Autoskitzography part three Heading back home
Equivalent to 11 pages - 12pt. font
Over the next two years I traveled between Minneapolis and Columbus trying to
make a life of what I had created. I got involved with a group teaching the grief
process to kids from broken homes in Columbus and it threw a wrench into my
brain. Here were middle class Christians waking me up to the love I had for my
family who I was ready to write off as a bad beginning to my life. Up to this point I
was sure the family was a nostalgic interlude to visit in-between the chapters of
my life. I had no intention to move back to Columbus but the feelings they
brought out were so real and the logic so convincing I just had to give it a
chance. I wanted to be a part of my family and these people had given me
validation that my hurt feelings were real and given me hope that they could be
healed. I lived in the basement of an office that winter and made new friends
that were an oasis of society, in a world where I thought I might die of loneliness.
I managed to find a place to live in Minneapolis and started doing construction
work that winter. I worked with one of the coolest bosses I had ever had. We
met at the cafe for breakfast, got high and then worked for a while and returned
to the cafe for dinner. I just did what he said and took the breaks I needed. The
money was adequate and the idea that I was working for cash with a guy who
thought real deeply about life was kickass.
By now my mind was pretty full of thoughts and to wake up to chatter was pretty
disconcerting. I was all caught up in a world of analyzing body language,
feelings and reading between the lines of conversation. I was into sniffing when I
meant yes, took a thought as my own or sucked in anger to diffuse the power of
that anger. During conversation I noted our scratching, coughing, sighing, and
clearing the throat. I was always mindful of the fact that I am a great anomaly as
a Christian amongst new agers. I conflict I thought, but didn’t need to be, so if
anyone could make a deep impression on them it would have to be me. I found I
could thrive with these people and transitioning back to the main stream would
be the big problem. So I basically stay on task 24/7 except when I relax with
some magazines I found. I was trying to bring two worlds together in a way that
would respect each others values. I used to come home back and blow people
away with my peace revolution talk and nothing would ever come of it so I was
sticking around in Minnesota till I got something more figured out. (Twenty-one
years later I’m adding the finishing touches on a book. PTL!)
DRY WALL Js, WAL PAINT, WRESLTE Hill, CANADAnotes
Early in the spring I was asked to leave and moved into a place with a guy I knew
from way back. He wasn’t a great friend but an acquaintance who needed a
roommate.
One afternoon Anne and I went for a drive around Lake Harriet and talked about
how we were part of an experiment sorta. We went over to the river and I lost my
keys. I thought the only logical answer was that she hypnotized me and took
them as punishment for not making a move romantically even though I was
receiving countless signals I wasn’t responding to. I was by the river stranded
because I didn’t respond when I was telling her psychically “Just make the first
move and I’ll go along.” I didn’t think it was to much to ask of this woman. So
she’s mad at me and I have to play along like she’s not. She seems concerned
and I dare not say it out loud. She’s getting me back and there’s nothing I can
do about it. I like her to much to insult her and say “You hypnotized me and
stole my keys and probably had sex with me and I want you out of my life.” I was
running out of friends as things were and Annie had proven true so many times I
at least owed her one break. So many people were giving mixed messages it
was hard to know who to trust. Anne had been so “right on” around the cafe so I
had to figure she was doing the right thing. We retraced our steps a third time
and I finally pulled the plug of the back of the key mechanism and hot wired it.
On the way back to the cafe I wondered if we had had sex and wished I could
remember it. Anne was a good looking woman and it was weirdly arousing to
think she would take the risk of fast deep hypnotizing me and then get me
stimulated intensely and then back into my clothes. Did I just lay there or was I
almost awake? I kept my thoughts to myself and prayed a mean person didn’t
have that sort of influence over me. I was hoping that as a close friend she was
privy to keys strangers had no idea of. I had offered her my body in my mind so
maybe I’m safe as long as I lust on women I know and trust. Fat chance I’ll be
able to hold back all the time. I knew her enough to give her the key to my heart
and she used it. So if I guard my heart, only good women will hypo-sex me.
Maybe she’s breaking me away from Carol for some reason? Anne is one of the
La Rue clan and they might know street hypo tactics that are cutting edge. I’ll
just bide my time and see how things develop. If she gets pregnant will I be
told? How could I prove it was mine? How could she prove it was mine? She
has been seeing another guy so I guess there’s no telling. I probably hung out
at the cafe and went home late.
One morning Joe was talking to me in my sleep. I woke up and tried to catch him
up but he just acted like nothing happened. I took his lead and blew it off. He
said something about the river air must be the problem.
I went to the café for breakfast and we went out back for coffee and cannabis.
There were about six of us altogether. While I was trying to keep track of the
conversation and its hidden meaning, I flipped out. My lips went numb and I tried
not to think that John had just told me, without saying it, that “he was a pedophile
(child molester).” I didn’t want people to read my mind and learn about John’s
confession although I knew I had to tell someone. I went into the garden, placed
my head against the ground and started praying to stop thinking about John. I
just couldn’t contain the fact that I knew a child molester. I received his
confession and it was supposed to die with me. So I just laid there staring at a
lump of dirt trying to ground my mind on something basic. While I’m laying out in
the garden trying to keep my thoughts to myself I hear a friends name over the
intercom. I decided to walk to his house on the other side of town because I
thought he needed help. I get about half a block away, quit praying to myself
and whamo, I’m thinking pedophile and everyone going by, hears my mind and
insults my psychically for being a pedofile. “You ought to be ashamed of your
self. Somebody ought to shoot you. Hey asshole, wanna play with me or am I to
close to your age, bastard.”
I hear a song from “Jesus Christ Superstar” in my mind where the people are
calling on Jesus to heal them. (JESUS I AM ON YOUR SIDE, HEAL ME, HEAL
ME JESUS) I envision the café people falling apart and somehow I can help. I’m
too scared to go back, because not only will they think I’m a pedofile but they will
see the genitals on my forehead super imposed over a portrait of my family . I
then get a psychic message from Barb saying that she “won’t hold my warm
fuzzy any longer.” Now wherever I look a warm spot goes. It then occurs to me
that since I’ve been secretly binding Satan’s power that a contract has been put
out on me. I confess I had in my spare minutes around town, been visualizing the
bloody ropes of Jesus wrapping around people and pulling their evil up to the
feet of Jesus. Satan was onto me and now I’m a victim of Satanism. First I’m
given a false confession to blow my mind, then they put kerosene on the lip of
my coffee cup to numb my lips, smoke some killer weed with me, run some
complicated conversational “Hells Half Acre” in front of me, I flip and lastly I’m
given a warm fuzzy to trouble me wherever I go. This warm fuzzy is a warm
energy ball that goes wherever I look. It is a conglomeration of all the warm
feelings people have been sending me.
(Hells Half Acre “HHA” is where everything has two meanings, so meaningless
bullshit can reach the soul and trouble the mind) I also need to get to Ben and
see what help he needs.
Then it all comes back to me. I’ve been at a satanic mind reading camp. Most of
the work is done in our sleep. My nights are spent dealing with other people’s
thoughts. I’m supposed to help Satan take over the world by finding out, how to
find out, what makes each person tick. During the day I hang out with the
Satanists and field test my skills, thinking thoughts, saying things and noting
body language and words. I display acceptance to everyone as a sort of sign of
peace. People say and do things around me naturally that they wouldn’t
otherwise do. The Satanists watch for weaknesses and faults completely
beyond my view. My conscious thought has been kept in the dark so as not to
taint the research or spill the beans. Seems I was a drifter at the cafe with no
family to pick up on the changes they put me through. They were in earnest and
it looks like my rope tricks only pissed them off. For some reason it didn’t
eliminate all the evil in them. I was in touch with everybody on one level or
another. From Vatican Village to Pornographic Traffic, I had many names but
one mind to surf the many thought trains whizzing around in the night air. I grew
up in a dysfunctional family that wasn’t close enough to share psychic
communication. A whole world opened up to me by my being victimized and
taught the inner workings of psychic trickery. All of a sudden I was at the
controls of a network that boggled my mind. Army Air, was telling me, “General
Alarm,” the status of Troops all around the globe, like there was something I had
to do with it. Why did I need to know that 500 troops were heading to Columbia?
I’ll keep it in mind, I suppose it may come in handy, otherwise they probably
wouldn’t bother telling me. If I can hear so much, I wonder who can hear me
think. I realize why I have been sent to Minnesota and set about getting back to
Columbus with the top secret skills I am stealing from Satan for the Christians.
So... I’m walking down the street pinching my stomach to contain the warm fuzzy
and praying so as not to think pedophile.
"Your on your way home my son, My speed to you". I believe I just heard from
God.
I notice that groups of Oriental people are going by me and so I beam out a
“HELLO” to them. “Why are you watching me?” I ask. “You’re the Ninja Lover,
We Love you.” They think. “What do you mean?” I think. “We have a hero who
stole the Ninja arts from China and taught us how to be great warriors” One
beams to me. “You have a great way of spreading Love without making a sound.
Most of the time your best work seems anonymous and random, focused for the
split second it takes to speak or think a word.” “Can you help me?” I beg. “Fight
back judiciously so the warrior isn’t seen by the public or Satan’s minions. Words
are your weapon and you have bridled the inner tongue well. Look sharp but
keep your head down.” They beam to me that "WHATEVERWEAR is however
an effective defense most of the time. The word WHATEVER acknowledges a
disagreement and politely says case closed. Also WHAT is really a question,
and EVER is a long time for them to ponder if they want to pursue the matter. If
they do want to pursue it you will need to evade, hide and rarely retaliate. The
Satanists and their minions will be looking for someone who stands up for their
self every time conflict arises. By being defeated you will achieve victory
someday in Columbus.” “Thanks brother I will consider it well.” I love to them. I
figure by being the Hero victim the people around will be able to see who hates
me and find “them” out. The Bible says “In our weakness is His strength.”
I walk by a playground of Native American children. The Nuns tell me to “be real
crazy looking” so the kids will see a physical demonstration of how unusual the
psychic energy is around me. They explained that my “looking weird will greatly
lessen the trauma caused by the warm fuzzy and harsh words caused by me.” I
oblige them and flailed my arms and sang a song about “Big Ben who made mud
pie lolly pops that smelled good.” I bobbed on my feet and put on a show
befitting of how bazaar and obvious I felt.
An art school up the street seemed like a possible safe haven for me. I figured
the art students would just naturally be in favor of free thinking. They would see
me stealing Satan’s Secrets and think that I could be a hero to them. We’ll see. I
feel good coming through the door and stop praying and “Hey man, welcome
and duck down the hall cause those Satan dudes are near the office.” I take the
corridor away from the office and peek into a room. The people all act like I’m not
there except the guy who told his friend to send me there. “We’re all free,
intense, unbridled thinkers here, Those Satan Ass Bastards wouldn’t come down
here.” I tell him “I love you and so does Jesus.” “I don’t go for Jesus but I love
you to.” He thinks. I told him to ”remember how you feel about things today and
the hubbub over taking something intangible like thought processes.” “You truly
are the Psychedelic Smartalec, your words are said to be so insightful that I’m
not surprised you ended up with such an amazing gift. That so many people
want you dead is like the universe saying there’s always DEATH and TAXES.”
“Yeah I have high hopes about where I end up.” I beam back to him. “Why don’t
you clobber them instead of running?” He beams. “I’m just new to this and I’m not
supposed to fight back for my own safety. I’m like a guy who is given a tank and I’
m supposed to sneak across enemy lines undetected.” I think fretfully. “Man oh
Man you have a job on your hands.” A few minutes later I ask, ”Can you give me
any pointers that I can use against them, like how I deal with them echoing my
thoughts?” He beams “ That’s easy, I like to echo them back like this , Satan
SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS SUCKs SUCks SUcks Sucks sucks...works like a
charm! Those assholes are child abusers and bullies that scare away when you’
re on their level of brutality.” I ask ”Can they hear us now?” He Beams “Not
likely, with everyone thinking intently about their art projects the static is
overwhelming, it’s when your alone or thinking independently that they hone in
on your thought.” I wonder around the courtyard thinking back and forth to my
new friend and enjoying the peace of mind. I think I should be heading out so I
find the door.
Now my heart starts racing so I stop in at a hospital because I’m worried about
my heart. FALLMAN They say nothing is wrong and they can’t feel my warm
fuzzy. They tell me “they may be able to help me at the big hospital downtown.” I
head out for the hospital and go through hell. I’m trying to contain my warm
fuzzy but every once in a while a woman calls me a “jerk” or a guy calls me “gay.”
(Not that there’s anything wrong with it) Someone scowls at me for being a
pedophile. It occurs to me that my heart problem may be because some jerk has
tuned into my vibes and is beating their chest causing me to feel palpitations.
On the way I see Bob with some stilts. I see it as a sign that he’s watching and
listening to my situation for historical reasons. I think “cool” to him and continue
on to the hospital.
At the hospital emergency room, they check my heart and find nothing wrong. I
tell them my theory and in no time I’m in the mental ward. As I was telling them
the thoughts I had, a nurse was waving her jaw back and forth and I wasn’t sure
if she was negating my words or acting weird to make me seem more normal. I
knew she hated me when she was facing away from me with her hands behind
her back and showing “the finger” my way. At one point I walked up to her and
looked at her name tag and confirmed the pronunciation with her like I was
taking particular attention of her to get her in trouble. I knew things were so
complicated I wouldn’t remember her name but I thought I might scare her into
giving up. I won’t take medication and so I stay only a week. A doctor who looked
like he had been crying tried to talk me into taking meds. but I wouldn’t listen. I
thought he was worried I would be killed but I knew I had valuables to get home. I
won’t take any medication because I feel this struggle requires all my neurons to
be at peak performance. It was a nice hospital and I met people from both sides
of the spiritual fence. This one guy seemed to have followed me into the ward.
He kept making uncomfortable insinuations about me. I met a woman who I knew
from the café who seemed to have come to help me fight. We held hands one
night while watching TV and life was great. I could put my warm fuzzy anywhere I
wanted. I can recall people crossing and uncrossing their legs enticing me. I’d
put my warm fuzzy between their legs and then get psychically beat up. I guess
it felt good, but improper. Most of the time I pinched myself, but sometimes even
that wouldn’t contain it. I was no longer obsessed about thinking “pedophile” so
life was a bit better. One morning a whole ton of people marched by and I
thought that they were marching by to show me solidarity. It was probably the
March of Dimes but ya couldn’t convince me. I was deeply touched by their
support and even shed a few tears. They let me stay an extra day at the
hospital and told me “to sign up for welfare to pay for the hospital.” I didn’t think I’
d be hurting for money once I got some Christian support, so I blew it off. I
headed straight for my place to pack up and leave for my hometown.
When I got to my place Joe was there and made it quite clear that it wasn’t his
fault for me going to the hospital. I sort of believed him but I was on my way
home and that was foremost on my mind. He said something about friends being
enemies and enemies being friends. I was too confused to challenge it.
On the way to the freeway ramp my foot got a terrible cramp. I imagined that
Jennifer had put a curse on me in case I tried to leave town without saying good-
bye. I took my handbag over to the café and she was there. We talked and
smoked some pot. I didn’t admit I was stealing the secret but I could see she
knew and was real happy for it. I said good-bye and went potato planting with a
friend. I figured I’d hitch out of town the next morning. On the way to the farm I
asked if we could stop at a friend’s house to pick up some pot. We did and they
were welcome friends who gave me nothing but Love and in their eyes I could
see the concern they had for me. Stealing from the Father of Lies is not to be
taken lightly.
We got out to the farm, got high and planted potatoes. I could hear myself
thinking in three dimensions and noticed that if I quit breathing I could hear other’
s minds better. It wasn’t easy planting potatoes and pinching myself to keep the
warm fuzzy in check. I took a break in the woods where no one was around. I
could quit pinching myself for a while and that was nice.
After planting we went to the farmhouse. I was introduced as “Sbruce, he pines a
lot.” We got high and I tried to keep from looking at the woman of the house.
She was beautiful and it was all I could do to just pinch myself, bite my lip, pray,
keep up with conversation, and follow the wordy undercurrent. When we left I
was a bit relieved but still I had to go home and deal with my roommate. We went
back to the cafe which was near my house and my Mom called and told me she
would have a bus ticket for me with ten dollars attached.
pass and daily spending money is a rough base to work from, especially if you
are unsure about your own thinking processes after an episode like you are
reading about now. I realize how almost impossible the peace army sounds but
what is the alternative? Thousands of people lost in this big crazy world and
thousands wanting to share their lives for Christ but no specialized training to do
it in. I am sure that without my family this book would come out less blessed.
Equivalent to 11 pages - 12pt. font
Over the next two years I traveled between Minneapolis and Columbus trying to
make a life of what I had created. I got involved with a group teaching the grief
process to kids from broken homes in Columbus and it threw a wrench into my
brain. Here were middle class Christians waking me up to the love I had for my
family who I was ready to write off as a bad beginning to my life. Up to this point I
was sure the family was a nostalgic interlude to visit in-between the chapters of
my life. I had no intention to move back to Columbus but the feelings they
brought out were so real and the logic so convincing I just had to give it a
chance. I wanted to be a part of my family and these people had given me
validation that my hurt feelings were real and given me hope that they could be
healed. I lived in the basement of an office that winter and made new friends
that were an oasis of society, in a world where I thought I might die of loneliness.
I managed to find a place to live in Minneapolis and started doing construction
work that winter. I worked with one of the coolest bosses I had ever had. We
met at the cafe for breakfast, got high and then worked for a while and returned
to the cafe for dinner. I just did what he said and took the breaks I needed. The
money was adequate and the idea that I was working for cash with a guy who
thought real deeply about life was kickass.
By now my mind was pretty full of thoughts and to wake up to chatter was pretty
disconcerting. I was all caught up in a world of analyzing body language,
feelings and reading between the lines of conversation. I was into sniffing when I
meant yes, took a thought as my own or sucked in anger to diffuse the power of
that anger. During conversation I noted our scratching, coughing, sighing, and
clearing the throat. I was always mindful of the fact that I am a great anomaly as
a Christian amongst new agers. I conflict I thought, but didn’t need to be, so if
anyone could make a deep impression on them it would have to be me. I found I
could thrive with these people and transitioning back to the main stream would
be the big problem. So I basically stay on task 24/7 except when I relax with
some magazines I found. I was trying to bring two worlds together in a way that
would respect each others values. I used to come home back and blow people
away with my peace revolution talk and nothing would ever come of it so I was
sticking around in Minnesota till I got something more figured out. (Twenty-one
years later I’m adding the finishing touches on a book. PTL!)
DRY WALL Js, WAL PAINT, WRESLTE Hill, CANADAnotes
Early in the spring I was asked to leave and moved into a place with a guy I knew
from way back. He wasn’t a great friend but an acquaintance who needed a
roommate.
One afternoon Anne and I went for a drive around Lake Harriet and talked about
how we were part of an experiment sorta. We went over to the river and I lost my
keys. I thought the only logical answer was that she hypnotized me and took
them as punishment for not making a move romantically even though I was
receiving countless signals I wasn’t responding to. I was by the river stranded
because I didn’t respond when I was telling her psychically “Just make the first
move and I’ll go along.” I didn’t think it was to much to ask of this woman. So
she’s mad at me and I have to play along like she’s not. She seems concerned
and I dare not say it out loud. She’s getting me back and there’s nothing I can
do about it. I like her to much to insult her and say “You hypnotized me and
stole my keys and probably had sex with me and I want you out of my life.” I was
running out of friends as things were and Annie had proven true so many times I
at least owed her one break. So many people were giving mixed messages it
was hard to know who to trust. Anne had been so “right on” around the cafe so I
had to figure she was doing the right thing. We retraced our steps a third time
and I finally pulled the plug of the back of the key mechanism and hot wired it.
On the way back to the cafe I wondered if we had had sex and wished I could
remember it. Anne was a good looking woman and it was weirdly arousing to
think she would take the risk of fast deep hypnotizing me and then get me
stimulated intensely and then back into my clothes. Did I just lay there or was I
almost awake? I kept my thoughts to myself and prayed a mean person didn’t
have that sort of influence over me. I was hoping that as a close friend she was
privy to keys strangers had no idea of. I had offered her my body in my mind so
maybe I’m safe as long as I lust on women I know and trust. Fat chance I’ll be
able to hold back all the time. I knew her enough to give her the key to my heart
and she used it. So if I guard my heart, only good women will hypo-sex me.
Maybe she’s breaking me away from Carol for some reason? Anne is one of the
La Rue clan and they might know street hypo tactics that are cutting edge. I’ll
just bide my time and see how things develop. If she gets pregnant will I be
told? How could I prove it was mine? How could she prove it was mine? She
has been seeing another guy so I guess there’s no telling. I probably hung out
at the cafe and went home late.
One morning Joe was talking to me in my sleep. I woke up and tried to catch him
up but he just acted like nothing happened. I took his lead and blew it off. He
said something about the river air must be the problem.
I went to the café for breakfast and we went out back for coffee and cannabis.
There were about six of us altogether. While I was trying to keep track of the
conversation and its hidden meaning, I flipped out. My lips went numb and I tried
not to think that John had just told me, without saying it, that “he was a pedophile
(child molester).” I didn’t want people to read my mind and learn about John’s
confession although I knew I had to tell someone. I went into the garden, placed
my head against the ground and started praying to stop thinking about John. I
just couldn’t contain the fact that I knew a child molester. I received his
confession and it was supposed to die with me. So I just laid there staring at a
lump of dirt trying to ground my mind on something basic. While I’m laying out in
the garden trying to keep my thoughts to myself I hear a friends name over the
intercom. I decided to walk to his house on the other side of town because I
thought he needed help. I get about half a block away, quit praying to myself
and whamo, I’m thinking pedophile and everyone going by, hears my mind and
insults my psychically for being a pedofile. “You ought to be ashamed of your
self. Somebody ought to shoot you. Hey asshole, wanna play with me or am I to
close to your age, bastard.”
I hear a song from “Jesus Christ Superstar” in my mind where the people are
calling on Jesus to heal them. (JESUS I AM ON YOUR SIDE, HEAL ME, HEAL
ME JESUS) I envision the café people falling apart and somehow I can help. I’m
too scared to go back, because not only will they think I’m a pedofile but they will
see the genitals on my forehead super imposed over a portrait of my family . I
then get a psychic message from Barb saying that she “won’t hold my warm
fuzzy any longer.” Now wherever I look a warm spot goes. It then occurs to me
that since I’ve been secretly binding Satan’s power that a contract has been put
out on me. I confess I had in my spare minutes around town, been visualizing the
bloody ropes of Jesus wrapping around people and pulling their evil up to the
feet of Jesus. Satan was onto me and now I’m a victim of Satanism. First I’m
given a false confession to blow my mind, then they put kerosene on the lip of
my coffee cup to numb my lips, smoke some killer weed with me, run some
complicated conversational “Hells Half Acre” in front of me, I flip and lastly I’m
given a warm fuzzy to trouble me wherever I go. This warm fuzzy is a warm
energy ball that goes wherever I look. It is a conglomeration of all the warm
feelings people have been sending me.
(Hells Half Acre “HHA” is where everything has two meanings, so meaningless
bullshit can reach the soul and trouble the mind) I also need to get to Ben and
see what help he needs.
Then it all comes back to me. I’ve been at a satanic mind reading camp. Most of
the work is done in our sleep. My nights are spent dealing with other people’s
thoughts. I’m supposed to help Satan take over the world by finding out, how to
find out, what makes each person tick. During the day I hang out with the
Satanists and field test my skills, thinking thoughts, saying things and noting
body language and words. I display acceptance to everyone as a sort of sign of
peace. People say and do things around me naturally that they wouldn’t
otherwise do. The Satanists watch for weaknesses and faults completely
beyond my view. My conscious thought has been kept in the dark so as not to
taint the research or spill the beans. Seems I was a drifter at the cafe with no
family to pick up on the changes they put me through. They were in earnest and
it looks like my rope tricks only pissed them off. For some reason it didn’t
eliminate all the evil in them. I was in touch with everybody on one level or
another. From Vatican Village to Pornographic Traffic, I had many names but
one mind to surf the many thought trains whizzing around in the night air. I grew
up in a dysfunctional family that wasn’t close enough to share psychic
communication. A whole world opened up to me by my being victimized and
taught the inner workings of psychic trickery. All of a sudden I was at the
controls of a network that boggled my mind. Army Air, was telling me, “General
Alarm,” the status of Troops all around the globe, like there was something I had
to do with it. Why did I need to know that 500 troops were heading to Columbia?
I’ll keep it in mind, I suppose it may come in handy, otherwise they probably
wouldn’t bother telling me. If I can hear so much, I wonder who can hear me
think. I realize why I have been sent to Minnesota and set about getting back to
Columbus with the top secret skills I am stealing from Satan for the Christians.
So... I’m walking down the street pinching my stomach to contain the warm fuzzy
and praying so as not to think pedophile.
"Your on your way home my son, My speed to you". I believe I just heard from
God.
I notice that groups of Oriental people are going by me and so I beam out a
“HELLO” to them. “Why are you watching me?” I ask. “You’re the Ninja Lover,
We Love you.” They think. “What do you mean?” I think. “We have a hero who
stole the Ninja arts from China and taught us how to be great warriors” One
beams to me. “You have a great way of spreading Love without making a sound.
Most of the time your best work seems anonymous and random, focused for the
split second it takes to speak or think a word.” “Can you help me?” I beg. “Fight
back judiciously so the warrior isn’t seen by the public or Satan’s minions. Words
are your weapon and you have bridled the inner tongue well. Look sharp but
keep your head down.” They beam to me that "WHATEVERWEAR is however
an effective defense most of the time. The word WHATEVER acknowledges a
disagreement and politely says case closed. Also WHAT is really a question,
and EVER is a long time for them to ponder if they want to pursue the matter. If
they do want to pursue it you will need to evade, hide and rarely retaliate. The
Satanists and their minions will be looking for someone who stands up for their
self every time conflict arises. By being defeated you will achieve victory
someday in Columbus.” “Thanks brother I will consider it well.” I love to them. I
figure by being the Hero victim the people around will be able to see who hates
me and find “them” out. The Bible says “In our weakness is His strength.”
I walk by a playground of Native American children. The Nuns tell me to “be real
crazy looking” so the kids will see a physical demonstration of how unusual the
psychic energy is around me. They explained that my “looking weird will greatly
lessen the trauma caused by the warm fuzzy and harsh words caused by me.” I
oblige them and flailed my arms and sang a song about “Big Ben who made mud
pie lolly pops that smelled good.” I bobbed on my feet and put on a show
befitting of how bazaar and obvious I felt.
An art school up the street seemed like a possible safe haven for me. I figured
the art students would just naturally be in favor of free thinking. They would see
me stealing Satan’s Secrets and think that I could be a hero to them. We’ll see. I
feel good coming through the door and stop praying and “Hey man, welcome
and duck down the hall cause those Satan dudes are near the office.” I take the
corridor away from the office and peek into a room. The people all act like I’m not
there except the guy who told his friend to send me there. “We’re all free,
intense, unbridled thinkers here, Those Satan Ass Bastards wouldn’t come down
here.” I tell him “I love you and so does Jesus.” “I don’t go for Jesus but I love
you to.” He thinks. I told him to ”remember how you feel about things today and
the hubbub over taking something intangible like thought processes.” “You truly
are the Psychedelic Smartalec, your words are said to be so insightful that I’m
not surprised you ended up with such an amazing gift. That so many people
want you dead is like the universe saying there’s always DEATH and TAXES.”
“Yeah I have high hopes about where I end up.” I beam back to him. “Why don’t
you clobber them instead of running?” He beams. “I’m just new to this and I’m not
supposed to fight back for my own safety. I’m like a guy who is given a tank and I’
m supposed to sneak across enemy lines undetected.” I think fretfully. “Man oh
Man you have a job on your hands.” A few minutes later I ask, ”Can you give me
any pointers that I can use against them, like how I deal with them echoing my
thoughts?” He beams “ That’s easy, I like to echo them back like this , Satan
SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS SUCKs SUCks SUcks Sucks sucks...works like a
charm! Those assholes are child abusers and bullies that scare away when you’
re on their level of brutality.” I ask ”Can they hear us now?” He Beams “Not
likely, with everyone thinking intently about their art projects the static is
overwhelming, it’s when your alone or thinking independently that they hone in
on your thought.” I wonder around the courtyard thinking back and forth to my
new friend and enjoying the peace of mind. I think I should be heading out so I
find the door.
Now my heart starts racing so I stop in at a hospital because I’m worried about
my heart. FALLMAN They say nothing is wrong and they can’t feel my warm
fuzzy. They tell me “they may be able to help me at the big hospital downtown.” I
head out for the hospital and go through hell. I’m trying to contain my warm
fuzzy but every once in a while a woman calls me a “jerk” or a guy calls me “gay.”
(Not that there’s anything wrong with it) Someone scowls at me for being a
pedophile. It occurs to me that my heart problem may be because some jerk has
tuned into my vibes and is beating their chest causing me to feel palpitations.
On the way I see Bob with some stilts. I see it as a sign that he’s watching and
listening to my situation for historical reasons. I think “cool” to him and continue
on to the hospital.
At the hospital emergency room, they check my heart and find nothing wrong. I
tell them my theory and in no time I’m in the mental ward. As I was telling them
the thoughts I had, a nurse was waving her jaw back and forth and I wasn’t sure
if she was negating my words or acting weird to make me seem more normal. I
knew she hated me when she was facing away from me with her hands behind
her back and showing “the finger” my way. At one point I walked up to her and
looked at her name tag and confirmed the pronunciation with her like I was
taking particular attention of her to get her in trouble. I knew things were so
complicated I wouldn’t remember her name but I thought I might scare her into
giving up. I won’t take medication and so I stay only a week. A doctor who looked
like he had been crying tried to talk me into taking meds. but I wouldn’t listen. I
thought he was worried I would be killed but I knew I had valuables to get home. I
won’t take any medication because I feel this struggle requires all my neurons to
be at peak performance. It was a nice hospital and I met people from both sides
of the spiritual fence. This one guy seemed to have followed me into the ward.
He kept making uncomfortable insinuations about me. I met a woman who I knew
from the café who seemed to have come to help me fight. We held hands one
night while watching TV and life was great. I could put my warm fuzzy anywhere I
wanted. I can recall people crossing and uncrossing their legs enticing me. I’d
put my warm fuzzy between their legs and then get psychically beat up. I guess
it felt good, but improper. Most of the time I pinched myself, but sometimes even
that wouldn’t contain it. I was no longer obsessed about thinking “pedophile” so
life was a bit better. One morning a whole ton of people marched by and I
thought that they were marching by to show me solidarity. It was probably the
March of Dimes but ya couldn’t convince me. I was deeply touched by their
support and even shed a few tears. They let me stay an extra day at the
hospital and told me “to sign up for welfare to pay for the hospital.” I didn’t think I’
d be hurting for money once I got some Christian support, so I blew it off. I
headed straight for my place to pack up and leave for my hometown.
When I got to my place Joe was there and made it quite clear that it wasn’t his
fault for me going to the hospital. I sort of believed him but I was on my way
home and that was foremost on my mind. He said something about friends being
enemies and enemies being friends. I was too confused to challenge it.
On the way to the freeway ramp my foot got a terrible cramp. I imagined that
Jennifer had put a curse on me in case I tried to leave town without saying good-
bye. I took my handbag over to the café and she was there. We talked and
smoked some pot. I didn’t admit I was stealing the secret but I could see she
knew and was real happy for it. I said good-bye and went potato planting with a
friend. I figured I’d hitch out of town the next morning. On the way to the farm I
asked if we could stop at a friend’s house to pick up some pot. We did and they
were welcome friends who gave me nothing but Love and in their eyes I could
see the concern they had for me. Stealing from the Father of Lies is not to be
taken lightly.
We got out to the farm, got high and planted potatoes. I could hear myself
thinking in three dimensions and noticed that if I quit breathing I could hear other’
s minds better. It wasn’t easy planting potatoes and pinching myself to keep the
warm fuzzy in check. I took a break in the woods where no one was around. I
could quit pinching myself for a while and that was nice.
After planting we went to the farmhouse. I was introduced as “Sbruce, he pines a
lot.” We got high and I tried to keep from looking at the woman of the house.
She was beautiful and it was all I could do to just pinch myself, bite my lip, pray,
keep up with conversation, and follow the wordy undercurrent. When we left I
was a bit relieved but still I had to go home and deal with my roommate. We went
back to the cafe which was near my house and my Mom called and told me she
would have a bus ticket for me with ten dollars attached.
pass and daily spending money is a rough base to work from, especially if you
are unsure about your own thinking processes after an episode like you are
reading about now. I realize how almost impossible the peace army sounds but
what is the alternative? Thousands of people lost in this big crazy world and
thousands wanting to share their lives for Christ but no specialized training to do
it in. I am sure that without my family this book would come out less blessed.
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