Learned Helplessness & Jaywalking
Grasshopper's Appeal part 13, pages 67 - 73
[prior post here ]
Learned helplessness is the technique or method of torture, and the desired result , quickly and easily accomplished, is learned helplessness.
[ page 67 ]
When they released me from this torture, it was by way of rendition to the San Francisco General Hospital Psychiatric Emergency Room, a fabulous idea they had, to bring me there, instead of letting me free, because I evidently had to be crazy since I was both running for mayor and vegan.
In fact, they did this routine of 5150’ing me twice that week , both times they released me from the jail and torture complex. The outcome of being released to the SFGH Psych ER , upon “release” from jail, was to extend my incarceration. Oh yeahs, they said, since I was homeless, I was therefore a danger to my self or others, and they would only release me to a friend, under the flag that I would be having a place to stay, and then not homeless, I suppose.
This policy enacted upon me was clearly a violation and abuse of my civil rights to be free from unnecessary seizure of my person and being. Otherwise considered to be arbitrary detention and arrest, which, once upon a time, in a land over the hills and far away, until recently would have been frowned upon generally, but no more — are these days of olden yore.
I’m reminded of how, when I was sleeping out in my van around Twin Peaks , or maybe on Clarendon, the cops would roust me and move me along, but they always refused to give Grasshopper a ticket , which would be something I could contest. If sleeping in my van was against the law, then let me bring that to a court. Write me a ticket, please. Nope, ran outta paper. They never wanted to say it was illegal , but they didn’t hesitate to scare me along.
Now, when they released me to SFGH Psych ER where I was held long enough to miss a court date, probably my arraignment upon or for those bogus charges stemming from the Ed Jew, well, this was clearly a violation of my right to due process and freedom from arbitrary arrest and detention, and also my right to be present at my own funeral, or arraignment. They ended up charging me with, let’s see, trespass, stalking a state “officia” (sic) , which Ed Jew ain’t, whether or not it’s spelled correctly, and a couple of other things then that I forget now.
At this time let me state that I did not perform any music for Ed Jew nor his wife nor daughter, neither with nor without my clothes on. Ditto for the cops, who would never give you a guitar, let alone a bathroom, if they didn’t
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[ page 68 ]
feel like it. In fact, they must consider any musical instrument, including the voice, to be a deadly weapon, and don’t allow any such sentimental shit in jail.
Yes, even in jail, I was continually told that my voice was not permitted; specifically, I was often told that I was not allowed to , when I tried to sing or hum softly, although everyone else could. They said K-1 was too close to their office and they could hear me singing. Imagine that! How ‘bout that.
Actually , they did have some godawful bad Christmas music around the corner from my rather non- luxurious K- block during the holidays. I actually was briefly put into a more solitary cell that the one I was already in solitary in anyway, for about 20 minutes, after complaining loudly about that poisonous stuff they shove down your ears around the holidays even in jail. No ear plugs are allowed in jail, one of the most brutally punishing of their unnecessary and useless laws. All those months, while I was all alone in a tight cell of terror, I had to listen to everything else in that K-block, the 5 TV’s tuned to different channels, and the 13 or so other voices that you rarely got to actually see the bodies of. Torture. Man, I never watch TV; to hear 5 at a time is torture.
They ended up, I guess several weeks later, dropping all those Ed Jew charges, as I was fairly confident they would. But not until after they had re—charged me with the Vandebos. For the Janet Vandebos event from almost two months prior, I was re-arrested after an intimidation session in a small room with 4 large cops, which made a hanging wedgie seem like a fun idea by comparison. A hanging wedgie is when the kids in camp hang you from your underwear which has first been rammed up your ass crack. They hang you from your wedgie underwear by a nail, and you are stuck. You ain’t getting down no time soon.
That was the Janet Vandebos charge, the hanging wedgie that is wedged up my rear, like some mythological loser. Perpetually hamstrung.
The way that all went down , was as shady as can be. Man , total sketch. After speaking on the phone to the cops about geting my van back, after that first round of torture, they say, well, come on in and get it this afternoon. Come inside 850 Bryant, arrange to pick up your van. When I showed up as scheduled, they re-arrested me. It was a sad occasion. They had me in a small room with 4 cops. They were not smelling too good. I’d gotten to where I was afraid to talk, after all that torture. I still am. Not much to say to all that intimidation. Ho hum, tearing up my bum, what else is new. I recall that the cops were wearing big cigars and wife-beater sleazy greaseball undershirts, surely I am mistaken and the memory is mixed up with a cartoon.
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[ page 68 ]
The quartet of coercion did not give me back my Grasshopper van home. They were happy to bring me back for another few days of torture and terror. Seems like it was just about most of that whole week that I was in a moo-moo naked, cold , in constant light, in fear of somehow making things even worse. Mostly starving. That is terror. The limit line or point, for most folks, to this sort of treatment without lasting effect, is probably a day, definitely two, for anyone. For me, they gave me about 4 or 5, with rendition, kidnapping, and false imprisonment during and in - between. A special agenda of terror and torture, a recipe cooked up to cook up Grasshopper.
When they told me to clean the cell up, I tried to get rid of the toilet paper that hadn’t kept me at all warm in that freezing cold cell with no clothes. But I wasn’t able to flush it all down the toilet. Instead it overflowed the can, flooding the cell, and they had to call a plumber. Perhaps it was over this incident that they brought me to SFGH 7th floor and let me eat a vegan burrito? I don’t know.
When they did release me from after their re—arrest, it was again to be 5150’d to SFGH Psych ER , where my friend had to come get me because they refused to release me without escort. They considered me to be both dangerous and crazy, a sentiment proclaimed because I was homeless, vegan, and running for mayor as well.
Both times at that SFGH Psych ER, and as well on the 7th floor, I showed those nurses and doctors or shrinks the news items about me that were being posted in the Examiner , and had to explain that, indeed, as these news items stated, I actually , really, truly , and honestly was legitimately running for mayor, —— but that was not grounds for further detention, the news articles notwithstanding. In fact, that news print gave me the idea that perhaps i could speak for my self? Without mumbling and stumbling upon my words, hopefully, like Zadik is wont to do. After defending my self, they let me out of SFGH Psych ER, twice. (Meanwhile , you have to strain and struggle to understand the English Zadik speaks. You can listen to him mumble, and not comprehend enough of his words, so as to deprive all meaning from his sentences. I frequently have to ask him, “What? What did you say?”)
Perhaps someone just didn’t like my name, the good name of Grasshopper.
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[page 70 ]
I had to go through the whole story, about the Janet Vandebos, the shutdown of my business despite the lack of any charge relating to that pending, until a few days after the Ed Jew {likely the whole thing about the phrase “to Impeach is Patriotic,” too} and eventually , after speaking with me, and listening to my sad story, they realized that there was no truly legitimate way they could continue to detain pobrecito Saltamonte.
Given no bureaucratic mechanism to further terrorize me, they begrudgingly had to release me. That second time on the 1st floor, they started trying to say that the fact that this had just happened a few days ago, once before, was somehow proof that maybe I was crazy. If they repeat the same mistake often enough , it gains acceptance. Just maybe some of that stuff they were flinging on me would stick. They just kept trying until eventually something did. But it was only their own invention and creation, nothing was true.
Maybe they could just keep arresting me, until some good reason for doing so appeared. But there never was any; there was no shred of legitimacy to their intimacy.
This is not how our constitution is supposed to operate. Maybe it doesn’t work, if all this torture is so routine and commonplace, everywhere.
Now the point of torture is to mess with your mind, and to bring you to learn utter helplessness. Torture is intended to destroy your mind; once tortured, it is forever thereafter a challenge to feel even slightly comfortable in your own skin, when once your mind is taught and has learned helplessness.
~
Sadly, I was only given the benefit of being assumed to be guilty, and never really allowed the opportunity to defend my innocence, which I maintain.
Yes, I am innocent of the crime of terror, despite all of the torture and this false conviction notwithstanding. I maintain that I am innocent of the PC422 criminal threat of terror, and this has been a lousy frame job that I urge you to disassemble at this time.
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[ page 71 ]
J — walking and other Police Encounters of the Strange kind
After I got out of jail, I was riding my bicycle on the sidewalk at the Civic Center Farmer’s Market, when the police stopped me, the SFPD, and gave me a ticket for jay-walking. I called them assholes. I took that shit to court, challenging it, and the judge let it go. The court clerk indicated there was probably no public safety issue, etc.
I’ve been stopped for walking in the middle of the street how many? Several times, the cops check me out or, if they recognize me, tell me to get on the sidewalk and keep going. I get stopped oftentimes to be shut down while performing music. The cops always check me out , I never have ID, and they always let me go. Although it ain’t a crime to not have papers, it is a crime to be unable to prove that you’re not a criminal, {I suppose , sadly} so I always had given my name, and said check me out. This has happened about a half dozen times since I got out. One time they stopped me and checked me out because I was wearing a winter coat, looking homeless. How ‘bout that. Or , was it for violating a restraining order against 2636 Green? (Perhaps that thing has actually expired now? Imagine that , 3 years later, still no appeal. )
You won’t catch me near there, nevertheless.
On August 30th, 2010, I was playing guitar at Sacramento and Polk, around 9 pm, when this cop shut me down. He pulled up, got out of the car, and I stopped right away , and turned off the amp. He said i was better than him, after I offered to let him play a lick. Everything was cool and groovy until
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[ page 72 ]
until I told him my name was Grasshopper, and he couldn’t deal with that. He called me an asshole a few times, and I begged him to take me to jail, but he finally called in my name and I came up only a little dirty, with that restraining order, small detail.
But R . Acerot, *268, told me the R stood for Rosh Hashonah. Mazel Tov. La’shana tovah.
Maybe next time I won’t tell them my name, and they can deport me , hopefully to, I don’t know, San Francisco. Oh well.
I’ve been seeing a baby sea lion I guess out there, or it might be a harbor seal? breaching and playing in the water. What a wonderful and uplifting thing to see, to be a part of such grandeur.
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[ page 73 ]
{Leave this page blank in case someone in jail needs a place to write a poem, a plea, or a prayer.)
Page 73
Thanks for reading Grasshopper’s Appeal from Grasshopper Kaplan, stay tuned and subcribe to KGRaS if you want these emailed to you, button above…
Grasshopper’s Appeal is from 2010 original writing edition. The next section will be entitled Fishing for Sanity and Being Vegan. This will be page 74, out of approximately 133 or so that i’ll hope to get to retype here for your eyes eventually.
please subscribe or enjoy the Grasshopper Kaplan YouTube Channel to hear my music, to exercise your earballs as well as the eyeballs here, i think the music is way more compelling than my writing, but then too lyrics with music are not the straightforward prose you read here, which i thank you for doing,
wishing you blessings and good tidings amidst the chaos and realigns
GK
8-17-2022
Hard to believe anyone wants to be like me after this post, but the guy who has no entry for his newly arising Grasshopper way stack appears to have abandoned that idea before it got too far along
As one reader notes, although the stack is two years old apparently, it seems to have just appeared like the scamdemic narrative, funny ironic that...
And the play on words , a grasshopper wants to be a MANtiss....with that kind of brilliance we wonder what we're missing on the nonexistent postings from Alex the man who wants to be a grasshopper ..
Ah, also funny ironic how I found out trying to tell chd to get a stack, then sent to his not mine....
Censors and slime¿?
Slithering surreal.