Orion: 16 April 2004 - 11 March 2019
I have been quiet on my blog over the past few weeks, and I want to share what has been going on and the reasons for my lack of posts. Three weeks ago, my cat Orion began walking with a limp and we discovered a lump on his right hind leg. Testing proved it to be benign, but his walking became more and more uncomfortable. Starting last week, he would only walk a few meters and rest, with his right hind leg becoming more and more swollen. We took him to the vet for analysis and a mass the size of a golf ball was discovered near his stomach, and we were told that this tumour was the reason Orion was having such a hard time walking. The vet said he would have about a month left with us as he was too old to receive surgery to remove it.
Today, on 11 March 2019, after showing significant improvements including eating, drinking and using the litter box regularly, Orion woke up with extremely laboured breathing and was unable to walk at all. I had to carry him to his food, water, litter box and bed. A technician from the vet that has been helping him since the fall of 2017 by providing him with fluids after he suffered a bowel blockage notified us that he was losing colour and that his breathing was becoming more and more distressed.
Around 5:00 pm, I had to bring my beloved cat, my best friend, and the little guy who has been with me since my sister passed away, to the vet to be put to sleep. The mass around his stomach had ruptured and was bleeding internally, leading to extensive pain in his abdomen and there was nothing that could be done.
I held onto Orion from my house until he passed away alongside his favourite foam ball, a bag of catnip and his toy mouse. Just before the doctor came in, he started purring as my father, mother, our technician and I pet him, kissed his head and cried terribly. I can barely get through typing this so far. The worst part was signing the euthanasia form for consent, while classical piano music by Debussy, Satie and Schumann played over the speaker in what is essentially the death room. Many of those pieces were part of my repertoire and I have no intentions on ever playing them again.
He was so good, with his eyes bright and looking so content on the outside when the process began. My mother had to leave the room and I held onto my little buddy until the doctor informed me that his heart had stopped, and I still stayed there until the involuntary movements ceased. Because the ground is frozen, the vet is going to keep him so we can bury him in our garden alongside our dogs beneath a heart shaped rock when the thaw comes.
This cat came into my life at the perfect time, just a few weeks after my sister passed. Our old dog Jackson had gotten groomed, and they were giving away kittens with each grooming. Knowing that my family was going through, they asked if we wanted a kitten, and we agreed. He was the cutest little fuzzball who came running into the house with a little blue bow and bell around his neck and the most adorable white tip on his tail. After running around for a few minutes, he hid behind our couch and let out a huge meow, the only time in his life he ever did so.
We debated a few names, and I had jokingly thrown out Zoidberg in reference to Futurama, but I chose Orion because the little bell around his neck reminded me of the Galaxy in Men in Black. He would always come to me, sleeping on my bed, getting into my drawers and throwing my socks all over my room. When he first arrived, he came with what was then his favourite toy, a blue wand with a red string attached. We played for hours each day, and he would always sit on top of my desk when I was writing a paper for school, or would curl up beneath my piano as I practiced.
Orion was the nicest cat I ever knew or had. He never growled, hissed or scratched. His one vice was food, and he quickly gained a reputation as the fat cat, nicknamed Chubby, as the grams were laid on. At his peak, he was a whopping 12 kg. It was only in the last two months he finally lost enough weight due to a rigorous diet that he got down to a normal weigh and he didn’t look so much like a pumpkin with a peanut for a head.
Whenever I had a bad day, he would always curl up next to me or in my lap for hours at a time, purring away. He’d only move if he had to use the litter box or to eat. We had a connection that I have never had with any other animal. Orion always knew when I needed him, and vice versa. When my high school ex (the one that was later stalking me) and I broke up, he stayed with me for hours as I cried, or would get my attention off of her by carrying his little blue ball over to me for a game. He loved that ball, and would carry it all over the house like a dog. I now have it in a box of all my special items and pictures, always keeping him near my heart.
When Orion was about a year or two old, he decided that our laundry basket would be his new house. I always had to keep it on its side so he could curl up inside it on top of an old towel or blanket. The first time he was ever really sick, I knew right away since he didn’t want to use his laundry house, instead running up the computer desk and trying to isolate himself. Nobody believed me that he was sick, but I kept pestering to take him to the vet and sure enough, he had a fever from a minute virus that cleared up in no time.
If I were sick with a sinus infection, he would always come over and curl up next to me. Even just three weeks ago, he did this while I was suffering from sinusitis again, placing his head over my left leg and reaching over me while I cupped his ears.
Orion loved to watch television and video games. His favourite television show was Meerkat Manor. He would sit in front of that TV for an entire episode atop a footstool, watching the meerkats popping out of their holes and running about. If I played a game on my PlayStation 2, he would always come into the room to watch the screen. He loved watching Star Wars: Battlefront (the original, good one) the most, with all the soldiers running about in battle. It was captivating for him.
When I stayed in Boston with my cousins for a weekend in college, he was so upset that I wasn’t home that he slept outside my bedroom door, and then on my bed until I came home two days later. He followed me everywhere for weeks after that.
Orion was only ever given the best cat food, spring water and healthy snacks. This didn’t mean we didn’t spoil him from the table. He would come racing when he heard the electric carving knife because that almost always meant turkey. He loved turkey and would pace around the house each time we cooked one, waiting for a piece. I found him on the dining table on more than one occasion where he was successfully stealing a slab of white meat. Every now and then, he’d also get a little piece of bacon or some vanilla ice cream.
Some of the funniest moments I had with him was the time he got tangled in a shopping bag and raced around the house several times, peeing the whole time. I had to bathe him in the tub at midnight and scrub the whole house, but it was something to see. Another time, he climbed onto the kitchen counter, onto the refrigerator and fell behind it without injury. My dad and I had to look all over and then we heard little squeaks from behind the fridge, and sure enough he was there, waiting patiently to be found!
This cat was my best (non-human) friend. I was in a deep state of grief after losing my sister that I don’t know what would have happened to me if it were not for Orion. He filled a hole in me, in my soul, and gave me hope to keep going. He gave me companionship on sleepless nights and would hang out in my bedroom until sunrise on nights where I couldn’t sleep at all from night terrors.
I feel so alone right now after today and my chest hurts terribly from constant panic attacks. I feel like his declining health was my fault, and I feel awful that this had to happen. I was hoping to get at least one more night together on the couch with him or even carrying him onto my bed and snuggling up together. If he passed in the night at least it would be with me. Staying with him to the very end at a vet’s office was the best I could do for my little buddy and lovebug.
Of all things, I just didn’t want him to be alone.
I know that my sister Hannah is taking good care of you, Orion. I promise that I’ll see you again someday. I’ll love you forever.
This is a blog post that’s been a long time in the making and is something I have wanted to write for over a year. After I finished my undergraduate studies at university, I began to take some online courses with The Berklee College of Music for a graduate certificate. At the time, I was still finding my voice as a composer and was very timid about working as a musician fresh out of school, and I thought that some additional training in advanced orchestration and audio engineering would give me more usable skills and help me find myself in a career driven society.
While there, I very quickly discovered that commercial composition, which I had wanted to go into for years, was not my cup of coffee with its incredibly tight deadlines (four weeks or less, even for a feature length film score), the constant desire for your work to sound as close as possible to someone else’s without infringing copyright, and the fact that the music I was writing for these types of projects was nowhere near my best. I also had to trudge through eight or nine weeks’ worth of material that I already knew just to get one trinket of information that I could have found in a book, online, or in a YouTube tutorial.
Despite this I still received my Professional Certificate in 2012, though with less money in my pockets than when I started two years prior. I received my physical paper on my 25th birthday, and presented it to my mother with pride while she was recovering from a fall in the hospital (that’s another, more amusing story that I’ll share at another time). Even though I had gained only a little in new knowledge and ability while studying with Berklee, I justified the time and expense by thinking that this slip of paper from a world-renown music school would be a huge advantage in my career.
Then the horrors came to light.
All of my studies with Berklee were online, I never actually set foot on campus while working towards my certificate. It’s more likely that I would have heard the rumblings sooner than I did had I the opportunity or proximity to attend classes in Boston. But like most people, I first heard of the sexual assault crisis after it was published by The Boston Globe.
For over a decade, The Berklee College of Music secretly fired nearly a dozen professors and teachers who had been accused of or charged with sexual misconduct and assault against students. In addition to this, there was a report of an on-campus rape that was shared over social media where Berklee merely suspended the assailant for two semesters before allowing him back into the school alongside his victim and keeping the case quiet from the Boston Police.
I was shocked and appalled, and was stuck having to answer impossible questions about Berklee and this aforementioned practice by my own music students, many of whom quit in the aftermath simply by my association with the school because of my certificate. Needless to say, I quickly removed that piece of paper from my studio walls and stuffed it into the back of my filing cabinet where it stayed until last week.
After much internal debate, I decided that I wanted nothing more to do with Berklee because of this atrocious behaviour and treatment of sexual assault survivors. I wrote a letter to President Roger Brown, who oversaw all of the secret firings of faculty, and mailed back my certificate to the school. This is what my letter said:
“Attn. President Roger H. Brown:
I am writing this letter as I can no longer be a bystander amidst the atrocities occurring at and on the campus of the Berklee College of Music and its affiliated properties. I am referring to, of course, the plague of sexual assaults between faculty and students that was exposed by The Boston Globe on 17 November, 2017 where it was revealed that eleven faculty members had been secretly terminated over the span of thirteen years for inappropriate interactions between themselves and students.
I am also well aware of an incident on the Boston campus where a female student was viciously sexually assaulted by a male classmate, and that Berklee merely suspended the assailant for two semesters before allowing him to resume classes alongside his victim, and that this incident was kept away from the intervention of the Boston Police by the Berklee Administration.
As a member of RAINN, as a friend and relative of individuals who have survived acts of both physical and sexual violence, and as a sexual assault survivor myself, I can no longer support or stand to have any sort of affiliation with the Berklee College of Music as a result of the above incidents and other, undocumented cases that have yet to surface.
I am hereby returning my Certificate to the school and administration out of protest and as an act of solidarity with the victims.
I will no longer recognize any connections with the Berklee College of Music as a student or alumnus, and will not seek any form of collaboration, references or interaction with said school as a result of my protest. I spent a year debating whether or not I should write this letter and return my Certificate, and after much thought I have concluded that there is no scenario where I can keep that piece of paper or consider myself an alumnus and not feel nauseated considering what has transpired over the past decade at this institution.
I feel, Mr. Brown, that in light of The Boston Globe’s reporting, and that these secret terminations of sexual predators from your college all occurred under your supervision, that you should resign your position as soon as possible. You have clearly demonstrated that you can no longer be trusted with the protection of your student body.”
The letter was mailed to Berklee, alongside my certificate, last Wednesday on 6 February. I have not and do not expect to receive a reply, nor do I want one.
President Brown’s lackluster apology for his criminal actions is not enough. Berklee’s meaningless responses in the wake of The Boston Globe’s revelations do nothing to protect or help students. They are clearly only interested in saving face and making more money for the administration.
Whatever prestige The Berklee College of Music once had is long gone.
I'm just going to start by saying that I hate myself. I'll explain this in more detail as this piece goes on, but it is a critical part of my personality that keeps me writing anecdotes, articles and more over utilizing video.
Currently, the denizens of the internet are happier with a video first experience over reading. With the massive growth and popularity of YouTube it is not surprising to see websites originally created in the late 1990s and early 2000s gradually shifting to such methods for the distribution of content. There's nothing wrong with this; it is honestly more engaging and provides people with a way to experience content while multitasking (how often do you play a video just for the sound while you are browsing a different website?), but it's just not for me.
I might be old fashioned, but I simply prefer reading an article or book to watching or listening to one, and it has nothing to do with a certain American leader who may be illiterate or some misguided, narcissistic sense of pseudo-intellectualism on my part. As a result, I also prefer to express myself in writing over producing vlogs or podcasts but there are other issues that I have with myself that are responsible for this approach to communication.
I have a lot of body image issues that prevent me from making video content. When I was a kid in middle school, my weight fluctuated a lot due to the asthma treatments that I was undertaking. In one grade I'd be the tallest and thinnest kid in my class, the next I'd be a pudgy butterball that still managed to tower over my peers. Yes, even the girls. This was due to the overprescribing of prednisone by my pediatrician which is notorious for adding pounds when used frequently. And I was taking a daily regiment for over a year at a time. Yes, this is horrible for your health but they didn't really know any better in the late '80s and early '90s and my pediatrician was awful (she nearly killed me twice with a misdiagnosis of pneumonia and again with the wrong dose of allergy vaccines that sent me into anaphylaxis).
I was given every foul name in the book starting in the first grade and up until high school. By then, I had developed anorexia and was over 18 kg underweight. I was 190 cm and weighed only 65 kg. By my junior year in college, I had gained over 20 kgs after my medication and diet changed. I was just over 95 kg, and this was at the same time I started to make myself more visible online. My YouTube videos were filled with comments where I earned such flattering nicknames as "Tits Boy," "The Rack," and "Shitty Titty."
Today, I am 79 kg and still 190 cm, but I still feel like a bloated, ugly puss bag. The idea of showing myself on camera brings back all those YouTube comments (this was 2008, I was in my 20s and didn't know any better) and the heckling of children on the playground. I get so anxious at the idea of being seen in motion pictures that the only times I allowed it as of late was in Deliverance Chips where part of my face is visible for only a few frames, and for a brief instance when I appear in a Slender Man costume as a gag. Irony.
Adding to my body image issues, my hairline has thinned quite a bit over the past several years. This has been mostly due to exceptional anxiety (see the previous posts about my experience as a stalking victim to understand why) and, again, misuse of my asthma medicine. For most of my life I only took albuterol, and was taking my rescue inhaler and a nebulizer several times a day (14 to 25 for the inhaler, twice a day for the nebulizer). My blood pressure was high, my heart racing and my stress became worse as they fed into one another. As a consequence, I have a thinner spot of hair in the back, and down the middle.
This makes me unbearable uncomfortable. I know it's stupid and vain, but I feel like I'm opening myself up to further attacks based on these sorts of petty things. My hair has been growing back since changing my asthma medication and relaxing more, but it's a slow process. For an example of this, my headshot on this site is from late 2012, and in any recent shoot I've done I always wear my Irish knit hat or a Red Sox cap. There, I've admitted it.
You might think "Well, there's a lot of people out there who don't use actual videos and just speak over images or stream a podcast, try that if you're too picky about your body image!" I hate to break it to you, but of all the things I hate about myself, I hate my voice the most.
I have this odd vocal range. I can sing baritone without any difficulty, but my speaking voice is noticeably that of a tenor. And not just any tenor, but the sort of tenor that has some shrill articulations that make many telemarketers think I'm a woman when I clumsily answer the phone to their hijacked numbers. (And I am all woman and all man. Two spirits!) Every time I hear my voice in a recording, I intentionally use effects in Ableton Live or with the iZotope Nectar plugin to lower its pitch. It's that embarrassing to me!
In addition, I have a speech impediment. I stutter like Bill in Stephen King's It when I get nervous, and when I'm recording video or audio of myself, oh boy am I at the mercy of Pennywise! I often hold over vowels or consonants like "s" while repeating any sounds with a "p," "t," or "b" in them.
However, I don't have to worry about any of this when I'm writing. I have no obligations to try to capture my disgusting figure before the camcorder, and there is no possibility of me stammering. This reduces the need for excessive jump cuts, transitions and other forms of video editing just to share a short anecdote or tutorial. Never mind that it's much easier to just sit down and write over setting up camera equipment, plugging the microphones into the camcorder, adjusting the lighting, iris, and sound to be presentable for the shoot, and then all the editing. This includes colour correction, audio mixing and mastering and much more beyond jump cuts and any wacky filters to emulate whatever gaming channel is popular on YouTube at the moment.
In writing, I am in control. I am confident and I am free to express myself without excessive work in postproduction, or my personal hatred of my horrible body. I have honestly considered a podcast, but am currently missing additional people to collaborate with. That would make recording my voice so much easier if working with friends or colleagues and provide more entertainment while discussing various topics. While there are solo podcasts out there, it's just not something I can mentally or physically do right now. I mean, look at this, I just wrote an entire essay on why I hate myself!
I shouldn't do that. I should end this on a high note like, "I feel awesome no matter what random people say!" But, we all know that's not going to happen. Let it end like this.
Ho. Ho. Ho. Fuck.
Gods, I just want 2018 to end.
This year, without a doubt, has been one of the most challenging I have faced in my life, and comes in around only second to 2004. For the past 12 months I have enjoyed:
It should come without surprise that the Chelmsford Police are now under a massive state and federal investigation, not only for what I have experienced, but for several alleged instances of egregious misconduct throughout the department occurring over the past several years. Similar scrutiny plagues much of the northern communities of Middlesex County, where Chelmsford is located. Maybe this is just what happens in a state where heroin runs rampant and oversight beyond Boston is little.
Below are his messages. I have only blocked the names of the innocent parties whom he had made direct threats of violence and kidnapping to. His official Town of Chelmsford email was clearly used to log into the comments section, and a VPN changing his location to Paris, France was also incorporated in a weak attempt at hiding his identity. Working with my host, I was able to find this officer's real IP address as the VPN he used was a free, run of the mill, and poorly constructed proxy website. The real IP address shows that these messages were sent directly from a computer inside the Chelmsford Police Station.
Warning! These messages contain highly offensive, graphic and racist language targeting my Jewish ancestry. I am only choosing to show this as evidence against these crooked cops:
Apparently, this guy can't be too good at his job if he doesn't realize that I'm Canadian.
I have closed all comments on my site indefinitely to prevent any future occurrences of harassment.
Now that I am finally safe, I have resumed working in public as a musician and artist, but have made it a point to never perform in or around that corridor of Massachusetts for as long as I live. I will go to Boston, Worcester and Springfield, but I will never perform or show a gallery in any North Middlesex city, town, or hovel. That region is to me what Innsmouth is to the Cthulhu mythos. In fact, it'd probably be safer for me to work with the fish people and cultists of Innsmouth than it would be to make an appearance in that county.
Before I end this article, I must share some very important information with you:
I hope my story can help others find the strength needed to overcome whatever challenges you are facing. Please remember that you are loved and take care of yourselves this holiday season, and all year long.
I've been keeping very low profile lately, going so far as to cancel all performances and galleries in much of the Northeast US for the majority of the year. I had written a post a few months ago explaining my absence, but had to remove it. The reason being that I have been the victim of a violent stalking incident that has only just stopped in the past four weeks. This is my story.
Originally posted 8 August, 2018:
I have been rather quiet lately on the site, and I want to write to explain what has been going on.
Beginning in December of 2017, I have been dealing with perpetual, organized harassment directed at myself, my family and my friends. This is not internet trolling or junk comments on a website. This is criminal harassment, stalking, and assault and battery. I am actively involved in a court case regarding this matter and as a result, I will only share the details that I can.
On 7 December, the local police came to my home and demanded to speak to my sister. My sister Hannah passed away on 3 May, 2004 so it was an incredible shock to be hearing this from police officers, never mind that it was in the midst of the holidays when her passing weighs heavily on me no matter how much time has gone by. The reason for the police response, I was told, was that my sister was making threats to my former high school sweetheart over Facebook, and that I had to contact the police in Chelmsford, Massachusetts to figure out what was going on.
I have not spoken to nor seen that ex-girlfriend since December of 2004. I called to wish her a Happy Christmas and her father answered, where he proceeded to call me an anti-Semitic slur word and threatened to outright murder me if I called again. That was the end of that relationship and any mutual friendships it bore.
I explained to the officers that Hannah had passed away over a decade ago, and that she never had a Facebook account because it didn’t really exist back then. She didn’t even have a MySpace page as those were fairly new at the time of her passing. The officers were very shocked that this was going on, and further informed me that they had little information other than that the Chelmsford Police had been trying to contact me all day.
I never once received a call from the Chelmsford Police that day, or anyone for that matter, meaning someone in that department was lying.
To solve this mystery, I called the Chelmsford station. I spoke to an “officer” after a long time on hold who never identified himself by name, and refused to give me his badge number when asked. He told me to stop bothering people on Facebook, and to cut out the pranks. I informed him that my sister had no Facebook and I had no means of making any such pranks using the site as I seldom use it anymore and, at the time of the incident, my account was deactivated and had been deactivated for several months while I was upgrading my studio computer system and had no time for social media nonsense.
He refused to listen to me so I told him, very bluntly, to inform my ex to leave me alone and to never bother with myself or my family again. The officer nonchalantly agreed and hung up, seemingly irked that I had him figured out as causing trouble on her behalf.
My high school ex-girlfriend, a woman whom I have not seen nor spoken to in (then) 13 years, and her mother made a false report at their local police department just to harass and upset my family. The officer was talking to me off the record, as a favour, which would explain his failure to provide his own name, and why I couldn't hear the usual beeping noises of a police phone system recording the conversation.
This woman has shown up from time to time online via this website and the social media pages I had in the past since late August of 2011. She always would appear out of the blue, asking to be friends again and when I refused, she would leave a stream of poorly spelled threats, anti-Semitic and homophobic slurs, and comments directed at my closest friends and relatives.
Each year in May and again in the November and December holidays, times when I was (and am) at my emotional weakest, she would reappear with new names, new email addresses and new social media accounts just to torment me. Her mother got involved in it, and eventually, so did her husband.
What began as an online nuisance became a real world threat last December. This is a woman who was willing to lie to the police and openly falsify police reports in order to attack me, and to attack my friends and family. If she was capable of this, and if the police were that willing to side with her just because she "knows so-and-so at the station,” it put my entire public life in jeopardy.
Just as I’m recovering from this latest reappearance, the phone calls started. I would receive dozens of calls a day, all in my ex’s name on caller ID. One day she called my cellphone 57 times in a single hour. Every day she called. She called my cell, my landline, my parents’ house and their cell phones. So far, I have received over 500 phone calls from her, and they continue to come each day. In addition, her best friend, the mutual friend who had set us up back in high school, has also been involved in calling myself and my family. This mutual friend’s father, who is (or was) a police sergeant, has also been calling which is extremely unnerving.
They never leave a message. They almost always hang up if the call is answered. If they don’t hang up they just shout slurs into the phone. Their primary phone numbers have been blocked since December and they still call, knowing that the blocked call message is enough to cause aggravation. When the primary numbers don't get through, they use a new, unblocked, cellphone to call from.
Last month, my family and I hired an attorney to handle this ongoing situation. That is all I can say about that for now. The calls are still coming in, and just today they called me four times and my parents three times.
I have been afraid of leaving my house because of their connection to the police. I fear that if I am out performing live, they will harass the venue or call the police to the location to arrest me in front of an audience on counterfeit charges. They have used these ties in the past in order to issue a false arrest warrant on my best friend, which was dropped after the police in her area realized it wasn’t authorized by a living judge (it was “signed” by a long deceased judge from Kansas).
For this reason, I have kept a low profile online. I normally see and can now expect an uptick in harassing, incessant phone calls after posting this. Every new post I’ve made since last December results in such activity.
I can only hope that the justice system hasn’t eroded completely, and that I can bring charges against this woman and receive a restraining order against her for my own protection.
Shortly after posting this, I began receiving threatening calls from a man claiming to be a police officer in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Things escalated further when two men claiming to be from the FBI came to my home. They had no badges, and did not provide names. The only thing they were interested in was the personal information of friends of mine (addresses, when I last spoke to them) which I did not provide to them before demanding that they leave my property.
My attorney called just as these men were leaving to go over the Cease and Desist notice to be issued to my stalker and her family, and a few weeks later it was mailed to them. They immediately retaliated by having the Chelmsford Police Department call my house (their number is permanently blocked due to this harassment) over Labour Day weekend, even sending the local authorities to my property. I showed them the court notice and they left it at that, knowing that they were being played and that my ex was bypassing the court order by establishing indirect contact using the Chelmsford PD for her illegal gain.
The calls started again after that, pushing the number to around 900 in total.
My stalker then hired a relative of hers in New Hampshire, near the Canadian border, claiming to be an attorney (I have never found his name in the Bar Association or any legal records to this day) who then proceeded to slander my name by publicly proclaiming myself and my family to be a danger to society. At the same time, my stalker began sending me death threats where she stated she would shoot me on sight if I left my house.
She sent several similar threats to friends and family across Canada and the United States.
This resulted in many of my closest friends discontinuing contact with me, leaving me more alone than I've ever been.
I contemplated suicide during the height of this period and was nearly hospitalized for that, for incredibly high blood pressure (that was measured at 148/102) and frequent asthma attacks.
Then all of a sudden the girl who set my ex and I up back in high school emailed me using a Tor address, and confessed to being an instigator in this entire seven year ordeal. She claimed to have moved to Europe so she felt that there was nothing we could do legally in response to her actions.
Everything stopped after that.
Some of my friends and relatives who did receive death threats from my stalker did end up pressing charges and there are now warrants for her arrest in the states of California, Pennsylvania and Washington, and in the province of British Columbia.
Right now I am cautiously optimistic that I can advertise, perform and host galleries again. I have no idea if this woman is in police custody and fear searching for it as she is crazy enough to use that against me.
For now, I'm posting this update and hopefully can return to a normal life.