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Hope

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A few years ago, I read the book by Barack Obama called “Audacity Of Hope”

It’s among the reasons I voted for him as President.

The book’s a great read – and direct contradiction with it’s title – the book is a testament to defying the odds, to believing so strongly in not just what’s right – but what’s possible – that ultimately belief trumps all odds.

Get it. Trump?

I cracka me up.

Now throughout my life I have watched people on television and in the movies – both in real life and in the movies – living my lifelong dream. It wasn’t just to be fabulously wealthy, that was a small part of it, and it wasn’t even to be famous – quite frankly I’m not a fan of attention.

It was – in part – to walk on the set of these fictional worlds.

The make believe.

And it was to have the financial freedom to hire a custom designer build my dream house, or to have the freedom to create a game room, to create new start up companies based on fantastic ideas i got, or heck – to take a trip to Thailand on my custom modified 737 with a few of my best friends and tour the strip clubs and hire a couple of prostitutes for the weekend.

So when I read Obama’s book. It struck a nerve.

I’d been battling high blood pressure and physical issues mostly related to stress for what felt like too long by that point. I’d been miserable with my relationships and repeatedly not been able to maintain a marriage to save my life.

And I found myself looking at the title of his book.

“Audacity of Hope”

And actually questioning “The American Dream”

I mean. Being specific. It was every foreigner’s dream to come to America.

But here I was busting my balls to make a few extra bucks, for what, to have a larger one bedroom apartment and a woman when I could afford the party supplies?

America – me being a citizen of this country – was most decidedly not my dream back then.

I was stressed out. Working too hard for very little return. Giving most of my income to an unappreciative government who punished and threatened me when I didn’t give as I was expected to.

This felt mysteriously like..

Slavery.

About then I started actively listening to everything.

And when I say everything. I do mean everything.

I started analyzing the labels I was told something was. And paying attention to people’s behaviors around me. Questioning how my close friends were succeeding despite hardly trying and here I was.

Putting 3 times the effort in. And getting a fraction of the return for my time and effort.

None of it was making sense.

And then.

Somewhere in 2004 when I took a trip to Amsterdam and had a shared hallucination with 4 others taking the same mushrooms as I did. It was the first time I poked a hole the size of the Titanic through the myth of the labels others were assigning to things I needed to begin understanding were real.

Put specifically. When I saw a different world with my own eyes, my own ears, my own senses.

And when 4 of my friends and companions saw that same world.

By science’s own methods I’d created a repeatable experiment with a consistent result.

And I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that alternate realities, time travel, God, the multiverse, all of it was real.

So last week – I explained why I wasn’t working or interested in finding work to a friend, as I explained how I have no viable options. I showed him the scar on my arm where I tried to slice my own wrist and tried to commit suicide. I explained to him that was my fourth attempt and that working in dead end jobs getting nowhere made me feel like a slave, and while I like and prefer having a formal roof over my head, my sanity and my life isn’t worth taking just any job knowing I’ll be back in the same situation which led me to suicide to begin with.

In this day and age of questionable friendships.

As I explained my life matters to me.

And to have someone tell me do it anyways.

There’s no words to describe my…

Conviction. And belief.

That I deserve better.

There’s no words to explain that this American.

Isn’t angry.

Isn’t bitter.

Isn’t resentful.

And as I responded to his comment, knowing he’s Jewish with his last name, with a matter of fact “Well, I can always become the next Hitler until I get my way”

I realized it was wrong when it came out.

But sometimes.

Like hope.

You have to warn people what’s coming.

Give them a heads up.

Being a nice guy can only last for so long.

And there comes a point where a man learns the methods of the dark side. Of the very real methods used by beings in alternate realities – beings such as Dr Evil, The Daleks, the Borg, Terminators, Hitler, Skynet, the Cybermen, Galactus, Dr Doom – and more – and their utter lack of representation with the exception of a Devil who doesn’t know his own head from his ass.

And while I like to think of myself as a good man.

It’s hard not to want to invite that dark side in.

To be it’s representation.

To indulge, freely, to do the things I want to do without fear of judgment or remorse.

Knowing full well they’ll all prefer that.

The other option is.

Society and my world hears this message.

And understands they’re responsible for what I’m to become.

A man respectful of a society who finally decides to elevate my status with me.

Or a man disdainful of a society who feared what he was to become not fully comprehending it was their choice.

Q.

Is me.

And while I am a God to many.

I am the Devil to just as many.

Who do you want me to be?

Merry Christmas.

On this day. 47 years ago. I was brought to your planet in a little red stocking.

As you celebrate this holiday.

While I wish you a Merry Christmas.

For your sake. I hope there’s more to come.

Hope is something everything in existence deserves.

But more than hope.

Dreams do come true.

Mine will. Fiction will become fact. But what that means to you the observer.

Who knows?


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