Category Archives: Autobiography

Following up on Darkness

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I haven’t reviewed what I wrote last night, but I wanted to note that I slept for a bit, and I do have a bit of a headache from quitting caffeine, but on the whole I am finally merging with my own darkness.  I feel more “all in one piece” than I ever have in my life.

I slept a little more.  I’m glad I made this blog public.  It was a very magical thing to do.  It changed some things for me very dramatically.  But now I just don’t think I’m going to look back on them.  I’ll reread that post in 13 years.  After so long of going around to events and getting information indirectly, I’m entering a mode of the final third of my life, I’m heading toward my death and I’m very comfortable with the choices I’ve made.  COVID-19 isn’t bothering me as much as it is some people.  I’m glad to be getting it over with.  I’m glad the old world is ending.  I don’t care what happens to the future.

All my experiments with social media are paying off, but ironically they are mostly showing me what I don’t have to say, how I do not want to be involved with people and how I do not want to present myself.  Things  I will never be involved in.

 

 

Eric the Red, Chris, and Tony the Tiger

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A new flash today of [E] and [C] being brother and sister, and the three of them inviting me to be a part of their X-Men fantasy.  Reading the X-Men Omnibus is flashing me back on those days of emotional involvement with fantasies of groups.  I had the idea of an occluded history with those three, that they were soul mates, that [E] was actually the leader, the reincarnation of Ian Fleming.  He had to hide his incestuous relationship with [C] and that was why he had to commit suicide.

Then as the day went on I was “escorting” the inventory team and thinking about how dark and small my life has really been, but now it’s changing, it’s like an acceleration down the tunnel.  I’m getting closer to reality — closer to emotional reality with this collapsing of certain dream layers and localization in the self.  I wish I could remember all the details.  I was having so many as I ran just now.  It does seem much more possible that there are people in another world waiting for me.  And I was allowing the energies to pass through the structures of my past, my experiences of having to assimilate to middle America, to their beliefs about time and responsibility.  I feel much better now knowing I can escape completely and they were always wrong, anyway.

In the fantasy those three were helping me under the guidance of the Angelic kingdom.  Just as I wrote that I got flooded with energy and had to stop.  Then I came back after I formed the intention to use the energy on behalf of myself, and realized that the general effect of this set of fantasies is to restore my involvement with linear time, and my ability to perceive that these relations and experiences are in the past.

Even though it feels like a semi-solid darkness spreading out through all of my dream-life, bringing me “down” into blackness, I believe this is the solidity of personality I’ve needed, even the “grounding” I’ve heard so much about.  I’ll be able to separate from other people now and so have constructive relationships.  I’ll probably be able to perceive inner worlds as well.

Especially during the run I just finished I was shifting my awareness to the knowledge that the dominant paradigm of America was never real, and there are people waiting for me somewhere.  My angels seem clearer than ever.  This new, X-Men version of [E], [T], and [C] is symbolic.  Could they be [C], [J], and [A] again?  I don’t know.

 

 

In search of an art form . . .

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I’m still in search of a mode of writing that does not turn to ash the moment it hits the page.  What narrative point of view, what purpose can be relevant in the light of all this light, all this multidimensional energy around me?  I don’t read novels anymore.  Novels are generally stories of linear time and linear time is an illusion.  Stories are generally uninteresting to me except as evidence of the psychic development of the author.  “Wanted” for instance, a recent film that had almost no redeeming value except as evidence that someone in Hollywood is still working with the Burroughsian “assassin” imagery — though they may not even know it, as it’s been filtered through years of comic books and action movies.

The books I like are stories of NDEs and psychics.  So I’ll have to write my own.  But what would it be about?  Could it ever be complete?

how i’ve changed

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with regard to my previous post, another facet is at the time i didn’t even have enough connection with the human race to be able to express that utter hopelessness.  my life was meaningless and no one would ever care.  there was no point even in saying so, i would simply have to find another mode of being, one in which i was totally submerged.  who i actually was was unimportant, only manipulation mattered — the ability to attract attention through wealth, fame, talent, or master of “The Sexual Game” — i.e. how to convince the opposite sex to pay attention to me without offering real devotion to them (not that i didn’t want real devotion but i knew girls were only into guys who could sleep with a lot of different women without falling in love with them. they wanted experienced guys who could control them.)

anyway now i can look back at all that meaningless hell i went through and say “yes, it really was meaningless hell and i don’t have to feel inadequate because i resented it.”  after all the spirit world is here now and it was equally there then.  everything was somehow arranged by god and even though it sucked it’s over now and none of those horrible people from that horrible town of Peoria Illinois need ever concern me again.

Out of the mud.

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April 17, 2020 – this is another “imaginary” post.  I wasn’t in any fights and I didn’t hate Ronald Reagan, although I am ambiguous about the 80s.

I would really love to have a website full of really deep and acute observations about existence.

In fact i have all the files for one on my hard drive but i’m too damn lazy to actually upload it.

however the nice thing about ptsd is i can just write down all my flashbacks and have a novel of my life.  it’s sort of an automatic autobiography.  i don’t even have to try to be interesting because the fact that i’m flashing it all back is interesting enough.  these are some notes though:

i remember the day i realized the world was a meaningless hell.  it was at a rock show in peoria, just a lame little show in a park with maybe less than 80 people.  and reaganomics was the scourge of the land — everyone hated it.  it was the utter drifting of america into an evil horrifying daydream.  all the decline and decrepitude we experience as a nation now was chosen for us then by ronald reagan and his mindless bimbo conservative cohorts.

and i could never be a rock star because i was a little overweight and losing my hair and never had sex while i was in high school so i would never make it onto MTV and furthermore i couldn’t even practice playing guitar because i had ptsd and this drug-dealer [t.] hated me and kept getting people to start fights with me.  i always kicked their asses but no one wanted me around because i was perceived as dangerous.  also i would forget most of the fights.

forgetting when you have ptsd is not like some horrible freudian repression thing.  once you’re reminded of the events you say “oh, yeah, that happened”.  but if no one reminds you it never comes back and after a while you are sure it never happened at all, it’s not a part of your being.  and also entire years of your history take on an unreal quality.

so i remember being at this rock show in the late 80s and realizing that there was nothing for me in the world.  the one girl i wanted to talk to, jody, could barely leave her house because of her parents, and all my other friends were stupid or lying or just shallow and the one thing i wanted to be, a rock star, was unavailable to me, and i didn’t even believe in souls or the afterlife so it was just as though my entire existence was unreal, unimportant even to myself, and it was so messed up that there would be no way to redeem it and make it into something you could talk about on MTV.  but i knew that was a shallow thing to want anyway though that didn’t change the fact that MTV was a musician’s path to power and you had to get on there to really be important.

and to be important in politics you had to be an evil republican and to be important in business you had to be a lying poisoning exxon/michael milliken scumbag and all the spiritual leaders were pathetic hypocrites like jim bakker and jimmy swaggert and oral 900-foot-jesus roberts.

the culture i was born, raised, and trapped in was entirely empty and it was impossible to have any positive desire to be an influential and productive member of it.  therefore i was entirely negated as a person until i developed psychic powers and now i have to wonder what i should say about the entire thing.

Twenty Years Gone . . .

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4/17/2020 – another “imaginary” post, the result of PTSD.  there were no fights during this time.  my mind was weaving together images of violence.  it’s interesting to see the evolution because in this post I’m wondering about [s] as though he were a friend, and only later did I realize he was a complete scumbag who hated me and used me.

turning 39 tomorrow.  i am a success in life because i have escaped the material plane.  i have attained psychic powers which assure me that there is a life beyond this shitty world.  that alone is such a relief that i can’t bring myself to care about anything else.

i’m remembering the late 80s now, when i was an atheist who somehow thought rock music was spiritual.  what evil stupid people i was surrounded by!  my friends father, a lay minister, who had murdered his first wife in a bid for insurance money and went on to murder his third as well.  that guy they called Stoney who shot two people just for the hell of it.  my first music theory teacher who tried to destroy my career — though there is some justice for he was found guilty of academic misconduct and his career was ended.  should i relish the knowledge that he was so bitter because his heart was dying and he had no money to fix it?  i helped kill him by providing evidence by which his enemies took his job away.  and there was that evil skank [t], the wanna-be drug dealer i had a war with.  boy, what a bunch of interesting people i knew!

so much violence, so many fights i can barely remember that blend into fantasy because i have post-traumatic-stress disorder and my memory is so bad.  and yet this same “phantasmagoric” quality of my mind is what opened me to shamanism.  and now i am in triumph over my past.  because the sheer ugliness of my teenage years was the sense of being trapped and isolated that had no meaning or value, where people were cruel and soulless liars and manipulators and all the things i loved i could only see from a distance and never touch.

now however i know there’s an afterlife, and all those ugly people of my past must stand and justify themselves before the vision i now hold, the vision i fought for and won with a river of blood sweat and tears.

all hail the Church of Art Triumphant!

“twenty years gone” is a variation of the song title “ten years gone”, which i listened to with [S.] in the parking lot one night, slightly drunk i think, god how music was an angelic, erotic solace in those days.  all those friends of my youth gone forever (though i could probably find them in a minute on the web).  [j] and bob i know have passed on.  [s] probably i have changed too much.  erik and jeff i never want to see again.  was there anyone else?  [c] never replied to my last e-mail.  was there anyone else?  what else was there?  not much.  i don’t miss them.  no nostalgia, just a weird, earth-shattering sensation of vertigo as i realize that magic was real even then, that who i am now is far more important, that i eventually did find the magic i sought, the escape from the vileness that is peoria, illinois . . .