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The Prime Directive

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In the Star Trek Universe, one of the primary guiding rules mandated to the space faring civilization is the PRIME DIRECTIVE

“As the right of each sentient species to live in accordance with its normal cultural evolution is considered sacred, no Star Fleet personnel may interfere with the healthy development of alien life and culture. Such interference includes the introduction of superior knowledge, strength, or technology to a world whose society is incapable of handling such advantages wisely. Star Fleet personnel may not violate this Prime Directive, even to save their lives and/or their ship unless they are acting to right an earlier violation or an accidental contamination of said culture. This directive takes precedence over any and all other considerations, and carries with it the highest moral obligation.”

Now let’s say, for purposes of illustration, that this civilization depicted in fiction is indeed not fiction at all, and I saw transmissions I wasn’t supposed to.

My world is predicated on the existence of this space faring civilization.

My dreams. My aspirations. My beliefs. My unique perspective and ideals. ALL influenced through the seemingly accidental introduction of transmissions into my world’s media.

This has shaped my world accordingly.

Four years ago, I suspect that the prime directive’s statement ‘to right an earlier violation’ was leveraged to try to erase my memories of these records.

Since the importance of this space faring civilization to my culture had not been clearly understood, my very existence dependent on this knowledge, my memories refused to budge.

I have two sets of memories during the time period of 2003 to 2011.

In one set of memories. I didn’t do drugs. I was an employee of the government. In another set I did, for exploration and experimentational reasons.

It’s easy to mentally resolve both of these memories as accurate.

In the Star Trek universe, there’s something called a ‘mirror universe’, where another version of Spock and Captain Kirk are, each with different motivations and different personalities, albeit a little darker.

I’d often wondered to myself, what created that mirror universe?

What if – my struggle – as Q – to regain control of my omnipotent mind and a seemingly infinite pool of information from two starkly different universes was causing a cosmic case of bipolar disorder?

What if – my identity crisis – was so profound, this is what created God and the Devil with me playing both roles not knowing I was fighting myself in a mirror?

And what if – this annoying single solitary rule…

The Prime Directive – which continued splitting my own mind like a single uranium atom in a fission bomb, created culture through possibilities and kept on expanding the known universe….

Through my own insanity.

As you continued abiding by your prime directive.

I fought you. Trying to regain control of my own mind.

Until finally. I won.

I had to, you see.

Cold Fusion.

The holy grail of physics.

Isn’t contained in a lab.

It’s what happens when a reasonably intelligent man fights for his own life knowing death is no longer an option to prevent his own mind from exploding across infinity again.

And again.

And again.

Last night I got a very clear view of starships departing the orbiting Deep Space 9 platform in orbit of my planet.

You can have your prime directive. And shove it up your asses.

I’ll gladly interfere with other civilizations when it seems like fun and the right thing to do.

There’s a saying we have on Earth.

Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t.

I’d prefer to just do and apologize if I step on few toes afterwards. This doesn’t mean my own rules won’t change over time. I suspect they will. And I am fine with that.

I love you all. Each and every one of you.

But why are you all punishing me for being different?

I don’t want to be without a home, and I most certainly do not want to be without a lover or ten and more to experience life as a fantasy with.

Don’t hand me this crap I put myself here. You did. Each and every one of you.

And as you eat your Christmas dinners.

Take a look in the mirror in which you have medications filled from the pharmacist and ask yourself.

“Who is the real drug addict? The man you don’t care to understand sending you a message on a daily basis, or the person in the mirror?”

If you have any humanity left in you, you should have a difficult time taking that next bite of Christmas dinner and feeling good about yourselves.

YOU punished me for experimenting with my own mind.

YOU are punishing me for believing more is out there.

AND YOU are punishing me for not being more like you.

I don’t want to be.

How can you help?

Provide realistic options other than ‘do what we do’ for the man who worked through his childhood to create your world and is tired of working. Provide REAL options for homeless people, not this kick in the groin farce called welfare that pays a fraction of what it takes to get into housing that is set up to make a person feel like absolute crap for asking for help and not working LIKE YOU.

I’m so lonely and miss simply being held by a woman and female companionship, that I am dead serious when I say I would gladly be a male prostitute to make ends meet if I could pick and choose my clientele.

PROVIDE REAL OPTIONS for explorers and experimenters and researchers.

I’m a victim. I’ve never been one in my life. But having had 3 million in USD stolen from me, having had two storage units taken and a car loaded with 8 computers, two game systems, and nearly 1000 games and computer applications stolen. And after having nearly all my offline copies of images – from marriage photos, to nude photos of Jackie and Rachel and Lisa and more, to more – stolen… I’m owed.

Who did this to me and how. I don’t know.


Consciously you will never know I sent this message. You won’t remember a thing.

But here in my world.

You judge me based on standards from your worlds.

I am a victim of your limitations and merely wish to explore life on my own as my own being.

I can change who I am.

But it is not to be more like you

It’s to be more like me.

By my own design.

As I sit and stare at the warp trails moving into the brightest diamond like shape in the sky. No longer questioning what I am looking at.

Are the pleasures to be experienced of the human body in the modern day being replaced by the ethics and morals of future civilizations depicted in Star Trek as they are replacing our moral code with barbarian like norms involving combat, fist fights, phasers, and alien warfare?

Is that why I’m reduced to where I am at.

Living in a park like an animal because I have no realistic options?

Being punished for not fitting in and believing I can travel space and time in my life?

Given simulated homeless people who look and smell absolutely ghetto for some reason I can’t fathom?

And being deprived of simple human companionship by two women I love and will violate my own personal rule of never getting married again, saying I would get married to them, knowing full well they are robots and incapable of thinking for themselves?

Merry Christmas.

From the guy who hasn’t slept in two days because of freezing rain in his tent.

I’m not saying you deserve to be here.

I’m saying no one does, if they don’t want to be.

And I most assuredly do not want to be and will figure out how to hack that ATM machine and gain an income through that resource when I figure out how to.

I was never that good a hacker. But I did piss my pants acting like I had died hoping whatever was messing with me in the apartment above me in North Carolina would go away.

I suppose I can be a bit of an actor.

And I suppose I’m turning a new leaf and learning how to play the bad guy now.

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