ꅐ꒐ꋊ꒯ ꅐꋬꌦꇙ ꅐꁝꋬ꓄ ꒐꒦.

   

𝙾𝚉•𝙴𝙽•𝙾𝚉 (𝓐𝓭𝓳.) - 𝙰 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖊 (ˈ𝖆𝖉ˌ𝖛ə𝖗𝖇)

        It has long been private knowledge of mine that my work has been stolen.

        I lost millions in book sales, my art recently devalued by this fucking sick NFT market and it's rampant theft, my screenplay plagiarized and robbed, while my ball joint patent could have represented billions.

        The effect of this is that my family has gone without the benefits of profit from my work, my son so disillusioned now he hates me, and I have been largely discredited.

        The opinion fed to the public is that all of my work, that I actually stole all of it, and that I am crazed by illness and drugs that leave me to be the broken bum from these crimes effect.

        I have no more stolen any of this, save but less than 1% of the images, from anyone.

        I experience heckling, hate crimes, attacks, and the terror that everywhere I go somebody has to comment, afflicting both me and my family relationships. It has left me paralyzed, and at this point I fear will eventually be the end of me.

        Not to mention the hacking, SEO meddling, and other atrocities I experience in my online dealings.

        Reader/Viewer/Fan/Friend just know that all of this was done by me.

        I have lost my work, my livelihood, my reputation, my pride, and am in the process of losing my faith and my family.

        Anything helps.

        A kind e - mail, a purchase, a donation, a share, a review, anything helps.

Peace Be With You,

Joel

 "They loved neither war nor violence, yet they had to accept war and practice violence. They hated nothing except hatred, yet they were forced to learn that difficult science. They had to deal with terror, or rather terror dealt with them."

- Albert Camus

"The Human Crisis"

Post Script: 

        This has all finally come to a place I call closure. The past is the past. I learned very valuable life lessons all along the way, and now for the best part, entering into the 20-25 years of age that are a professional writers prime.

        I get to take my (by almost all accounts) unbelievable story, and using method, and my achieved (thus far) mastery of the various mechanisms to create my very first traditional fiction novel. 

        The successful relating of the tale should lead to what I expect and dream of in the ways that proffer fulfilling reward for this work. 

        And best of all, these experiences can find positive ways to share to the benefit of others. That's why all of this had to happen this way.

Amen? Amen.

    "A writer has his hand written notes, laptop original files of books set to go to his agent, a New York City powerhouse, stolen. The thieves edit and finish his works, including the schematics of a patent ball joint, sell and begin to profit from this. They then begin the all too easy task of discrediting, socially outcasting, and ultimately hunting him to protect their fortune while paying their way through college, and investments which in all he should own. As our writer dodges caper after caper, hit attempt after hit attempt, community hatred, and online hacking and even framework to have him put in prison, those that are in the know lay the bed of karmic consequence which lead him to a means to ends no one can or should ever forget."

        May I say it, if no other reason than to remind myself, that "end" is now. Against the treason of a world gone mad, as if a man would fabricate all of these works to this end alone...

        It's a long story. One I can't wait to tell all about. This tome, it goes straight from me to the government for rights. Then it goes to my agent, then to a publisher. Then you will see it. I never thought they could rob multiple books, standup routine, a screenplay, and a patent that is still way over their heads and somehow take millions. They did. Now it's my turn to take back everything they stood to lose, by just being me. A damn good writer, actor, comic, musician, artist, businessman, and father. I won't let them fool me again. And as for my discreditors (namely old ties and family) who think they can continue to ruin what I waited my whole life to do, they are sadly mistaken. 

        I may be bi polar, but I'm not stupid. Or a drunk, or an addict, a thief, a liar, a bigot, a racist, nor am I alone in those who just don't give a damn about blue blooded stigma bitches. They get theirs. Time to go out in style? Maybe.

        Maybe I'm wrong. But I'm still gonna write the book. For sure.

Footnote:

Delusional disorder, previously called paranoid disorder, is a type of serious mental illness — called a “psychosis”— in which a person cannot tell what is real from what is imagined. The main feature of this disorder is the presence of delusions, which are unshakable beliefs in something untrue.

"Believe it if you need it, if you don't just pass it on..."

  Got a comment? Write me at:

Thegratefulliving@mail.com