To that Sentinel

As always, what you read here is either fact or fiction. Someone once wrote and asked which one it was. I wrote back and told him to go fuck himself and if he wanted to hear it in person to take a number and get in the line of "Never Fucking Checked."

I heard lots of cursing from the time after I caught that Sentinel who was standing post near me once. I know what your job was, a diver, and after my eyes snapped open and caught your staring face with gaping eyes I knew exactly what your real job was. Both of you stood up and looked down over The Rock as if you were acting out a training exercise. That was what gave you away, not that you were sloppy, ironically enough it was that you were too good at your jobs. But it was when you went down to my wife that MY training kicked in and I took off after you. You said nothing and played as if you were going for a piss, but that fire in my gut burned hotter than it normally did. I was on to you before you woke up that morning. Don't be too hard on yourself, though. I've had more secrets given to me than you have, different kinds of training. That's why I've been selected for whatever task you're all eventually going to come at me with.

But your eyes told me, just like my eyes told you. 

I just want to let you know, mate, wherever they shoved you off after that, or whatever they stuck to you for what they thought was a fuck up... it wasn't you. I've been on to you guys for some time now. I just wish you'd stop fucking around. "we should tell him" "he knows" "I told you he knows" "I'm gonna stay and see how much he knows"... y'all think I don't have ears and sound doesn't travel, or even worse, you're at the stage where you think whispering things to each other in front of me and talking blatantly is going to last forever and you could give two fucks about what I think about all of this now that the secret is out. I love it when you think you're talking normally but you appear to be whispering or talking normally when you think you're whispering. Hard to keep up with it all isn't it, especially when I'm staring at you right in the face. Hard to appear normal when weird shit is going around all over the place that others can't see, you're surrounded by said people, but you feel like you're in a conversation with one other person, but they're avoiding your questions, your eyes. It's like every single other goddamn person is frozen and you're sitting there with a person that is treating you like you're transparent, yet knows you can hear them. 

You can't even pull off plans to keep me someplace anymore without giving off the obvious odor of a dog taking a shit in a Macy's department store. Just come out with it already. Either you're gonna do it before I die, or I'm going to die soon and the angels are showing themselves to me beforehand and gonna explain everything when I get to Hell's gate. Either, or, I don't think you'd reveal what you have revealed to me already without a 421 behind it and about 10,000 years of syncing up about 100,000,000,000 people that have come and gone since then, or someone who is tweaking the Matrix behind the curtain of the Wizard, without the plan of coming together on Union Street. So bring out the dragon, I'll pull up a chair with all ears and listen to what you've got. Just because I'm destined for something doesn't mean I'm going to do it, especially now with me knowing all of this shit, spies you have blow their cover on the first eye glance on a Saturday night are not making me feel confident about your intentions.

You can't even get current caretakers to lie without flushing their faces pink. Come out with it already. I'm pretty sure nothing is going to surprise me; whether I'm currently living on one of the 75,000 planets where alternate realities of me are running around, yet I'm living on a planet that has been designed to bring myself to consciousness, like, a whole planet. Maybe I'm an A.I. designed from the beginning to be a real person, maybe I'm a future prophet. Maybe I'm all three. The point is, plans change. Change with them to ensure the outcome is the same one you're going to want.

When Looking Back

As always, this blog is either fact or fiction... just enjoy it if you must. Or not. 

I guess it's important to put down what has transpired the last few days. I'm not going to be able to do so in one sitting because I have to start choosing my words very carefully, not because of discretion, but for the purpose of understanding. Mostly to me. I don't know what the fuck happened the past few days really. But I woke up this morning in Nashville, Tennessee and asked, "How the fuck did I get here?" to myself.

Well, I was kicked out of a place I was staying. That sucked. That's never happened to me before. I've been in countless debates, arguments, tiffs, and all out screaming matches with people I know and love in my life; we all have. But I've never had anyone ever kick me out of a place before. I was pissy on a day, well, I think may be I shouldn't of been, but I don't think I did anything so irreputable . I was feeling like no one was wanting to help me on a day that I really needed help, asked for help and made a plan with people to get help, which ultimately led to be being kicked out of the house I had been staying at for 167 years. Maybe I misunderstood the situation, but I don't think so. 

I've had people be completely pissy with me before as I have been pissy to other people before. I think everyone who has ever lived their life around other people has, and if you say you haven't then you're a fuckin' hypocrite.  Yet, the day I was pissy was to a man that had absolutely lost all control over his life. From what I've told about a half dozen people, they interpreted this person as a 'weak and helpless man that that was using some of the only control he had in his life left by enacting it onto you because you were dependent on him.' 

So I had to leave. Honestly, for about a couple of hours I was freaking out thinking what the hell I was going to do. I had to quit a job on the way down, after packing up my room. Now, I'm a Quadrant away, hover taxi in the port, teaching from The Book of Edgar at night and to make the bills.  Hover taxi was taken out by a drunk larnoy. I was driving around the burber melon fields. So I've been out of commision.

Not only that, but training mates are coming down on me after I was displaced from hover jet 421. Kind of synchronistic in a way to my vision and my destiny's path. Their meat is that now I'm walking tall because I have the ability to produce, distribute, and become accustomed to the effects of kibbie. Not only am I studying it's methods, side effects (none but a desire to play music), but also the delivery method is now apparently archaic so I have built a vaporizer in cartridges that can disperse the vapors into the atmosphere. Now it is time to get some work done.

The strangest thing is, that the strangest things keep happening around me, but now they aren't strange, just normal. The numbers follow me still. I am still loyal, I will be triumphant, and then, maybe, I can be truly happy instead of flexing all of the time.

 

The End of A Quadrant's Journey

As always, is this blog fact or fiction? you be the judge. Nah, don't judge. That's exhausting.

 

Vimilis, 

If so, then there is no reason to keep our secret a secret anymore. I'm tired of lying to my commanders and the people close to me. 

I left Q9 and you so I would finally be able to leave you. Your idea of love is listless, without expressing your feelings or having the basic, necessary elements to a relationship--the ability to talk and communicate openly with an open heart, no lies and no holding back your feeling of honesty, regret, or passion...  You're right, I'll never find a being again that loves me like you, and I hope I never do have a being that loves me like you do because I never want to feel empty again like that. The time before I left on an evac assignment, the time when the winds blew the dust that shut down the turbines in sector 4, when I was talking to you and telling you my day and how bad I was feeling and you asked me "Are you talking to me?" Sums up our relationship. The perfect metaphor.

I'm not perfect, but neither are you. The difference between us is that I can recognize it and acknowledge it. You still think you do nothing wrong. You quit wanting to go to sanctity counseling because you didn't like that the nun was trying to get you to see what you were doing wrong, but you refused to try hard and work on your problems. You hated being told there was something wrong with you. You said sorry about 4 or 5 times in 10 years leaving me to always feel to blame for every time you got upset. Two people should be saying sorry for EVERY fight. If there is a fight, that means two people share the responsibility, apologize, try to forget, and work together. You'd go days, even Aminutes, without talking to me, even if the problem was a misunderstanding and even after I said sorry. It was an unbearable punishment and I started questioning everything about myself. I started losing myself and what I would be willing to compromise or change my mind about because whatever happened, you still weren't happy. I'd compromise myself so that we could still try and talk. So you're right, it was irresponsible, but it was irresponsible to myself. Had I been stronger and stood my ground... gone weeks, months without talking to you, the same amount of time as you'd go, the times when I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I'm right and deserved an apology from you. But it was too much effort to try and be more stubborn than you are. It was exhausting, and frankly speaking, I lost energy.  

I trust your feelings will change. When they do you'll turn in the papers, withdraw the Creeper. If not, you will force me to kill. So be it. If I follow my code then I shall not miss my ride to The Nothing. If it does come to that, before, whatever you need me to do I will do. You still don't answer any questions I ask you about money, which makes me believe you aren't going to give me my half. Or you're going to try and manipulate me by holding it hostage. If you don't give me my half after I worked so hard, and you saw me work so hard, then your karma will catch up to you. If you don't give me half of our money, half my my hard earned money, then you are holding it because you're angry. So be it. It will eat you inside. Do what you like. I got what I essentially wanted, which was to be free of you. Now I can find someone that will listen to me and give me what I need instead of giving me what she thinks I need. 

I did love you Vimilis. But I don't know you very much at all. From what you showed me, you are a wonderful person when you want to be and I feel you wanted to try to be better for some time, but then you quit. For whatever reason, I won't know. I wish you would've opened up and shown me your entire heart and not just a small portion of it. I hope you can learn to communicate with someone in a healthy way, learn to express your emotions and FEEL something more than anxiety and fear for the future all the time. I'm hoping one day you learn to live in the moment and learn to relax and be free from lies and lying to everyone when you really don't have to. I'm hoping one day you'll come out of the shadows from where you've always been hiding and let people see who you really and truly are. I'm sure it's wonderful, but after 10 years of being with you and waiting for that person to come out I got tired of waiting. When you are able to do these things the right person will come around for you. Until then, I hope you can start learning to be honest with yourself about who you really are. "I am number 421?" If you really are then my whole soul is hurt from you thinking you couldn't tell me, if you're not, then you're still in the trap of playing an emotional game of thinking you know how to communicate properly with someone you love. And you're right, you're absolutely right--the only thing you did was prepare for the future. The whole time there was a being trying to love you in the present.

For you Bryan Callen

This blog here is unlike the others. This blog is absolutely 100% true. *

As I set out on my 15 year plan, I chose you Bryan, more like you chose me, to help Hollywood understand this idea.

Because I've never written it down for the public to see, yet I'm writing it to you for the world to see... well, no one has seen it yet because nobody really reads this blog besides my mother who says she reads it, but just opens it and tells me the words look good, which is: 

As a Buddhist, tired of seeing people blowing themselves up in the name of religion, tired of seeing children living in those places, it is my goal to bring as many more temples to the gated temple area of Kataragama, Sri Lanka to add to the Buddhist, Muslim, and Hindu temples that are already there, temples that pray side-by-side with each other and participate in each other' s religious ceremonies. I have already started a hotel there 10 years ago and have progressively participated in their religious ceremonies with the goal to bring the powers that be, the money, and the attention, to the place on the island and the world that I decided I could make possible. I can do this Bryan. I just could use some help.

I chose you, Bryan, because out of everyone that I have ever listened to and followed, you are able to understand this idea more than anyone. How I plan on doing it, you're gonna be one of the only people that are going to back me when I do it at first.  And most importantly, I believe that you will believe me when I say I can do this with or without you, but with you will make it so much better. Then maybe one day you'll let me touch your schlong.

I am the Yin, Edgar the Yang

Fact or fiction in this blog? You be the judge.  Don't take too long doing so though, that's boring.

I realized today staring off into space, that people might mistake my intentions of Edgar. The physical similarities that are becoming Edgar mirror my own, the tattoo in general, which someone just loved and waited to critically point out, his philosophy similar to mine. It would be not only ironic, but raw humor for me to think anything but the opposite, because He is not I, nor I, Him.

He is, what I am not. He is a leader. He is disciplined, forged, focused, determined. His dragon is on his opposite shoulder defending his back, mine on my left, protecting my heart leaving me ultimately vulnerable. Unlike me, Edgar rides free and true, unwavering and steady. I shake and doubt. He is strong when I am weak. He has faith when I do not, which is eternal in its cycle.

I have the little piece of Him inside of me as the Yin does the Yang. He has my Yin inside of Him to connect me to Him. He is a figment of my imagination, yet he gives me the tangible strength I need to move forward with my mission. My heart is bound to his, yet his is bound to none and everyone together. 

His powers are limitless, yet I purposefully limit my power. He is my teacher, yet one day I hope him to be my student when I can tame my dragon. He is who I strive to become. He is who I wish to be everyday, which is, the opposite of who I feel I really am. 

 

Oh, Achilles

As always, fact or fiction here? You'll never know you ruthless, powerful reader. And to the powerless reader, I'm a writer, not an editor you lovely douchebag, so there are gonna be mistakes.  

Drunk and stoned in a wannabe place in the outskirts of Q6 with the thoughts among my mind. 420 Outlawed is about ready to take affect at midnight tonight. 2077. A year after the Amen came in droves. A year after the world was split into Quadrants. Yet, the Amen could not claim that one.

 AI thinks the fragments of the moon might cast a shadow favorably onto our planet, but chaos is ultimately going to ensue. Martial Law was thrown out the window a few days before when the Amen realized that even Acommanders were vulnerable to a ground assembly. Amen Law is now in effect. Drones probe the air, Amen hover from above. Those who did not not follow the rules were terminated indiscriminately. The idea of an Acommander, an Amen's right of passage, was almost completely eliminated at the Battle of TelluRidge. Drones, slaves, and the occasional Henchman were enough to control Earth's population for a time when the Amen had to regroup and reorganize.  It didn't change the fact that World Intel hacked The Hack and leaked their food formula, their almost perfect plan to contaminate Earth's entire population, leaving them completely vulnerable to The Claw, the Scanner ship frequency that could mind lock any being into total submission. That just about changed the tide of the revolution. For once, all of the Quadrants could agree that it was a revolution and not a resistance. We revolt. We do not resist. The Amen had already pushed us past a resistance.

My mission was chosen and accepted. The World Hopper burned as it always did when I passed through. My bag was on fire. My skin, sweltered, rised, burned, and was bubbling when I crossed the threshold. I tried, My Life Force, I tried, but it hurt too much, and I passed out before I could hit the breach button. I heard the chant, "Ysquared" or was it "Why2" ring out as the flash of a Time Buster knocked me totally unconscious. But the being was able to inject the medicine to treat my burns before they was sucked back into the void.

There was another flash. I felt the dragon against my skin lift, and the light of the tunnel blinded me before her arm pulled me through. It wasn't a World Hopper. It was something else, but I knew what it was because it had been instilled in my unconscious memory by The Life Force, The Energy before I had left, maybe even when I was born, but I had only realized it at that time. Before I had left the first place, the first time I was truly born. I was still the only documented being to have full consciousness the moment I was born.

I felt the needle penetrate my skin as the dragon sighed. It wasn't much progress, but it grew, and little did I know, but that was the last pleasant feeling I was going to have for the next 16 years. While all of this was passing through my head, it didn't occur to me that my bag was still smoldering and I had an explosive made up of ground up crystals from the caves in Zone 4 inside that had needed to pass through the gate with me. But it didn't matter because that explosive was in the very center 

 

 

 

421, 69, 40

As always, what you read here may or may not happen, have happened, WILL happen, or could/could've happen/happened. Fuck that's confusing. Oh, and I'm not an ayditur.

Bombarded with 69s over the course of the past few months. Bombarded. Coming at my from everywhere.  I thought it was because I joined lingfriendfinder.com and had a kinky streak going, but I have been hit sideways, up, down, and from inside out with 69s.  I said outloud, "well, the sign of the 69 is Cancer, I was born the 1st day of Cancer, June 22, and this year I turned 40. With 421 being synchronistical, those are some synched up numbers. That's a synched up pattern.

Last month I said that this month something was going to happen because I not only felt it, but dreamed it in my mind. I imagined it, visualized it. And I realized why everything was seemingly working against me the past few weeks. I would've had a kickass (or so I thought) online teaching job making a ton more money than I am now (about $12 a day at the moment), but those losers couldn't get their shit together enough to fix a technical problem for over a week. Their heads were so far up their asses, they fucked up my pay from class one, spent weeks trying to fix a problem that still isn't sorted, and have been the most inept group of imbecile lunatics I've ever had the discomfort of ever working with. And had I gotten the job, the week before I would've probably been working instead of going to one of the most interesting interview/auditions I've ever had the pleasure of going to in my entire life.  And two things might happen from it: something or nothing, both I'm open for.

I got my van, although technically it's a sport wagon, 7 seater, totally unsexy... perfect. I had an interview for a private teaching job, one that my boss, AKA, "Mo", said was uncanny in the timing of my return... huh, "go figure" I said, and I came up with the idea that on top of driving Uber with this... gem-of-a-car I got... so clean. So, so clean inside, I'm going to try to start a driving service for Japanese drivers.  I have to do it legally of course, but it could be a way to get a bit of business going while I'm here. That's something I can do. 

My Lyft, Uber, USKid applications are out there ready to be picked up. I have to schedule another teaching demo lesson and make up for that horrible and horrendous company 51talk is #51talksucks . That was the worst experience of my life. I'm heading to Nashville to help my friend move, a great buddy from Korea is reading my book and giving me good insight to it, good critiques, and it just so happens that said-moving-to-Nashville friend is a University writing professor and she needs some work. So she's going to edit my book.

So, 421... thank you for showing up on my birthday yesterday. 421 points on my nephew's card. Now I'm wondering if my sister and her husband are in on this shit too. If 69 and all of the numbers mean the sign of Cancer, 40, and 421 synch up, then I'm just wondering when we're gonna get this show on the road.  Needless to say, but I'm completely excited.

Can't get this song out of my head:

 

Buying... a van.

As always, what you read here could be fact or fiction. Not up to you to decide, just to enjoy.

A minivan actually. I have been shopping for mini vans lately.

3 reasons why:

1. I couldn't imagine a better vehicle to take camping with a group of people or even alone and have the ability to sleep inside. Like, real sleeping in a comfortable and warm position. Not to mention I'll have that room to haul stuff if I need to build something else. I'm addicted to building, especially after building my workout station in the backyard.

2. I'm just going to do the #andymitton thing and drive Uber. A minivan will give me the ability to make more money.

3. It is the least sexy car I could possibly have. This is what I want.

When I was at the dealership today our Middle Eastern salesman opens the door to a beautiful looking Nissan Quest and right away, that nice outside look this Nissan had turned to dirt dirt dirty on the inside. I had no qualms about telling him too, which he was embarrassed about. He is from the Middle East; they are a clean people, so this was to my advantage. When he leaned in to rest his elbow on the arm rest it fell completely off and he fell forward crashing into the seat as if the heavens opened and gave me one big comedic moment and a HUGE bargaining chip. I started complaining loudly how I drove 30 minutes to see a dirty car that's falling apart. He had his detailers out there reassuring me as he's sweating. He says to me, "It's $7000, but I'll give it to you for $6000." I smiled inside, let it pass for a moment, complained some more about the shit that was falling off the car and said, "well, it's listed for $5995, right?" and he hung his head low. I went on to show that I had already researched the Carfax report, one owner, no accidents. 

Tomorrow I'm going back to buy it if it doesn't fall apart when I take it for a test drive. It has a three month warranty for the big stuff. And I love bartering with a Middle Eastern, especially one that leans on an arm rest and breaks it off when he's showing it to me. What a cliche. Yeah, I'm going to buy it if it sounds and rides good. You know why? Because the goddamn number signs showed me all the way there to the car dealership.

The thing that got me was when he gave me his business card it said "Zach" on it. I asked him what his real name is. He got flustered and mumbled out the words, "well, in the Middle East Zach is short for Zachariah." But he lied about it, I mean about it being his name. He had those tells when he said it, eye aversion and whatnot that told me Zach is not his REAL birth name. Maybe he was hiding what really is a Muslim name. 

I drove home and realized that Zach is probably the name he is using so that people don't target him for having a Muslim name and being Muslim. It made me kind of sad, but then I thought that he might have a different name because he's trying to sell people cars that are $5 more than the list price and people are out to get him. Whatever the reason... another person for me to fight for to be free. 

I changed my mind...

As always, what you read could be how I feel or something from the next story in the Finding Jack 420 series.

I changed my mind. I am angry. Those of you out there that were sent to monitor me, make sure I'm psychologically sound through this whole process... I'm talking to you. I'm angry because now you're being too fucking obvious with what you do or DON'T do, and some of you are just being flat out fucking rude. Do your fucking jobs, elicit no suspicion, and for fuck's sake all of you stop acting like scared little children. Now you're all marked like glow in the dark paint at a rave out in public. Act like fucking warriors. It's embarrassing.

This Weird thing about Instagram...

As always, what you read here could be fact or fiction. Some parts may be notes for future books, some may be random thoughts, and some are thoughts that my other personalities are discussing in my head. Oh, and I'm a writer, not an editor. I do edit my pieces, but I'm not perfect, and neither are you.

It isn't really weird about Instagram, just patterns I'm starting to pick up. So in the beginning I would get really excited when I would get a follower when I'd post pics for Finding Jack 420 the Prequel. Then I'd wake up the next day and they'd be gone. I'd think, 'holy shit, my stuff isn't good.' Then I would close my eyes and kick that thought out of my brain. I'd like to think I'm humble, but I know my stuff is anything other than 'not good'.  So then I started thinking about the psychology of this game that everyone is playing to get famous. There are 27,098,079,797,080 glass blowers, then growers... whoa... take that and times that by about 10. Everyone is shouting 'me me me'. Some are better at it than others. So the ones that like my post possibly like it because they want me to like their page, so they like mine first. There are a lot of those. That's ok. There are jewelry makers, original artists, photographers, and social media wannabe kings and queens. All of them trying to play the game. I like games, but not as much as these people.

I also like the ones that go with nothing but sex. Those followers are mint. They like every single picture that you ever put out, for weeks and weeks. Then you start liking them. Then they turn on the juice. It's entertaining, but anyone can take a sexy pic with a joint. The joint just increases your sexuality by ten fold, so anyone that smokes with their tits hanging out or their butt in the air looks hot. I'd like to see some pics with some big girls in them. People would still like the hell out of them and they'd still be entertaining as much as a picture of trying to shove a blunt in a duck's mouth before it bites your eyes out of their sockets.

Then there are people that like my pics for the pure, wholesome content of the pictures. They don't read the hashtags or they don't understand what 420 means. I love tagging a picture of a temple with #christianity or #religion by someone. Then they drop me as soon as they see a picture of weed on Instagram. That makes me happy when that happens. I always picture some grandma or Bible wearing religious freak who dismisses the argument that there are countless references of weed in the Bible picking up their phone and seeing my name with a smile only to see two eye-stringed aliens made out of painted pipe cleaners with a giant nugget in the foreground with something like 'Fuck, that shit gets me stoned out of my gourd.' written as a meme. Moments when my sprinkled anarchy into the world becomes a picture in my brain are the really little joys in my life.

But then there are the fans. The real, true fans that like your pics on a regular basis. The ones that are always around and don't want anything from you. Those are the ones I'm going to follow. Those are the ones who I want to know and understand their lives. I have one follower that doesn't post very often, but she likes just about everything I do. She posted the other day, and it was in Spanish, which I haven't spoken on a daily basis for over 10 years. So I spent about an hour translating her post because I just didn't want to look at it and leave a meaningless comment. I wanted to understand her. I realized that I have an overwhelming need to understand people.

Oh, and this week Adam Carolla liked my favorite picture. I even said to my mom that I wanted more people to like that picture of Edgar Phillipe and not the ones of the weed leaves. And I was reminded that life is not about quantity sometimes, sometimes it's about quality.

 

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