Memoirs »
PICKLE JUICE – Chapter 9
Chapter 12345678910

As soon as he got out of jail, now hopped up on drugs, he met with a nutritionist, a chiropractor, and sought his sixth second opinion to fine tune his psychiatric treatment regimen and identify his physical, mental, emotional and social ailments. “The most significant finding is frontal pole flattening in both studies. Along with decreases in the left temporal lobe (more severe at rest) and both occipital poles, this is suggestive of posttraumatic change. There is bilaterally decreased inferior orbitofrontal activity in both studies. Basal ganglia activity, right more than left, is more intense with concentration. This is accompanied by increased (diffuse and focal) thalamic activity in both studies. Very mild scalloping is noted in both scans.” It may not look like much, but the slightest trauma at an early age can have wide repercussions. It was diagnosed as temporal lobe dysfunction and [early childhood] traumatic brain injury (TBI).

At 39 months old, some older kids were in a circle and Justin wanted to be included. They were jumping over a pipe that a person in the center was spinning, but the toddler only saw legs. He ran over and squeezed between two people and just then, the person to the right jumped in the air and he got smashed in the forehead with the pipe. At a red light on the car ride to the hospital, children in the van ahead of him had turned facing their back window, making faces and laughing. Justin thought they were making fun of him. He felt a cold rush like a waterfall in his head. It was treated as a cut as everybody deluded themselves and assured him he was a “tough kid.”

Dad gave him a desktop computer, monitor, and printer so he didn’t have to buy one; and talked him into applying for social security benefits. A quarter century after the head injury and 800 days after the onset of mental illness, the jailbird wimp had accrued now multiple psychiatric diagnoses, applied for disability coverage, and lulled a further two years going into debt before a favorable decision.
Justin Sandburg 2009 Federal Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2009 New York Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2010 Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2010 Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2012 Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2013 Federal Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2013 California Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2014 Federal Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2014 California Tax Return
Justin Sandburg 2015 Tax Return


During that time, the psychiatrist noted that the medication was optional, a demand Justin made at criminal sentencing. His father said, “we don’t want to give him that option.” Another person began a conversation with, “You’re ill, and there’s nothing I can do for you.” With so many people to please, much of 2012 was spent heavily medicated in limbo. He thought very little and said less, and many compositions would be deleted as unoriginal or nonsensical.

The psychiatrist admitted after a year, “he reported he is [still] unable to focus and concentrate and his overall function has further deteriorated due to medications.” “He is currently on medications that affect his work related activities; medications which further affect his focus and concentration.”

at age 15, I overexercised a dog by repeatedly throwing a Frisbee into a pond to fetch–sometimes where she would abort due to fatigue; and before it was known that dogs are in danger and quickly out of breath and that they ever wore life preservers. Those high expectations of those around me fade away when you are no longer at the top of your game.

Doctors have it rough, with their only tools being dangerous medications. One noted that they were treating the disorder, but that people were still dying of complications related to medication. Justin prefers talk therapy. He found that once someone besides himself knew his complaints in life, he felt understood; and that’s the best therapy anyone could ask for.

It wasn’t the first time Justin went into debt. He borrowed $5,000 from his brother to buy a car during his internship. He borrowed $5,000 from his step dad for rent for a semester, when Justin failed to secure a job during school. Then again he borrowed from his mother when his career ended, to pay off his luxury car; and again when he spent all his 401k on pleasure before disability kicked in.

One guy in jail was notorious for throwing himself on me, seizing and accepting every rule I would try to hold him at bay; but him being telepathic, I could never breathe perfectly without him being faster. A greater force asked me what I want to happen to him. I drew an upside down “U” to indicate that he was not welcome. Unfortunately, it actually meant “one level up” so the man was on television after that, constantly at me. I was dancing and jumping around a holding cell one day while waiting to see the judge, in order to keep from being tracked by the aliens; my fists clenched tight to prevent from zapping my authority to a random guard. I had gotten used to crossing one eye nearly all the time–supposedly a way to prevent myself and those around me from being seized. A commercial came on TV where someone said that they would “buy that” referring to what I was thinking, which was [I hope this eye crossing thing works]. From that moment on, it was understood that I had no recourse to being seized. I sat down on the bench emotionally drained. When I was taken out of the cell to go to the courtroom, the guard forced me to open my hands. Any efforts I had made to assure a fair encounter in the courtroom was dashed. After I got out, I convinced myself that it was an unfair possession. I went to a house (with children) and when I was alone, I wondered if the eye crossing thing really did only cross one eye, so I tried it and took a picture in the house. I didn’t really believe that it would endanger the children, as they were already seized like everyone else; but it is only fair to admit that it happened.

Far from repelling the capabilities themselves, Justin suggested a vote to determine who deserves the right of prosecutorial and premium control: Someones sensibly saying sandburgs sentence structure should start speaking a second sound? ‘stead of snarks snatching and selling slippery strength to the most selfish shots–fascism salvaged as the self-ascribed superior supreme soul, surprisingly sans a single secret suffrage said, seen with something on their shoulder, salivating sunken in the shade; supplanted to have “worked hard.” specifically: Pointless stockpiles of mess, slithering thirst, snaring saints, squeezing to snarl, smothering staples, then supposing themselves a savior–selectively sparing yet steadily sucking all to submit to slavery sleuths? Same should still stammer; some season smarmy simpleton superiors supplied screaming stanks. Someone else’s centuries of slavery.

I made a rule with one date that we wouldn’t touch. I thought it was cute, to build up sexual tension; but it was just weird. We met up one night and her friends were dancing. I avoided the dance floor and drank at the bar; and when she didn’t come back, I just left without saying goodbye. I drove home a half hour away crying and intoxicated.

I went to a party with a lot of 21 year olds. Surprisingly, I found them near me almost inciting a conversation. I escaped the scene. One friend introduced me to the hottest 21 year old at the party, and said, “you should fuck her.” Had something changed in the last decade? I sensed a trap and said I was not available, and went to relax by myself on the couch.

More on the swarm, another girl who I had met for five minutes earlier came into the room, sat down on the couch and pet my hair. I told her I was resting. She made contact after the party, and I was really drunk and persuasive, telling her I wanted to make her sweat. She played ignorant, and I realized I was in no condition to flirt with anybody. The silence after that was loud. I went to another party, and when I heard she was coming over, I decided to call it a night. She came into my room and tucked me in, “Do you know who I am?” I did, but I didn’t trust the situation, and didn’t want to harm her by trying anything. The next time I saw her she was wrapped in an over-sized sweatshirt. I told her she was as pretty as always and then avoided her the rest of the party.

Another girl started flirting with me at a bar, and said she was a reporter doing a story on me. I was happy to be around her, but I was too poor and kept asking her friend to buy me drinks. She left and then texted me to let me know where they were, but I decided to drive home very intoxicated. I texted gibberish, had to stop by the side of the road to piss, and made it home safely. The next morning I texted her to see if she wanted to go to the beach together, and she made it out like talking to me was a mistake.

One girl at a bar yelled across the island counter at me, waving hi. She was talking to the people I was sitting next to, but I couldn’t tell. We all engaged in a conversation and decided to get some beer and go back to their place. The girls got pulled over by the police for suspected DUI, and we went after them. I walked up to the scene and the cop ushered me away. I muttered, “why don’t they just leave my friends alone!” Astonishingly, the girl was released immediately. *adds graft to the list of charges*

We got back to the party, and the waving girl just up and showed her tits at the dining room table. Then they were all like, “lets’ get some cocaine.” I suspected once again that their whole reason for being nice to me was to get me in trouble.

It was clear at this point: Every encounter was a trap. I’ve lived long enough to know how rare it is for me to be welcomed immediately in any group. Women would stand around me too closely in the grocery store. I made it a habit to avoid encountering them.

By early 2013, the psychiatric community still claimed “he has poor reality checks and becomes psychotic;” but Justin had already gotten plenty used to that reaction to his ideas about black holes (who’s to determine what chimera is accepted as real or what truth is rejected as unreal?), and so became accustomed to unabashedly welcoming the clairvoyant telepathics; enthusiastically endorsing reference stimuli, even just to have the knowledge he still was not free; invariable to any amount of ruinous pills. He went to pawn shops to find a money clip, cause he didn’t like the bulge from wallets. When he found one he liked, he tried to fit all the cards and money and bent the thing at the store, then left. When he ordered a clip online, it came with such an initial spring force that it was unusable. All of what he knew as real treatment, ironically compounded his isolation from the discounting interpersonal relationships; but desensitized by that point by the readily preferred devastation in the world, he acclimated to and selected quarantine. Dogs would bark, “R.O.T.” in Morse code.

Swollen ankles would come and go, later diagnosed as gout and medically disciplined as having had a lavish diet and not of metabolic change or trying not to pee. They concerned themselves with his diet. “OK, he said, can I find out my blood type to eat right for it?” “No, insurance won’t cover that unless you’re pregnant.” Medication kept him subdued and asleep most of the day, energy many quickly accounted as laziness. He asked for a specific vaccination, and one doctor said, “we only give that to women,” and another said, “you probably already have the virus so we don’t give you the vaccine.” After ten visits of bringing up his skin problem, they said, “oh, I forgot about that.” –forgot about a plague whose origin, spread, and very existence is so secretive that doctors across the country don’t even know about it.

I went to a hospital in late 2014 for an inflamed cyst. I had a very good encounter there a month prior, and felt this cyst was severe. When I arrived, it was different. Everybody had a different attitude, and the doctor on staff reminded me of someone I didn’t like. Nurses twice asked what my level of pain was, and I said it only hurt when touched or brushed up against. The doctor wasted no time doing exactly that. “I can’t fix it. It’s not an STD;” but he wouldn’t say he would extract the hard seed and do an excision on the pore, saying, “I’m not a skin expert. You have an infection. I’m gonna drain the fluid and let it heal on its own.” “It doesn’t heal on its own!” I showed him the document that discusses the invasion. He immediately mentioned the quote at the top, instead of reading my narrative. “Satanic Diaries,” he said with a sinister masked-man confidence. I remember thinking how random the pain on that little boy’s privates in the next curtain over, to have caused his parents to seek a hospital for a look. I should have known it was a bad time and left right then. It reminded me of jail, where attitudes would change in an instant, especially how it was so important for them to seek out private parts–not similar people; the same spirit flowing through each of them. He pressed hard on and squeezed the cyst with no Novocaine, then peeked at my penis too without asking or cause before disrupting the sore again. “You hurt me!” “I’m doing my job–” “The only thing you did is hurt me. I’m leaving.” After initiating the encounter with, “why are you at an emergency room for a longtime illness,” he now threatened the possibility of among other things, death. I put my clothes back on and left. “You’re not going to wait for your paperwork?” a nurse asked. “I wanted to be treated!” The sleep deprived doctor actually accused me “you refused.” I got home, turned on the tv, and a commercial was on of people laughing and singing, “push it. push it good,” seemingly an endless punishment for once trying to help a girlfriend with a sore I caused. I threw up in my mouth several times on the way to the hospital–something that is supposed to be used on someone violating house arrest, not on someone going to the hospital to clear up a persistent, randomly contagious infection. Not just the blister, but the whole surrounding area would be purple the next day from the trauma.

Universality of speech has been used for both good and evil purposes, but strength cannot be whisked away from breathing, nor lost by spitting, nor supporters divvied out like candy, nor retained by licking the floor and eating poo. This is the reason for power to be determined by a careful vote, cast freely with full knowledge, not to be decided by some game between competitors so fast they are living in the future, compared to the breathlessness and blindness of a vulnerable, slow thinking goat just along for the ride–who’s frozen in every way.

At age 8 in 1989, a boy in my class used the built in restroom. When he came out, I blurted something heard at home, “talk about pollution!” The whole class laughed except the boy. In 2007, I built a fire pit in a friend’s backyard, and began burning landscaping debris. The whole street filled up with white smoke, and neighbors went outside to investigate, later demanding we douse the pit. I had called the fire department ahead of time to warn them, per law, but the smoke was billowing.

Global events included the Fukushima tsunami and nuclear plant disaster, where anything Justin suggested to alleviate the radiation backfired. Justin suggested that fire trucks try to fill the nuclear cooling pools instead of salt water dropped from choppers, to mitigate the evaporation and subsequent fallout. Benghazi. Hurricane Sandy tightly swept the East coast. Justin demanded it be steered away, and it stopped and immediately turned directly towards the exclusive harbor and beach homes. The Israeli Prime Minister boasted that the radiation from Japan would be picked up in the wind currents and land across the Californian coast. Many months later, Justin drank 48oz of beer, smoked his daily weed, then got suddenly agitated and suggested the response should have been to extinguish the cause by force, standing by his decision for weeks. He found a spider web at a window, with the spider having strung himself up by his abdomen like a cocoon, hanging in an impossible position to survive. Justin cut him loose. The tragedy at Sandy Hook elementary followed. Later in Japan, Justin would find out that the water that missed the reactant tanks would be very toxic and hard to dispose of, and it might have been better to let it burn out on its own. After a tornado in Texas in May 2013, Justin suggested via text message to himself that storms be steered away from hospitals and schools, and the next day a tornado took out a hospital, injured 240 and killed 24, including seven children at a school in Moore, OK.

Seen only as a string of coincidences, the people teaching him about what the media is all about wouldn’t say his name; they had to get used to him, get everybody else used to the idea of him by maximizing fictional undertakings; they had to wait for permission by governors and city councils to give their concerns ahead of time, and get on the same page to prevent future disunity and unrest; who were in some cases waiting for somebody, anybody, with a more obliging attitude to compete and finish the job. Even Justin would get upset when things went too fast–notably people exposing CIA communication tactics prior to him getting disability coverage–one diagnostic criteria is “thinking you’re being followed.” Social security is a huge controversy because of this. The selfish Justin actually yelled at a very charitable person because they shared knowledge. -When people talk about rise in Social Security, they mean necessary CIA activities on the population. And if you don’t believe that, then you easily agree that Justin is entitled to disability.

There may always be those who say it’s still too much censorship and those who say it’s not enough–both trying to destabilize. He eventually spilled his guts, being a mere outside observer left out the fold and not bound by secretism; but he understands government leaders who wanted to slow jam for their own reasons–in some cases as honorable as to not frighten the masses with too much truth–sympathy of which Justin clearly has none.

So he didn’t stand in the way when the media made him real by spending that interim treating him to every possible reaction to his life story told through celebrities; reminding him of the detailed minutiae of his failed experiences at huge cost and effort; evidencing his existence on the public debate and typifying fair play from ancient pioneers. Readying the masses as well as Justin himself, the years of everything but his name; and they didn’t seem to mind the plethora of scandalous content or the bounties. Who hasn’t gone by another name? And if things ever went sour, they could turn the tables and accuse him of mimicking what he saw on TV, not them to him. There is no standard for the isolation from nobody noticing. And why would they? His mood was altered and he made a scene bashing Mitt Romney for president for months until he was no longer a candidate. It can’t be attributed to medication or alcohol, because sober in jail, Justin tried kicking down the steel cell door on multiple occasions during his incarceration. Not that he didn’t try to alter his own mood. He heard about a method for turning orange peels into alcohol, but didn’t succeed. He began eating them raw anyway.

One guy got meningitis and I got scared to be around him with the scars. Fortunately, we hung out and he gave me some of the best relationship advice. He told me a story about a girl he was on a date with, who eventually demanded, “what, are you gay? You haven’t tried to kiss me once!” He looked at her and said, “I’m not gonna either.” He truly showed the value in getting to know someone before sex. Not that I learned to appreciate people despite their looks; a friend got Lyme disease and his side of his face went numb for months. I was scared to be around him, worried for myself that he was never going to recover. One guy was very overweight, and I would be afraid to be around him because I imagined he would scare people from us more than I do on my own; so I wasn’t a good friend. A co-worker had bugged eyes, and I would feel bad that people similar to myself, would never consider them beautiful on the outside–despite all of them being such genuine people to be nice to a wreck like me. someone was burned badly, and when I got to know her I decided that those scars protected her kind heart from people that were as ugly on the inside as myself. One guy could throw a ball five times as far as I could, but he had weak bones. I would be bothered when we would make accommodations in our plans. One guy had negative locked knees; another played with himself in the cafeteria. One guy had bad body odor; another smelled like manure. children wearing thick glasses–when the person who couldn’t see was myself. Imperfect symmetry or proportioned skulls. I said one kid’s head looked like an alien–just blurted it out without considering how they would feel. Hairy arms; carpet backs. I refused to flirt with a hot chick who actually responded to me online, because I was embarrassed of her receding hairline. I was not a friend in these people’s times of isolation.

Someone backed into my parked car. The police found the person, who offered to repair it themselves. I refused and sued them and their insurance company. A big shot lawyer went to the repair shop where I obtained a quote, and convinced the shop to lower the estimate. I found out ahead of the trial, and obtained two higher quotes, and made the shop write a letter explaining that he knew the whole time that the lower quote was insufficient. I sued for an estimated three days rental car fee, which I never rented. In fact, when I won the case, I didn’t even use the money to repair the car–instead selling it as is and collecting even more money. I had no sympathy for the driver, knowing that they were already in poverty.

You don’t always know what’s gonna come out of your mouth, at the time it comes out–it’s actually harder to control impulses with the pills. One guy was chatting about how he was an agent for famous people. Needing attention, Justin said that he was his own agent. There were secretly dozens of agents and publicists from whom this author siphoned wisdom for free during his awakening. So excited to help, they would use the word he was searching for in his online rants. Justin needed so many lawyers, but he and his vast assumptions thought a talent agent ordered the talent around–when they are meant to advise avenues from legal and social precedents; and begin a list of options when the talent seeks to generate action and stimulate response. People were talking away and not asking him anything. “Do you know how famous I am?!” Nothing. The man of the hour among those friends paid 1100 out of the 1300 dollar check. Justin rebuffed, “Why leave all that work for everyone else?” after eating swordfish and downing glass after glass of expensive table wine.

The egomaniac fought back by obtaining rip offs of films in order to research the people freely researching him. He would see himself in a number of lines from many conflicting characters in many films, with such a deep understanding through wondrous and spectacular and unceasing acceptance, admonishment, lampooning and comradery–to heal and to exhibit for a value-free, unbiased public opinion–who notably failed as the masses confronted media and government with mistrust–themselves wanting to determine what stories were relevant–isolating him further by implicitly suggesting stories that matched his life were irrelevant to society. Many confronted the entertainment industry with hauteur and the sordid characters–each a bit of himself–with scorn.

I stole someone’s laugh.

Just as the entertainment industry separates wisdom among the cast of characters, so does the real world political system not have a single politician that can be universally followed. The leaders are fleeting–gaining support only to leave them endorsing “the rest” of their speeches. This is the classic fallacy of composition, where if part of an individual is true, the whole individual must be true. The ecological fallacy stipulates that individuals are judged by the actions of the group, which makes following any candidate or political party hazardous. Some would disavow his narrative. Some would only shake their heads in inconvenience at every word of it. Others would go silent at the first mention of any of it, while someone who he didn’t consider a friend at all, spent hours listening.

I gave my dad the maximum amount of grief I could, because he was one day late to wishing me a happy birthday. I mocked my mom for explaining a board game too slowly.

Mass media yet succeeded at impartiality when people would react like a textbook to anything associated with mental illness, generally tied to firearm and hostage situations, with rejection and further isolation–preferring to lock everybody out of sight than to cope. By relaying government released news bites, media had no choice but to offer glimpses of what would happen to his portrait if he didn’t cooperate. Impartiality was again achieved when his brother laughed while asking, “how’s the kool-aid (a reference to what children, the mentally ill and inmates are served),” and saying how america should try the Iranian president (one of the many supporters of the paradigm who were ridiculed into oblivion) as a spy and to throw him in jail. Spies? There are people out there who see the future. Their gift is not espionage; they are guardians of the coming of time. Others speak the truth without knowing it; hardly spies. Others reveal the truth at specific times; and still more are gifted to understand as it happens. No, it’s much deeper than trust between countries trying to obtain secret information. And somehow people who are oblivious to the foundations of the positions of these leaders and who they represent, who stood in the line of fire to soften the blow; erroneously conclude they are spies in need of being locked up. Justin thinks journalists should be the ones to vote together on what stories get pressed, with government accounting for delays; the two groups being the ones who investigated and know the most about their societal impact.

In my early teens, I met two dudes on the ski slopes during night skiing. The slopes were vacant so we just skied together. I went up the chairlift with one guy, who was talking shit about his friend: “he’s fat, huh?” So I was like, well, he’s got a few extra pounds. The next run, the other guy came up to me and picked a fight: “I hear you’re calling me fat.” He pushed me to the snow and skied away. I cried and went to the lodge for the night. The scumbag ridiculed his friend just to get me to play along and cause trouble. There’s all kinds, but it was an early lesson in how even childish spy games can test our character.

An older boy would grab my forearm and ram my hand into my own face. He would repeat, “Why are you hitting yourself.” When something is out of your control, it’s funny who you find that will try and make you take responsibility for it.

I set up multiple screen names at age 18, and yelled at my dad without revealing my identity.

Justin grew sad and sturdy, tough and timorous, flat and flagrant–or moreso–as he impatiently awaited the multiple sentences (in every country’s laws) to be decided and carried out before the world would consider what he had to say. It’s far from abridging the freedom of speech. In fact, it’s guaranteeing broadcasting is not forced into speech, which is just as important, while introducing a robust system to ensure people hear only from the emancipated regardless of what they have to say. Imperfect as it were, and deluged by opposition; Justin was slow to swallow, with many elections being decided for the stewards on incomplete principles–yet every idea marketed made the unsaid more worthwhile, and all the hyped anger made his politics more reasonable; and he wasn’t alone. Critically, he was always a laughing stock; but his role in airing his ideas notwithstanding, was essential. Everyone including him wanted someone blameless to do the theory. Were the alleged robbers even crooks if impersonation was flattering in every other aspect of his life? Justin could do a half-way decent job visualizing; but as soon as he did any math, he knew he would be outgunned by so many who could not only match his notation, but could exceed him in every bit of calculus. This important work should be done by professionals. Then, what of his leadership role in the first place? Did shysters still oust and displace since squat was scrawled and signed?

In my teens, I yelled at a horse that got loose and started grazing in somebody else’s field, because I thought that was what I was supposed to do to catch them.

A television anchor admitted of a supporter, “they tortured him.” No good deed went unpunished, and no evil went unrewarded–for a while; and at the first sign of disquiet at injustice, there were calls to remove the justice system entirely. Of gridlock, the American President said on television, “If you can’t do everything, that doesn’t mean you should do nothing…” So still wrestling with pharmaceutical instability (though improved) and the long term effects of his experience; tepidly eschewing (when fit) the scary, intrusive, and/or unbefitting prods depicting other parts of his psychological/physiological condition (paranoia, psychosis); repudiating the selfish, unelected, unauthorized, misplaced, surreptitious, insidious subtleties infecting, exploiting, and oppressing free spirit (control); and struggling himself to uphold a penchant for basic hygiene needs (menticide)(earworm); the once strict voyager decided to attend to the constructive and spent 2013-2014 developing a mathematical and English representation of the science of electromass; and began to compose a Physical derivation to accompany the concept. The long pauses trying to see it were splattered with of moments of giddy excitement at gains, and anxiety soon after as he realized the compounding depth of the task–gaining two steps at a time and losing one. Everything he drew, he was allowed to have that clarity at the time just to get a lead on his enemies; and everything he lacked, he wasn’t meant to remember and perfect and share by himself. His family helped him with the public presentation. The hypothesist hasn’t taken any direct, categorical scientific observation, used any conclusive measuring tools, or utilized any decisive astronomical or elemental data. His entirely theoretical derivation remains unvarnished and this isn’t the whole story (earworm)–comprising: The pro-government political musings (earworm) he holds dear (unsavory); failures tailing a loving family and remaining friends (deterioration, detachment, deserving); features of his coverage of and levels of support for sanity/insanity (inexpert, incomplete, fragmented); the timeless and the unknown (citing his insufficient virtue).

A table of one, he said with a sigh,
there lower a rung, a bucket nearby?
Don’t stop and be done, a wise man’s reply,
it’s all in good fun, a grin and a lie.
The doctor rerun, you must be that high,
our web isn’t spun, we’ll really retry.
A war to be won, rushed allies comply,
his fingers dirt on, his lips begin cry.
I’m sorry to pun, not sorry supply,
your party begun, hot grill or deep fry.


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