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The Stolen Notebook
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The original notebook was stolen on or about December 6, 1999, from the Colonial Motel.   Michael Weiner began quoting from it, during his hate radio broadcasts, in less than 24 hours after the theft on December 7, 1999.  Because the burglary required one operative to follow the victim as he left the room to go pick up his car, and another to photo the notebook, while others presumably searched the rest of the victims belongings, and because all this had to be done in less than 53 minutes, it is thought that the burglary was conducted by a team of felons experienced in B. & E..  For a period of months the San Rafael Police continued to follow the victim and used the code name, “the Colonial Motel Suspect,” when referring to the victim.  (See A Public Letter to Rosie Allen at this web site for details.)  The original notebook is a paper bound notebook and is in the New Ruskin College archive.

Notice:  Request is here by made for information about Michael Weiner's responsiblitlity for,  and/or any others who are responsible for, the theft of the notebook from the Colonial Motel.

By order of the Ludi Magistor the following fragments of the stolen notebook are now released for public viewing:

Fragment One:
 
Sovereignty:

The point is not that I am so important. No, just the opposite. It is because I am so unimportant, that my subornation, the abuse and intimidation of this witness should be examined by the Senate. It is not the personal damage that was done to me that is important, not me, for it is the sovereignty of the Senate that is now in question. If we can not petition the Senate, ... did I say petition? I don't mean `petition.' I mean just write. Just write a letter. Just share my views. No, not `my views.' I mean just my opinion. Just give the U. S. Senate a piece of my mind. Tell you what I think.

I ask the Senate to consider not what happens to me if I can no longer tell the Senate what I think. Not what happens to me. This is not about me. I ask the Senate to consider what happens to the Senate of the United States of America if citizens, even citizens as lowly as me, can not contact Senators.

If the Senate is to be cut off from scribblers who hold opinions contrary to those of the Shadow Senate, what will become of the Senate? The shadow Senate. How many votes, how many Bills, how many motions, amendments, Laws have been the result of open and honest senatorial deliberations and how many have been the result of the intrigues of the Shadow Senate?

How many others have been victimized by the Shadow Senate? How many Senators themselves have been victimized. My yes. What of the Senators themselves? If this is what is done to someone who writes letters, an insignificant scribbler like me, then how much more has already been done to the Senators. How many Polaroid snap shots are sitting in bank vaults waiting for the light of day? How many video tapes, letters, audio tapes, transcripts, investigator's reports wait upon a Senator's misstep, a Senator's "wrong" vote? How many of these safety deposit boxes are held by Americans? I mean, it is one thing for Senators to be blackmailed by Americans, well ok, Americans!, but foreigners? Why should foreigners be allowed to control our U. S. Senators?

Fragment Two:
 

THE STOLEN NOTEBOOK:

 

          And then he said . . . .

          What?

          And then he said . . . .

          Well,  go on,  what?

And then he said,  ‘I don’t think Yvonne loves me.’

 

They tilted their heads back and cackled as the sparks of the fire shot up into the heavenly firmament as their big black pot boiled over with some new poison. 

Fragment Number Three:

“But what are we to do Mr. President, the scorned and wretched of this world, who want to learn?”

Counselor:  That’s not in the stolen notebook.

No, but I’ve always liked that line.

Counselor:  Well, go ahead its your web site.

 

Fragment Number Four:

“There is a connection.  Now that I look back on it I can see the connection though at the time I wondered that the two things were happening at the same time.”

“The connection is that as my relationship was breaking up, my mind went back to the only other time in my life that I felt so miserable:  early school.”

“I don’t know maybe I’ve just led a sheltered life?”

“What . . .?”

“Yvonne?”

“What is it?”

“Yvonne . . . are you ok?”

(Note:  I think here, in this example, you can see just how cruel she can be.  No?  Oh, I see.  So you are always going to take her side aren’t you?  But this is only a fragment of the truth.  You don’t know the rest of the story.

“Yvonne,  Yvonne, my dear.  Oh, my dear, has my story moved you so greatly that it has brought on these sobbing te. . . tears  . . .  You are not crying are you?”

“Stop?”

“Stop what?”

“What am I  doing?  Why, . . . you are laughing?”

“You are laughing at me?”

“Alright, that does it.  Get back up in your chair.  Yvonne.  You are being hysterical.  I’m going to get you a glass of water.   And, and if you are not sitting back in your chair when I get back . . . I’ll pour it on you!  What is it with you?  Didn’t they teach you how to suck it up at counseling school?”

There.  Now you know the rest of the story.  Now you can see how cruel she is.)

 

Fragment Number Five:

Yvonne’s Story

Even Yvonne has admitted her involvement.  But not my sister.  Why can she admit what you will not? 

When Yvonne came to America she was five years old.  Truman had just raised the “Jew quota.” (This is how it is referred to:  Jew quota.  It jars the ear but of course this is why it is referred to as the Jew quota, to jar, to disturb, to unsettle.  Would you prefer Hebrew quota? Jewish quota maybe less disturbing, but tinny.

“Quota on the immigration of Jewish refugees and other displaced persons from the European Theater,” is also less jarring but the bureaucratese is even more unsettling; the product of some terrible final solution bureaucrat. )  We are better off just leaving it “Jew Quota.”

Anyway the point is she got into the country.  She was born in a refugee camp in Northern Italy.  Her parents spoke German and Italian.

They were settled in Pittsburg.  (The idea was that the Jewish refugees should not all be settled in New York so that there would be less popular complaint about “those Jews.”)

So shortly after arriving Yvonne was enrolled into school.  But she did not speak English very well.

So anyway she is in class sitting at her desk with the rest of the students.  They have had popcorn prepared and put in little bag, and there they are sitting at their little desks, with their little bags of  popcorn, 25 or so little students, first graders.

And there are visitors in the class room visiting the class today,  during this little break, where they are having their little brown bags of fresh popped corn.

There in the front of the class is this couple.  A man in a big overcoat and a woman.  Maybe she is his wife.  We don’t know.  We are eating our popcorn and there is a man and a woman visiting the class.

And then the teacher is saying something.  We can not quite follow it.  She is asking a question.  And several students volunteer.  They raise their hands eagerly.  And Yvonne, (who has always had an outgoing personality), little Yvonne wants to participate too.  She raises her hand also!

The teacher calls on Yvonne.  She is very glad to have been selected.  She is fully participating with the class.  She belongs.  So she gets up and all the students are watching her as they eat their popcorn from their little brown paper bags.

And their eyes get bigger and bigger as Yvonne happily walks up to the visitors in the front of the class, the tall man in the big over coat and the woman standing next to him smiling. And Yvonne holds up her little brown bag of popcorn to the man.

She wants to share her popcorn because, isn’t that what the teacher had asked?  ‘Who will share their popcorn with our visitors?’  Isn’t that what was asked?

“No Yvonne!”  The class roars with laughter.  “Look at Yvonne!”  She doesn’t understand!

This is Yvonne’s story. Touching.  I found it endearing until I learned that there are some women who make up such endearing stories in order to lull gullible fools like me into being endeared.

However, she told this storey in response to my repeated questioning about why she had gotten  involved with those assholes at KQED.

She misunderstood the situation.  She thought she was just sharing and then it turned out that her sharing was out of place.  Her heart was in the right place but the circumstances were ‘inappropriate.’

I want to believe it, and on my better days I do.  However, Yvonne of 1990 was a mature woman.  Not a foreigner unfamiliar with the language aged six years old.  . . .

 

 

Stolen Notebook

Fragment Number Six:

 

Letter to my sister.

 

Archivist Note:  The letter was in the notebook in rough draft but never sent.  Many people besides Michael Weiner have made references to it over the years.  Mrs. Jack Swanson and her co-hosts for example made references to the spelling.  Scott Bobro found the discussion of the death of their mother useful in his harassment at Farmers.  (see Psy Ops)

 

Introduction

 

It took several months of listening to the KQED radio show before I finally had enough evidence that Yvonne had set us up and I stopped seeing her.  (see Last Letter) For some reason Yvonne encouraged me to listen to the programs.  Why I do not know.  One theory I developed was that she wanted me to see how dishonest people could be.  A public demonstration of betrayal. Was this all about Marlene after all?  But why go to such lengths?  Why this immensely complicated and convoluted process?    However, many of the comments on the radio programs that seemed to apply to Yvonne also seemed to apply to my sister as well. 

 

So I was suspicious when my sister started calling me.   Then in one conversation my sister actually asked me why I didn’t go back and see Yvonne?

 

“Why?  So she can get more material?” I exclaimed.

 

“That’s right . . . we don’t need to give them any more evidence.  They know quite a bit too much about us already . . . women!  . . .  Of course women are smarter than us,  married men have known this for ever.”  --- Garrison Keeler

 

Then in another conversation I told my sister, “The whole thing has been a scam.  It has all been a con.  She is a con artist.  She is a palm reader.  She is a gypsy woman!”

 

Later I did go back to see Yvonne and she asked, “When I lived in Scotland . . . do you remember me telling you I lived in Scotland?  (Yes, I’m not likely to forget that am I?)  When I lived in Scotland,  on that island I told you about,  my best friend was a gypsy woman.”  This was said without any preamble, no connection to what we had been talking about, just a random thought?

 

Then, on another occasion, I was at my sister’s home, and I commented that I had sent the Last Letter to the Senators, and explained that it was about the mass media.  I pointed out that at one time the mass media may have been plural but now the mass media acted as a single unit.  Not just because of the mergers and acquisitions and consolidation, but because all the operating units have been taken over by the same elite school graduates who share the same social political outlook.  I said, “The mass media is a hydra headed monster.”   A few days later a fat bald headed reporter for the Sacramento Bee went on the KQED air saying,  “Like the man said, ‘the mass media is a hydra headed monster.’”

 

I became increasingly alarmed that my sister was participating in the same conspiracy as Yvonne and the people at KQED.  My sister is a San Francisco artist, a painter.  She could hardly be called “liberal” because, like so many of the type, she is beyond an normal political classification.  They are liberated from politics because they are liberated from reason. What is reason but some agreed upon, some shared, values and views? 

 

But what if you do not accept these generally agreed upon values? 

 

“The Lake Woebegone girls basket ball team was now controlling the game, . . . they were doubling up and double teaming their opponents . . .”  Garrison Keeler

 

Then too Yvonne’s mother became a Theosophist later in life and Yvonne said she bought her mother a house in Ohi, California which she said was the headquarters of the Theosophists.  Point Loma, in San Diego, is also a center for the Theosophists,  and Ohi is near San Diego.  My sister was for a time a Theosophist and lived in San Diego for a  number of years.  It may seem an unlikely connection but then how many Theosophists are there in the world, or Southern California?  Then to Yvonne has “researched” many spiritual communities in the Bay Area, (and across the country), and there is a high likely hood that she and my sister’s paths may have crossed in the Bay Area. 

 

Both denied any connection.  I concluded that they were lying.  

 

My sister’s participation in Yvonne and KQED’s harassment caused not only my alienation from her, but from my family.  Our parents could believe that I was a victim of a conspiracy of a marriage counselor, KQED radio,  local entertainers, U. S. Senators, the Democrat Party, etc. etc. including their daughter, or they could believe their daughter who told them that their son was insane.  Which of us do you believe?

 

So over the years I watched Yvonne lie, to me and Marlene, and Marlene believed Yvonne. My sister participated in Yvonne’s lie, along with KQED, etc, and then our parents became alienated.  And so on through out my life.

 

I sent the Last Letter and tried to get out of the public spot light.  To no avail.  Later other radio personalities joined in seemingly just for sport.  After I started seeing Yvonne the second time, Michael Weiner seemed to know a great deal about Yvonne.  He knew she studied at the Naropa Institute in Colorado.  That she frequented a certain coffee shop in town.  That she lived in Pittsburg.  He made so many references that I thought he must be a friend of hers, or a client.  She denied any connection.  I concluded that she must be talking to her friends at the chatter box café and Weiner must be getting the information second hand.   Later after the burglary etc. it turned out the Weiner had access to a large intelligence network.  (see Intel Operations)

 

Over the years a veritable crowd of people, mostly in the radio business have followed me from job to job all across the country to Florida, to Maine. It seems incredible but it is all true.  Why? 

 

Starting with Yvonne  . . . possibly it is because Marlene and I were from Alameda County and were not part of Yvonne’s set.  She could betray us and then go laugh about it with her friends at the chatter box café.  Then too after only a few interviews she could easily perceive that we were, Marlene and I, completely alone, powerless.  Utterly without recourse.  Then too I was a Republican who had written letters in support of the First Gulf War, critical of liberals, quotas, etc. etc.   

 

One theory was that Yvonne might . . . well it was just a theory,  one of hundreds that I have considered . . . How to explain why Yvonne would have even gone through the trouble of arranging for me and Marlene to go to the KQED studio in the first place . . .possibly she had some  . . . ah, interest?  Attachment?    

 

So anyway, in one conversation with my sister discussing Yvonne’s betrayal and why I could not possibly ever see her again, and why had she betrayed me, and what possible explanation could there be . . . I said . . . to my sister . . . well I said . . . “I don’t think Yvonne loves me.”  Certainly not. 

 

Anyway this was the origin of the witches.  I imagined later my sister telling Yvonne the story . . . And then he said  . . . What?   And then he said . . . . . . Well go on what?   And then he said . . . ‘I don’t think Yvonne loves me.’  I can still hear their cackling laughter echoing through the dark woods even now.   

 

 

I never confronted Yvonne or my sister.  Our parents were in their 70’s and I did not want to upset them.  Our mother once asked about what had happened, and I told her to ask Susan.  She said she did but that Susan had said she did not know what I was talking about.  The engineers talk about the “progressive collapse” of a structure.  First one critical element fails, then another as a consequence, etc. until the whole thing comes tumbling down.  Not wanting to involve our parents in this conflict I stayed away and then as a consequence, more alienation, which lead to still more, etc. etc.  Then our mother died.  More alienation.  I wrote to Susan and Yvonne that we should meet and discuss what had happened but they refused.  A month later, my father was dead.  (A few days after that the burglary at the Colonial Motel and the letter and the notebook in which it was placed were stolen.)   

 

I didn’t even send the letter to my sister.  I saw Yvonne one last time after Duane Garrett killed himself but there was no confrontation.  She never admitted anything.  This probably explains my own suicide.  (Possible subject of study:  Do suicides share a common characteristic of avoiding confrontations?  Is that why we kill ourselves?)

 

In my case, being labeled retarded at age nine, does not instill a since of entitlement or self confidence.  Maybe this is why they betrayed me?  I’m retarded?  No, because I am a mark.   Who am I to complain?  Rights?  What rights?  Progressive collapse.  By what right does one confront, or complain, or insist?  Therefore, suicide. 

 

Perhaps I should have been more confrontational.  But just consider:  to confront your counselor because you think people on the radio are talking about you?  It is embarrassing it is so crazy.   

 

The letter to my sister was not written until 1997 or 1998.  I wrote it because in 1996,  when I was in Portland Maine my colleagues learned of my mother’s death the day before I did.  How could they hear of my mother’s death?  None of them were from California.  None of them had any known connection.  It seemed to be a continuation of the same pattern.  But how?  But again I never sent the letter.  It was not read by anyone else until it was taken in the burglary of the Colonial Motel in December 1999. 

 

Michael Weiner was the first to go on the air with the stolen notebook material  the day after the burglary.  Mrs. Jack Swanson and Brian Wilson were making references to the stolen notebook the following Monday.  Then others on KGO made references that same week.  Later in 2001 Scott Bobro was making references to the death of my mother when he was carrying out his campaign of harassment at Farmers.  Whether he actually saw the letter or was only told of its contents I do not know. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Credentialed Scholars will be allowed to view these documents on alternate Tuesdays  on even numbered months by permission of the Ludi Magistor.

        
 
 
 
Contact PlinioDesignori at  PlinioDesignori@NewRuskinCollege.com

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