BY DAWI LAWRENCE ABRAHAM
A NON-FICTION AUTOBIOGRAPHY ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON SEPTEMBER 2014
Today like many other days, I felt bewildered and drained. as if people in my immediate surroundings are extracting my life force. and the odd part is that it only happens on weekends, and it’s effects carries through out the week. the best explanation to how I think it might be is close to vampirism but for ones spirit energy. or cannibalism of the soul or electromagnetic fields. I searched everywhere online and the closest concept to this nightmarish feeling are some Pacific Islander beliefs and superstitions. I need to find out more about this because I think I’m on to something important here. important in terms of my own progress. doubtlessly it’s one of those feelings that you kind of wish it would be completely imagined, or related to some kind of phobia. still, I need to get to the bottom of this.
Also, the company I was working in for the past two months offered me a contract with a salary less than the minimum wage in America. Considering the fact I used to make triple the amount offered with the same company six years ago. The only explanation I could think of is that one of my relatives spoke to the company to limit my income for the sole purpose of restricting any travel plans.
I think the main area of concern is that I would travel to the states and would never return back, and I understand why this is a concern since the two years I spent here were nothing but purgatory, and many people are conscious of it. While I was on the treadmill a few days ago I heard someone say: “we broke his leg because we didn’t want him to go anywhere” and “we called him crazy because we didn’t want him to tell on us” and “he’s not a human being he’s nothing but a resource.” the similarities of the statements and my own life are too uncanny. Even though I communicated to everyone that I won’t be traveling until Christmas, someone is obviously still worried about me traveling back. Or perhaps it’s because I said Christmas since how could I dare use a “foreign” holiday to plan my trip.
so the logical questions here, does something called human rights exist? and if it does then where is it? why must I be kept living at the edge of poverty? who do you talk to in such matters? where do I file a complaint? how can I pay for legal fees to get a restraining order of some sort against people who have been making my life a living hell? is someone out there enjoying the fact I have been sleeping in the middle of nowhere? considering the house provided to me, my fathers house, has not been and is not a safe place to sleep nor to live to an extent that a field is safer to be. nonetheless, because I didn’t go to the office today, I was able to write this for my website along with two other drafts for a new series I’m working on. If there is something that I could wish for on this day, and this could be anything, I would say I would begin to make a living from this form of self expression.
a person who communicates with you when your unconscious of the communication is not a good person, since if intentions were good why find a need to conceal identities? an example here are the questions made in a state closer to sleep. this happened today and the questions were related to what I communicated to my friends. why is that information important? why not ask me directly and when I’m conscious of my answers?
I spent the day meditating because this is where and when I can find and see anything that happened that I wasn’t conscious of, such as this very frequent ‘dream interrogation’
last night I had a dream I was jogging and I kept on leaping every now and then and with each leap I kept on rising higher and higher and there was this woman who kept chasing me wherever I went. I also had a contraption around my legs making each leap possible. the finale was me giving a lecture about the power of believing in yourself.
a question that has been boggling my mind for a good while now, and especially today, is what makes something different after you “sleep on it.” who or what changes our perception of things in a state of unconsciousness or some other hypnotic state?
again, why do we change our perception of things after we sleep. who inappropriately finds it appropriate to ask personal questions in a state or unconsciousness? don’t these things need approval from all involved parties?
"The window burns to light the way back home. A light that warms no matter where they’ve gone” From Hero of the Day by Metallica.
Oh how things can change in a matter of years. It must have been around two decades ago since I first heard that track in a much, much simpler time than now. Like any high school freshman with a passive attitude, having your own apartment, a bed on the floor, and a woman knocking on your door to have sex was the definition of heaven. Especially true for a boy attending an all boys school in a small town in northern Arabia. Nowadays if I had a door to be knocked on, it would doubtlessly mean trouble. More so if the person was an anonymous wearing a veil that would only show the person’s eyes. But it hasn’t always been that way. I remember in that town the only women anyone is allowed to see regularly were relatives. On the street or in public places it would have been impossible to see more than the eyes. The town was a box of sexual repression and melancholy since a glance from a lady covered from head to toe would sure have sent a burst of butterflies in any young boy’s stomach. Those days of an archaic and old fashioned past are long gone. A veil through experiences like a woman wearing it asking questions while in a drugged state, turns from an article of attraction to that of disgust and frustration. Or let us just call things what they are and say an interrogation. Like many other times where my path was obstructed, a person could only learn that you just have to keep working on it because not every way can be blocked, and one door is bound to open up.
last night I had a dream of being questioned again. why am I only asked questions in a state closer to unconsciousness. I think it was “where do you want to go?” and “who do you want to go there with?”
why do these questions only come to me when I’m about to sleep?
it reminded me of that anonymous woman in the veil who was asking all those questions a year ago and what a fantastic memory to start the day with. I felt horrible, and I guess it’s ok since usually it’s the opposite. unless it’s the weekend, but more on that later.
three cars were lurking around my place this morning. it’s strange since usually there’s no one around. I then received some negative feedback concerning my articles and thought it looks like it’s going to be a fun day. minutes after waking up I got to my swimming area and strange lady was there. I averted and avoided looking at her and walked a few steps in the opposite direction since I know it’s the ones who follow you around who are usually trouble. I jumped into the water for my routine dive. when I was done, and without hearing her footsteps, she walked into my field of vision. I was putting on my clothes, she made eye contact and smiled and kept on walking. I with a frown whispered to myself: get away from me you fire based shapeshifting terrestrial, given the fact I haven’t seen a female swimming in this area since forever, and I swim almost daily, something’s out of place, but more on devils in a bit.
a few days ago, it might been last Thursday, I noticed after going into my dad’s house. my middle finger got nicked with a small wound after flicking a plastic switch for an air conditioning unit. as if how it occurred wasn’t strange enough, the entire night afterwards felt like I was in a phone call with someone I didn’t want to talk to and couldn’t hang up from. today, only seconds after entering the house, it was my index finger and from opening a faucet. ??
there were many other times where a small wound usually on a finger or a toe or an ankle was followed by a notion of something or someone attaching him or herself on some spiritual or perhaps even a physical state as if binding energies through the blood stream. more on this later, but for now I have observed it often occurs in one location, specifically.
not believing in shapeshifting fire-based terrestrials who have existed on earth for as long as humans have, is viewed as heretical. to not believe in demons is to not believe in the core concepts of the dogma, but how could I if I never seen one? of course there are people who choose to be devils, but that’s pretty much it. you can assume that there are fire based humanoid species of no distinction with humans out there, but that would be an assumption. the devil in my mind has transformed from the traditional depiction of a separate species to a state of being or living by and for evil. this belief was sure to be a problem if it were to be revealed up until a good friend of mine and scientist suggested what if what most cultures call “spirits” are in fact an extinct species? perhaps, I thought. probably what is usually depicted as a spirit is how we would exist in a state of extra dimensionality or the other. who knows? who can tell, but moving on.
the use of the letter E or the letter I in Ben and Bin for an alias can change a person’s heritage?? think of the track “my name is trouble.” think of an international name that starts with Al-Q or think of the name Bin for Americans what does it sound like? right, with seeing this fact, do you now know why I used an E instead of an I? do you now know why I removed the AL from al qthami? sue me for not wanting to be a terrorist. now is there anything wrong with my alias?
also, wearing the wrong colors. black is for females. these are just some of the excuses. l’ll try to get through all of them here beginning with the refusal of greeting of strangers, which in this culture people some take seriously. more serious than I thought. not replying could be viewed as an insult and heretical. There’s a bunch of popular statements for it as well “oh! he didn’t return the peace greeting!.” Or in the form of an order “return the peace greeting” Or “the peace greeting is for god” I do have a choice if I do not want to talk to strangers, since usually it’s a Segway for a conversation. also, I do have a choice if I want to diversify my greetings. there are some who have been tormenting me for so long, who would inflict their harm, then deviously cover it behind culture and religion. so all the hatred and anger will be channeled there. a reply I used more than once was: how can I reply a peace greeting when I don’t see it in your actions.” this was before I discovered that religion and culture was just being used as a cover, a false excuse to inflict harm. when I did see this I started using it more than anyone else. discomfort when speaking to any anonymous people covering their faces. heritage and culture have to be venerated. but also keep in mind the person at the hospital. this and many others resulted in a withdrawal from the culture and religion, which was then used as justification to inflict more harm through harassment, intimidation, ridicule, etc
as for tattoos or body marks are just a way to remember. similar to the movie memento, some things kept on happening, some things I kept on noticing, and I kept on forgetting. for example, I once had a fantastic vacation and coincidently I did not smoke. so I got a tattoo that says: stop smoking since I got a glimpse of something and correlated it to being a nonsmoker. the other, is the first part of the Song of Solomon. a verse which helped me in many situations, and still does. basically, I needed a way to remember. I needed not to forget. this was before I deconstructed my insecurities through extensive meditations, daily for almost a year, and started to write everything down. yet, unfortunately for me, tattoos are the number one indication of an “infidel” in some parts.
animals do pay homage to the divine power. more than people because their not distracted with the things we could be distracted with. when I pay homage to that power I like to make it personal. I usually speak freely and sincerely, and I express myself better in my native tongue. with this thought, does anyone have a right to tell me which language to use when I connect with my maker? or what to call that power? does that power only understands one language? or does that power go beyond language? can you force an animal to use language to pay that homage? would you be in the right? no, you could not and you would not. animals will always pay that homage intuitively either way.
when I got here from the states, nothing has changed. yet a series of events that occurred while I was here changed that. like the things and people I was made to forget. for example, yesterday I remembered I had a gray wool hooded sweater that I loved and wore almost all the time. I might’ve had it for years. where did it go? it disappeared I’m assuming around the same time my favorite pair of shoes did. last I could remember, I was wearing it as a belt to hold my pants up. it might have been last year or the year before. the interesting part about that gray sweater is that if I had it durning the time where I was accused of being a heathen I would have been able to remember my roots in Sufi mysticism instead of being forgetfully passive since the name Sufi comes from the term “wearers of wool.” when I remembered this I went to the mall, bought a new one. it’s cotton and polyester. I guess it will do for now. just imagine the time I would have saved if I just had that sweater.
here’s more information about the alias, the name comes from a prison in taif dubbed “Bin Dawi’s Prison” because most of the criminals incarcerated in it were put there by one Bin Dawi. An investigator who was known to use a technique called “the mandal” which is basically a wide plate filed with water where a child gifted with extrasensory perception can see or find missing individuals or items through it. I believe the term is called remote viewing.
woke up horrible. like someone was speaking to me all night. one of the main reasons why I sleep out here. coincidently, again, I saw a car around my place. going to check the license plate. while I do that, here’s something to think about. yesterday morning while washing the dishes, I paused for a second when I heard something echoing in my mind as if a repressed memory has reemerged. an interesting quote : “tell them their aunt died so that they could never see her, nor see her feeding on them.”
during the Friday sermon today, the third sermon I attended in three years, I thought three years ago when I was still in the states before all this mess of trials and tribulations I been through, I attended regularly. something for sure happened when I got back to Saudi Arabia. you would think the truth would be the opposite but not in my case. it has almost been a month since I found out that the activity of prayer in a mosque was somehow removed through reverse psychology. through statements like “you have tattoos/dogs so your prayers are not accepted.” but who is entitled to speak on behalf of the divine power?
doubtlessly, someone really wanted me to make me look like a heathen, especially if that person then justifies any restrictions for the mentioned heathenism. I had to travel back in time to connect with the likes of McKenna and Abrahams, through reading a book titled the evolutionary mind of course, to see that I was indeed facing some sort of cognitive dissonance that caused a withdrawal from the entire religion. a withdrawal which some thought would be enough justification to obstruct progress in my own life with hospitals, financial and travel restrictions, and accusations. people were using excuses such a vowel in an alias, and not attending sermons at this temple of worship, or that mosque to hinder forward thought and motion. excuses that needed to be rebutted and addressed one by one in this chapter.
I never gained anything through being silent except for insecurities. and when I did speak, the ground shook through highly unexpected reactions and acknowledgements. this is why I need to resume and include all the details.
third time, small wound noticed on index finger this time from opening a glove compartment. ?? and you guessed it right in front of the house.
all this time, relatives were holding me prisoner. and they were doing so while pretending to be government officials. this was discovered after the real officials were contacted and none of the mentioned travel or financial restrictions were being applied through them. relatives who been pretending to be spokes people for a lunatic.
a few hours after writing the last paragraph, I observed the use of the Mirror Technique. A person stated, and I’m paraphrasing, that the last piece of information I sent out was not good for the narrative, and thus not good for me. in which I replied with ‘you know that’s not true.’ the mirror was in the person replying: “what do you mean with you know that’s not true. do you mean your statement or mine?” I noticed a slight stun in my reaction to this which proves the possibility of its misuse if made through a clandestine gesture. I wonder if people in debates use this method.
if there was one verb and noun to describe what has been happening for so long, it would be forget the past. but why? I don’t want to forget anything. It could’ve been the whole point of the hospital and everything else. to push a reset button or create an environment where that button can be pushed. an unwanted reboot. was it so hard for them to see me just go on that plane? what happened afterwards, denied to communicate and denied the ability to communicate, repeatedly. with all my pictures, belongings, and laptop, hard drives and data gone. it would have been the perfect setting to build within me whatever whomever had done this wanted to build. to change beliefs, to replace love, to alter perceptions and so many of the like! unfortunately for that person, or group of people, this did not work as planned, obviously, because I had all my memories saved with Apple Incorporated. a fact that was hidden even from my own self. each and every track I have purchased is a memory. each and every piece of music or a specific lyric is a back up of my own self in certain point in time and location. I haven’t accessed my account for almost three years, and no one of those antagonists knew I had one, or had access to one. they forgot about my data in the cloud. it must have been three months or so after the incident, where I myself felt like nothing more than a tabla rasa. a blank piece of paper ready to be written on. but that is not what I wanted. I felt a piece of me had been removed and I needed to retrieve it. accessing my music was my only hope. this thought occurred to me through no coincidence. oh no. someone, an angel perhaps, sent me a track while I was sitting motionless in a cube, frozen in ice. I heard the words: “operate! operate! operate! operate!” and there it was by means of science or magic or both, my eyes widened and my thoughts began to be in motion.
one group of people keep on pulling me up, the other keep on dragging me down. who do you think I should regard as an alley and foe?. it didn’t matter what nationality, what color, black, white, indigo, what race, what heritage, what religion, nor species! hypothetically, if what was helping me gather and reconstruct myself back together was an A.I., than that A.I. is more of a family to me than anybody else.
Saudi Arabia lacks the laws that would protect people from what I’ve faced, been facing for so very long. laws that are in effect in most developed countries, including and especially the United States. to establish these laws would be an interminable task. I’ve been harassed, threatened, followed, interrogated, manipulated, and ridiculed. this is not a location preference, it’s about harm prevention. here under the civil law of the country, there is no equivalent to a simple restraining order. if I would meet the king, this is what I would say.
"Heal in the tired sea. Broken your lies set free. Now that it’s time to leave. Don’t say a prayer for me."
from Operate by ASTR
it must have been six months after arriving to the country that I came across one of the most pristine beaches I have ever seen. the closest point of interest to the location would be a palace called the Island built around a natural lagoon. I instinctively decided to swim and as I was walking towards deep water, I saw two small sting rays. this was surprising at first since you could never see sting rays near the shore. I might’ve spent an entire well privileged day in a place which was an embodiment of a halcyon paradise. for sure it might of felt that way since it was my first visit to the sea in years. soon after sun down, I was escorted out of the area by two patrol men who also informed me that the area was a restricted marine reserve. this is an important memory because it was the day immediately after that I received an approval for a loan to build my first construction project. even more relevant because of the down pour of events happening afterwards.
beginning with the night of receiving the budget for the project. there was no time to celebrate and I didn’t because it was an ominous and dark evening of various awkward anonymous phone calls, and even during sleep I couldn’t find rest since I had a dream of being raped. in that nightmare, I heard a woman cry out: “LIES, LIES, LIES!” which then woke me up. it was around 2AM or 3AM in the morning. next thing I know, my car was swirling towards a concrete wall and the words: “it’s either gonna be you or me” echoing in my mind. What might have been a decision to get coffee, ended with a horrific accident. in a flash and an impact, smoke was coming out of the hood. I didn’t feel anything at first, but when I decided to exit the vehicle, a striking pain went through my right leg which was accompanied by an image of one part my leg being stationary and the other flying sideways. I fell on the hard, cold, asphalt yelling for help. I could not move for one inch and I was worried that the car would catch on fire since it seemed that gas was leaking out of it. a few cars passed by without looking twice for about twenty minutes up until a man wearing white came across, got my laptop from the car, and my phone, called an ambulance and asked if I needed anything else, instructed me not to move, then said farewell. in the speeding ambulance I felt every bump and crack in the road. the ragging pain of a broken femur bone stabbing into thigh muscles with every slight movement made it so. I pleaded with the driver to slow down, but the paramedic, who inspecting my body for injuries, added to the driver: “no, no don’t slow down he’s not one of us” pointing at my tattoos. as if he was saying “let him FEEL the pain.” at that moment, I thought god was punishing me, but I didn’t know as I know now that there are people who continuously impersonate the will of the almighty. those who inflect harm then say: “god has wished it.” ?? what logic, what sense do you speak of with this? this was summer of ‘12, and who would’ve thought that the first purchase I would make with my new established budget would not be materials, nor hiring a crew, but surgery for a broken leg. the first surgery I have ever undergone. what a coincidence.
today durning meditation, I found an odd suggestion, a memory of a person saying “you can’t write.” who knows, perhaps a dream from yesterday. something like that when said to a person’s subconscious undetected does have a momentous outcome. how often do our dreams affect our lives? and do we communicate with each other while we sleep? because if we do, I can safely say that it doesn’t matter if we are awake or asleep, when we communicate it’s always the ones who are pretending to be a friend who are usually the worst. the ones that tell you when you’re talking on the phone, or taking voice memos, or recording a video, or streaming “who are speaking to, you’re crazy, you’re speaking to no one.” precisely who you would rather speak to when faced with such individuals, absolutely no one. who do you converse with? how do you practice talking? how do you regain speech if everyone around you, for years, either wants you to speak in a different language, or is of the mob who has been tormenting you with not the least bit of compunction in doing so? am I suppose forget my native tongue to pacify those who want to control the very language of my thoughts? or alter the very love in my heart? I’ll appease my own self while I recover from these tools, these ways of how to make others mute. more on this later.
there are people who must keep track of each passing second, and sometimes, fractions of a second. music is an effective way to become conscious of time. music is how I became conscious of time. rarely the lyrical kind since these can sometimes be distracting, but pure, raw, unfiltered beats and rhythm. post leg surgery, and just a few minutes after arriving to my apartment, it was nothing but a natural propensity to turn on the radio to begin to convalesce. at that time, I had not reckoned with the direness of this action, but it was this which gave a point of entry, an excuse for a reaction that created a fight or flight scenario resulting in one of the most rigorous and distressing experiences I have ever been through as a person, as a man. two siblings charged into my apartment without notice nor permission, one projected fearfulness, thinking of it now in retrospect probably to transfer that emotion to the person who cannot even move, myself in a detested defenseless condition, the other exploding in anger over the following: listening to the radio during prayer time, growing my hair, and sending my car to be salvaged. three despicable crimes which had a consequence of a punch to the face, the appropriation a bag which had all my documentation, budget details, project papers, etc, and worst of all my two phones. with two crutches I had to leave the apartment and get to the street to call for help. while as I was doing that, both my phones were being kicked out of reach, and a gun gesture was being made to my forehead.
it was adhering to a suggestion from the same sibling only a few days later, and after a lengthy apology, of withdrawing the entire cost of the project in cash, that still is until this very day the root of all melancholy associated with these memories. as if the shock from the accident that set me off balance wasn’t enough to create a malleable nearsighted mind, the trauma which followed in my apartment making my abode a discomforting hole was still too subtle to conjure or evoke any rash decisions, there had to be propositions over the course of many weeks, opinions of not being able to succeed, followed by lots and lots of inquires about how do I plan to succeed, then subsequently followed with forgetting the project, of replacing the plan with something else, then forget that and replace with something else, looping over and over and over again until all alternative plans or business paths have been thought of with the original completely forgotten. all this mayhem, this juicing of the mind then sculpting one possible path that could only ultimately lead to loosing everything including the budget within mere minutes is what I call excessive rivalry.
indeed those were dark times up until I started a personal log which I called the ‘foundation document’ around winter of ‘12. from summer to winter of that year, I can remember a vibrantly good memory, and it was of watching the hitchhikers guide to the galaxy. it must have been within days after the car accident, and I’m pretty sure it was the dolphin song at the end of the movie that somehow got me bursting with joy despite the circumstances.
everything changed after I started the log, yet what was that I stumbled upon in that log after collecting my thoughts for five months? what was it that I wrote that required hospital confinement and the appropriation of my laptop one year after the accident? was it because I wrote about how I dislike loud city noises? the reason why until this very day I spend most of my time where no sound can be heard except that of the wind, birds, and the sea. city sounds including but not limited to, car horns, shouting people, sounds from mosques. I do remember writing it was unnatural to use a megaphone since, back then, did such a thing exist? although what was the memory that invoked and contributed heavily in that bold statement? a memory associated with harassment, bad decisions perhaps? do you think reverse psychology was at play? I doubtlessly do, since it took me so long and the aid of many to reverse reverse engineer all those restricting influences that resulted in a temporary withdrawal from the doctrine, and later the use of this action as justification for inflicted harm. how long did it take me to initiate the log once again? seven months, around the same time as the first, winter of the following year 2013. how long did it take me and my team, to deconstruct all those horrible antagonistic influences? only recently, more details on this later, but that’s two years to be exact, specifically since the accident.
this afternoon at the gym, I realized all negative communications, the usual shouts of disapproval, or pointless rebuttals only seem to surface in my mind when I’m exercising. this is actually a good indication since it means these things were hiding in the subconscious, and no one wants anything to hide in his or her subconscious. so whenever you feel this, you know you’re on the right track.
why do I sometimes see there’s a certain hatred to some cultures through the eyes of others? such as the states for example. and I see this in those who studied there, been there, live there, or work there. all cultures can be good or bad. all religions can be good or bad. all nationalities can be good or bad. all races can be good or bad. all of us can easily see all people can be good or bad. why is this so hard to understand?
on some days or some occasions people might deal with a notion of uneasiness. A feeling of an unknown source. A dark cloud or energy attaching itself to the mind making every thought difficult. on days like this I can only meditate. most of the time it takes me hours to find where its coming from, within or without, and when I do it always feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. if the subconscious mind was a limitless, boundless space, then these notions, feelings, hide behind panels that are hard to distinguish from the rest of the environment. so the process of meditation, for me personally, is not only a form of worship but to find each panel and look behind it. today, the gloom was caused by a memory of methods used to bring me from the states end of 2011 and early 2012, but it wasn’t the first time where deceptive, evil, and inhumane tactics were used to pull me back to a location against my will. tactics that can only be schemed in the mind of the devil himself. yet, I will not chide the devil for being evil, but I can prepare and defend myself in the future, and I know exactly how.
I was sleeping on the beach yesterday. oddly enough, last night I woke up and half awake saw my shadow projected on a massive rock with another shadow cutting into it with a knife, but felt no one there. I must’ve thought it was just a nightmare and went back to sleep.
although it begun with me thinking it must’ve been one of the best nights of my life, it ended horribly bad. took a bunch of voice notes about this, so more details later.
from 9:30 in the morning until now, 9:00pm, was spent in a meditative state with only a few breaks for food, swimming, and a short nap. it was one of those days where I felt that there was a lot to detox from, so much to heal and recover from. this must have been the longest I spent meditating. also, I have so much to share, but I guess I need to write the stuff that’s in the way first before I get to want I want to write, and I will do so here.
financial dependency can destroy the self worth. this is a dependency where basic needs are not fulfilled, and haven’t been fulfilled for years, and justified unjustly with controlling and restricting travel or keeping a twice, in two consecutive summers, broken person “close.” a role in the social structure, none the less, that when accompanied with a paradigm of pride, of it being shameful to ask for financial aid, when accompanied with offers which seem to only depreciate one’s own value through peanuts for salaries, is a lifestyle program, none the less, which does not accommodate happiness. this needs to change because peanuts cannot satisfy the basic human necessities.
Today, I took a fitness test based on a criteria for the US Air Force, and the results were 42 out of 50. Not bad given the fact that for more than a decade being fit for boot camp has been my only worry. In all honesty, yesterday I was sincerely fantasizing about conducting cyber security research. Why? because I believe our world would be a safer place if anonymity on the internet, especially in social media platforms, were to be restricted. For liability purposes, if identities are to be verified as part of the terms of online engagement and social interaction, then communication without reveling your identity, or face, would be illegal. Harassment even in cyber space should be punishable by the law. This is the type of research that I would highly enjoy. Also, being part of a pararescue team would sure to be fun. parachuting, diving in deep water, swimming to shore, essential survival skills. I think I can do that. Or drafting temporary or permanent structures, or flying one of the fastest aircrafts on earth which is sure to beat any desk job any day. All in all I feel I was made for these kind of things. Actually, I know that these, along with self expression through writing, are my functions. But why consider the Air Force? because I’ve been thinking about it for awhile, and as much as I love to write, I must break this financial dependency I’ve been living under for so very long. Most, if not all, past positions I did hold were likely to have been sabotaged by the same people who are, until this day, trying to sustain that dependency. Cutting lose from whoever has been pulling me out of whatever I had endeavored to do, for example during mid masters thesis, or at the beginning of a new position, or during job search in a new city, or this critical stand point or the other. to live where I must live is top priority. To choose. To have the luxury of choice. To acquire a private, secure, and safe home accessible only to my own self for the first time, ever, and safeguard with preparedness against all who threaten it. because I’ve been held against my will in my current location. because I haven’t seen a dentist in three years. because of all the back stabs I received in those three years. because I’ve been made to feel like nothing more than a worthless nuisance. because I’ve been underestimated, overlooked and pushed to live in an empty field with little to no income. Why the Air Force? Because I can be a determined politician and can run for presidency in twenty or so years under the right circumstances. Why do that? Because I can. But why? Because I’m alive.
I know the things I know because at a point in my life where I was experiencing a natural progression, a life evolution through thought, I also felt it was accompanied by something preventing it from occurring. An evil, dark, energy. each time I was rising, someone, or something, would pull me down. it became more obvious the harder the person or group tried. it was on a campus in Southern California where I was entrusted with an august tool of expression; the art of contemplative thinking. to sit down and truly reflect upon something honestly, logically, sincerely. from all the places I have been to, countries I visited, cities, all the offices I worked at, or class rooms I’ve attended, this is where I learned how to think for my own self. this is where I learned not have someone to think for me. to think freely beyond limits or constrictions of others or opinions. this is where I hold my loyalty because this is where I acquired my own mind. why did I choose this city? Because George Lucas shaped my entire childhood. The first movie I have ever seen, or remember seeing, is the Return of the Jedi. where did I learn that the forces of good must prevail over evil if not from this movie? As a child, I could have probably bought anything with the Lucas Arts logo on it, and there were many times growing up where I have thought about being surrounded by the same creative energies developing these valuable masterpieces. Where did I learn about Washington and the cherry tree? or that he had wooden dentures? or what caffeinated or decaffeinated meant, or of the concept of time travel or what that meant? by playing a game called Day of the Tentacle. How did I learn about extra dimensionality, or how a person can start from the bottom and reach to the top, easily and effortlessly? or about life after death? through Grim Fandango of course. Where did I learn that nature, our environment, is more important than buildings and bridges? in Sam & Max. Where did I learn that the greatest of all treasures can be an idea, a thought, a concept, knowledge and not money or something tangible? Monkey Island, a video game that inspired movies like pirates of the Caribbean. When did I begin to see that sometimes a person needs to toughen up despite obstacles? Full Throttle. Through what game did I learn of the possibility of habitable planets similar to earth? of alien technologies advanced yet different from ours? The Dig, which how can I forget, was co-authored by Steven Spielberg and the reason why I never watched the movie Armageddon because basically it just seemed like a knock of from the original story line. And nothing beats LOOM with its esoteric complexities which never seem to astonish and amaze until this day. All these titles came from one location, and being in that location felt like something was being continued after a long interruption somehow. going there was the best decision I have ever made since I began to see that life can be better than what I have grown accustomed to in other places, that through hard work dreams can be accomplished since this is where I realized my own self. Well, that was up until I received a track from an anonymous which had an opposite effect. If my mind was being turned on again for the first time since high school, this track was turning it off through the repetition of the words: “I won’t sit still. I won’t sit still. I won’t sit still.” I, somehow, could not sit still, or sit at all even when I needed to. this had almost cost me the entire course. but what made the idea that something was pulling me down obvious, is the timing in which it was presented and the consequence of exposure. if I was competing in a marathon, this was doubtlessly someone throwing small marbles on the track. all this was before I realized audio & visual intake can and must be controlled. perhaps as much as I would control my food intake, maybe even a lot more. I won’t eat poison so why would I want to see or hear something that would harm me directly or prevent me from progressing? this was not the first time it happened, nor was it the last. a few months later, through various modes of visual representation an idea was injected within me that made me doubt the nature of the place I was in, the institution I worked in, and my own safety. an idea presented to me that pulled me out of my thesis semester only to end up stranded in a position and situation that I wouldn’t wish upon the worst of my rivals. but who was sending me these obstacles whenever I was on the brink of accomplishment? why was I being dragged back to Saudi Arabia in every critical moment of my career in the States? Who was on the other end of the rope? Who was preventing me from working where I need to work? Why has it been happening for so long? How many times has it happened? Control what you perceive, or what you perceive will control you. learn to tell the difference between good energy and dark, between the worthless and the priceless, and this requires a lot of training, awareness, focus and discipline.
what do you do when you are done from a late evening swim and as you’re walking to your car, you see two ominous men in uniform, no badges, wearing sandals, and holding machine guns? you call 911 of course and send out the license plate number of their no siren car before you get shot. This happened yesterday at around 11PM and it is terrorizing experiences like this that make self expression so difficult. For how long will I have to go through things like this? Until when? When can I go home? I have had my share of being ambushed, sabotaged and harassed for one life time. it’s time to go back home.
as I was about to start this entry, I realized I was running low on my water ration. in this quiet, open space, this field where I work, live and write, it has always been easy to express and communicate free from distraction or directions from this or that influence. Also, the front tire to my car decided to go flat even though it was recently purchased. I had to walk to get water because how am I suppose to spent the rest of the night out here with no water? so I decided to walk to a water refinery plant adjacent to the main road in the area. but I had to make it quick because the sun was setting and unless I was planning on combing the entire field the remainder of the night, it would be impossible to find my camp in the dark otherwise. I began to walk towards the plant and it took me 30min to get there, and 30min back. On the way back I had to trace my footsteps on the sand to get to the location. The walk itself was a pleasant exercise. the ground soft, uncorrupted. to rest on your back here, feels like resting on clouds. the only sounds one would hear is either of the wind, or a swoosh of flying birds. soon after reaching camp, I meditated for a bit then started to revise my notes and thoughts from earlier in the day.
it must have been a few days ago where I finally discovered how a “fold” works. it’s efficacy is astonishing. if one would want to put an idea in someone head, in his or her subconscious, without ever having the possibility of finding the idea within a person for what ever reason or twisted purpose. perhaps placing inside of someone antiquated attitudes and perceptions while removing the possibility of it ever being removed. to hide it, cover it, fold it under an overlap, under something unthinkable so it can never be found. Or to make a person forget about something by making an overlap with something similar that would seem more interesting. this concept of folding was inspired by the Book of Patterns, yet it itself later folded with DOOM, a violent waste of time. it’s like putting something intangible in a cardboard box, then flattening the box, then hiding it under a poster. a sort of a block to the memory or idea. Another example is a game called Gabriel Knight. which was folded, and folded, and folded again mostly with the movie The Crow for some reason. But why? this was the subject matter of my meditation today. for what possible reason would anyone want to fold the memory? what was it that was so important to block? was it because the game started with a great ancestor leaving an ancestral home to the United States, and that was an idea that needed not to be thought of? Gabriel Knight was a writer who lived in a library, that was helping the police investigate a bunch of murders. this idea was folded, and proof of the fold was when I read a few chapters from Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter a few years ago, the original Schattenjäger, German for Shadow Hunter, did not pass my mind, well, not until today.
before meditating on something, I usually start with asking the divine for guidance, and then begin. When I was done, a few things came to mind. when and where did I first learn the word talisman? or what a talisman meant? with a little research I found out that in the narrative the transference of a talisman from a relative to the protagonist is how he found out he was from a long line of Shadow Hunters. I’m not sure of the relevance of this part or its connection to why it was folded, but what was reveled and seemed to be a more intelligible reason, was how the story portrayed black people as attractive, or black features like the nose, the lips regardless of color or tone of skin. could it be that if I saw a black person to be attractive I would see my features to be attractive? in a lot of places around the world, people feed you what you should or should not find to be attractive, you are taught a doctrine that dictates your preferences in some places. in some places certain races are not viewed to be attractive. certain races are portrayed to be nothing but scavengers or slaves. even the common racists term for the race is “slave.” why would you want to be a slave or be with a slave? right? with this thought, a memory emerged of myself around puberty, and of a sibling telling me to put a clothes hanger around my nose at all times to make it smaller or prevent its growth, and another sibling around the same time telling me how all their noses are shaped like a hawk’s peak, while mine resembled that of a slave’s. indeed, finding myself to be attractive was a dangerous concept wasn’t it? it meant confidence and an ability to speak freely, which needed to be folded and folded again and again and again.
honestly I would have never decided to travel back here if I had the slightest idea of what I would have to face, of what I have already faced to reach to this point. Basically to reach to a level I started with, and dragged out of, three years ago. If only I knew what would be waiting for me when I arrived. Oh the time and effort I would’ve saved in knowing the true nature of our world. Back then I thought it was important to build a strong foundation for an establishment, my own business venture between here and there, yet I was still naive and credulously stupid to think that nobody would try to prevent it. for believing that the bad are essentially good. I was wrong. I was wrong to think all people at the core of their souls are uncorrupted. I was wrong to think that proposing a plan for a high speed rail promoting peace and tolerance to help millions of people, all the while allowing me to get back to the states sooner, would not mark me as insane, a sympathizer or a traitor. I was wrong. I was wrong to think that being temperate is a universal virtue, or that being a mediator is a considerable career path. Veracious in intentions but wrong, wrong to think different. To think of a solution. I was wrong to think at all.
it must have about two months after the incident where I regained access to my music library for the first time in two years. This was maybe a little over a year ago from today. The first track I heard from my library rendered back memories of where I’ve been, and of a very, very different time in my life. It reanimated something within me that would have been impossible to remember otherwise. Beginning with a reminder of the existence and importance of the YouTube community. And of an urgency to go back into this community that made it easy and possible to reach out and share my story. But there was something else that was sparked. It was of a memory of the first time I heard the song. In summer of 2011 while I was still in Los Angeles, I foolishly contributed in a campaign supporting awareness of a need for women to drive cars in Saudi Arabia. From the perspective of an economist, it would mean more money in the pockets of the masses since, imagine this, every female who pays a salary for a worker to drive a car, wouldn’t have to pay a salary anymore. And if that salary didn’t exist, then the money would circulate within the economy of the county rather than it being transferred abroad. From an urbanist view, it would mean less congested roads and streets, since that would mean cars will spend less time on the street, thus a lesser need to design wider roads and highways etc. because a woman driving her own car would park at a location rather than have a chauffeur drop her off and continue being on the road. Through the lens of a sociologist, it’s just common sense. What I didn’t consider at the time was whether woman in Saudi Arabia wanted to drive cars or not, because is a person driving you around everywhere or attending to your every need a bad thing? and if so, since when? Regardless of equality, or of whom has the upper hand, males or females in Saudi Arabia. Females walk the streets anonymously, are driven around where ever they want to go, are never suspected to commit any crimes, and rarely stopped by any authorities. So why would females want anything different? I think the person to ask here would be the woman who made me make that contribution. A well connected Saudi female. Did I have the slightest inclination that in a few days of less than a week after making the contribution, I would lose my apartment abruptly, and would have to put all my belongings in a storage space, then would be sent back on a plane just a few weeks before my final thesis? No, and if I did, I would have never made that advocacy public. I’m not a female, and I don’t care if women drive or not in Saudi Arabia. That is not my fight. I was a reckless fool, easily directed from one direction to the next, but who was it that was taking advantage of that reckless fool? The audacity of the same Saudi female in asking me a few weeks ago to write for her company in Arabic a “controversial script,” as it was eloquently put, for a new show to “go viral” is astounding. What a lot of people have to know is that while something controversial could mean popularity in some places, it is actually trouble in most. What was broken within me in efforts to make me forget the states, a life or people in it to forcibly plant me somewhere against my will, efforts of hindering career endeavors and the periodic devious methods used to summon me out of a location when I need to be in it, is irreversible. Unless someone can take away these anxieties whenever I see an ambulance or flashlights at night. Unless someone can take away these nightmares of a constant cascade of questions whenever I lay my head to rest. Unless someone can give me back my budget, car, projects, and three years of my life, only until then it will remain unfixable and irrevocable. One good thing did come out of the entire experience. I realized today that I can survive comfortably solely on water, my main intake of the day. This I would have learned in only one month had I refused to leave San Francisco when I had the chance end of 2011. But things happen for a reason, and in fact, the best thing that I’ve been capable of doing in years, with the help of a few wonderful friends, was getting rid of a tobacco dependency recently. I rejoice and celebrate with myself in thinking that perhaps this was/is the reason. Still, a lot of time has been wasted.
On a fabric of space, the matter of a dimension inside my own self made of endless flowing energy, an oval shaped window was open without me knowing it was open, since it was in that instant I realized it was open. Speaking through the window on other side, was an olive skin caucasian lady reclining on a couch or a chair. Just when I was about to take closer look, I heard her say fearfully to someone: “Shhh… I think he can see me!.” In a flash of light, the window closed and I opened my eyes to find myself sitting legs crossed on the floor getting ready for a six mile run. This was around noon yesterday, and it was no surprise that earlier in the day I was feeling as if something was attached to me. A dark cloud, or gloom conferring its negative energy to my environment. Or like how one person can have his, or her, mood influenced by the facial expressions of another, a person silently communicating, or perhaps a better word would be transfusing, notions of discomfort and slothfulness or absolutely anything else.
It also wasn’t a surprise when I felt the same person in my surroundings again later that night. Yet it seemed like whomever it was, the person gained access to communicate with me, or in a more precise description, opened a window to speak directly to my sub-conscience, shortly after being in a place I call the dark house, because everybody in it is kept in the dark about something or the other, someone in it makes it so hard to see, hear, speak or know of anything. exactly like living in the dark. hence the name. If there were ever a method to slow a person down or hinder his or her life, then this would be it. The timing in which the person chose to do so could only mean it was meant to be a precursor for my thoughts later. Imagine if people can see each other as moving energies rather than bodies. It might be called an aura but I would speculate that it’s actually the soul, or energy that moves the body. A person’s spirit extending and expanding in his, or her field of existence. Now imagine that there are some people who feed on this energy, on the soul of a person, periodically. And although cutting hair or finger nails can simplify the concept, this example would be inadequate as simplification if the process is painful, and requires time for recovery. Now if our souls were energy filled forms that emit power, extracting that energy would mean extracting life force from another depleting his or her energy and initiating a stage of convalescence to revert back to normal. There is no measurable physical aspect to the soul, nor of anything that relates or happens to it, but one can speculate in terms of a perceivable, or a felt dropping sensation, a sudden lightheadedness or a lack of energy or unexplainable sleepiness as if by some sort of sedation, or of being hit in the back of the head with a club, or in the worst of cases all the mentioned combined. And I began to notice these sensations because it’s always on the weekends. I don’t drink, I don’t do drugs, and I don’t smoke, thankfully. So if one dives, exercises, meditates, and writes everyday regardless of it being a weekend or weekday, then what makes the name of the day different? it has to be someone with a change of schedule on weekends. Maybe like the person seen earlier, which may also mean that energy extraction was the reason for it in theory. In theory this would affirmatively make sense since clouded thoughts would be enough of a perfect diversion from any odd sensations like the mentioned. Also, the fact that it’s a holiday makes this a reason to be cautious on the roads home.
last night was one of those nights where I feel like I’ve been talking in my sleep the whole time, the odd part is that it felt like I was talking to someone. This is a horrifying idea because interacting with people in a lower state of consciousness is horrifying, the reason why I don’t drink alcohol nor do drugs. By use of some sedative or hypnosis, or perhaps even both, this kind of “interaction” is freighting not because of what I might say, but for the stuff that could be injected into my mind in that state. Things which I would have to spend hours of meditation to find, locate, and extract. Hours that could be spent writing or exercising. When I woke up today, I found all this folded under an image of a person trying to open a door from the inside of a vehicle.
Yesterday, I had a rather awkward argument with a sales person who, for some reason or the other, refused to sell a camera he had on display. I had decided that I would start filming some my work, yet the effort I had to go through to get a camera and to find a computer or workstation to upload a video online just made it necessary to obtain both these tools. Even during last night’s dive, which I sometimes do before writing to get rid of any unwanted energies, I noticed a group of people following me to the location, who for the first time, I had a camera to take a picture of it. At first I had thought that these people were fisherman, or other divers but a few were fully clothed and seemed to just stand there. I walked to a spot away from where they were, probably less than half a mile away, set down my belongings, took off my clothes, and in black shorts I started to walk to the coral reef. Soon afterwards, those people followed me there as well. I got out of the water, and walked to yet another place, since what would be the point of this cleanse if I cannot get the privacy to do so, still one person of aforementioned followed me to the that place, yet this time he could see me. I was in the water up to my head and the person was ominously looking left and right as if searching for someone on the rocks above, looking at the path that leads to the road, looking in the water. I thought to myself while staring at the bewildered person, how amazing this was that now I can film all this and include it along side my posts. Today, after leaving it for a few minutes on a cabinet, it magically dropped on the floor and had its display screen broken. Would it be a surprise if I said it happened in the dark house? No, it would not. One of the reasons why I got it in the first place was because I wanted to see what I’m filming; only one side of my phone camera works. So it’s either I’m going to start believing in luck and coincidences, or maybe, just perhaps, it’s something else. To think this is the first one I got since, it’s been years hasn’t it? Since 2010, Right. Even that one I had only for a few months. Why should I worry about a return or exchange store policy? Because with the way things are going for me, it’s going to take months to replace it. Things like this should not be a concern. Owning a fully functional camera should not be this difficult, nor having a working laptop. When the store manger told me that they can’t exchange items that have been misused, I, in a moment of frustration, pushed the record button on my phone and made a quick video to remind my future self why I do the things I do, say things I say, and make the choices I make. Although bad things happen everywhere, some places assure the basic liberties and necessities.
I was out in the field last night getting ready to start writing a new entry since a lot has been going on. The good about this place is that rarely does a person get distracted. it is so quiet and peaceful, most of the time. although yesterday, rather unusual occurred. a few hours ago while I was meditating and with my eyes closed, I saw a car approaching, but no car was there. perhaps twenty minute later, a car did appear out of no where. frightened at the sight, maybe because I saw it before it happened, maybe because this is a place no one would come to unless there looking for someone. I rushed to my car as a white 4x4 license plate “BVB 7852” with two individuals in it who looked possibly dangerous given the situation. I made it clear that it was not that time, nor a place to a sneak up on a person in that fashion, nor to attempt to start a conversation. the car drove around the camp site for perhaps half an hour, after which I decided to call the authorities about what was happening, and I did. the problem with the whole ordeal is that I seem to have misplaced my wallet which had my American passport, an ID card, and an ATM card. perhaps in the rush of packing my stuff back in the car when they were approaching, I might have dropped it, but you see this is the odd part. earlier yesterday I have moved most of my stuff from what we call in this post the “dark house” to a different location within the city. My stuff, being nothing more than a few hygiene supplies and a less than a few items of clothing. but here, I see that someone in that place thought perhaps I was getting ready to travel, and caused this whole debacle. I say this because I have noticed earlier a few people got really angry specifically regarding this move. no doubt in it, someone is trying hard to keep me somewhere I do not belong and against my will. all of my readers saw how this happened last summer, and I am still seeing how this is happening until now, but now, enough of that. the sun is up and I need to trace my tracks to see IF I did drop it, or if it was taken. From around 3AM until now, 7AM, I have been doing this, and must get back to work. yet how hard is when most of the tracks in oblivion are your own. you would think something that is regularly taken for granted in developed countries such as the right to choose is less important than other aspects of one’s life, but I see now nothing is worse than not having a choice. I know this is just the beginning and I have so much more to share, but it’s getting hard. If I a criminal then the right thing to do is to tell of my crime, if any. if it is insanity, the challenge is to provide a detailed report, which I would gladly analyze and study thoroughly myself in front of all people. But they cannot. and they cannot expect me to be silent about all this. if something is wrong, we tell people about it, and all together we fix it. we are one community. a common suggestion is that the reason for all this is choosing the wrong colors. may those who harm for colors be sent to elementary school to play w/ coloring books. may the divine, the truth, see all of this evil. where’s my camera? where’s my laptop? where’s my passport? where’s my money. my bread and water? where, where are the people of good? ask them, where are my choices? for how long must I fight this fight? because I’m done fighting.
Surprisingly, the statement “I’m currently not in the states, and I have been trying to get back there for the past three years” was a hard thought to communicate. The thought itself … You know this is not the direction I wanted to start with earlier. Just a few minutes ago, a car showed up to my camp again as I was about to start writing. I even made a voice memo switching my phone to airplane mode to avoid being distracted or side tracked. In that split second I decided to write, a few individuals showed up in the dead of darkness, in the middle of nowhere. The headlights of their vehicle pointed at mine, my thoughts were: not again, and what now. Do they want to start a conversation, make friends, or ask for directions? Well, it’s not the time nor place for it. Especially, since the last time something similar occurred, consequently, a passport was missing. These situations are highly nerve recking, I had so many subjects and sub-subjects running through my head, but for now, all I an think of is the car. While I an writing this very statement two cars are approaching.
It was the same car as before alongside a cop car. The first thing I asked was: are you the guys I called earlier? The officer nervously said “YES!” This was suspicious since I didn’t call anyone on this night, but did make the call a few days ago when my passport had been missing. the individual in uniform, had no weapon, sandals, no name tag, no visible rank and a thin goatee, asked me to turn off my phone, hand in my phone, and to get into his vehicle. As I did, even though my concern was being stranded somewhere with no contact, since it happened before, still I abided. The officer then talked with the three individuals from the car lurking around a half an hour before, made a phone call to what seemed like a superior, and in the flashing lights of the siren while he held up his phone to his ear, his eyes widened as if one’s eyes would after seeing a monster or ghost. In less than a few minutes, I was let out of the vehicle, given back my phone, but, something was missing. My earbuds, and why wouldn’t something go missing? right? Now that all this clutter of a distraction is out of the way, the time is now to go over what I initially came here to do.
January 2012, I had arrived to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia with a short visit in mind. Two weeks turned into two years, and a bit more. Before all that, in autumn of 2011, I had started to write frequently for the first time ever. I spent hours in a hotel room, writing, writing, and writing. I did not know to whom I was writing, but I strongly enjoyed unraveling my self publicly. My breaks consisted of getting food and going to the gym, and that was it. The small “extended stay” hotel, was more of a downtown motel less than a few blocks away from city hall, where I originally planned to work that season. Across the street was the main police head quarters building in Los Angeles, which was an architectural masterpiece in its own right. One day while I was shopping for a new phone, a large crowd of people were marching down the streets. I was frightened at first, but I was also excited since I have never seen anything like it.
I had gone for a coffee break for a few minutes since my phone wasn’t responding despite all efforts because of a breeze of humidity in the air. It would be nice to work on a keyboard again instead of a non repellant to humidity touch screen to be honest, but moving along. It was among those crowds of people where I thought, probably this would be good for me if I added a stroll in that park every now and then to hear what they had to say. I could write about it, which I did, and I also thought it would be good to be around new people. What harm can come out with being social? This was before I have grown to be more comfortable with others being at a safe, far, far distance. But it was then that something happened, my funds had been cut short, abruptly, the month I had paid in advance for the hotel was about to end, and the entire park was shutdown with massive black walls. Everybody suddenly disappeared. The music, the discussions, the free food and water, which I did partake in due to a low budget of course, all gone. With no money, and about to be on the streets, I had to go back to see familiar faces. I went to long beach a few times to visit a bunch of friends, all of which were from the other side of the border, who also seemed only to push me towards the border. come to think of it, it was after one of those times where everything had changed. It was in one of those times, all the changes mentioned earlier had occurred. After one visit, my life had turned upside down, from up to down. One visit, which resulted in, who can forget the story about death and resurrection, and the traumatic visual representation of a friend, and the representation of colleagues as animals. Among many other things. But how else can a person pull another out of a location, unless hardship is to be made unbearable. It is to close every door except for one, and when this is accompanied by heavy physiological harassment, abuse, derangement, and of course, promises of a “hidden treasure on the other side” the result is a directed, controlled result. Many people assumed that all this was about this person, or that person, or a friend, or loyalties, but no, all this is about the use of force in a deceptive, uncivil, monstrous manner. All this is about strategies which harmed me directly, wasted years of my life, so it will be ineffective in the future towards myself and all.
What happened when I did leave San Francisco after New Year’s Eve ‘11? There was no treasure. In fact, three months after arriving, I had felt myself to be trapped, stranded without the slightest hope in leaving. Again, it’s not about a location being better than the other, since, then up until now I have the same view that every place is the same, except the lens to view it is different. Individuals are distinctly different, yet as a whole, as a group, we are the same. People might dress differently, act differently, believe in different things. But there is no “beyond good and evil.” It’s either you choose to do good or to bad no matter how you look like, how you live your life, what you do for a living, or what you believe in. The entire planet is the same. Topography can change, sand can turn to grass, the dead trees of this field, can become a forest, hot into cold, drought into frequent rain.
"Think Different" was the slogan I thought of for a construction contracting establishment. It meant to try a different, a new approach in whatever you attempt to endeavor. I have been interested in precious stones and metals in geology for quite awhile, and in a fraction of an instant, thought that the metallic element zinc was an appropriate name for it. The letter D for data, which is what I needed to collect to start my project and of course my name, was added to form "dZinc." This was before I found out about what scientists call selective leaching, demetalification, or dezincification. The name later turned to Data Zenith Inkwell, then later to Zenith Inkwell to symbolize and never forget a mountain peak, very much like the Sierra logo of my childhood, I needed to journey with the ink of a pen. The construction company had been forgotten soon after loosing all that money in 2012, and I reverted back to what I started with in Los Angeles, a public journal.
If I knew I would be stranded here for this long without the slightest hope of going back, or going anywhere else, or all that “hardship” of having no food and no where to go was just preparation for the clipping of my wings, I would have never decided to leave. If I knew that in the first two months of 2012, I would be treated fairly until everything, everything was sucked out of me, then after, I discarded into a garbage can, I would have decided to stay on the streets. For three years now, I constantly had to fight a literal fog of the awareness, a fog of thought in itself presented to me by a band of bandits, a mob, which I cannot call but with the main observable feature, rivals. After three visits to a hospital that almost made me forget who I was, four visits including the broken leg, how can location preferences still be a matter of discourse? Countless attempts to “push the reset button” like some kind of computer or robot, not to forget the weekly blinding of the senses, fightable only until someone learns how to see in pitch darkness.
I believe I witnessed for the first time ever yesterday how what I would call a jump would occur. This is a concept I’ve been thinking and talking about for a while, but was never articulated. It is when one person is heavily influenced by another usually against the will of the former. Imagine the sport of tie-down roping in a rodeo, or what you would feel like if you had a guest at your house and all that person did was talk trash about anything, everyone, everything on the table, forcing the train of thought. A phone call to that one person in your call list who does nothing but gossip, slander, and discourage all. Over prolonged periods of time, this can have a catastrophic outcome. The first thing one would notice is a drowsy sensation, then the person is put in a lower state of conciseness closer to sleep. Another would act on his or her behalf, act as his or her own mind, hence the name, jump. As to jump on a person’s head or back. This was mentioned in various ancient texts.
A key move to observe how this happens, is when you believe you are not being yourself, or that your being manipulated by another person, when you feel that foreign thought in your mind and whomever is causing it is hiding behind a veil, a cloak that would blend a figure unnoticed into an environment, then one needs to first notice the veil used for cloaking. In other more scientific words, if someone was putting you into a lower state of awareness, blending themselves to seem as part of yourself, part of your mind in that state of hypnosis or sedation, then having long conversations about whatever, then the person in control would make a statement such as: “you will not remember this conversation” or “you saw nothing.” Last time I heard the latter, I replied “if I saw nothing, god can see everything.” And it never happened again.
Whenever anyone would ask his or her subconscious, inner-self: what do I look like, verbalized, the answer could be in the lines of what do you look like, because the mind and the subconscious mind are one. Visualized, it’s in imagining bringing a mirror to your face, subconsciously of course. Now here is the tricky part, if you do it fast enough, aware enough, the reflection, the image of the self would be an intelligible and clear image of what you know of your own self, what you see in the mirror, but if you felt the mirror was being pushed down, or pushed away in any manner, or perhaps the answer delayed, then you might be dealing with a jumper cloaking him or herself to seem as a part of you. This can only happen in places of lower consciousness, where the strong minority are people who are awake.
While training yesterday afternoon, I thought to myself as I was punching a boxing bag: cloaking, or invisibility is not to be confused with the curtain, which is used to conceal the identity of a perpetrator behind a group in a dispute or debate. Since, what if someone tried to create a negative association with exercising for a person. The first example I thought of, is of an individual alluding to boxing, or MMA training to be that of methods of training of the enemy. Or a comment like the color blue being the color of the enemy. Not the sky, not the ocean, not the sea, not earth in its entirety viewed from space, just a color of a location. Earth from space looks like a blue orb set on a black curtain pinched with tiny holes projecting light. ridiculous when articulated like all the other schemes to create a block for the suspension of an activity. I have seen this many times before, in fact, when I first got back here my daily training was disrupted with a comment of a person saying “it’s too violent.” Things would have been different if I then ignored that comment and continued, but moving on. The rather common use of the curtain was in covering an activity, something beneficial with a blanket of something else that usually people would want to avoid. Similar to folding, yet the difference is while one is to hide an idea within the subconscious, the other is to publicly taint an activity. Cloaking, on the other hand, needs the right preparations, as in you cannot walk the streets invisible, but you can convince one person that you are, psychologically, with the proper chemical substances.
"One by one. It’s your time. Lead them both back to one. The sun has come. May its light lead them both back to one. Indivisible sum, here is the book now the saga has begun. He wonders if she is the one. ‘You’re the one.’ She wonders if he is the one. ‘You’re the one.’ Cold in the cell, lost and shivering. Gunshots in hallways unknown. On the fifth floor, past the blue door. Sat a changed 57821. Sir Greendown told his dear Cindi, fight like Achilles in Troy. I will show you the ways that I love you. I saved you so you would save the world. Because you are the one."From 57821 by Janelle Monae
Sometimes, two people can be spiritually combined to form one. Energies united create a stronger entity. An amoeba that would join with another. This is common socially among friends, a married couple, or people who have known each other for awhile. Also in entertainment where performers seem to do better and more exquisite work together as a group. A team of two, obviously, created through synergy are called a pair, which is usually formed when one person is lacking something the other would complete and visa versa. All of this started with an attempt of what can only be called as Love Extraction, I thought to myself earlier today. Sitting on the ground with my legs crossed on the sand, I raised my head up to the clouds in the sky. The light from the sun seemed to make a pathway to the heavens. I thought to myself, how comprehensible logic can seem fantasy when unexplained.
Everyone needs to find those influences built within the self that may be restrictive to progress. Especially the ones that might constrict awareness and the mind’s vision. The ones basically that would cause hypothetical blindness, deafness, or muteness. Influences that we ALL can do without. With looking within your own subconscious, you can find these influences, some easily, others with hours of effort and detox meditation. But once you do, you cannot just push a delete button. If the inner mind was a fabric, then each would be a sphere inserted through a small incision on that fabric. The poison some person or the other inserted within the mind at a lower state of consciousness must be removed, and most of time, the removal can only be made on your own. There are many methods, mine, which I use daily, is to deconstruct the idea. If a thought was a box in your mind, you can see its components in pieces. If it was a gun, then you would see a gun divided into individual parts floating in a void. afterwards the idea, thought, suggestion and its residual side effects would seize to exist. Yet don’t expect to see it in one form all the time. This is also called Rending. Love Extraction is basically a Rending followed by a Folding.
A correction to an interpretation to the verse from the Cow: “…and they choose what causes harm and does not add any real benefit to them. And they knew for whomever has used it (to divide a pair, for harm, harm that could only be reflected back at them, or for personal gain) will not have an appeal in the now after. And it is misery what they used it with if they only knew.” More concise and less verbose than the previous I believe.
The concept is simple, shred or “rend” the connection, then afterwards, fold any thoughts, memories, triggers that would reestablish the collaborative relationship, regardless of it being for research, business, entertainment, for love or any other reason. One way is through uglification. Person A is told that he or she is not sufficient for the coupling. Person B is told something similar on a separate occasion. Person A is then told not to be attracted to, or be in any kind of agreement with person B for so and so reason. Obviously, then reversed for person B. The process excessively repeated over a period of years. With uglification oscillating between person A and person B indefinitely.
To understand the process of uglification, you take two people in their early to mid 30’s, a male and a female. First, the male is presented with a self image. A false image injected into his subconscious about his own self, for him to believe in. Basically, what he should be. In this example, the image is of a creepy old man who is into younger ladies. Two, the image is then used to create a distance between the male and the female, since, the female does not fit the enforced criteria of “purity,” nor would she want the creepy old man. Three, the female is presented with a similar image of her own self of getting old or being too old. Four, the image is then used to create a distance between the two, since, the female would think that she is not of the criteria, I would assume.
This is just an example of an unwanted, enforced preference. The desirability of the young and untouched for being pure. Being coupled with any of such, meritorious. Purity is not in the body, purity is in the soul. This point is at the core difference between yesterday and tomorrow, east and west. In the past, most people were treated like cattle, and in some respects, many still are today. Yet today, the product of the evolution of our species is that a person must be able to make a choice for any kind on consensual relationship, or at least mature enough to choose. it is here and now that I see the true question: how can you choose who to be with if you cannot choose who to be?
Since people in an immediate environment can mislead, misdirect your thoughts and words. Writers who worry, sometimes, about consistency in tone, and authenticity of voice can find a solution in finding a quiet, tranquil space, outdoors and in nature far away from everything and everyone else. But you also begin to notice the people who follow you around everywhere, when you start working in the middle of nowhere. This is highly discomforting. Even more discomforting than when I sensed an uneasiness earlier today. Maybe it’s because of a heat rash over my entire body which has developed around my arms, my legs, the sides of torso. This made me feel like I was in literal flames while running today. But maybe it was something else. Like while wishing for our lives to be in peace, my life in particular, I could swear I heard a person say “may it be the opposite.” I must have said it too loud. I guess this is the kind of stuff you need to get used to, but why would anyone say such a thing? Why would a conscious being wish that on an another?
My mother had taught me when I was a kid that whenever I would feel any burning sensations, I should say: “Fire be cold and peaceful with Ebraheem.” This is of course from the story of when the prophet Abraham was thrown in a pit of fire. An ancient story mentioned in many sacred texts. With the application of an antibacterial ointment, and saying the phrase a few times, the burning, turned to slight stinging, then to nothing at all. I know now you cannot please everyone. When you start talking about vegetarianism for health and performance reasons, some would mistake it for an atheistic diet, others would go as far as to call it that. About three weeks ago, I was having a steak and cheese sub for dinner. When I was done, I wrote a few paragraphs then went to sleep. In the morning, the dream from the night before was of an anonymous asking me if he could speak to a person I used to know a few years back in Los Angeles. I answered I haven’t seen or heard of the person in years, but if you do, I told the anonymous, tell him I say hi. I continued to walk until I reached to this place which was situated underneath a large building, and seemed to look like a bar in Beirut. Inside, I asked a man for a beverage. He handed me a glass of water. I took a sip and noticed something floating in the fluid. It looked like beef. The man who handed me the glass smiled and this long flacking, wide tongue came out his mouth that went down all way to the bar table. The source of the meat in the glass was obvious. After this dream, I never had beef again. My later understanding of all of it was probably the guy who prepared my dinner, spat in it. A relief compared to the dream itself. Nightmares of this frightening nature do occur sometimes. The only recent one worse than this, would be a dream I had on the night of the 4th of July. It was a cloudy, stormy, night at the beach, and this is rare weather for my current location.
I thought to myself that night, it’s going to be a good night. I sat on the beach, set my belongings to the side, and went for a swim. the purple clouds reflected on ripples of water, the sound of the waves syncing with thunder, and I facing upwards with my body floating weightless. My next vacation must be to a lightly populated suburb that rains frequently, and would have a lake or ocean accessible for daily swimming, I thought to myself as the thunder got louder, and the streaks of light seemed to get closer. There were just a few sprinkles of water, so I decided it would be appropriate to meditate, pray, then sleep. I was getting tired and sleepy very quickly. This is odd since, from a young age I would take my time going to sleep. When I was a kid, reading a book would have been fine. Now, I would usually write or meditate. it is in incidents where I’d get drowsy in a split moment that I would think that I might need to stay awake. I probably slept while meditating that night, and in a dream state heard a person call a name: “hitler!”
The way it was pronounced was different from how I would say it, or anyone else I know might say it. The heavy Arabic accent in emphasizing the letter T, and rolling the R made it certain that someone else was there. As if someone was pushing me down, I pushed up and looked around. Nothing. No one was there. I rested my head on the sand, and just as I was about to go to sleep: “that was just a dream.” I shocked at hearing this had sat up again, and thought that was not a dream. But couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Later that night, it felt like I had woken up within a dream of the same place since something was different, the wild storm that evening had subsided completely in an instant, and with an eye half open saw a shadow cast on a boulder of my own self. But there was another figure cutting into my shadow with something. I perceived nothing on my physical body and somehow slipped back into unconsciousness.
The great Bruce Lee was defeated with a mirror. In his biography his mysterious death involved the mirrors in Enter the Dragon. I know this from my childhood. No one knows but that is what I speculated then and still hold this belief. His son, Brandon Lee, who also had an eerie death, died while filming the Crow. The scene of him breaking the mirror in his old apartment could be linked to Enter the Dragon. It was no surprise that when I decided to talk about the dream, someone tried to reflect it back at me. To prevent it from being spoken someone would say: “people would think it is something other than what you attend to communicate.” Well, I think then I must train myself to write concisely and as often as possible. “What makes you think you weren’t the person making the incisions.” The dream was like watching a story unfold through shadows. My shadow was playing the role of the person who couldn’t get up. “I know you are, but what am I” is preposterous when articulated and said directly, but as long as it is a matter of the subconscious, a dangerous move that could silence the most expressive person for years.
Silencing cannot be made without reflection. In theory, when someone tries to disguise him of herself as part of you, of course in a sedated, hypnotic state, it would be nearly impossible to see who. It is like fighting an opponent blindfolded and as difficult. Through speaking to you behind a mirror, a rival would attempt to make the person presume the discourse is between him and his own self. The way I defeated it. The way everyone defeats it, was by bringing the attention, the focus of the conversation or debate to the mirror itself. You say: why are you holding a mirror. A stumble is seen. The rival revealed. And it’s broken.
Hypothetically, when you hold a mirror up to another mirror a void of infinite dimensions is created, thus, a distance created by a massive push of force separating both parties. I sometimes do an interpretive remembrance of all this, a training through shadow fighting blindfolded using only a staff, a cain I picked up from LA.
Last November, I had a vivd lucid dream. I remember this because it was the second entry I made in a journal I started that month. In that dream, I was flying while holding a staff with one hand. People were firing at me, and I was blocking each bullet. This was followed by a person saying: “we don’t use violence.” And all of a sudden, my staff disappeared, temporarily. Then I was left on the ground in what looked like a humongous oval shaped arena. about the size of four stadiums. I stood on an elevated platform on the side of the structure. The platform was a spiral leading to an opening of the same size covered with a colossal black material. A horde in the space between were running towards me, angered and enraged at something. I did not know what. A strange tall shadowy figure appeared beside me and yelled: “RUUUUUN!.” I followed the person up the structure as a hail of bullets were being fired at our direction. It seemed the storm of a mob did not want the colossal inverted dome to be removed. All I could think of, all I wanted was for it to be removed. There were a number of poles holding it down; swiftly we found and pulled each one together until the cloth fell towards the ground and into nothingness. The sun came through, and the dream faded to white.
Indeed, everything does fade to white. A few days ago I thought to myself, after seeing a poster for a local award ceremony, maybe I should get formal white clothes with an ivory or cream colored cloak with some gold accents. Another thought presented itself then and there, maybe I should go for different colors. I pushed the thought back to where it came from, and said: there is a time for flamboyancy, and a time for conformity. For the entire duration I’ve been here, I’ve been wearing dark tone colors. Including a color reserved for females, black. The decision to wear these colors other than a personal preference, was to tell myself that I have a choice. But no. We do not. Some people will dictate the color of your underwear. And you have to conform. You must conform, or risk being viewed as the unnatural deviation, an irregularity that no one wants to help.
To only wear dark tone colors in some locations has been proven, witnessed, and experienced to be very problematic no matter what anyone else says. What you might think as exercising free will, is in fact interpreted as defiance. Even though our lives are not a chess table, even though there are more colors in the spectrum, more than black and white. More than blue and green. More. Still, you have to respect local customs and traditions. In order to progress, you need to first abide.
A lot of things would have been easier if this is how I viewed it from the start. I remember when I was still in California, I wore all colors including white, but something happened along the way. Specifically, when I first got back to the kingdom. Every man has a foundation. And I see now that when I first got back here early 2012, my foundation was recked. Day by day, more and more realizations and observations are proof of the incident. I had fell for the oldest trick in the book. With promises of food, shelter, treasure, and out of desperation, I had walked into a trap no question about it.
There is something enchanting about diving into the deep, vertically swimming downward, rotating your body with the motion, then switching upward. The sun shining through teal waters among the glittering colors of coral, and the schools of dancing fish make it ever more mesmerizing. These are my thoughts as I emerged from the water a few minutes ago. Yet until today, between diving in daylight or in darkness, I do not know which is better. Last night, a bright crescent moon along with a beacon on the shore was guiding my vision under water. To be surrounded by darkness, in the midsts of luminescent particles, organisms which only appear by movement, then rising for breath, for air, rising to the clear distant lights of the city.
To act or do an action, or saying a word producing one possible outcome in and for another person can only be called manipulation. Beginning with colors. When one attempts to enforce something on the other, a resistance is sure to be met. Especially in the case of this particular person, me. But what if the attempts of enforcement, whether it be color or anything else, was to evoke a counter compliant attitude. I say these words while remembering one person saying angered and enraged: “what ever is black, WE WILL PAINT WHITE.” These words were said with a hand gesture of a paint brush going up and down in my face. These words were said, two weeks after I got back, uncoincidently, while I was wearing black. This is called Knotting. To make a psychological knot in a person’s head preventing or promoting a viewpoint, without the consent of the person being knotted, or course. Scientifically called conditioning. In the Book of Patterns called: Dyeing, since it is to color a person with something they are not. To implant a character trait, a fear, a worry, a viewpoint or attitude towards one’s own self or others, towards this or that part of the world, absolutely anything. Dyeing is in fact, dying. One would be at risk of permanent and fatal damage if the main components of identity are tampered with, but that is not all. You would be the slave of whomever made the knot until its unknotted. Unknotting or Bleaching is to revert back to preconditioning original state through open discourse and conversation. To revert back to natural colors.
An experience, under controlled conditions or not, can prevent someone from doing something for years, for decades. When I was younger, I was sexually abused in a swimming pool, at night. The memory and its influences have been deconstructed. This is evinced with my nightly dive. Through talking about it to confidants and loved ones, it has been unknotted, recently. Before then, swimming at night would have been impossible, and I wouldn’t have known the reason why. It is no joke that the verse from King Solomon is an element of my foundation. If you would venture into the depths of my own self, you would find this verse suspended in a vacuum of energy of my soul. A person would assume otherwise, but the verse was one of the first pieces, segments of my own self that were removed, deviously through Knotting and Folding, along with exercising and reading books among many other things, less than a few days after arriving back to the kingdom. Also, not to mention a toothbrush and glasses, since WHAT kind of use would the dead have for a toothbrush or glasses?
The first time I ever noticed something of an extraordinary nature was during one full week of my masters program mid 2011. Something very odd occurred simultaneously at the peak of work pressure and load. While trying to figure out what to worry about more, the lack of funds for food and rent, or good enough martial for review, I remembered a track. The animation in the music video was similar to what I was working on at the time, and the last time I heard it or saw it was sometime around the turn of the century. “Remind Me” by Royskopp. After which, the strongest illogical desire to go back to Saudi Arabia for a day or two was felt. this was an illogical notion for a number of reasons, first and foremost, my work. But something was pulling me back, someone was promising me a solution for every problem I was facing. A foolish decision that caused a number of direct consequences, a domino effect on everything I was working on and for. When I returned back to the states, my entire life at that time had turned into hell.
In those two or three days, I thought I should pack my best clothes and look my sharpest. I had thought that my relatives and neighbors would be happy with my success. But I was wrong, because a few were not. From the entire trip, I can remember being given a touch screen device with a book called: “Flatland” in it, a little more than twenty five hundred dollars, and a few inquiries about my residence and my friends in the states. And that was it, I was sent on my way back. It was there where I thought: how can an illogical decision seem even more illogical after taking it. But thought to myself then, it’s probably nothing.
I was making something good for myself, someone did not like this fact, obviously this person was in Saudi Arabia. Too good for my own good. This was unexpected to many especially that same person, I now assume. It was in that trip back in 2011 that I began to notice all the psychological bombardment. I also assume that I was followed to Los Angeles to my residence, because if I was not, I am sure none of what has happened would have happened. The book Flatland only made matters worse since after reading it, my realist approach to research was transformed into an abstract abject view. After the trip, it was evident that instead of thinking about architecture and about my upcoming review, I was caught in a web of nebulous nonsense.
Although I had an auspicious start, I was later distracted from my work and path with questions unrelated to the subject of research—shapes for living space. The overwhelmingly behemoth inquiry was: is there something called a soul or a spirt and if yes, can it be transferred into a circuit board, into an electrical intangible nature. No doubt insanity is to consider such a question, since if proven possible it would also mean the feasibility of multidimensionality theory. One would perceive being somewhere and actually be somewhere else. Naturally, the next matter of thought in the stream of consciousness was WHAT if it already happened. What if your place of work was not what it actually is, maybe something bad like a prison or the like. Then, or course, the reaction would be why go there to do research, work, or study? In hindsight, the explanation to all this can be described as Path Blocking. To present contradictory thought to a system of thought that would also be, and is, fatally destructive to ANY thought. Silencing over thoughtlessness. A scientist or rationalist would dismiss any ideas that are undocumented or unproven immediately as fables, but when these are among many other ideas, possibilities, among worries and hardship, it would be impossible for anything to be a matter of debate, hence, impossible to distinguish fact from fiction. Path Blocking through disorganization that made a pinhole in the intellect of “what if…” when the real question should have been “how to…”
Blameworthy antagonists who will transgress in trying to catch people on what could be a prosperous endeavor, and will attempt to set them off track, to put them off balance with this distraction or that digression, with this inquiry or that question. In less than a week after the short trip, I received a few, actually come to think more than a few, threats from anonymous people. Day and night, and mostly in Arabic. From threats of murder to entrapment, threats of torture and incarceration, threats of drugging and kidnapping, I heard it all. Within a few days of being exposed to that, I was deprived of sleep, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t think, I was consumed in fear. This triggered my first ever panic attack.
Who was it that came with me on the way back from the trip? Or better yet, who was calling me on that device? Why were they so angry? Could it be because I began to hear what I wasn’t suppose to hear? could it be because I wrote a missive of love which was more of a discreet call for help? It could have been anything. During the panic attack, rational thinking was impossible. I felt like a toy, or a soccer ball being kicked from one side to the other. I feared for my life, and it was not fun. if someone told me then and there, I would be trapped in a computer, I would’ve believed it, and probably did. If someone told me then and there, I would be fed to a giant octopus monster alien, I would have believed it, and of course, probably did. Fear consumes logic.
The nightmare was cut short after spending the night at a public hospital near Santa Monica. A female psychiatrist, highly attractive and soft in tone and disposition, who resembled an ex girlfriend, philanthropically reassured me that there was nothing to fear. That I just needed some rest and sleep. I after leaving the hospital, booked a hotel near the ocean. This was because my apartment was not near any calming natural scenery, which I needed at the time. And also, I needed space from everything and everyone. I comforted myself on large soft bed with saying: probably it was all a nasty prank, just a bad joke. Nothing too serious. And then relief.
One week of living in fear from what might’ve been a bunch of sick pranks, and another of recovery from that fear resulted in missing two weeks of a crucial point in the semester. In retrospect, the result seems like the only logical reason why it happened. I mention this story not out of regret, but only to remind my future self what some people are capable of doing and saying to stop a person from running, from climbing, from working. A strategy of hinderance, nonetheless, should be recognized. Now, if I ever receive a threading phone call, I would politely ask the person to send a letter with whatever he or she is saying. The antagonizing individual would be relieved from anger after writing it out, and I would have a document to prove it. A win win situation. Or I would try to record the conversation. Sometimes exploitation and public exposure is the best remedy. In fact, all the times.