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…cont’d from previous excerpt drop 5
That Monday, August 2, I walked into the room from the school computer lab.
Somebody came down and said a few words to me like: “Cin, I’m sorry. I’s be crazy and…” I can’t remember exactly what the fool was saying, but I could tell they were trying to “talk like ‘dey sounded like ‘dey was from Alabama;” (I guess mimicking a southern) dialect-trying to be cute and funny.
I was in no laughing mood, just eye-hustling.
Next, the nickname “basketballbutt” came down.
Then “YellowFlower” came down.
I’m sitting there just watching, feeling her heart beating as she contemplated coming in to say something, even if not to me, she wanted me to know she was there, but she couldn’t decide who to come down as. I could tell she needed her push and a shove out the door from her buddies. She felt like she had to do something, and do it fast-for she did not know how long I would sit there, or if I would announce that I would be leaving.
Sure enough, she appeared—as herself: {authorized} Dunk, her real nickname. If she could have, she would have come down as her real, real name: Janet, but she knew “Dunk” was the next real thing to it and would most certainly get my attention-especially since she hadn’t used it since earlier in beginning of this mess. That was her way of being sentimental, open, and revealing (just like manipulating ass would always do).
She just sat there with tears in her eyes and stared at me while I stared at her.
She really didn’t have too much to say to anybody. She had her reason for being there…
We just sat there to see who could outstare whom-for about 45 minutes. I would not say one word to her, nor did I greet her. I just stared, and I won. This time, “Miss Out-Persist” let me win: “You guys, I have to go now. I’m gonna leave now,” she said in her depressed and teary voice, hoping I could feel her hurt. I was so mad at her –still- so it did not affect me. I had zero fucks to give.
You see…Janet was a master manipulator like nobody I ever knew. You could know her natural sweetness when it was real. And as well, you could see straight through her manipulation tactics when she would use her sweetness as a weapon. The crazy thing about it was, sometimes it was hard to tell if her sweetness via manipulation was real but you’d know it was-ONLY because it would be her way of apologizing or saying: “I’m sorry” (because she always had a hard time forming those words-no matter what)…
We both sat there lurking in our virtual separateness, as if our backs were to each other, while I sat tapping my fingers to the desk. I told myself that I wasn’t going get caught back up into her trap again. I had to keep telling myself that I could handle her now.
I logged off (without announcing my departure).
Determined to get another computer; I walked up to a nearby computer store to see if they had any used ones I could buy for under $600. I’d held on to my rent money and work check because my goal was to have a computer in my possession by day’s end. The guy at the computer store had nothing available, but he had been doing something on a laptop. “I’ll be done checking this laptop out in a sec. I just bought it from a guy yesterday. After I’m done wiping the hard drive, I think I’m gonna let it go for about $600/700,” he said. My heart started pounding. I emptied out every dime in my pocket. I was so grateful, I felt like jumping up on his neck. I couldn’t wait to get it home.
“This ain’t happening, this can’t be happening,” I yelled out.
I then walked over to my PC (possessed computer) to log in, and the entire screen was a frightening bright green color, looking as if the power was transferring from it to my laptop. I logged out and busted out the door with my laptop in hand, ran to my car, and drove up to this café’ in the neighborhood. It was a nice lil’ basement joint where they sold smoothies, coffee, and bagels and stuff. Upstairs, was the dining area where they served brunch, lunch and dinner and 
throughout the entire place, you could work on their computers located in the bottom of the establishment. It was something like a mini-Kinkos going on except it was dim, had brick walls, and resembled a dungeon.
I stood there in front of the girl making my Chunky Monkey; crying my heart out talking around what I was going through with my computer at home and my laptop. She began telling me her story about her hacker experience as well. This story of hers that couldn’t light a candle to what I was going though, so what she was talking about went through one ear and out of the other.
I turned around and banged my head to the wall, while the loud speakers in the dungeon-like cafe’ were blasting “Obsession” by Animotion.
My head was spinning and rocking back and forth to the crazy lyrics screaming at me and giving me the shakes-thinking of Janet. The bass guitar was loud like I was at a rock concert or walking through a nightclub. It was a movie moment: my angst and my heart danced to the hard rock beat. It drove me nuts. I had been done with pinching myself trying to see if I would wake up and this all would be a dream. I knew I was just being tested. I’m too good a person at heart, and I definitely was good to her. I didn’t deserve this at all.
I had to keep telling myself to stay strong over and over, and that something good was going come my way.
Sure enough, a very nice looking guy, who said his name was Mark, was waiting in line for his drink as well. He said to me, “I’m sorry, I was kind of eavesdropping and I see that you are having a problem with your computer. I’m a Computer Information Systems Specialist for the bank right up here and I’ll be glad to help you out. Do you have your laptop with you?” he asked.
“Yes, I do! Did you hear everything I said?” I asked desperately.
“Yes I did, if you’ll just hold on, I’m going to go right upstairs to get my sandwich and I’ll meet you right back down here so that we can get those fuckers out of your computer ok?” he said confidently.
When he returned, we sat down. I asked him to please talk to me and listen as if we were talking about someone doing this to me who had all the monetary resources available to get the job done. I told him that they could cross all boundaries and un-norms that have to do with a computer and that what I could not bare to hear was anymore of those: “that’s impossible” stories [as I had heard from various clerks at these computer joints who felt that because they knew how to send a virus to a computer that they were skilled enough to work for the FBI and could do what somebody with $200 million dollars could have done]…puhleeze.
They didn’t know shit, or have shit on her team. This stuff she had put on me was far beyond the job of a mere hacker who sits at home and sends out viruses to computers “just because.”
I told Mark every detail about the computer hacking end of this whole ordeal, obviously, neglecting to tell him who was involved, because he too, would have probably thought I was zigadeboo crazy. He completely understood, and explained exactly how since day one, all the things they did to my computers was made possible. He then went to the setup screen of my laptop and did some stuff, turned to me and asked that I put in a password as he turned his head. He advised me that no one but no one could get into my laptop unless they physically came to take it out of my hands, and I gave them the password. Even if I were to forget the password, the laptop was of no use to me either. He gave me his cell number and told me to call if I had any other questions.
When I got home, I called Shauntay and told her about all that had just happened; about how the guy popped out of nowhere and was able to help me out of another situation that I didn’t think I was going to come out of.
Turns out, I later found out that was nothing more than a BIOS password that you can set up to password-lock your computer from anybody else starting up and getting your computer to turn on [to begin to run any programs on-that’s it]. He tried, and I was thankful-but locking out the world from getting their physical hands on my laptop was certainly would not going to be the cure for what Janet and her buddies had going (if indeed they really were in, and I wasn’t 100% sure that they were-as yet).
Even if they weren’t in, they had done everything to my PC without ever having to lay physical hands on it. Mark didn’t know the half. His Computer Information Systems education aint on CIA-level computer information systems’ intelligence, although I appreciated the effort.
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That evening, Shauntay called and told me that she had something to tell me. I kept asking her to tell me, but she told me that she wanted to tell me in person and that it was nothing major. Of course when we got off the phone, I hopped in my car and rushed right over her house to find out what it was. She just wanted to tell me that Janet had run the series of beeps onto her distinctive ring (second line) and knew for sure that Janet must have her normal line tapped in order to have gotten the phone number to that distinctive ring line that she hardly ever used. She told me when the line rang, she picked up and got the same series of beeps that Janet sent through to her normal line that same afternoon we sat over her house eating pizza.
I knew that she wasn’t lying, and that was just Janet’s way of letting me know that she still had everything under her control. Because it was Shauntay that she had just heard me call to tell about my day, she figured she would take it upon herself to go one step further and call Shauntay’s second phone line, so that she could put this “bug” in my ear: “I STILL got everything under my control, even a phone number of your good friend and confidant that YOU don’t even have…” (because I didn’t even have that particular phone number of Shauntay’s, ever).
I still ignored Janet. I didn’t go to the room and promised myself that I wasn’t going to, no matter what she did (because that’s what she wanted).
The next day, I went over to my mom’s house with my laptop to get away from home so that I could do some work on the story. I made a phone call and when I got off, it rang about two minutes later. My mom answered and the person hung up. I knew it was Janet, I just knew it was, but I didn’t say anything. So a few minutes later, I picked up the phone again to make another phone call, and right after I got off, she did it again.
I told my mom that it was her-but she didn’t believe me. She kept telling me how she was going to admit me if I didn’t stop it. I was so frustrated arguing with my mother and brother about this, because there was no way they could understand what I was going through with this woman, hardly anybody could, I don’t even know why I ever tried explaining.
Being met with instant resistance would make me feel so defeated [how people with no computer savvy and monetary resources outside of a life on a budget]’s minds could never conceive such a thing happening. I was so upset with Janet by this time, just thinking about how many people would actually think I was crazy if I were to explain the whole story to them. I was pissed.
Pissed that she could even get away with doing all this shit from afar and all I could do was deal with it, or be labeled crazy. And if anything were to go legal, I was feeling like they would just throw my story out as a disgruntled ex-girlfriend of Janet’s that was trying to get back at her or some ole’ bullshit like that.
I remember I would talk to this chic named Allison from the café and although she believed me, she told me that I should be careful about who I discussed it with, because it reminded her of a situation that her brother had gone through. She said he was a brilliant Ivy League college student who had been involved in a story almost as similar as mine. He had known some kind of top secret that had to do with the Ivy League school.
As a result, his computer and telephones had been tapped, and the way it was all setup, the culprits took him through a series of things and he had been trying to get his story told. When all was said and undone, the situation backfired on him somehow, and he was admitted to some psychological hospital as a result of it. Allison said it turned out, years later, that what he had known had eventually been uncovered in some major scandal. To this day she said (although he was able to put it back together again-somewhat); his life had been ruined as a result of it all.
That story kind shook me up because a) it was my same story, and b) because it’s a shame what can happen when you are on the receiving end of a situation like his (and mine) and you only have your intelligence, what you know about the situation, your intuition, and savvy to guide you out of it. Yet, the culprits have the money, social power, status and resources, and for that reason; they come out on top and smelling like a rose-when they were the ones who came into your life and made a complete mess of it. I can’t even imagine having to be admitted to some crazy hospital for some crazy shit because of a crazy bitch herself who, little did the world know, was crazier than the brother who the world labeled: “crazy”-down to his death. R.I.P-may his soul rest.
My mom and I argued constantly. I told her that if she did not believe me-fine, but just do me one favor and not mention it to anyone over the phone ever. Just drop it. Drop it like it’s hot. I didn’t even want my mother mentioning in conversation-anything about me merely sitting at her house “working on a laptop.” I especially did not want Janet to know that I still had the laptop because the last she heard tell of it was me talking to Shauntay- telling her that I was going to take it back because I didn’t trust it either, it was a waste of my money-I couldn’t afford it.
I wanted my mother to completely drop it also because I did not want Janet hearing anything additional that she could use for fun or fight. I definitely could not take her knowing that my big mouth mom would get on the phone blabbing her mouth about my being “crazy” while Janet and people sat and listened-laughing at their masterwork working. I figured that if she and her people could get a whiff of the sneers, shuns, and doubts in my own world, that would definitely make them feel as though they had some sick twisted inalienable permission to feel even better about what they were doing, all the while finding solace in the fact that the world outside bigger than my own-people who don’t even know me but are enamored by Janet-would certainly feel I was the crazy one and Janet was somewhere “sane” and overseas; too busy, and taking care of way too much business to do something crazy like this. I refused to let she and her buddies test-market their evil and giving them more courage to have fun while doing it-wreaking havoc in my life.
My mom and I still argued (non-stop) about the phone calls (and her needing to admit me). I was so pissed, just knowing how much control over the entire situation this woman had, and how she could just sit back and be some unseen force in this entire ordeal; making me look like the crazy one to everybody. I couldn’t stop crying, I was sooooo burning with upset and fury. I knew I had to finish the story. I knew I had to. I kindly reiterated to my mother, my need to have her not mention that I had a laptop at all-especially over the phone.
No sooner than I said that, her friend walked into the door and she started to tell him about what we had just argued about, so I knew she would do the same thing (over the telephone) when I left her house. My blood was boiling. I was so pissed that Janet already knew about what kind of relationship my mom and I had (from “overhearing” us).
She was the sister of sisters. She knew that if she wanted to know anything I was up to, all she had to do was keep the tap on my mother’s phone because her mouth was so very big, and [when it came to me and my life excursions, especially]-she was not the one to trust with things I didn’t want anybody to now. Right in my face, when my mom turned and told her boyfriend everything I had just asked her not to mention; I knew that Janet once again would win and have it in the bag with my mother. So I knew that I had to distance myself from my mother if I didn’t want my right hand to know what my left hand was doing, just like I always had to do when it came to her-ever since I was a kid (Janet knew that too-from many discussions over the phone with my mother).
At this point in this thing with Janet, all I needed in my life was not so much as “allies” (or even people to believe me). But what I did need was for any information about me: large, small, or irrelevant; not be mentioned over their phones. If I bought a candy bar that they never had before and shared it with them, I wanted them to not mention that over their telephones. I needed to contain everything that I could. And where I couldn’t control their being able to retrieve other information: bore them, like bleeding them out with weed-outs.
I already knew this was nothing new to them-I could tell it wasn’t. They had done this thing several times before. And I seriously doubt that I was Janet’s first (in this way). I would even lend credit to the notion that she and they have most probably done this to several other people from their own their private lives (that they loved or hated), and perhaps the “strange happenings and coincidences” in those people’s lives (for wanting to hang on to their sanity) kept throwing caution to the winds of “consistent coincidences,” (like I used to for a long while). Or they knew-but couldn’t do a damned thing about it. But me, unlike them, I seriously think that although I was most probably not their first victim; I most definitely was the one who: caught on, (and in her terms): “played the game so well,” but when shit got real: did something about it.
As far as the people from my private life, all I needed was for all friends and family members of mine to do for me; was to omit my entire existence from their mind in conversation on their phones-period-that’s all I asked–all I asked. Whatever we needed to talk about, we could do it in person. That was the only thing I needed from them-nothing else but to treat their lives (over the phone) like we didn’t even talk anymore-whether they believed me or not, resisted me or not, or called me crazy or all three–but just keep it in their heads rather than out of their mouths (especially over the telephone).
It got to the point where [during this very moment in time, and years later into this] whoever did meet me with the tiniest bit of resistance, attitude, questions, or a second guess (about my request); I had to cut them completely the fuck off…nice, swift, abruptly and silently. I had to-because little could they ever understand, to not do the simple thing I asked-only helped Janet and her buddies in waging easy strategies with this technological and psychological warfare going on in my life.
To resist the simple thing I asked, was to elect to be against me, to elect to hurt me, and as far as I was concerned: kill me slowly-which was all the things that Janet and her buddies were doing to me every single day that I was waking up fighting [which ended up being for years]. I did not need my friends and family to unknowingly assist in giving them more to do than what was already being done to me. And as far as I was concerned, after I told them (what not to do), and they did it anyways-then as far as I was concerned; they knowingly and willfully assisted Janet and her buddies.
This little request of mine caused a whole lot of problems that otherwise would not have been a problem had I not opened up the can of worms-by going down the line connecting Janet’s dots-per-friend (as told to me by Janet): the stories going on in their own lives that they hadn’t even told me as yet. Connecting the dots wasn’t hard to do, Janet had a nickname for each friend based upon something they did, or some character trait about them that I would automatically know.
My asking them to exclude me from their minds (even in the most innocent of conversations on their phones), made many of them (who were really upset that I knew some things about them they hadn’t told me) second guess if this was something I would probably grow to enjoy laughing back and forth with Janet on-for our entertainment. Not hardly. They had no idea about the promises I stayed firm on when I found out she was listening in on my telephones calls. They had no idea that I was never going to give her the comfort of discussing with her; anything that may hurt or upset her that she took upon herself to “overhear”-ever (and I never did-even if she “overhearing” something that caused concern or care about me-or what I was going through). I would never give her the comfort of thinking that what she was doing was ok-ever. I fought the good fight on that.
I remember Janine’s words constantly ringing in my head: “Angie it’s like her rich ass is playing all of us like our poor little lives as compared to hers has no value-like we’re these little toy soldiers on this lil’ chess board game that they’re playing. We’ve got lives, dilemmas, problems, and stuff, and our shit is like…entertaining her. We didn’t consent to a reality show for this bitch! She aint paying us! I mean serious!” That stuck with me.
My friends earned “me.” Janet didn’t earn “me.” Quite frankly, she didn’t earn her way into my life. Despite my heart being open, my eyes and my mind stayed open too. As far as my friends were concerned, my thinking was: appreciate the fact that I revealed to you, what I hope you too, would reveal to me (if the shoe was on the other foot). Extending my loyalty and informing them-that they didn’t have any privacy too-made some of them lose trust in me. And if they resisted and fought with me, then I couldn’t trust them to honor my request in excluding me from any conversation on their phones [so as to not give Janet anything to work with-so that maybe she would get bored and leave them alone]. It was a science and a strategy to this shit that took a good brain to understand.
This whole thing forced everyone stand around like that scene out of “Scandal” where everybody drew guns on the person to their left and then the person to their right. It got crazy-the paranoia (and I understand that), but my (four-corner) thinking was all this: The logical reality was, as annoying as this thing was to everybody…there wasn’t a damned thing either of them could do to Janet about it by way of nobody (but me). She wasn’t talking to them—she was talking to me. 
So with that (and as far as I was concerned) you belonged to Janet’s team in my eyes, so get to stepping from my sight (any family member or friend who fit that bill). Because in my life, there would be no other test of loyalty and support greater than this one-ever. My fight against a big superstar wouldn’t be just with her-it would be against a brainwashed world of people too-who loved her for just singing and smiling. If I ever needed loyalty-the time was this time.
To hell with crying over some dude that barely wants to sleep you with except near payday.
To hell with mending “unbreakable bonds” over gossip about who showed up to holiday dinner with a bigger mouth than what they brought in a bag through the door but had the nerve to sit at a table and feast but didn’t wash dishes and shit.
To hell with mending fences over punk ass twenty dollar loans and countless other petty, basic, muddleheaded bullshit. How about being full-on loyal over some unusual, life-altering shit that I needed your help, trust, and support with-unyielding?
I was emailing, snail-mailing, talking on the phone to (ironically-wayyy before he was a regular on the Dr. Phil Show) former FBI investigators like Jack Trimarco-thankful for the only time in this, to be offered time on the telephone free of charge, listening to my situation— naïve and raw; wondering how I can get these people subpoenaed to get a lie detector test done, to prove my truth and get my life back.
No loyalty, support, or help when I was listening to counsel and people take my money only to tell me that my fight would be much easier if all the same people who too, were victims and witnesses were in this with me [but little did they know, by that time and throughout the city]; mostly all had attitudes, were resistant, second-guessed me, and gossiped about me-complete with Ginsu knives in my back. After some time, they didn’t see sweet trinkets, big-ticket items, and the materialistic proof of her adoration, lust, obsession, and interest any more than they saw any help in getting this dealt with ever coming my way or being possible, so after a while; they too, figured: Why bother? Why believe? Why behave?
This experience altered my entire personality in ways for the better and for worse.
Better, in: strength, perseverance, tenacity, complete fearlessness of anything and anybody.
Worse, in ways that I would rather and not put on paper-because it just might shock you.
I’m afraid of nothing and no one about a damned thing, because I never in life felt more damned than this ordeal (and I know never will). Because despite the hell, I know I was blessed and guided through this situation by hands bigger that she, her money, and her people (and even me and my pen-that over the years, eventually I had to give up fighting with). I couldn’t fight any more. I was tired. I couldn’t write any more-dream anymore, or even write for myself anymore…
Eventually, some light was shed into this dark tunnel when I was contacted by publicist (R.J Garis) who read through my proposal-and wanted to work with me. He sent me the contract, tentative itinerary, and date to begin getting it crackin.’
An attorney out of New York: Steven Hubert who, after reading everything and needing to make sure it was no celebrity shake down, offered to take my case. As desperate as I was to get this out of my life, and now-with help; I still had to be sensible, by not forgetting that combating this thing was a science-a strategy, by too, being realistic and thinking things through. Realistically, I couldn’t afford the attorney if I wanted to have a place to live. And playing the publicity game is a game on her turf by which she has more experience. Furthermore, I was more than sure nobody on television or radio would really take the time to read the story in its entirety before talking to my “nobody” ass. I refused to be mopped across the floor once again over the glitter of her celebritydrom-further squashing my truth and turning this into some entertainment for show business.
This story is not about “publicity,” it’s about getting at the truth-in order to get my life back. So before making a final decision to make the first large increment payment to the publicist, I paid for a half-page spread in a major television and radio publication [that producers of radio and television subscribe to – to select their guests]. I wanted to see (from the privacy of my own home and five-minutes of airtime) what these interviews would be like-how they would handle little ole “nobody me” when talking about “big ole Janet,” her stranger than fiction dark side, and a story about her transgressions (illegal and otherwise).
Unlike now (in television especially) back then (2001), tv shows weren’t so eager to take on any “freak-showish” type of story or anything that seemed too sensational (like they are today-in 2013). So I knew television would not consider my ad in the spread. But I knew that radio (drive-time most probably) would. Sure enough October 2001, I did snag two radio interviews: one interview with station WNWS with a host by the name of Harrell Carter. He was kind, impartial, objective, and fair.
The other interview was with a Dallas station (KTCK).
I had already had Janet’s people (one of the main ones who worked for her and too, in on this whole thing might I add) sending me my first “This is your: We gon’ shoot back and you know your broke ass can’t win/so the fuck what-we’re guilty and we know it, but you gon’ get this work” warning: An email in defense of Janet, laden with a bunch of bullshit trying to pattycake and protect her fucking “image” by making me look like a complete nut – as if this was all fragments of my angst and imagination. It was terrible. To me, I felt like they should have just hung back and ignored it, especially when they knew nobody gave two fucks about me and what I was saying. They knew I was fighting with the wind (just like I knew, too). But the part of them that knew I did have the truth in my hand felt like they had to fight for her fucking “image.” I couldn’t believe them.
I was no longer impressed – so be thankful if I respected what you did (your craft) in the world of celebrity. When it came to that, I became a magnetic bloodhound that could sniff out any bullshit that wasn’t real or true (for the sake of protecting an “image”).
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The Janet makeover FakeOver was in full effect.
The new “boyfriend” search was on. Johnny Gill had run his stint and stunt with Janet back in ‘99/2000 after Rene threats [to tell the world about Janet’s “secret lifestyle, and insatiable appetite for pretty women and the affairs she had with them”]. And with this thing we were going through, Janet’s machine was in war mode; fully pulling out all the stops to combat (and stop) whatever her money, power, influence, and celebrity could. Having (originally) ended the chronicle by the end of 2000 and prepped it for print (to be in my hand); I was very aware of the mechanics of celebritydrom fuckery, because of this whole thing being the reason her machine carried on that god-awful unbelievable Janet/JD relationship [for years at that]. All the believable pretty boys (Janet’s real type and preference) were not available for this fuckery (especially for the length of time they needed), but JD (her friend) was available.
Her people knew that this thing could get ugly and blow up, so they were putting all their fuckery ducks in a row for the ignorant, blind, and easily bedazzled public. That “JD and Janet” fuckery move they pulled kind of gave me life. It gave me a sign that I had more power in this fight than I had ever given myself credit for thus far.
Although I wasn’t her “boyfriend Rene,” who the public found out years later-[one of Janet’s many other secrets]-was really her husband of over thirteen years who had tons of secrets about Janet that obviously, he knew the public would be interested to know, so they paired her with JD-especially knowing that the details of this story (if put in the right hands and read by the right eyes), would blow whatever Rene had-out the water. Because in addition to this scandal, they knew that I also knew for a fact; four industry honeys that Janet shook it with: one popular, one semi-popular, one disgraced, and one defunct + two male actors. Although (little did they know) I had no interest in telling about any of that (and who they were) at all, but Janet’s camp didn’t rest assured of that.
But one thing they could not contend with, prepare for, or fuck around and finagle with, was the future: some college boys who had connected the world in ways that back then (1999-2004), none of us could have ever guessed and foresaw happening [like 2005 going forward]. Technology and access to the public and mass media changed drastically-and leveled the playing field in more ways than we all could’ve imagined and foresaw.
That’s where they lost most of their power in this.
(Whoaaa nelly. Because, rather than my lil’ letter writing campaigns, faxes, emails, waiting on snail mail and anything analog, I had in my favor this time around: The power to drop a fucking Tweet or Facebook post. And like osmosis, let the whispers and gossip travel across many miles, countries, towns, and regions to infinity. That changed the game and changes the games. It enabled the tight lid on this thing to loosen up some-all in my favor. Blame my Mercury being in Gemini, understanding of technology before Facebook and Twitter even got cracking or just my keen sense of the social psychology and social politics of ‘people’ behind words…either way, vengeance and victory was on its way to being mine ).
Trust me, that letter was so well-put and righteous that if I was a little bit crazy, I would have wrapped all this up and charged it to my crazy (and the voices in my head that aint never been there). That letter was so perfect for the public’s eyes-to hoodwink and fool them, that even if I was 1% doubtful of any of my truth in this, it was perfect enough to make me think I had imagined it all, it was just that good. But I’m sane. So I knew it was mere fuckery with the attempt to mind fuck me, but I kept my mind and held onto my truth. I was the only one with nothing to hide, but just as much to lose in my little world-by fighting this (being called “crazy” for life) as she had to gain by having a big scandal [that would not only increase her popularity and income, but would all blow over in thirty days].
The ONE and ONLY element of the whole story that made them fight me were the illegal elements of it, other than that-she would have toyed with it, played coy, and hung back-quietly. But there wouldn’t have even been a story had there not been those illegal elements involved that (because of her emotions) she used those illegal elements to hurt, ridicule, punish, anger, control and upset me. Other than that, this thing would have just been another one of her many secrets never been told-period-no matter what.
Although I played a part in this ordeal, the truth and part out of my control are these two facts
1) I did not come in with any malefic intent to cause her any harm.
2) I ended up becoming a victim in the wrath of her craziness, bullshit, and boredom that (between the two of us) only she could afford to turn into something altogether different than what I expected and would never agree to. She knew when she turned this into something else, I had no resources, access to the press and public, or dollars fight with. She knew I could not fight her without looking insane, and she took an over and beyond transcendent kind of advantage of that, which brought us to this.
Her people knew I had been working on this thing-they watched every single thing being typed and knew just when to bark and what to bark with. They knew everything I was doing-every step of the way. Everybody on her team was a team. Everybody had the same stake in this. Unless somebody grew a conscience and stepped outside to tell the truth, I had nothing but the truth and a strange kind of proof on pages and pages of paper. Outside of that, the only person who could shed any light on my truth has a Malibu home and an $11 million dollar price tag taping his mouth shut-and that was Rene: the catalyst and premise of the story [slash] Janet’s ex-husband.
Having said all that, her people knew that their open letter strategy would work over mine, and that no one would really take the time out to read the intricate details in order to determine (for themselves) what they thought was true or not (hence, no matter how embarrassing any part was for me too, even if I didn’t want to admit any part I played in it-I admitted it). I made sure that I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so helped me God.
Those were the facts, my feelings, and one facet of this fiasco. As strange as it may sound, there were those “good elements” woven in between [all that was good that had gone bad]. Surprisingly, even since the birth of the story (July 20th 1999), after commandeering the computer and getting a hold of the first 13 pages; we continued to get along (off and on), and more “on” than “off.” Eventually, she understood my reasons for chronicling, and it was obvious she felt that as long as she could be a witness to it being chronicled, have at it.
She felt like she loved me enough that what she felt for me was bigger than what I could really do [to hurt her]. And in some twisted way, it made me love her back-because she still wanted me when she could have shut shit down (or even if she didn’t shut shit down), the operation was set up as such that she could even pretended to have shut shit down and gone away, and I would have never known any different-that she really was gone (or no). The fact that she still accepted me and still wanted to be with me after knowing what I was doing to her-for me, forced me to keep a light on for her because unconditionally, she meant what she said about loving me. And I knew it was true and real because even after getting a hold of the first 13 pages; (and outside of all things, and big people surrounding and attached to her) where we-she and I-were concerned, our fights picked up and continued right where our fights began: about and around all things having to do with her unreasonableness, anger, jealousy, possessiveness, and controlling ways-never about my writing the book, ever.
Strange chain of events and strange altogether-yes indeed it was. Yeah, we would have fun (through the “offs” and “ons”) even around the time that her girl sent me that open letter email, that same week we (Janet and I) were still doing what we do. As the shit hit the fan (during 2003-2005); we both had things going on (in preparation to go to war with one another), yet even through my hurt, anger, and upset (and hers), we were still “on” talking about “love” for one another in a few day’s time (off and on). Our same ole Mr. and Mrs. Smith type-shit:
This whole thing was a tug of war-love and war pull of a velvet rope from the start.
“War” was always being planned even during “love,” at all times. Yes, it was strange…but with both our understanding that these were merely strange but necessary formalities that we both knew we had to do in the event one of us decided to go to battle.
She was still “Janet” and I was still: “me.” Therefore, “love” could never be the only thing. Love is never the only thing with somebody rich and famous like it is in with somebody broke or living modestly. I learned that (amongst all the other things that taught me lessons in this thing).
Early into the time we were especially head over feet with one another and really hitting it off-like way before any drama popped off especially in mid-March through May of ‘99-everything was unbelievably perfect. It was like magic. We thought this thing we had was kismet, and if what we felt and what we were doing by any other’s eyes and opinion seemed indecent, immoral, insane, unnatural, or abnormal-we could care less. She cared nothing about going through a divorce or the millions it was costing her. Those moments within that bracket of time, Janet was with the girl she had grown to know and love and was extremely excited like a girl in love. Her face was different, her way was different-she was perfectly happy. It was like she had no care about what she was going through because she was happy to have someone else around to talk to, to know, and to love-who accepted her unique and strange brand of love and accepted + loved her back. That’s all she cared about and we had big fun. We couldn’t get enough of one another.
During that early month of May
From the next/upcoming chapter excerpt drop #7:
Tired, but a little bit more rested, I was still on my grind. On July 26, 2005 via Fed Ex, I shipped the book (detailing everything from 1998-2000) and the 965-paged chronicle [+the 365-paged condensed version of that chronicle which detailed everything from 2000-2003] to 110 N. Carpenter Chicago, Illinois 60607 to one of the biggest television moguls in history.
The 965-paged one arrived complete with audio tapes of the chronicle in case she felt it was too much to read. I was on it. At this point, my opinion about the rich and famous (especially at her level) was that they were interested in nothing that didn’t contribute to increasing their popularity and income, or fit their agenda. So when I sent the materials, I sent an agenda (that fit hers). If she wanted a show idea, I even told her in the letter how she could shed light on a situation like this, complete with the “how to” for that show idea. Fair exchange is no robbery.
against rock and scissors. In any situation how you handle me (negatively) I will simply mirror you. Or your punishment will outweigh the crime-just so you know not to try me again. Eye for an eye. I’m straight jugular. I’m allowing. I’m open. And we’re either going to talk about it–or be about it. I believe in getting it not just how you live it–but WHERE you live it (too). And Janet’s just happened to be ‘public.’ She came fucking around in my neighborhood and in turn, I came to hers.
I was going to get the raw truth to ‘em, no matter how crazy it made me look, it was PROGRESS to me nonetheless. I got my receipt: A basic letter and only the 965-paged one (with the audio tapes) returned back to me. I was thankful—she kept the book and the 365-paged condensed version, so that was fine by me. I knew she could do nothing about it-but read it. And that’s what I wanted: An inquiring mind of a journalist with a love for reading who, no matter how long it took; would eventually do just that. I did this work, and somebody else was about to get this work [laid in their lap-and “tag”-she was it.
The riddle and rumors are true: “Reading is fundamental.” And in this thing, my ability to write was instrumental. In fact, it was essential. And if you can’t read or write in this world, you had better have some money-plenty of it. It became my only defense. Everything I had done up to this point, no matter how it: hurt me, affected me, and infected me in the process; it was progress in the process. And through it, I learned a lot of things, and was overcome with a kind of clarity that most people in my world will never, ever get-through ‘til the day they die. But it hurt like…removing a layer of my skin. I became that raw. I am that raw. My security as a human being, a tax-paying and law-biding citizen is ruined, forever. It’s quite unnerving to know that you can go through an untypical situation in this world and you have all these laws to “protect” you, yet, it won’t protect “you” one person/singular. That’s where you had better have some money to be able to pay somebody to fight your fight-that’s the only way anybody will help you in any unfortunate (and especially bizarre and untypical situation like such).
This situation opened my eyes such that I was able to see how to this world really “works.” This world is a maze-with different levels and compartments in which if you are not in control of your own mind; your best bet is to keep your lane, because you sure as hell aren’t ready for “The World.” It’s an eye opener that I promise you, you don’t want to be faced with. It will change you. In this world (in the bigger scheme of things), you are only as valued as you can match your opponent-financially. If you are the average humble/modest living citizen, you really have no rights or “protection” without money, and the only branch of law in which you have any power to move anything is domestic.
The funny thing is that-you’re lucky if you can make it through life without ever being faced with learning the truth about “The World” and that being so. And it’s something you will never know unless you are thrust over the threshold behind that closed-door worldly secret, and you happen to be the victim of the other side of the velvet rope and line. Without being able to financially match your opponent’s money, power, resources, and influence, you will see how much you are nothing other than an ornament on the tall tree in this green world where only real green: (money), celebritydrom, and power (which affords resources and buys influence) matters.
Contrary to your (knowing?), there are people in this world who have more money than the Janet Jacksons and you don’t see or know them from television or stage. For example, if such person (let’s call her “Joan Davis”) would have done this very same to me by which this book is the premise; I would have been at that Joan Davis’ mercy for life-because (a) no one [who tells me that I am a citizen with laws that protect me] would have helped me and actually-they didn’t-despite all my letter writing and talking to all the right people from Washington and back. Those laws only protect you if thousands upon millions had the same experience with that same person, place or entity. They just file your complaint, that’s it).
I also would have been at “Joan Davis’ “mercy because (b) despite my being able to write and tell the story, you (reading this) would not have been as interested in reading and circulating a story about somebody named Angela Sherice vs. Joan Davis. It would have just been another book out by some struggling writer sitting online working hard trying to convince you to buy my book: 24/7/365 (like everybody else is doing with their books)…
The world has a formula-there’s a formula to this shit: sensation, sizzle, fuckery, cluckery, debauchery, and even sensational mediocrity leads to: money, power, worldly success (fame), and celebritydrom. Opposite that, unless you’re a product of “old money,” you may as well make yourself comfortable with the fruits of your education and labor. You may as well make yourself comfortable in being content with your 9-5 and looking forward to retirement, and your 401k plan in your humble/modest life (it’s still success nonetheless), but keep dreaming, grinding and striving-it gives us all life and something to wake up and look forward to…
Not ok with just that? Then tell me: Where are you in that list? What dream aspiration or goal are you working towards that is sensational, sizzles, offers fuckery, cluckery, debauchery for entertainment, and is mediocre (but sensational)? Because that’s the name of the world’s game, and ways to claim to fame (if fame or worldly success is what you’re looking for). If you frowned at that reality, funny thing is, you are your own product of that whole reality being why it’s real.
This experience opened my eyes to what’s real, and I’m sorry to blow your fantasy or lift the veil of disillusionment you may have had, but it is a reality. Don’t just look at my experience to disagree or agree-that’s just one source from which I concluded this [reality]. Just look around you, turn on your television, look at your Facebooks and Twitters, watch the “news,”pay attention to yourself (and keep reading, because I’ll elaborate).
You reading this now, you don’t know me-you don’t really care about me. You’re only reading it because Janet Jackson’s name is the other party involved, that’s why you care, and that’s why you’re interested now. That is because celebritydrom, money, power and influence owns and controls your mind, rules the way you move, rearranges the way you think, what you want, how you feel, and what makes you empathize, care to empathize (or not). The world works such that I had better be glad it was a “Janet Jackson” and not a “Joan Davis,” because (how your mind is controlled about what interests you and grabs your attention) had Janet Jackson not been a celebrity (with power, money, influence), I would have never been heard.
Interestingly, on the flip side of this world we live in, and the strange and irrational dichotomy of the people in it; the fact that it was a “Janet Jackson” [versus a “Joan Davis”] caused me more problems than I ever could have anticipated because now, it wasn’t just between me, Janet, and her buddies-the world knew about it. I still had to work (for a living) but this situation ended up causing me to be rejected, ostracized, sneered at, gossiped about, ridiculed, and unable to work to support myself to make a living. Without even knowing me or having one conversation with me, the shallowness and vanity of the world gave me a very small percentage of literal consideration in this because I was instantly attractive at a glance-yet, that same percentage of the world and all their star-struckedness discounted my sanity, the double-takes and stares all began to have one look that saw me out of, and stopped at many a doors to make my money where I never had a problem before this ordeal. A couple of people even “felt sorry” for me and played charades with me on the bottom line of what was really going on and swore me to secrecy so they wouldn’t lose the jobs that I lost, couldn’t get into and forced out of “by design” (over this ordeal–now being public information).
My life became one big cyclical series of ups and downs that looked something like a spot traveling through the shape of a paper clip that never could seem to get to that end point of it-it kept going up and down and back again. The days of my being able to walk into a car dealership and get myself a new car with test-drive miles on it and the option of taking it back to switch colors were no more. Before all was said and done, my impeccable business credit was ruined. I had lost two of my most biggest accounts for my company, and I had paid off, but lost a 20k car to car pawn (for a mere few thousand to help me stay afloat and eventually lost two other trucks to repo, too). The sound of a diesel truck at one time practically scared me. By the time they came for the second truck, I was immune. I merely looked out the window, waved my hand, lay back down and went sound to sleep. I woke up the next morning, got my bus route together and continued on about my way and kept it moving until I could get another car [that I could pay cash for]. I walked, ran, and mass transited it to my destinations for miles. I wasn’t ashamed. I was getting used to this cyclical life of mine.
Over the years, my eviction record began to look like a street nigga’s rap sheet. I was selling big ticket items in order to stay true to my current situation that read something like: you may not be here too long so make sure you come with, and leave with what you can pack, pick up and carry by yourself. From place to place I was a cock-strong lil’ something that needed no help hauling my shit between my trucks and eventually U-Hauls. If I ever needed help I only called my brothers because I was on a timer-trying to beat the bailiff from coming to sit my shit out, other than that, I did it all by myself. For a good stint of time into the years, I knew exactly what it was like to live like a crack head trying to stay afloat and not able to support yourself yet, I was wasn’t a crack head. I didn’t drink or smoke or do any recreational drugs whatsoever. I damned sure know how to know hustle, but I didn’t want anybody up in my mix with no fucked up emotional expectations-getting in my way. I was holding on to tears of my own, I sure as hell didn’t need any whining in my life and no drama. I suffered alone. And I suffered hard.
My one bestie was on the east coast on her acting gigs, wanting more than having been on Law & Order and the like, while too; was trying to keep hope and her love life afloat. I left her to that – I didn’t want to burden her-so I talked with her as if all was well in my sinking world. My other bestie was on the west coast having finally found the love she sought for life-I didn’t want to burden her either, so I left her to that; carrying on with her too (as if all was well). What I really needed was someone close and within arms reach-a friend (not just knowing what I was going through) but there simply because they knew it was literally “me against the world”-not just some fly talking shit or a line out of a rap song.
My two besties on the two different coasts didn’t literally “owe” me anything. The ones who “owed” me anything were right in arms reach of me but already cleaned the blood off their knives from my back long ago. At this time in my life they were of no use to me, despite the fact that they were the very same friends who over the years, I carried, chauffeured, housed, allowed to shit babies in my house amongst all other kind of domestic and case-related situations all up in my mix-living rent free, and came back a time or two or three. No fucking good to me when hard-times was my only friend. I lost so much-it was so up and down, and in the beginning of it all, lost my mother and my father to being put on their backs.
Even into being a full-grown adult, I never knew how spoiled I really was until they were on their back and mine was against the wall in this way, and at this time. I gained, lost, gained, lost, and went up and down-like the direction of that paper clip. The ups were long and so were the downs. I never could make it to that end point to free myself to live stably and breathe freely. The only solace I could find in this was the faith I had in the fact that I knew it would all be over soon-because this part was not my karma, my fight or my battle; it was an indirect and direct result of being forced to make a decision that put me in the public clutches of a big celebrity who the world sees as a God of sorts. And the circumstances in which I was connected to that big celebrity made me look like I was the crazy one in this thing (to the world – not even the courts). No, she was the “crazy” one (if anybody had to be “crazy” in this). That part angered me. And wrong or right, I found solace in the fact that she eventually couldn’t sell a CD and pop record numbers, or sell a ticket to fill an arena if her life depended on it. She ran out of excuses and lies to fold her last tour until she couldn’t run from ‘em anymore. I had always wanted to know from what direction her karma was going to come from as a direct result of all this, and for me, that was it.
I suffered, but the fact is-I knew I could have made lots of money off this story back then (if I was willing to play the “strictly for publicity” game). For me, this was more than that.
There is a story behind this story that nobody giving me publicity would have given two shits about uncovering and discussing had I not forced them to read it (like I am doing now – in 2013). I have a story behind this story, but through that game (publicizing it back then), the story would have gotten lost in fuckery, cluckery, sensation, and debauchery. I’m far from sensational mediocrity and desperation in search of the quick bullshit kind of fame that would have forever overshadowed my umph and sizzle. I’m far from sensational mediocrity and desperation in search of the quick bullshit kind of fame that would have overshadowed the dynamic person I am and the wonderful things I’m made of. I’m cut better than to settle for that.
My mother always taught me that you can never miss what you never had, and I swear by that. I live by that. How can you crave, settle for, sell yourself short for, or chase what you never even had in the first place (be it a person, place, or a thing). In settling for that, you may eat good, travel, sleep on, wear, and own beautiful things from fuckery, cluckery, sensation, and debauchery; but once you accept it-that’s all you’ll ever be, first (in the eyes of the world) no matter how you fight it or try to change it. And that’s the only kind of attention you will garner with true interest in you- is that of the same, because like that, that too is all they have to lend (therefore expect from you) and extend (audience to you).
In this world game, you have a choice to be respected or audienced for being great, for your fuckery, or your sensational mediocrity. Life and love (in that regard) is a full-circle thing. How you come out the gate and make a living-by way of it, is something that will follow you when getting more work, all the way down to finding love (especially women). And love is important to women. But it’s hard to be taken seriously, respected, and truly loved when a man has full proof in his face-based upon what you did to get your living or love-something that was sensationally mediocre or some fuckery. Unless that is what he is made of too, he will always remember that foundation about you. And people getting you more work too, will remember that about you, and they’ll stick you at that level (in love, and in life). I’m a gutsy, racy, provocative writer and person. But despite my effrontery, and despite how sexual or entertaining I may be in my works; I can’t let being “famous” or well-known overshadow the fact that I too-(as well) am informative, intelligent, and a great storyteller.
Despite how sensational all my work is; I still fancy myself an intellectual, first. And with this book, considering the seriousness of it all (behind the sexual, untypical, and bizarre parts in it) the fact still remains it infected me, and eventually affected me-there’s a story to tell, so I insist on any “fame” or “well-known-ness” to supersede that (which is one of the reason why I released the book in generous chapter excerpts before dropping the whole thing) because it’s more than just a book about a star. I didn’t want to run out on some fame-chasing publicity campaign for the sake of being known as “that writer that wrote that Janet Jackson book,” because that kind of insta-fame garners the attention of other people who want instafame too. And that’s where the fuckery, cluckery, and debauchery comes into play. And I don’t coon and jump through hoops [or even want to be audienced by] people like that, and who have those kinds of expectations because they can’t offer me the kind of thinking I felt was required in order for me to truly be heard on this.
As a person and a writer, I respect other intellectuals and too, fancy myself being one so they too, need to recognize that I’m up in here-I’m out here too. And like I said, what you come out the gate with (especially nowadays) is how you will always be seen-no matter what kind of reinvention campaigns you try to do, that first set of “types of people” that gravitated to you will not let you free of that first “you.” So you have to be careful about the foundation by which you jump to insta-fame because it remains. Like, it’s ok to have people screaming at you for being [a pretty face or body or whatever superficial things may be of you], but if you know there is more to you than that (be it a talent, skill or whatever), and that’s all they have to say to you, then somewhere, you set yourself up for the bigger part of you to be overshadowed. And when I say that I’m a damned good writer, I’m more than damned good writer of one hot sensational book about a star: all my books are hot. I am more than the sensation of this one book, and I insisted on having that respected and understood. No quick dollar amount was worth my message getting lost in that sauce. This book is a story.
People with money, fame, and fortune got something to learn in this story.
People who live modest/humble lives got something to learn in this story.
Groupies, the ignorant, the star-struck, the wanna-be overnight successes got something to learn in this story.
Aspiring writers got something to learn in this story.
Everybody’s got something to learn in and about this story…
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Fearlessness became how I survived-fearlessness with all things. I
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