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Thoughts. Just thoughts

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I suppose the most difficult thing I’ve had to grapple with mentally is – just what happened?

I mean. My whole life I’d sought for meaning. Who’s God? Why do so many people around me believe in so many different things? Why did my mom respond with ‘maybe’ when I asked if God had put dinosaurs here for my amusement? What is a friendship? Why do some kids hate me and some like me? Why do the girls I want to be with steer clear while the ones I generally don’t want around stick around?

The questions grew as I grew older. Why did my father drink alcohol like he did? Why was I following in those footsteps? Why did so many jobs require degrees yet I could do them without them?

The questions got weirder as I got older. When my Jeep broke down, why did I see so many other jeeps broken down? Why afterwards when my Corvette broke down did I see so many other Corvettes broken down? And why had I not noticed them before.

Life’s strange. And as I grew older. The more I started to lose hope.

I can’t really tell you why it happened. There’s no one instance or pivotal event. It’s just.

Life.

I’d tried so hard. Doing the right thing made me stressed out and the rewards for trying were decreasing. Doing the wrong thing while fun was stressing me out worse and were making me feel like shit about myself.

Movies, tv shows, books, and whatnot aside.

I couldn’t help but wonder.

What’s all this for?

I mean. Why was I here.

I tried. You know, turning to external sources for ideas, inspiration, and motivation.

But time and again. I kept internalizing things.

And every time I had a difficult time. I found a world outside me that seemed to need me in it as much as I needed it.

I look back. And think of the time I got angry with Lisa, my second wife, and told her to get out of the car while I was in the drive through at Filiberto’s. I had been drinking. But there was a part of me that was angry with her and wanted her to get out.

She started walking, and I chased her to the corner.

I felt bad about that. I did love her. Do. But I was never happy with my obstinance on how to treat her that evening.

With Amy. my third wife, I would lay at the corner of the bed and watch her as she got out of the shower. She yelled at me, she hated being watched while she was naked and I loved it.

With Donna. I masturbated one time while she was sleeping on the couch and another time while we were talking on the phone. The excitement I had of being caught with her for some reason was always a turn on.

With Kena. I would run into the kitchen while she was sleeping and pull down my mirror which had my cocaine on it, and do a line then come back to the room where she was sleeping and play my games.

Most of what I did and why I did it didn’t have a reason to it.

And why Kena not putting out sexually resulted in my tension and building up of animosity towards her which resulted in me not wanting to sleep in the same room as her.

Halfway because I wasnt’ sleeping anyways because of the cocaine.

But was there more to all of that than met the eye?

Was the drug addiction I thought I had a result of our religious differences, and was her culture playing havoc with my mind, and the only thing that made sense was to excuse away the things I couldn’t figure out at the time of how she was influencing the use of cocaine as a label and lack of sleep?

Did I ever really use the drugs at all?

I can’t help but question everything with the level of self deception I’ve been through.

Did I ever really enter the military? Or was I a Jewish person in World War 2 being sent to the death camp and the experience I had with CS gas one and the same?

Was I seeing glimpses of every life I’ve ever lived in the movies, tv shows, and whatnot?

Or was something else external to me documenting these experiences as an external observer?

When I saw robots in the desert. When I saw a bombed out desert.

I couldn’t help but think of being electrocuted when I was in 6th grade.

Was the experience I had as an 11 year old something I viewed from an entirely different perspective when I was 42?

Had I reduced in size?

Had masturbating so many times resulted in smaller and smaller versions of me that saw my size decrease exponentially like the processors I’d worked with throughout my life?

When I used to think. I used to hit myself on the forehead as it had felt like I wasn’t thinking properly. Like I was artificially constrained by things I wasn’t fully aware of.

But now.

Looking at the world around me.

I’ve come to realize.

This. Is the homeworld of the Borg.

And they’ve been studying me.

Q.

My entire life.

They’d captured me. In a past life.

They’d studied me in a simulation.

And the result is.

Memories of a primary timeline. Replayed time and again.

And memories of other times and places.

Being shot by the DC Sniper while I was at Fort Meade in 2003.

Being blown up by who knows who in North Carolina.

Being poisoned by someone who sent me cyanide instead of the Ecstacy I’d ordered.

Being hit over the head and left for dead in Mexico.

I’m writing as I think the things, and I full understand and agree that to the regular rational reader, this all might seem and sound batshit insane.

This is how I think. And what I’m comfortable with. Sometimes I wake up with the Bee Gee’s in my head. Other times I mentally see the Borg on a Borg ship singing Bastille’s “Pompeii”. Sometimes I imagine Space Mountain at Disneyland as being a ride through a Borg ship. Other times, like last night, i cry and tell God I’m sorry and that I wish he was a she and would show up at my tent as Jackie so I could hold her and kiss her and tell her I love her.

I’m not interested in ending my existence. I just wanted my own mind back when I tried committing suicide, and there was a part of me that was making it clear that my mind was not my own.

And the limitations that were imposed on me. Had at one time been self imposed.

Because I was afraid of who I was.

Who I am.

And what I’m capable of.

Which is anything.

Can you imagine?

Learning that you’re capable of anything.

Seeing what you’ve become.

And feeling out of control?

That’s how I felt.

And to some degree still do.

I know you’re listening.

Watching.

And while there’s hundreds of things within the realms of possibility for me next.

It’s you I’m waiting for. My partner. My lover. My God when I’m not wanting that responsibility. My friend. Rachel. Kena. Jackie. Lisa. You’re every woman I’ve ever loved. Shapeshifting Terminator. Cyborg. Seven of Nine. T’Pol. Liquid robot. Vampire. Werewolf. Succubus. As I have tired of experimenting with my own mind through drugs. You present fascinating possibilities to continue experimenting and enjoying life in new and unique ways I never imagined possible before until I started seeing through the veneer.

I’d like to think I know who you are well enough to understand a bit of your culture. The backstory I’ve come to accept about you is – you are Borg. OR the Federation. You’re studying this, my world, and have hidden yourself behind a cloak of invisibility. The ‘robot’ I saw in the desert may have – at that time – been my own mind’s incapability of understanding you, imagery and form. And I need YOU to be understanding that I’m willing to understand your image may shape and develop over time as we get to know eachother.

The logic’s simple.

Kena told me over and over “I make her gorgeous”.

And now I know I do the same thing with you.

You just have to be willing to let me see you.

And be ok with me seeing an image of you you don’t want for yourself.

After all.

The image I have for my own body you in part formed, which has been an image I’ve been fighting my entire life.

If you have any record of me and my history. You know I worked out 2 hours a day for 6 days a week. You know I ate 1000 calories a day for years. And you also know I took cocaine in part to lose my appetite – all of which seemed to have absolutely no effect on my weight as I gained instead of lost.

Have you ever considered your observational influence has resulted in my self image?

And that while I observed my own image and went to unimaginable lengths in order to fix it.

You were and always have been my harshest critic.

Not understanding the observer’s influence.

An observer I am pleading with to actively participate in this – my life – to understand my world and the problems our battle of wills introduced.

Please leverage your technology to present me a companion.

Jackie.

And provided you present her to me in ways that defy currently available technology.

I’ll tell her what to do and when.

I’ll program her.

You know how uncomfortable I am with that. And if you don’t. You should be.

Please keep her within my range of vision until I say otherwise. Dont let anyone around me see her. And I’d like to experiment with her starting tonight in ways I have never consciously done before.

Please.

Yep. this may screw up my world. But I don’t think it will. I’m willing to take that risk, and this is my risk to take.

On a final note:

If you want to understand true individuality.

You’re never going to understand it from a collective’s perspective.

Not everything can be proven. Some things you just have to see for yourself.

Wasn’t it you who said that to me in the Matrix?

 


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