BIT-STRING ENTRY #5
I have no earthly name for the interplanetary vehicle that transported me here from the Forward Unification Base on Europa. Let’s just say my “stellar ride” bent most, if not all of your current laws of physics and nano-particle technology. Unfortunately, the vehicle is currently inoperable, drained of some key interstellar fuel cell elements… and I suppose it will remain that way until asteroid mining becomes a viable human enterprise.
My earthbound ride these days is a restored Ural M-72, which is basically a rip-off of a BMW R71 (circa 1937), which Stalin’s KGB Agents stole from the Nazis and reverse-engineered back in Moscow in 1939. I’ve got a first aid kit in the sidecar complete with an infusion-pump I.V. and a bag of finely granulated charcoal. Several O.D. cases on campus over the years have taught me to come prepared for the worst, and I’ve got a feeling some pump-action will be on the menu once Jeremiah’s toxic cocktail of whiskey, E-tabs and Zantac hits the speed ramp to his brain stem.
So far, my “Chosen One” seems to be driving at a relatively sane clip since bolting from campus… maybe weaving a bit, but not enough to draw the attention of any cops in the area. Ironic, isn’t it? The dude is willing to drive his Ford Ranger right through death’s door to escape the tangled knot of mental enslavement, yet one corner of his brain remains paranoid about getting busted for a DUI.
Oh, the dichotomy… Not surprising once you understand the machinations of “The Program.” Basically, it operates on the principle of CHAOS THEORY. On the surface, via conditioned thought, a SELF is manifested and creates for itself a circus of insanity. And yet, beneath the surface of this self-induced Human pandemonium there lies an underlying order.
That’s because THE PROGRAM’S core algorithm is simple — a source code that orchestrates a continual neuro-chemical imbalance between your fears and your desires.
Jeremiah drives down the California Incline and heads North by Northwest on Pacific Coast Highway toward Malibu. A few miles later he hangs a ragged left onto Westward Beach Road and blam-blams his way over the speed bumps to the base of Point Dume. He parks erratically, front wheels swallowed by sand. I watch him stagger out of the truck, the drugs and alcohol clearly taking hold now.
I pull the Ural over behind a small restroom facility thirty yards away, in time to witness him down another lethal handful of Zantac and drain what remains in the whiskey bottle.
What follows could be considered comic or tragic depending on your perspective as I watch my Chosen One turn into a human “Gumby,” trying unsuccessfully to get into his Patagonia 3-4 wetsuit – a wetsuit, BTW, that comes with a lifetime guarantee.
Unfortunately, Jeremiah’s brain and body do not carry a lifetime warranty. He stumbles and falls, one leg in, one leg out… then he completely loses his shit, tearing at the wetsuit in a homicidal rage, trying to pull it apart limb from limb.
I bear sad witness to a total emotional meltdown as his knees hit the sand, his hands covering a sobbing face. Maybe I should make a move, approach…? No, better for both of us if I wait for him to pass out. Then I’ll break out the charcoal enema kit.
Suddenly, Jeremiah bolts up, grabs his board out of the back of the truck and runs headlong towards the thundering surf. He stumbles a couple of times, takes a sand facial before finally making it to the shore break. I watch him padde out in fifty-four degree water. All he’s wearing is board shorts. Not a good move. Hypothermia doesn’t care how talented a surfer you are.
I’m a “Tetrachromat” and my optical pathways pick up the dangerous aura now enveloping Jeremiah as he paddles up and over the crest of a wave. His aura has turned from putrid brown to a red-rimmed coal.
He’s paddling into the abyss.
The drugs & alcohol have spread their poison, begun their systematic shutdown of his vitals. He’s bobbing face down on his board now, arms outstretched.
Another Christ crucified – this one on a floating cross.
The Program has kicked into fail-safe mode. It automatically knows how to protect itself AND your manufactured self — and it does so by going on the offensive, crucifying the real YOU.
And until Human awareness and technology can grasp the fact that you are all enslaved by a genetically-embedded demon seed, your only valid options are to do your best to detach from this “bogus self” and try to access the quantum light that defines you, that connects you (however tentatively) to the Unified Field.
You don’t opt for fuck-all mode and do what Jeremiah is doing here… You don’t numb yourself senseless and then paddle out into oblivion.
That is not a solution. That is self-crucifixion. A fatal error.