tranny prostitute. I had seen Alvis’ band perform a couple times and I'd also once exchanged brief pleasantries. His band was great and Alvis himself was a rock & roll purist, playing a Strat through a gloriously loud Peavy rig. I really enjoyed watching them perform. But this has nothing to do with Alvis or Diane per se, and I offer my apologies to both of them in advance for dragging them into this sordid affair. What this has to do with is Patty making a point to draw to my attention the fact that Alvis and Diane's association involves both a business and romantic relationship. As I have previously noted, Patty did not do anything without intention; she always told on herself. In the Alvis message Patty reveals her teleological goal, which was her and I together as partners in both music and love, just like Alvis and Diane. In the "555 chaser/runner" message of 9/20/21 Patty attempted to convince me that it was my cosmic fate to be with her; in the "I'm about to start some trouble" message of 9/21/21 she asserts that Suzi was going to leave me for somebody else; and now in the Alvis/Diane message Patty was presenting a tangible example of how she envisioned our relationship. Bear in mind that just five days previous she had sexually assaulted me onstage, I had expressed how profoundly traumatized I was by this attack, and yet she showed no intention of backing off, even intensifying her harassment. Within a couple short weeks it would be revealed that Patty had already been telling friends and associates that our relationship involved both business and romance. She had been planting the seedbed from which that lie grew for the previous year.





A revelatory bookend to the previous trio of emails was a message Patty sent on 2/27/22. Between September of 2021 and February of 2022 Patty continued sexually harassing me both in person and through emails. I repeatedly requested that she cease this activity because it was interfering with our friendship and disrespecting Suzi. Despite my demand that she stop, Patty continued and even escalated these undesired sexual advances. Leading up to New Years Eve of 2021 these weren't even offers or suggestions anymore, but rather assertions made by Patty that it was an obligation of my job to let her touch me. On 12/31/21 Patty followed through on her warning that she would sexually assault me onstage. After that traumatizing attack I publicly called Patty out as a sex assailant and stalker, directly questioned her mental health, and informed her on 1/25/22 at Mountain View Pub to leave me alone and that I would seek an order of protection against her. Despite Patty lying to people that she was respecting my wishes and leaving me alone, behind the scenes she continued to send me disturbing emails. She signed some of these as her schizo persona "Felicia", in some referred to self-harm, in some claimed that I was stalking her, and in some threatened to reveal "nasty" things about me if I talked about her assault. Patty also continued to stalk me at my job while using her conspirator Vic to contact people I found work with to slander me and communicate terroristic threats.

This message deserves detailed commentary. I personally cannot read it without hearing the voice of Grima Wormtongue, as masterfully portrayed by Brad Dourif in Peter Jackson’s film adaptation of Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings. Like Grima, Patty exemplifies the archetypal sycophant liar and manipulator.

Where has that woman gone who formerly described herself as the "chaser" and myself as the "runner"; who insinuated that she would pay me for sexual contact; who asserted that being groped by old ladies was a requirement of my job and that I should grin and bear it; who sent me a video instructing me how to kiss; who sent me a pic of her hand fondling balls on a phallus? Does she not remember writing that she had begrudgingly accepted the limitation of our association to friendship? Had she forgotten that I had told her, from the very beginning, that all I had to offer her was friendship? I had told her in writing that her continued desire for a sexual relationship was destroying our friendship. I had insistently demanded, in writing, that she show respect, cease sending messages propositioning me for sex, and stop insinuating that Suzi was cheating on me.

It's as if none of that ever happened.

Here now is a completely different woman . . . Patty morphed into the innocent victim who has been manipulated, lied to, and betrayed by me, a dishonest, lying man who deceptively led her on, only to coldly rebuff her. If I was dealing with a normal person, I would call this an incredibly audacious attempt at revisionism. Knowing now what Patty is, I am able to properly describe her actions as a psychopath stalker having a meltdown over their lose of control.


“You truly have no idea what you’ve done. I have never encountered anyone or anything as awful as this.”

I have full knowledge of what I have done. I have exposed a predator who had been sexually harassing and propositioning me for a year; one who finally, after forewarning me about her intention to assault me, because she believed it was her right, actually committed that crime.



“Can’t believe I allowed myself to become so controlled and manipulated by someone who I trusted.”

It was Patty’s libido that controlled her, not me. Substances undoubtedly contributed to her psychotic and imprudent behavior, compounding and exacerbating obvious underlying mental health issues which culminated in her delusion about me being "Frisco." To be brutally frank, it was my recognition that this extraordinarily unattractive woman was suffering so horribly for want of her sexual needs being fulfilled which made me sympathetic with her cruel fate. What a horrible thing that must be to endure. Countless times Patty expressed her extreme frustration over not being able to satiate her extreme horniness. She put the blame for her sexual arousal on me, accusing me of "teasing" her by "being sexy." The woman sent me an email saying she’d “do” everyone in the band backstage . . . except the bass player (If you play in a band then you'll get that there's a good musician joke in there). In another message she laments that she urgently needs a “void” filled, asserting that she’s wiling to pay good money to the man willing to do that job. Men have a phrase they often chide their less wise friends with, which goes something like this: “You let your little head control your big head.” Likewise, Patty was a woman with little self control. She particularly had no restraint over her libido and sexual impulses after she'd been drinking and reveled in behaving like a dog in heat broken off its leash. That young guy ("MEOW!") using the reach around technique to grope one of Patty's udders was part of a coked up crew of ditch digging contractors from Indiana who had been drinking the local bars dry for the preceding weeks.

“To be hurt by someone who I loved and supported through so much.”

Patty hurt herself through believing her own delusions and fantasies. I was not Frisco. She was not Felicia. That is not reality. The love affair of Frisco and Felicia was the invention of a psychotic mind; it was a lurid fever dream conjured by a mentally ill woman suffering from old maids insanity. Life is painful enough without going through it stupid. This is a fundamental insight taught by all true religions and philosophies, and is one which Patty should learn. Either that, or whoever is responsible for her needs to get her under professional supervision.



“To be humiliated.”

Patty has only herself to blame for being humiliated.

I have tried to imagine myself in the opposite position, of being a man sexually harassing a woman over whom I had the power to either provide or deny work.

Let's just imagine . . .

I've spotted this woman who really turns me on. I follow her, ask around about her, and arrange to get myself introduced. Learning that she needs work, I conspire to put myself in her confidence, solidifying my power by way of controlling her access to jobs. She asserts that she just wants to be friends, and I play along. Almost immediately I begin making unsolicited, lewd offers. She continues to refuse. I suggest paying for sexual contact. She reminds me of the existence of her spouse and demands that I show respect. I play sick mind games with this woman, bombarding her with thousands of sexual messages under the guise of another personality. She is on the autism spectrum, and knowing her vulnerabilities I am sure that I will eventually be able to exploit that weakness to get what I want. I tell her that she owes me such contact as part of her job. She makes me horny, I want to touch her, and she needs to grin and bear it. I then sexually assault her. I've bought her presents, gotten her jobs, and she owes me. The scumbag bitch tries to fight off my attack and afterwards tells people that I assaulted her. Doesn't she realize that I've got all the power? I tell everybody that she led me on, that she's a cock tease, and that she wanted it. I enlist my friends to drive her off of jobs, out of work, and out of town. After she leaves town I hear that she's trying to tell the truth about what happened. I stalk her, send messages to terrify her, and use a conspirator to communicate threats that she would be "handled" if she doesn't remain silent.

I can't imagine myself doing this any more than I could imagine putting a kitten under a guillotine. My mind cannot even go there. Those are the actions of a psychopath.

Now imagine that this woman who I have abused, assaulted, slandered, and threatened had extensive documentation proving the truth about every despicable thing I did, and upon being made public these revelations resulted in my humiliation. It would be only myself who I had to blame for my humiliation. Likewise, Patty has only herself to blame for her own humiliation, as she has done to me exactly what I have just described above. I have provided proof of all of this in this thread, in her own confessional words.

I'm pretty surely certain that if I actually did all of this to a woman then I would either be in jail and/or sued into bankruptcy.


“To be lied to.”

If it can be said that I was untruthful in any way with Patty, it was through "lies of omission." I withheld certain parts of myself from Patty's evil therapist probing for good reason. From the very beginning she incessantly grilled me for personal information, including details about my sex life, family, friends, finances, relationship with Suzi, history, work, habits, routine, strengths, weaknesses, social affairs, thoughts, and feelings. She wasn’t subtle about the means by which she gained access to this information, sending me enumerated questionnaires. She knew enough about me already . . . too much in fact. I never should have told her about my Jewish background, as this was a vulnerability Patty later used against me by way of directing her own private Schutzstaffel to terrorize me. It was also unfortunate that Patty knew about my Aspergers, though I had not been the one who revealed it to her; she gloated about figuring that secret out on her own. She exploited my brutal honesty and truthfulness, knowing that if prompted, Aspies tend to overshare. Yet there were things that I did not reveal to Patty, despite her oppressive probing. From the hundreds of muckraking emails she sent to me I knew that she pumped everyone for personal info, and that she incessantly gossiped about what she had learned while kibitzing. In these tittle-tattle emails Patty revealed herself as a whack-a-loon living vicariously through these stories of drama, treachery, manipulation, stalking, kissing, promiscuity, infidelity, and revenge. She talks of kissing strange men in bars and being stalked. Patty desperately desired this kind of stimulating psycho-sexual interaction with me. I didn't matter that I was unwilling to comply, as she had no problem making up an alternate reality to satisfy her desires. She then lied to her friends and associates, telling them that the fictional romance between Felicia and Frisco she had made up was real, though substituting herself and I in place of the imaginary characters in the telling. I had suspected what she was doing some time before I got away from her. Perhaps I was naive in not recognizing the potential harm this could cause me. I believed that because Patty was so ugly, known to be a little crazy, and was given to crushes on local musicians . . . and because I lived with a beautiful woman, who I had brought to gigs and people had seen . . . that nobody would possibly believe any of the outlandish stories about sex and romance she might be telling. The very idea was preposterous.

But there was a more important reason why I held back, and that was because I knew that she would use anything with which she could manipulate me as a tool against me. One example was my not telling her about being molested as a child. This was a vulnerability she would have most certainly used to her advantage, as I suspected she was doing precisely that with both Allen and Victoria, who also both bore deep psychological scars from those wounds. Patty preyed on damaged and compromised people. After I severed ties with Patty she sent an email threatening that unless I remained silent she would tell "nasty" things about me. I knew she had no such information. In fact, I have disclosed more candid and personal information about myself in this thread than she could ever reveal about me. However, I knew that she had no moral restraint and could further victimize me through shameless lying, as she was doing, with the help of friends, through asserting that I'd had a romantic relationship with her.

I did not tell Patty that I desired her, loved her, needed her, wanted to live with her, or wanted be her son's cool new dad. To the contrary, I constantly demanded, both verbally and in writing, that she respect my boundaries, all while fighting off her continuous attempts to have physical contact. My choice of clothing I wore while performing was not a secret message communicated to Patty intended to arouse her sexually; nor was my body posture intended to draw her focus to my genitals . . . though she interpreted these things in that way. I told Patty the truth, which was that my only interest in her was friendship and music business. "Frisco" may have lied to Patty, but I refuse to defend what an imaginary person, a creation of Patty's own troubled mind, told her in her fantasies, dreams, or though the prognostications of her charlatan psychic.

After attacking me to obtain the intimate physical contact she so desperately desired this twisted evil woman then called me a lair when I accused her of sexual assault. With the assistance of friends and associates like Vic, Debbie, Allen, and Matt, she defamed me as a cheater and seducer. When I confronted these colluding scumbags with the truth, they all said the exact same thing to me: "There are two sides to every story." None of them knew anything about Felicia, or the thousands of degrading messages Patty had sent me; nor had they seen my countless messages telling Patty that I only wanted to be her friend, to stop this behavior, and to respect Suzi. Patty asserted that I bore some responsibility for her touching me, as though our relationship was of the type depicted on the book cover shown below. Any moral, decent person should be nauseated by this revolting depiction of naked power, sexual manipulation, and perverse control. To be sure, Patty was that lustful, grasping, touchy-feely boss . . . though I was not a whore teasing her and leading her on. I have never allowed myself to be anybody's "Bosses Delight," though this is precisely how Patty Decker both perceived and treated me, as is proven through documentation provided in this thread. Patty's strategy for escaping culpability for what she had done was to slander me as that enticing whore sitting on the boss' desk, staring seductively, tits thrust out, dress hiked up, offering the promise of sexual satisfaction in exchange for special favors. Patty had once written to me that, "Special friendships and favors deserve reciprocation." Not only did Patty's friends and associates believe this fiction, but they actively and enthusiastically participated in victim shaming me. To be generous, in a local music scene where the former bass player in Amanda's band Hella Stellar had engaged in a sexual relationship with a married female judge and then tried to extort the woman for money after the fact, I suppose that Patty's assertion that I was a manwhore might have seemed plausible to these woman.

“There is nothing worse than someone claiming to be honest and truthful when they really are not.”

The assertion that I am a dishonest liar is galling. There is perhaps nothing so punished in this time as intelligence, sensitivity, and sincerity, and I have suffered the penalty as much as anyone. For going on three years I have attempted to reveal the truth of what happened, in its entirety, to law enforcement, sex assault organizations, and to any court who would listen. Having been ignored by all such parties, I have been compelled to publicly expose the crimes committed against me. This was done, first and foremost, for the protection of Suzi and myself. Terroristic threats were communicated to me which still remain uninvestigated and which I must assume the perpetrators still intend to carry out . . . especially since I have transgressed against their warning to not talk under threat of retaliation. As far as truth, in telling my story it has been necessary for me to reveal extraordinarily candid, confessional, deeply personal, private, and painful truths about myself. Those are things which, though I would have rather kept them hidden, were necessary to reveal if people were to understand my story. Contrary to not being honest and truthful, I have laid myself bare. As a man it has been extraordinarily humiliating to reveal the truth about what has happened to me.


“A real person would have talked and allowed a discussion and explanation.”

Note that this is the beginning of a litany of repeated assertions made by Patty implying that I am not a "real person." Psychopaths frequently resort to such abuse and depersonalization of their victims. This denial of someone’s personhood, of the "Thou" in another, is an exceptionally evil attack. This concept was explored in depth by Martin Buber in I-Thou. I am a real person, a soul, a נֶ֫פֶשׁ‎ or nephesh in Hebrew; a ψυχή or "psyche" as translated in Greek. I am a real person who had been sexually harassed and assaulted by Patty. She damaged my soul and psyche. There was nothing left to discuss. I was done with it! I had to endure that kind of sexual abuse when I was a child and powerless, but I didn't have to now! I had told Patty countless times that I did not desire an intimate, romantic, sexual relationship with her, yet she continued telling me how sexually arroused she was by me. As a condition of continuing to work I had to endure her degrading suggestions that she would pay me for sex contact, and even her assertions that it was an obligation of my job and that I should accept it. She literally warned me that she was going to assault me "Next Time." When she did assault me I fought her off, after which she pubulcly berated me with verbal abuse for having resisted her. Dani Kerr and Matt Eckerd stood mere feet away while this assault occured, then later denied that it had happened at all. Patty then demanded that I apologize for resisting her sex assault! This was really Suzi's breaking point, after which she told me, "Just get away from this psycho!" After that friends and associates of Patty's, like Victoria and Debbie, confronted me in person to victim shame me, asserting that I had led her on and had been invloved in a romatic and sexual relationship with her. These events proved to me, beyond any doubt, that Patty was an evil, lying, manipulative psychopath. I was in fear of what a person lacking any moral boundaries whatsoever might actually be capable of doing. I wanted to get away from her and never speak to her again. I wanted her to cease writing to me and to never approach me ever again!



“A real person would not turn all the blame on an innocent person.”

For what am I to blame?
Do I bear some responsibility for Patty thinking I’m sexy and for her arousal?
Is it my own fault that she sexually harassed me?
That she sexually assaulted me?
Am I to blame for trying to be her friend, for confiding in her, sharing my intellectual interests, talking on the phone, and having coffee?
Should I assume that my female friends who do those things with me owe me sex too?

This thread has presented documentation, in both Patty and Victoria's messages, which proves that she:

* Is a stalker. She was stalking me before I met her. She openly spoke about her stalking during the period of my voluntary association. She resumed stalking after she sexually assaulted me and I fled from her.

* Sexually harassed me in a pervasive manner. Despite repeated assertions that I was not interested in sex with her and my continuous requests that she cease such advances, Patty kept telling me that I was making her horny. She blamed me for her sexual arousal, saying I was teasing her by looking sexy.

* Premeditated sexually assaulting me, warned me of it, then committed the act.

* After I broke all ties with her, threatened to harm herself if I didn't resume contact.

* Warned me not to speak of her abuse or assault under threat of retaliation.

* Contacted a person with whom I found work to slander me and threaten that they would suffer for working with me.

* Conspired with an antisemite associate to communicate the terroristic threats that I would be "handled."


“A real person would not destroy someone’s reputation if they were ever a true friend.”

It is disgusting to listen to Patty speak of "true friendship." The woman doesn't comprehend the meaning of those words. Even her so called male friends, such as Randy and Allen, are men with whom she claimed to have had sexual interaction. I offered friendship to Patty, agape. Friendship only, not sex or romance. She was not content with that. She wanted eros. As for Patty's reputation, as previously stated, she destroyed that herself and I bear no blame whatsoever for the consequences of her imprudent and criminal actions.


“A best friend . Swearing to never be enemies. Pinky promise.”

Patty here lapses into language used by adolescent girls. A friends with benefits is the only kind of "best friend" she wanted in me. This psychopath one moment poses behind the verbiage of a pre-teen girl and the next threatens to put a hit out on me. Patty's main goal all along had been to have sexual contact with me. For my part, I had enjoyed talking to her when she was sober, when she behaved herself, and when Felicia didn't emerge. Though I appreciated the work she got for me, I could no longer endure the trauma and indignity of her sexual harassment. I'd fought her off for the better part of a year, over the course of which she had revealed herself as more than just mentally unstable person, but as a nefarious soul.
What was this "Pinky promise" thing really all about?
I think back to the many times that Patty wrote that she was sorry for what she was continuing to do to me, and that she couldn't help how she felt. She literally wrote, "I hope that Frisco can forgive Felicia."
Did Patty really see the "Pinky promise" as some kind of informal non-disclosure agreement she expected me to hold to after she had sexually harassed me and sexually assaulted me? When I failed to hold to the "Pinky promise," Patty resorted to retaliation, intimidation, and threats. She made accusations that I was stalking her; she wrote me emails threatening self harm and blackmail; she stalked me at my job to terrorize me; she contacted friends and co-workers to slander me. Did she really think that the non-disclosure agreement of the "Pinky promise" encompassed me being silent about her being a both a pedo-enabler and a sexual assailant (these two things are wedded in my mind like two sides of the same heinous coin), or the contingency of her sending her antisemite "hatchet man" Victoria to communicate terroristic threats to silence me.



- - - - - - -

- - - - - - -


"Dear John"

On 12/18/21, one week before the onstage sexual assault of 12/31/21 at a Dani Kerr and the Skelton Krew gig, Patty sent an email warning me that she's writing a letter about "a lot of shit" which is "pretty heavy." I received emails like this from her on a regular basis. I dreaded them. I had explicitly told Patty that I only wanted to receive correspondences related to business, that the sexual psychodrama she was relentlessly pushing on me was destroying our friendship, and that I knew our so-called friendship was merely a ploy she was using to achieve the ulterior motive of intimate physical contact with me. I didn't matter that I had told her all of this. She continued the behavior while chastising me for avoiding intimacy and not sharing feelings with her, even trying to gaslight me by saying, "You never said blah blah blah. . . "

But Patty's proclamations of lust for me was not all I had to put up with in her "heavy shit" messages. I didn't want to hear any more about her schoolteacher son at Lenoir–Rhyne University who wanted to kill himself; or her daughter who had tried to stab her father; or Victoria rolling on the living room floor drunk and/or high on drugs, throwing up in someone's vehicle and on people's pets, and all the musicians the young "ho" was screwing. Worst of all, though it deeply disturbed me to know that her granddaughter was being molested by a monster, a man who had threatened me with grave bodily injury during my brief encounter with him, I didn't need updates on what was going on with that situation. I saw myself in that child. I lied to myself, rationalizing that I had fulfilled my moral obligation, as I had told Patty that it was her responsibility to protect that child. I'd even actively tried to get the police involved. My own pain from having been sexually abused when I was young is like a deep wound that has never healed. Patty's persistent sexual harassment, manipulative grooming language, and appeals that I forgive her for what she was doing to me brought all of those horrible memories from my past close to the surface. When she touched me the pain was excruciating. I was too emotionally fragile to withstand her constant written and verbal onslaughts about pedophilia, suicide, alcoholism, and domestic violence, as these things were commingled with my deepest trauma.

To compound the horror I felt when Patty warned that she was writing one of her ”heavy shit" messages, I had the further anxiety of knowing that the next email I received could be authored by her other personality, Felicia, who would intersperse all of the aforementioned subjects with lamentations about how horny I was making her and how she desired to be with me.

The subtext to Patty’s “Dear John” email was that she was growing anxious for a return on her investment, and that unless I capitulated to her demands for intimacy, romance, and physical contact then she was going to say “goodbye” and cease giving me bookings. She’d already wasted enough valuable time on me and was letting me know that she was losing patience and was prepared to cut her loses. She’d been pounding this drum for some time and this was not an idle warning. In point of fact, it is exactly how things played out.

On 12/28/21, ten day after the “Dear John” email, Patty further elaborated, in writing, that my employment required that I allow her to make intimate contact with me. This was necessary because I looked sexy. In Patty logic it was my own fault that she wanted to touch me.

Three day later, on 12/31/21, Patty sexually assaulted me while I was on my job. In this sick, twisted, evil woman’s mind she somehow rationalized that because she had explicitly told me what she was going to do, that it somehow made it okay. She sexually assaulted me that night because she could. She knew how desperately I needed the money for my cats. She knew that I wasn’t going to do a Pete 'Townsend on Abbie Hoffmann move and knock her over the head to prevent a sexual assault. She knew that there wasn't anybody there who would interfere in her attack upon me . . . not Suzi, not my bandmates, and not her friends who she had gaslit about our relationship.

[tonebender]

I just watched her on Youtube. She is great!

[toomanycats]

I just watched her on Youtube. She is great!

Here's one of the songs I produced for Christina. While The Voice has her singing cover songs, I know that this girl is a genius songwriter. I knew it from the first material she sent to me. She texted me her draft of "I'm Trying To Trust You" one morning while I was at the laundromat washing cat bedding. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! People around me watching dryers spinning around must have thought I was nuts from the way I was joyfully reacting to her recording. She said that it was something she'd written just that morning, almost like it was musical scribbling. Listening to her beautiful voice, with it's melody and intense emotion, I heard what the song still lacked. It needed drums; it needed bass; it needed a counterpoint to her voice in the form of a Les Paul played through a Marshall JTM. In short, it needed blues guitar, something like what Eric Clapton added to Aretha Franklin's "Good To Me As I Am To You" back in 1967. That's what I strived to add to Christina's song.





- - - - - - -


This pic is from the week preceding Patty sexually assaulting me onstage at Waterside on 12/31/21. Francisco Goya did not paint a more monstrous image of evil old horned crones. Patty told me, in writing, that if I was, quote, '"Going to look sexy," then I should, quote, "Grin and bear it" while being felt up by her and her gaggle of lusty old lady friends. She said it was part of my job. That's when Patty revealed the unvarnished truth about how she perceived me, as nothing more than a whore like her employee Victoria. It was the ultimate degradation and humiliation to have my long cultivated skill on guitar, my passion for music, my intellect, my need to care for my cats, even my strenuous moral protestations about how Patty's granddaughter and myself were both being sexually mistreated, all cast aside as subordinate concerns to the need for these swine to satiate their carnal lust by touching me.

It is said that a picture is worth a thousand words. The image below was taken at a gig at Mountain View Pub in December of 2021. It could be titled "Jew at a Christmas Party." I am the dark haired, bearded man wearing the top hat, conspicuously apart from the group, awkward and reserved physically, emotionally, and verbally. I have very purposefully distanced myself from the drunken, spit swapping, groping, coked up entourage of sycophants who surround Patty.

Anyone who knows me will affirm that I am not affectionate or demonstrative. I do not initiate a friendly hug with anyone and prefer contact with cats. However, performing as a musician on a gigging circuit invariably thrusts one into social situations where touchy feely, schmoozing activity is pro forma. It's part of the politics of the thing. These situations and the demands they impose are excruciatingly awkward for me. I perceive these groups of people as a colony of cats, with all the associated grooming of each other, posturing, boxing ears, establishing dominance, and sniffing asses. I’m terribly clumsy in such social situations. I don't know how to casually mingle, or bullshit with the guys about sportsball, or handle a sexually aggressive woman. In the past, when in such environments, I would often seek the safety of a woman who indicated she had a brain, and who was conversed in music, art, and belles-lettres. Patty had pretended to be such a woman while simultaneously keeping a laser focus on her true goal of finagling a pee pee touch from me.

Numerous times when I was standing alone in such an environment, I would see Vic on the other side of the room with whatever man she was with for the evening, both of them looking at me and laughing, drink in hand, eyes glazed over, vape pens dangling from their lips. Vic would send the man over to goad me with the question, “Why don’t you get with Patty?” I would never dignify this absurd query with a response. When you gig in bars most nights of the week you become accustomed to ignoring the drunks, druggies, and other assorted weirdos you frequently encounter. I’m talking about people who come up to you and tell you they bought a 1958 Gibson Les Paul at a yard sale last week; or someone who says that Jeff Beck is their uncle; or some emmisary of Vic’s who believes there is a budding romance between yourself and Patty Decker. All of that shit . . . the 58 LP, Uncle JB, and Frisco and Felicia . . . was on par as equally delusional and crazy. Sometimes Patty too would be waiting when Vic’s man returned to the other side of the room, after having received a blank stare from me. I would hear Patty, Vic, and the man drunkenly laugh, as if they heard the funniest joke in the world. This happened multiple times. What was their game? What was Patty telling them? Who else was in on this? I knew I was being mocked, made fun of, set up, used in some horrible type of way . . . and I feared for something even worse to come.

Patty knew that I never wanted to be touched, by anybody, and especially not by her. After Patty sexually assaulted me on New Year's Eve her toadies aggressively victim shamed me, driving me off of jobs with threats, with accusations that I had been her willing sexual plaything. A year after this pic was taken the landlord evicted MVP from the premises. There had been too many "incidents." That space is now divided into a pet groomer, a tax consultant, and a comic book store. I assume that Patty and her retinue have moved their roaming bacchanal to other meeting places in and around Hickory, where she has no doubt continued to grope, kiss, and fondle to whatever degree she is able to get away with ("MEOW!").

Sex predators like Harvey Weinstein, Jimmy Savile, Bill Cosby, Andrew Cuomo, Diddy, or Patty do not exist in a vacuum; they are part of a community, surrounded by people who, if they do not actively defend and indulge the evil they do, look the other way. They may do this because there is some benefit to themselves in staying in the predator's good graces; or because they have been fooled by the psychopath's lies and deception; or because they simply lack both the courage and moral character to do anything when directly confronted with evil.


https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/arti ... t-predator

To have a psychopath treat me as their prey, assault me, threaten me, and then have the entire music community of Hickory, the police, and sexual assault organizations look the other way, has been a traumatic and life-altering experience. It has not been an easy thing to publicly deliver the truth of what has happened to me. Believe me, I have just wanted to go far away and hide. But no matter how I tried to run from my pain, every traumaversary cues the memory of the original traumatic events . . . of being touched on New Years Eve; of listening to a mother and child being beaten by a pedophile; of being told I would be "handled"; of the the police telling me they don't serve me; of the NCCASA refusing to help me because I was a man. Every time I see a story about stalking, grooming, sexual assault, child molesters, and psychopaths I am reminded of my pain. Every time an account of the indifference, ineptitude, and corruption of the police is brought to light I feel fear for having written about my experiences. In attempting to flee I would be swallowed up by a terrible leviathan, in whose belly I would relive my sadness, grief, anger, anxiety, numbness, flashbacks, panic attacks, nightmares, and endless insomnia. I must deliver this truth!

- - - - - - -

Aspiring Lizard Person Tries Out a Mask


Self-hatred is a concept used by both psychologists and psychiatrist to describe many mental disorders, including body dysmorphic and personality disorders. Using numerology to groom a friend is equally as creepy as a boss who keeps pestering you to go on a date with them . . . and Patty did both.

- - - - - - -


The following message depicting a screenshot of Patty's phone was sent to me on 12/28/21. This was three days before she sexually assaulted me onstage at Waterside on 12/31/21. In the days leading up to that assault she repeatedly communicated her intention, through both emails and on the phone, to touch me sexually.

As has been previously revealed through Patty's email of 9/20/21, "555" was a number she associated with:

* Her belief that we were "twin flames" with a "unique" and "divine" connection.
* That she is "the chaser" and I am "the runner."
* Her belief in numerology, encouraged by her psychic, which she attempted to use to convince me I could not escape this fate.
* Her belief that I am destined to partner with her in both music and romance, similar to the example she presented of Alvis and Diane.

So that there could be not mistake about her intention, on the exact same day Patty sent an email informing me that if I'm "gonna continue to look sexy," then physical contact is a requirement of my job, suggesting that I "grin and bear it." In the days leading up to the performance on New Years Eve she continued to make outlandish warnings about sexually assaulting me.

I was weary and exhausted, having been dealing with Patty's diabolical machinations since February of 2021.

As a professional musician, my most pressing concerns for the gig on the evening of 12/31/21 were:

1) Whether the battery power I was using in my Bogner Ecstasy Blue pedal would trip the relay when I turned on the boost. If you own one, then you know that it's the best sounding Plexi in a box pedal ever, with this one annoying quirk.
2) Would Matt Eckard, in his usual alcohol, weed, and cocaine induced state, go off script once again, take a ten minute solo backed up by rhythm accompaniment provided by his looper pedal, play over the top of my parts, and expose himself? It vexed me that Matt was only getting away with this unprofessional onstage conduct because, unlike myself, he was boinking his boss.
3) Would our rescued Russian Blue named Smoky Robinson, who had an appointment to be neutered in two weeks, spray the living room drapes before I arrived home?

As a traumatized person who had was been relentlessly harassed by a sex predator boss, my most pressing concerns for the evening were:

1) Would Patty actually sexually assault me that night, as she was forewarning?
2) If I had to physically resist Patty to thwart her sex attack, would I be the one who was arrested for assault on a female?
3) Would my bandmates "have my back" in this situation?



Patty did sexually assault me the night of 12/31/21 while I was working. It was the most audacious of all of her attacks, occurring onstage while I performed, followed up by a verbal assault in front of my co-workers and the audience. It was an outrageous act of desperation born out of sexual frustration, catastrophic delusion, and emboldenment unleashed by alcohol and drugs. She meant to do more than just get herself off by sexually assaulting me. Patty intentionally wanted a "staged" event in which she could publicly assert dominance, demean me, and cause a spectacle that would, at least in her own demented mind, and perhaps for the observers she had been lying to about the nature of our association, serve as "proof" that we were intimate, a couple, "twin flames." The reality was that this was a pre-meditated sexual assault. After I forcefully broke her hands and mouth away from me I stood standing there in shock, humiliated, feeling all those same emotions I'd experienced as a child being forcibly touched so many years ago. I felt indescribable rage that both Patty's granddaughter and myself were trapped in our situations, the two of us being subjected to unwanted sexual contact because Patty couldn't restrain her lust for me, her daughter couldn't restrain her lust for the new boyfriend she'd moved into her home, and the new boyfriend couldn't restrain his lust for that little girl. I could not separate these things in my mind and I could not longer bear the anguish of the situation.

1/1/22. The night after the sexual assault I had a gig at Fyreside with a guy named Tibbs. I has just finished telling him what had transpired the previous night when Patty stormed into the bar, dragging her grandchild behind her. She came right to the front of the stage, got in my face, and angrily demanded an apology from me. She looked like a lunatic and there was no doubt in my mind that she was drunk and/or high as balls. I told her that she had sexually assaulted me, then turned away, ignoring her. Tibbs appeared flustered, embarrassed, and perhaps even annoyed at this drama which was interfering with his gig. I averted my eyes from Patty, though during the course of the show I could see that she had planted herself at a table to my left. In between songs I heard her loudly crying while talking on the phone. Her grandchild ran around the bar unattended. After the gig I was terrified to go out into that parking lot and asked a stranger to look and see if there was anybody near my vehicle.

On 1/2/22 I finally responded to the avalanche of emails Patty had been sending for the 32 hours since she had sexually assaulted me.

To make things crystal clear, when Patty says, "a conversation about it," by "it" she means the sexual assault, which was a fact, a thing that happened, and for which she was now trying to make a backhanded apology. I will hereafter refer to what happened as "it/sexual assault."

Patty asserts what she thinks she "deserves." She deserved nothing! No . . . that's not exactly true. The night of the assault she deserved to have had my nails raked down her face, or to have been kneed in her crotch, or any of the other techniques victims are instructed to use to thwart an attack by a sexually aroused, drunk, aggressive, angry predator. She deserved to have been arrested!

Has anyone reading this ever had the experience of being molested as a child, and afterwards having the creep who touched you come with such faux apologies that are really half excuses, saying that they'd been drunk, that it wasn't really so bad, that you're overreacting, and even blaming you for what happened? That's what this sick son-of-a-bitch Patty Decker was doing to me!

Patty had brought me a present that night, which I found in a gift bag hanging on the driver's side mirror when I cautiously ventured out to my vehicle at 2 AM. Behavioral analysis of sexual abusers reveals that giving gifts is part of the way they psychologically groom a victim. It is part of a progressive program of seduction, gaining trust, feigning friendship and concern, much of this occurring in secrecy, sealed by what Patty referred to as the “pinky promise.” This was the creepiest person I had ever met.

I was too traumatized to talk about the "it/sexual assault." I also knew that Patty would get off just by engaging me in conversation about it. That drama and turmoil was like another intoxicant to her. There were only two things I wanted to say to her, which were reiterations of things I'd already said to her countless times:

Don't touch me.
Stop abusing me with sexually harassing language.

Patty offered the excuse that she had been drunk while also alluding to her stress over the holidays, suggesting that the "it/sexual assault" was impromptu, had occurred under duress, and that this somehow absolved her from guilt. I knew that this was absolute bullshit. Patty was a conniving, cunning, calculating predator who for the last year had been strategizing how to have sexual contact with me. But now she'd really gone too far with the "it/sexual assault," I was obviously very traumatized about it, and she was in damage control mode, trying to spin things while lying her ass off.

Even despite Patty saying she was sorry for the "it/sexual assault," she would almost immediately resume her sexual advances. It is a defining characteristics of stalkers that they refuse to accept "No!" for an answer. Patty either could not stop, or would not stop. If she could not stop, then she was mentally ill. If she would not stop, then she was a psychopath.

Along with confessing to being a drunk, stressed, and generally miserable, Patty also reveals that she is angry at me for a lot of things. She didn't need to spell them out, as I knew damn well what she was angry about. She'd been railing about it in emails and lectures on the phone for the last year. Patty was angry because:

* I had teased her by being so sexy and making her horny; I'd put a steak in front of her and not even let her have a bite.
* I had made myself emotionally unavailable, refusing to engage in the sexual/romantic psychodrama she longed for.
* I had refused her repeated invitations to dates.
* I had pushed her away whenever she tried to hug and kiss me.
* Suzi stood in the way of achieving her goal of "555."

The deep rooted anger Patty alludes to in this message gave birth to her fanatical desire for revenge, for retribution against the man who rejected her romantic advances. Patty had committed a year of her time to the grift of "The Wizard," yet still hadn't gotten the return on the investment she desired. Frisco hadn't given her passionate hugs or kisses, sex, or psychodrama. All she'd gotten was a single, unemotional peck at her birthday party from a friend named John. Regardless, it was no problem for Patty to make up an alternate reality of lies. In fact, she already had one in place and ready to go. Maybe Patty believed in this fiction herself; and perhaps she could even make her friends believe it, if she repeated it frequently enough, and put on a convincing crying performance, and railed on Facebook about it. Within just a few weeks Patty and her friends would be getting in my face at my job, insisting that she had been my girlfriend, that I was being mean to her, that I was going to leave Suzi and move into her house, that I made out with her at gigs, and that I was the one who had a serious mental problem. Within a few months Patty and her gang of bullying and victim shaming associates would completely drive me out of the City of Hickory with threats and intimidation.



- - - - - - -


In this email of 1/8/22 I assert to Patty that I do not use drugs of any kind. Most of the messages I sent to her at this point had to do with my grievance over dealing with the alcoholics and drug users, a situation which resulted in people passing out onstage, getting so high that they walked out in the middle of a show, or skimming money for their fix, which Patty then had to try to re-appropriate so I could be paid. Though Patty knew how I felt about drugs, this was not the first time she'd encouraged me to use them, even suggesting that we have an "experience" together. In this email she also continues with her sexual advances. Despite the fact that she had sexually assaulted me just a week previous, and that I had expressed how traumatic that attack had been, she had no remorse for her actions. She demonstrates this by continuing to make callous sexual innuendos, use manipulative behavior, and showing a total lack of conscience. She was a psychopath who was getting off on tormenting me. The Grey Rock Method instructed one to not encourage such language by responding, so I did not bite the bait and address her lewd sexual reference. It is clear that I am not just confronting mental illness, but sadistic evil.

- - - - - - -

"oral gratification"

It was not okay for Patty to send me emails about "oral gratification," her sexual arousal when being around me, and her desire to be attractive for me. When I protested about this, she would lean in harder to the "I'm thinking about Moving On" thing, or the, "I'm writing a Dear John Letter" thing, cunningly communicating the message that my continuing to get jobs was contingent upon allowing her to engage in this sexually harassing psychodrama. This was humiliating and demeaning, to both Suzi and myself.

- - - - - - -


A pic Patty sent of herself dressed as a furry. She had sent me emails in which she equates herself with a dog broken off its leash, unencumbered from all human moral restraints, sniffing around like a beast in heat on a self-destructive mission for sex. She knew that I liked to hug my cats. I speculate that she was hoping I might be intimate with her if she presented herself like the kitties to whom I gave my affection. She had tried most every other angle, so why not this?

- - - - - - -


Patty's Vision of a Nearly Naked Man on 1/10/22

I believe that Patty was an occultist, albeit, a confused and bumbling one. After attempting to have a serious academic discussion with her about Crowley, Egyptian mysticism, Pythagoras, and Madam Blavatsky, amongst other subjects, I was left with the impression that she was a dilettante. However, perfidy was so ingrained in her that it was difficult to tell whether she was merely playing dumb. She gave every indication that she was attempting to use occult means to gain power and control over me. She wrote about a psychic she was consulting to strategize her conquest of Frisco. She continuously inquired about what numbers I saw on the clock. She relentlessly probed me about what I dreamed. She constantly spoke about spirits, spells, and madness brought on by the full moon. She made claims of being clairvoyant, of having telepathy, of seeing visions, and being able to astrally project and view remotely. Patty lived in a world of new age confusion, of unreality and fantasies, all exacerbated by alcohol and whatever drugs she was taking. It is a fundamental premise of criminology that every contact leaves a trace. Traces of Patty's insanity is recorded in her writings, where she documented her fantasies about Felicia and Frisco, her belief that we were twin flames, and speculates I am her husband from a previous life. There are also physical traces of Patty's madness, such as her carving "Felicia loves Frisco" into the rafters at Two Trees in Denver, NC.



It is my belief that Patty's vision of a "nearly naked body" transported though the sky was a reference to:

1. Her schoolteacher son who was suicidally depressed.

2. Allen Ward, who on any given night would drink and snort himself one step closer to the grave à la Ozzy's "Suicide Solution" while Patty and Victoria took turns groping him before depositing his slumped body behind the wheel of his car.

These two guys were already standing in their graves . . . they just hadn't laid down yet.

I know what a walking dead man looks like. In the year preceding my move to North Carolina I had brought my youngest brother to the hospital multiple times for acute alcohol poisoning and to check him into rehab. One time I remember Suzi and I looking down at him as he lay shaking uncontrollably on a steel gurney in the hallway of the emergency room, feebly saying that he was afraid. His hands were painfully thin, as white as marble, flecked through with crimson and purple streaks. Suzi held Dan's hand while I looked him in the eye, promising that I would save him. After he was admitted to the detox floor of the hospital his cell phone was confiscated and I could only reach him by calling a pay phone next to the reception desk. One time when I called the phone was answered by an unfamiliar male voice before being handed over to my brother, who then told me that that was his roommate, who was a famous rock star. He said that they spent much time talking about music and about me. Upon my next visit to the hospital I met my brother's roommate, who was Scott Columbus, the drummer of the band Manowar. His drumming was so powerful, like a modern day John Bonham, yet here this man was in front of me, looking so weary and fragile. After the financing was sorted out my brother Dan was transported from the hospital to an addiction rehab facility south of Syracuse. I remember the administrator sitting my Mother, sister, and myself down at a table and asking if there was a history of substance abuse in our family. My Mother and sister responded in unison, "No." I knew right then that my brother was going to die. A year later, after I had relocated to North Carolina, I heard that Scott Columbus had died. Shortly after my brother was found dead, alone in an apartment in Watertown, New York, with empty vodka and prescription bottles scattered around the room. In one of the last phone conversations I had with my brother he spoke of his memory of the horror of being a young child and watching the abuse I endured at the hands of the brutish, drunken, loveless monster who was his Father.


But there was third man who was in mortal danger.

3. Me. Unlike Patty’s son and Allen, I had not succumbed to Freud's thanatos and did not have an urge to self-extinction. Besides the intrinsic value I placed in my own life, both Suzi and the cats also depended upon me for their existence. If Patty could not have and control me, then I was afraid that she might actually want to kill me. She had made all kinds of veiled warnings, alluding to scenarios in which she would kiss me before she died, or lamenting that if I was to die first then she would be denied that pleasure. It was all extremely creepy. There was also the story she told about her friend, the ex mayor of Hickory who murdered a woman in a crime of passion before killing himself. I remembered the accounts of Dimebag Darrell being shot dead onstage by a mentally ill fan, and of the singer Selena being murdered by her own obsessed manager. These things can and do happen. I believed that Patty was mentally disturbed on that level and capable of such a thing. I had seen her drunk and in a rage, like on New Years Eve after I tried to fight off her onstage sex attack. If she had a gun in her hand I believe she could have shot me dead right then and there. Patty had herself become Thanatos . . . by which I mean not the Freudian concept, but the Greek mythological figure, who is the personification of death, surrounded by suffering, doom, deception, strife, retribution, and blame. These revelations were precisely why, over the course of 2022, I was so terrified every time she showed up at my job to stalk me, where she would stand in front of the stage, leering and recording. She even contacted my band to see precisely what time I would appear onstage.

Perhaps now, after I have revealed the extent of Patty's verbal, psychological, and physical assaults, the reader can begin to understand the reason why I felt such terror while performing onstage with Lucid Outbreak at Clutches in Stateville on 7/17/22 that I involuntarily pissed myself. That gig was six months after Patty sent her "nearly naked body" email. This psycho had continued to terrorize me, writing emails about self-harm, casing out my whereabouts, stalking me at my job, and even enlisting the help and active participation of associates. The Catawba County Sheriff had come to my home less than two months previous to the Clutches gig, where Suzi and I presented them with all of my evidence and appealed to them for help. They did nothing! Patty's threats escalated after this as I documented everything. When I once again contacted the Sheriff they refused to meet with me.


- - - - - - -



It was because of the Patty's sexual assault upon me on 12/31/21, followed by her absolute lack of remorse (demonstrated by her continuing to make sexual overtures in the days and weeks after that attack), and her persistent psychotic emails about death and other disturbing activities in which she was involved, that on 1/11/22 I sent her this email informing her that I was irrevocably severing our ties.

It is crucial to understand that the sexual assault of 12/31/21 was not just a single, severe, isolated incident. I have struggled to show the full scope of events in this documentation, demonstrating how that New Year's Eve attack occurred in the context of an orchestrated, sustained program of sexual harassment and attempted psychological manipulation that had been ongoing for the previous year. The groping of New Year's Eve was the culmination of Patty's agenda. Nor did her program of harassment and abuse end after that particular acute episode. Patty followed up the assault with denials and claims that I was falsely accusing her. She then continued to sexually harass me. Two weeks later, after I severed our ties, she resumed the stalking she had been engaged in before I'd even met her in February of 2021. She asserted that I had been romantically involved with her for the previous year and had gangs of bullying associates shout me off of jobs while making outrageous claims about our sexual interaction. She continued to send me emails signed “Felicia,” wrote about self harm, threatened blackmail, stalked me at my job, contacted people with whom I found work to slander me, and enlisted an accomplice to send the terroristic threats that somebody would “handle” me.

[tlarson58]

Great talent! I hope that she goes far.

[tonebender]

I wish her much luck, she definitely has talent and looks.

[nomadh]

I am so sorry you're going through this. I've been checked out awhile. As someone who has only minor childhood ptsd from bullying I can't imagine what you are really going through even though you document it so well. I hope you writing this heed you process it and not retraumatize you. I ever could imagine ther is still such a screwed up area in modern America and its frightening. And in such a weird wierd subculture like bar bands. Is there maybe a wedding band you could get into where random psychopaths can't wander in?
And I hate that you don't get to play music. Maybe you can put together a dad band. Guys that aren't drug hollowed and good people to build up a support base and a safe group to be in? You need a local support system.
How are you earning money now? If things are really tight check out salvation army for food and support. I know our local wouldn't mine you are jewish. Free lunch for seniors. Or maybe Jewish family services? Or some name like that.
Actually I was thinking you could repackage all this documentation into a screen play. Something like that could get you the money to just move.
With all this and the previous drama with your house and neighbors before this all really starting to sound very supernatural.
I'm praying for you brother.
Damon

[jtcnj]

Sorry to hear this scourge continues to plague you.
Best hope and prayers to you and Mrs. TMC.

I know my words and those of others here don't carry any real world weight, but I hope you find some solace in them.

[toomanycats]

I am so sorry you're going through this. I've been checked out awhile. As someone who has only minor childhood ptsd from bullying I can't imagine what you are really going through even though you document it so well. I hope you writing this heed you process it and not retraumatize you. I ever could imagine ther is still such a screwed up area in modern America and its frightening. And in such a weird wierd subculture like bar bands. Is there maybe a wedding band you could get into where random psychopaths can't wander in?
And I hate that you don't get to play music. Maybe you can put together a dad band. Guys that aren't drug hollowed and good people to build up a support base and a safe group to be in? You need a local support system.
How are you earning money now? If things are really tight check out salvation army for food and support. I know our local wouldn't mine you are jewish. Free lunch for seniors. Or maybe Jewish family services? Or some name like that.
Actually I was thinking you could repackage all this documentation into a screen play. Something like that could get you the money to just move.
With all this and the previous drama with your house and neighbors before this all really starting to sound very supernatural.
I'm praying for you brother.
Damon

Thanks for your kind words Damon. I’ve missed you being around here in your absence.

I don’t want to say too much about what I’m doing at this moment, my routine, movements, etc., as the stalker is likely still lurking on this forum. I will say that performing in public is completely out of the question.

Your suggestion about monetizing my story is amusing, though that is not why it was written. However, something did happen recently which has given me food for thought. Last week I spoke with my cousin Laurie Woolever. The last time I saw Laurie was when Suzi and I attended her wedding on the shore of the Fingerlakes in Upstate New York. During the long silence between us, my cousin has managed to get herself famous. She was the assistant of Mario Batali, Anthony Bordain, is a writer, editor, New York Times Bestselling author, and has appeared on the Joe Rogan show.

That I reached out out to Laurie after all these years was completely unpremeditated and random. This makes it all the more coincidentally bizarre that she is about to publish a memoire which touches on many of the subjects I’ve written about in this AGF thread. It's as though we were working in parallel, contemplating many of the same things, though from our own differing perspectives. It was also amusing to discover that back in Manhattan, her boss Anthony's fiancée and future wife, Ottavia Busia, was a client of mine. Anthony used to stand in front of the gym smoking while waiting for Ottavia and I to finish her workout, after which we'd both try to convince him to take some sessions with me, to no avail. I had no idea at that time that my cousin was working with Tony at the other end, and we got a kicked out of realizing this all these years later.

Though Laurie's book is not yet available to the public, she mailed me an uncorrected proof, which Suzi and I have been reading for the last few days. In those pages are shockingly candid accounts of alcoholism, drugs, addiction, the pressures of surviving and trying to get ahead in Manhattan, Weinstein, sexual assault, and antisemitism. There is an entire chapter about my family, with specific focus on the death of my brother and the general dysfunction which prevails. I suppose Laurie wouldn't mind me posting a pic of the proof copy, which I see as my modest contribution to the marketing campaign for this book that will soon be unleashed across the media landscape.

You may be correct that I too have a story to tell which may be interesting to a wider audience than just AGF. We’ll see what happens.

Regarding the supernatural thing . . . I don’t really go for all that mumbo jumbo, but there are things that have happened which seem, for lack of a better word, karmic.

To address myself to the entire forum, the mods, and Patrick . . . I want to thank you for allowing me to use AGF to write these very personal things about my life in music. I apologize if I've run my leash too long. I have stated elsewhere in this thread that the most important reason for this documentation to exist is for the safety of Suzi and myself. If anything untoward was to happen to us, then these pages would provide a good indication of who may be responsible.

But there is another reason why I believe this thread is a valuable document. We all love guitar here, and amps, pedals, and all kinds of gear. Sure, it’s fun to play with this stuff alone in the bedroom; and even better yet, in a garage with some friends; but even better still is getting out in front of the public, on a stage, and playing live rock & roll with a band. That’s what many folks consider the end game. The thing is, once you get out there, in the bars, clubs, breweries, wineries, and other venues, you will encounter crazy people and situations. For good or for ill, that too is part of the experience of being in a gigging band. I have tried to truthfully document this experience from the inside; and if anyone has been amused, enlightened, educated, or entertained along the way, then I feel I have revealed something valuable about not just the guitar, but about the whole world of feelings, social relations, passions, and economics which are connected to the instrument once you decide to strap one on and stand on a stage.