I have read somewhere a while ago about cells constituting a human body. Their life span lasts mostly from few seconds to months, depending on the kind. The longest ones live for around 7 years. It means that every 7 years we are completely regenerated: there is nothing left on physical plane from me living in 1999; not a single cell. I wonder how do we record our memories and how cells do pass recorded information from generation to generation… It looks like I already used to be 4 times, and about to finish my fifth cycle. Writing here is a sure way to back up myself in a case if something will go wrong, say, in a case of memory loss. So I decided to be honest, as ultimate memory loss anyway is just no more than 7 or 8 cycles away (keeping in mind what I’m a smoker, probably a half of that).
I spent most of my life trying to break out frames of convenience and certainty. My life was a constant escape. As I tried to live faster then my memories, I tried to run away from myself; cut off everything that hold ego together. To accept anything for given meant for me to accept self defeat. As I didn’t want to have compromises, I didn’t want to have anything in common with myself even a day ago. Head on I tried to hack into the future; no matter smash my head or break through I wanted to go as far as I could. I shed empty shells of my identity in process as a tree sheds leaves in the wind. Wind is a great allegory of time.
I didn’t see or rather didn’t care about danger of living like that then. Changing lives, names, places, occupations, friends, interests… you name it.
I lost myself. I don’t know anymore who I am, or who I was meant to be. It’s like a simultaneous chess game. Once I had an experience of it, playing with a chess grandmaster. He played 30 games the same time; walking up and down the lane of chess tables. I was just a somebody behind one of the boards. Now imagine yourself in his place, with no opponents on another side. You play this game on 30 boards with yourself; and these are different games with different sets of rules, sometimes rules you are not aware of. Some of them I managed to finish, some barely started.
Continue reading ‘Stockholm syndrome’
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Chapter 3. The Room Designed for Human Use
I had no idea what to expect when we walked into the room, but I made a mental note to try and remember everything in detail, so that a proper record could be made later. For this reason, the best thing is to describe the room as factually as possible, so that the description can be of maximum use to science. The “room” was really a series of rooms, in other words, like a small flat on earth. The living room was about 12 feet by 14 feet and the floor was covered with brown acrylic wall-to-wall carpet. There was a pattern on the carpet that created a kind of swirly effect using mainly several shades of brown, but also some black, orange and flecks of grey. The walls of the room were covered with woodchip wallpaper painted cream. The main feature of the room was a three-piece suite. This was covered with brown cotton material laced with thin cream-coloured lines (the lines seemed to have tiny bumps on them). The sofa, a three-seater, was sitting against the centre of the wall, opposite where we now stood. In front of the sofa was a small coffee table with a brown formica top and slightly splayed legs. The legs had little round gold feet. A picture in a greyish-cream frame was hanging on the wall above the sofa. It was the well-known painting, “The Spanish Lady”. A large display cabinet and a bookshelf took up much of wall to our left. In the corner to my left, at an angle of approximately 45 degrees to the sofa, was a television placed on top of a small cabinet. The cabinet contained a video player. Beside the video cabinet was a small brown imitation wood table with a cream plastic telephone on top. The main feature of the wall to my right was a stone-effect fireplace within which was placed a “Magicoal” electric fire. The fire was turned on (but not the bars) and the little mechanical flames danced up and down. I sensed the Grey was watching me, looking for signs that would show my reaction to the room. I thought it best not to say too much, either for or against. “Very nice” was all I said. Continue reading ‘Alien Abduction: A Scientific Account (continued)’
Other posts by Barry Mitchell
It was a day, that started out like many others that year. I got up, got ready for school and left my house. I walked the two blocks to the intersection of Chilliwack Central and Broadyway under an overcast sky. Stood across from highroad academy with my thumb out, waiting for a ride to Agassiz. I was shortly picked up by a skinny gangly man in a small red pick up truck. He seemed friendly eneugh, although he kept trying to get me to skip school to help him move pot plants, for 100 bucks. He also started smoking crack shortly after i got in. We chatted pleasantly eneugh as he drove towards agassiz, although he tried to offer me a hoot of crack. Everything seemed to be going well until he flew past the exit into agassiz, which i promptly pointed out to him. “your not going to school today” he answered, emphasizing his point with the gun, that was now in his hand. I can honestly say, this was the first time in my life that i actually wanted to go to school. It was also the first time i’d had a gun aimed at me. In less that a second i was more than frightened, i was terrified. I immediately began begging for my life. I tried everything i could think of, That i had a test, that id be expelled for skipping, even that i had a date at lunch. All false and all to no avail. I continued on like this for 15-20 minutes or so, until i realised it wasnt helping. With that realisation came another, that this could be the last day of my life. In that moment something inside me died, it felt like a candle being snuffed out in my chest. This is a moment ill remember the rest of my life. In that one instant i changed, all at once i grew up, like a butterfly leaving a cocoon. Continue reading ‘When I got kidnapped hitchhiking to school’
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