That, of course, was supposed to be the purpose of this blog. Tonight, I'm not laughing. In fact, I'm watching my life fall apart and wondering if I'll be alive much longer - and even wondering if maybe I should die and get it over with.
I posted the following to
Strange Forums today. I think it pretty much sums things up.
I am in a serious situation, and my life is in danger, and in the event something happened to me, I wanted everyone to know. Maybe because some of you out there would miss me, maybe even be angry enough to make yourselves heard to the district attorney and parole office, for they will be responsible for my death.
On May 30, 2003, as many of you know, my friend Michael was assaulted while visiting here by one Mr. Jones - AKA "JJ", a career felon with a mile-long rap sheet of assaults, robberies, auto thefts, and drug dealing. He is your typical hardened criminal - arrogant, immoral, angry, and beyond hope. The majority of his adult life has consisted of being arrested, serving time, and coming out convinced he's going to "kick the shitt out of whoever dropped the dime on me". In his warped mind, he believes he has done no wrong. Everything is the fault of society, of the person who called the police, of his victims.
Forty five minutes after assaulted Michael (and the first call to 911), Mr. Jones returned, pounding and kicking at my door, and threatening me. Two of the exact quotes were "If you ever write a twelve page letter complaining about me, you'll have twelve inches of my dick up your ass" and threatened my life. A second call was placed to 911, and a few moments later the police arrived. Mr. Jones was arrested, charged with violating parole, drunk in public, assault, and making terrorist threats.
On June 16, 2003, Mr. Jones threw himself at the mercy of the court during the first pretrial hearing, and requested immediate sentancing. He was sentenced to two years.
Shortly after that, Mr. Jones' parole officer, a Mr. Laker contacted me, stating that Jones was sentenced to the Men's Correctional Facility in Chino, CA, and would have to face a parole board before being released, at which time myself and Michael were asked if we would be willing to testify. The answer was a resounding YES, at which time Mr. Laker took both of our addresses and my home phone number.
Mr. Laker also added that it would be added to Mr. Jones' parole agreement that he was to stay 100 yards away from myself and Michael at all times, and coming within 100 yards would be an immediate parole violation and a return to jail.
During this time, I heard nothing. Not from the DA, not from Mr. Laker, not from the police or sheriffs.
Today, I go to pay my rent in this falling apart piece of shit, and have the following exchange with the manager:
Don: I just sent my step-son to a Christian school. He needed to shape up. He was doing speed with JJ?
Me: He was doing what with WHAATT?!!?!?
Don: Speed with JJ.
Me: You mean in the past, or recently?
Don: Recently. He's been back for awhile now. He was staying with Maynard in #17. You know, H.K.?
Me: What the fuck is he doing here?! Not only was he supposed to be in for two years, but he has an order on his parole agreement to stay 100 yards away from me!
Don: I don't know, just that he's been in and out of here.
Obviously, not only did Mr. Jones come nowhere near serving his two year sentence, but I was never notified nor brought in to testify at his parole hearing - if he even had one.
I am not lying when I say this man could kill me. And he's not only free, he's back here.
Both the manager, and the previous and current owners and the current owners were notified of Mr. Jones' history, including and especially 5/30/03, and the fact he is under orders from the parole office to stay 100 yards from me. Once again, a blind eye was turned.
Worse yet, this time around, is the fact Mr. Jones has absolutely no reason to be here. Not only because of what took place last May, but the fact his father is no longer a tenant here. He moved shortly after his son's arrested last May.
This is why it was such an urgent reason to move. And now I may be out of time. It might be too late for me.
To make matters worse, I recently applied to move into an apartment in Grand Terrace, CA. I was turned down. Someone at the office screwed up, and sent the letter explaining why I was turned down and my deposit to the wrong apartment - it was sent to apartment #17 instead of #7.
Who lives in apartment #17? H.K., the man who has committed a crime and contributed to the threat upon my life by allowing Mr. Jones to reside with him.
And if he didn't know my legal name before, he sure does now.
If anyone has any suggestions, feel free to share them. If anyone hates my guts, well. At least wait until I'm dead to celebrate.
And to update something that wasn't in my original post:
I was talking to my friend
Eric tonight, notifying him of the situation. His advice was to get my bat (my 36 inch, 44 ounce metal baseball bat) ready. I responded by saying "I just hope he doesn't have a gun", at which time it occured to me that he DOES have access to a gun - H.K. OWNS ONE!
I might be fucked. We're trying to work out something to get me out of here ASAP, but it might be too late. The plan was to get out before Mr. Jones was released, and that was supposed to be at least another nine months away.
Why is it that the legal system fucks everyone but the criminals? And what did I ever do to deserve this?
Labels: A world gone mad, Mi Vida Loca
