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THE STORY OF X UNFOLDSAt the height of the cold war and McCarthyism, a little known event was occurring at one of the United States largest known foreign facilities. This is the story of X, an unnamed person, who was being systematically programmed in the Government's race to discover the key to creating the ultimate "Manchurian Candidate." X's formative years were spent at the military installation undergoing intensive training sessions. X was integrated into society at the age of 5 to move about, attend school, and find employment, until which time X could be called upon. Though it is purported that X's family belonged to a generational Satanic cult, and that X was trained in occult practices to eventually become the Ipsissimus of "La Couleuvre Noire" (the Cult of the Black Snake), X proved to be nothing more than your average school-ager. X's school record was uneventful, though tests reveal that X was far from average and at least two tests showed that X's scores fell in the 98th-percentile in the 3Rs and X had an IQ score of 156. As a teen, X is alleged to have had a brush with a notorious drug ring whose leader was a self-styled Satanist. The ring was later busted, though records indicate that X was never involved or a member of that ring. X mysteriously disappeared from the scene the day before the bust. Little is known of X for nearly 15 years and it is assumed that X continued the uneventful task of everyday living. At some point at or nearing the end of the 15-year stretch, X decompensated and was institutionalized. It is unclear from records whether this institutionalization was to assist X or reinforce previous programming. X's psychological tests show no psychopathologies and no use of illicit drugs or alcohol, though they do indicate superior mental functioning in math, memory retention and recall, and Gestalt. X was again returned to society to once more lead an uneventful life. It is known that X has gone by at least 5 legal identities, that X attended college, and that X may have been married at one time, and may still be married today. No one to date has verified whether or not X has children, or if X’s immediate family are still alive. X is well versed in Physics and Math and is fluent in several foreign languages. X also belonged to the United States Chess Federation at one time and was alleged to have held a Master’s rating. Since all individuals who have held Master’s ratings from the inception of the United States Chess Federation have been ruled out, it is presumed the claim was a smoke-screen. X is alleged to be an exceptionally charismatic individual while remaining somewhat aloof. It is this very trait along with X's superior intelligence that has opened the door to otherwise closed venues. X is known to travel in many circles, both high and low in cities across the US. It has been rumored that X was recently spotted in the company of a retired Lt. Colonel of the United States armed forces. X has also been seen at some of the more obscure underground gatherings accompanying "The Ancients", one of New York City's more notorious Vampyre Clans. X refuses to form allegiances with any of these people or groups which only tend to increase X's mysterious presence. Though much data has been gathered on X, all identifying information has been removed from procured documents, including name, age, race, sex, and dates and locations of reported events. The only identifying mark known to date is that X is said to have a tattoo of a broadsword directly below the hairline, behind the right ear. X remains as much an enigma today as in the past appearing to be nothing more than a fleeting shadow. At the time of this writing X has strangely enough reappeared on the scene, this time with rumors of connections to a variety of Military Intelligence personnel, Law Enforcement, Government officials, and prominent Psychologists. The question remains today who is X? *%* Tue May 16 01:26:46 EDT 2000 X regains consciousness and is unable to breathe. It is difficult to move, but X knows that he must in order to survive. Struggling against his weakness, X realizes that he is in water and begins to swim upwards. Nearing the top, his will becomes stronger as he knows his purpose is yet to be fulfilled. X gasps for air when he breaks from the water and no sooner has he begun to recover in the dark, hazy water than all of a sudden a castle rises up from beneath the surface. The water turns to land in seconds and X enters the castle, sure that this must all be a dream. *%* Sun Feb 20 14:23:05 EST 2000 As X stands to his feet, a fine young hottie bothers him for a cigarette. "Cigarette", he thinks, what is a cigarette? Still thinking of what a cigarette was, something else pops in his head,"nice legs". *%* Wed Feb 16 23:11:52 EST 2000 hello how are you? *%* Mon Feb 14 10:46:14 EST 2000 I am the woman I see before the mirror every day...i see the woman on the bench and say to myself that I could've led her life, but who knows. Who knows anything? Not me. i don't even know who I am. I?? I am X...I am not the woman. I am not Xavier Cugat Johnson from Fresno Cali. I can't prove that. But everyone needs an identity. Identity? what's that. does it really say who I am? But who am I??? *%* Tue Dec 7 22:45:44 EST 1999 X regains consciousness on the deck of her seapoint apartment which is painted rust red and covered with cigarette ashes. it is night but there is a luminance emitted by the seascape close by and the sky is clear, she can witness perfectly clearly the man dressed in only workpants who is quivering in the street one story below. X is inclined to puke, but not to puke publically before this man and onto the rust colored porch. she therefore stumbles inside *%* Wed Nov 10 11:58:50 EST 1999 X is so free about not knowing anything about her/himself that starts getting really paranoid. Uhhh! the silky underware is makin her/him so horney... *%* Sat Oct 16 02:25:14 EDT 1999 X is such a difficult person, always looking for someone to talk to, someone to love.. *%* Sat Oct 16 02:23:06 EDT 1999
Upon regaining conciousness X immediatly looks in its pants to find out that in fact X is a woman. X slowly reaches out to a nearby dog and places her right hand on the dog's back. with little effort she is able to use the dog as a crutch and pulls herself to her feet. I cower behind the wall, waiting for my brigade to advance... Artilery rounds are going off all around me. it occupies all my senses. we jump the wall only to find a recording left by some child *%* Sun Jan 24 23:34:16 EST 1999
X is sliding through a vortex filled with violet teacups and crumbling scones. A thin boy with burgundy-tipped hair flickers in and out next to X, appearing to be some type of hologrammic hallucination or apparition. X's first words are "how can this be? this isn't the way the story was planned!"
Hi, I'm X, and I'm from... where from? Don't know. I'm lying on the ground. It is warm. I cannot move. I can see a night sky. Stars, they are beautiful. I see a comet crossing the sky! It falls down! Hi I'm x and I'm from russia *%* Sat Nov 14 20:43:04 EST 1998 Suddenly I had an flashing picture of myself sitting shaking in the chair made out of wood and metal.. man in front of me was covered in blood that stained his white overcoat, white, thin overcoat, how the hell I knew that this must have been a doctor? Somethings itching my nose and i try to grab it and he shouts out load telling me not to do it. So I'm not doing it. Those are metal sticks in my nose. What the hell has happened? "Shit, I'm sorry" I say, not really meaning of it. This is a shitty situation after all. I can'tt do much, actually nothing else that stare that man. He's in his 50's I suppose, doesn't seem to be happy about my existence. *%* Mon Oct 5 06:10:30 CDT 1998 X has heard of someone claiming to be X/ Today she is going to seARCH HIM OUT *%* Mon Aug 24 17:52:36 CDT 1998 oh, that must be me lying on the park bench.. I thought. Why did I think that? The woman could be me if I were a woman,... in a way.. I feel like one. What the hell I am doing in this body? I have no idea who anyone is. I really wonder when did I stop knowing anything or have I ever known anything and how long will I survive or how did I ever survive? shit. Xavier Cugat Johnson... what the heck, if I have this piece of paper in my hands it still doen't say that it's my identity. no.. my identity.. I could be anyone.. but perhaps this could start to be me.. if someone asks.. Why should I prove it? I don't know if can before someone asks... let's go for it.. *%* Mon Oct 5 06:16:57 CDT 1998 Suddenly I have a flashing picture of myself sitting shaking in the chair made out of wood and metal.. The man in front of me is covered in blood that has stained his white overcoat, his white, thin overcoat. How the hell did I know he was a doctor? Somethings itching my nose and i try to grab it and he shouts out telling me not to do it. So I'm not doing it. Those are metal sticks in my nose. What the hell has happened? "Shit, I'm sorry" I say, not really meaning it. This is a shitty situation after all. I can't do much, actually nothing else but stare at the man. He's in his 50's I suppose, and he doesn't seem to be happy about my existence. *%* Mon Oct 5 06:10:30 CDT 1998
Seeing this woman alone with her thoughts was enough to
bring me back to a real a reality as one could - under
these bizarre conditions. I was in the presence of a
person - a real, live human person. She awoke from her nap
and began talking to herself. No one around. No one to
censor her. Just the blue sky and the mountains and the
quiet - the unbelievable quiet of the place.
She was having quite an animated conversation with herself,
no, with someone else. She was forceful with this other
person. Not angry. But firm. Telling him or her just
what was what.
And she seemed quite pleased with herself. She really had
the upper hand. And she liked having the upper hand.
The beautiful human-ness before me was enough to make me
think of my own human-ness. I am a person. Not a freak.
Not mad. Not a Kafka-esque metamorphosic me.
I am a human being.
AND I HAVE A NAME!
Xavier Cugat Johnson.
AND I HAVE A HOME TOWN!
Fresno, California.
Fresno. Fresno. Fresno. San Juaquin Valley. Sixty miles
above Bakersfield. Near Yosemite. And just at the start
of the Sierra Mountains = at the foot of the road that
carries you up to Shaver Lake, EDison Lake and Huntington
Lake - up to 10,000 feet before heading down to 395 along
the bottom of the Western Sierras.
"But how do I *know* that?" i asked myself, out loud. "How
do I know that?"
I said it loud enough for the talking lady to hear me. She
turned and looked right at me. There was no fear in her
eyes. Just a softness, an incredible warm and caressing
softness.
*%* Wed Aug 12 19:03:24 CDT 1998 At last the tears stopped, drying on my face with the same saltiness that the spray from the ocean left. I rose and moved on. There was a question now: what do I, can I care for that is as important as knowing who I am? In fact, I conceded as I walked, perhaps they are the same question. *%* Fri Aug 7 07:22:24 CDT 1998 I will continue my story. Not knowing who I am when I wake each morning, I look for a sign of some kind. Yesterday I woke on a hillside overlooking the ocean and watched for an hour as the tide moved slowly in covering the beach. I thought perhaps this day I was X, the beach comber, that I had spent my life this way, weathered by wind and sun, and that somehow this choice had allowed me to escape the terrible pressures of conformity. I do not care about money or wealth. I care only for... for what? And it was that question that brought the sudden stab of pain and the feel of tears on my cheeks. I never cry, I'm sure of that, but I was crying. I cried. *%* Fri Aug 7 07:19:07 CDT 1998 X bolts upright in the dumpster. the sound of sirens and traffic drift in through the partially opened top of the dumpster. a thin line of light marks X's forehead. *%* Mon Jun 29 11:21:20 EDT 1998 Suddenly, nothing happened. X decided to go back through time just before that moment; cause here there was just nothing to remember. Then, perhaps his memory was before his/her own life. X hadn't lost memory. It was just empty. *%* Wed Jun 24 04:27:25 EDT 1998
X wakes up. she, believing X is a she, feels quite uncomfortable, for she is lying on a wooden bench and it is still cold
near morning break, she thinks. She does not know anything beides that she is not used
to find herself outside on a bench on an urban markteplace with the first pedestrians of the day on their
walk to work or where ever to.
the clouds above her are lightening up and show a little sun, still weak of a long day on the other
side of the world. she is desperate to know where she might be. there are some shop straight ahead. their signs tell
her that there are groceries and bakeries and a shoe shop. She reads the signs and understands, but she knows
that this is not the tongue her mother had.
still she could not say which language or spelling she is reading. what to do now? Getting up should be a good choice, she decides
and does so, stretching her aching bodyparts that still not feel like belonging exactly to her.
Still, this body is, at this moment the only thing she is sure to have.
Identity yet she feels to have none. lets walk around a bit to get warm and find around anything. strolling along she has a look in the shops and starts
to observe the inhabitants of this place. Peoples faces here are of another kind, clothing is different from what she
supposes to be familiar to her. in a darkly glassed window she gets aware of her own reflection and stops to
look at it to regain some remembrance of who this body is she is in.
the person she sees does not give her a clue, but at least she knows her appearance now.
"You like to look at yourself, girl?" a voice from behinds rings at her.
She turns around and is facing an elderly woman with one blind eye and the other watching
her, sending out radiowaves examining her to the bones.
"I have to look at myself, because otherwise I would not know who you are speaking to at this
moment, whether its me or any of those pigeons around."
The woman is grinning. "So you lost your memory, woke up on that bench there and do not know where
you are?"
Startled she has to admit that this old lady is right. "I suppose there is nothing I know
about me at the moment, you do not know. Do you, by any chance know my name, too, madame?"
The old woman is weighing her head from side to side. Her clothes are quite simple, a skirt, a jacket,
sandals. The only special thing about her is her white, blind eye and a weird hat she is wearing,
azurblue, packed whith artificial flowers, fruits and even a small stuffed bird all colourful and
of some strange beauty.
"Your name, dear, why should i know. The other things I know, I know because every second month at some day
persons like you wake up here, knowing nothing, coming from nowhere and disappearing to nowhere shortly
afterwards."
What kind of phenomena I am in here, she thinks, I wish I could be at home again, not here, I want to
be at a place where people know me, where I know who I am.
Thinking this, she disappeared.
The old woman shook her head slowly. "I wish you all the best, girl" she said in a low voice.
"Hope You'll find yourself somewhere, not ending up like me, half blinded, desperate and still
not knowing anything about my person, thinking it doesn't matter anyway. I stay here, saying hello
to the others, waiting to reach simply the end of it someday." *%* Tue May 26 05:33:53 EDT 1998
A big market in cookies in Cincinnati crashed. So one day before the US joined the Second WW Hans returned to Germany to his apartment in Dresden (he read his address on the identification card).
At first he was happy to have a cozy apartment but soon he found himself very unhappy because of his neighbor (her name was Hanna). She was a young music teacher. Hans had been listening to the scales for 100 days from early morning till late evening before he wrote a letter to Gestapo. He wrote that Hanna was a communist and a Jew. Soon after Hanna vanished.
Hans joined Nazi party. He’d got Hanna's piano as a gift from local authorities. Hans started playing scales himself. He loved the piano and made great progress in playing. Even he was invited to play with Dresden Philharmonic...
Suddenly his musical career stopped. He was called up for military service.
For some time we lose sight of his fate.
In May 1945 we can see Hans again, the right sleeve of his faded and torn uniform is empty - he lost his right arm in front trenches. Near him we see Hanna. The wind swings the left sleeve of her ... well, let’s call this " her coat". "Auschwitz KZ #6951" is tattooed on her right hand.
After considerable silence Hans starts a dialog with Hanna:
HANS - Hanna... I cannot speak, Ha... Hanna, I ... I am a... I
HANNA - Stop this... It doesn’t matter. Doesnit matter. We are alive, anyway. Our house is smashed ... wiped off... like the whole city...broken and singed half-molten breaks... We’re happy we were out. We’re alive.
HANS - Partly. My right arm is dead - buried, no, wasted in the mud somewhere near village Griaz. You know "Griaz" means, "mud" in Russian.
HANNA - My arm was not buried. Think it became the part of living bodies - starveling detainees stole it from the garbage of Auschwitz concentration camp. Polish call this place Oswenszym. I don’t know what Oswenszym means in Polish. It doesn’t matter.
HANS - Strange thing... look my... well, your piano, our piano, let’s say the piano is not ... wounded. Bombs and shells had a mercy to it. Mercy of Shrapnel! Funny.
HANNA - It’s funny, right. Can you play? I mean your left hand - does it work? Open the keyboard. Now try... Oh, good! Press this white key, good, white again, then that black, white, white, black and again...
HANS - "White, white, black!" Play a melody. I’ll accompany you.
HANNA - You know chords?
HANS - Play a melody. I know chords, I know harmony, counterpoint... everything. Just play. You have a right hand - play the tune.
They are playing together. Imagine yourself what they are playing.
Something ... something... really something!
HANNA & HANS (singing together) - We can play, we can play, we can play, we can....
HANS - We’re one being, one musical being. One being with two hearts, two heads and two arms.
HANNA - We’re one creature created by hatred and war, by love and music...
HANS - Created by the 20th century.
HANNA - You know - soon the century will be over.
HANNA & HANS (singing together) It will be over, yes, it will be over, yes, it will be over...
HANS - The century - yes. The music will continue.
HANNA & HANS (singing together) Continue, continue, continue, continue, continue...
HANS - By the way, I’m not Hans! Who am I? Don’t know. Call me X. My name is X. I’m very famous. They have a story about me on the Turbulence WWW site. The entire world can read and continue it.
HANNA - Oh, my boy you’re mistaken. The story is about me. What a story you can write about a man? Rubbish. I’m the main character of X story. O’K, O’K, don’t cry my boy, we both will have the same name "X". Satisfied?
HANS - Eh... m-m-m... eh... what do you think of being Mrs. X?
HANNA - What?
HANS - Be my wife. That will solve all X problems. And ... and I love you.
HANNA - Mrs. X - sounds good. I’ll think about it later. Now do you job - play accompaniment.
They play and sing together.
HANS - What do they think about, those Turbulence people? Why our X story doesn’t have audio files? Our music is so beautiful but nobody can listen to it!
HANNA - I’m very beautiful also... X story must have video files!
HANS - Right you are!
They play and sing together.
The cold would have seemed unbearable to anybody who could have taken the time to notice the man lying inert on the pavement beneath the drainpipe of a condemned building. He leaned against the sagging porch with his breath coming in ragged gasps that billowed up into white clouds of smoke. He opend his eyes slowly but was still blinded by the sun glinting off the newly fallen snow. The passersby gave him no notice, as he could have been any bum on the street. His tattered clothing did not speak well of him by any means, and he sat in a puddle of icewater that dripped from a stalagtite that hung from a dilapidated gutter.
"What the hell?," he uttered, feeling like something had exploded inside of his head. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember anything.
Being a reasonable man, he checked his pockets for a wallet and there he found one. He found that it contained a wallet with an Identification card in German, and to his surprise he could read it quite well. His name was apparently Hans Rechenshaufle.
"If I'm German than why am I speaking English" And thus the mystery began.
Hans found that if he walked backward extemely fast that he could exceed the speed of light, in addition to his newfound power of multilingual speaking, hence, he could travel back in time. So he traveled to 1940, which was well before he was born, but he figured that it would get to the root of his problems if he started as far back as he could. ( Incidentaly he had to run backwards for a long time and was quite winded by the time he reached 1940 )
Hans was bent on finding out what had happened to him, so he traveled to America since the first words he had spoken were in English. There he met Vinny Tibbs, who was a big Italian guy with an Eastern drawl, which despite his language talents he couldn't understand very well. This Vinny hung out with a Roddy Branson who spoke with a Cockney accent and was even more unintelligable than Vinny, so Hans decided to bake cookies at his new home in Ohio, because there was a big market in cookies in Cincinnati, and Hans never did find out what happened to him. *%* Wed Apr 15 15:41:48 CDT 1998
When Herbert regained his consciousness, he realized he was surrounded by little green men. His first words were, "Ouch! Get out of there!". He remembered that he left the car running. At this
time, one little green man relieved himself on Herbert's shoe, a nike. *%* Sun Apr 5 16:37:57 EDT 1998
Every morning I wake up, questioning my very own existence. Am I really my own person, despite the fact that I am someone different every day? Or am I someone above, a god who's unaware of what they really are. A god who can be whoever they feel like, and is whoever they want to be without any conscoius desire? *%* Mon Mar 30 11:47:00 EST 1998
Looking around at the bright sea of colours around him, X realizes that he has fallen asleep in an Ikea store. The bed was so comfortable, the quilt was so comforting. He couldn't help but fall asleep. But he still does not know who he is. Just that he apparently likes the furniture from Ikea. *%* Mon Mar 30 11:38:49 EST 1998 The first thing I saw was a clock.
We are still not sure which came first: whether it was
we who made Agent X what it is, or if Agent X made us.
That period of time ( of course the cohesive 'period' is a
sign itself of something having happened ) was a blurry
sepulchral of days spilling into each other: and Agent X
was just the beginning, or should I say, it was unknown at
that time, but known as something different, or peculiar...
it was strange.
We had the future on us like a wet rag - busy work was only
an occupation, while an ominous determination burned onto
our foreheads; it was what was really going on. And Agent
X was right in the caesara, at the edge of each present,
asserting its own kind of promise. *%* Mon Feb 23 16:45:31 CST 1998 why ? is that events are manipulated by our urge to propel
ourselves into mislead situations or is it the basic destiny of our distruction..... *%* Sun Jan 4 14:47:32 EST 1998
BR> Thoughts rush through his head:
Xaviar Cugat, isn't that a jazz player or something. My parents (I must of had parents or am I a figment of some being's imagination ?) were jazz lovers.
It is very unusual to see a woman sleeping on a bench. Is she sick ? Homeless ? She appears to be in her early fifties. Wearing several layers of clothing. Too much really. Johnson walks over to a tree nearby and sits down with head in his hands. " I need to start my life again" But I'm so tired, I'll nap here also. He leans his head against the tree and as his thoughts quiet down he find himself smiling.. the lady onthe bench is snoring! " Ha! God bless her, her ability to sleep plain and simple like that.
He felt a shaking poke on his shoulder and looked up. " You want a piece of fruit buster ? , the snoring lady asked. She wasn't bad looking but defineately worse for wear .. a life on the streets he presumed. " Yea thanks" He took her offer of carambola .. yellow ripe and sweet. *%* Fri Dec 26 00:27:06 EST 1997
The whole vista starts to tremble slightly - perhaps an
earthquake. X says to her, "Where are we?" She says, "You
don't know?" Her eyebrows are knit and she is clearly
irritated. She stands up picking up the small black handbag
that was on the bench beside her. She reaches in and pulls
out a small perfume spray bottle and says, "Maybe this will
help". She sprays X in the face.
X chokes on the acrid, burning mist. The world begins to
wave. Its black again.
*%* Tue Oct 7 17:51:24 EDT 1997
So, if he doesn't know who he is, where he's been, or where
he is, how is it that he could come to consciousness
on a trail on a ledge near a woman on a bench who is napping?
X (though he knows who he is, he prefers to think of himself
this way) walks over to the women who has a perfect complexion,
natural healthy lips, jet black hair, long lashes, and sculpted
not too thin perfectly arcing eyebrows. Her hair is somewhat
long but has been pulled up in back and set with large pins.
She looks something like a young Elizabeth Taylor except much
thinner. She has on a coral sweater and jeans. The temperature
is just right, 70 degrees F.
X says softly, "Excuse me".
She opens her eyes slowly. "Oh. You're back"
++++
"Where have you been?"
"I don't know" says X.
She says, "I feel so dreamy. I was dreaming we were in a war.
I was under a stairwell talking to you. We were talking about
having a baby."
"Do we talk about that a lot?"
"That's curious you should ask that! We've discussed this a
thousand times - you know that."
X thought to himself - 'I must have a relationship with this
woman' *%* Tue Oct 7 17:46:22 EDT 1997
*%* Tue Oct 7 17:41:22 EDT 1997
He looks out from a plateau through a mountain valley.
The peaks to the right that go to the far horizon
are high and jagged with spots of snow on top. The peaks
across the valley are also rugged mountains without snow.
Both ridges rise above the tree-line.
He looks around. He is on a trail on the edge of the flat
plateau which he can see because the trees and bush are
low and taken care of. On the trail is a park bench. On
the bench a women sits. She is napping. No one else is in
sight.
X reaches for his wallet. There is one. His name is Xavier
Cugat Johnson. Apparently, he is from Fresno, CA and can
drive a car. He has no credit cards and no money. A
picture of a women is in the wallet. It's not the same one
as is napping on the bench.
*%* Tue Oct 7 17:31:51 EDT 1997
Damn! I was tired and sat down to rest by the road... wagon tracks through what seemed unending very rocky fields... I remember that much, but now I'm sitting in a movie theater watching a cart move through a rocky field. The cart creaks under the weight of dead bodies it carries. A man whips the horse. It is a brutal desolate scene and I want to escape it, but I'm tied to the seat. My heart cries out for help. I don't know what is happening to me. I don't know who I am. Help me, please! *%* Sat Sep 27 08:05:50 EDT 1997
I see the wall standing before me, thick and foreboding, not letting anybody in but not letting anybody out. A fear rises out of me, do I want to go outside? Do I want to know who I really am? I am protected here, but protected from what? Myself? Learning who I truly am, take place out there in reality, not behind this stone wall. I climb the wall, it is not hard to climb and I scale it very easily, maybe I was an athlete. See the process is already beginning. I climb down the other side of the wall, walk down marble steps, and see a huge oak door. It suprisingly opens easily. I look outside into the sunlight and for the first time... free, yes that's the word, free. Free from the greyness of the hospital, where they prevented my mind from exploring who I really am. I see the country side, but which countryside, I do not know. They spoke English in the hospital, but that leads me nowhere. There is a road, cut with the marks of wagons and horses. It must lead somewhere, but somewhere I do not know. The process begins. I think somewhere I read one someone said," The ends justify the means." What a long strange trip its been, and what a long strange trip it will be. *%* Thu Aug 28 16:16:19 CDT 1997 X waits for death. *%* Wed Aug 13 11:36:05 CDT 1997 It's hard to keep track of everyone I've been. It's easiest to let it go and be whoever I am at this time. But whoever or whatever that is determines the direction I take. I'll start today -- a person (male) confined as much by indecision as anything else in a gray hospital setting. I 'll leave. I know a path, and while I have never traveled beyond the wall to which it leads, I know there is a door. And beyond that door? I wonder now why I have waited so long... *%* Wed Jul 23 12:50:41 CDT 1997 Again, I feel the limpness of my body as I feel myself slipping into a semi-conscious state. No! I can't sleep! I remember one thing, that everytime I sleep I wake up in a different place, looking down into a different body, sometimes male and sometimes female. Always human. Always here, always now. Never knowing where or who or when, just waking and going with whatever is in front of me now. Like an actor, I watch, analyze the situation and become what I must to survive. I am not sleeping, have I learned a secret to my own survival? Can I rest deeply and maintain consciousness and still be mentally alert? Is this the meditation technique of the sages? How do I remember this? Is this a memory or an innate tendency of the human mind? Did our ancestors survive because of this skill? Have I reached a level of consciousness unknown to humans? *%* Mon Jul 21 10:37:45 CDT 1997 I have decided to keep a journal of my thoughts. Maybe afterall a pattern will emerge that will reveal something. Right now I am just hopelessly confused and often frightened. But first I must find paper and a pen. This place where I am is almost empty of things. Gray like the environment and empty. *%* Fri May 16 11:06:27 EDT 1997
From X's journal *%* Tue Apr 29 10:15:31 CDT 1997
The bright white light of the sun seemed like fire, searing my eyes. Protectively, I rolled unto my side, draped my left arm across my face and let out a groan. It was only the sun, after all. Yet it seemed I'd never seen it before. Slowly sitting up, I looked around for Mark. Mark? Who was that... I'd just known a minute ago. In stark contrast to the bright sun, a cool breeze wafted across my face, raising gooseflesh on my bare arms.
Shivering, I stood on the craggy ground and looked around at the green rolling plains, heavily laden with rocks. No one in sight, no clue as to where I was or how I'd gotten here. Nice. No clue who I was, where I was, or what on Earth I was wearing. It looked like a cross between a Roman toga and some particularly nasty burlap feed bag. As I was examining my new (old?) look, the ground began to shake. A distant rumble was coming over the horizon in a cloud of dust. Fearful, I crouched behind a large boulder -- cutting my feet on the rocky earth.
*%* Fri Jun 6 12:22:22 CDT 1997 In a rusty junked car in the middle of a junk yard. No one but a snarling German shepard "Nice doggie" Inexplicably, the dog sits back on his haunches and pants awaiting a pat *%* Tue Apr 8 17:50:04 CDT 1997 At the edge of the stream X heard the sound of many fish. Fish speak? Suddenly, a huge hook appeared. *%* Thu Mar 27 16:35:54 CST 1997 A field. A large, open field bathed in warm sunshine. A gentle gust of wind breathed on X, who opens his/her eyes. No one is to be seen, no sound is to be heard save the rustling of the leaves of a few nearby trees. But there is a shadow and X turns to look. It was cast by a small structure; a cabin-sized building of brick with no windows visible on this side. "I have been here, I think," X said as if speaking to a close friend. "And I know what to find in there." X moved toward the building... *%* Sat Mar 15 20:46:23 CST 1997 What a trip... Time for a spliff *%* Mon Mar 10 06:55:06 EST 1997 Slowly, X awakes to a new world, new with fresh experiences; colors, sounds, and, more important, water and food. X remembers stores as a child, of a shanrila atop a high mountain. a place where, in the mist of snow covered lower valleys, it exists at tropical temperatures. *%* Sun Mar 9 21:44:16 EST 1997 *%* Wed Feb 19 21:17:34 EST 1997 X regains consciousness in a a wooded area of a children's part in the heart of "The City". A small red ball bounces off of X's cold thinly layered shoulder, as his eyes begin their painful attempt to observe earthly objects once again. Yellow orbs of dancing air speedily grow, as X sees the owner of the ball bounding down upon him. "Hi mister. Whatcha doing sleeping in the park? Whatsa matter? Can't cha talk? Mom, Mom, come mer. Look what I found?" "Danial, come here. Get away from him now!" X raises nudges the ball back to its owner with a dirt covered hand, "Peace to you and your loved ones dear child." *%* Sat Mar 1 10:28:54 EST 1997 THICK-gurgling, thick. I describe now in retrospect only sensate tinglings. I responded to sensates, but I felt prior knowledge. HEAVY-I am/was wet. Why? I am/was here-and..? Enough-I am here! I am! I think? Do I..or did I? Pains, very sharp pains at times, naggged at my.. I see yet I don't.. Oh God? It seemed that my thoughts moved, albeit clumsily,appendages that moved with me. Was I full at the time of my rebirth- or lying in a muddy puddle of water? Right now, it matters not how I describe this- I was-and I became who I am now. Who I am NOW!!!! Many hours later, I tell you now more! It seems an infernal machine is my only way of scripting my story. Images come to me that both haunt and press my psyche. I am but a body, newly arisen from a puddle of muddy water and yet I feel there is more to....my tale? Before I describe my surroundings, I must feed. The water is good, I drink- yet I want more. I ache-I thirst I hunger I need. I will survive!!! *%* Wed Feb 19 21:17:34 EST 1997 X finds himself growing further and further away from himself. He believes that there once must have been a time where he felt love for himself, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with himself, but he can't remember when. He feels uncomfortable with this. "Where have you been?" *%* Wed Feb 12 11:32:23 CST 1997 x regains consciousness in aisle 5B of a new shopping mall in a undisclosed midwestern city, a clerk is restocking jars of tomato paste above him and seems not to notice either his prone posiyion or the his sudden appearnace. X cannot remember ever being here, he asks the stocker , "Where am I?" and the adolescent minimum wage employee replies "in canned goods" *%* Mon Feb 10 17:19:05 CST 1997 Snow is blowing into my eyes. Everything is unclear. It is all rushing towards me. *%* Fri Jan 31 14:15:25 CST 1997 I'm sitting in a broad stairwell. Why? The black asphalt sandpaper strips on the hard marble stairs have kept me from sliding to the bottom. My knees protest with a dull aching as I strain to straighten my legs. How long have I been here? The marble beneath me is warm, but only from draining my body heat, making me feel chilled despite the dark wool peacoat bunched up around me. Grabbing the brushed steel hand rail, I have to stand up slowly. Where am I? These surroundings seem both familiar and unfamiliar. Obviously a public building, but where is everyone? The ceramic brick hallway, extending into darkness at the bottom of the steps, doesn't elaborate. I turn to see the top of the stairway, and loud, flat daylight pounds my eyes. Squinting, just beyond the upper landing, I can see the upper edge of a long row of metal, glass-paned double doors. The grey sky streams down through the glass, becoming musty and dim as it reaches into the hall below. *%* Wed Jan 29 18:04:13 EST 1997 She wakes, floating in a sea of space with the sound of silence invading her world like a torpedo. The only words that come to her mind and lips are "My God." Her soul had somehow lifted itself out of her body and she was here, breathing normally, comfortably napping in the final frontier. *%* Sun Jan 26 21:48:31 EST 1997 Groggily, X wonders. Where from, what next? X is in the middle of the ocean on some land amidst some trees, looking at the horizon. Overwhelmed with beauty, even with no reference points, X is taken by this place and with the uncertainties that lie ahead. Here, X sits and watches the sun go down. *%* Sat Jan 25 17:46:49 EST 1997 When the rubble has been cleared, the exploding bomb has been deactivated. The others are like bodies they dragged from a wreckage. Unrecognizable. "Who are you?"--my words, reverberating inside like a knock on the head. His hand reaching out toward me is amazingly intact, reaching underneath my matted hair and lifting me into the air. He thinks into my head: this hospital is burning/I'll carry you out/safety/an advertisement for whiskey from an old magazine. I'm choking on shirt fibers and black smoke, heading straight out from hell. *%* Fri Jan 24 21:04:35 EST 1997The first sensation is the acrid sting of salty air against my nose and mouth. I open my eyes and see the ocean, black and bilious, surging within arm's reach. The beach under me is rocky and slick. Gradually I recover a sense of balance, and I stand and look east. The sun is barely beginning to conquer the range of mountains which rise up in that direction. I seem to be wearing some fine dress clothes - a tuxedo, in fact, although barely recognizable given its tattered state. I wonder if I might be some kind of castaway - shipwrecked off an ocean liner - perhaps even coming from my own wedding! There are no rings on my fingers, however, nor anything else to suggest my origins, or my destination. I brush the harsh sand off my body. Over the craggy rocks of the beach, I can hear a strange chanting sound. Apparently, there are others nearby. I rub my throat, slack with thirst, and hope that they are friendly. *%* Fri Jan 10 21:01:55 EST 1997 I walk the hospital grounds every day now that I have begun to recover. The grayness of the place is overwhelming. I do not remember a day when the sun has been able to penetrate the heavy fog lying over the buildings and walks. Toward evening it gathers around the tree trunks creating disembodied shapes. I do not know who I am. But I must remember something because I question the importance of having an identity. I imagine that it places a responsibility on the person it defines, a requirement to act within certain boundaries and in certain ways. Without one, I may be anyone or everyone all at once. They tell me that the hospital, has put out bulletins that have circulated nationwide but that noone anywhere has reported a person of my description missing. Yet. Perhaps afterall I am just the slightest bit curious... *%* Mon Jan 8 15:15:56 EST 1997 X is in a run down building, listening to a language that x does not understand. *%* Tue Jan 7 16:16:57 EST 1997 Its cadences are familiar but the words are not. X moves closer to the room's dividing wall. The words come from the far side and are spoken by a man, a young man, X thinks. It is as if the young man is telling a story. *%* Wed Jan 15:17:58 EST 1977 X listens carefully to the voice from the other side of the wall. X wants to speak to the person there but is afraid. *%* Sun Jan 26 17:37:38 EST 1997 Where's the bathroom? He trips on an old newspaper. *%* Tue Jan 28 23:45:25 EST 1997 |