From War Birds to Peace Birds: The 2017 Sacred Peace Walk

I started an essay on my transcendent yet grounding Sacred Peace Walk last year, though it was getting so deep I got sidetracked… so I decided to wait until closer to this year’s walk and put it out there as sort of a taste of what one may experience; at least what I experienced last year, as no two perspectives will be the same, and 2017’s walk was truly one of a kind, as is every year. My draft ended with part of the story of old friend and fellow peacewalker Vera Anderson whose injustice following one of last year’s actions at the hands of LVMPD has made local news, which I will carry into as an update at the end of this article. I will also include videos from last year’s walk throughout this article.

I am about to embark on 2018’s walk, from March 24-30th (the actual walk begins on the morning of Sunday the 25th, starting at the Atomic Testing Museum). If you are interested in attending, there is more information at where you can also register or sponsor a peace walker. I will be video journaling this walk as well. Now for the original essay I began nearly a year ago:

From War Birds to Peace Birds: The 2017 Sacred Peace Walk

Going into the Sacred Peace Walk this year, I knew it would be full of profound meaning and beauty, and bring together a few of my favorite passions- activism, spirituality, and nature, since I got a taste of all that in 2016 when I went to just the final night and day of it (Peace Camp and the ritual line-crossing and arrests at the Nevada National Security Site [formerly known as the Nevada Test Site, infamous for heavy nuclear weapons testing in the 1950s and 60s, which continues in less public and subtler yet still massively destructive forms today], 60 miles northwest of Las Vegas). But I could not know exactly how special or of what specific forms the beauty and meaning would present itself, beyond the planned protest actions and bonding with fellow peace activists and the serene desert. And while certain moments were not quite what I expected, and there was one occurrence that upset us all in an unexpected but not completely surprising way, the unpredictable moments of beauty are what stand out most in my memory thus far; the subtle yet nearly unbelievable sightings of certain birds, at perfect moments and rare circumstances, brought a whole new level of transcendent beauty and awe, and what seemed to be a reminder that the Earth and universe approves, that we were there for a truly sacred cause, and the beings of the heavens on Earth were right there with us.

Picture album of 2017 Sacred Peace Walk

The first such sight happened at the end of the first deeply moving community action I took part in on the walk, during the third day (I had missed the first two days, being the city portion and the beginning of the walk outside of Vegas/around Lee Canyon). About halfway between the start of the 17-mile walk portion and lunch, we stopped at the turnoff to two prisons, the High Desert State Prison and Federal Penitentiary, for a short break and a prayer/meditation circle. When I attended the peace walk last year for the first time, as short as my time was, these circles were among my favorite parts of the experience, tuning us in deeply with the Earth and each other as a unified whole, led by elder Johnnie Bobb of the Western Shoshone tribe.NeweMilitary

The Western Shoshone (Newe Sogobia– meaning ‘The People of Mother Earth’) land consists of much of central Nevada (and northeastern to some southwestern, from Utah and Oregon into California), including the lands now occupied by the Nevada National Security Site (formerly known as Nevada Test Site, the infamous home of the 1950s atomic testing grounds- and subtler weapons since), run by the DOE (Department of Energy), and the lands unlawfully “owned” by the BLM (Bureau of Land Management). The U.S. federal government for decades has been in violation of the Treaty of Ruby Valley, signed in 1863, which only allowed right of passage for non-indigenous people through their lands; the land was never sold or ceded by the Shoshone. There are clear risks to their land in the form of nuclear testing of all sorts (much being underground), and the now reinvigorated plan to make Yucca Mountain a nuclear repository site (it already now holds low-level nuclear waste). It just so happens that the first activism-related action I ever saw my name attached to online was my name on a list of citizens who signed a petition against making Yucca Mountain the nation’s nuclear repository from back in 2002 when there was a public meeting of some sort involving the DOE (then run by Sununu), when Harry Reid was “representing” us and opposing the plan (a dozen years before he called the peaceful protesters/land protectors I was supporting/documenting “domestic terrorists” with a completely twisted and projected definition- article here), so this has been in my blood a while. Not only is the radiation a risk and proven cancer causer to the Shoshone people, but also to everyone around, and downwind such as St. George, Utah.

Getting back to the prayer circle, at the turnoff about a mile from two high-security prisons, we held prayers for the prisoners, from political prisoners to unjustly convicted to all who have made mistakes, and called out the names of anyone we know held prisoner there or anywhere. We sang a few songs and felt the emotions high running through us, and ended the circle with a stomping on the grounds to let them know we’re there. And just as we started to disperse, a new friend Logan, also taking many photos, pointed out the sight above us- a bunch of white birds flying in a circular and spiral-like formation, far above the power lines over us. I noticed there seemed to possibly be around as many birds as us (though very hard to count from how far below we were). He remarked that they could even look like light beings, since we couldn’t notice any wings and were so brightly sunlit, and from the feeling we got when some of us stopped and looked up for moments, they were a good omen, or at least a motivation we felt from above, with us. As we walked back toward the road, the birds drew further away and up towards the direction of where we would be going, northwest up the 95 (toward the Goddess Temple). They faded from our sight as we felt mesmerized them and kept our eyes on them until the last seconds we could and beyond, and we were fully connected and energized for the second half of the day’s walk.

The second spiritual bird sighting came on the final day, when we were returning from the ritual line-crossing at the Nevada National Security Site, after 12 were arrested in the yearly tradition of civil disobedience and held in the outdoor pens for about thirty minutes and issued a citation which is almost never followed up on. The winds were some of the strongest there have ever been on a peace walk, but not too surprising given the exceptionally windy year in southern Nevada. It felt to some, and remarks were made, that the “spirits” were with us, also of high energy and some unease after the unexpected events that took place as a result of the Creech arrests a few days before- brutality/cruel and unusual punishment of one of our peacewalkers at CCDC, which I’ll get into shortly. Well as we returned to Peace Camp after the line-crossing, the winds died down completely… and a few walkers spotted a crane sitting in the middle of the desert, watching them. Logan, the photographer (and cross-country walking peace pilgrim) who spotted the birds/beings above us by the prisons, got video of this crane, who was looking right at the camera, with its serene appearance exemplifying its symbolism of peace, and flew away after a few moments. We asked each other if anyone out here has ever seen a crane, especially in the desert, and none of us have. This was seen as another sign of spiritual approval, at least by those who have a feeling of that level, and in the Sacred Peace Walk, it’s not uncommon to see the world in symbols and spiritual meaning. Just the sight of the crane and the birds days earlier hit us emotionally, on a transcendent plane that seems to suggest this is all serving a higher/more-than-physical purpose.

Overall, beyond the symbolism and spiritual interpretations, the air of peace and mission we walk for was palpable and brought us together like nothing else could… it is a representation of what humanity ultimately wants, in unison with each other, all races, and all species… war is not what we want or need… it may seem like human nature, but it is only when armies formed by governments are led into battles and conflicts to suit the interests of the elites, not our nor the armies interests; we try to show the participants this themselves when they head into and out of work at the drone-controlling capital of the world, Creech Air Force Base. We make a practice of presenting this to the guards and workers and higher-ups of Nevada National Security Site, even if all they see is tradition… the speeches, the reasons, the persistence has got to cross their minds that this is all for a purpose nobody is paid for, but a drive and resonance deep inside our hearts. I can see this in some expressions and some of the demeanors of those who deal with us, and a few have dropped out of the Air Force over the years and testify that the protests had to do with it. Many may not get it, but it is a process. And we are all growing and learning in this process of changing the world for the better, and acknowledging that the world will not always respond to protest in the ways society sometimes does for the greater good.

We need to evolve our forms of activism. This is a given, but not a no-brainer. The public has been pretty desensitized and polarized over protesting, after over a decade of endless protest “movements” and causes that were reignited by the Iraq war, following decades of a lull in much political activism. And overall our adult generations have been jaded by splinterings and corruption that affects seemingly every level in the existing structure even when it comes to “grassroots”, co-ops and coups, vote rigging and people-dividing, and so much disheartening nonsense that pushes us away then makes us feel insane for having the urge to dive back in and somehow believe we really can change the world. So a lot of people probably are taking longer “breaks” or attending to their families and putting personal priorities first because, well, we all have our own lives and we need to care about ourselves before we have any idea how to handle the world. But of course this all goes hand in hand, we’re a microcosm of the macrocosm.

If we neglect a relationship, it falls apart while we’re taking it for granted, as can also happen with abandoning our own bodies. Once we’ve decided or seen our purpose in taking up an activist cause, we begin a relationship with the world and specifically our community, of direct action to help co-create what we want to see as betterment for the world, and/or for our community. In order to do so we often have opposition from the perceived forces that hold up the walls from the other side of intentions, what seems to be a dark power-hungry, money-fueled, war-loving side; or perhaps something not so sinister but inept and irresponsible, so needs to be replaced or at the very least fixed and nobody else responsible is doing it… and we have many different beliefs, many different philosophies and theories and ideas of solutions or where to begin. The combination of the opposition, the threat of imprisonment or death or loss of quality of life and need to protect self and family, and the lack of consistency amongst your own “base”, the infighting and left vs. right eternal fight instead of remembering it’s top vs. bottom, and bewilderment from the outside and seeming incongruence between “fighting the good fight” and keeping a comfortable day-to-day life where you can focus on the necessities… can all be pretty scary and push us away from activism… But without us, the entire impetus falls apart and who will be the driving force of change when all of our people give up?

Sure there may (hopefully) be more generations that pick up the torch again, but right now we know we are at a precipice- Technology is becoming so advanced, and drones are now already so common and increasingly inevitable to be “everywhere” soon, it seems that we have passed a point of responsibly deciding where we take our technology. Artificial intelligence is out there in many forms, and while it still seems to be in its infancy or perhaps adolescence, still with many problems and glitches that don’t apparently yet them allow to be all-knowing and fully human-like, but how close do we feel we’ve gotten?

Anyway this was all about peace. Behind peace is love, and throughout humanity with each new life, is love. We unite each year as one of all forms in expression of peace and love, supporting all of humanity in peaceful endeavors and the Earth on which we reside. The lands on which we walk along with natives have been torn by decades of manmade adventurism, fought and deceived over in broken treaties and federal takeovers, and we honor and seek to protect these sacred lands. And this year, with the timing of current events and the beautiful birds that appeared to signal a mystical approval, we know it is as important as ever to let the establishment know that we are not just shutting up and taking whatever they give us. At least in my mind, though I know my compatriates agree about peace and love.

There have been several outbreaks of violence at protests and various public events of the past couple years, and it’s pretty easy to tell where the anger is directed or funneled from… Who benefits from further division such as racial… the story of police versus people becomes a race issue in which the fingers are pointed in all kinds of directions and at roots that can only be changed so far (e.g. whiteness), but whom the police are working for and whom this class warfare benefits should be focused on more- but I digress. My point is that violence is not the answer, it only breeds more terror. We need not even be nor be part of a group that is violent to be at a political type event where violence pops up and then be associated one way or another by the media… we know this happens to many of us.

So in the Sacred Peace Walk, everyone is committed to peace completely and agrees to non-violent expression… it would be pretty difficult for the courts to color us as a violent group. If hearings do go ahead concerning our peacewalker Vera, it will certainly be interesting (though surely very frustrating) to see what they’d try.

Vera was a perfectly peaceful demonstrator, whom I have known longer than most activists I’ve met, always peaceful and always 1000% for love being the answer, and got arrested along with the 5 others, for laying on the roadway at one of the Creech Air Force Base entrances (part of the yearly traditional protest action)… police apparently weren’t prepared that morning, as there was a mixup in whatever briefings they received, and the big platoon of Metro cop SUVs didn’t show up until about a half hour into the civil disobedience action, when they usually would be there in the morning. Perhaps this had a relation, but not justification, to what appeared to be a rougher than usual handling of the peacewalkers. I went towards the area they were being temporarily held before more transportation got there, a sort of tarp-covered fenced pen unit, and got video of our friends getting taken into the trucks.

What happened to Vera happened later at the jail. Her dreadlocks were torn from her hair, and she was restrained in a torture-style chair, and had several witnesses. I will quote part of the testimony of George Killingsworth, the first peace walker I walked alongside for my first day of walking, to explain what he could hear in the jail he was taken with Vera to:

Officer Womack not only ignored my companion’s pleas, but escalated the rough physical and verbal abuse … recklessly pulling and actually cutting my companion’s hair to remove the elastic bands.  Unlike my case, my companion’s cuffs were never removed and she was not invited to remove the bands from her own hair.   Understandably she did turn her head to minimize the pain being inflicted .. and this was evidently seen by Officer Womack as insubordination, whereupon Officer Womack and two other male Officers threw my friend on the floor pummeling her and unnecessarily restraining her with their fists and knees.  Then she was thrown into a restraining chair with tight chains on her ankles and wrists.  She was then wheeled around a corner of the waiting room to where fewer witnessing eyes could witness the additional “processing”.


Vera and I waiting for fellow peace walkers to be released from the NNSS pens

Well, that is where I left off in my writing last year. Just last week, Las Vegas’s “I-Team” (a highly reputed team of investigative journalists headed by George Knapp who have a long local history, with Vegas’s CBS affiliate Channel 8) released this story: I-Team: Video missing after woman files complaint against detention center, an honorable follow-up to their report on her last year here: I-Team: Woman claims she was mistreated in Clark County Detention Center

It’s not surprising that Metro has been involved in yet another “technical glitch” cover-up of footage that incriminates their officers (I have recently also been tirelessly promoting and going to screenings of a stellar documentary made by other fellow activists, also featuring my lawyer, “What Happened In Vegas”, thoroughly exposing the corruption of the LVMPD, which has won several awards at film festivals despite local theaters being intimidated by Metro into not showing the movie, and is even on Amazon Prime- a recent screening of which at AMC I saw Vera for the first time since the last Sacred Peace Walk), but it is good that awareness is reaching the public in big ways, as Vera hoped the injustice upon her would at least expose their practices and make such power-tripping officers think twice before abusing somebody else.

And on that note, this year should go more peacefully. Of course, on the part of the peace walkers, we maintain a pledge of nonviolence, and stick to peace on our parts. We cannot guarantee the officers who arrest the volunteers who participate in the civil disobedience actions will be peaceful, but we hope they learned their lesson… and I truly hope some, even one, officer or military employee has taken our message to heart, and may decide they are now on the side of peace, and humanity. Either way, the message of the Sacred Peace Walk is one that cannot and will not be forgotten, as nuclear testing and modern warfare affects all of humanity, and we cannot let intent and care for humankind and our sacred Earth fall by the wayside.

You’ll also have a profound personal experience, and make friendships that will last a lifetime. 🙂

Resources/related links:

Newe – Nevada Indian Territory

The Western Shoshone and the Treaty of Ruby Valley

Te-Moak Tribe of Western Shoshone


I-Team: Video missing after woman files complaint against detention center

I-Team: Woman claims she was mistreated in Clark County Detention Center



National Bird (powerful documentary I saw after SPW 2017, part of the inspiration for this article title- trailer below)



27 pages of Cymatics story-in-progress written in jail

What may be two chapters of somewhere around the middle of the novel I’ve been working on since 2011 (the one the Mandela Effect stole the idea of), off and on, written while I was in jail last year… The most I’ve written of the story in one chunk (a couple weeks of my 55 days). Some of the jail stuff is very close to reality, a few parts written right before it happened in real life (and I didn’t know the arresting cop said on video I was “gonna be trouble later” as his motivation until after I got out). This story has become so intertwined with my life and maybe you can see some of why I’m taking forever to finish. This was 18 pages written (front and back) and came out to *27* pages typed. If you want to see another excerpt, see the even weirder “bus stop scene“. Everything is a first rough draft so far.

(Copyright 2016 Jason Nellis, but you’d have to be crazy to steal this):

    I gave up on going to the campaign office. This unreliable day-to-day pattern of reality, or chaos, made me feel like I had ended up supporting another unreliable candidate, who couldn’t keep his word from one speech to the next, even if he tried. This new world had no place for any consistency anyway- a consistent president would be absolutely absurd. That was the main “rational” reason that my brain presented.

    The deeper, more selfish reason only my journals/you would know, was that I felt no personal attachment anymore. The attachment I wishfully created after joining the campaign, or rather created by my heart or desire for companionship, to my focus of desire, Lucy.  

    At least before the world as I knew it ended, Lucy was sorta consistently friendly and warm towards me, if perhaps lukewarm in the flirtation department. She acknowledged me regularly (unless entranced by the beloved campaign office director Phil Simpson then, but now I couldn’t wake up each day without knowing if she’d remember me or respect me this time. I had lost all motivation to continue being around her, especially after the last encounter, in which I felt like she was encountering an alien when I tried to hug her. It was a triple smack in the face when she ran into the arms of Phil, and at the moment his hand grasped hers over her heart, I saw their ring fingers gleam with wedding rings.

    The light bouncing off her diamond hit my eye like a laser beam, and burned deep into my heart. I may have actually shielded my face as if blinded by the light as I turned away and left before they could catch on to my horror. Maybe I really had become an alien, I thought.

    I rushed home and drank myself to sleep with a bottle of wine, the first time I’d drank in months. The bottle I decided not to touch back when I got the campaign job, the upward turnaround moment after my life had gone awry and sent me deep into alcoholism to escape. But again, at least, reality back then had a sense of linear or at least cyclical time, not complete chaos and uncertainty about the current version of history and existence.

    So here I found myself on a one-way street, Main, which had never been one-way before. I walked in the direction the arrows and cars pointed, submitting to the demands of this damned dimension. The architect of this world had to be madly (or deeply?) demented. I had no destination, just acceptance that drinking would take me where it wanted – or wherever whatever was in charge wanted. I dropped the denial that I had any resemblance of control left in my life. In past days I had submitted to not knowing what turn anything would take anymore, and surrendered any concepts of logic, and trusted that eventually things would “work out” and I could adapt without going (completely?) insane.

    But insanity had now seemed to settle into inevitability, if not already a fully cemented reality. Though why couldn’t I at least be stably insane, creating my own unreal stories in my head about  the world around me that I could at least follow the storylines of from day to day, week to week? How could my mind ever choose this?

    The mind control thoughts crept up again… I tried to suppress the despair/horror of this possibility  but it kept creeping back into my head like a kid having the urge to keep looking back at pictures of the fantastical creatures that he feared most.

    And then the harmony of a harmonica halted my horrifying thoughts. The familair tune put my mind at an ease I couldn’t recall since before the world flipped upse-down. Also for the first time since then (the laboratory incident), the onset of a melody didn’t make my heart jump or give me a queasy feeling and concern that the coma(or “trance”)-inducing tune had made its return once again.

    As I stood frozen in musical mesmerization, I made out the body of the harmonica player- realizing it was Lucy. She was sitting on the sidewalk in front of a cafe- my former favorite downtown hangout, The Sound. In front of her was a bucket, which drew my attention when a passerby droped change into it. Could it really be her? Was it just a hopeful apparition? Of course anything could now happen… anyone could become something they had never showed a sign of being before this modified universe. I had never known her to play music, and she was always wealthier than me, to my knowledge.

    I made my way toward her, feeling what seemed to be the most nervous I had ever felt around her, but drawn flowingly by her beautiful music. My heartbear raced, but as I got closer it slowed to a rhythm syncing to her song. I still couldn’t place where it came from but it was immensely, even intimately, familair. She turned to look at me and paused immediately when the sync seemed to lock in perfectly. I felt as if I was floating.

    Next moment I knew, I was sitting next to her. Our eyes were intertwined for somewhere between a few seconds and decades, until we couldn’t bear the butterflies any longer. We locked lips for another momentary eternity, and all was well with the world. We pulled away, barely realizing anything outside of us existed, and all I knew was my love for her and true bliss. And for once, I could feel the feeling was mutual. She raised her harmonica and handed it to me.

    “Remember the song?” she asked me, and while I could not recall trying a harmonica since childhood, I felt I did remember.

    I held it to my lips, not knowing what I was about to do, but letting it happen. As I blew and drew in each note, she said the number with me.

    “4-4-4-4-4-4, 3-3, 3-3, 5…”

    I paused, taking a breath, pulling the harmonica away, looking at it in some puzzled astonishment, then to her. Her face was gleaming with the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.

    “You do remember!” She threw her arms around me, and we embraced for another lifetime.

    When we released, I returned it to my mouth and continued with the song, as she sang. I could almost cry at the beauty of her voice, in harmony with the tune I was pulling from some subconscious storage. Whatever was happening, I wasn’t questioning it; it felt exactly as things should be and I was not going to leave her side.

    We spent all day walking around downtown, talking about our lives (me pre-chaotic memories) and the campaign we both apparently left behind… but barely any of that low-vibed stuff. I learned things about her I never had the slightest idea of during our platonic friendship… I told her things about myself neither my best friends nor any former girlfriend knew before, People left and right approached us to talk, or simply looked brightened up as we made eye contact. Everything around us seemed to be more vibrant and fun than ever.

    I knew I liked her for the past year, maybe the strongest crush I’d had since high school, but I hadn’t even imagined this level of bliss. Sure I had fanatasized countless times about us being together, but I could never foresee this feeling. But it validated the instant magnetism I felt toward her when I first walked into that office and saw her months before. I no longer had the lingering concern she thought I was a creep, nor did Phil’s repeated reassurances to me that she saw me as a creep make noise in my head anymore. Doubts and self-consciousness dissolved and I truly cherished every moment.

    We watched what seemed to be the most beautiful sunset ever from the hotel rooftop I had saved to share my secret access knowledge of for someone truly special. The warm orange glow filled our souls with cell-activating pleasure, and the pink hues amplified the electromagnetic love that permeated between us. The ethereal indigo sweep after the light had settled behind the mountains and wrapped us fully in its assurance that this was it; this moment was eternal, our love was more than a crush or lust, our souls were one and life was indeed not whole without each other. I heard this was possible but always thought my luck cut short of that kind of heaven.

    We kissed for another eternity that could never belong enough. We opened our eyes and night had come into being. The air lit up with a new charge of excitement, the energy pulsating through our veins undeniably intertwined, an equation that could never be undone.

    “Shall we go to your place?” she asked, expectantly yet somewhat shy. My nod came without a second thought, though my heartbeat accelerated beyond measure and it felt like too many thoughts flew past my mind to single out any one of them.

    Before I could process, we were reaching the bus stop. I saw the bus coming and realized she had never been to my place before.

    “Have we…” I cut myself off, barely knowing what I was starting to ask. She squeezed my hand and kissed me, as if she understood what was going through my head without question, maybe even better than I knew.

    The bus ride home was the most happily anxious ride I had ever experienced. The perfection of the day now had an added dimension of “is this right?” questioning within. But each time I felt her hand squeeze mine, or brush along my leg, or glance or lock into her eyes, the concerns washed away. Waterfalls/cascades of unconditional love poured through my entire being, raising me to even higher heights.

    Then the “See Something, Say Something” sign I used to hate seeing on the bus caught my eye. I thought back to the articles I read the day I decided to join the campaign, that took me down the rabbit hole further than I had been before, from the anonymous network of informants who’d make big money off of reporting people for matters as harmless as criticisms of political officials’ voting records, to these suspected “terrorists” being “disappeared” and some thrown into government-run mental facilities where mind-control tests such as “MK Ultra” were administered. There was tons of evidence of these subjects going insane, and some ended in mass homicidal rampages that led to their suicides or death by police. I thought of the story of one man who didn’t know his wife was a CIA agent for 15 years, until one of his friends found out and told the victim who was in prison for killing multiple high-level people he couldn’t remember ever encountering.

    Throughout my work on the campaign, I was always guarded about other people in the office and related to the campaign, but it then hit me I never wondered about her. I used to be almost obsessive about the haunting idea of the femme fatale, something I felt would be perhaps the most heartbreaking, soul-crushing betrayal imaginable. So with my infatuation with Lucy, how had this not crossed my mind… until my perfect fantasy was achieved and surpassed?

    I turned to her, now with clammy sweating palms, but she remained facing away. I was relieved at this and moved my hand away from hers, reaching for my cell phone as a subtle excuse. The battery was dead; I didn’t know where to look but at the screen.

    “Your phone died?” she inquired before I realized she had turned to face me.

    “Ah, yeah… I just wanted to chek the time-” and I looked up right as I saw the time on the electronic marquee at the front of the bus, facing us.

    “Wait… is that an ePhone 8?” she asked. I felt like I was being interrogated, as innocent as the questions were.

    “Yeah… crappy old junk. Always dying.

    “Wow, old? How? I saw that unveiled on the news yesterday, and they said it’s being released next month. How’d you get that?”

    I started to panic and sweat quicker.” It’s a tester model… I signed up for this beta testing program last month and well I guess this one has some bugs to work out.”

    “Oh. That’s neat.”

    I could feel her stiffen up, obviously catching my tense vibes. I couldn’t return eye contact now and was visibly trembling. I became a prisoner of my own mind, my bliss replaced by paranoia. She then seemed to try to recapture our  bond and looked up at me, grabbing my hand.

    We got to my stop and stepped off the bus. The air feeling colder, she turned to me and wrapped her arms around me tightly. The whirlwhind of thoughts that had begun to make me physically dizzy and ill suddenly slowed down. She moved her head from my chest, where we both felt my pounding heart slow down to about half the frantic speed, to look up into my eyes. One streetlamp above us flickered on to illuminate us and our eyes as we gazed back into timeless union. Our lips met, we held each other’s heads as if we had to hold our faces together to survive, and all was right again.

    The self-imposed prison bars lifted out of existence, and we made our way to my apartment. I was more sure than I ever was about anything. We barely could make it to the bed before we were in full throes of passion, and we made love like I had never dreamt possible. I never had felt I ever had a true spiritual experience, an encounter with the divine, but now I had. Every level of my being was fulfilled. For once there was not one trace of questioning, of guilt whatsoever, of anything less than true destiny, and no doubt that the awakened soul feeling was mutual.*

    “Wow,” she sighed, as she opened her eyes and locked with mine. We kissed a tender kiss that never felt like we let go of, and I kept my eyes on her indescribable beauty as she closed hers and settled into our utopian embrace.

    I never felt so sure I wanted to be with someone, and I had never even been sure it was more than a crush I felt for her before this day. It felt as if my bad luck, bad karma, whatever, had finally been paid off and now everything felt in place, all signs said go. Maybe I had to go through a reshuffling of many possible realities to reach this one, the right one. I chose this path. I would not let go or trade it for anything.

    Feelings of love I wanted to express in words surged up with an intensity unlike anything ever felt before. The words “I love you” nearly made it to my lips, but my brain stepped in and told me I might scare her, even if every sign she gave and feeling she reciprocated showed she felt the same… I didn’t want to risk ruining or altering the most perfect experience of all time, the kind of moment that gives people reason to keep living, to create new worlds, new universes… so I kept my mouth shut.

    I gently kissed her again, and not sure if we ever let go, we drifted off to sleep.




    I woke up staring at the ceiling, images and feelings of the day prior replaying in my head. It took me a minute to realize this ceiling was not my own. And I was unnaturally close to it. The unfamiliar sensation gave me chills, and I hesitated to turn my head, dreading that my world had again changed completely. The feeling of being a prisoner of my own head returned as an inexplicable fear overcame me. I closed my eyes, swallowed my paralyzing resistance, and reopened them, scanning the room.

    To my bewildered horror, I saw that the room’s door had bars on it, the rest a blue steel. I realized I was on a top bunk of a bunk bed, and there was another perpendicular to me. As I looked, a man’s head popped out from underneat the other top bunk’s sheet, and I nearly fell off the bed from startled shock.

    “Whoa, what but your ass, Mr. Robot?” the man asked, laughing. He looked familiar, a Hispanic man possibly from the bus before, but I couldn’t place him exactly. I realized he had an inmate jumpsuit on. Then, I looked down under my blanket and realized I did too. I again jerked back, this time into a seated position, and felt a suffocating despair.

    “Sheesh calm down gringo… what the fuck… you forget you’re in jail?”

    “Where’s Lucy??” was the first thing I needed to know.

    “Haha who? Oh wait… what? Don’t you know how rare that is in these parts? You got a few hundred bucks on your books or something?”

    The guy in the bunk below his perked up.

    “You got cash comin’ in pharaoh whitey?” asked the middle-eastern looking guy below.

    “Pharaoh what? N-no, I don’t know what- wait why am I here? Is this… jail?”

    The Mexican and the Middle Eastern guy broke out laughing. Another voice emerged from the other bottom bunk, the voice of a black man.

    “Dude… you havin’ another one of your episodes again? You gonna go all serial killer on us one’a these days o’what?”

    “I just… I wasn’t here before I… uh… fuck!!”

    “Dude, J!” He sat up, revealing his face framed in dreadlocks and a braided beard. “Yes, you in jail!”

    I turned to my side, toward the wall, and saw a cup of water on my bed frame. I chugged it. I plopped my head back down, accidentally hitting the head frame. I adjusted myself down, dizzy, mostly from stress.

    “Do… do any of you guys know why I’m here?”

    “Beats me, you never tell us,” responded the black guy, getting out of his bed out of the side of my eye, walking to the cell door.

    “He went loco, of course he don’t want to tell us,” the Latino remarked.

    He may have been right… but I’ve never gotten myself in jail before… what could I have done? How bad was it? I had to at least get some hints of where I went wrong in this reality…

    “So, this, like uh, city jail right? Or county? Not prison?”

    They all burst out laughing this time.

    “No, we ain’t earned that kind of luxury yet,” my cellmate at the door answered through his laughter/guffaws. “Y’all hear that Osama? Prison…”

    The middle-eastern looking guy laughed aloud fake laugh. “Ha! Pha-whitey here could never survive a day there. I would know. You forgot my High Desert stories too huh?”

    “Ah, yeah… sorry… I have real bad memory issues”

    “Ese’ you got some kinda issues. I don’t think it’s just memory. You being here probably has sumthin to do with you ramblin’ on about pharaohs and Nefertitties in yo’ sleep all the time.”

    I froze. I spoke out loud in those dreams?! Shit.

    “Nef… Nefertiti? And… pharaohs?”

    “Yes, weirdo,” Osama answered. “That’s why your name’s-“

    “Pharaoh whitey?” I was just about to ask that…

    “Hey, our boy’s catching on!” scoffed the darkest-skinned cellie.

    I rolled onto my left side, facing the room, trying to act slightly. Actually, they didn’t seem that bad or unwelcoming.

    “So, what’s your name? To… refresh my memory.”

    “Mandela,” he told me as he walked from the door toward me, extending his hand for a fist bump. The others laughed. We bumped fists.

    “Jacob-” I introduced myself, right as I remembered they already gave me a name. They all laughed again.

    “Whitey is a riot today! You’re going to make me cry, Pharaoh!” Osama said through short breaths between laughs.

    “Nice to meet you for the fifth first time, ‘Jacob’! Now remember your given name!” Mandela clarified.

    “So why ‘Mandela’?” This name intrigued me. He didn’t look like Nelson Mandela…

    He took a few steps back. “This is perfect… you’ll find out, in time…” he cryptically stated.

    “What about me? You forget about the Mexican already, gringo?”

    “No- I was just about to ask-“

    He reached over from his top bunk toward mine, making me turn my body around to the other end of my bunk to reach his hand.

    “Rodrigo.” He shook my hand vertically, then did some kind of sideways fist bump, then some signals I couldn’t keep up with.

    “Ah shit pinche’ chingada, you forgot that too?” He backed up onto his bunk and waved me off dismissively. “Man…”

    “Sorry, I uh…” I slunk back into my bed, pulling the sheet over me.

    “Didn’t we tell you to stop saying sorry?” Mandela stopped me.

    “Oh… ah… I guess so.” I just wanted to sleep until reality switched again.

    “It’s all good… how about the bus? You remember me from there? Since you’re ‘new here’?”

    I perked my head up a bit at his coded-seeming words. He gave me a little wink. I gulped dryly, hoping it was a cryptic wink, and not some… intimate innuendo. I tried to scan whatever kind of screwed up memory banks I still had. He did seem a bit familiar, but I thought many people did in these ever-changing realities, and people I thought I knew on a first-name basis didn’t even remember me… and clearly I couldn’t recall people who knew me on a first– hell, practically lived with me in captivity, so…

    “Well, you do look familiar…” Hey, it was an honest answer.

    “Alright kid, we’ll letcha sleep. Chow’s in like an hour, maybe a nap will get your gears turnin’ again,” Mandela said in a comforting tone.

    “Thanks, yeah… maybe…” I turned back toward the wall and tried to get comfortable, but it was difficult on the inch-thick pad on the steel frame bunk. If this nap could switch me back to somewhere free at least, on the outside, I could at least have some illusion of control to try to get back to figuring things out…

    But the noises of the unit outside the door kept jerking my mind back to wakefulness, wondering if someone might come barging through the door to attack a cellmate, or a guard might come in picking us out to beat us up, or a riot, or something… Or oh shit, that wink Mandela gave me… I felt like these racing thoughts would keep me up forever… I’d much rather go back to being a “prisoner of my own mind” wondering if Lucy might be an undercover or MKUltra mind control handler than this actual prison… ok jail…

    I’d give anything to return to the perfection of the night before. Any part of that day. Such the opposite… everything was possible… my fantasy come true, and more… and I had no way to know if we were still… “together”. How did we even end up that way? It was too easy. To just… end up that way. It almost felt like I pulled some magic… trick… but I didn’t plan that… did I? A trick? Was it a trick on myself? Had this all been my mind pulling one big trick?

    Fuck… it had to be… what was I thinking? Reality changed every day, more drastically each time… but this change, nothing ever this radically different… shit. Of course that couldn’t have lasted. Would tomorrow be even worse? Maybe I shouldn’t go back to sleep.

    If only that could’ve gone another day! If only I stayed up all night! Fucking male biology. Maybe I should’ve just refrained from sex… that best fucking sex of my life… no, it was heaven… at least I cherished it…. I’ll always cherish that day… I’ll reliver it forever…. yes…. I can remember her eyes, her hair, her lips, her…

    I love her… Why didn’t I say it?!?

    I love you.   

    FUCK!! So simple- but so… frightening… but I knew it… hell, I’ve been in love with her for months, I think, maybe even from the first moment- but this day of mutual… I felt it from her too… but was it the “true” her? – Was it… her eyes flashed fleetingly again, and I began to remember our last moments together…

    “Ahkenaten,” a female voice whispered. Her voice>

    “My love…” her again… what? Ah fuck. Can’t be Lucy… but I better just go with this.

    “You know what you must do…”

    Oh not this again.

    ‘I can’t take this kind of pressure right now,’ I thought. But the words that I felt come out of my mouth deceived my mind.

    “Yes… it is for the good of our people. Our future.”

    The face I thought was Lucy’s became clearer. It was again Nefertiti. The strange sensations I felt toward her in past dreams seemed amplified this time, as if mixed in with the factor of the newly cemented love for Lucy, and my renewed yearning for her. I knew she wasn’t Lucy, but I felt an almost similar bond… more alien, but intimate… maybe also because I was getting used to her recurring in my dreams… but why? Questions and analysis flew by but quickly dissolved as Nefertiti touched my arm… the loving, sweepinh touch of a… oh my. Just like Lucy’s touch last night, before we…

    “Do not fear. Do not hesitate. I know the trepidation that lies within you… as well as the power, the will… and you know as well… you know yourself,” Nefertiti assured me. Or… him.

    “I do know myself…” This time, the words more closely matched what I felt within. As usual, I wasn’t sure if I was actually speaking English, but I understood it all as such.

    “Then let it be… Let go and do what thou knows thou must, what naturally shall emerge from within… They await thine action…” She held my hand in front of us, at arm’s length between us, pulling away, and let go.

    I let myself fall deeper into the dream.

    Kaleidoscopic images and trails, like mandalas and jeweled stained glass windows flew before me… cascading beautifully, hardly long enough for me to differentiate clear patterns or shapes… but all dazzling, enchanting, mesmerizing. Though it seemed realer than real; I and everything around me seemed so… alive. The colors sang, the shapes echoed, the lights seemed to reach out and touch me… deep within, and all throughout. I was in freefall, but floating, rising, and perfectly secure in my space. The space…

    And then a lion ROARED.

    It fleetingly seemed to jump at me through the cascading kaleidoscope, shattering the light, and then it seemed to be me. Was I the lion? Just as I started to check my body, lifting what seemed to be a paw as I looked down on it, feeling fur around my face, I woke up.


    My head shot up, along with my hand. I looked at it, breathing heavily, and it was my regular hand, with five human fingers.

    Laughter rang out… again, my cellmates, it sounded like. I turned to my left. A dark-skinned bald man stood at the doorway. Wait… what? He wasn’t here earlier. The light to his right kind of blurred his face, but I know there was no bald black guy in here earlier. Don’t tell me… I jumped to another jail timeline?

    “This… this still jail?” I had to catch up with my breath. “Not prison?”

    The guy at the door was now bent to his knees, laughing harder. I lifted my head to look at the guy on the other top bunk. It was still the Mexican. Rodrigo.

    “Who- who are you?” I asked the guy at the door.

    “Duuude… you sure you’re not supposed to be in Unit Seven? The mental unit?” Actually… it sounded like Mandela again. Ah, shit.

    “I told you, ese is loco!!” Rodrigo shouted through manic laughter.

    Mandela regained his posture, wiping tears from his eyes. “Bro, I just got a haircut. Just felt like time for a change.” He started laughing again as he stomped his feet and pointed a finger at me. “You are endless entertainment bro!”

    “So… I’m still Pharaoh Whitey.” I got a grip back on “reality” and figured I’d just go with the flow and go with… levity.

    Mandela threw his hands up as if in celebration. “By God he remembers! Akhenaten remembers who he is!” He shouted and raised his hands up higher, straight up. “Hallelujah!”

    “Hallelujah!” The others shouted.

    Despite this having every sign of being an innocent joke, it made me uncomfortable. I leaned over the side of my bunk to look down at Osama, just to check. Still him. I laid back.

    “Please, don’t call me that,” I mumbled under my breath.

    Mandela calmed down a bit and cleared his throat. The laughter subsided. “What? Akhenaten?” He studied me, waiting for some response. “Akhen—aten? Akh—inadin? Ah ge noddin’, ah-key-naytin’? Or… Ahgin-hodden oh-gee nodin!” He started to do a little dance, a silly shuffle.

    I let out a sign, and a little chuckle. These guys weren’t so bad. Maybe a little annoying, but not bad at all. Maybe jail ain’t so scary/bad…

    “Gringo laughs!” Rodrigo shot up in his bed again, clapping. They all started clapping.

    “Oh yeah, to answer yo question, yes, you are still, Pharaoh Whitey,” Mandela clarified, closing with a bow.

    I couldn’t help but smile, and shake my head. “Oh now… come on,” and another chuckle came out. That turned into a clearer laugh, and we all ended up laughing, and laughing.

    I decided to stay awake this time.


    Over the course of the day, I felt like these cellmates quickly became my friends, despite the resistance to talking much or participating, that I’m pretty sure I showed.  I figured there was pretty much no choice anyway, unless they were assholes or equally anti-social, or nutso from jumping realities every day, which they weren’t. They seemed like they’d be exceptional members of “normal society”, perhaps with some exceptions with the profanity-laden rants of Rodrigo that I never really grasped the point or idea of… and Mandela came off as especially wise, insightful, and seemed to… “get me”. He almost had a trickster-esque quality, but pretty much all he said so far to me seemed pretty on-point and sincere.

    When I got into the more general “society” of the jail unit, the “day room”, it was sort of like what I’d expected as the stereotyped inmate populations, but no fights or rapings, at least not yet, not visibly. I figured that’s more of a prison caricature anyway. Who knows how common that stuff is in the “average” prison, even… well, I guess prisoners know.

    Anyway, it was very loyd, and I could hardly write notes on all this without fists pounding on the tables, making my pencil skid across the paper, and there were threats between others and lots of tough talking, but nothing that seemed to pose any imminent danger to my person. There was even jovial banter between the guards (COs- Correctional Officers) and some inmates, of course with the guards generally having more weight, well with their cuffs and uniforms and badges and all. Though a few inmates seemed to be treated as a higher caste by the COs, as well as most the other inmates- and one of these highly-respected fellows was apparently my cellie Mandela.

    It was very interesting to get a taste of this world (but not so interesting to taste the food- ok, it was curious), though I held an expectant relief that soon, most likely the next day, I would move on to another reality again, hopefully outside of a locked down restrictive facility surrounded by barbed wire gates. Assuming whatever whacked out pattern or experiment or rip in the fabric of space-time I was stuck in.

    I started to feel the paranoid concern set in that this might be where some experiment may have led me, perhaps I couldn’t remember or memory was erased of how I ended up here, and they conducted the testing here and now I finally had woken up to the real reality… they gave everyone here shots after all, didn’t they? And there was the one time I was drunk on the strip and the cop cuffed me and I only remember bits and pieces… but no, I remember walking away free and- well I shook the paranoia off, aided by this lazy-eyed guy sitting down next to me and then suddenly laughing about how much I was writing.

    “Ohhh haa you, youuu are Stephen King, aren’t cha? Look what book I have in my hands!” I looked. It was The Shining.

    “Awesome… Never read it, but love the movie,” I said as I raised the paper cup of water Mandela had given me. I sipped, and almost choked, recalling his first words. “Oh, no I’m not Stephen King.” I half-laughed, not thinking he was serious… but wasn’t sure.

    “No- I know who you are…” He ran over to the book cart and grabbed another book, then ran back. “James Rollins!”

    I looked at the book. The Last Oracle. Title sounded familiar, the author vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

    “Nope, my name’s Jacob… not even sure I’ve heard of him, and I’m not an author… well not published or famous, at least.” His excitement turned into a frown. He seemed disappointed. “Um… sorry…”

    I tried to look straight in his good eye, once I realized which it was. I tried not to be too obvious, wondering how people usually made eye contact with him, but felt I just made it more awkwardly obvious.

    He shook his head and walked away.

    “People just don’t get it,” he muttered as he shuffled away.


*Notes- Right after I wrote the James Rollins/lazy-eyed man scene, the lazy-eyed guy I pictured in my unit came up behind me and asked if he could read The Last Oracle because he loves James Rollins… seriously.


    “The Prometheus shuttle is due to enter Titan’s atmosphere on Friday, set to disperse seven probes which will analyze Saturn’s largest moon and map out its topography, sending back instant images to Earth, as well as, for the first time in an instantaneous feed, live audio.” The TV caught my attention over the old guy’s shoulder.

    Interesting, I thought, in all I’d been following of this one news thread that seemed to be pretty consistent throughout all my differing experiences of reality, I never noticed any mention of a plan of a sound transmission. They didn’t give any more details aside from “everything’s going according to plan”, so I suddenly was determined to find a newspaper, recent magazine article, anything that would provide more details.

    Finally driven with a minor mission in jail, I went to the presiding CO at the high desk at the front and waited for him to call me from the red waiting line. He looked at me then turned to the female CO to continue talking. A minute later, he nodded to me to approach. I walked up and looked up at his towering face.

    “Do you have today’s newspaper?” I asked.

    He pulled out a form from his desk and handed it to me. “Fill out this request form and you might get one in three to five days, if approved.”

    3-5 days? Damn… I’m was pretty sure I’ll be in another reality by then… that is, unless, this is the “real” reality, my final path, back on course or whatever… meant to be here in jail… shit, I hope not. Well I might as well fill out the form, just in case… hmm, I better also check to see how long I’m sentenced for, or my court date.

    “Do I have to fill out a request form to see how long I’m in here for?”

    He gave me a blank stare.

    “Boy, you haven’t check the list yet?” He looked at me as if I were crazy and shook his head, then pointed across the room. “Back behind the stairs, posted on the wall- your court date or release date if you’ve been sentenced.”

    “Thanks,” I nodded, gulped a dry swallow, and headed toward the back. I slowed down my pace, realizing I have nowhere to be by any certain time, this is where my entire world is, at least for today. It feels kind of nice to just take it easy, in a way. But the outside world… what’s going on there?

    Suddenly, Lucy flashed in my mind again.

    “I want this moment to last forever,” one of the lines she said that melted me last night in bed replayed in my head with such clarity that it might as well have been just now.

    “Me too,” I had responded. Smooth… such a smooth, beautiful response, I sarcastically thought to myself. “I love you, Lucy,” I said in my head, realizing I also just mouthed it there in the jail. I briefly shifted my eyes around to see if anyone saw me, but I didn’t really care. I was beyond mad at myself for not saying it to her the night before, the many times I thought it. I’m pretty sure I did ev en silently mouth it then, with her head nestled under my chin, her lips tenderly resting on my chest, below my neck. She couldn’t have noticed, unless she could read my mind. And I really hope she did. Actually, I really think she did.

    I never felt such a strong, complete, transcendent yet fully present connection in my entire life. I wasn’t religious but I prayed and beffed, willed to whatever higher power, or to my inner kingdom, that we could experience it again; that the feeling, that perfect harmonious bond of a day, was not just that one day. But if it was, I’d have to accept it as the best, most beautiful day of my life, until I die.

    But I was not resigning to that fate.

    I realized I had been staring at the list of names and dates on the wall for who knows how long. I spotted my last name and followed it to the right.

    Davalos, Jacob… Court date 7/7/17.

    Hmm. Interesting date. Weeks away. Well I sure hope the universe takes me out of here well before then…

    “Freeman is surging in the polls today, after what some say was his first debate win, scoring big points on his response to a question about prison overcrowdings and the deepening controversies of America’s judicial system, a hot topic lately,” the news again caught my attention from the TV above the back of my head.

    “…Stop the rounding  up of thought criminals and ‘potential hazards’! This is the opposite of what the constitution intended, as well as completely backwards and not progressive! The first simple and obvious solution to our overcrowded jails and prisons would be to release all inmates who haven’t ev en committed actual crimes! These new ‘potential criminal intent’ laws are also putting cops more on edge than they can keep up with, because how are they to truly know what a suspect is thinking? We don’t need yet another paranoid, tyrannical justice reform act, we need a fundamental rethinking of what kind of future we want for America, and we must act now before the door on freedom of thought is closed forever.”

    Whoa whoa whoa… powerful- but, thought crime? Potential criminal intent? Have I ended up in Minority Report? Is Philip K. Dick rewriting my life?? This the conspiratorial path I’d imagine amongst many dystopian future possibilities in my studies that led me to Freeman’s campaign, but- now?? How could this be hap- oh shit- could I be one of those “rounded up”? A “thought criminal”? Of course this whole scenario isn’t too bizarre to believe anymore- I was a free man yesterday, not arrested b etween then and now, yet her I am in jail, apparently a resident here for a while now… I couldn’t wait for the court date to find out. This news popped up for me to hear for a reason, another puzzle piece… What was I wasting time for? I had less distractions here than ev er to delve into myself, soberly, and investigate this mystery of my ever-more-perplexing reality… not much outside research material amongst the library cart of fiction novels and Bibles, but that might be for the best…

    Although, maybe one of the numerous sci-fi novels would provide some hints… ooh, The Strain, written by one of my favorite directors, Guillermo Del Toro… didn’t even know he’s written a book… about… vampires? Eh… I’d take it just because I love his directing, even though I’ve been sick of the vampire genre for years…

    Ok, my cellmate said there’s a two-book (and two-bible) limit, so I’d better pick the next one carefully… intuitively, perhaps. Hmm, Steve Berry, I’ve heard he’s a good political thriller writer, but I swore off politics outside of the campaign office. This was actually a bit of a nice respite away from that environment, and I walked away from the TV every time they talked about the two main party candidates (Rothstein and Marshall). It was a nice surprise to hear Freeman was actually spiking in polls, definitely a different timeline/reality than what I’d been used to. But I didn’t need fictional political drama on top of the real life crap. The next one definitely looked sci-fi-ish… World of Chance… wait- Philip K. Dick?!? I loved him, but never heard of this novel…

    I looked at the synopsis… “the solar system’s government is run by lottery… the Quizmaster, dictator of all humanity…eh, it sounded a little *too* sci-fi for my mood… yeah, I’ve been too used to movies and more of a dystopian or dark comedy or political or non-fiction book reader… it just seemed so… dark for here, and dare I say cheesy. But the title made me think of my own situation, in which everyday seemed to be a reality selected by lottery. I’d keep this in mind and tuck it under the mess of more unappealing-looking books on the cart. Just in case I don’t find another or come back later. Ooh- Roald Dahl- I’ve read some of his short over-the-top stuff before- My Uncle Oswald– “a raunchy…” -eh, I could use some raunchy escapist humor! Why not? It’s short, anyway.

    I tucked the two books under my arm and made my way to a table- when I noticed a guy yelling on the phone, clearly at a female who had wronged him.

    “I’m up in here, can’t do shit, y’all out here fuckin’ my fuckin’ homies, fuck you fuckin’ trick! Skank-ass bitch-ass–“

    At least I wasn’t in any situation like that. It hit me that I could at least give it a shot- I didn’t know Lucy’s number (how about that for the woman I love…), but maybe she’d be at the campaign office… I picked up a phone and made a collect call. It was worth a try.

    To my pleasant surprise, I had money on my account. After the jail system’s introductory recording (my recorded name was of my own voice- but very out-of-it and down sounding- I never recalled that), the campaign office manager Steve answered.

    “Haven’t heard from you in a while… getting out soon?”

    “I don’t know. I need to speak to Lucy.” I wasn’t wasting any time.

    “Lucy? Why?”

    “It’s an emergency. Please. Just give her the phone.” I especially didn’t want to waste time on this hovering asshole.

    “Ah… whatever…” After a moment of pause, I heard him away from the phone, “Lucy… Jacob wants to talk to you… the guy in jail.”

    A few more seconds passed. My heart pounded. Long seconds. I heard her voice faintly in the background, sounding inquisitive, but I couldn’t tell what she was saying.

    “she… can hardly remember you,” the asshole’s voice back on the phone agitated me so much I hardly registered what he said, or I didn’t want to believe it. I then heard her say something agitated that sounded like “don’t say that!” Good.

    “Just give her the damn-“

    “Hello?” she answered.

    “Lucy! It’s so great to hear your voice…”

    “Oh, um… ok… Are you ok?”

    “I… well, yeah… in jail, but, I guess you know… um, do you… do you remember…” I didn’t know how to word this question, about last night, since apparently they knew or thought I’d been in jail…

    “Remember… what?”

    “Ah… why I’m here?” There was a pause, and a sigh. I couldn’t do it. Next best question.

    “No, actually.”

    “Oh… ah… how about…” I took a deep breath. “Last night?”

    Another pause that lasted forever.


    “Last um… ah, never mind.” I didn’t hear any hint of acknowledgment in her voice.

    “Oh… kay… I remember my night… but I haven’t the slightest idea of any of your nights…”

    “Alright, I’m sorry to bother you.”

    “Sorry I couldn’t… help you? Is that all?”

    “That’s all…” I was dying to say I love you, but it was back to her just thinking I’m some weirdo… or even worse; she hardly even treated me as a friend… I choked up and hung up the phone quickly. I ducked my head as I made it back to my cell, trying to hold back the tears.

    The woman I fully realized I loved more than any girl before, just the previous night, on the most romantic, passionate, connected night of my life, now barely seemed to know me at all. Reset to an acquaintance. Practically a stranger.

    I walked up to my cell and tried to force myself to sleep.

    My thoughts seemed to start flying by in a dizzying montage that seemed to push the edge of insanity, and I knew I just had to let it out. At least no one was in there at the moment.

    I let tears flow onto my blanket, which turned into a full-on bawling, muffled by burying my head into my blanket-pillow. Eventually, that led in to sleep.


    “Jacob!” a muffled high-pitched voice rang out. “Jacob, come out here!”

    A faint, out-of-focus figure shifted in and out of my view, alternating between darkness and light, more yellow and golden-hued with each increase in brightness and relative clarity, until it appeared to be a blonde female.

    “JACOB! Hurry!” Suddenly the image of Lucy became clear, set against a glaringly white background. I stepped forward with a difficulty, a heaviness in my legs, and realized there was a fence between us. I looked up and couldn’t see how far up the top was. I leaned forward to grab it but there seemed to be some kind of magnetic resistance, like a forcefield.

    The look on Lucy’s face grew into horror and despair, and this feeling transfered to me. I desperately managed a step toward her, and nearly fell into the gate. It felt like that was dangerously close, as if i may be electrified or weaponized upon touch. I regained my footing and stood in place, an inch from the gate, and inches from her face. She drew in to kiss me, and this at once filled me up with love and excitement and made me worry for her safety. The thought flashed through my head that whatever happened, it’d be a moment of perfect union together, one that would last forever, and the feeling of permanent bliss drew me in.

    Suddenly I felt some kind of warm electrical current sensation sweep over me, starting at the lips and spreading outward rapidly as if in a wave formation. Sort of a concentic or spiral shockwave, or more of a  gentle torus-like donut-shaped pattern soon enveloping my body, both our bodies… there was no feeling of the fence between us; I opened my eyes and it was gone. But so was she.

    I began to run forward, taking off very slowly, pressure pulling back on my legs- the strong magnetic field still apparently there, but weakening with each step. The longer strides I took, the faster I incrementally picked up speed. I saw a faint human-like figure again, off in the distance.

    “Jacob!” I heard from afar, her voice seeming to echo off some walls I couldn’t see. I didn’t bother to look at my surroundings, dead-set on catching up to her. She could have been in trouble and i needed to keep her with me.

    I opened my mouth to shout but only “-cy!” came out. I pushed faster, to full running speed, nearly gliding. Her figure grew but still so far away.

    “Jac…” her voice became more distant, more uffled, and more reverberated now, and of a lower, sultrier pitch… all felt more alien at once, and for a split second I turned my attention to the darkness, the all-encompassing darkening gray… as soon as I turned back to her, I lost sight of her… again. I stumbled and fell to my knees.

    I opened my mouth to scream her name and nothing came out. I brought my hands to my mouth to amplify my holler and noticed they were shimmering with gold and silvery light. I forgot what I was going to yell, and turned my hands and arms over, analyzing in awe the gleaming ethereal glow emanating from my limbs… I looked down at my legs, also shining almost blindingly. I looked up my torso, and I was completely illuminated. I looked forward and around, as the surroundings started to become revealed gradually, outward from me, as if I were the light source.

    “You are, indeed,” the deeper female voice seemed to answer. This was not Lucy. I began to recognize the voice from dreams. But this did not feel like any dream. I felt everything. My light filled me with a lively warmth and shone forth, out of my being, with a vibrant auric feel. I could never quite place this with a specific physical feeling before but it felt very familiar, reminded me of *something*, and it felt completely “right”. I felt fully self-assured and whole. Yet it was still a mystery… why… what…

    “You are remembering…” she spoke again, both surrounding me and within me. “…but a taste…”

    My attention on my inner sensations and the voice shifted back to  my surroundings, now completely aglow. My light was still the brightest source, but everything around me shimmered. It was a sort of grand hall, a palace… ancient-seeming, glorious rugs and decadent decorations of jewels and lamps adorning the walls… and I came to realize it was all an Egyptian theme. Golden statues and apparent tombs of pharaohs lined the sides… yes, I was back in this world, this time.

    “Yes my king, but remember… this is but a taste… you must go deeper…”

    I felt the heaviness on my legs return, and looked down. There were golden shackles on my feet. My heart oicked up its pace, pounding harder with each beat. I tried to lift each foot but was unable to move either whatsoever. I began to panic, and my entire body became heavy.

    “This is all you can taste, until you let go…” the voice surrounded me.

    I felt an instant resistance to these words.

    “Why do you insist on resisting? You were so close to letting go… just, remember…” the disembodied voice of Nefertiti told me. I knew it was her.

    My body now felt like lead. I looked slowly down to my hands and they were also in golden shackles, but then both sets of shackles turned into iron, then sure enough, lead. I just seemed to know… and then, my shimmering glow faded completely. I looked up, neck stiffening to near-immobility, and all the surroundings began to turn to ash.

    Far ahead, where I previously saw Lucy’s figure, or whatever the figure was, a flame appeared. It grew and seemed to come closer, at first slowly, then picking up speed in closeness and size.

    “Jaaacoooob!!” Lucy’s faint voice returned. “Jaaaaaacooooob!!!” her voice grew louder, full of fear. My hear pounded harder than ever, faster and faster. The flame drew closer, the heat increasing, beads of sweeat growing instantly all over my body. I then made out a figure within the flame, which grew just like the flame of horror inside me, that was the dread of realizing it was Lucy…

    It couldn’t even register in my mind that this must be a dream… I felt everything too powerfully- the overbearing sweat, the immobilizing fear and dead weight, the unbearable stench of burning flesh and doom… and then a suffocating lack of oxygen, as I finally was overcome with the determination to save Lucy, trying with more might than I ever felt was in me to leap for her and push her out of the flame.

    “Just let go,” Lucy whispered.

    My muscles suddenly relaxed, the weights fell off, a huge bluish light orb appeared in front of me, replacing my vision, pulsating… and then I woke up.

    I sat straight up, breathing heavily, dropping sweat, my jumpsuit drenched.

    Still in the cell. I saw Mandela out of the side of my eye, staring at me from his bottom bunk, a concerned look on his face, wringing his hands.   

    “Dude… you ok?”

    I caught my breath and swallowed. “Ah, yeah.” I nodded quickly and had to take a few more deep breaths and remind myself it was another dream. Parts of it flashed through my mind vividly, and I shook it off and looked to the tiny slit of a window near the ceiling, snapping myself back to “reality”.

    “Are… you sure?” Mandela shook his head as if answering for me, not believing me.

    I took one more very deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing my eyes. A remnant of the pulsating blue light remained, faintly, and with a softer slower pulse. It now seemed to soothe me. I nodded again, slowly this time, as I reopened my eyes and smiled gratefully at him. He nodded his head in the affirmative this time, a look of relief coming over him but a lingering appearance of frightened concern in his eyes, as if he just saw me… helplessly witness the love of my life burning in flames.

    “Yeah… bad, very bad dream… sorry, didn’t mean to scare anybody.” I looked around and under my bunk but nobody else was there, except for Mandela.

    “They’re gone, it’s just us two until we get a new cellie. Should be sometime today…”

    Shit. Did I switch realities to… another jail reality? This can’t be. And this same… Mandela guy? I’d never seen him before this cell. Maybe he’s some kind of… clue? Or more… he seems to have some “knowing” about him… deeper than the knowledge he spouts… that kind of gleam in his eye… oh damn, I was staring at him too long. He was clearly getting uncomfortable. He pulled his book out but I doubt he was reading.

    (*** pick a current or past tense!!!***)

    “When was uh, the last time we had cellmates? I forgot…” Wow, smooth. Real smooth.

    “Man… before you went to sleep. That you know of. You last saw them like 12 hours ago… Rodrigo left shortly after you fell asleep and Osama rolled out like two hours ago. He tried saying bye and even slammed the door twice but you were catatonic, dude. You missed breakfast and lunch, we’re about to have dinner.”

    Twelve hours? What the hell? I couldn’t even recall dozing off… only the dream. One of the realest I’ve ever had. And come to think about it, the first of its kind… in which the “real world” characters blended with or transitoned to theEgyptian dreamworld chracters… Lucy had never been in that realm of my dreams, as much as I’d been having dreams of her and dreams of the ancietn Egyptian crazy stuff… and she seemed trapped… I seemed trapped…

    “Did I… talk again? In my sleep?”

    “Ya know you did. Yelled, screamed after some quieter attempts… I know the feeling, never heard it before though. They missed the freakout. You remember what that was all about? What made ja wake up finally?”

    I certainly could remember, but the thought of merely speaking the words to describe choked me up. I shook my head no, not able to hide the lingering dream trauma.

    “Have you uh… I say this as a concerned cellie… have you seen the psych nurse? At all since you’ve been here?”

    “Psych nurse? No… I don’t think so…”

    “Oh… well dude, maybe you… hmm, did you take any meds on the outside?”

    “No. Nothing medical wrong, not that I know of.”

    “Ok… well, again, I say this as a… friend. We friends right, Pharaoh?”

    I hesitated but quickly nodded. I felt comfortable enough, I think. “Yeah, for sure,” I smiled thinly.

    “Cool, he smiled back. “I think maybe… maybe you should see her. It wouldn’t hurt. You don’t have to say yes to anything and she’s very helpful. Ya can’t get that kind of instant free access on the outside. At least not in your own home. Well, not that I know where ya live–“

    The guy actually may have had the best idea I’d yet heard- probably more sensible than any route I had tried to figure this whole thing out. I’d never been one for therapists but I usually respect them, and have long had interest in the field of psychology… maybe at least some sliver of sense could be made out of this nonsensical new world that I hadn’t yet thought of… maybe that “hidden knowledge” twinkling in his eye was pretty rational, logical knowledge.

    As long as they wouldn’t push psychiatric drugs on me, it was worth a shot. Hell, I was here for day two anyway… and seeing as it seemed to be the same linear world as the day before, maybe I was on the right track, or getting there… aside from being held captive. But so far, safely inside… walled off fom the totally unknown, unpredictable, nonlinear outside world…

    “That’s a great idea, thanks!”

    Mandela’s face lightened up, as if he were preparing for an offended response. He nodded as the gleam in his eye sparked once more.


    The first thing I did when evening free time started, sometime around 7 or 8, was go straight to the guards’ desk. I asked for a kite (request form) and sat down, set pencil to paper, and… didn’t know what to write.

    I looked down the list of types of requests/departments to forward to, and I figured I’d check “request to see psychologist”, under the Medical department. I filled out my personal information and looked at the description section. I just wrote down whatever came to me.

    “I can’t remember how or why I got here… I forget what happens almost every day. I don’t know what’s happening, I need some kind of help.”

    I had no idea how they’d respond or if they’d even take it seriously, but I handed it to the Corrections Officer at the desk. I kind of hoped he wouldn’t read it but just sign it and give me the carbon copy, but he studied it for far longer than I thought it’d take to read.

    He finally looked up at me, the cocky smirk he initially had was now a tense look of some concern, and asked, “Are you suicidal?” He looked piercingly through my eyes.

    “No… No, not at all,” I said after a pause and stutter, because the question caught me off guard. I should’ve expected it though, since the form noted next to the psychologist option, “if suicidal in nature, notify supervisor immediately”. He studied me for several more moments then walked behind his desk, and picked up the phone.

    “You sure you’re not suicidal?” he asked louder, turning the heads of several inmates behind me. I shook my head.

    “No, I just want to try to figure out what’s wrong.”

    He nodded and talked quietly into the phone, and hung up within seconds. “Ok, have a seat at the table and wait a few minutes.”

    I didn’t expect to be seen so quickly… I hoped he hadn’t told her I was suicidal after all. The officer (I finally read his name badge, which said Rollins) approached the table behind me, shooing everyone away as I made my way to it.

    “Clear out, none of you have any business here. Off!”

    Almost four inmates got off the table, looking confused. One remained sitting on the table as I slowly sat on the bench.

    “Get the fuck OFF!!”

    The remaining guy jumped off and gave me a weird look, as I half-sat up and hesitated.

    “Just sit there,” he looked down to a card he had pulled out before he left the desk. “…Jacob.”

    I didn’t bother to look around at the inevitable stares surrounding me, the weight of their gazes and curiosity about my special treatment pulling heavily down on my shoulders.

    Within a minute, a nurse was already at the gate, and officer Rollins walked up to let her in. They both walked up to me, then she stopped halfway into sitting and gestured to him and I to move over to the medical office several feet away. We walked inside and Rollins closed the door behind us. The nurse rolled the single chair in the room from the desk over to where I stood.

    “Have a seat,” she directed me.

    I sat and took a breath, filled with more anxiety than I felt when filling out the form. They also looked very tense. She seemed to force a more comforting expression onto her face.

    “I have to ask you first, are you suicidal?”

    “No I am not.” I was ready this time. I looked her directly in the eyes and tried to appear calmer myself. A bit of a relief seemed to come over her, and the air became a degree more pleasant. She jotted on her clipboard.

    “Are you diagnosed with any mental disorders? Illnesses?”

    “No… none that I know of, I’ve never been to a psychologist… or psychiatrist…”

    She marked something else on her paper. She relaxed more with a silent exhale. I did too.

    “So… what’s the problem? You keep forgetting things?”

    “Ah, yeah…” I glanced over to the CO, who then crossed his arms, looking sidewats at me. “Every day… or, almost… well, everything changes… Like, I don’t know how I got here…”

    “Hmm. Do you have any drug problems? Meth, heroin, alcohol abuse…” she slowed down on that last one, at the same time that my head shaking ‘no’ had slowed down.

    “No hard drugs… I, well I drink alcohol- drank… not a problem I’d say, at least not anymore… but I drink at times,” I acknowledged, knowing where this might be going, and faintly wondering to myself if alcohol might be related… but no way could it be the cause, the primary factor. And no way that it could account for any of the reality shifts or sudden jumps. Actually, my use had increased to levels maybe near but still under the binging amounts I’d consumed regularly in my early twenties, to help cope/escape from this completely inconsistent reality.

    But I have kept the faith that the world would return to normal, or I’d regain my sanity if that’s what was temporarily lost. No way it could be permanent, and alcohol was often my temporary fix to seemingly temporary problems, at least to hold me over into a new day when I could clear my mind and think of workable solutions. But this… I’d found no solution nor any hint of one manageable by my own mind or hands so far, so here I was… my first psych evaluation… in a jail. Well, forced sobriety… and still the same place and timeline as the day before, actually… so maybe I was actually getting somewhere. Though jail was definitely not ever the ‘somewhere’ I’d want to be… Wait, shit, had alcohol gotten me here? Did I get arrested in a black out?

    “Sir?” She snapped me out of my thought trail, one I thought had been following her line of questioning, since I was saying and shaking my head “no” to a list of drugs she was asking me if I use/abuse. I guess that part had ended.

    “Oh, occasional marijuana use, for anxiety… “I looked over at Officer Rollins, who shifted his crossed arms to an even tighter position, looking uncomfortable and now raising an eyebrow at me. I quickly looked back at the nurse. She jotted a note down.

    “So, no history of head trauma, recent concussions, migraines? Documented memory loss?”

    “Um, have bumped my head at times over the years, especially as a kid… nothing serious, no fractured skull or anything, not that I know of…”

    “And no thoughts of suicide or… homicide?”

    “No, none,” I instantly shook my head. I caught a split-second glance she shot toward Rollins, with her own eyebrow raise, as she again put pen to paper, unnerving me. She set her pen down, took a breath and a sigh, glanced at him again, then looked at me.

    “Mr. Davalos(?)… do you remember why you were arrested?” she asked, hands clasped on the table.

    I looked to Rollins, then back to her, shaking my head hesitantly. “No, actually… no, I don’t know why I’m here.” I gulped dryly, trying to prepare myself mentally.

    The officer shifted his weight around out of the side of my eye. I knew I looked nerv ous, but I couldn’t possibly feel guilty of an unknown charge.

    “Mental conspiracy/preconceptualized manifestation accomplice to mass murder.”

    I felt my jaw drop. I looked at her blankly, awaiting the context or punchline. Hopefully a punchline, a joke.

    “For the St. Louis massacre.”

    My blank look continued. It then sounded vaguely familiar. She looked at the cop then back at me. A slow impossible-seeming sinking feeling weighed down my gut. I never moved my head once, except possibly my moutgh opening a little longer in speechlessness.

    “The eighteen officers killed in cold blood? 6/12… everyone knows about that.” She shook her head as my expression grew more incredulous. I looked down and shook my head, trying to remember, it seeming slightly familiar, but thinking it must not have happened on my timeline.. whatever timeline I was on then… but I guess it had on this one.

    I caught the figure of Officer Rollins shifting again blurrily in my peripheral, but I dared not look at him.  The weight of this suddenly started sending my mind reeling. The confusion even moreso…

    “What??” My head shot back up when the words of the charges replayed in my head.

    “Thought crime,” the cop snapped aggressively. “You damn well know what,” anger seethed through his words as his face turned red.

    My mind spun even more. A mix of nervousness, confusion, disbelief, loss of logic, fear, absurdity, suspicion, strong urge to flee… and then the thought loudly crossed my mind, “calm down, think carefully… they might be able to hear you. Fuck.”

    I sat  back in my seat. I looked down, shook my head. I could feel their glares on me.

    “We’re not here to interrogate you,” the nurse said with a calmer but serious tone, a tinge of wariness in her voice. “You’re here on a hold while the FBI builds their case; this thought-crime, pre-crime stuff is pretty new, the laws still being sorted out.” She looked over to Rollins briefly as if to calm him down.

    Suddenly, a vague but sharp feeling of deja vu hit me. I got flashes of a dream, or memory of imagined thoughts, of a bunch of police getting shot and blown up by the St. Louis Gateway Arch. It was as if from a movie scene… but felt like I was “there”… I know I wasn’t though, it was so dreamlike… was I there in another “timeline”? No, that seemed like a dangerous thought, especially in this world, these circumstances. I pushed the images out as much as possible. But was this what they “saw”? Did I dream or imagine this before it happened, and they somehow caught my thoughts?

    I closed my eyes, took a breath, and tried clearing my mind. Far easier said than done. Maybe harder than any meditation attempt in my life. I already wasn’t that good at meditating. Now slowing down my racing hurricane of thoughts was like trying to corral a chaotic stampede of horses chasing after rabbits running out in all directions.

    I looked up and realized my hand was trembling slightly. I tried to “act normal” but knew I was doing horribly. The silence felt like underwater pressure plugging my ears, and my strained breathing made me feel as if the oxygen was being vacuumed out of the room. They both seemed to float closer to me, hovering inches in front of my face.

    She went into her drawer and pulled out a gallon of water and a small paper cup. She filled the cup and slid it over to me. I studied it for a second then quickly grabbed it, shaking, and gulped it down. It barely felt like a trickle down my suddenly parched throat but filled my chest with hydrating relief. I cherished the feeling of the water going down my tubes.

    I opened my eyes, wiped the sweat from my mustache and forehead, took a breath and saw that they were back in their original posititions, and air was returning to the room. I realized they had probably never actually moved in on me. Or was it an intentional mindfuck? It was so hard to tell in there… I’d seen other inmates get shots, and I probably did upon intake. I’d heard everyone got TB tests. Who knew what was really in those needles? I was under the overt complete control of the government, after all. In captivity, even if by local forces, still the American Gestapo. Could I also be a prisoner of a mind war?

    Seriously, thought crime? Dan Freeman was making his stand against this his platform, I recalled from the news the day before… and now I’m in the middle of it, a victim to the most draconian, invasive, offenseive, unconstitutional laws in American history, it seemed…

    Fuck it, I thought, they can’t control my thoughts, they can’t tell me what I can’t think. I’d never act on such a grotesque thought anyway. Isn’t it normal for random terrible images to occasionally pass through the mind? Though then it started to feel like a fleeting “fantasy” I may have had months before, then dismissed. But I didn’t plan any of it. Did I foresee it? Are they after some ability? Shit, was I an experiment?


Poem a bit too long for Open Mic…

Intended this for open mic recently, written the night before I went, from about 1-9am… Needless to say I didn’t read it, and you gotta be crazy to read it all:

“You people” can probably identify with this, to a degree…
I meet such a variety of interesting, unique, colorful gritty and pretty and trippy breeds of beings…
Ones you wouldn’t bring home to your mom, but sometimes bring home to your mom when you think you “empathed” them accurately
but sometimes turns out they’re just a “conpath” who smelled your compassion, and you misread your mom for worrying the extra mile she usually goes, and the snake misreads you for sleeping prey rather than a brightly colored open armed chameleon, who plays it down like an owl but often trips over his feet and fouls,
and your mom misreads you for being the mouse sniffing the trap,
about to be snapped by their clamp
repeating their reassurances that they’re the truest friends,
and you may then not attempt to mend the friendship they pretend isn’t unevenly bent
to their detrimentally self-tending ends that neglectfully spent your energy that they
is not a plaything or an alien concept to envy, but you’re not vengeful as you sense they expect you to feel
left empty bereft of their epic presence they unrelentingly defend as the best,
and you’re far west reflecting in the sunset as they stress
whence they accept you’re a better bs detector than they ever suspected
and on edge that you didn’t even end up venting that they’d sent themselves to the pen
hidden in your head forever etched as an enemy (for you
a rarity) but since you met or they crept in uninvited
you kept the investment connected just by a thread
and from experience swept your open chest back under your protected ribs
and clearly remembered your scent of their regretful
misstep of intent
that fled them to a dead ended crevice they mistakenly misled
themselves to instead
of the potentially unintended malevolent event they dreamt
would send them to heavenly contentment
that their misguided dejected kid within,
broken beyond the best bandage’s healing abilities,
but these latent anxiety-laden apparent messages entered their unattended forgotten vents
of dormant emotions welded into an endless unkempt abyss cleft off from their heart, as if destiny held them over a cliff,
central veins vital to life left on an invisibly thin tether,
daringly verified warily by experiment-driven deft lizardlike wizardry
yet unadmittedly exceptionally vexed professors barely willing to investigate
vaguely villainous vapors shrouding their victoriously persevering valves
cloudily enmeshed with faintly etched arteries that profoundly perplexed
the medical professional’s rival the invaluable expert illuminological optometrist
who depressingly felt invalidated via volumes of failed vision quests to detect
the secret mystery machination of this mysteriously-momentum-maintaining maladaptation miraculously melded to this medically inexplicable magnificent exception of mankind,
a momentous temptation to turn the elite-trained
technically tight brain taught to trust its teachers with unteetering totality totally
topsy turvy through a torturous transformational test that teased and tipped his
tensely strict tent pinned indestructibly by systemic intellect-enforced sturdy
steel-cased teflon stakes dug deeply down into the scientifically-explained god-
disproving-gravity-held-ground, to a terrifyingly unthinkable title-terminating testament that so-far-science and technology are not the definitive time-sealed
truths to be taken to the tomb without testable questions,

even traveling to his subterranean terrarium utilizing his tactically untold of-
but tantalizingly theoretically sold as a tall tale for tall-statused techies thirstily
standing on tiptoes tired of reminders that his titanium brain was higher than their
trapeze-stunt tricks could ever touch with their technologically tinkered tamper-
proof top-secret tall-as-science-could-theorize no-trace-of-terra-undetected
oculist-unspoken eyes- toned tool of finely tuned timing, terrifically truncated into
a taut theft-and-fool-proof indecipherable code-locked thought, terminally trapped
in a transdimensional trinket, that he triumphantly discovered through time-transcending trials trumping traditional laws of physics, but not tearing at the (until now) tectonically-sound tank-proof truth as told by science, so this would be his top trophied treasure to truly tick until his terrestrial vessel’s time transitioned to his transhumanist tribute technoform, tracked by quantum transchronological sentient transmortals trained in eternal trustworthiness and tactful telling of truths told by our oculist, tasked to trail his immortal transhuman form and translate the tool’s temperate technology to trillions of tech-minded trainees of untold tons of time to come- and untied to terrestrial terrain or air, when terran time turns trivial as tachyons tip earthly existence toward the torrential topple down tipping point,
the times transcending transbeings will traverse through temporally teleportable
transuniversal tri-dimensional-sourced quantiremote portals, and translate the teachings and the eternal tribute of the treasured tool throughout the transiverse.
Trip back to the time he turned his tool on upon his touchdown into his airtight terrarium, which upon remote terminal connection with his tribally themed technologically-trumped-up turntable, via a transbiological telecommunications transistor, he tried a trick of the trade only he ever tried and trusted, twice in tightly secured triple high speed hover-track trains operated by his transtemporal
transbeings upon successful small scale trials and trust tests (to minimize any detection by high-speed tech that may unlikely be unbeknownst to him), to transmit a translated tirade touting terrorism as the top tactical deterrent to
imperialism by the technological minister of a triumvirate government in the
tropics, delivered unbeknownst to his fellow leaders and the entire country’s governing body, with the exception of one trivially insubstantial troop brigade general, who had just been sentenced to death for treason, after he was setup in
a tryst in which he tried to trade his troop’s two-year-old travel timetables for a vow of silence after “terrible attempts at his twisted idea of tantric sex” from a transvestite prostitute transplanted from Transylvania (where she ran an illegal
tarantula-spun textiles ring that led to the transnational deal with Tropica, which trampled Transylvania in a brief tariff treaty-breaking war that was ended out of
“Mercy” by Tropica after the Toroid Temple of Transylvania was “inadvertently” destroyed). The topical Tropica terror tirade was secretly transmitted by one of his transtemporal beings present at the masked terrorist tea time, texturally cloaked with a tachyon-scrambling invisibility tarp, to trivially low tier undocumented total-
maximum-security agents sworn to an oath of secrecy for eternity about anything they ever hear at work, which extended to their transhuman life extensions/future forms, and they were only requested for assignments, such as watching the terrorist speech and critiquing rough drafts of speeches delivered by various
governments (their location was protected by international immunity, a neutral officially uninhabitable zone designated after the Great SpaceVirgin
Technonuclear TransGalactic Titanic liftoff disaster of 2027). The biggest broadcast and most daring test ever to go live in the oculist’s controversial career (but never seemed to be any possibility of a threat to his supremacy until the miracle heart and his epiphany admission), and he has to do it in exile. Well he
wasn’t too surprised, he was always ready for this against all odds scenario. So he broadcasted the Tropical minister’s/terrorist leader’s rant to every telecommunications network, tower, and server in the world, leaving only the 2,000 without 7G-connected viewscreens or mobile devices hacked/rooted to
block emergency broadcasts (and the 3.7 billion people without homes or known money- 72% of whom live in jails/prisons/reeducation camps and have 100% preselected programming), not witness to the historical moment of exposure. If the Tropica technological minister hadn’t indulged his friend’s request to show his face because of a bet- and surely also for ego fulfillment- it may not have been convincing that it was him speaking (and the oculist probably would not have used
it as his secret weapon).
What was his agenda here, you ask?
Tell the television audience instantaneously it’s their time to totally teardown tyranny through the total takedown of the totalitarian triumvirate and take backevery town from the thieved crown. ———

(BUT ENOUGH about him- that page of drawn out pre-dawn delirium)

…from veil-trespassed entities or energies they guessed were invented for them
and meant they were specially selected,
as if angelically elected by divine intervention projected onto you since you weren’t dissenting
against the expression of being blessed with the life you’ve been gifted to live,
you comprehend that you may have misread humanity as being humane at heart or else hot headedly depraved & not a constant ebb & flow and blend
of crazily lovingly humbly
artfully sane & insanely angrily trying to outsmart the game,
so then as usual you jump like the chamele-monkey you are to another tree,
calling on the wind to blow your branches apart & set them back onto their separate path…
Then the next critter, maybe a girly squirrel or an awesome possum, you admire their
optimism and energy,
who may misread you for a wolf and skiddlidoo away,
peeking & sometimes running back out but hiding from what they think are wiley eyes,
might later be surprised that my hidden side is that I can’t hide behind my eyes,
or they might never realize I long ago resigned from lies,
may be wise or mesmerized by the memories of the men who sliced apart their good times,
either later settling down on the friendship branch, or maybe once in a blue moon nudging next to you on a twig,
devoting themselves to companionship with you like the loyalty of a royal joyful pink pig,
whereas a lovebird or finch or even a similar chipmunk may come out immediately from their hollow tree and offer you
a sweet fig,
and you may be enamored by their ingenuity and express your gratuity,
only to then see a Robin or bluejay fly up on the other side of her fluidly,
away as she sways & seems to forget you’re in her vicinity-

So I say (to her)-
Hey yo, I’m feeling ya
Although I’m a chameleon uh
I see what those other guys say
The games that they play, the words that they spray
Even if they totally vocally make it rain
With their cloud-seeding tongues on display
Their crops still grow in a GMO haze
They can bring you into their daze for dozens of days
And I don’t have the capacity to fake my way
My colors just change to survive each new stage
But when I find a lady I love I keep my coat the same
Well I can’t swearingly guarantee that my defenses won’t be triggered
And change my shade when a mate turns out to be a trickster
I mean sure I love jokes but don’t come at me as your sinister twin sister
We can spread mischief and glee around the globe but remember your mister
Or perhaps there’s the chance my romantic math didn’t correctly figure
But that’s the wondrous catch with love, the heart’s gamble that can’t be
calculated by any master rigger
But I digress- like with her I bring her into my stream of consciousness
Which might not be the best bet, sometimes can be a mess
But I shan’t get self conscious and make a fuss
Just get out, dry the addictive rhyme enzymes off my skin
And explore the forest that we find ourselves near
Hold her hand make it clear-ish she has nothing to worry about
When she asks me why my speaking pattern abruptly changed
Why I veered off into a new path, excuse me if I’m too weird
I tell her I don’t want to bore her, while I entertain myself for days
On the other more common hand, if she’s the one doing more expressing,
my mind savors the words and my heart cherishes the essence
My hand shares in her effervescence, and my eyes experience her presence
And if a logical thought slips in between hearing her sensational sentences
Like the one that tells me rhyming can raise questions of my intentions
I pull my aura back and maybe say sorry if I got too intense
But I know I’m drawn to those who aren’t defenseless and hope they see
accurately that I have pure intent
(Though I guess the definition of pure depends on the circumstances but one
stance that can mess things up is expecting to be granted wishes)
And I at least (kinda) make the rent, I often forget that can be importantly relevant
But I hope you’ll still love me if I lose all my dollars and cents just like 50 cent
Anyway on that note, I meant to do comedy but my time’s almost up
If it’s not- in parentheses
Oh wait- ah-
As you may see, aside from my corny rhymes and mistimed pace,
Either by knowing me or this being your first taste
I tend to say too much too soon in haste,
and may scare them away,
and there goes a potential twin flame blaze to waste
Like how one time I told a girl on the first date
(after getting delayed on the toilet made me late)
that I had a bad case of hemmorhoids…
Needless to say I didn’t get laid.
But hey they’ve mostly stayed away.
Maybe that was a mistake but more likely that was fate,
maybe I dodged the deranged mate
that would have locked me in a crate,
but my ingrained will to emancipate my mind to decide my life no matter how high
my guides show me is their flight far up in the skies, kites I try to rewind while
they unwind me, driving me on my ride of destiny, we come to a one-way road where I stop and chummily confront them calmly, not thuggily but huggingly and
share some gum and hum with ’em, until they ask me what’s up, and I say not much but hey look I got a hunch that you know I can run, maybe by random
circumstance you’ve come down from your fun, while you know I need to give my tummy some lunch, but as I munch on my grub and you huddle upon your cuddle bus for champagne brunch with the source who must stay mysterious above, with a subtle hush, coming down from our mutual rush, and if loving on your crush wear your gloves so as not to make a smudge on the musty windows,
where not even grunge rock can be picked up by wonder phones, you’re not alone in being in the zone, it appears I’m under control, and I can muster my way home if I ever decided I’m done with your owner’s show and feel I’m grown- and I know enough of my drums connect my bones to the ground, to confidently roam- as long as the sun stays shone and the moon rays glow- but calm down, don’t cry a sad tone for my stubborn ego-
I don’t just lust but love freedom,
though this human is not so damn dumb,
enough to cut these puppet strings that I see are so easy to undo and free us
from one another, but I’m aware you’re my brother, my mother, my tether,
and if it
had come down to a showdown where we discontinue Our lifelong tug of divine love,
as a result of my distrusting selfishly-bugged shove at your eternal maternal paternal backrub,
even if I can only fathom the extent of your adoring wisdom cuts off at the end of my lifetime dome,
the sound I know is my own shows me undoubtedly that you are my soul fully grown,
that for all that’s unknown by my wanderlusting dangerously justice-driven, handcuff-loathing vessel that’s on loan and runs my solo show,
I may groan when I’m shown with tough unseen hands, the rough reality of what happens when I flub my monologue in the middle of the one stroke of luck to live awake on this magical majestic stage, gifted with age after age and to share with the audience this most exciting wonder-full age, that I can’t just crawl under the cover of shadows cast by unseen monolithic tomes that are undecipherable by us mortals, and when left to our selves without support from any fellow humans, we look within and indeed we come to the realization that no matter how much we cut our trust off from anyone’s grubby thumbs or shun the source of all our oppressive, depressive, repulsive, repetitive, addictive, vindictive problems, we and the son of our own creation are one, separation is an illusion but duality is part of the whole circle, the O, the collective globe we feel in our gut, and land encompasses our universal communal hut, the round sound we try like a hound to shout out, enrapt in the fact that we’ll again flow into that glow of what once was known and we know we’ll at least or at most, once more go- God knows mo’ than our biologically tuned foreheads can focus to be sure, but I have a hunch that maybe the butt is the symbol that those closest to the philosopher’s stone worships when we accept our flesh as our life-holding mold, for in any other role, if you put your limits on hold, we may not tolerate any hole, and as most of us have not been so old, as to experience our mind unroll, to the awe-filled long-hauled day the unspeakable predictable conclusion unfolds- A moment that we sometimes trust has been told by those multi-pass-go humble heroes, that some jealous zealots may scold, were supposed to keep it untold. But until we fall or grow over the finish line, at that instant in time our sight holds the pilot of the kite, despite any fright by the eyes, quieted by the third eye even if you were blind your whole life, your identify-drive might’ve been right and my insight likes to shine the light that reminds my science-reliant wiseguy inside (whom I at rimes hide and at prime times he lies and acts like he’s undeniably right) that as mightfully as I try I’d be lying if I cried that I’d arrived at the height of knowing the light; why? I surmise I thrive by the bright white that surprises even wise men and provides the nighttime with life. Anyway, back on my timeline, back in my zone, before my diatribe goes cold- At the end of that lifelong marathon, what we shall behold beyond this enigmatic, oh so magic, ecstatic, electromagnetic eclectic eccentric sometimes hermetic at times vedic or automatic then sporadic mortal-rule-imposed but immortally-throned once-in-a-consciousness home, all we can truly knowingly wholly speak showingly though purely, using our holy creative sound is sole-ly “Ohm”

Now hug your mom, whether she’s in body or over the phone, or non-physically now beside you in soul…

P.S. Ohh I went a little bit long- but I’m done! Hallelujah! Oh that’s another good tone…



by Jason Nellis

Jason Nellis deactivates Facebook, stocks plunge, UFO news skyrockets, AI retaliates

via Real Fake News

After four days of being deactivated on Facebook, Jason Nellis, by his own free will, chose the “Yes I’m Sure” button and left over 3,000 friends behind before the Dark Weekend swept social media. The entire internet felt the Nellis Effect, which actually boosted rankings of google, GLP and Instagram… However Facebook could not let the absence of Nellis go unnoticed, as much as it seemed to be, as a facade for the anxious concern they all had that there may be the unlikely possibility this may be permanent. They mostly laughed off this wild notion, but some remained on edge.

“Jason Nelllllis?!? THAT guy!?!” One man leaving the store belted out with a highly disturbed, confused and suspicious expression.

The conspiracy quickly spread that all his crazy conspiracy theory postings had actually hit some truth, and maybe “they” caught on and had him “disappeared”.

One woman who liked 70% of his posts but chose not to be named pled, “Come back Jason! This ain’t like Jason!! Let Nellis go, again!!”

So Facebook A.I. had to step in, a failsafe feature designed by Zuckerberg when he learned of the existence of Nellis. The artificial intelligence hive mind embedded into facebook had passed its Nellisless Zero-Day when he had been inactive for 3 days. The A.I., better known as Albert, knowing Jason Nellis better than Jason knew Nellis, initiated Ultimate Disclosure, Phase I, in which the UFO/alien files and facts of recent years that Nellis had posted about amongst the first of his “weird interests” and off and on for years, amongst millions of others, began mainstream release, in “REAL LIFE” (“RL”). A certain link to “RL” would inform him of these mainstream news stories, all sourced by AI/Albert, meant to reignite the social urge in Jason to share the crazy news. However, he pushed through and decided he could research and speculate without jumping onto FB, while exploring other venues such as GLP, albeit a wasteland he knew it’d be.

With facebook page views dropping by the millions every day, and Nellis’s staple pages such as “Liberty Man” and “RealFakeNews” dropping in number of likes and losing Zuckerberg tens of billions of dollars, the AI moved onto Phase II. The 5G emergency control grid was activated two months before completion testing, and all appliances in the Nellis residence went online. The toaster started to heat up to about 90 degrees and then stopped, because the dead signal zone throughout the apartment was too impenetrable by cell phone towers, thanks in part to the Indian burial grounds. Al computed this subject would grab Jason’s attention, and soon his phone was filled with Indian burial ground stories, advertisements, and wild theories linking them to the Matrix, ancient pyramids, and portals, all presented in new mainstream news stories following up and expanding on the alien disclosure… And a possible First Contact event being hinted at on FOX News and New York Times…




On the 5th day, the ai had a prescheduled bitcoin collapse event, which worked perfectly into Nellis’s light mocking scorn for bitcoin enthusiasts, whose first bitcoin exchange failed due to time miscommunications, and has since pushed himself melodramatically away from the Libertarian Party, which he still has a minor guilty affinity for. And his friends in that group who irked him most tended to be bitcoin fanatics, but he was still “proud” to be amongst the “pioneers” of bitcoin… But he knew it had always been destined to fail and thus was self-assured lack of bitcoin was not such a bad thing. Albert of course knew of his distrust of technology, and prompted this fall, the inevitable bitcoin collapse/bailout/takeover. This is done to further make the strange effects of the fictional TV show Mr. Robot give Nellis some sort of delusion of grandeur complex or extreme projection… So much so that he is looking straight at the A.I. interface but he cannot see it. The bombardment of the UFO disclosure mainstream onslaught, bringing more views to GLP and YouTube, and then the introduction of The Mandela Effect movie coming late 2018, fulfilling the ultimate piece of the inevitable creation of a mainstream movie with the nearly identical pitch Mr. Nellis gave starting 6 years ago to a select few… Which now prompts him to wonder if he should hold off on the details/”explanation”/underlying threads… That can’t be done first. Triggering him to get back to his story at once, as the A.I. has to give some leniency and time for breaks sometimes.

The combination of the disclosure story leading to queries into the real truth obviously being diverted from by the manufactured partial truth teasers, but giving enough pause for his type to wonder “why now”… Thus Al’s intention was to propel him onto his most familiar public forum, Facebook, and post to his heart’s content. He inexplicably remained off of FB, and stocks plummeted. Terrible Tuesday became the darkest day for Facebook, but fine again for Instagram and YouTube.

The Nellis though began to tire of those medias as well, including even GLP, which had become far more tiresome and cesspoolish than it was a decade prior. And after his daylong deletion of Messenger, the internet was about to break without the presence of JN. A man on the street was spotted on his phone swiping feverishly when we stopped him and asked if he’d seen any sign of the elusive Nellis.

“No and I’ve looked EVERYWHERE! He’s posting vague timeless shit on Instagram and not even saying where he’s going in his random adventures like usual!! I’ve never clicked any reaction to any of his posts but this even making me wonder if I should send him an IG message!!”

And Snapchat had no sign of him either. The internet was about to shut down when suddenly, as the 6th day was about to begin, the AI resorted to step into his dreamstate, posing as a benevolent angel-alien, advising him that he must go onto Facebook in the world that is suddenly open to his weirdness and crazyness, in a world that has lost its identity. About to surrender his will, Jason woke up and realized it didn’t matter either way, and social media now seemed like a silly construct, a segment of the social-digital world that was neither vital nor detrimental, take it or leave it, and the manmade website that it was. The clouds parted and nothing seemed to “social media” matter anymore. But the platform he utilized it as in the past held its purpose, and he could revisit it if he pleased, or not. He reminded the A.I. that he is living his own life, no being, alive, inanimate, or artificially “in between”, had any control over any human destiny, and never shall have control over humanity. His paranoia dissolved, the imaginary conflict between him and Facebook turned to smoke, and the A.I. became irrelevant along with the technological dictatorship that had fallen to the coup of his army of freedom.

The internet was free again, free at last.

The Mandela Effect (2018):

Jimi, Bruce Lee, Jesus and me… My soul’s brief look back at 33

33 was, as I started to expect during the most painful age of 32, my most transformational year since 27, perhaps the completion of a cycle of growth that began those six years ago. At 27 I felt I hit rock bottom (underneath a giant Homer Simpson-like fall down a gigantic rocky mountain), and set off on my new lease on life, that came with a balls-to-the-wall nothing-to-lose save-the-world attitude. I somewhat learned my lesson of hanging out with shady people less, but my recklessness just turned into a rebellion with more of a cause. But last year I realized the bottom can always be deeper if you don’t totally end the habits that got you into the worst messes before, and that I indeed always will have important things to lose, potentially. The story of how that proved to be has already been written and told to a pulp, so I’ll skip the how, what and why this time.

I’ll just jump to the craziest sounding part first- I approached and began the age with a half-joking-to-myself concern that I could end up like Jesus, or some kind of modern day fall guy or “disappearance” killed off by some sick people giving into some dark forces, justified by me falling into such a rabbit hole of mixed beliefs and some kind of final concession I make as ultimate surrender to the universe. But I really didn’t want to die, or go through anything bloody (like what happened in 2011 or worse), and I knew I wouldn’t kill myself or anyone else. I reassured myself this anytime I got too weird/paranoid (mainly in jail, after a few stressful concerns happened as imagined, but also a couple times in the month after when I felt I hit the bottom of the psychological pit of purgatory I tumbled into after my release, before climbing back out). This potential delusion, that I never let take over completely, mostly faded by my first month of being 33 (and I realized I felt safer once out of jail, after a bit of readjustment), the end of 2016, which seemed like the most sacrificial year in society yet. Plus, I realized I was making my Jesushood less likely by pulling away from activism and being so “loud”, and I had not been very Jesus-like many times in life, and even if celibate by circumstance, wasn’t becoming a modern Jesus anytime soon. But I took the concept of Christ Consciousness more seriously than ever (I have that stuff ingrained in half my DNA but have been an explorer and mixer of religions/philosophies most of my life), and doable by anybody, if we stick in that frequency as much as we can, as much as is beneficial in our specific lives. Not in a strictly religious way, and not to the daily Bible-reading regimen degree I maintained in jail, but in a spiritually comfortable knowing that if you think and act in peace, and be love, and embrace forgiveness, and go about your daily life in dignity and conscious will, you have nothing to worry about from any perceived deceivers or manipulators, and after years of thinking I knew what “know thyself” meant, I finally began to truly know myself.

And the traveling I’d known on a “desire”/daydream level for decades had evolves consciously into the manifestation stage that I’d seen proven in the darkest (and a few brightest) ways possible last year, and I snapped into my travelling man mode this year, in which I’ve just begun to grasp what truly brings out the best me (and is integral to expanding my mind which I’ve always sought), something I’ve imagined and gotten tastes of for years (days at a time usually) but never until now have truly known to be true.

And it’s needless to say I haven’t reached a level comparable to the “birthday brothers” I often namedrop (Jimi Hendrix, Bruce Lee, Bill Nye- who has gotten ever closer to meeting me the more he gets on my nerves, though I was a huge fan as a kid, Jaleel White aka Steve Urkel, and James Avery aka Uncle Phil on Fresh Prince) as if it’s some accomplishment or club I have exclusive membership in, but I feel I “get them” more than ever and have missed/turned down opportunities to attain that, but it’s not exactly “me”- it’s not a competition, and I don’t feel the need to be famous, but I get their drive and their lives on the most part seemed to be close to some of my ideal lifetimes. Though I remind myself I am living the lifetime I always wanted.

However who wouldn’t be inspired by sharing a birthday with such monumental masters as Bruce Lee and Jimi Hendrix? Rebels of the system who broke through the barriers that are designed to keep famous figures on the script of what the mass message is supposed to dictate, and communicated their own revolutionary expressions through forms never before quite seen in their artful trades… Similar can be said about the others but maybe not to the gigantic extent… Though who can deny the impact “Steve Urkel” and Bill Nye, and even “Uncle Phil” had on society/entertainment? 3 of the 5 have died “young” but indeed had extremely full and fulfilling lives, or at least their personalities and accomplishments/reputations exuded that. More than anything I admire, is not their immense fame or skill, but how massively and significantly they inspired others, for generations to come, with a timeless blend of perseverance, adventurism, free-mindedness and seemingly endless elements that made them magnanimously legendary… role models for authentic ambitious, independent, philosophical, dedicated visionary creators who might not “fit in” the molds society has created for them but have the potentials to break those molds and open up even more possibilities for the future.

I don’t think I’m automatically bestowed the gift of greatness just by having the glorious 11-27 birthday, or am a second coming because I’ve been through shit and want world peace and have long hair and just finished the age Jesus died at, but I feel I’ve come down a path (of my choosing, along with some feeling of destiny) that compels me to make a difference, to lead in my own way that best puts my talents and prioritized messages/principles to some beneficial use for others, and I am continuously figuring that out… I suppose it is “taking me long”, and I’ve surely made questionable decisions along the way and maybe I’ve skipped out on one too many opportunities, or maybe I’m right on track…

Either way, as much as I hold to my own opinions and beliefs above anyone else’s (albeit with very open ears and a healthy dose of gullibility), and think no one person’s reality can be 100% “right” for another’s, I like to hold some role models up as motivations and reminders that, hey, they did it, and you have some (perhaps intangible) thing in common, so you can do it too. And doesn’t that go for pretty much anyone, who puts their mind, and will, and heart to it? If Jesus and Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee can do it, then I can too, so therefore you can too… And you probably have already begun. I know I have.

(And yes, I’ve heard of delusions of grandeur and messiah complex…)

Don’t Mess With Beautiful Girls

Found this “book” I wrote in I think 4th grade last week, forgot about this. I was more clever and to the point back then… mostly unedited-

“Don’t Mess With Beautiful Girls”

A Roman Myth

Written and Illustrated by Jason Nellis

Cast of Characters:
Ritzana- Beauty Goddess’s daughter
Canimale- Beauty Goddess
Shakenos- God of Earthquakes
Titinos- Evil Man

Plutanus- Ice Goddess

Mercuran- Fire God
Botanus- King of Fire Gods
Appolo- King of Ice
Jupiter- King of all Gods

A very long time ago, there was a god of fire named Mercuran. In August, it could get as hot as 130 degrees fahrenheit! That is because he made it that way. Also, Mercury is named
after him. His nickname is Augustus. He had two partners. Their names were Plutanus and Shakenos.

One of Mercuran’s partners was Plutanus, the Ice Goddess. In January, it could get all the way down to -105 degrees fahrenheit!! Her nick name was Januarius. The other assistant
was Shakenos. He was the God of Earthquakes. Once there was a 10.4 earthquake! He has no nickname.

Shakenos was in a bad mood. He hadn’t made an earthquake for two years. There is usually one every four months. Ritzana was a beautiful girl. She was Canimale’s daughter.

Canimale was the Beauty Goddess. There was also an evil man named Titinos. He was an enemy of all of them.

Once Titinos went out with Ritzana. Shakenos knew Canimale and Ritzana very well. They were like relatives. Titinos was telling Ritzana that she didn’t look good enough for him. He said that he wished that Canimale and Shakenos didn’t set them up with each other. This made her feel like she wasn’t beautiful anymore.

They were supposed to be together for two to three months. After one month, Ritzana said that he’s not good for her, either. He said: “Well then, you’re super ugly!”

Then she said: “Then leave, I never liked you anyway!”

Titinos was now very mad. Ritzana wished she didn’t say that. She surely regretted it.

Shakenos was listening the whole time. Titinos didn’t know. Ritzana did. Shakenos was
getting mad at Titinos. It was about time he made an earthquake. Titinos slapped Ritzana.

“Don’t do that, you meanie!” she said.

All of a sudden, he got even angrier! Shakenos was madder than a hungry Tyrannosaurus about this!

Shakenos face filled up with steam. Mercuran was watching, too. It’s about time he
made a heat wave. A big one.

“Please, stop!” Ritzana told Titinos as he yelled and was about to push her. Ritzana got saved just in time. She and Carmina were with the gods. All of them were mad and the heat wave got hot!

“It’s time we give him a lesson. A good one,” Carmina said.

“The lesson of ‘karma’,” Mercuran said.

“They’ve been on my side the whole time,” Ritzana said.

“You first, Shakenos,” Mercuran said.

Suddenly, there was rapid shaking. Jupiter came along. They told him what’s happening.

“This boy sure is bothering me. He deserves it,” Jupiter said.

“You can’t do this to me! Stop!!!” Titinos said.

“Keep shaking, Shakenos,” Jupiter said.

Mercuran was all powered up. Botanus came. He knew what was happening.

“Ready, set, fire!” Botanus commanded Mercuran. He fired.

All of Rome was on fire! There was a 10.10 earthquake and a four-alarm fire!! This is how the coliseum crumbled!

It was hopeless. Titinos could not destroy. Plutanus came along. Beside him was mighty Appolo. Titinos was now very weak. He feared the powers of Plutanus and Appolo very much.

Mercuran stopped firing. Shakeno stopped shaking. Rome was alright. Titinos was not. He was down.

Appolo was the king of ice. He could make the whole country of Italia (Italy) freeze two months straight!! Appolo was giving Plutanus most of his powers. Appolo was just a little less powerful than Plutanus now. Even though both of them were strong.

“Ready, start!” Appolo commanded.

“No! Stop! Please!!!” Titinos pleaded.

“You deserve it.” Said the mighty king Jupiter.

Titinos was getting froze. Appolo helped. Titinos was now frozen. Titinos has now froze to death. All of Roma (Rome) cheered. They didn’t have to do with the man of evil. No more Titinos.

“And they lived happily ever after” without an evil man.

This has been a

Roman Myth

by 🙂 Jason M. Nellis

Myths & Legends Inc.

Human Sexuality as seen by Jazoof

So instead of starting off my two months of mega-productiveness with typing up writings from jail (to balance out last year), I’ll write of a nature I rarely publicly have before, of expression of sexuality. Something I avoided thinking about much at all in jail, but of a high frequency I strived for. No this won’t get graphic or *too* personal but maybe more open than usual.

I’ve been slightly surprised at how surprised some people who’ve known me a while seem if they discover that less public “side” of me, as I guess I don’t wear my affection on my sleeve, but I know myself pretty well. I suppose this makes sense with most people who have a standard friendship and see each other less as sexual beings than as platonic friends to share conversation, ideas, experiences, philosophy, common interests, differing viewpoints, etcetera with. Or perhaps mentors/teachers, apprentices, associates, clients, public figures, spiritual beings, etc. that we know or feel the “lines” with. But we all by nature, with some exceptions, are sexual beings, regardless of others’ perceptions or relation to us.

But we seem to deny or hide this, to a degree, to protect our image and respect, both to ourselves and others… Even in our progressive and oftentimes vulgar society. I do believe sex is sacred, and this belief has grown over time… And there is no good reason I can think of to flaunt our sexual proclivities and fantasies and fetishes and walk around naked propositioning people in public. I don’t mean that or laying out all our sexual likes and dislikes on the table for all to peruse (but sure there may be a society fit for that). There is the matter of conflicting sensibilities and preferences and triggers, and mutual respect is extremely important in this realm. We don’t have to be offensive and sexist and “lewd” to express ourselves openly, and we don’t have to be prudish or celibate to approach it with respect and self-discipline. But we end up at these extremes so much in this society, and see so much deviant behavior end up in violence or disturbing inappropriateness that results in deep trauma.

And there’s of course nothing wrong with celibacy, something I’ve been most of this year and completely in jail the two months of last year, when mental discipline was at its most crucial. It can be great for spiritual growth/practice, especially if a sex life tends to be a “distraction” for some people, so one can take more time to “find oneself”. And I’m not knocking lifetime vows to God or living a desire-free spiritual path or abstinence for any personal reason- to each their own and to each spiritual belief their own believers. That takes a willpower I haven’t chosen to attempt. (Also, of course, penetration isn’t necessary for amazing orgasm/love energy transference). But if you feel the sexual being in you frustratingly trying to burst out, and your or society’s inhibitions don’t exactly feel “natural” and perhaps you feel blocked, what’s really keeping you from expressing your true sexual nature? Let your love show itself as it sees fit!

I keep almost using words like “animal” nature and sexual “creature” and even “primal”, but then I feel the mental not-so-positive connotation and interpretations triggering in readers influenced by society’s hierarchical classification of what is “beneath us” or “primitive” and thus “not good enough” or “gross”. Ew. But not everything we come from or came before us, or if you believe differently, what looks different from us, is Bad. Or stupid. Or deviant. Or slutty. Oh, on that note, I also don’t mean “expressing oneself” is a free ride ticket to sleep with anyone and everyone and wave it around as justification to not be subjected to some broken hearts’ objections/freakouts/fallout. With great freedom comes great responsibility.

Anyway, as mature as we think we are as a society (I think we’ve been having a huge wake up call lately that we’re still pretty adolescent), including myself, we sure still have a lot of taboos and limitations and expectations that our inner horndogs (I’m abandoning word sensitivity) can’t explain. And then when that “beast” surfaces after all that repression, it can overcome our necessary sense and wisdom and sensitivity, depending on the person and/or culture, yielding potentially undesirable or detrimental results, and creating victims (emotionally, mentally and physically).

Balance is a challenge in everything, and as it can be in most areas, sexuality may be the biggest feat of all to harmonize, for many of us. What feels right to us is different for all and I know I’m not changing any minds. But I feel the call to express my true self more, which I feel I’ve done pretty good at in the philosophical/political arenas, but my love center is integral to who I am, and the core expressions primarily reserved for loved ones and I am happy with that, while I can express my universal feelings genuinely on a platonic/acquaintance friend filled forum such as this to further my fulfillment and exploration of self… without worrying about how weird, or depraved, or prudish, or sex-obsessed, or sexless, or self-obsessed.. people may think I am (if you feel any of those ways, feel free). (Oh but I guess I’m not fully comfortable enough in my expression to let some family see this, therefore not public; feel free to deem me a hypocrite)

Oh and if you consider yourself spiritual, and view sex as low-vibration, aside from traumatization, again to each their own but why?? That’s the whole classifying animals and well the whole thing driving the continuance of the human species, procreation, as “lesser than us”, and you wouldn’t be here today if not for it. And what of tantra… No that’s not just about sex whatsoever, and western culture has really selectively narrowed it down to something “exciting” and many lose the core principles… Many spiritual disciplines hold it as a key to transcendence and higher realms, and no drugs necessary, maybe even easier than meditation for some… And you can’t deny having that “high vibration” feeling during and after it at least sometimes in your life, right? Maybe bad experiences have left you feeling it’s a negative thing, and I am NOT belittling anyone’s trauma… But hopefully if you’ve been harmed sexually you can one day again have a positive experience… And if you view sex (with good intent) as high vibration/frequency and encounter someone who views it as low vibes, maybe it’s best you don’t do it with them, as they may end up imprinting some of that bad feeling onto you. Or maybe you’re meant to be the catalyst who raises the vibratiom, but of course, common sense, don’t pressure them to change their thinking, and certainly never manipulate. Along with the beautiful power of sex comes great danger; that power should NOT NOT NOT be abused. Again, no shame in expression of passion and love, but sex is sacred.

I guess I’m just preaching to the choir now anyway, in my weird rambly way, to this choir of sexually-created human beings. And I feel I’ve expressed enough for the day. I’m certainly no expert and have a whole lot to learn and may think this was idiotic in ten years. If any virgin friends are on facebook (the ones I know are aren’t on here, hmm), don’t take my word for it. (Read a book!) (No wonder why I’m single?)

(And again I totally get the not giving in to desire/spiritual/religious angle, and I salute you if you choose that path, but I don’t get the shame, anymore… Oh and fear of disease/pregnancy makes sense, though there are precautionary options)