More on Trump

I wrote about a wager which I lost here, regarding whether I would be implicated by President Trump in his plans and schemes sometime in December 2019.

Obviously, this has not happened. I’m watching the Senate trial with interest. My brain loves to remind me that I might have gotten the month wrong (I was remembering this from a while ago, apparently). Maybe.

I will be less surprised than everyone else if he does mention my name sometime during his Senate impeachment trial, because I’ve been expecting something of the sort for a while now, but because I’m bipolar I’m fully aware that my thoughts about this sort of thing are likely to be delusional.

I really hope someone has tapes, if I spoke to Trump on the phone at all, like I think I may have.

I bet a friend a box of gluten-free doughnuts that things are going to get seriously weird during the trial, so I guess I will just have to wait and see how things play out.

Buy a little piece of history

Hello, readers!

Just a little newsy update, no grim short pieces about torments or strange dreams this time.

My novel Perigee is on sale in Kindle ebook version for $3.99 USD!

I like my first novel Perigee but am not 100% happy with it. I messed up its republishing- I failed to get a new ISBN in 2013 even though I’m fairly sure I asked the person I was on the phone with to get one, for example, and upon rereading it, I’m not 100% happy with how it begins. I was thinking of revising it and adding in a novella, or else writing an entire other book, about the character Avesta Brunner-Tsu. She’s a favorite of mine, and her backstory is quite interesting. I plan to pull Perigee from publication at iUniverse, and then re-release it as a 2020 manuscript in a different form.

I was not 100% happy with the interactions I had with iUniverse, so I am unlikely to simply re-release it with them. I’ve been working hard on polishing two other science fiction manuscripts (one, Anagama, set in the same universe as Perigee, and another, Infinity, in its own variant of Earth) so I can start sending one of these to agents. Anagama involves a variety of humanoid mutants fighting for human rights on Earth, corporate intrigue, and underworld criminals. You can read the first chapter here. Infinity involves wormholes, time detectives, assassination attempts, and a series of incredibly ugly floral arrangements. Perigee is a more comedic take on science fiction than Anagama, and describes the chaos that hits a small planetary colony when a potent aphrodisiac is released into the colony’s water systems.

So if you want to get collector’s copies of Perigee, buy them now (you can get the book or ebook on Amazon here) before I pull this version from publication. I plan on changing the cover to something more evocative of the actual novel, as well, so the old version should be easy to spot.

I’m not famous now, though if my incredibly good mood, high energy levels, and lack of brain fog continue for some time, I should be able to pull my writing together enough to finish polishing, submit queries, and find an agent. In a little while, who knows? So if you’d like to take a gamble, buy my book and get yourself a little piece of history while it’s affordable.

Checkmate

This is again about the female character I call Evelyn. Truth can be stranger than fiction, but this little piece is very strange indeed. More about Evelyn in my prior post, and the ones referenced therein. I also write about my strange dreams involving Trump, and you can read about those in this post, and the ones it references.

A long time ago, in a place now far, far away from me, on the West Coast. She found me in a little park close to my home in the Dunbar Heights district of Vancouver.

I remember: Fear, abject fear, and then a woman repeating “You can trust me, you can trust me, you can only trust me and no one else, listen to what I say and do exactly what I say and you will be safe, trust me, trust no one but me,” over and over. And she held my back and pushed, pushed, pushed.

It was her first, most successful command which she gave me in the little game which she has been playing and which I have been trying my entire adult life to escape.

She would remind me, with a push to the back, and I would trust her. I always trusted her, even knowing I should not. She would always come at me, give me a friendly, vigorous pat on the back (push, push) and I would trust her.

She grew bored with this and added other levels.

There was “Mask” where I would be told to expect to see someone, then see the face and hear the voice of that person instead of the actual person I was talking to, when she or her husband were around me. I spent about a year talking to her husband thinking he was a 23-year-old Canadian graduate student in my laboratory who looked completely different, and had a completely different voice. But the masks started much, much earlier than that, I suspect as early as 1996 or 1997, when I started to be systematically isolated from my social circles, starting with the man I was dating. He could not recall dumping me on the morning of Thanksgiving Day, and was flabbergasted that I was upset with him for doing so. She used this handy trick to destroy relationships of mine that would help me professionally or in my social life, and use it to gain my trust when push-push didn’t work as well as planned, and pump me for information about things which she could then use to hurt and humiliate me.

There was “Tidy Up” and after a crime had been committed against me, I would, after it had occurred, be obsessed with taking all evidence of that crime and clearing it up- putting things away or in the trash, wiping down surfaces, cleaning myself up. Then I would go to where I had awoken from deep trance, and open my eyes, and awake fully- and I knew something was wrong, deeply wrong, but I would look around and- no physical evidence of it, no memory. Just a feeling of wrongness, deep unease.

There was “Freeze” which I first think was used in 2002 or 2003. I went to the Pageant of the Masters in Laguna Beach, CA, and woke up frozen, cramped, naked from the waist down by the door of the men’s room in a local bar. I woke up another time nude out on the street. I did not remember this at the time, merely tried to clean up the evidence that it had happened and that anything had been amiss. I remembered the events long after I had forgotten the date or year or any details of the event that could help me find who did this.

There was “Opposite Day” where I would be programmed to say the opposite of what I meant. I think the trigger for this was “it’s not your birthday” or “happy unbirthday” which was a thing that, lightheartedly, I used to tell people to cheer them up, to give them a reason to celebrate. I have stopped doing that.

There was “San Diego” and I don’t know exactly what the trigger was, but I both could not see cars on the road, and green and red were exchanged in everything I saw. I think the trigger had to do with reminding me of those green-red dots in eye tests. I believe this was designed to force me to get into a serious car accident, with the goal of killing me or killing someone else and making me responsible.

There was “Doorway” and after going through a door, including a car door, I would forget whatever important information there was- such as when someone phoned me and said they were about to kill someone and I had to stop them- I would forget what had upset me and my mind would blank out for a while. She used this one a lot.

And there was “Bury the skeleton” where she would take my emerging memories of a crime and rebury them, suggesting to me that they were locked deep, deep in a cellar, like the one the child in Ursula K. LeGuin’s story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas” was locked in, where no one could see or hear. And at some point she got tired of my enjoying my life as much as I did and made me think of myself as the child from Omelas, the one that was locked in the dark away from light and hope and kept slient, gagged, blindfolded, unable to comprehend why such cruelty had been visited upon her.

For over three decades I have carried around the subconscious memories of abuse, so much and so varied that I cannot really say when and where events happened. I am unable to remember events until long after they can be investigated, and it took me over three years of relative rest and contemplation, and serious analysis of the dream images coming to me from the “child from Omelas”, to even puzzle out as much as I have. I believe that Evelyn has largely been prevented from harming me all this time which is why I have not been re-traumatized and re-regressed, though I do recall an interaction at the Hillside Festival in 2019 where a woman I had not met before as far as I knew tried to give me commands in a quiet voice after the push, push trigger (which I noted). When I told her I would do to her what she had done to me, and reached for her, she panicked and ran, and when I grabbed for her, I wound up holding a wig.

So her hold on me has weakened, I believe, though I do not know if I am ever going to be fully safe from harm- she has done so much to me, and sees me as being inhuman (calling me “trash”, “cockroach”, “insect”, “garbage can”, etc.). She seems obsessed with preventing me from succeeding in any venture that might gain me respect or prove to be lucrative, or even anything as simple as hobbies which provide me joy. I have had to lie and lie and lie to strangers on the telephone over and over just to try and keep shreds of happiness and people I care about close to me, and prevent them from being attacked and killed or injured or stolen from as well.

She has used her power over me to try to kill me in different ways, most cruelly by trying to make me suicide, and to avoid her I have often pretended that this was a success. It works for a time, but then she finds me yet again and the cycle begins over.

This time I am ready. Knowledge is power. I have enough knowledge of what she has done to me and how I can be manipulated, now, that her lies no longer will have as much sway. She was the one that tied her life to mine, decided to pervert my words about the Tao and think that, as long as my life was in decline, hers would always be ascendant.

When you attempt to kill a Queen, you better make sure she’s dead on your first try. I have been in and escaped from checkmate for my entire adult life, and now I find my allies are back on the board and yours, strangely, have left, or are leaving. You are alone, and if you are not exposed now you will be very, very soon.

Checkmate is only a matter of time.

Tick.

Tock.

A new year, and some old thoughts

I made a wager in my last post, which I am sad to say didn’t seem to work out. That’s what I get for attempting fortune telling. It really just doesn’t work.

I wrote this some time ago, as part of the new project I have which is tentatively titled October 6th, and which I’ve written about here. A warning: this is very dark.

I dreamt first of the lamp, swinging, and the doors opening. Blood on the floor beyond. Paw prints leading away from the puddle on the marble floor toward oblivion.

I dreamt next of the captain of our high school football team, hanging dead, throat slit, from the lamp outside the double doors. This time the doors were closed. The body swung, dripping, and its legs suddenly scissored around my torso, latching onto me. It jerked, I fell down on the old worn stone stairway, and I woke up screaming.

I went about my days barely noticing the things I had been exposed to all that week, the events or images which I just assume were triggers of one sort or another. I was plagued by recurring thoughts, as I did my dull data entry typing each day, of a thrashing young man trying to grab me, swinging on a cord by his neck, a dark portal beyond with bloody paw prints leading into darkness.

I remembered, suddenly, as I sat quietly eating lunch outside, looking at a pot of rosemary plants. The rosemary smelled lovely in the warm breeze- today was warm for November, although I did not know what latitude the Campus was located at, or even which country.

I remembered a house. It was in Southern California, and had rosemary planted by the front door. A brown house, unassuming, with a pool in the backyard. No furniture. I had been invited by my coworker Laura to a barbecue and I went, and there was no food, no music, no patio furniture. Just Laura, a tall, sandy-haired man that I had never seen before, and the pool.

Laura and the strange man left me alone outside and I waited for them to return. I went inside. No one was there. I went looking for a bathroom and a woman I did not recognize found me. Dark hair, dark eyes, older than I was.

“Do you remember me?” she asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to be helpful? I can really use some help.”

She took me to a bedroom- one bed, a table with a computer on it, the computer was on and the screen was white, a little bit of black text around the edges. There was no chair, and the table was set low enough that one could not stand and type.

“I need you to type something into this page for me,” she said.

“I need a chair,” I said.

“Come outside,” she said, and I did so.

“Are you thirsty? Here is a drink,” she said, and handed me what appeared to be a beer.

“Here, wait, let me make sure it’s ready,” she said, and took it from me, turned around. She gave it back with a wide smile. I took a sip.

She went into the house. There were noises, a chair scraping across a floor, something sounding like a struggle.

She came out, watched me drink the beer, then brought me back into the bedroom. There was a chair in the middle of the room, under the lamp. I could not see anything hanging from the lamp.

“It’s your decision,” she said. “Do you want to help me?”

“Why is the chair in the middle of the room?” I asked.

“If you want to help me you will move it,” the woman said.

“What is going on? Where’s Laura?”

The woman looked annoyed.

“She’s gone to get some food,” she said. “She won’t be back for some time. Now are you going to help me, or not? I’ll pay you handsomely.”

I moved the chair. It did not want to move at first. As I forced it, I heard a thwacking noise.

“What was that?”

“Justice,” said the woman. She held out a piece of paper. On it were scribbles I could not read.

“I can’t read that,” I said.

The woman rolled her eyes and said something under her breath.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I’ll dictate,” she said.

“I want you to write, ‘Jesus wept for he saw an abomination before him, and he swept the earth clean of it, and the seas also will rise up and cleanse away abominations before the Lord.’”

I typed it, then added,

Some lady with dark hair is making me type this, this is fucking creepy. If I am found dead it’s her that did this to me.

I hit the small gray SEND button in the lower right corner.

“What was that? I needed to see that, what did you send?”

“What you told me to write,” I replied.

She left abruptly. I got up out of the chair, the put it back under the lamp, where it had been. I still saw nothing hanging from the lamp. But something bumped me as I put the chair back where it had been. I felt for it. What was it? I felt- clothing, cloth. Something hard. I slapped it and it jerked. What was it?

“Come out to the pool and leave that alone,” said the woman, and she motioned me out to the backyard, handed me a glass of water. I was thirsty, so I took a sip, but I wondered what the hell was going on. Something was.

The water tasted heavily of chlorine.

“Come into the pool with the rest of us,” she said, but no one was there. And then she pushed me.

I closed my eyes and frowned.

Disjointed memories, just fragments.

Hands, pushing my face underwater.

Waking up underneath a blue tarp, coughing, tasting chlorine burning in my throat, my nostrils. I was cold.

The house was silent, empty. I went to each room, looking. I thought I heard something. I saw nothing amiss save that the chair was knocked over. I righted it and felt something hit me in the face, bump against my side. I tugged and it gurgled. I got up on the chair, felt for the noose, loosened it by lifting the heavy object and pulling the cord away. Whoever had made the noose had not done it properly, it had not tightened on the neck. The heavy thing and I fell to the floor. I got up, then found it by patting the air- I still could not see it- and I took it to the bed and placed it on as gently as I could. I aligned the body- head straight, arms and legs straight- and all the while I was so cold. I put blankets on the body, and then curled up next to it in the bed, under the blankets, and fell asleep.

I woke, wondered where I was. It felt late. I felt the body next to me- warm, breathing. My vision was blurry when I looked at it. I could not see who it was.

I went through the house. Surely Laura had come back. No one. The front door was unlocked. There was one telephone on the counter so I used it to call police and say that the door was unlocked and I was leaving the house, and a man had been injured. I felt, so strongly, that I had to leave as soon as possible.

On the way out of the house, I met a woman with a black Labrador. Dark hair, dark eyes. I did not recognize her, or remember her from the house. She was coming down the sidewalk toward me.

“Leaving the scene of the crime so quickly?” she asked.

“What?”

“Never mind, you’ll find out later. How did you survive?”

I simply looked at her.

The woman petted her dog, who was interested in me. She pulled the dog back.

“Never mind. We’ll see how you do when you’re in jail, cockroach.”

The dog came to me and I petted her. The woman pulled the dog back.

“I did nothing wrong,” I said. I had a distinctly uneasy feeling.

“That’s what they all say, cockroach,” she said. “And thanks a lot, now I have to give my dog a bath, because you touched her.”

“I’m calling the police as soon as I get home,” she said. “You had better run while you can. Mexico is nice this time of year.”

Who was she, who was she, I wondered. I sat on the bench on the Campus, looking at the rosemary, and I realized: she was the same woman from Laguna Beach, the same woman from the pier in Santa Monica.

I don’t remember the end of my conversation with this woman- I recall being flustered, walking away when she started screaming at me in Spanish, and driving away in my car.

I wondered what happened to the man, who he was. I was fairly certain it had been a male body that I had taken down from where it hung, though I could not see it clearly.

I thought about this, thought about it long and hard. Who was he? What did he experience? Why could I see everything but him? Would he remember me? If he remembered me- would he protect me from the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who smiled at me all while she called me “cockroach” and drugged my beer- the woman I suspect was the one I met in Vancouver, the one in the hotel, the woman who tried to sell me to the man in the gilded penthouse, and, possibly, has done so much more to me? I didn’t know who she was, why she was trying to hurt me, and who her other intended victim was, but I felt certain that time would reveal everything to me. I just needed to keep my true thoughts a secret from everyone on this subject until I could figure out who he was, and how to reach him.

“Tick, tock,” I whispered to the rosemary bushes.

Some related posts: Character Diary Entry, To the World, The Smartest Woman in the World

Update: I often wondered how, in my dreams, one person was able to do so much alone. The answer is simple. There was more than one. I’ve known this for some time now but today I did a little genealogy research. This is going to go into a separate story than October 6th– I just wanted you all to have some insights into my creative process.