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No one at 911 or at the police station were in a hurry to hear my story, or even to check out dark blue cars with my TV in the back and two white man a bit fat at the front. As they have not heard the story yet and it has been nearly an hour now. Only in films do we see the police jumping up and down when something gets stolen. I guess they have enough with all the murders, I suppose, since Los Angeles is one of the worst place statistically speaking in terms of murders. So what is $500 of counterfeit money to them. The woman on the phone was basically blaming me for accepting it in the first place. But they were clever, they arranged for me to pick up the money in the dark car park, he counted the money in his trunk. I’ve been such a fool. There was little I could have done anyway if I had realized there and then that it was fake money. They had everything in their car already, they would have pushed me and left. Very well
I hope these thieves were disorganized and called me from their real mobile phone. I hope there was a camera in the car park where I live that filmed them. I hope the police might already have an idea of who they are. I hope they get caught for their audacity. It is no longer a question of the $480 I lost, now it is a question of principles and revenge. I am flabbergasted that I could have been such a fool. I’ll never ever again trust anyone else in my life.
That little adventure has quite de-motivated me to start selling on eBay upon my return to London. Trying to keep on top of all the fraudsters and scammers I encountered trying to sell a damn TV and DVD Recorder, had become a full time job. I received no less than 10 emails of such people, the last one wanting me to ship the recorder to Nigeria. Yeah, right! Like I would do that. No doubt the money who would have come into my PayPal account was from a stolen credit card, and after a few weeks the money would have disappeared from my account.
The police is so slow coming here, and yet, they would have been so fast jumping on me if I tried to buy anything with that fake money, it would be unbelievable. I would be accused of whatever faster than these guys will ever be caught.
God, the police is certainly taking its time, I’m starting to believe that they won’t show up at all. And while I wait I am incapable of doing anything else, as I am anxious. I’ve been trying to read some fake Sherlock Holmes stories written by the best crime fiction writers, and they really have nothing of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s style. Definitely, I have reached my quota of fake stuff for one day.
The police finally came, at around 3 in the morning. They are still outside, awaiting the fingerprinting guy. Well, I guess I read one too many Sherlock Holmes story, destiny felt the need to show me what’s going on today. My case will interest the Secret Services, not sure what they are, never heard of them. I asked if it was part of the FBI, they said no, part of the Federal Government, yes.
It is amazing how poor my sense of observation is. I could barely describe the guys, even less the car, though I was in their company for quite a while. I could
Well, well, well. I have to say, I am quite disappointed with the work of our policemen. They barely asked me any question, they were not interested in the extra details I had to say, their fingerprint guy came in, put black powder everywhere and has not felt it was worth it to take any, and of course there must have been a lot, mine for a start. They never thought necessary to take my own fingerprints to be able to at least eliminate them from the lot they will find at the very least on the money itself. I am very puzzled by all this.
Either they just don’t care about their job and know very well this will never really be investigated, or else, their methods of detection are so far advanced, and I am so ignorant of them, that they can go ahead without fingerprints or the many details I could give them, as obviously their methods might rely instead on cameras, calls the criminals made to my place, etc., but I’m kidding myself if I believe they will go as far as that just for my $480 of counterfeit money. The policeman said that in all probability I will never hear from them again unless they find the guilty party. How reassuring.
10 July 2006
There, I have finished the other book tonight, I’m leaving tomorrow. And since this is a blog about L.A., I guess it should also be the end of this book. However, I need to tell what my feelings are once I am back to London in two days time, as this is how long it will take me to get there, with that stop in Toronto.
Perfect timing in every way. Destiny arranged itself perfectly. I can see it again, all is perfect. Especially my TV and my DVD Recorder being lost. I could not see myself struggling to bring back that DVD Recorder to London, better give it away to some lunatic who feels he was fucking with me, when in fact, he solved one big problem I had.
However, if I get back to London in one piece, with all my stuff, I think I need to open a bottle Champagne and celebrate! And I’ll have quite something to celebrate, the return of the King to England. I won’t leave it anymore. I’ll stay cushy there for a while. Don’t talk to me about the wonders in America, or 134 Canada. For me it is all gone forever. I have understood a lot about the American mentality and culture in these last few month, enough for me to write about it for years. It is a totally different culture, where more baddies than goodies have taken control of the world. Well, something needs to stand against all that, might as well be the UK. The only remaining force in the world after the U.S. France is living on their own cloud, Canada has lost all credibility, no one ever took them seriously, not even me. And the rest of the world, well, no need to talk about that, it has all gone to hell a very long time ago.
15 July 2006
I landed in London two days ago. I was afraid, and the first thing I saw confirmed that I should have been. I could not recognize the man I had spent 11 years with previously. Eight months in Los Angeles made me forget who he was, how he looked like. He looked so weird, and so old, and so skinny, and what else did I immediately noticed which freaked me out. I thought, right there at Heathrow Airport, that it was over. And then, a few minutes, a few hours, brought me back all those memories and I past over these weird British features which makes a human being a weird one by American standards, and who knows, I fell in love again. However he has been a nightmare. We argued a lot. And it is all a case about: do you love my new dog? Because if you don’t, you can leave right now.
Great I thought, after quitting my job for the bastard, after leaving all my dreams behind for the bastard, he is about to drop me, leave me for dead in the streets of London. Unaware, obviously, of all the sacrifices I did for him. He is more interested in that new tank he bought along with a chameleon. A frog appeared out of nowhere, and it died within a day of my arrival. So of course I have been blamed for this death, because I opened the window for two minutes in the morning. He just discovered that there was toad in it now, no doubt it will die within days and I will also be blamed for that death.
But let’s not talk about that shite. I’m drunk now, for the first time since I’ve returned to London. I’m allowed to dream once again, imagine myself the greatest of destiny for all of us. That’s what’s count. My bosses in Los Angeles were keen on developing our five main goals in life, and I’ve learn something about that, I’ve finally identified my main goal in life, and I will have to concentrate very hard to make it happen. Get fucking rich beyond any comprehension, as a consequence from succeeding in films or the music industry.
135 Note that I did not mention the literary world, which actually should be my main line of concentration, as I am a writer. So I need to consider that too.
Funny, how powerful I feel like tonight. I’m listening to Lisa Loeb & the Nine Stories, and yet, they had one great album and then disappeared forever. That’s what I’m trying to reach tonight, and yet, I don’t need to die just yet. I’m bond to go much further in any of my projects. Just need my chance, and then, I’ll become the most important writer of all times, the most important author of all times. Nothing less will be sufficient, and I know intelligence and hard work will be required. I’m not afraid of that, I wish I had the time to concentrate on it, to make it all happen. And somehow I’ll make it happen. I will somehow. I’ll reach the planet right in its heart, as no excuse will do. Who cares if I’m poor? Who cares if I have to work full time on some other thing? Does not matter. I’ll make it happen.
16 July 2006
I’m back in London. I think I’ve already said that, never mind. Took me a while to update my main computer, now I feel I’m ready for the next step. What that next step is, I’m not quite sure. In order they are: find Stephen a job, make money quickly through eBay, deal with my creditors as I won’t have a job for a few months, and start this conference business.
Already there is something to wreck all this, my neighbour is gay, and Stephen conveniently hid that fact for months. I should be suspicious, however considering how many times a month we have sex, I guess the guy probably didn’t do anything with that guy. Twice in the last two days the guy came here, the first time we called him around, the second time he came on his own. He doesn’t have a computer you see, but of course, he is as addicted to his emails as can be. With a bit of luck I could have him here every day, as long as Stephen is working somewhere, my main priority, find him a job, get rid of him.
Stephen, and I am only realizing this now, is suffering from a compulsive disorder, just like the Leonardo’s landlady. In layman terms it translates as someone who cannot be alone in a different room than you for more than five minutes, and will do anything to attract your attention every single minute to prevent you from achieving anything, do any work on the computer. He feels the need to talk and talk and ask questions until you die. Mind you, it is not as 136 serious as that landlady, he is not at the point of repeating stuff to himself over and over again, or ask the same question 20 times in a row, however all the other symptoms are present.
I didn’t think I could interest the neighbor, in fact I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be interested in me, however there is something to be said about having your direct neighbor a potential victim for satisfying your sex life. It’s easy, convenient, perfect. So they don’t have to be an ideal sex model, they just need to be available when the desire arises. So I’ve got a great chance there, and it would be, finally, a great thing if this was to go through and I would have sex with him on a regular basis. I deserve it, for having such a cold fish as a boyfriend. Having sacrificed my sex life to him for over a decade, when all the guy is capable of doing since my return to London, is threatening me with: it’s not going to work, you and my zoo don’t agree, and my animals are more important than you are, so perhaps you should move out! When I sacrificed my future in Los Angeles for the guy, coming back here, condemning me to a life of misery, where nothing can happen. And I told him! I said, you could have told me before I drop my job and left Los Angeles, I would not have, under any circumstances, let go of that and come back, if I had known that you were to kick me out within days upon my return. You see, I don’t love his new dog enough, and that is enough to create all sorts of problems between us, because it is clear that his dog comes first, not me.
Now, I’m not like one of those wives, with a husband addicted to computers, which decide to leave them, under the pretence that they love their computer more than they love them, who cares about that, everyone is addicted to something, or else life would not be worth living. But if it is the wife who kicks you out, like it is in my case, there’s little I can do. However I will no longer leave London. I’ll find a way to survive. I have a cousin in town, I helped him no end, he stayed here for weeks, months, I found him a job, I almost found him his girlfriend, and so, he could help me now. I would go back into conferences, make enough money overnight to pay for my survival. O got someone in Los Angeles within six months to propose marriage to me, so I’m not that desperate, I’m still desired, I’m still loveable, I’m still worth proposing marriage to. My life is not over, even if I thought for a long time that it was. I’m only 33 for god’s sake. I could still build an empire, and in seven years time they would say: wow, and he is so young to have achieved so much! Right, a billion dollar industry, conferences, until it comes out of my ears, I can do that, I will do that. Never mind the fact that I have written already over 30 books, and that in itself is 137 remarkable, no one will recognize that, so I have to start all over again from zero. Start a company, make a billion within five years, that’s what I need to do, and I will, just watch me.
I’m in some sort of weird mood right now. So I’m doing weird stuff, weird behavior. For example, I’m listening right now to a bunch of successes by Diana Ross and The Supremes. I would only do such a thing, if I felt I was near death.
I’m fascinated by some weird fact I think I have uncovered. I believe Diana Ross has been begging all these people, the greatest in the industry, to write songs for her, and I believe they took the piss out of her, and wrote the most inconceivable lyrics for her, to ridicule her beyond comprehension, however, they were so talented, these songs became greatest hits.
Reminds me of the song Björk wrote for Madonna, Let’s Get Unconscious Baby (with the help of drugs I suppose), so unlike Madonna, that it becomes a gem.