The Village #26
Background:
“A little while ago, I moved into an apartment in Helsinki and I was assured there would not be construction of any kind in the building. Shortly after, they began construction of a flamenco school, and, shortly after that, I had to deal with the sonic torture of the flamenco school and its disturbed teachers. Somewhere in that, an insurance broker would pop up to say he could verify and test the safety of things that he had not only never been in the presence of, but did not exist.
After refusing to return my deposit and tenants rights law enshrined rent return of 10–15% for a dwelling not habitable as agreed. And thus wrecking my financial means to leave. Whilst knowing I was recovering from a violent attack.
The landlord, an auxiliary judge, would threaten to shoot me with a shotgun several times, and his certainly not involved wife, who used to be the ex-head of the Finnish Bar Association would not use her work email to process matters concerning her husband’s fraud.
…a lawyer from Eversheds would not be so negligent that it would look like he was…yenno…a word that rhymes with erupt… and the Finnish Police would not turn a blind eye to the auxiliary judge…somewhere in the hind of all of that, a mysterious man would attempt to blind and then kill me, but nothing would ever come of that…
The auxiliary judge would not refuse to settle up the matter telling me it was my punishment for talking back. Nor would the Finnish Bar Association attempt to bury me with a decision so corrupt as to be banal.
None of this happened…it is all in my head…
According to The Finnish Police, The Finnish Bar Association, the Finnish Judiciary and most Finnish people I talk to.
Please ignore the dent the man left in my skull. I tend to touch it when I get nervous”.
Some time back, I was swatted off Facebook.
All the other farcical shit with the flamenco was going on and I was in the middle of trying to figure out the beginning of the stabbing case. You see, I had been told I was going to be killed. That the stabbing would never be over until I was dead. This was my punishment for fighting back and subduing my attacker.
The Helsinki Police laughed at me; I was left largely on my own.
So…
Back to the the swatting…
There’s a couple of working theories, though, I am still none the wiser.
But, I thought to contact one of the EFF journalists for help. Or, better put, well-meaning friends repeatedly advised me to try seek some journalist or media help. “It’s all so fucked up, someone has to be able to help. To get your story out there.”
I had after all, a bizarre case involving the husband of the ex-head of the Finnish Bar Association threatening to murder me. The Stabbing, the insurance mystic, the police malpractice, the corrupt lawyer…and of course the cyberstalking.
It was, is, a rich tapestry detailed across this thing called Mooseville.
The loss of a Facebook account is an acute pain many will not understand until it happens and they lose a large swathe of their existence. If you fucked up, and used it as a carry-all contact book. Or, better yet, everybody else did and no matter what, you ended up there. It forced me to Twitter, as an avenue for putting out music and writing to replace Facebook.
Whilst looking about Twitter, I noticed a EFF journalist posting a lot on Facebook. As it stood, friends got irritated when you did not attempt their advice, and the hassling to reach out to someone had got quite insistent. I decided to contact the journalist to ask for help or some level of advice. Even just getting the Facebook page back would have been useful.
It was a phase of growing anxiety and panic attacks. I’d recently had the first “oh shit, maybe I do have PTSD” after a drunk man had randomly pulled a large pair of art shears from his pocket on a night tram and was increasingly ever aware of my surroundings. Especially, if I ventured toward the city I’d been told not to go to. It’s a growing type of agitated fear that starts to push people away. I can’t say what it would have been like if I had been given an out from the sonic torture of the flamenco school. But it might not have been so…so…anything, I don’t know…
In reply to the statement that I needed help, the journalist bowed out quickly of any legal advice, the journalist then sought my name, a sort of odd self doxx request for an organisation centered around privacy. I mentioned I had articles I had written on Facebook; I don’t know why, I think, I was still in some naive idea that they might help or signal flare draw attention.The journalist asked for the articles and promptly disappeared. I sought for the promised response, quite a few times, and there was a brief exchange where the journalist asked if the articles were any further along. The journalist got them, and disappeared again. And so began a circle of friends asking me if the journalist had replied, to ask the journalist if anything was going to happen, and the circle of contacting the journalist. A core theme of which was, if you’d no intention of helping, why ask for the articles…
Which became…
“the style was not something I would know a good fit for…despite being non-fiction, it had the feel of a fictional or creative piece of writing, and that’s
simply not my expertise…”
And it drifted off into nothing. Nothing could be done and I’ll get back and…
But the comment was the important thing, because it would become the mainstay of this journey.
“I don’t believe you.
It sounds made up.
Are you sure this happened?
Are you sure you’re not misunderstanding?”
And if they were Finnish.
“No, not in Finland, this doesn’t happen in Finland. You must be mistaken or you’re making it up. I’m not saying you’re lying, I’m just saying I don’t believe you or sorry, that this could happen here. This does not happen in Finland, sorry, no.”
And this has been just the everyday non-involved people.
On the other hand I was dealing with the bigot auxiliary judge refusing deposit, refusing anything by way of denying the existence of everything and if it did exist, his negligence covered him as a legal excuse. The same tack that city health officials, the police and everyone else would take.
“What do you mean he won’t give you your deposit back, he can’t do that.
No, in Finland, he can’t do that. Ask him for it.
I don’t believe he said no.”
And on another, the smirking insurance broker who had inserted himself into the mix as a sort of disruption and who had made it clear he intended to prevent me getting any money back by first denying the existence of what I was saying, then disproving it existed, and then telling me again and again the sound diaries he was demanding were in the incorrect form. A neat gaslighting trick if you can get away with it. All the while repeatedly making the same bizarre joke about this time he rented an apartment over a nightclub in Mexico.
The same man would later make a police report stating an article containing actual sample quotes of emails he had written, was, “lies, all lies”. And later begin a police mandated conciliation session by stating, when asked what his issue was, that I had accused him of witchcraft and the occult and that I would;
be fined, be punished, have to pay damages, issue an apology and take the article down.
If he was telling the truth in the police mandated conciliation, and the Finnish police continue their run of making everything go away for these people whilst doggedly pursuing me for the slightest thing they accuse me of. It will be the first trial of an accusation of witchcraft and the occult in 400 years.
I have argued that the police should investigate him for witchcraft and the occult first. They tell me it’s not illegal, I point out that the law states religious practice must not blaspheme or degrade the Church, which is or was essentially what Western witchcraft could have been said to have done…(at least in the eyes of the Church…black mass etc)
Nobody believes you about the asbestos? So you take a photo of the asbestos cover used…
…no…
The cognitive dissonance is so strong. It becomes a fnord.
Go online, that’s a good place right? Within all the din and the noise, you might find some ears, some allies, answers or a signal boost.
Yelp takes down your review of the law firm, and even when given evidence, they publicly call you a liar. Medium takes down articles exposing the cyberstalking, suicide incitement and death threats. and sides with social engineering cyberstalkers and criminals. And when Medium is drawn on the matter, it acts like someone who has left something on in the kitchen. “Sorry, what? The who, they did what, who, sorry, you’ll have to speak up, I can’t hear you, I’m wearing a towel…who?”
Elsewhere online, as in meatspace, everything is taken as a scam, or fanciful tale. The infosec community is so cynical and paranoid at this stage, anyone with real harassment issues, are obviously a paranoid schizophrenic having an “off meds” period. Elsewhere, you ponder if it is not cynicism, but fear.
Like with the police, sometimes people will pop up to private message and ask if you’re being “gang-stalked” and to laugh at you.
And then the Finnish Bar Association reply to your voluminously detailed complaint. Their reply is filled with errors, and ignores correspondence, it endorses a lawyer illegally (and in breach of contract) using medical information and billing for work not done. Billing also, for a no win, no fee case. Not least, they seem to ignore that every lawyer and judge who has looked at the bill declared it gross overcharging. They literally make you un-exist…rewriting history for their colleague, telling you things like “you made demands he was within his right to ignore” in reference to matters like the lawyer, advising you, to open a second case. Rather, it was you demanding he open a second case. Which, incidentally, he never did, but charged me for.
It doesn’t matter.
As the Finnish Bar Association suggest.
It’s all in your head.
And anyway…
The Finnish Bar Association add, at the very end.
You are not allowed appeal their decision.
The lawyer is.
The parliamentary justice chancellor of Finland is.
But not you, the complainant.
It’s all in your head.
And all the rest…
is
silence.
