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UPDATE: 12-03-05

I used to be twenty one and hanging around with eighteen year olds. Now I am twenty eight and hanging around twenty four year olds. I must be cursed.

There is a curse upon my head. I am a marked man. Marked to the death even.

And I have done this to myself. It is still not altogether clear to me. Only with age can come a better understanding. But I know this much: the hex on me is not currently being perpetrated by anyone other than me myself.

This spell is a love spell... but it has grown old around me, clinging in my aura like karma made of tar. Once upon a time it was beautiful, and the one I loved was mine. But then she went far away from me, and now I have grown old.

This is a difficult thing to face. I must be careful...

I feel responsible for my lover leaving me and going far away. I told her to wait for me, that I would come for her. But I did not for far too long, and when I did it was as a madman, not as myself. Why did I do these things?

These are only regrets. Things that I did that now cannot be undone. Things that I must learn to let go of. But these are the things that hover around me, that permeate my pattern, that are all from which I have to learn, that define me. These regrets have become all that I am. I have become obsessed by them.

I cannot forgive myself for what I did to her. If I do then what? Then I will not even have my regrets. Then who will I be? I will have nothing by which to define myself. I will have nothing left to learn.

I am torn up inside. Like a paper doll. I can feel the faultline rupture upwards straight through my heart. I want to continue on with both lives. Both lies. Secretly I want to be aware of the self-cursedness of my karma, and yet I also want the chance to live my life to the fullest.

These things are mutually exclusive. The karma is damaging. It sucks off my energy, depleting my very essence, the inner flame behind the window to the soul, the will to live. It literally wears me out.

On the other hand I can choose to take what amounts to a leap of faith. I can reject the poison, I can pull out my heart and turn it into an axe. I can live my life to the fullest. Whatever that may prove to be....

But so much damage has already been done. I don't feel like I am capable of making a recovery from this point. My mom is very supportive, although I don't always like what she has to say, I always appreciate it. Dr Platt, my psychiatrist, is retiring from his local practise, though, and this has stirred up hustle and bustle in mom and my managing my health-care through her work, and applying for medicare which I will still not be elligible for for another year. Alot of stressful factors are beginning to come into play here, but I usually try to stay too distracted from reality to be held accountable for my own descisions.

It is things like this that I do that I really hate about myself. I lost my love because I threatened to do the unspeakable to her. I threatened to commit suicide. I was torn even then. Already the curse was in me, seeping its way through and out of me. I hated myself, and I wanted to die. But I was so in love, and loved being alive more then than I ever had... or have since.

It seems that now I do not particularly WANT to die. I feel this is at least a step in the right direction. I must admit that I am rather indifferent about it, though, and have been feeling pretty much like retiring from writing in a year or so. I've finally gotten to the point in my esoteric research that I had foreseen getting to, and with the work I've done on the Atlantean calendar... I think it's good information, the work that I've done already, and would feel very proud if that were all that it turned out I would be leaving behind.

There it is! There is the curse talking now! See how the mood of the blog has sunk from optimistic self-analysis into diseased whining. THAT IS IT! That is my baggage. That is why I spend half my life sleeping, and the other half still chasing dreams. I still feel it.... the old pangs.... even deeper than all the regrets I have for things done since then... I STILL feel that same self-loathing, that same self-hatred, that same disgust that I felt for myself even then, when I was most in love...!

Now I have clothed myself for warmth within, and shielded myself away from the world with, this curse of forlorn lost love that I have all but squelched the flame within myself, the spark of life, my soul itself! I still beat my unfledged wings beneath my mother's sheltering shroud, a helpless little child, stuck in the body of a 28 year old man.

So many oppurtunities I've beaten away, so many hands I've slapped at as they exited. So many faces in the smoke now. I know I am not alone. I love my friends. I love Simeon, and Damien, I love my internet friends, I love the friends of my friends and their friends... I am cursed by love. I am so full of it. There is all the love in the world, but none of it's coming from me.

I want to live with my regrets. I want to live with them. This is what I want. But what does this mean? Will I always feel melancholy?? Will I always carry with me, like the scar from a claw, the wound in my heart, the mark that I have put upon myself? May I never know slumber yet it should be so. I have done this to myself, and I have done this for myself. There is reason in it: there is much to be learned.

But it is a lie. I love, love, love! I only want to love, I only want to love a little... only a little... please..... No. No, I feel nothing. There it went. Last chance for the lighter. Spark, but no fuel. The flame went out. Damn lighter.

I am nothing now. Less and less and less than nothing. I am a manipulative, capitalist hog-swine. I am a monster that is playing on the sympathies of everyone and everything that comes within fifteen feet of me. I am dog droppings. Bullshit.

I am God. I am the universe speaking to itself. I am the right conduit for the message, and it is essential that I be allowed to continue to live, and this means being allowed to enjoy the fruits of my life! Because I cannot sell my physical labour, I sell my intellect instead. I must be allowed to reap the rewards of my just existence.

There is no God. I am falling asleep... my third eye is closing now... WHY... WHY.... WHY.... am I......?

I awake. I am NEITHER of these things. I am NEITHER the curse, that is, my regrets, NOR my self-hatred. I am NOT Alice, and I am NOT the Jabberwocky. I am neither of these. I am somewhere in between them, and they are mommy and daddy, arguing. I fall even further inward, downward, younger now, a little child am I. The Jabberwocky and Alice, these things are and are not me now. I have grown up through them, my mind evolving upward, through the level of my parents' static, cresting above their airwaves.

I do not blame these people. These souls that enter into my aura, they carry not for me my karma. I let them go free from me. I let them go far away. For that is where they will find my love. Only ever oh so far away for oh so long. I know the Shekinah and the King, the Holy One, Blessed be He, are already together, they always have been and always will be, forever and ever, regardless of anything that seems to be going on around down here on planet earth, all these distractions that seem so important at the time. But these are somewhere far away from me.

Why am I lost? Why am I so far away from the ones I love? Why do I push them away? I am NOT a nuclear bomb. But I do not want them... I do not want them near me. Why?

The more I want to let go the more I want to pull close. I am torn. I am the Jabberwocky and Alice. And I am mommy and daddy, they are only the way they are because that is how I see them, otherwise, they may as well not even exist to me. I am the Jabberwocky and Alice in one, fighting myself, a torn angel, no one.

WHY.

I am afriad to ask this question. It is at the heart of everything. And it is what is making it cold. This is the poisonous arrow broken off at the tip in between the left and right sides of my heart itself. This is where I was pierced by the love-hate shaft and that was the moment I died. I reincarnated. I took on lifetime after lifetime of agony and lies. Why. Ever on me was that question. That mark, that stain, that injury. WHY. Eating away at my insides.

Why do I hate myself? Because I ask why. Why do I have all these melancholy regrets for forlorn lost love? Because when I had love I chose to hate myself more than I loved her. This is only the skin of the teeth between my regrets and my self-loathing. There is no answer to why I hate myself, because this loop remains a tautology, self-referencing, eternal conundrum of why this and why that.

I began this blog entry with optimistic self-analysis. Now I am asking myself "Why?" There is no optimism in an unanswerable question. I am not analysing myself, making points about myself, statements, facts, I am chasing the tail of a children's yarn, a fairy tale.

Does love-hate go deeper? I think I hate myself only the same amount as I love myself. And I have hated myself alot. Yes. Yes, this is the tip of the arrow! This is where the poison has pooled and coagulated, knotted up so that I couldn't find it, but yes, now I have found it.

I hate myself because I want attention. It is the only way I know to get attention. To hate myself. It brings on only negative attention, and that is the heart of the curse. In reality, before love-hate pierced me, I was truly full of love. Now... yes... now I can remember. Happy times, before the curse. Happy times at the beach as a young child. Yes. Yes there were happy times once, and I was happy by myself. My mind did not wander, and I did not dwell upon the unfathomable depths.

I know why.

This body, this flesh vessel. This is the ME that I HATE. The other me, or rather, what is left of me. That is what I Love. I love and I hate, and that is the venom talking. Now I must drain the venom from within me. I must purge and cleanse my aura. I ... I MUST maintain my attention on doing this. It must be done.

I do not hate my body, I do not love my mind. I love both and I hate both, and already... thank GOD!... already these one are nothing. My body is and is not me. So is my mind. I am neither of these things exclusively. Now I may be free to be neither of these things at all.

Now I shall transcend. Now I have sealed my fate as one of BOTH solitude and contemplation AND love of the company of others. There is no hope for that one. Old benpadiah... he gone.

-ben

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UPDATE: 12-09-05

I have the "devil's heart."

"It is in charge of my thoughts and behaviour and causes me to 'be bad.'"

"I must hurt myself if I begin to remember. I must cut myself, beat myself, or kill myself if I remember what happened. Terrible things will happen to me and my family if I remember."

"I am guilty of crimes God could never forgive."

"I am possessed by an evil spirit or demon that controls my life."

These are quotes derived from the extensive online formatted "REPORT OF THE RITUAL ABUSE TASK FORCE of the LOS ANGELES COUNTY COMMISSION FOR WOMEN" issued March 15, 1991.

Here is a link to it, reprinted online, at MCF.com

http://www.mindcontrolforums.com/ritualab.htm

Do they sound familiar to any of you who know me?

The arrow of love/hate that pierced my heart with poisoned regrets over lost emotions, the benpadiah delusion as an off-shoot of the martyred christ-complex, and this itself a fragmentation stemming from the God-complex. These are signs and symptoms of a fractured personality, resulting as post-traumatic stress blocked psychogenic fugue states originally caused by painful dissociation, and perpetuated by self-abuse and enforcing in myself a mental trance-state. These are all the signs of ritual abuse.

And this abuse goes back to before my love affair in high school. It was only then, I believed at the time due to hormones, that the sexual rush of energy I was then experiencing began to reopen my mind to the awareness of these prior sexual abuses. The anger, rage, humiliation and castration this affected upon me as the sense-memories began to resurface were all contributing causes to the disintegration of my own mental state at that time, and I feel were directly causal of my seperation from my lover.

Now that I think about it, I can recall all sorts of experiences I've had that are direct encounters with the Cult of Sleep, that is, my name for trance-dissociation. For example, when I had several of my baby teeth and my wisdom teeth removed, I came out from under the anesthesia with no memory of who I was or how I got there. The nurses restrained me then, just as they had restrained me when, many years before, when I was in the hospital with salminella, some night-nurses barged into my room, shone the light in my eye, and began changing my I.V. all before I could even fully regain consciousness.

I believe my father to be familiar with this "Cult." I have seen him dissociate with my own eyes, entering a regressed child-like trance state as the direct result of my own extremely strongly applied psychological pressure to disclose information regarding his abuse of me.

I have done some terrible things in my life as well, obviously, since the childhood victim nine-times-out-of-ten grows up into the adult perpetrator, however I did these things following intentionally rigorous laboratory manipulation of set and setting. In my research, which involved an animal, I found that repeated abuse, of the nature I had encountered, resulted in essentially identical moods and emotional states in the animal upon whom I experimented as those from which I have suffered since my early childhood, depression, etc.

I also found that the abuser themselves is capable of dissociating their primary personality during performing the act of abuse itself, and essentially trance-channeling raw energy from the depths of a realm I can only describe as existing somewhere "beyond" the physical. For example, during the ritualised abuse experiments I performed, I found myself completely removed from my actions even while commiting them, and came under the overpowering delusion, through extremely rarefied visualisations, that I was channeling Vajra, one of the Buddhist "wrathful deities."

I do not doubt that the other instances I have experienced relative to this depth "beyond" the psyche available to the human mind, such as involving the hospital settings, or such as involving my earlier adult sexual encounters, are all negatively affected primarily by my first encounter (in this incarnation) of the trance-dissociative state, or rather, my first encounter with the Cult of Sleep.

I think the results of this should be pretty clear to anyone who knows me by now. Through the Cult of Sleep I made contact with what I call the Order of Death. To argue the difference between my personal definition and understanding of the connotative meanings of this concept, the Order of Death, and any other kind of cult, such as modern therapists see "Satanic cults" as perpetuating ritual abuse, would be useless and futile.

I have been drawn to a deeply spiritual, and therefore a profoundly religious, viewpoint on all of this throughout my search, my quest, to find tranquil harmony, balance, and through these to dissolve my sense of self into an ocean of all-forgiving calm. I believe ardently in the evidences of the truth of the illumination I have found, particularly through study of pure nature, in the form of phsyics and numbers. I believe in the inherent GOODNESS of my mental offspring, such as my calendar for example.

I do not believe that all things that are currently considered virtually synonimous to one another under the blanket definition for the term "Occult" ought to be grouped together. There are a great deal of hidden secrets waiting to be revealed in the present universe, and these, I have found, have given me some small comfort in my studies. I do not believe all of my studies to be the product of a "satanic cult" of ritual abuse, for example, simply because they delve into Occult territories.

I believe, however, that I have crossed the threshhold of madness. It is too late for me now. I will not be able to raise the family I always wanted, and I have lost my one chance at true love. There is nothing left for me (except to study the Occult) and I am otherwise expendable from the point of view of the conspiracy of civilisation.

In truth, I find the so-called "Satanic cult" ritual abuse networks to be about one-to-one equal with the psychic community, although entirely opposite in their goals. While the psychic conspiracy perpetuates history the Satanic cults seem to have no interest in pursuing any form of social construct by which to be publically identified, and thereby operate in utter secrecy relative to most of exoteric society. While the psychic revolutionary attempts to unify us all in the moment, the member of the Cult of Sleep, that is, the "sleeper agent," has utterly no use for such false flashes of momentary liberation.

Now, because the psychic community is one : one with the, let's call it, "Satanic community," they have to share space, and so are forced to overlap their populations. This leads to a sort of uneasy agreement between the public society and the private culture not to interfere too much with one another.

Think of it this way. You can hear the TV coming from the other room, but you can't make out the exact words. You listen, and try to concentrate. You begin to think you can understand what they are saying. Now, the only question is: how reliable are your senses, or rather, how colourful your imagination? Because your perception of peripherary sensory-stimuli can either be more the product of your accute analysis or more a figment of your imagination.

So, when it is your imagination, is it under your control? When you think you are correctly interpreting the words, have you ever then gone out into the other room only to realise that the show that was on was not the same one you thought you were hearing? In the same way as the senses can easily enough be deceived, the imagination itself can be deceptive.

All these types of thoughts are, it should be reminded us now even though it should be blatantly obvious to all by now, the thoughts of a complete and total psychotic.

Someday, I hope it will be realised, it is not WHAT I believe that was the reason for my ultimate downfall. It was the WAY in which I expressed this belief. And now I have "crossed the threshhold" into the "mouth of madness;" I have begun to descend into Hell itself, the only true Hell, the mind that lies to itself. Cognitive dissonance, the domain of Satan and Maloch, the two-heads, ever bickering, is the source of all my hopes and fears. I have the devil inside me. He makes me do bad things to and for myself. I call the devil Vajra and he heeds unto my call. I am carried away, on his wings, to oblivion.

-ben

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UPDATE: 12/15/2005

My mother's first boyfriend was in college. His name was Jan, and they used to make spare change money by selling painted t-shirts. At the end of the semester he chased my mom around campus with a gun. The next year mom was studying abroad in Denmark, where she lived as an exchange student with a Danish family who made her bread pudding. She had just decided to stay abroad and had put a down payment on a Jaguar auto to tour the continent when her parents called her urgently home. Upon her arrival, she was sat down in a room with them and my father, and they told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to settle down and marry him.

My father's past is checkered. Apparently, after a failed suicide attempt of hanging out a dorm room window, my father returned home from college and took up work with his father at the local cola strip mine as a janitor. He recounted to me how he had once been recriminated at that job for brining a book with him to work to read during lunch. Eventually he burnt out on it, quit, and decided to join the priescraft. That was when he approached my mother's parents about her prospects as his bride.

Following the wedding ceremony they honeymooned in a lodge near the grand canyon. On the first night of the honeymoon my father went to bed with a woman he met in the lounge, while sitting at a table with my mom waiting for their room.

Subsequent to their wedding they both entered seminary school for the methodist ministry. They completed their classes there, although with mom working double shifts to pay for my dad's last semester, and would return to the Grand Canyon again, as travelling preachers, to proseltyse on the edge of the great rift itself.

After a while they moved to Syracuse, New York, where they lived in a cooperative apartment complex. Mom knew all the neighbors and ocassionally made small potpies for them all in the communal kitchen. They had a neighbor across the alley from their window who lived in a rooftop flat. His dog, Pedro, was not fixed, and would often roam the backallies of the neighborhood. Many were the nights they were awakened to the sound of him screaming, "Pedro, you sonofabitch!" at the top of his lungs.

In 1977 they moved to Tallahassee, Florida and gave birth to me. They purchased a house, the same one we live in today, and were refurbishing it on one optimistic 1970's summer day, when my mom, refinishing a old cain chair for my father (which he sits in to this day!) using an electric sander stepped into a puddle of water an was electrocuted. My father's lover, and my mom's then best friend, was stading in the driveway in plain sight of the garage, and yet did nothing. Eventually the chord was shaken loose of the socket and, needless to say, the foetus that was me survived!

My father was teaching Public Relations at the local Historically African-American college, holding the position of professor until the mid 1990's. He found cause to go to many "conferences" throughout this period of time, removing himself for weeks on end to plush resorts and beach-front condominiums.

My mother started a day-care programme through our local Methodist and Presbytirian churches called Kaleidoscope, and hired out the local recreations centre downstairs in the Northwood mall. She taught tumbling and physical recreation and gained quiet popularity with the satisfied parents.

In about 1984 I think my mother went on Safari to Africa with her now-retired father. I have a journal that I kept from during this vacation. In this journal I describe having a blackout, a period of missing time, followed by accute physical pain in the abdomen. Psychologists refer to this condition as a psychogenic fugue, in which a blackout and memory loss occur. This is, at this time, all the evidence I have in my possession to support the concept that I was sexually abused by my father.

TBC

-ben

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UPDATE: 12/19/2005

I know when I first became interested in mysticism and the occult.

But I do not know why.

My father, during my formative childhood, shut himself completely away from me and my mom. As I have said, he lived a double-life, having countless affairs with women (and perhaps men as well) at "conferences" and then returning only to seclude himself in his study, "grading papers." You could say, I never knew my father. Although he lived here for several years, he and I never really even met.

I knew early on in life I wanted to be a comic book writer and artist. I made my first miniature comic book at the age of about three by drawing and colouring pictures, writing a story as told through character dialogue in talk bubbles, and then folding the pages over and stapling it all together. It was probably my father's amivalence to this creation that hurt my heart in such a way that I came to believe that only by continuing my attempts to gain his approval in these specific ways, that is, art and writing, would I be able to heal that initial hurt.

I have a very vivid memory of sitting in the hallway outside of my dad's study, knowing he was there behind the closed door, and waiting for him to come out, hoping then to be able to show him whatever my latest project was.

My mother divorced my father when I was in the first grade of middle or secondary school. The following year I threatened suicide to an emotionally abusive teacher and was put in a strangle-hold by the school resource officer when I attempted to use the phon to call my mom. I've already talked about all that in this blog before, I think the first or second entry even.

It was in the second year of high-school that I discovered the occult.

Immediately the closed doors of secret societies clicked in my mind with the closed door of my father's study.

But why?

My father was not a free mason. My maternal grand-father had been in the shrine, but he had died around the same time as my mom divorced my father. And even the shrine is more comical in its public appearances than to be considered a sinister "secret society."

In high-school I avidly researched mind-control as well, as I had done a report on subliminal messages for an english class. Another report I did that year was on the comics code. Interesting... another project later in my senior year was on terrorism as free speech. I remember the first time I went to the CC, where D worked (he has quit as of New Years), when it was still just a small booth in Northwood mall. I was doing a project on crystals, pyramids and Atlantis in, I think, fifth grade, the last grade of elementary or primary school.

Perhaps my father's sexual abuse of me in 84 froze a part of my mind at the thoughts I was having at the age that I was. But then, the question would still arise... why would my thoughts at that age have been about extra-terrestrials and Atlantis?

Almost all my life I have been consumed with matters of mind-control, mysticism, the occult, Atlantis, aliens, pyramids, crystals, the NEW AGE. WHY??

I remember in the same year Terminator 2 was going to come out, that summer I was reading the pre-released novel version of the movie and on vacation with mom at an old highschool friend of her's. Her husband, an actor who had played a lizard person in the television mini-series V, and who has since come out as gay, introduced me to a tape-recorded sermon by a born-again minister who had quit his job as a high-ranking air-force officer. He claimed to have seen overwhelming evidence of the development, by the US Air-Force (which was created the same year as the Roswell crash), of "extra-terrestrial" technologies. When mom and her friend came home from shopping after I had listened to the tape with her husband, they found me in a state of catatonic shock.

I believe that I have some connection with a "current of occult energy." I do not know in what form.

When I first began dating my high-school girlfriend, my ex-love whom I talk about here so often, we stole a book from the locally-owned bookshoppe, the PaperBack Rack. It was called "the Story of O." She read it first, then gave it to me. She told me, "there are thousands of books like this in Russia," which I take now to mean she saw it as a book of only pornography. I saw it as more.

I know that I write and draw only to please my father. I do not know why I am so attracted to the occult "New Age."

-ben

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UPDATE: 12/23/05

I think I may be hopelessly lost in an occult fantasy world.

I certainly do believe some very strange things.

I believe that, when my parents conceived me, they must have been in some sort of state of trance channeling to have summoned down a very high spirit into me.

I do not know why I perceive the universe the way I do. I could not tell you what occult currents have guided my life to take the twists and turns it has. I can't tell you how I learned what I know, or even prove to you that what I know is right.

For me, the only "greater mysteries" left to uncover are those about myself.

It seems quite clear to me that Adam was a woman, and that Eve was the man. The "rib" removed left a hole in the heart of her, which can only be filled again when reunited in true love. And yet "I" am crazy.

Sometimes I feel I am only trance-channeling all of my higher ideas from past ideals, archetypes, occult currents, metaforms, etc. I feel like I'm living a double life, with one self always searching inward, to learn more about who I am in relationship to what I know, while the other self always searches outward, to learn more about the world, my "true will," the universe, the mind of God, etc.

I enter a state of waking unconsciousness. I let the focus of my eyes shift to infinite distance. Then the first thought I have will relate to the level around me at that distance. Sometimes I think of something very far away, or sometimes I think of something very small, and sometimes I think about how they seem to correlate. Sometimes I think backwards, about the past, and "tune in" on some pre-existent channel in our local gravity well. Sometimes I focus on the image of a diagram I have in mind to draw. Sometimes I see the fabric of sometime. Sometimes I dream of her.

Sometimes I cannot stand myself. But these times are passing. I try to stay focused on what I want to, and to not think about who I am, what it is that is doing the "focusing." When I think about myself, the things I've done, I'm not happy. I only find solace in my work, if you can even call what I do "work," since it does not generate any income.

I told my mom the other day, after completing a particularly convoluted post in my conspiracies thread on this site's philo forum, that the only essential difference between me and a homeless person is that I have access to the internet while a homeless person just mumbles incoherently to themselves. That's essentially all I do too, I just utilise cyber-space.

There are two types of "real" internet, as well as this one we are using now, which is the "false" internet. One "real" internet is what I call the "animal internet." This represents how one animal passes on information to other animals here on earth, wherein humanity represents an abberant species of animal. We have created the "false" internet as a way of communicating with one another instantaneously all around the globe. This "false" internet is meant to induce the mechanical equivalent of ESP, which, supposedly, we "sacrificed in the Fall" or some such nonsense. Then, beyond our satellites, there is the other "real" or "animal" internet. The interface system of this internet is the zodiac. Astrology is it's programming language, but it communicates via black holes between galaxies in the neural network of the universal mind.

It's funny that I think I know these types of thing. There is no verifiable proof, and so I must be suffering from delusional thinking. That's the most logical explanation. Of course instead I choose to believe I am trance channeling some finer energy density form of intelligence. Funny.

I believe I'm completely stuck in some kind of hyper-psychic schizophrenia.

I think sometimes I must be insane.

-ben

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UPDATE: 12-29-05

Only a few more days left of this accursed year, may it not end soon enough, BLECH!

Each year that ticks by is a blessing. One more year before the finale.

But this year, I had been particularly looking forward to. When I was making the War On Bugs collage for Crescent Fresh in 2000, I had been planning ahead toward my Enochian Calendar. I listened to Antedeluvian Rocking Horse alot that summer that my mom was out of town. We still had the bird then, yellow cocatiel named Fifi. The bird and Luke was still alive. Even the neighbor cats Norman and Rho came to visit a couple times. We played with the ether, passing around the sky.

I saw ahead then as far as to this year. It was my present for myself. I guess I must have transferred all Luke's life insurance over to Leia. Luke died young, while Leia retains her youth eternally. It was my present for myself for having foreseen ahead to 2000 before. I cannot mention where or when though. And so I blessed myself to look ahead, to see through the Mayan zodiac, to foresee a time when my calendar would be complete. All the elements were represented in their due and proper forms.

I cannot express to you the full scope of the wonders that I saw. When I saw through time, I saw another dimension of this world, layered invisibly on top of our own. But the Mayan meanings were the nightside meanings compared to the blinding radiant glory I had experienced when I first saw the future. But then I had only seen as far ahead as 2000.

(Farsight is difficult to attain and next to impossible to maintain. People become slaves to it because of this.)

Of course, since some time had passed between my initial viewing and my second oppurtunity to look through the veil of soft reality, and since in between them there had occured a sort of psychic crisis for me, I had failed to foresee the fatal events of the following year until it was too late!

I believed, vainly, that it was the natural celebrity due Kether that attracted all those reporters to my town that year, and that I had reachieved the peak and height of my attainment that had been taken and stolen from me in 99. WHAT FOLLY! All the while of the 2000 election recount I was sneaking the War on Bugs back and forth between my house and across town, past the capitol building, to J&D&E's in the "student ghetto."

But that project hadn't born meaningful fruit. J&D&E eventually disowned me, and moved to New Orleans. Good riddance, I guess. LOL!

The War on Bugs was a collage I was working on for J&D&E. Their band, "Crescent Fresh," had endeavored to write a continuing plotline medley about marching ants and other insects going off to conquer another ant hill or some such nonsense. The collage I made wasn't very well done. There was still alot of white space left over. But with the arrangement of clippings of text and photos I did, it rather looked professional.

I saw 2005. I saw my enemies revenged, and they have been. Such petty offenses I cared over then. Such wrongs as were to follow would be more egregious. I can't express the feelings I've had of ill will toward people whom have been no more than passing strangers to me. Such petty concerns. The lesser will. The id.

But for each personal enemy I have struck down, a greater, more looming public threat has been contributed to. The threats are no longer local, but global, and the loves are now astronomical. The ONE LOVE ABOVE ALL remains beyond even the outside. Which, I fear, is about as far as I have been.

I see further, of course, that is: I still possess the second sight. Though now it only comes to me in dreams. If you look through all of my material, there is incredible continuity between what I have depicted and where I depict myself having been. For example, I still exist in 1997, when I first farsaw to 2000. Some would say, this is because I still exist in 2000, when I last farsaw to 2005.

In my dreams, schematics come to me, sometimes several different types in one night. Last night I dreamt of taking a test in elementary school on the trajectories of UFOs in and around gravity wells. Before I started penciling in the bubble beneath the right diagram for each mulitple choice question, I drew a quick floorplan for a Masonic Lodge, patterned after the temple of Karnak, the temple of Man, in Upper Egypt.

I've had continuity in my dreams throughout my life, from as long ago as I can remember. I used to dream about the ever-changing institution. At first this manifested itself as a combination school and shopping mall, the classrooms on floors surrounding a central atrium, with glass walls between the students and the shoppers. Later this vision became twisted into a grotesque never-ending spiral of prison cages.

Lately I've had dreams of exploring ancient ruins. One dream I recall had me spelunking a shoreline cave with my friend Mike, then trying to escape as the tide came in. Another dream I recall was about a complex Aztec pagoda maze, with a slope to the path up and around it. I was there to collect clues for how to crack the cosmic code, the puzzle that was the maze pagoda. I observed the symbolic meanings of the signs around on each corner as I ascended the walkway. At the end, I was presented with a small model of the Aztec temple, and I quickly unlocked it. "Now you have to tell us how to move the larger one!" the astonished tester exclaimed. "No," I replied, "because this is only a dream." I then promptly woke up.

There has been some minor recollection of late in my dreaming mind's eye of the specific shape of a certain "artifact," the "key" to "unlocking" the "Great Mysteries." Last night I dreamt the girl across the grade school test table from me was trying to coax me into "showing her the artefact after class." The dream then shifted and I was watching myself sitting in the principle's office showing the principal and vice black and white photos in a yearbook open in my outstretched fist. The graduates were all holding up their hands between their faces and the camera, as if to mask their identity, and the school was for the socially rejected gifted. I lean in to the principal and the vice principal and say, "I just want a place of my own."

Mostly these days I have only been dreaming of her. She is there with me, when she can be, and out of town the rest of the time. The other night I dreamed I was in the groccery store looking at comic books and a girl asked me out on a date. When I finally told her I had kind of been seeing someone over the past couple weeks, she got in a huff.

Sometimes I wonder which is more real: the dream world or the waking one? But then, this answer is subjective.

I concentrate upon the moment until it invisibly implodes. I know that we will be together soon. But soon enough it cannot be! And then, the overlapping of the rotational and electromagnetic poles will cause the earth's crust to reverse, south to north, such that the sun will rise in the west, and set in the east. I love you I love you I love you.

My ajna pulses out light. I am become eternal love. Beyond it all and even that my pratylahara chakra opens like a lens through which my soul flies out to explore the vast depths of the universe. I am become eternal love.

I am constantly reliving my separation from her!

-ben?

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this information is all © 2005- Jonathan Barlow Gee

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