SECTION FOUR
Entry #0024: Waxing Paranoid -or- Paranormal
11-27-2008
Speaking of paranoia, I once wondered if I was schizophrenic, as in I
could be imagining some of if not all this crazy calamity. If you
recall one of my earlier blog entries in "Strange Reports from Zones
Unknown," the one entitled, "A Strange Report of my Fascinating
Encounters with Two Peculiar Individuals," I did know two people who I
am pretty sure were schizophrenic. They had strange delusions and
symptoms of severe paranoia; for instance, the CIA or FBI or even
aliens were after them. I hope it didn't rub off on me! Sometimes I
wonder if those incidents that occurred back in Sioux Falls were total
delusions. Memory is a funny thing. You look back at things that
occurred, and wonder if you remembered them correctly, whether you're
exaggerating certain circumstances, or if you flat out imagined them.
A healthy, sane person usually knows the difference between what is
real and what is not. Of course, if you look at this metaphysically,
even the world around us is considered to be an illusion of sorts -- so
that really complicates things! So if what we typically call the "real
world" is really the unreal world, that means we have to look for the real
real world beyond it. Some people might call this the heaven world, the
spirit world, the other side, etc. but I believe there are multiple
dimensions, higher and lower vibrations of reality. This earth plane
is just one of many, sandwiched between a higher level and a
lower-level. The one next above us is where people get stuck right
after they die and they don't know where to go or how to get there --
call them ghosts if you will. Perhaps the level below the earth plane
is some kind of purgatorial or helldacious plane, sometimes called the
psychic world or underworld where really raunchy shit happens. This is
probably where your nightmares come from.
So, to bring up another one of my harebrained theories, perhaps certain
schizophrenic individual are not so delusional; perhaps they are
seeing beings or circumstances taking place in another plane of
existence. Some of the people they talk to may be ghosts, or beings
from the other side or some other extra-dimensional level. Who knows!
Alright, is that what's going on with me? Are these unknown pursuers
from another reality who are impinging upon my reality, causing a
space-time ripple that disrupts the world around me as I know it? That
is, disrupting my personal world in which I'm trapped in a bubble
outside of the normal ongoing world? Or am I creating this whole
delusion and I've gone irreparably mad? Hmmmm...
Maybe I've been reading too much science fiction over the years.
Alright, enough of this shit!
Article: A Strange Report of my Fascinating Encounters with Two Peculiar Individuals
11-28-08 Blog Comment:
"WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!" - "them"
them@them.com
Entry #0025: More Conspiracy Comments
11-29-2008
Alright. As if I can't be paranoid enough. I say "them" folks are
getting pretty annoying! What's up with "WE KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!"?
Plus, what an original line! It reeks of creative flair! I suppose they
"know what I did last summer." What a "scream!"
Obviously someone's trying to feed my paranoia and make me fidget.
Ain't gonna get it from the peanut gallery! I'm sure some crazy
commenting reader is giggling about all this. And yes it is annoying,
but I don't think that comment was sent by those mysterious creeps that
are looking for me. If it was, I would think that by now "they" would
do something to prove themselves, like actually show themselves, come
up to me face-to-face, instead of acting like yellow gutless cowards.
That's what "they" are.
Those Middle Eastern terrorists act the same way. Instead of coming out
and facing you with the courage of a valiant soldier, they hide, and
then they spring out and ambush you. Or they walk into a largely
populated area, then blow themselves up, along with everyone around
them. Does that mean they had the guts to do it? Maybe, but their guts
were definitely everywhere. But it's still a cowardly ambush just the
same. Plus those suicidal terrorists were irreparably brainwashed from
day one. They idiotically believed what they were doing was right.
Insanely sad, but horribly true. They're convinced that martyrdom is
their ticket to heaven, where a harem of beautiful virgins will
seductively meet them and -well, you can guess what's suppose to go on
next! I personally think it might start out that way, but once each
virgin is spent, they'll turn into demonic nagging zombie hags that
makes them realize they're actually in Hell! LOL!
So I'm just waiting out here, biding my time, waiting for these stupid
goons to spring out and ambush me, like the yellow gutless cowards they
are!
So, I say to :them,: if you really know where I live, come out and show yourselves!
Entry #0026: Life in a Desert Cabin
12-01-2008
"What do I do for work?" you might ask. I work part time down in
Mulvern as a stocker at Mulvern Market; plus, they give me cleaning
duties, which takes a few hours a day. I need money now and then, you
know. Incidentally, when I do find jobs, I use a phony Social Security
number, so it won't be traced to my current location, but sometimes
employers here don't ask for one - it's pretty laid-back and casual
here in the high desert. But I also make some dough by freelance
writing for various magazines, and they only know my pseudonym (and I
have a few of those for various magazines and e-zines). But my main
handle, "R. R. Stark," has gotten around the block a few times. Sorry,
can't give out my real name, you know.
I don't have a lot of expenses, and this small desert property and
cabin has been long since paid for by my Dad, and has been in the
family since the 1950s. My basic expenses are food, electric, and
various supplies I may need from time to time. The only utility bill I
have to pay is electricity. Water is free from the ground, via the
Artesian well, but it takes electricity to pump it through the pipes in
the cabin. And I don't have to pay for natural gas for heating, since I
have a wood-burning pot belly stove between the kitchen and living
room. On the burners I cook food and heat water or make coffee, but I
do have to buy cords of wood from town to keep it going -- especially
for the chilly winter to come. But of course, the cabin and basement
bomb shelter are both heated by central air. But I have to keep the
temp right in the middle, not to warm for winter or not too cool for
summer, or my electric bill goes sky high. I'm not that primitive out here in no-man's land.
As far as trash -- there is no garbage pickup service here. Out in the
desert residents are allowed to burn their trash, usually in large 55
gallon metal barrels. Then they bury the remains in the ground. Which
reminds me, in my teenage years, Leo and I would make vain attempts at
digging underground hideaways or tunnels on my family's ranch property,
mostly way out in the back quarter, but we would usually lose
interest, since all the digging was so hard, and my Dad would
eventually use the holes to bury trash in. That's why he rarely asked me
to dig garbage pits for him. Clever guy!
So I'll be comfy and cozy up here in my little yellow desert cabin,
hiding out, hoping "they" never find me. But in my case, "never" may
never come.
Entry #0027: The Risks of Going Incognito
12-06-2008
Another thing I must point out, while it has been approximately thirty
years since I lived here as a teenager, and some of the local families
of Mulvern have moved away, and new ones have moved here, and
considering the population has increased to some degree, nobody actually
knows me or recognizes me here, and using an alias definitely helps.
So as I've said before, I need to remain incognito for my own
protection against my adversaries who seek me out.
Fortunately, I have noticed that several people I once knew don't even
recognize me now. Partly because of my thinning hairline, a full beard,
wireframe glasses, a little gray on the sides, and since I'm giving
people a fictitious name, instead of my real name, that throws them off
as well.
Since the cabin up on the slope is mine to live in freely, this frees
up expenses for other things. But moving here to hide out was a
questionable risk. I've decided that if too many people do recognize
me, I would have to move on, get out of Dodge again. Because if my
pursuers come here and ask the townspeople if I moved here, and they
spill the beans, I would be in hot water. But the false name I use now
around town is key to my security. A couple people that I had known
from school days seemed to recognize me, but were uncertain, and
couldn't really place me or remember my name, so I told them they were
mistaken. So when I'd tell them my name was Bert Green, they just
shrugged and forgot about it.
Only to one individual have I disclosed my true identity. I can't give
his real name here. Protection of the innocent, you know, but we'll
call him Calvin Hodges. He was a close friend from school days, who has
lived here all his life. Oddly, we use to play spies as kids, and
watch James Bond flicks together, so he more or less understands my
current situation, but had his doubts too, I realized. To all other
people here I must remain incognito. Perhaps the risk of living here is
too great, but I'm willing to take the chance. There really was no
other place to go. Or no other place I wanted to go.
Entry #0028: Time on my Hands
12-09-2008
So what do I do with my time while hiding out in the desert? A lot,
actually. But I try to avoid boredom mostly. First and primary is
working on the Bamblebrush web site, and the two blogs I'm currently
working on, and freelancing to certain magazines. I plan to investigate
that dusty old storage room someday soon, see what buried treasures
lay therein. Usually I'm going through my many books or searching
online doing research for my articles. I can't just make this shit up,
you know. I have to find facts, or at least good sound theories. Like
they say, truth is stranger than fiction. I can't claim that all of my
sources are absolutely genuine, but I have to trust that a lot of them
are genuine. Sometimes what I hear or read sounds too fascinating, so
it'll go into some juicy article I'm writing. But, if I question a
certain source myself, I usually state in my articles that such-n-such a
tidbit is most likely just a theory, if not some crackpot's
harebrained spiel.
Since I have a long list of contacts, quite often I'll interview
individuals by phone -- specifically cell phone, since I have no
landline out here in the desert. But sometimes I'll run into some
strange character in town or somewhere while I'm driving through the
other towns, and if their story is bizarre enough, I might use it. And
I'll catch these gems on my micro-recorder, or my camcorder when I
bring it…I already have a lot recorded from individuals back in Sioux
Falls I still have to use soon. This dovetails into my newest project,
which is to put up on the site actual interviews with people who have
had strange encounters or experiences. This will be great material for
Zones Unknown. And once in a while I get a strange call from
Nightlight, giving me a juicy story - or a whacked-out conspiracy yarn.
Other than that, I sometimes take long walks in the desert, or drive
downtown for groceries, gas, or supplies. Or I go to the Co-op to buy
healthy food; for instance, Oat bran is great for hot cereal, or just
plain oatmeal. In the evening, I might watch a movie or documentary,
since I have scads of DVDs here. Late nights I listen to my favorite
radio show, Coast-to-Coast AM. From 10:00 p.m. till 2 a.m. This is a
great resource of :weird: information from unexplained mysteries to the
paranormal. George Noory has fascinating interviews with fascinating
people, involving time travel, space science, the paranormal, UFOs,
aliens, crypto-zoology, conspiracy theories, and other strange things
that go crash, bang, and bump in the night. This has been my other means
of inspiration for Zones Unknown. While I was living in Sioux Falls,
SD, I'd catch this show on 5.07 AM at WNAX out of Yankton, and the show
started at twelve midnight. But out here in the desert -- well, I
can't give out the call letters or the number on the dial -- I might
give away my location. Sorry.
George Noory has had some cool guests, like Alex Jones, Whitley
Strieber, Richard C. Hoagland, Linda Molten Howell, Stanton Friedman,
Jim Marrs, and Major Ed Dames. And many more. Some subjects will focus
on Bigfoot or the Loch Ness monster, the mysterious face on Mars,
ghastly ghost stories, UFO sightings and alien abductions, cattle
mutilations, global warming and other climate changes, apocalyptic
scenarios, intriguing predictions, and too much more. You'll just have
to find this show on your dial wherever you live -- at first I
recommend going to the web site[1], or just type it in your search engine: Coast to Coast AM.
To become a crazy conspiracy nut like me, this radio show will turn you
on like a 10,000 watt floodlight. How else would a vulnerable fool
like me get caught up in this crazy self-inflicted mind-manipulating,
self-brainwashing, self-induced paranoia, schizophrenic-frenzied
extravaganza of biblically apocalyptic proportions?!! To the point
where I have to be holed up in some secret place in the desolate
desert, imagining some mysterious dark strangers are hunting me down!
But aren't they? Sometimes I wonder if my mind has been screwing with
me. Or has it long since snapped? But then I rethink it and -- maybe
just out of boredom -- figure somebody really is out there
looking for me, someone that wants to snuff me out. Yeah, shake your
head and let your eyes roll up, I know the feeling. I have to live with
myself everyday, 24/7, so I know what it's like!
[1]Coast to Coast AM: http://www.coasttocoastam.com/
Entry #0029: The Man in the Dark Suit
12-13-2008
Something weird happened this morning in town. It's been cooling off
here in the Valley so I've been wearing my tan buckskin jacket. It's in
the upper 40ish with some sun out, but it's supposed to get into the
50s.
Anyway, as I came out of Mulvern Market with a bag of groceries, I saw
someone peculiar standing at the payphone at the corner of the
building. He was wearing a slick black business suit and sunglasses. He
was clean-shaven with a neat haircut. He looked totally out of place
here. Nobody wears business suits in Mulvern! Everyone here looks
casual and down-home. Overalls or blue jeans and plaid shirts and such
is the norm here. The guy was obviously a fancy city-slicker. He stuck
out like a really sore thumb. And he seemed to be watching me as I
walked to my SUV. I put the groceries in the backseat. Then I glared
at the guy and called to him, :Hey! Do you want something?: But he
immediately looked away, and pretended to be browsing through the
phonebook there, as if looking up somebody. I opened the car door and
climbed in, and took off. As I looked in the rearview mirror, I could
see that the stranger continued looking my way as I turned onto Mulvern
Avenue and soon left sight of him. I failed to scan the parking lot to
spot any unusual vehicles, like a black van. Too late now. So I took a
left up Highland Avenue -- and realized I was really flustered; my
hands were shaking. But this could have been just some innocent stranger
passing through town, perhaps a traveling salesman. Someone totally
benign. But I doubted it.
It could have been one of those dark strangers. That was my gut feeling
-- or just my paranoia flaring up again. I began feeling sick to my
stomach to the possibility that :they: might have found me at last!
Entry #0030: Worry-Warting Around
12-16-2008
I can't obsess like this. It almost ruined my whole night of
skillet-frying a big juicy steak on the pot belly stove, with a baked
potato wrapped in tinfoil. Putting them down below in the hot embers
makes for a great baked potato, especially when you plop it on the plate
and drench it with liquefied butter and sour cream! Yum! That night I
ate this feast with a glass of red wine. But I didn't enjoy it as much
as I wanted to, because I was obsessing over who the hell that damned
stranger was. Had "they" truly found me? Was that crazy comment "WE
KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE!" actually from those goons after all? Or was it
just a coincidence?
I still kick myself for not trying to spot this mysterious fellow's
vehicle. Since he stuck out like a sore thumb, most likely his vehicle
would have too. Perhaps he drove a black sedan, like the Men in Black
drive, or so conspiracy nuts claim.
Even if they did find me, what would "they" do to me? Warn me to stop
writing my conspiratorial articles? Would they even tell me which one
riled them up? Or was it several? I was still curious, you know. Or
would they grab me and haul me off to some top-secret facility and
throw me in a small, dark cement room with no windows, where I would
cower in fear for several days, and then they would drag me to another
dark room to interrogate me, where a five-hundred watt light bulb would
hang in front of my face, blinding me from the rowdy interrogator on
the other side of the table. They would probably ask me where I got my
information, who was helping me, who I worked for, and so forth. They
would probably threaten me with treason, accusing me of leaking
top-secret information to the public, and crap like that. They might
threaten me with jail time for causing a conspiracy against the
government with the crap I was writing. All just to scare me to talk.
Holy shit! My imagination is really running wild now! This is overkill
on obsession! I gotta stop worry-warting around. Time to think about
other things, think happy thoughts, and write about something positive.
Yeah right, like that's going to help.
|