The Amnesia Memoirs and Diaries
December 1994 -

Mon. 12.12: Oh now I've got it why they prevent me from working! It's to put me in the situation against which my father warned me, that is to live on my capital, and thereby have an excuse to rip me off, as if I didn't work out of laziness and because of this moral defect. They fulfill their own prophecy, but anyway my father's letter is not a valid document because it has no legal value on its face and because no matter what a child has a right to his parents estate.

By preventing me from working, they killed two birds with one stone: One, they prevented me from taking root here and made it easy for me to leave and give up my law-suit, second they realize the conditions which my father disapproved of, trying to make it look like it's my fault.

Also the reason why my mother tortured me about not working is to make believe that she doesn't know the contents of my correspondence with Meykuchel, the director of the Aide Judiciaire in Evreux. It's a denial of her association with him, all the more vehement since my letters to him were desperate and that I mentioned to him that I was considering suicide.

The more I think about it the better I see that intensifying the destruction of my work along with all the other attacks on myself, including my personal injury lawsuit, was aimed at pushing me to commit suicide. I had understood that several years ago, but in the middle of the situation I was unable to see the whole picture.

But first there was my lawyer telling me that if I told the truth the joury would believe that I had attempted suicide. That made a deep psychic injury and sowed doub in me, and triggered the partial amnesia about exactly what happened between the light turning green and the impact.

Next there was the fact that I refused to talk to my father although I knew it must be the last opportunity. I was afraid that his dying words to me would be a put down that I would never forget and that might push me over the edge. That's why I declined to talk to him.

On our way to Switzerland with mother, the only touristic stop that we made was at le "Pont de l'Abme", where she told me that she admired people who had the guts to commit suicide. I said that I had contemplated suicide several times in my life but that what held me back was the thought that between the act that resulted in death and the actual death, there might be a lapse of time during which everything would become clear but it would be too late.

This was particularly true under the circumstances, since the drop under the bridge looked like 200 feet. I would have had a lot of time to see the light. It was my way of saying "thanks but no, thanks". I took some photographs.

Then there was the hurtful behavior of everybody I had a relationship with that contributed to undermine my will to live. All this to make me believe that there was something about me that made people behave that way, that there was no way anybody could love me or at least respect me as a human being.

Yes, my suicide was the perfect cover-up, and my mother spared no effort to achieve this goal. That's why she held back Meykuchel. When I told him I was considering suicide, she thought her big chance was at hand and she advised him to torture me with erratic and duplicate mail and suspicious attitude. That's why she denied so vehemently knowing him, even knowing his name. Because I was considering suicide and she kept him from helping me.

Sat. 12.17: Now I know that Mle Danger has betrayed me. It was not by chance that she was unavailable precisely the week after I sent her the telephone conversation tapes by Express mail. It's only after I had sent them that I realized that if the diskettes in the back of my drawer had been found, then she must have been contacted by the enemy. Particularly since, after I called her in early july, I wrote that if the French IRS was after my mother, I was saved.

Fortunately I had had the foresight to send her only something I knew my enemy already had. Since the transcripts of the telephone conversations are in the text of my diary, it's easy for them to conclude that I'm taping our conversations. And the notice of claim to the Secretary of State and the TA, I know they already have a copy of it. So I must pretend that I don't know that she has turned against me and listen to her good advice and do exactly the opposite.

Oh it's so excruciating for the mind and the heart to get involved in the endless trickeries of intelligence. I had never meant to spend myself on that but obviously reality mandates that I should deal with it. Now I understand better what Churchill meant when he said that intelligence was "a riddle wrapped in a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

So it might be that the virus in my computer was the riddle, the electronic theft of my diary the mystery, and the fact that some sophisticated apparatus registers every word I write at the time I write it the enigma.

What makes me think about the third wrapping is the fact that Judge Lippmann's behavior on December first was drastically different from what it was on September first, and I drew the conclusion that he must have had knowledge of what I wrote about the Sept. 1st oral argument after my electronic diary was stolen. But I checked today the contents of the duplicates which I had hidden behind my underwear drawer and the update was no later than August 31st. So how could he know what I had written about him? And if he didn't know, how come that on Dec. 1st, he wasn't wearing his robe and he avoided looking at me, after I had described in the september file how he looked and behaved?

There used to be in France, since the early times of railway, some enameled signs at little crossings in the countryside where my maternal grandparents lived, that showed a man about to be struck by a train while his wife, a baby in her arms, looked in horror from the edge of the crossing. The sign said "Un train peut en cacher un autre!" I had understood this saying applied to the deception going on in the family, and I had trained myself to look for the symmetrical image and became smarter about it. For instance my mother's vehement attacks on the fact that I'm not working were not only to deny that she was interfering with my work, but mostly to deny that she knew about the desperate letters I wrote to Meykuchel. To cast away the accusation of incitation to suicide that her conscience was bothering her with.

But now I have found that the mirror itself is hiding something. The attention is engaged first by the object, then by its reflection, all the better to hide the important fact! So from now on I might as well consider that every word I write is instantly transmitted to the central headquarters in Normandy and the New York branch simultaneously. I might as well start every entry with "Dear Mom, dear Sy". OK. I will. I may have no privacy, but at least I don't have a chip in my brain.


After breaking up with my brother and recovering from the let- down by all the organizations that are supposed to help people in a tight spot, I thought again about the strange reaction of Francois when I had told him my story. From the corner of my eye I could see that his tall and slender body was agitated by extreme nervousness, as if he was dying to take a leak maybe, or as if he was walking on hot coals, because he was almost dancing, raising a leg then the other with the foot against the standing leg. He seemed on the point of fainting when I mentioned the getaway car.

When the cops took me in their car to the 24th Precinct after making the arrest, that night in July 86, I didn't see the two guys perps being led into the station, although I made the complaint in the big front room. Actually I never set my eyes on the driver.

Pat Myers, the assistant D.A., made me cut the chase, the glorious episode of the whole story, entirely out of my testimony, so that no mention was made at all of the driver of the getaway car when I testified in front of the grand jury and later at the trial. In fact, only the guy who took my purse was prosecuted. So the Q&A was like this:
Q: And then when you passed each other on the sidewalk, what did he do?
A: He jumped toward me and grabbed my purse.
Q: So what did you do?
A: I held to the strap but it broke and the guy ran with it across the street.
Q: And did you ever see your purse again?
A: Yes, the police got it and gave me back what was inside.
More than a year after the incident I received a letter from the D.A., Robert Morgenthau dated September 8, 1987, in the matter of
People v. Eddie Santos
Ind. No 9627/86
Dear Ms Pickart:
On August 21, 1987 defendant Eddie Santos pleaded guilty to the crime of attempted robbery in the second degree. He will be sentenced on December 4, 1987.

Your cooperation was very important to the successful prosecution of this case and I would like to thank you on behalf of this Office and the citizens of the community. etc...

As I was totally ignorant of the judicial system, civil and criminal at the time, I attributed my incomprehension to this ignorance. It was odd that the driver of the getaway car had not been prosecuted, and odd that Eddie Santos had pleaded guilty to only attempted robbery, since he and his accomplice had actually fled with my purse.


- Attempt: Section 110 - Attempt to commit a crime.
A person is guilty of an attempt to commit a crime when, with intent to commit a crime, he engages in conduct which tends to effect the commission of the crime.

- Robbery: Section 160 - Robbery is forcible stealing. (...)
Second degree - Section 160.10 - A person is guilty (...) when he forcibly steals property and when:
1. He is aided by another person actually present; or
2. In the course of the commission of the crime or of immediate flight therefrom, he or another participant:
a) causes physical injury to any person who is not a participant; or
b) displays what appears to be a pistol (...) or other firearm.
Robbery in the second degree is a class C felony.

Mulling this over in December 93, I came to the conclusion that this crime had my family behind it, because the cover-up was similar to the cover-up of the attempted murder: make me, the victim, commit perjury. Except that in the robbery, the one who made me do it was a law-enforcement official, Assistant D. A. Pat Myers, not a lawyer in private practice, therefore it did not occur to me to question her acts, and she did not make me say something that was untrue, she just didn't ask the crucial questions. And my family's involvement in this robbery and cover-up would explain my brother's strange behavior when I told him the story!

But now, in July 1999, just four days before being evicted from my apartment with not a friend in the world and not a dollar to my name, I realize the following:
- From the definition of 2nd degree robbery, it can be one of two things, and since 2) did not apply, it could only be that the robber was "aided by another person actually present," i.e. the driver of the getaway car.
- But then how come the driver was not at the trial and was not prosecuted? And the D.A.'s letter shows that the caption of the case was "people v. Eddie Santos", since by definition second degree robbery takes at least two guys? There's an inconsistency there, counselor!

So now that I think about it, could it be that the driver of the getaway car was my brother, which would explain why he was not prosecuted and why I never saw him, and would explain the inconsistency? And Eddie Santos, he didn't look Hispanic at all! He was Caucasian-white with blond hair, like my brother!

Then when my brother spent two years in America in 1980-81, was he "trying to find himself" as he said the purpose of his trip was, of was he laying the groundwork for my assassination by establishing contacts with the underworld in New York?

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