This is for anyone who’s ever said “Why would I care if anyone spied on me? I have nothing to hide.” I used to say this very thing, in a loud, bragging tone to all my friends. Other than an isolated incident involving a single serving meatloaf from Eli Zabar’s which falls outside the statute of limitations, I have nothing to hide that I won’t eventually exploit for my art—but it turns out, getting spied on can still be terrible for many reasons.

Hey all-so I experienced a leak in my ceiling timed oh-so-perfectly with the publication of an article in The Marshall Project written by an inmate sentenced for murder whose girlfriend’s body was found by hotel staff who noticed a leak coming through the ceiling of the Soho House. This inmate happens to be a character in my currently-being-queried novel, “Almost Rapist”. It’s like, even from jail, people are still getting better writing opportunities than me.

Friends, this one has taken a while to process. I think an operative was employed in my workplace to stage an incident in order to try and get me to publicly confuse him with an online mugshot sharing the same name. Or he was the actual guy in the mugshot curated to work alongside me in an attempt to put me in danger. Some great options for me.

This episode examines even more coincidence that I now realize may not have been coincidence at all…this time surrounding a Brazilian Documentary I appeared in with my Slovenian connection.

When it comes to getting your daily serving of bone broth, there are better ways than murder. This is an especially long-game MKUltra style manipulation that took place in what seems like an attempt to falsely incriminate my book with false confessions. It could be that Scientology has really upped it’s game since Operation Freakout—but if I’m outsmarting established literary agents, regardless of what spy agency is paying them, then it’s unfair to deny audiences the intellectual sustenance of my memoir.

This is the story of how a literary reading series may or may not have attempted to influence me into circulating excerpts of my then incomplete dark humor memoir surrounding the Joseph Brooks rape trials against the backdrop of my parents losing their house—which I’m told is generally ill advised prior to getting a commercial agent and book deal. Was the purpose of this subterfuge to get me to leak my own writing so that the Kargman Brooks and Kaplan families could claim they discovered my book through my own sloppiness rather than their engaging private investigators?

The best way to get over leaving one cult is to join another.

Scientology helped me manifest a phone call from a literary agent on a specific day, just by writing “Get $300,000 Book Deal” with tone 40 intention in my day planner. Let me tell you how.

Unsure how they pulled off an Italian tourist stalking me from 5th Avenue to Houston Street and trolling the draft of a poem in my iPhone notes with his tween daughters earrings but they did. Somebody better call the Pentagon. Or Karl Lagerfeld.

I forgot to mention a key moment in my Multi-Interest Black-Ops involving the possible Slovenian Operative and a casting workshop at The Public Theatre that took place in 2014.

Now that there are robot dogs in Times Square, I no longer feel self-conscious about sharing my hypothesis that a Slovenian spy targeted me with advanced mind reading instruments in 2018 as part of a possible government experiment.