Showing posts with label Involuntary Human Experiment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Involuntary Human Experiment. Show all posts


The Lion Ring

Roaring Lion
Bronze Statue's a matter of Pride.

Lion Ring Seal With Imprint

Note: perspective is off, since She is no Artist

The Lion is a Symbol of both the Tribes Judah and Dan. Legend has it that King Solomon wore a Signet Ring that conferred magic powers to Him s.t.n. He may control the Wind, Demons and Jinn and understand the language of the animal kingdom. As King He used such a ring to Set His Seal on official documents and coduct other courtly business.

In General, a seal-making device is also referred to as the seal matrix or die; the imprint it creates is the seal impression (or, more rarely, the sealing). If the impression is made purely as a relief resulting from the greater pressure where the high parts of the matrix touch, the seal is known as a dry seal. (wikipedia)

Today, setting a seal or  'sealing' has to do with protecting from public view court documents in order to guard State Secrets or in Witness Protection programs.

No One other than King Solomon has ever seen His Ring and if they had, they would not have 'lived' to tell about it (get it, they 'die' first). Some guess that it had 4 jewels, some think it was embossed with the Star of David and inscribed with the Ineffable Name(s) of God.

Some bear the Seal (stigmata as a white scar from a heat impression) since it is never appropriate to welcome such High Heads of State (Emissaries) with the Universal One Finger Salute.

Lately I've been 'hearing' "Beautiful! Beautiful!"   -- something that my friend Paul (the 'glazier') is known to say, where most people suffice to say, "Wow!", or "Oh, My God!" or simply,  "O, Gee!"

Since that can't be a comment on Her Artistic Endeavors (that's Michael's Forte), if She is sooo beautiful and You took the Time (Out) to imprint Her with Your Stamp of Approval, why is it that You Know her name(s), address(es) and phone number(s), and yet She doesn't know the first thing about You? (Aside: I know, it's because she is a blabber mouth and is likely to post your Identity on this ProScribed blog of hers that NoBody reads, once she runs your license plates for the world wide web users to see--I really wouldn't).

Unless, it isn't a stamp of approval at all and more of a 'damned Yankee' tag--which is just as likely given what She registers as Your disappointment every time You spot Her and She 'hears' You 'say,' "...and here She is--again!"

(Another Aside: Her poor Spelling and Your obscure Stamping is a sure recipe for disaster, it's a good thing the Gramma(r) is holding up).

Addendum 06_19_2012: Okay, Mr. 'It's you!'-- What exactly are You accusing me of other than failure to pull a comb through my hair and a predilection toward weird science? 

O, and don't keep summoning me and then act like you don't know why it's me that keeps showing up!
{No bragging rights! He Says, "She's a Loaner--just until He figures out what to do with this **ing mess, doesn't give any of ewes guys a right to abuse the previledge} Who else saw Him on the Santa Monica Pedestrian bridge crossing on June 18, 2012?


A Day At The Beach

Sometime in 2001

Him: Look at you, waving at that helicopter as if they can see you!

Her: They came out of nowhere--I was just letting them know that I can see them.

Him: To them you look like a drop of rain in an Ocean…do you mind if I ask why you are just sitting in your car, why you don’t step out and walk down to the beach. It’s a beautiful day!

Her: Not feeling well.

Him: Why? You don’t look like there is anything wrong with you.

(Protracted silence)

Him: What exactly is wrong with you?

Her: I had a toxic exposure… I have a headache…they say it’s asthma…it feels more like seizures. (With every packet of information she is forced to relay her agitation grows more evident; she had come here to withdraw and not have to deal with people only to find this random passerby with nothing better to do but engage in conversation).

Him: Oh…I see…where was the explosion?

Her: There was no explosion, just a slow chronic buildup of toxins in a tight building where I work…

Him: Yes, but when was the explosion? There is usually an explosion in these cases (he says pensively).

Her: (slowly shaking her head No).

Him: Where do you work?

Her: Government office.

Him: (Nods knowingly) I see--Government! Do you see that building there? I think that it is a government building (he casually points to a lot across the street)

Her: There is no building there…(the irregular knoll didn’t appear to be large enough for a 2-bedroom home let alone a government building and the strictly residential neighborhood was far too opulent).

Him: Sure there is, don’t you see the drive way; the access road around the back?

Her: Excuse me, I am going to open the car door now and step out. He backs up to allow the door clearance.

Her: (Looks at the spot he had pointed to and Wonders what he is talking about, clearly there was no building standing there) No, there is no building there that I can see.

Him: Well, perhaps when you come back in a few years…my name is John, by the way, what’s yours?


Him: AXXX?


Her: (Exasperated by now at having to repeat her name 3 times, and wondering how he can know her older sisters’ names) It’s RXXXX.

Him: Oh! RXXXX! (He says while at the same time shifting the expression on his face and his voice to look and sound just like her late father)

Her: It was nice to meet you, John, I think I’ll go down to the beach and catch a prayer.

Him: (He holds out his hand and they shake hands farewell, then he resumes his initial demeanor) Good-bye…for now. (and he winks impishly, so quickly that she doubts seeing him wink).

As John watches her make her way down to the shore and he realizes exactly how she finally got the help she needed, he laughs his head off!

Zits Comic Strip by Jerry Scott & Jim Borgman as it appeared in the June 4, 2010 issue of The Los Angeles Times.

A large building nears final construction on the site in question as of this blog entry date; but somehow I am disinclined to believe the chopper or its occupants had anything to do with my mother.


Vive La Différence

It's funny when oui Americans try to speak French...mais non.

Before I go again, I think my Dad pbuh wants to weigh in on something:

"I have three daughters, there is my eldest, the very pretty smart one (John
met her); and the younger one, the reallly good speller (he heard of her, but doesn't want to meet her); and then there is my youngest one (meeting her was no picnic in the park...more like a day at the beach). After we had her we could only have sons. Of all the people in all the worlds she is the last one to be crazy. For the simple reason that she does crazy consummately well.

(She is a nondrinker, nonsmoker, non-recreational drug user, whose idea of a
soul vacation is to get out of school fast, become gainfully employed
in her own field, and marry for love (not money) and give birth to two children
while helping to keep her husband's fledgling business going all before she
turns 30--yes, she has a flaw--she can't cook.)
Here is my impression of her crazy act: She is hale as a prize horse and rarely ever gets sick until one day she goes into a doctors' office complaining of an obscene amount of pain everywhere in her body and brings along a can of stuff she thinks caused it since she is some crazy kind of a chemical engineer who picked up her degree from some first rate school in New York City on a full scholarship (proud dad, can you tell?) and deduced she is suffering effects from having had a toxic exposure, only to have the doctor tell her she is crazy for coming in to his practice over the course of the past several months complaining of and being diagnosed with a host of various other ailments including but not limited to: 

asthma, tacchicardia, allergies to everything including histamine and anti-histamine, aggravated sinusitis, irregular monthly cycles, joint problems, swelling, migraines, hypersensitivity to light and sound and climate and other
neuropathy, mammary and lymphatic cysts, sleep disturbances, nausea, DTs,
skin tags that behave strangely by practically growing 2 cm during a shower and then falling off 24 hours later, and a host of other dermal, respiratory,
digestive, neuropathic, psychomotor, neuropsychic, non-viral non-bacterial kidney infections, and other systemic 
aggravated sinusitis, irregular monthly cycles, joint problems, swelling, migraines, hypersensitivity to light and sound and climate and other neuropathy, mammary and lymphatic cysts, sleep disturbances, nausea, DTs, skin tags that behave strangely by practically growing 2 cm during a shower and then falling off 24 hours later, and a host of other dermal, respiratory, digestive, neuropathic, psychomotor, neuropsychiatric, non-viral non-bacterial kidney infections, and other systemic maladies...but then there was also blue tinged nail beds, tears that burn her skin, out-of-body experiences, strange auditory effects that her toddler also reacts to, and yes, hallucinations that she knows are hallucinations because they are after all accompanied by screaming cluster headaches and otherwise known as aura
 ...never mind that her lab tests are abnormal, there is blood in her sputum and any medicine she is given makes it all worse! and her hallucinations get so vivid that they dress really natty and pull up in their SUV's in the middle of a busy intersection not only hearing but following directions coming from her auditory hallucinations and her kindergartner sees them and wonders aloud 'why do they look funny?' and the doctor tells her she is crazy and crying out for attention and deftly gives her a referral to see a psychiatrist.

And when it becomes clear to her the doctors do not or cannot help she makes an appointment to view her medical records because they made her doubt her own mind and she thinks she needs a reality check; and when she shows up as appointed some wild dog of an HMO administrator goes off on her and doesn't keep her wild dog thoughts to herself when she tells my daughter to take the elevator back down to hell (where presumably she came from) and calls the cops and tries to place her under false arrest for cussing and threatening her staff; but when the cops show up they see my daughter doesn't have enough breath in her body to even speak; so the officers threaten to have the wild dog of an HMO administrator arrested for attempting to make a false arrest if she does not comply with the law and give her a date and time to allow her access to her medical records; and one officer offers to walk her in on that day if she thinks they are going to give her any more trouble (she wrote him a letter to thank him)

On her return visit, she notices some key visit(s) are missing from her chart and nowhere to be found (not then, and here it is about 15 years later, and so far not ever; something did surface about 10 years later but it was more like creative writing and not what she knew took place during 'that very strange visit').

Things deteriorated quickly from there since being crazy pretty much kills a marriage where she comes from (not hell) and the only reason her husband and she stay together is because of a promise he made to me that he would take care of her and neither one of them has the heart to tell the kids (who pretty much figured that much out, but for their own reasons still prefer both parents under one roof over any other option).

And that's why We All Landed In The Psych Ward, and why everybody else on the planet gets to do crazy before she does." is the subtext for those of you who keep insisting it is worth the risk; it is not that Michael doesn't eat but that he had not yet had the opportunity to wash up, since he was still in the paint during our little lunch...

I guess now you can all see why I love my Dad (and my Mom--someone please ask her to stop saying 'Land!' everytime she sees me, I find it a oui bit disorienting) so much; and why the usual manner of coming and going doesn't quite suit me...I mean, do I want to be 'born again' and have some other nice lady poop on my head? Or worse yet, be made to forget that I have my own children (surely no matter how awful my cooking it does not warrant that kind of punishment)?

That's why nothing short of a full Resurrection (Being Borne) will do; and in the matters of both coming and going, this is how we roll:

Surah 17 Al.Isra (Travelling)
وَقُل رَّبِّ أَدْخِلْنِي مُدْخَلَ صِدْقٍ وَأَخْرِجْنِي مُخْرَجَ صِدْقٍ وَاجْعَل لِّي مِن لَّدُنكَ سُلْطَانًا نَّصِيرًا 17:80

17:80 And say: "My Lord, Admit me a good/honest/truthful Entrance (Way In/Entry) and release me/allow me to depart in a good/honest/truthful departure; and grant me from Your Power an Authoritative Victory.

Surah 22 Al.Hajj (The Pilgrimage)
لَيُدْخِلَنَّهُم مُّدْخَلًا يَرْضَوْنَهُ وَإِنَّ اللَّهَ لَعَلِيمٌ حَلِيمٌ 22:59
22:59 He Will Admit them in an Entrance (Way In/Entry) that Pleases them and indeed, God is Aware (Knowing), Patient.

And that, Dear Children, brings us back around to the topic of UFOs (You Flying that (those) Object(s)?):

17 Al-Isra (Travelling)
سُبْحَانَ الَّذِي أَسْرَى بِعَبْدِهِ لَيْلاً مِّنَ الْمَسْجِدِ الْحَرَامِ إِلَى الْمَسْجِدِ الأَقْصَى الَّذِي بَارَكْنَا حَوْلَهُ لِنُرِيَهُ مِنْ آيَاتِنَا إِنَّهُ هُوَ السَّمِيعُ البَصِيرُ 17:1
17:1 Extol/Exalt the One Who Captured/Seized/Took/Captivated His Servant one night from the Holy Mosque (Ka’ba) to the Farthest (Most Remote) Mosque (Majid al’Aqsa in Jerusalem); whose precincts We Blessed; so that We Can Show/Demonstrate to him some of Our Signs that Indeed He, and Only He, Is the Hearer, Seer (All-Hearing, All-Seeing).

And why, while it may seem like I am blabbing secrets all over the globe, I publicize tightly guarded secrets with the confidence of knowing not a single word gets out except to those already in the know or the ones it is meant for:

وَإِذَا قَرَأْتَ الْقُرآنَ جَعَلْنَا بَيْنَكَ وَبَيْنَ الَّذِينَ لاَ يُؤْمِنُونَ بِالآخِرَةِ حِجَابًا مَّسْتُورًا 17:45
17:45 And if/when you Read/Recite the Quran We Create between you and those who do not believe in the Hereafter a Secure Barrier (Invisible Cloak, Secret/Hidden Veil...)

and it's all in Good Spirit...

وَيَسْأَلُونَكَ عَنِ الرُّوحِ قُلِ الرُّوحُ مِنْ أَمْرِ رَبِّي وَمَا أُوتِيتُم مِّن الْعِلْمِ إِلاَّ قَلِيلاً 17:85
17:85 And they will ask you about The Spirit, say: "The Spirit Is At God's Behest and you have not been given knowledge/information about it except a little."
    "In women, courage is often mistaken for insanity."--Doctor in Iron Jawed Angels


How It Was, What It Is

He finally catches up with her just as she goes for a GPS constellation, and needless to say, she has been on a Time Out ever since. What conventional vehicle could she possibly find acceptable after the one He jacked?

--and that's why He owes her a Godzillion-bizjillion (that's a number bigger than a google) bunch of money to get over it!
Somewhere in my spotty memory I remember making a minor contribution to the development of sensors for the AEGIS program, but then I might be dreaming or it's NURD GURU for me again.



Manamanamanaman... ar. 'I am dreaming'
Man am... en. 'Man I am'
Man am... par. 'It's Me'

The above furthers our discussion on language and its proper usage.

"I believe that always, or almost always, in all childhoods and in all the lives that follow them, the mother represents madness. Our mothers always remain the strangest, craziest people we've ever met."
Marguerite Duras

The following is a restorative Sanity Check. Many of you are old enough to read this by now having first heard it over 12 years ago. See if you can remember how to fill in the blanks.

'Children. Children! This is your_____
If you can hear this, IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS
Then Know that you have _______'

You probably also can remember the rest; what you were supposed to do then and what you should be doing now.

After you finish with what you are doing, have had some nourishment and a little rest, you might like to read James Rogers' PhD, Our Keys to a Golden Future, Peace, Abundance, Fulfillment, Joy.
This self-published opus (Mar. 2008, ISBN 978-1-4347-0862-4) was adequate reading with a couple of points of interest, however, it was catalogued under Humanities, History, making the subject matter a bit misleading. The author does admit it was published in a rush and without a final edit, which begs the question, What's the hurry? Had it been indexed as fiction, I may have enjoyed it more.

Excerpts from Our Keys to a Golden Future...:

' The lesson for us is 'Don't blame the Sphinx, or God, or Queen Elizabeth, the Pope, or even the Man in the Moonscape.' When we stop blaming other people for something we do ourselves, love will be let out of prison. (The author's broad-stroke presumption being we all share the issues he has with love).

Of course, all of the above is metaphorical despite the embedded truth. (Note to self--has not yet mastered the use of metaphor).
Reality is a bit harsher. (Yes, when you are deliberately poisoned then have people try to white-wash it, and then say you did it to yourself, Reality Sucks Lemons!)The prison of love is not built of stone, bricks, steel bars, it is built of bioelectric grids in the human brain. (Again, here the author is professing we share his stilted love issues and builds a case to somehow justify tampering with the brain's 'bioelectric grid'). Now and then love is let out of prison on 'work release' and we get glimpses (I must needs to interject---those of us knowing where our Love/Heart is at had no need for a 'work release' since to many of us it was already a labor of Love). But, as I say, only now and then.' (p 3) (Funny, I still see those Waxie Time trucks everywhere and over-built steel cans of 'air freshener' with metered nozzles--indicating this 'only now and then' cosmic event is still happing more often than not--don't you think?)
Then the author goes on to describe an interaction between space Cadet JPLTRML (rough translation 'Hill of Sand', or better yet Jet Propulsion Labs Training Mojave/Las Vegas (Fort Irwin?) and his/her mission to go down to 3-dimensional Earth; an interesting dialogue but not as sensitively handled as Gordon Egan's The Real Game.

This detour into JPLTRML's assignment is followed promptly with a rather invigorating chapter aptly titled Speculative Pre-History wherein a hairy gibbon by the name Evi is rudely launched out of a tree in a painful fit of a seizure from a cosmic (comic?) event taking place 250,000 miles away that manages to spew particles into a compromised ozone layer plunging the unwelcomed beam into her head.

The effect being:

'....some neurons probably died...billions of neurons..scrambled, severing synapses by the million and making new ones by the billion.

From that moment on, Evi was different from the other(s)...' and takes her other gibbon friend Adamie aside, shows him a few things, and they have kids together.

The author elucidates us further;

'Whether the cosmic shock had fried some neurons or 'jump started' new modules may never be known. Almost certainly, Evi had a headache for a few hours as her discombobulated neurons formed and reformed strategic alliances, all according to neurological programming provided by biology for such emergencies.'
And then comes the topper---the author's ominous warning and thrown gauntlet: 'Now that you have been warned, what are you going to do?'

A L M الم Command

eStop Functions
eReach Final Answer //Computer, recall you were set to work on this over 14 years ago, so a
final answer is reached by now//
eRun Final Answer

//Henry, how are we doing on that fractal subroutine? No further instructions necessary. //

eResume Functions


Children, do you see how tiresome this all is?

This thinly guised cosmic event about Evi (who BTW is not all that hairy, has never been known to sleep in a tree except with a hammock) that triggered Evi's headache (that has lasted more that 14 years thus far and not 'The almost certainly few hours') espoused by James Rogers PhD, actually took place while she was at work, in a building sealed tighter than Fort Knox with automatically dispensing 'air fresheners' carefully formulated with known asphyxiants and neurotoxic chemicals. She had the misfortune of making the connection between what was in the can and why everyone was getting sick.

She, having earned one of the best undergraduate degrees she could muster on a full scholarship and attempting to do some public good while raising her young, beautiful family (none of whom are all that hairy or related to any primates) was sensitized to this ambiance and with deliberate and malicious intent on the part of all those involved in orchestrating this cosmic/comic event (the they); she was made to succumb to it. First, by her employer that refused to move her out of the building as they had done for all the other sensitized co-workers, and then by her treating physician's refusal to grant her a medical leave of absence in order to avoid the toxic environment without going AWOL until the toxic spill was remedied. There were of course supporting actors in this scheme of things like the other doctors who were not really doctors but posers (one MD comes to mind, who is licensed in CA but only has a mailbox and no one has seen her or knows anything about her at the clinic she has presumably been working for over 14 years), and others who have a knack for re-writing her medical history or magically making her medical records go missing altogether. After about a dozen years of giving them the benefit of the doubt and trying to believe it was all an unfortunate accident she finally had to face the fact that they sadistically set her up for all this punishment.

And they did not stop at poisoning her then refusing her treatment. They had to discredit her, marginalize her, OD her, institutionalize her, deprive her children of their mother during their formative years, stress out her husband and make him doubt her, alienate her (and she is convinced they abused her body when she was unconscious and can not account for time lost while transiting from Harbor UCLA to UCLA Medical Center), and then stuck her with the bill for that ambulance ride. And this is how they treat Our good will.

Ash-Shu'ara (The Poets)
وَإِذَا بَطَشْتُم بَطَشْتُمْ جَبَّارِينَ 26:130

26:130 And will you, when you lay a hand, lay a hand cruelly, without any restraint?

Why couldn't she just quit? Somehow, her young children were convinced they needed food to eat and shoes on their feet and her spouse refused to accept widowerhood.

Clearly, James Rogers PhD has kept up with the subject matter here at A Page In The Life but just doesn't sound authentic. In fact, he may not really exist.

Holy Quran
Fussilat (Explained in Detail)

سَنُرِيهِمْ آيَاتِنَا فِي الْآفَاقِ وَفِي أَنفُسِهِمْ حَتَّى يَتَبَيَّنَ لَهُمْ أَنَّهُ الْحَقُّ أَوَلَمْ يَكْفِ بِرَبِّكَ أَنَّهُ عَلَى كُلِّ شَيْءٍ شَهِيدٌ 41:53

41:53 We will show them our Signs (Our messages) in the utmost (farthest, highest) Horizons and within them­selves, so that it will become clear to them that this is indeed the truth. Is it not enough that your Sustainer is witness to everything?

Zaryati (The Scattering Winds)

وَفِي الْأَرْضِ آيَاتٌ لِّلْمُوقِنِينَ 51:20
وَفِي أَنفُسِكُمْ أَفَلَا تُبْصِرُونَ 51:21

51:20 And on the Earth there are signs to those endowed with inner certainty,
51:21 just as within your own beings: can you not see (are you so unaware)?

And did she even get a 'work release' to regroup, restore--recover? No such animal--because her employer refused to acknowledge any neurological damage had been done to her (so much for the 'brain power grid' discourse). Instead she has been forced to continue working just to keep her medical benefit so that she can continue to treat for damage that was only expected to last for a couple of hours because they--the 'event planners'-- thought they were dealing with monkey brains like their own and not what once was a genuine human's brain.

But, don't feel too bad for Evi; while her neurons were not adept at making new alliances, it appears that she herself did.

31 Luqman

وَمَن يُسْلِمْ وَجْهَهُ إِلَى اللَّهِ وَهُوَ مُحْسِنٌ فَقَدِ اسْتَمْسَكَ بِالْعُرْوَةِ الْوُثْقَى وَإِلَى اللَّهِ عَاقِبَةُ الْأُمُورِ 31:22

31:22 Whoever submits his whole self to God, and does good overall, has indeed grasped a most trustworthy hand-hold: and with God rests the End and Decision of (all) affairs.

You can't see them, you can hardly hear them, and you can't sense them readily in any other way; but when she got to the point where 'the buck stops here' He had something to say about it and now you can't see them, you can't hear them, you can't sense them in any other way.

And if a few of them managed to get away, rest assured there is not a rock or mountain big enough for them to hide under, because as it turns out her alliances have quite a reach.

Al-An'am (The Cattle)

وَعِندَهُ مَفَاتِحُ الْغَيْبِ لاَ يَعْلَمُهَا إِلاَّ هُوَ وَيَعْلَمُ مَا فِي الْبَرِّ وَالْبَحْرِ وَمَا تَسْقُطُ مِن وَرَقَةٍ إِلاَّ يَعْلَمُهَا
وَلاَ حَبَّةٍ فِي ظُلُمَاتِ الأَرْضِ وَلاَ رَطْبٍ وَلاَ يَابِسٍ إِلاَّ فِي كِتَابٍ مُّبِينٍ 6:59

6:59 And with Him are the keys to the things that are imperceptible, none knows them but He. All that is on the land and in the sea; and not a leaf falls but He knows it; and neither a grain in the earth's deep darkness, nor anything living or dead, but is recorded in an evident decree (record, book).

Why did He have to step in allofasudden?
It turns out she couldn't think of a crime big enough to commit that would earn her the pain and suffering they fomented on her and her family with their 'get-love-out-of-jail-fast' routine.
Al-Imran (The Family of Imran)

مَّا كَانَ اللّهُ لِيَذَرَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ عَلَى مَآ أَنتُمْ عَلَيْهِ حَتَّىَ يَمِيزَ الْخَبِيثَ مِنَ الطَّيِّبِ وَمَا كَانَ اللّهُ لِيُطْلِعَكُمْ عَلَى الْغَيْبِ
3:179 وَلَكِنَّ اللّهَ يَجْتَبِي مِن رُّسُلِهِ مَن يَشَاء فَآمِنُواْ بِاللّهِ وَرُسُلِهِ وَإِن تُؤْمِنُواْ وَتَتَّقُواْ فَلَكُمْ أَجْرٌ عَظِيمٌ

3:179 It is not God's will to abandon the believers to your ways: so He will set apart the bad from the good

Al-An'am (The Cattle)

قُل لاَّ أَقُولُ لَكُمْ عِندِي خَزَآئِنُ اللّهِ وَلا أَعْلَمُ الْغَيْبَ وَلا أَقُولُ لَكُمْ إِنِّي مَلَك
إِنْ أَتَّبِعُ إِلاَّ مَا يُوحَى إِلَيَّ قُلْ هَلْ يَسْتَوِي الأَعْمَى وَالْبَصِيرُ أَفَلاَ تَتَفَكَّرُونَ 6:50)

6:50 Say: "I do not say to you, 'God's treasures are with me’, ‘nor do I know the things that are beyond the reach of human perception'; nor do I say to you, 'Behold, I am an angel'…

Al-A'raf (The Heights)

قُل لاَّ أَمْلِكُ لِنَفْسِي نَفْعًا وَلاَ ضَرًّا إِلاَّ مَا شَاء اللّهُ وَلَوْ كُنتُ أَعْلَمُ الْغَيْبَ لاَسْتَكْثَرْتُ مِنَ الْخَيْرِ وَمَا مَسَّنِيَ السُّوءُ إِنْ أَنَاْ إِلاَّ نَذِيرٌ وَبَشِيرٌ لِّقَوْمٍ يُؤْمِنُونَ

7:188 Say: "I can not bring benefit or harm to myself, except as God wills. And if I knew what is beyond that of human perception, abundant good fortune would surely have befallen me, and no evil would ever have touched me. I am nothing but a Warner, and a herald of glad tidings to people who will believe."


Journal Entry for May 14, 1997 at 17:00


Top Secret

“We are One!” a voice sounded in her right ear as she drew to a stop at the intersection of Bundy and Santa Monica. “We are taking our anti-smoking campaign overseas,” the voices from the unidentified source continued.

Momentarily, her daughter piped in, “Mommy, that man’s smoke is bothering me.” She frowned for emphasis forcing her Mother to take action. Her Mom reached over to the passenger side of their vehicle and rolled up the window on her daughter’s side.

“Mommy, why does that man look funny?” her daughter added, as Mom pulled herself back up behind the steering wheel. This prompted Mom to look past her daughter to the car with the smoker next to them and carefully assess the driver. The man in the vehicle--a silver Land Rover--rolled forward slowly to bring his driver’s window directly into her line of sight. She could discern from his profile that he was not a normal variant of anyone she would consider a contemporary human.His head was noticeably larger and appeared to be nearly spherical. It was draped with very fine blonde hair--nearly colorless--in a Dutch boy haircut that hung limply in the air between the bottom of the back of his head and his shoulders. His facial features, from what she could see, were very flat, with an imperial chin and small, fine-shaped nose. She sensed he allowed her to peruse him deliberately and when he felt she had taken him in in some detail, he slowly turned from profile to face her.

She was initially taken aback at seeing his face; it was not ugly, in fact its features were perfectly symmetric and perfectly formed, however, it was very strange. Her surprise registered on her face. Reading her confusion, his thin lips traced a quizzical smile, and he leisurely dangled his left arm out of his window and with his thumb flicked the butt of his lit cigarette to let some ashes fly.

Her gaze followed the flow of his black clad arm, with his opaque white hand holding the cigarette. There seemed to be one heart beat between them, then he shook his wrist forcing a watch to peek out from under his long sleeve. He continued to nonchalantly dangle his cigarette out the window while studying her, his fingers perfectly long, thin, regular and manicured. While she could not read the brand on his watch, she understood it to be the very finest in time keeping machinations and she was given to understand that she was late for something. He took advantage of the opportunity that time allowed for her to assimilate all of this information about him by quickly moving into the vacated space in front of her vehicle. The traffic light had briefly turned from red to green and back again, allowing only the one vehicle in front of her through the intersection. He moved so quickly that she did not have time to react and to move her vehicle forward. She did not miss out on the fact that the timing of the traffic signal was irregular.

“Now step out of the car and let her take a good look at you,” a young male authoritative voice commanded. While she clearly heard this directive, her daughter was oblivious to it.

To her amazement, the driver-side door to the man’s vehicle slowly opened, reinforcing the impression that the voice(s) she heard were in fact a real presence, yet somehow not everyone in her surroundings could hear them.

“Mommy, what is he doing?”

She only responded by extending her right arm across her daughter's body to keep her from freeing herself of her seatbelt. She continued to watch carefully, as she was given to understand this particular show was happening just for her benefit.

The man extended a very long, very thin, black clad left leg and well shod foot to the ground. Once his foot landed and he tested his footing, he slowly drew his entire body out of the vehicle and remained standing in place, with his back to her, certainly allowing her the chance to take a very good, long, hard look at him.

He was very tall, his erect frame exceeding the height of his vehicle. His legs were spindly and clad in a tight black fabric that enveloped his lanky legs without revealing his musculature. His slacks were beltless and rested snugly without binding on his thin, masculine frame. He had a very small buttocks almost to the point of being non existent. His hips were narrow. The opaque, semi-glossy fabric of his black shirt draped fluidly around his broad shoulders and long arms and was tucked smoothly into his pants. His bulbous head was balanced on a reed-thin long neck. This last detail bothered her most about his appearance since she surmised his neck was about one-fifth the diameter of an average human neck. Overall, she concluded that he was aesthetically pleasing to the eye despite his unusual appearance.

He slowly turned on his heel to face her and stood motionlessly staring at her. She knew to greet him with the obligatory “Peace!” and she did her best to project telepathically to him, however, he seemed non-responsive. He began to walk toward her and while she strained to hear any kind of communication from him or those intrusive voices—all was silent.

She noticed his gate was unusual; he moved like a puppet on a string--almost as if he wasn’t aclimated to the gravity on Earth. As he approach she sensed her daughter's heightened state of anxiety, so she did what any mother would do—she deftly flipped him the bird. She felt this defiant gesture would at least demonstrate to her daughter that she wasn’t afraid and so neither should she be. That same quizzical smile flitted across his lips, so quickly she wasn’t sure it happened at all. He continued to methodically plod his way to the rear of his vehicle, turning his back to her once he reached the tailgate. He gingerly opened it up and she considered for a moment pinning him between the vehicles by rolling up slowly on him, but she was not sadistic. Had she not been miffed at this display in front of her child, she would have laughed at the sight of his thin limbs flying around in search of something in the back of his SUV, when finally he straightened and turned to face her, this time holding two small bottles of Evian water in one of his hands. He raised them slightly to her eye level, went back into his vehicle and drove forward through the intersection. The timing of the light was such that once his door closed, it turned green.

‘Great, they’ll be poisoning the water next,’ she thought to herself. She wondered why no one else seemed to notice the extra-ordinary length of time for the traffic signal to change. No-one honked or even seemed remotely interested in what she and her daughter had witnessed. She drove west behind him for several city blocks until she had to turn north to the service station, and he continued westbound. His vehicle did not have a license plate. She would have liked to chase him down, but she felt constrained by the presence of her child in the car and the need to get to her son before the nursery school closed.

While she didn't appreciate the mystery, the encounter gave her something to focus on outside the chronic pain in her body, and the migraine in her head; 'Who are 'We' that are 'One' and what do I care about any anti-smoking campaign?'
From Maxie Time, by Raida Abachi