This narrative is going to become a NOVELLA.... I want to paint a nice portrait story about a guy who finds himself being used in a CIA plot to convince people Christ has returned, and they do this by brainwashing this poet, and having him, basic ally, play Jesus... though he does not know it is an act. A story of mind rape.
I wish I could say this story is entirely fiction... no, it is based on facts much more heinous than you will find in this prose.
And YES I KNOW THIS PROSE NEEDS SOME MORE WORK... sorry. Hey, this is the free version.... okay, the raw stuff that needs work to make the cut, if it will at all.... The working title, I should warn you, is about as close to a joke as you are going to find in this prose....
"You can't fight them . . ." Talb waves up into the sky. He is pissed that I will not give up and go along with their plan... I introduced him to these people and he knows their power, has heard from the guys in the shadows, the secret societies and Intelligence Agencies trying to shape the world.
"Sure I can... until my fucking last breath." I was really surprised by his reaction to my words. I really thought he had more fight in him than that, but no...
Talib is disgusted with me; thinks I am crazy to even try to write about them, expose them, all the shit that I do in my attempts to fight them with the only weapon I have ever needed, the pen.
He knows more than me because he can keep his mouth shut... ex-marine. Funny, they never told him at all that they were attacking me. I thought people like Talb would have known.
Talib was one of the few people I knew who was involved openly in what I was doing. He was fearless at first, or so I thought. Later, he converted to one side or another, or maybe even his own little neutral country (as he claimed), for all I know... I met with Talib thinking I would be able to discuss everything openly with him.
He sounded like a text book case of New Black Panthers; divided and conquered we fell again, shame of it was... we really all wanted the same things...
He fell back on some contingency plan to burn me... He was... so afraid. .. of the pwople
That is what he was... He said he did't want to waste his life on a losing war; gave me what was an obviously rehearsed speech... which freaked me out.. He referred directly to four or five points he could only have heard about from the surveillance of my apartment. By then I was pissed at the people intruding into my life and fucking with me, and was Pukishly doing whatever I could to defy them.
Talib knew a lot, but not everything. Someone was censoring him.
More than likely, only selective tapes were being released. For awhile they went out 24 7 on the web. What could I do? I decided to use the podium to give the lecture and performance of my life. The stage grew worldwide with the web. Others put me in a hospital..... interesting, that after I was drugged, and stunned by it, I began writing poetry speaking of an impending event, an unveiling of sorts... and mystical things began to happen to me. This was fresh after what was one of the latest sessions of brain washing, the one I went through that gave me the presence of Christ in my mind.... It was there already. A subject of a very, very vivid dream in my twenties that could not be a co-incident -- I dreamt of Christ coming back, though I had not believed in Christianity for a number of years, just some vague, nebulous God that I did not give much thought to before getting in aa at 18. Also dreamt I was divorced, and living in Chicago, many years later.. running through the streets screaming Christ was coming back. I remember how remarkable that dream felt... more real than my memory of most waking days, even now, some twenty five years later.
I have been told a lot of lies about myself. That was one way of confusing me. Throwing me off my game. Playing with my head. Trying to stop me from saying what I think. Thought police literally strapped me into a bed, fed me drugs and brainwashed me. The CIA perfected inserting personalties into minds over twenty years ago. A prof. slipped me a book about this during college... I wonder if he suspected, or knew, about some plan to use me? My sympathies had been fairly communistic since an early age. Each according to their needs always struck me as fair.
Look up from the scenery of the stage.
You may find that your strings
lead to the hands of a puppeteer
standing behind a curtain.
Throwing back at me my idea of moving to the southside, saying white guys in black neighborhoods were always held up as cool and it was unwarranted. He was the one who actually pointed out how he liked my keeping my sentiments on race under wraps until I had exposed a lot of racists and could attack them... with words, and reason. Telling people to put aside your differences, before a few at the top steal everything from you...
I had been talking to them, trying to reason, at first.. and just writing about my experiences having a spiritual awakening... and discovering that myths of who and what I am were driving a lot of people to take radical actions in the world, begin thinking the End Was Here, that the Time For the Judgement of the souls had come, or at least the time for Revolutionaries to grow bloody. The same dilemma Jesus had when he told his followers he was not there to lead the Revolution, as prophesied, but to spread what was then heresy... I wrote Jesus saying, "The Jews wanted me to lead a revolution. The crowds thinned when they found out I was there to spread heresy. The day they killed me, I marched alone."
I had just spent the year being drugged and bugged, filmed and used, misunderstood and manipulated. Going from a private to a public person took a toll I never expected. I expected friends from my efforts and was surprised by the enemies I had always felt too out of the loop to give much credence to my words having any effect.... soon enough I found that I was pretty much alone in that opinion. The surveillance and harassment started God knows when... by the time I noticed they were ensconced in my life. I just went along... what was I supposed to do? I accepted that they were going to do whatever they wanted, a horrifying and sickening thing to learn, really, about your government. I still believed a bit in our current system back them, on a micro-scale at least. I did not think there was any justice in politics on a national scale, though in my life, I followed the law with an inner compass more powerful than any of my societies dictates. I am a good guy, and act like one even in situations where my life or others are at stake. I am glad to know this about myself.... I really felt that sooner or later, there would be justice. That the people fucking with me would be brought to justice.
So many people knew... had to go along with them to pull off how they treated me. I became a voice with power by their design, as far as I can tell. I fought to establish a voice in the shouting match of the web, using fiction and humor in ways that most were afraid of. Career killing jokes, shit that enrages some people. If you are in the public eye, you have to keep your politics rather mainstream, or expect to be marginalized, made fun of, put down...
I remember how they changed me in the hospital now. Enough time has passed to see the phases of the brainwashing as blips on otherwise the same personality I had before and after this experience (however changed now by information, the basics are all the same shit I pretty much believed by 17 after filling my head with thousands of books). The first seizure, or whatever... happened, and I was slapped in and given Jesus. My agnostic mind was flabbergasted too my most minute fiber.
The timing of just starting the radio show was no coincidence. They used me. Had a plan and I was a pawn. I accept it now, like you do, with whatever, to get on with your life. How could I not be curious, though, about what happened to me? I am used to writing about characters who are much more interesting than me... and now here I am, with the most interesting story I have heard and I am at the epicenter.
The memoirs of a brain washed boy .... not much of a title... but it will do until I can think of something better. A dum joke in the title is about the best I can do so far to lighten up this story. Some of it was funny. I was doing comedy during all of this...
Next scene in radio studio doing comedy....
The timing of just starting the radio show was no coincidence. They used me. Had a plan and I was a pawn. I accept it now, like you do, with whatever, to get on with your life. How could I not be curious, though, about what happened to me? I am used to writing about characters who are much more interesting than me... and now here I am, with the most interesting story I have heard and I am at the epicenter.
The memoirs of a brain washed boy .... not much of a title... but it will do until I can think of something better. A dum joke in the title is about the best I can do so far to lighten up this story. Some of it was funny. I was doing comedy during all of this...
Next scene in radio studio doing comedy....
No comments:
Post a Comment