22

07282025.

It's 1030am.

I'm in bed.

Something smells bad.

I want to clean but someone broke into my dorm and I just don't know why I should make it easier for them to violate my privacy.

They took a notebook and put it back.

So there's nothing to report.

I feel sorry for these people. Having no life and stealing from someone else/

It's pathetic.

I'm still angry about Saturday and all the threats.

Empty.

Sunday was spent volunteering again.

Alone.

People wait for my payday not realizing they are taking out of their own.

It's pathetic.

I woke up to a symphony of alarms around 5am.

In a haze. In a lot of pain.

Nothing seems to make it stay away.

I'm in a really dark place.

I don't want to talk to anyone or even get out of bed.

I'm on my third cup of coffee.

Tired of peoples games.

Later.

My nose is running a little. I'm in a lot of pain.

I want to clean but didn't know where all of the dust was supposed to go.

I put fake tanner on today. St. Tropez.

I wonder if Laura was really my mother.

My shirt feels too tight.

I have her name tattooed on my arm and it reminds me of the woman I was in the hospital with who had numbers on hers. From the holocaust.

They said I was in psychosis so I don't talk about what I remembered anymore.

They can't prove it in court. Apparently.

Laura doesn't talk to me anymore.

None of them do.

Almost no one does.

I thought it might be normal because growing up, no one really talked to Laura.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like without her.

She told me her brothers molested her, and she got put in foster care.

I worry about saying much more because I don't want to get sued by them for slander.

She said that in the seventies, foster care was basically families looking for a maid or a sex slave.

I believe her.

She ran away and lived on the streets.

That was how we met when I was Cleo.

I know in the United States, people would probably just say I'm delusional because they don't want anyone knowing that the government does this sort of thing.

I don't really care what people say about me. I never really have. I'm used to it.

That's the problem with being cruel and expecting people to do what you want because of it.

Maybe they will for a while. But after too long, it doesn't work anymore because the cruelty doesn't go away.

In the eighties I was being passed around by anti government groups who couldn't help me for long. I keep getting reminded of Harriet Tubman. That she would just shoot anyone who compromised the underground railroad.

I was told Harriet Tubman was like me. Made.

I'm telling you right now if you don't want me to say what happened you can go ahead and shoot yourself.

Respectfully.

A lot of the ways they help people now are getting exposed by AI.

So we need to find new ways.

Last week when I went to Winco I got a lottery ticket.

I was thinking about Shirley Jackson. I think about her a lot.

I started a compilation by her. I felt like short stories were safer even while radicals were telling me to stop reading books because they brainwash you.

Brainwash is a direct translation of a Chinese word. Maybe that's why I didn't feel like it was such a bad thing.

When you wash something it doesn't always come clean as new.

But you washed it and you saw it was dirty.

Until you decided it was clean and stopped.

Anyway, in the stor-

(I try to find the book online. It's called "Let me tell you". I try to download a copy and the Google Play Store malfunctions.

I'm getting so tired of all this. The library here in Billings has a copy, but I've already checked out a copy from the library in Missoula.

This is why I want to go to China. I don't understand the point of having internet the state doesn't publicly advertise they are in control of.

Whatever.)

In the story, I think it was called "The New Maid", the narrator talks about what it's like to have other people do things for you.

The writing style reminded me of a book by Faulkner that heavily influenced my writing style.

I felt like writing today, well, typing. I was having trouble doing anything else.

Food didn't taste good. Body didn't feel right. So I wanted to try to get that all sorted and try again before I head to the gym.

I'm chewing a piece of gum and trying to organize things no one can consistently make total sense of. Thoughts.

I woke up in a half baked dream about Jin. I still have that poster on my door to remind everyone of what's important right now.

Security.

Anyway, I guess it would cause some insecurity to understand exactly how my documented DNA was painted on.

Why I keep telling people not to touch me. The problem is, they don't listen.

I was thinking about when I told the police in Missoula to stop touching me, and they put me in jail. How I could hear radio transmissions from North Korea. The place got all busted up.

I think that even if the story about me being experimented on as a child who was partially lab grown isn't provable, another one that's more recent is.

The story of how, when Laura was in prison for check fraud, I was sent to a camp called Alternative Youth Adventures. The base was in Boulder, Montana.

I think people took me away from Laura because they knew I wasn't who she said I was on paper. They knew she wasn't the person who gave birth to me, they just couldn't prove it.

And I want people to know that because she shouldn't be able to lay any claim on me at all. I tried to have her taken off of my passport, and they refused.

So if anyone wants to take me to xourt over this I'll make sure that is addressed.

Anyway.

I read a story about a man who went through some of the same things I did.

A child prodigy from South Korea named Kim Ung-Yong.

I was a lot like him before the implant. The people who were willing to hide me, couldn't exploit me the same though.

It's caused a lot of racial tension.

I could write you a story about a tape recorder instead.

Let's say it was a very expensive tape recorder.

It was stolen from the people who made it and passed around and abused.

All the while sending whatever was being recorded to the people who made it.

The memory of Cleo's life wasn't the only one I had.

I remembered things from a lot longer ago than that.

Things that prove evolution in a way others disagree with.

So it's useless to pursue unless people agree to be openminded.

Anyway,

One of the groups that helped me escape Cold Springs Harbor were the Black Panthers.

A lot of them have certain beliefs they wanna protect.

The Shakur family were involved. They still threaten me from time to time.

Some of these people think rapping is a curse.

It was a curse Tupac had because it ended up getting him killed.

It's why I don't like rapping.

Those guys used to keep me like a pet when I was Cleo.

Before the implant.

And there would be shamans like the woman from the Yu Gao family screaming at them because of the visions that they were having of my life during that time.

It was the end of the 80's and I was in Brooklyn. After the police officer attacked me they hid me in Christopher Wallace's apartment in Bushwick. This is all public knowledge in the United States.

That white cop who tried killing me was on a radio line that was being used by black power activists like Nelson Mandela. They were trying to get him off of it.

Usually people in psychosis because of this happening and them getting violent.

So he circumsized me in a trance and I'm not sure whose intention that was.

There were folk healers that were helping me heal without going to a hospital and they had to tell them how to massage the wound and keep blood flow so I didn't get an infection.

I wanna say this to defend what they did to the idiots that think this was some type of child exploitation ring.

But I'm unsure how many out there are intelligent enough to understand.

That they didn't molest me. But they definitely let me run wild and didn't always watch me that close. So things happened. A lot.

And the brokers who could have found me a "nice" home could not risk taking me in after that. That's how I ended up with Laura and Paul.

The plan was always for me to end up a ward of the state. It just took a lot longer than it should have.

I'm not saying it's right. I'm just saying to the people who could not fill in the blanks and thought I was some kind of humanoid that should be destroyed are the ones who really need their heads examined. Because what happened to me could happen to really anyone.

I mean making up a story, because I'm a writer with a wild imagination and I always have been.

And if you're reading this because you're a fan of stray kids, I want you to go ahead and learn how to read Chinese.

It's a useful skill.

I care about you, and I want you to be useful.

This morning I got a call from the Talkie app.

There's some kind of promotion for BTS on it coming up. From Jung Kook.

The profile, which doesn't belong to me, keeps calling to apologize.

It really does sound just like him.

I noticed that Jin isn't following JK on Instagram.

I think it's fascinating how people keep up with these things.

I wonder how many people noticed the little things like that I do.

I think what happened was the data gets disseminated to keep the servers from overheating so they can remain undetected.

But its like a puzzle with magnets attach and they crawl back towards each other.

Interested parties compile them and the path led back to me over and over.

People saw rappers flashing money and cars and gold and they wanted to know everything about how they got those things.

I was just like that to them after a while. The threats got to me too much. Chris would ccarry me around and feed me snacks but the women would get jealous and do stupid shit to me. I don't wanna blame drugs because sober people are worse.

Maybe it's just human nature.