Thursday, August 25, 2016


There are scenes in the movie of insidious crazed doctors with typically big needles.
Replaced in reality by "nice guy" smiling student dentists applying unneeded painful
injections into the chin cavity inside my lower gums.  Smiling Asian "student" dentist
knew I would yell out in a crowded clinic which I haven't done at the hands of dentists
since the sixth grade when I got minor cavities filled without painkiller.  Smiling Asian
student dentist denies everything.  Everyone stays in character except me.  I complain
and am switched to a female Asian dentist.  Her first words to me?  "Will you cooperate?"

What I try and fail to describe above and below is all too similar to the shocks
depicted in post war civilian parts of the movie except that the reality is less dramatic.

Unlike Jake Singer, I never got off at abandoned Bergen Street subway stations in Brooklyn.
The people seen by Jacob in compressed scenes on subways are comparable to what I
see in encounters more numerous except that none include seeing homeless guys with tails
left out of some versions of the movie.

I did witness a fake subway fight with real people bouncing off seats inside a moving subway.
I was not involved but I could see the contrived desperation of it unfolding in front of me.
That's an example of odd events I see every time I use the subways of NYC.  Imagination,
mood, paranoia or drugs play no part.  But...

...Jacob experiences one visual shock after another that he attributes to demons.
No demons.  Singer is abducted by three men in a moving auto that he escapes only to
have his wallet and ID picked after he hits the ground by a guy in a Santa Klaus suit
and beard waving his bell for donations.  When asked what happened to his ID at a
hospital ER he admits that "Santa Klaus took it" confirming the movie doctors idea of
someone insane.

When wheeled on a gurney through Bellevue hospital's winding corridors the audience
and Jacob sees a woman resembling his ex-wife curled up on the hospital floor.  See's
his "good guy" chiropractor vaguely behind a glazed window.  His "girlfriend" Jessie
mysteriously shows up as one of the Bellevue nurses seen to be the result of a concussion
received in the speeding car but, as mentioned previously, also representing something else.

Similar disjointed events not so dramatic happen routinely in my real life version.  The fact
that none of it answers to logic soon becomes beside the point.  Ex-girlfriends that I knew
for years are seen inches away in public who ghost me in public.  Common enough.

In the 1970's what looks like an East Indian male is seen climbing my fire escape at
4:30 AM, barefoot and dressed only in a sackcloth.  This occurred coincidently during
the first time I had a girl sleep over at my apartment.  The guy climbing the ladder showed
up years later in contexts so different I could never conceive of connecting the two events.

An event analogous to the fictional Jacob Singer car scene happened to me in April of 2014.
I am pined to the floor of a Soho bar around 4PM after being asked to leave by 3 guys
emerging from a back door for no apparent reason.  I offered to pay my bill but wasn't
given the chance.  There was no previous trouble, no inebriation in a near empty bar.
A knee to the back of my leg sends me to the ground with a guy for each leg and one with
his knee to my chest while holding down my arms.

He knows his knee is stopping me from breathing and talking normally.  While down I
manage to call him a moron.  I am cuffed, ID is taken and returned.  No name tag, no police
ID is shown, I am uncuffed.  An ambulance arrives and drives me to to Presbyterian Hospital
ER across town.  The only people I see are uncomprehending blank-faced security.  I sit down,
and choose to walk out after 30 seconds.  No blow to the head, no Santa Klaus characters, no
missing ID.

No medical procedures, no blood pressure taken but the Presbyterian Hospital ambulance
bills my insurance for over a thousand dollars.  Routine fraud is the least of it.  I consider
challenging the claim.  I go back to the bar and a different bartender.  And who is going
to believe this story even with witnesses.  Nada, no one.  The guy compressing my chest
with his knee shows up the next day in circumstances so completely different as to be almost
comparable to Jacob watching helplessly while Santa Klaus picks his pocket.  There are other
implications associated with the movie version that I don't even want to touch.

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