Dec 13 2007

Trail of Tears

Posted by J. Craig Canada in jail, Medical Marijuana, motels, pizza my heart, Police, tickets

It seems I’ve been on a Trail of Tears all my life. Except, maybe when I was a prepubescent child.

I see it’s been since October, almost two months, since I’ve posted.

It hasn’t been fun.

Thanksgiving was a nightmare. Reservations had been made for me a month in advance for the night before and night of Thanksgiving. Pre-paid, supposedly. And when I got there at 2:30 pm they told me I had to pay. And said something about it would take a month for them to process payment from a third party…

…so I tried to call the third party, but got no response until the next morning. At which point I had already slept outdoors. In tears.

I stumbled down the street Thanksgiving day, angry that nothing was open and my blood sugar was telling me I really needed to eat. I ended up in tears and then a kid asked me if I knew where the free food was and I screamed “Go To Hell” and they hit me in the face…

…I spent several more hours crying, more or less hysterically.

That Sunday I went for a pizza.

Here is what I posted on the new (they put up a new forum application) Sentinel forum about it on November 24, 2007:

I woke up on the sidewalk again, after believing for more than a month, and looking forward, to being in a motel.

Patel strikes again…

I had a fever of 101.6 several weeks ago when I finally went to HPHP. My jaw was swollen to twice it’s size.

I would have gone a lot sooner but after all the abuse you all dumped on me here…

…it took about a week of not checking in here for me to care enough to do something about the dental infection, that I’ve probably had for months, or longer. I speant a solid week hoping it would kill me.

Since October 17 I have:

  • Had the police called on me because I told someone not to sweep my feet.
  • Been banned from Long’s because I refuse to leave my backpack, with my laptop in it, at the front of the store. The asshole also started calling me cupcake, and threatened to pepper spray me.
  • Been given the Bum’s rush from the Catalyst, either because I hung out there, in that huge empty room and sipped soda and used my laptop, or because I medicated outside every couple of hours.
  • Been screwed by the Patels again.
  • And after all that, as I was sobbing and hyperventilating, stumbling down the street and wishing I had somewhere, anywhere to go, and had been walking for an hour looking for somewhere, anywhere to eat, some jack-ass asked me if I knew where the free food was and slugged me when I told them to “GO TO HELL”

But thanks for caring how I’ve been.

And thanks for asking.

And may each and every one of you ROT IN HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY.

And I do sincerely mean that.

My Christmas wish for each and every one of you is that you suffer just as you’ve made me suffer. And when you beg and ask for help every door is slammed in your face and you are spit on and thrown out in the street.

And woken up, harassed, bullied, and thrown out in the rain in the middle of the night.

And then drug through court, found guilty, and FINED for it.

Yes, I do most sincerely wish that each and every one of you ROT IN HELL FOR ALL ETERNTIY.

I thought I had no more tears left, that I couldn’t cry anymore.

But you managed to make me cry for a solid week out of the last month.


And here is what I posted November 26, 2007:

Everyone please note, the above message was posted at 1:48 pm yesterday.

I posted it from Pizza My Heart. I was sitting in the front booth at the window and had just finished a pizza.

I went to use the restroom.

Immediately some asshole begin jerking on the door and rattling it. They assaulted me numerous times through the closed door. I heard them yell at them manager “Can you go in there? Did somebody die in there?”

When I came out they yelled, “Were you taking a bath in there?”

As I was attempting to walk past them and get away they struck me on the back of the head. Knocking me to the floor. As I was screaming for help the management screamed at me to get out or they would call the police. I told them to call the police, that I had been assaulted.

The police arrived and I spent some time trying to tell them I had been attacked while they attempted to find any pretext to arrest me. I told them numerous times someone in Pizza love had attacked me, hit me, when I came out of the restroom. All they would tell me to do is calm down. Evidently, getting upset because you’ve been attacked is a far more serious crime in Santa Cruz than battery…

The last thing I can remember is two women told the police someone saw the man hit me, and then he came out. And then one of the policeman put their gloves on…and started coming for me…and I tried to call Robert, evidently he did get some of my call on his voicemail…as I was screaming for help; screaming for help -from- the police.

The time of the call was 2pm. On my cell-phone.

I did not get up and go to the restroom immediately after I posted the last message. So let’s say after spending perhaps 5 minutes in the restroom I was assaulted numerous times, battered, and then given the bum’s rush by management, and then arrested for misdemeaner battery.

It was that little shit Hoppe.

And they took my medicine.

They kept me locked up until 5pm because I couldn’t stop crying, all the time demeaning me and telling me to “stop it” and “we wont’ let you go until you stop crying”.

When I got out I had no medicine. No sleeping bag. My property was at the police department. I had my clothes, my jacket, my wallet and my cigarette. That was how I was supposed to spend the night, after being assaulted, battered, terrorized, arrested, incarcerated, and deprived of my medicine through the entire ordeal.

When I did get my property, about 12:30 pm today, while the police took the good medicine that my provider had been most generous with for Thanksgiving, they did not take about an ounce of shake, the glass pipe that was with the bud, the metal pipe in the shake, and numerous other items; rolling papers, a couple of roaches, a scale, two bags with the dregs of what had been 1/8ths in them.

There were 5 items on the property list of which I received 2.

I spent the night telling myself not to get upset when I found my laptop busted and my medicine gone.

My laptop is not busted.

My medicine is gone.

My left hand hurts every time I move it – and particularly when I fasten and unfasten my pants, or have to bend it to get my backpack on and off.

I have no strength whatsoever in my left hand now.

My left lower back hurts every time I move.

There is a tender place on the back of my head where I was struck.

The number of things that had to go wrong for this to happen have me convinced it was not a coincidence.


On November 27, 2007 I posted the following in response to someone asking what I was doing carrying around a scale with marijuana:

Because someone gave it to me and I haven’t put it in my storage yet.

Also, I thought I might use it to check the weight of my purchases.

What’s nagging me is what those other items on that property list were that they didn’t give me back besides my medicine.

I’m not sure if I’m missing anything except the medicine. But I must be.

But from the comments here it does seem that these people aspire to be just like Selma, Alabama in the 50s.

I spent the morning thinking I expect to be in jail by Christmass. The judge has told me I can either pay, or pay AND do community service (you must pay to do community service).


I will not give them money for slamming every door in my face and throwing me out in the street and spitting on me and assaulting me and beating me and then arresting me and charging me.

I have a another citation for sleeping, which I haven’t done anything about.

I now have a trial set (I guess) for January 3 for battery.

I must renew my recommendation and I don’t have any insurance.

A waitress asked me how I was the other night and I told her.

She was a nice lady.

She said something about “Can’t homeless services…” and I said “Don’t start talking to me about them or I will start screaming.”

And later I said, “I had rather go to jail than that place.”

She replied, “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

It does seem to me they intend to steal and consume my life one way or another, no matter what I do. To force me to spend all my time, money, and energy defending myself against them, and jumping through their hoops for a place to sleep and a roof over my head.

crazyfingers understands I’m not yelling at him.

so does buzz.

Good people understand.

I find I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about Anton la Vay, and Santa Cruz, and WAMM lately.

And a book Pat Montandon wrote where she accused la Vay and his group of sabotaging and terrorizing her.

Yes, I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking Anton la Vay must be the patron saint of Santa Cruz.

And wondering if that was Winston that hit me.

la Vay they trot out on the lawn of city hall and give a bag of weed.


I see the sidebar has moved back to the bottom…

Which reminds me that shortly after I posted that I realized it wasn’t Anton La Vay they trotted out on the lawn of City Hall and gave a bag of weed, but Robert Anton Wilson, someone completely different.

I did manage to get a significant revision to my genealogy up before Thanksgiving. And I have received several very flattering compliments.

And since Thanksgiving I’ve been focused on putting ads on my medical marijuana forum and bringing the archive of news article up to date.

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