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Talking to my public diary: Misery and danger

By Ion Saliu, Dangerously At-Large

About blogs, misery, danger, mice, wild trees, home, life, landlord.

Written on November 25, 2004 — last update December 6, 2004.

Forever glorious be your name, o wise writer, for it proves beyond suffering the necessity of life!

This is Thanksgiving Day in America, I know. I am thankful, indeed. There are two things I am profoundly and sincerely thankful for. One, for the incredibly near impossible probability of being life, especially being a human. Two, for contributing to the incredibly near impossible probability by giving life to a special human, my daughter Ami.

But this day of thankfulness was preceded by misery in danger. Thankfully, I am still part of life. Gratefully, I did not cause stoppage of life for any human being. I only brought closure to life of mice (and that includes a three-button mouse).

Sometime in 2003 I wrote about some of my housing problems. I took the problems in stride. The rent was abruptly and unwarrantedly increased. A reasonable jump in the quality of housing is expected, is it not? For me, however, things went worse. Leak, leak, leak! The plumber had told me that the bathroom needed a radical change in plumbing. He had told me that the advice was not business driven, and I agreed with him. He had also told me that he would not do business with me directly, because I was not the owner of the house. Sounds like the law.

The landlord never wanted to hear about that problem. I don't know exactly, but some financial problems struck him. He has not been employed since 2003. It's not my business to inquire about such things. I only wanted plumbing repairs in my apartment. That has not happened to this day. But there is more. Wild trees started to grow luxuriously like in a jungle. The landlord has never cared about that a tiny bit. Even a police officer came over once to call the landlord to court. I think it was about my legal complaint filed on my behalf by free legal services. (My income does not provide enough to take legal action on my own.) “So, he disappears from home”, the officer echoed my information. “But before running away he should do some landscaping around here…” If you see it, you would wonder how on earth that house still stands! Looks like those wild ash-trees and maples push the building up, almost uprooting it (no pun intended)! The wilderness is not that bad around my apartment, but still bad. I know it's the obligation of the landlord, not of the tenant, to care for the housing facility. I don't even have the necessary tools to landscape. I only break, barehanded, the wild trees that threaten my windows from time to time. Such danger is imminent twice a year.

I share a common hall with the landlord. He never ever cleaned it up. I have done it probably fifty times — he has never. I've never entered his house, except for the basement. I need to go to the basement in order to turn on/off the running water in my apartment. Leak, leak, leak, you know. The basement is the epitome of misery. He never cleans it up. I doubt he has ever cleaned up his house. I've never heard a vacuum cleaner in that place. Actually, he, the owner, does not have garbage collection service. Not because he doesn't have any garbage. Oh, no, there is a lot of garbage around him; the garbage of his own creation. We all create garbage; but we must take care of our own garbage. The b****** uses the garbage collection service I pay for. Not only he uses it, he also abuses it. I was about to have the service cancelled because the sucker threw in the garbage cart all kinds of items not accepted, especially wild tree branches.

How others live is not my business, as long as it doesn't cause me harm. Besides the wild trees, there are mice as well. I noticed the mice for the first time in the summer of 2004. We talking years here. I have occupied this apartment since 1996. I had never seen that problem at any time before. The problem (mice infestation) was in the basement. The landlord simply dropped the mice in a bucket he had set under the faucets of the pipes providing running water for my apartment. I was so disgusted — and shocked — that I filed a multiple complaint with government agencies at every level. I submitted the same complaint to government agencies at the township level, county, state, and federal. That's a comprehensive enumeration of the government structure in the United States — the epitome of governance.

I did receive response to my complaint. I was even approved for free legal action on my behalf ('Legal Services'). I am not sure, but chances are legal action was initiated. I think a deputy sheriff visited this place to serve a court notice. I signed for the envelope once. It read 'civil action'. I assumed it was the legal action on my behalf.

I was asked a very good question by government representatives: Why didn't I move to another place? Easier said than done. For one, I don't have a good credit. Secondly, I didn't have enough money to move to another apartment. I was asked to lease for one year on two occasions. That was kind of much too much for my pocket. I thought everything out. I came to the conclusion that my best chance was to move to Atlantic City and become a professional gambler. I wrote about that in this article: “The Occult Science Of Gambling”. Perhaps I was naïve; or, just insufficiently informed. It's very hard to find housing in Atlantic City. Without housing in Atlantic City, professional gambling is simply a chimera. First and foremost, one must be well rested before performing a demanding activity. Then, one must have good skills, plus a good bankroll.

So, I came back from Atlantic City a bit disappointed. I also realized, somehow with a delay, that I had a scientific mission. Since there is no alternative but be a discoverer, I discovered an important discovery in theory of probability. I emphatically named it 'Ion Saliu's Paradox of N Trials'. I love to emphasize the truth sometimes and I am not apologetic about that. Said Muhammad Ali, the great one: 'It ain't bragging if you back it”. Yep. False modesty is far worse than hiding the truth fearing the perception of bragging. You know what I mean. If it's true, tell the truth, even at the price of being beheaded or being covered by the disgusting kisses of adulation.

I get absorbed in my endeavors. I carry them out for the selfish purpose of glory combined with the profound desire to be good to humanity. I know I am good if I am good to many others.

You know what bothers me most? I feel guilty. It's me who told this b****** (the landlord) about this house. I told him it was for sale. He jumped immediately. He said he wanted to buy the house badly, especially because I was a renter. He even said: “I know I can always count on you and your rent!” I should have known better. The b****** and I went to the same church — Fairfield Mennonite. One Sunday at the church, while having the traditional Bob coffee, the future landlord told me that he went to that church because people paid a scholarship for his daughter. That should have been a strong sign of character. Why didn't I stay away from such a character? You guessed it right. He didn't attend the church anymore after his daughter's graduation. It was soon after graduation that he abandoned the church.

I did abandon church attending myself, but for different reasons. I explained how I came to abandon the idea of god altogether. It's mathematics, it's formula-based. I am sorry to all the nice people at that church. Some realized what a difficult situation I was in. I tried a few times to go to church, even if I didn't believe in the divine anymore. I tried to make believe that the church service was a form of meditation. The music was nice, too. It didn't work — and I mean it physiologically. My adverse reaction was so strong, that I would sneeze uninterruptedly! It was embarrassing for me and unbearable for others. My sneezing stopped as soon as I left the place. I made serious attempts to go back to the church, because I wanted to see some people again. I miss them. I start sneezing as soon as think about it. It's not paradoxical. I really am a good person. I just can't make committal personal relations. My ego is absorbed with “higher” goals. I might be preoccupied more with the “after-life” than life itself. After-life as in what remains after my life. Still not philosophically clear. I pointblank mean that I care very much that people remember me for a longtime after my death. You know, kind like that sharp-tongued guy named Socrates. What a great one-name he is! People will remember him forever, although he was several times exposed to obliteration from remembrance! O, my, he barely escaped execution one night! Had he been executed that night, we would not use today the great name Socrates. Life is always a matter of probability, as Marquis de Laplace put it.

But I am not good to mice. Not good to insects, either. Evolution made all creatures destroy all possible destroyers. All of a sudden, I realized my apartment had mice! There had been no signs whatsoever before my trip to Atlantic City. How did it happen? My place seems to be sealed. I even set traps when I left for a few days. Never seen signs of mice. I did grow a suspicion immediately. Yep. The landlord. But I always apply this path of living: “Trust, but verify!” I lived a miserable fortnight. I set mice traps and bags of mice poison all over my apartment. I was so disgusted that I could barely eat. Matter of fact, I had to drink heavily in order to overcome my disgust. I had also a hard time sleeping. Every little noise was interpreted by my Fear_Survival as a mouse attack. Believe me, even a computer mouse failed me! Surprisingly, the replacement mouse had a short tail, I mean cord! Even more surprisingly, Wal-Mart-China Inc. didn't have mouse extension cords!

In two weeks the mice problem was solved. I verified thoroughly. I still kept traps at strategic points, especially points of entrance to my apartment. Moreover, I placed mice poison in the basement (belonging to the landlord, mind you). You know what? The landlord did take some action. He picked up the bags I paid for. He probably placed them in his house! What a sucker! The mice poison I bought is quite effective, but very cheap! I also placed traps and poison outside my apartment. One week passed…and no signs of mice. Not even outside my apartment. It was a solid conclusion. All mice infestation originated in the house (including the basement) of the landlord. I became convinced that he also “planted” mice in my apartment while I was away. It was in revenge to my housing complaint — it included complaining about mice. I just said “Let it be”! I didn't want to react. In fact, I was glad I had solved a nasty problem. I expressed my feeling in a cheerful Thanksgiving message to my daughter.

Unfortunately, my happiness was short-lived! I saw a mouse that night! How did it get there, near my fridge? How could it escape all the traps? Flying? I shouted so loudly, that I was the only creature around not scared. I screamed so loudly that the walls of my apartment showed frightened faces like we see in the clouds sometimes. I can't see those figures anymore. They disappeared, for sure. Another effect of my screaming was the immediate departure of the landlord. He rushed out of his house just seconds after he heard my first scream. I had been out of my place for a couple of hours. That's when he planted a mouse that turned out to be sick (poisoned, of course). I chased the mouse for a while, but couldn't kill it. I found it dead overnight, in my living room. It was poisoned, but not in my place to begin with.

The landlord seemingly feared my screaming. He realized that I figured out the origin of the mice in my place. He doesn't know nothing about Darwin, for sure. But his instincts made him realize that evolution can be dangerous, regardless of species. People, I regret for getting so mad. I got mad unlike any other moment in my life. I threw a lot of objects that belong to nobody in the common hall. I don't know why the landlord kept all those unsighted boxes in our common hall. But, then again, he has never swept the place, not even for one minute! I just hope I didn't scare my innocent and very nice neighbors. I am a human who strongly believes that humans must not do harm to other humans.

Self-defense is not harm, however. I mean, if you find another person dropping mice in your home — how would you react? Fortunately, no other human was around me the night of November 24, 2004. But there are many things I threw around — and they are still there. I think I did a wise thing. I called 911 — the emergency phone number in the United States. (I write for the world, you know.) I gave some information, but after drinking seriously to calm myself down and be able to sleep. I think they realized there was danger of tragedy. They might have called the landlord (wherever he was, probably at his father's) and told him to stay there. The emergency service called me back twice — while the volume of my answering machine was off. I wanted to sleep. I did sleep. Then I continued writing this blog. I also sent emails to the government agencies I had complained to about my housing.

Things might get better, one hopes.

Things might get worse, however.

I want to transfer to my daughter the rights to my web site. It doesn't mean this web site died. Back in September 2004, my web site was out of service for a couple of days. There has always been an issue with my payments. I send them accordingly, but the administrator is a youngster. He is not that thorough in all administrative things. Anyway, the problem was fixed after a few days. Nonetheless, I witnessed intense hatred towards me. There was a thread in a public message board dedicated to the death of my web site! Some did cheer the disappearance of my site! For others, however, it was a sad event. It was only then, when it was no more, that they realized how useful my website was! So, for those who value my efforts, rest assured that I don't give up easily. My effort is worthy the cause; I do it also for the benefit of my fellow humans.

I know, it's surprising to me as well. How can I possibly do all those things I have done? You know, ideas, theories, software… The circumstances I have lived under never seemed too favorable. The thing is I am probably good at channeling my energies (we all possess several energies, some positive, some negative). On the other hand, I know I am stymied on my way to other forms of success, most notably financial and personal. You, honest one, now realize what happens to all those emails asking me all kind of questions, and for all kinds of favors? How would you do, o sincere one?

Ion Saliu,
Doctor in Occult Science of Danger

A blog about misery, danger, mice, wild trees, home, life, landlord.

I'm sorry! Everybody, personally, please forgive my message of November 24. I didn't know I did it — click on 'Reply to all' button.

Thank you for your responses. No, it's not a big deal. Everybody involved has all the hairs intact. The worst I can do is scream. It happens very rarely, for unspeakable reasons. Such as mice invasions. I resort to drinking sometimes when I can't otherwise overcome disgust. It diffuses explosions, too. Of course, good wine is also an engine of creativity. Wine created philosophy, if you remember my early post of winot.

I informed the authorities of the unpleasant event. That's what I wanted to do when I sent my email. It was meant for the government only. Some agencies checked with me immediately. There was no problem, there will be no problem. Well, I guess I made too much noise. I prefer the walk of silence, but looks like sometimes I stampede to a destination.

The response of silence might not be the best human response. If we think “Well, it's not too bad right now. Let's wait and see what happens” — that could lead to worse. It all builds up. If the pot is covered, even small increases in temperature reach a boiling point. Tension is always the result of a build-up. It's better to send a clear and firm message right at the beginning of the game. Humans respect clarity and firmness a lot more than intelligence, call it brightness. I am talking about the twenty-first century. I know, not long ago (and even today) clarity and firmness not only lead to loss, but also loss of one's life. So, at the end of the twentieth century, I should have told the landlord clearly and firmly that using my garbage service was not appropriate. I felt embarrassed to hear him beg me for that little thing. I should have told him, with no offence in my voice, that he was expected to pay for the garbage service for both of us. But, hey, I should have said, I create my own garbage, so let's pay for it 50-50! Fair and square. Silence always leads to abuse.


The blog about misery, danger, mice, wild trees, home, life, landlord.


I had a person-to-person verbal exchange with the landlord, today, November 26, 2004. It started just before 4:51 PM. He started in anger. Surprised? I asked him. The authorities know well about it, I told him. He wanted to call them. I knew he tried to cheat me — finding out about all the authorities I had informed. He declined calling them because it might have been late. We both looked at one of my clocks: It was exactly 4:51 PM. To make a one-hour story short: He was in total denial. He simply denied everything. He didn't know nothing about the mice. He didn't know about the bucket in his basement (the one that himself set down there). He tried to play it tough in the beginning. He asked me angrily to leave my apartment immediately. I reminded him of the date. I still have the right to be here until December 15, 2004. I kept my cool. I only monitored carefully his moves. He kept acceptably cool throughout. But I was amazed how shamelessly he could lie. He even denied that the common hall existed! It's the only way he uses for in or out his place. But he said he used something that was not feasible — the jungle surrounding his place. He denied also that the garbage collector refused to pick up my trash one week. I know why they rejected my trash cart. My cart was full the morning it should have been empty. I saw one of my plastic bags on the road, near the next house. I knew right away it was one of the bags with mice. I am afraid the garbage collectors were scared when the mice noise met them at the opening of the cart. Sorry, pals! The landlord realized one of his most stupid lies. He was the one who picked the loose garbage bag and dropped it in the cart. He admitted that, yes, he remembered there was an incident regarding my garbage pick-up!

He cooled down significantly. I asked him to call the authorities. I told him I had already brought the matter to the attention of the authorities. He stopped the conversation abruptly, pretending a phone call. I am not sure he has a phone. He didn't want to lie beyond shameless lying. He ended up being very conciliatory. He started out by saying that I had a serious behavioral problem because I was disgusted with mice. But he repeated this kind of advice to me: “Learn to live with mice! Just put mousetraps! There are people who keep mice as pets! I have always lived in homes with mice! What's the problem?” He wanted to emphasize that: My reaction to mice was crazy. Disliking mice is insane!

He lied throughout. He pretended not to know about the legal action against him initiated on my behalf. He pretended he didn't know anything. He asked why I didn't tell him about the mice(?) He said he had no idea about the problem (?) What bucket? Of course, he knew everything. Most likely, he had already read this material as soon as I posted it…

Of course, I cleaned up the mess I created. I placed back all those junk boxes he strongly stated were his stuff. I know it is the garbage of the lady who lived in the landlord's place before he moved in. Anyway, I keep an open eye all the time now, nighttime included. I just want to be safe from patrupedded or bipedded attacks. Traps might not work all the time.


The Science of Living Equals Falling, Failing, Always Rising Again.

Addendum — December 6, 2004.

I was sick in bed for a few days. I recovered very well. I can eat and sleep well, without having a drop of alcohol. I succeeded again to solve the rodent problem. No more mice, no more signs of mice in almost two weeks now. Of course, nobody had the chance — or dared — to drop mice in my hou' again!

It's sad that FORCE gets a whole lot more respect than intelligence or well-mannered behavior. Worse, force beats righteousness hands-down in any contest — except for well-fought wars of self-defense. Sadly, nice behavior and generosity are treated as weakness and stupidity. I have made changes to my behavior accordingly. That change includes also the generosity I displayed over the Internet. No more free lottery software. No more tutoring as if I were a nanny to be had. Not to mention that I would kick back forcefully, should anyone treat me as a servant again! (Matter of fact, some offenders already lost their email accounts on the grounds of spamming! Thanks, but you don't even need to wish me well — it's the default!) The benefits have already started to show up in my life. My software, THE software of my own, is more powerful; more winning strategies come to life more clearly…

Doctor in Occult Science of Falling_Failing_AlwaysRisingAgain

The Science of Living Equals Falling, Failing, Always Rising Again. (Confucius)

The Science of Living: Falling, Failing, Always Rising Again.

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Read one of Ion Saliu's real blogs. About living, home, misery, danger, mice and wild trees. We got to live, we must live without doing harm to other humans.

Talking to my public diary: Misery and danger.

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