Youtube night in the woods ost home again extended
We walk from the front door of her home, onto a lawn so green and manicured it almost looks fake. The first gangstalking video I watch is called “Targeted Individual Gang Stalking White Ford Pick Ups The Cloud.” The camera moves from the perspective of a woman who is afraid. Yet, it feels likelier that, if it is anything more than a preoccupation, it is simply an attempt to turn the gaze outwards, a small reprieve from the hyper-awareness of my own being watched. I theorize that my own obsession with watching other people’s lives unfold on screen is really an attempt at understanding others and myself, maybe even an exercise in empathy. I take false comfort in the belief that if I can observe something, I can understand it, and if I can understand it, I have power over it. I often attempt to intellectualize my watching. Their fear is simply expanding, and it makes them larger than themselves, while at the same time, impossibly small. Targeted Individuals live in a constant state of paranoia, of hyper-visibility, and yet there is nothing particularly eminent about them, no notion of celebrity to speak of. These everyday citizens are stalked by other everyday citizens. ” Almost always there is no obvious reason the Targeted Individual would be targeted. “The real question is why? “Why would someone want to do this to me? These weird and petty things. That is what being watched does to you,” he says. “If you were to ask me what gangstalking is, I would tell you that it’s a way to slowly kill people using their own decisions, to drive you to the point of insanity. The video returns to Richard at his table. A brilliant blue sky bleeds through the gentle rattle of tree leaves, and a helicopter moves across the frame, “There it is! There it is!” Richard says, the excitement in his voice is audible. “That’s when I realized that something was going on.” The camera cuts to footage recorded by Richard. Then I started noticing seven or eight helicopters a day hovering above my apartment…and it keeps happening, and it keeps happening.” As he speaks, he raps his knuckles on his kitchen table. “They never approached me, never tried to talk to me, they just drove by.
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“The gangstalking experience started for me, when I began to see these black SUVs and other police vehicles driving slowly down the street,” he says. I watch a video of a man named Richard talking about his experiences with gangstalking. The fact that the perpetrators are comprised of everyday citizens makes the horror that gangstalking victims experience an unavoidable nightmare. Other powerful bodies sometimes include orthodox religious organizations, cultural clubs, or activist groups. Most commonly, Targeted Individuals believe that their stalkers are sanctioned by government entities like the CIA, FBI, or local politicians. Gangstalking is an organized phenomenon in which victims, who call themselves Targeted Individuals believe they are being watched, followed, and manipulated by a network of everyday citizens, turned operatives. Whatever the reason, this watching is my most consistent proclivity to date, and it is how I’ve come to learn about Gangstalking, an experience that is also marked by relentless watching. I watch them because they are strange, because there is something oddly comforting about the excess of videos one can watch online, because the act of watching someone else live their life makes me feel less alone. I invent all kinds of theories about why I watch my little videos. I watch all kinds of videos-B-Grade documentaries about people with strange obsessions, grocery hauls, people who’ve joined cults, people who’ve left cults, men who have multiple wives, religious zealots, people cutting bars of soap with box knives, people enthralled by something larger than themselves. Most days I’ll spend hours watching other people live their lives on YouTube. My obsession with being watched is paralleled only by my obsession with watching. There is not a single day that passes where I do not feel the immense weight of being seen by others, by cameras, perhaps worst, by myself. Yet, the realities of our surveillant culture are largely abhorrent to me, and inspires my most contradictory relationship to date. As far as large government entities are concerned, I know there is nothing they don’t already know about me, or couldn’t access with almost no effort at all. I have made myself a surveilled individual, all in the name of entertainment and convenience. I’ve made myself a public figure by engaging with social media, I’ve willingly submitted my biometrics in order to skip long lines at the airport, I use the GPS app on my phone, I track my steps with a FitBit. It is not that I no longer fear being watched, rather I’ve succumbed to its inevitability. I used to cover my laptop camera with a piece of electrical tape, until the edges curled and I pulled it off.
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As I write this, an eye looks back at me from my computer.