The Amusement Of Small Minds.

Once you come to the attention of the 'state' it would seem that they hang around you.
Like a millstone, a bad smell, or a starstruck kid.

The psychopathology of the actors - dare I say agents? - in the pursuit of futility, the pursuit for pursuit's sake, could keep an army of psychiatrists uselessly employed for decades.

Take my experiences. No really, listen to this.

I was surrounded by such horror at the turn of the 90's that I wanted to draw attention to myself; I actually wanted to show the world what scum lived among us as allegedly human beings, so to inform and so to protect.

In the end I protected myself; in the end I escaped.

But when I started, yet again, from zero, I found myself wondering if I had attracted any attention during my small-chip adventure. I didn't know.
But one thing followed another, and I found myself worried all the time about my friends and family.

Sure enough, the threats - real threats - appeared to invest my paranoia with a flavour of reality.
This and this alone was all it took to drive me mad.

Now.
Every so often, something nasty appears in the (forlorn) hope of keeping me that way.
And each time it does, I get a glimpse of the truth.
1999 - I badly wanted to go to North America. Sorry, said the Co-op shop assistant at the local airport, we've run out of insurance forms.
'Please wait' said a recording of my employer's voice on the phone when I rang Manchester Airport. Then the line went dead.

You get the picture? I'm beginning to.
When I got back from North America(the plane going was delayed while two people came on board to inspect my passport - just mine), within two weeks there were three police cars in the street. They arrested me under the mental health act, presumably because the plan estimated I'd be 'mad' by then.

Forward to 2013; I took another trip to Canada. Never mind the outrageously evil look I got from the little man at the airport and a few other things I noticed, not that I give a damn any more.
No.
Last night my twitter tweets went down well with actual MP's and were favourited by the local press.
This morning my landline was busier than a Menwith Hill secret conference; when trying to ring out, I heard an American voice telling me the number was unavailable, through all the distortion.

Of course, the British now operate under a strict legal framework, as do the Americans, which is why they do each other's spying for them.

What I want to know is this: what do these demented obsessives hope to gain and/or learn?