In June of 2007, Park introduced me to Aerial and as I began to draw her I saw that she moved in her own way. Her name was changed to Katrina while I came home from my medial tasks of going to the library to check my email then go to Safeway to get more food. Always either in Lacey or Olympia and always by bus, but only twice did I meet Katrina in the flesh, the second time, she had a boy with her. I was about to turn twenty-eight and becoming more and more of a alcoholic, as I took another shot from a mini vodka bottle and looked out the drawn blinds to the house across the yard. I looked to see if anyone was there but nobody was so I laid back down on my bed and fell back asleep.
I fell asleep and was taken back somewhere in 2007, A couple more took me there yet again around 2015, and just before I awoke just the other morning I think I may have had one more where went back once and for all. They were three or four trips to what I know recognize as my personal pose Edenic Paradise, An actual place where I could go If I let go of this physical world and trusted alone in Jesus Christ. A place I could remain disembodied and be happy for ever until it came time to answer a call from the Lord, but only if I did something heroic. Now on the brink of my realization by that one act of heroism done to myself, I can clearly see the path leading to Christ and his Father, and the father-land. I believe the dreams were preparing me for this, and now on this night of Tuesday, September the 10th, 2019, I am sealing my fate and letting go of my youth once and for all.
Three or four anonymous soul-mates elevate me with wisdom, they are complete strangers but I had somehow already known them from before I was even born. They began to soothe me upstairs in the attic of a bedroom inside our informal and lost reception house. It used to be our headquarters but we returned to it gathering cobwebs amid a vast and boundless untouched wheat field. The wheat outside was bright golden yellow and innocent in all of its untouched and super-natural beauty. But inside the weathered and bleached wood planks we are the harvested and processed wheat, given a name by God but that we lost a long time ago, and in search of finding it again, anew. The vengeful, staunch and just atmosphere of the room is seen through the dust in the air, it hangs in my nostrils and clings to my clothes, while narrow visible strips of yellow sun light decorate the air and our connected and blissfully slumbering minds. Yes, it was peaceful, blissful and shielded us in privacy. In the dim shadows I could not tell if there were more entryways attached to the ceiling or built into the floor but it was cluttered and I could see a what appeared as scattered clothes, some school supplies, a back-pack, pen and pencil. The people were young but at the same time very old, some heads of hair were red and at other times they were black. At first I see a female and then I turn around to face a male. All I can do is bask in their presence amid a torrent of outward radiating love and we’re all on the same page, all of us, we are all a part of the same hive mind.
I awoke with a longing to be back in their company, even after waking up, thinking maybe I am losing touch with avatars of real people somewhere out there, who are sleeping with me, sleeping in the physical world.
Whoever they were and whatever they did, it would prove effective the following year; In October 2008 I re-enlisted back into active duty Army. I already had prior service from 2002 to 2006. In retrospect, those two years from November 2006 to October 2008 would be my first reality check and bleak realization that I could not make it in the real world. I was given a hand of cards I could not play by a people who did not at all play with a full deck. Going back out into the real world only to have to Go back into the Army was God’s way of bringing me slowly back out of the muck and mire of my own naive self denial. Back out of the dark and murky bins of unawareness of sin and of righteousness where psychological damage had already begun to stain my cramped and cluttered mind. Over a six year span of time you would whisper to me while in my own nocturnal heaven, and it all kicked back off on New Years Eve of 2012; I ordered a bag of superfly agaric and began to trip balls, writhing and squirming in my bed because my mind was imagining an apparition of a female soul taker. She was coming in on her train or her monorail in all of her homely brattiness, with her mother too perhaps, coming to get me under skylights like I saw at that train station in Paris, ugly purple and yellow! Then I opened my eyes and time reappeared as if running on film, and I could see the numbers which inhabited the invisible dimension in my head. I had just bought a Kahr MK40 no more than two months ago, after staying at my parents in Olympia. I had just ETSed out of Ft. Stewart where I burnt the skin under my eyes badly cause I was a alcoholic with unchecked anxiety, where drinking left me in bad physical health and bad mental health. Their neighbor for whatever reason, chose to use our parking spot while they were gone and my frazzled alcoholic brain registered it as an intruder and I got scared. I think that same day, I left by foot in the snow to buy that Kahr MK40. But that wasn’t why I really bought the gun, I think I bought it for a subconscious reason that had not yet by the mercy of God raised its ugly head. I even came close to accidental suicide after moving out of my parents into a closet room in the U-District of Seattle. During one of my nights of drinking, and hearing AWOLNATION’s Sail on the radio, I picked up my gun to pretend to shoot my computer. It was chambered and I could’ve easily pulled the trigger thinking it would not shoot, or even worse pretended to shoot myself only to find a real bullet spraying my brains all over that tiny room. I thank God that never happened.
November 2013 I think would the inchoation of my successful adult life, and where my youth would first slowly begin to fade. And its these dreams must cross over adorned in the full armor of God with the sense that I will never make it unless I do something heroic to remove the ugliness that’s been bestowed upon myself. I started to become a giant in my heart because I knew I had to overcome something up ahead, something that I eventually had to do to myself; And so there I found myself on the sixth floor balcony of an apartment building, surrounded by fur trees many times taller than the building itself. It was sunny, and beautiful and I was trying to tell my family that many years ago, humans stood taller than even the trees which loomed out in front of the balcony, but they refused to believe me. Immediately after that I was taken high up in the air over a city that looked like Houston, the city I was born. But I was still not high enough to the same height as the head of a titanic, spindly plant creature I saw far out in the distance amid a tornado like wind. It’s long spindly appendages morphed into a more human form then it shrank and densified into Doctor Doom, but still a towering giant Doctor Doom in a costume and cape with hood, and he began to tower over me as I approached closer and closer. The closer I got the more he increased in vividness as his massive arms moved closer to me, until he got so close he caught me in his hand and his titanic form towered directly over me. I crossed under his shadow and then I remember looking down to see if he would hit any buildings but he never did! Standing on this titanic beings hand was like your coolest movie in 3d and on dmt.
I fell asleep to summer-land three or four times after I ETS’ed from Ft. Stewart, and I came to realize summer land had rem dream portals to follow that would take you to its extremely vivid states, but I did not have the lucid capability to find them on my own. They just decided to appear one night, with dmt gifted to me from the titans and giants. It’s excreted from our pineal gland which was once the third eye of our giant ancestors who always saw with their third eye in their dreams. I began opening my third eye as I went through a dream portal overlooking the Bryckingham Palace. It was super massive and carved like those 16th century mud-flood master pieces that were torn down and thrown in the swamp. It was too clean, an opulent decadence deemed too worthy, so I ran across the bright artificial golf turf, between one story flat white plaster homes calling for help. I trip over a neighbors lawn hose to instantly be sent into a subway portal. I walk around and find a grey hound bus to board which takes me to a downtown library courthouse. I go up the stone steps and inside to see books and records of my life and lives of others, and then go to my old house on Mattson Road overlooking the new landscape dotted with water and islands and seeing Oakville in the distance, looking much more built up in the future. I then play hand rock scissors dressed like a bear in a dark and brown dream portal chamber and come out the other side within many trees and covered in jungle growth. This is my grandparents old house, just up the hill from my parents, it was hidden behind trees that were inhabited by Sasquatch, but they rarely show themselves to us. Down the hill through the trees is my parents house. I have to sneak into my sister’s room first to get the weed but its always sometime in the late afternoon where I walk onto the deck to talk to her. I wake up in my old basement room with a orange and green tiger carpet covered in a warm light, and it seems somebody did well in keeping this place up. I look out the window to see an opportunistic orange dusk rising up over the 70 acre property and so I run into its green fields and its copious forests. I may even have to undergo the wrath of my parents one last time but even after I wake up I vaguely wish that I lived there again, and I’m the one with the big house overlooking that dream portal that lay next to paradise. Because after I fall back asleep there’s a Motel portal, were I’m walking outside along a flat wooden walk, with its old dried out boards laying side to side in the same direction as steps or staircases and I never can find my room. So I begin walking up and down a busy main street vaguely remembering being part of a cadre that were too immature so I came down from my high shadow hideout where I could see a bright reptilian sub-division parked way below. I end up upstairs in a red Victorian holiday house with burgundy walls. My housemates bedroom smells like potpourri and I visit her upstairs in a spacious silver living room installed with futuristic purple lava lamps, but I feel so groggy and sluggish that the dream becomes terribly vivid in a way that freezes me and makes me immobile, but at least I’m in the company of a friendly stranger; Dad’s Tarkiss car almost drown me in the blue waters, but I grabbed a hold of his net while standing on the dock and took me into his red many roomed flat. But upstairs in a parallel dream I huddle in a turret behind blowing transparent sheets, drinking coke in a purple blue neon lit house. I somehow end up on the galactic federations space docking station. I was one of the first to board a super sonic train that enters into a dark tunnel. Out the other side I step onto a aerial docking station where I board a large hi-tech commercial air-craft, I have to wear ear-buds and other gear just to handle the noise and ruckus of the flight. But I ultimately ended up in space, not an endless and infinitespace, but a finite and celestial heaven, inhabited at the very center by a super-massive sheening and glistening orb that is all-intelligent and putting on a cerebral light and effects show.
And then I finally enter back into Post Edenic Paradise, either all in one trip or broken up into two or more. I’m taken to a subterranean marine base housing a four dimensional interactive globe of prehistoric Earth, there visitors charter the path they are to take. I remember chartering a specific course and then I paddled my way through a dark viaduct leading out of the base’s main station. I paddled through a black tunnel and then out into an open power-station built half in the water and half out. Here, the orbis geographica of antiquity began coming closer into view, and I began to see how over eons, the land masses began to spread further and further apart to create the oceans of today, nevertheless, the water of this particular area was still a bright and sparkling indigo color, and you could see right through down to the coral reef biome which still separated the land masses by just a few miles of shallow tropical seas. Because of this I was able to gauge how well I could handle the rest of my life, it dealt with channeling our giant prehistoric ancestors and learning wisdom from their teaching.
After my charter I’m dropped uninvited into a giant Victorian Pre-tartarian house in mid day. I can tell from the sterile off-white light coming in through the cymatic windows. I was never told anything was here but I felt a presence telling me I had to find my way out without getting caught, and the thing I never saw that inhabited that house was a beautiful giantess with long jet-black hair. I seemed to fall out of an antique Victorian sewing box that folded out of a cabinet in the wall, as if I was a gnome you see in those fake YouTube videos. But I finally made it unscathed out of the house and into her giant flower garden and planting beds, and somehow over her giant boulders which fenced her prehistoric mansion from outside invaders. But outside of those pristine and vivid walls was nothing but a barren land of tumble weeds and inhabited by nomadic Amalakite tribes. Yet there was a tinge of paradise in the air that grew more intense as I walked close under the legs of the giants who appeared out there. They were towering and adorned in toothed necklaces and clutching tungsten pikes. But I threw my fear to the side and still kept treading my path, until the giants faded away and I ended my journey in the company of a tour guide who led me to a city out in that vast and flat desert. I entered into a a city of megalithic temples and fortresses under a looming arch and entered into a temple where I was shown or given something divine and dealing with my path.
As I began to exit post edenic paradise I found my exit dream portal in the pages of my favorite comic book artist, Geoff Darrow. I was marveling at his detailed and intricate work on the blue biomechanical Godzilla. It had interconnecting appendages and it covered a vast space which formed its own colorful alien world.
I realized it was my own illustration that I was doing for fun and at that point I may have entered back into some prehistoric city that existed at some point in the distant distant past. The architecture of the buildings and the very landscape itself had a sort of cartoon, fish eye lens effect to them that was very subtle. The sky was not blue but red, as if such a heavy dusk was setting that the light retreating off the refracting glass in the sky dimmed the Sun’s rays to appear red and no longer bright yellow. I appeared to be entering a city built on a lava canyon with metal steps and stone staircases. They led me into a fabricated wall of buildings, slightly dilapidated, masterfully fashioned and stacked one upon the other, like some ornate prehistoric shanty metropolis. Once inside I passed through a narrow door and through two or three cluttered rooms, into and even more cluttered space no larger than a closet. Standing within its tiny opening I faced the skull of a sixteen foot giant on display, amid a wide array of maps, gadgets and tools, used for finding the truth but long lost to time. I believe my brother was with me briefly, refusing the validity of this giant skull even as he stood there staring at it. I could not help him see the truth and I left going back out same way I came in.
It would be on June 11th, 2014, my birthday, I would catch a fleeting glimpse of what I thought was a tiny glowing orb that looked wispy in the air, directly above my head. I saw it as I was walking back from 7-11 and I swear it was only for no more than a second. I feel it was foreshadowing a brighter future and it already knew what I did not yet know myself, even at that stage. Only after I came back from visiting my cousin over the fourth of July did I have the epiphany that life as I’d known it was no longer worth living . . . unless. The same year I had three nightmares, the first was more of a morningmare, cause it happened when the sun was shining down into my window. It was of a demonic face with piercing eyes that bulged red and veiny, and it would not stop staring menacingly back at me. But I feel it had just as much to do with the alcohol addiction I was battling a couple years prior, as I was still overcoming it and I was in one of its last throws. The second was of myself, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time, I was staring back at myself sitting down on a bench behind tinted glass doors. I could not see my own face, just the sides of my legs, I was horrified to open the doors and pass by this stranger, and just the sight of his presence chilled me to the bone. The third was of myself again, and I was looking at myself and I saw that my head was caved in and I appeared like a hideous mushroom man with a horrible fungus, hideous features and debilitating handicap. I was hopeless in front of my peers who could do nothing to help me. These were all portends to a fate that was quick manifesting into permanent reality unless I did not take drastic action to turn it all around.
2014 winded down and I began my first year of un-fucking what the orthodontist clinic that still stands today allowed done through abusive adoptive parents and an incompetent foster home. This is where it starts to get crazy for me, this is what ultimately ended up giving me PTSD undergoing the process. Not because of doing what I was doing to myself, but having to see the look on peoples faces as they were seeing the apparent results. I thought it would all go smoothly but that was far from the case, it would go about as rough as you can imagine it going. As January turned to February, and February turned to March, humanity as I’d known it would grow more wrathful and less hospitable. At first I tried immersing myself in my work but by the end of 2015, working became more and more unbearable and simply pushing my face back out became more and more the only priority. But as I began my second year of un-fucking what that yes man orthodontist had done, I was not paying attention to the damage I was doing to my left cheek. Still I went on with it, high out of my head on weed and buzzed until I got leaky gut off of too much caffeine. And then the second Amanita binges began, this time gifted with patches running along my daily route to the grocery store and into town by something divine. It was during the second muscimol trips that Adam and Eve both bid me one last blessing, on an intense muscimol high that had left me vomiting. Still, they waved to me from somewhere southwest of time and told me to write on the wall if I saw them, so I did. I wrote I could see them waving and I waved back, as I could vaguely see them through time. I might meet them again and I sensed these lives we live now are nothing but brief illusions. I continued languishing in downward descending physicality, sick to my stomach from a toxic dose of muscimol when I sensed an invisible alien like entity, some akin to a squid or some being with many appendages, it came briefly into my room to see who was calling him up. The dark being was invisible but I still knew it was there, it came in with a powerful rush, squirming into my room and passing through the wall under the ceiling, inside my darkened closet. But then it left just as quick as it came, and all I was left with was its brief reverberating echo to move on. I could also sense we are the ones somehow still underwater and this concave reality is causing us to form invisible bubbles that run up and in toward the center of Earth. Then I really got a sense of this fake holographic simulation as I stared blankly at the wall and then threw up into my cooking pot. I turned off the lights in a daze and began entering into chapter two of this ensuing wrathful evil eye and glares that were throwing daggers into my stomach.
As I was at the bus stop making my way down to Parkland, where I moved, I believe I saw what had planted those amanitas while at the bus station during a blustery and wet day; through the clouds in the sky I swear I saw a white orb. It was so high that it would be nearly impossible to catch unless I did not point it out to you, and even then it would be hard to see because of its pure whiteness blending in so well with its surroundings. It occurred to me that maybe it had something to do with the blustery weather that month and the growth of the amanitas along the road. Whatever the reason it brought in chapter two. It seemed I came out from the dark, cold and whipping rain to a new place that I hoped briefly would welcome me, I spent my new years chocking down my last dried out amanita in a new room with wood flooring in Parkland, the seedy, unincorporated commercial district of Tacoma. Disappointed it only gave me a buzz, I walked out into its dark cold concrete to get a couple more cheladas. Its stretch went on for miles under dead electric lights, fast food signs and gas stations. Even though I moved to a student neighborhood next to PLU I was feeling like a foreigner in a foreign land that was desolate, dark, cold and black. My left molar was so far back I had to be willing to cause a certain degree of damage to my left cheek in order to get it out far enough to where I could continue on. What damage and pain I was causing was masked under a marijuana and caffeine riddled trance, and I lost sight of that again. Instead I though about how to heal myself and get myself right after this short but extreme second chapter was over.
Winter turned to spring and spring into summer, I remained aloof and writhed in my chair as I pushed and pushed and pushed. I turned the house into a festering dump, nobody took out the trash and it became overran by fruit flies. Still, I continued on as I watched Joe Rogan Experience on my Wacom Cintiq and fell further into physical decay with caffeine and chocolate rotting my stomach. October saw menacing cops in flashing lights, driving into the parking lot as I make my way back to an empty home. My little snitch firewall is going crazy, flashing red ip addresses and hostnames on my screen and telling me I am in danger, but I am not listening. Two latinos or mexican males, younger around in their twenties come into the house and break into Kristin’s room right across from me. I would be forced to throw my garbage into other people’s trash bins and the only one left, Kristin, is always gone either at work or somebody else’s house, and she never wants to come back inside. The yard was turning into a miniature junk yard and I had to move out of there or else, but I know I left Kristin with a minor psychological stain on her brain that she will never be able to easily erase.
That is the end of that part of my life, a short and extreme part to this shapeshifter journey that would lead me ultimately to Centralia. Somehow, after losing $400.00 to a scared young lady in Olympia, I made my way back down to Centralia, where I was sent to a orthodontic clinic there on a whim as a boy. I still remember it somewhat vaguely, It was like any other sunny summer day. I thought I was going out to run errands with her like usual but she told me completely out of the blue; ‘We’re going to the Orthodondist’. And so I said goodbye to this world and goodbye to Chehalis. The other little town right next to Centralia that Marcy Playground sings about in their song ‘One More Suicide’. Only it wasn’t my own suicide but rather the suicide of my parents. But now in Centralia I hear that long lost Lady Gaga paparazzi remix under the cool shade of a pool table. Above, the warm paradisaical sun beat down its drums and beats until the sweet melody fled from my ears. For down here I finally got to take a real assessment of how much damage I’d done so far. It lead me to a place where I almost lost symmetry in my left cheek, so that’s when I visited the hummingbird next to the blossoming willow tree, and with my brother by my side he witnessed it too as I just laid there in awe of the rubenescence that emanated out of my faded and spice addled sub-consciousness in gorgeous and uniform lines. Eating even smiling would once again became manageable, still determined to break my own jaw at all costs, at all costs, as long as I could end what was happening for some reason now outside. Already seeing a tiny light just starting to break through, or so I thought.
But now hope washed over me even though I was melancholy because the summer evenings were ruined from having to separate from my family. I just sat there in my chair having to listen to Golden Girls next door, and not yet realizing that next year would bring a messy and bloody first PRP session. A January of losing a little too much blood and feeling the cold shock while having to clean it up of the plastic bags and the carpet and blood stained floor. And then I walked out into the cold snow, not knowing if I would ever get the chance to heal my damaged cheek up properly ever again.
But I did end up healing my cheek properly, with PRP, now here I still find myself back in Centralia, where as a young adolescent I rode in the back of her car laughing hysterically at vintage music, she didn’t like that and she didn’t like me, her daughter sat beside her being brainwashed in site of a minority, but still I went and overcame and I’ve pushed my face almost completely back out. But back then I knew nothing, riding around this podunk town I should have known I was given over to state sanctioned democratic atheism and mental illness, and the act I would have to do on myself as a grown man, right here, where I was as a twelve year old, still with my God given face. But today to get my God given face back comes not without its price, 2018 was frightening, I’ve never been attacked like that in such a unattractive barrage of ignorant hostility before, but it slowly began dissipating in the summer heat, until ultimately landing me in a stinky room with a nasty offensively stained carpet. Not far from my old place, the first place I lived back here in Centralia. Winter 2018 came cold, the snow came high and frightened me and depressed me, and left me shivering in my air-mattress and dreaming of the Library..going there to download more music. Alice DJ always said I was better of alone and for some reason Jymmie-Reed began reaching out to me. A lady that with whom I almost got an assistant nursing job through in March 2019, and where I bought scrubs and wasted a bunch of money and almost went to classes for a quarter as a stupid naive Centralia Collage student studying to be a CNA. So I decided to talk to my atheist sister in our old kitchen as fleeting thoughts of a military life brought ‘gym workouts’ again, but then I thought, what if our dreams are actually brief revelations of our next life? An eternal life granted by God for our faith in JesusChrist?
I found myself the male hunting partner of a attractive demon slayer. She used her Katana sword with skill and frequently found herself defending me for my own safety against these pale skinned demonic giants, with sharp teeth and pointy ears like the demons mentioned of in hell. I met the cursed Kanannites off the side of a dirt road deep in the rural outlands. They came forth out from the tall trees bathed in the yellow and orange fire of the Sun. They stood about sixteen or seventeen feet tall, some with pale blue skin, others ashen grey, and others even albino, or with faces so decomposed that they may as well be skeletons with rotted skin still covered over them. Their chieftain, with flesh toned red skin looked close at me and saw the strength, the heart, and the fortitude that inhabited my tiny body and just stood their briefly staring at me in awe and poorly concealed reverence. Still they came out and began pursuing us and attempting to cut us down with their smouldering hot whips. But we narrowly escaped the wrath of those demons from Hades riding on the back of a safari jeep, as the children of Cain who still sought after me and trailing behind me, flicked their lips at me that came out like smaller whips and still engulfed in the flames of their own habitation. After the battle ensued, my female counterpart said; “I advise you stick to your day job, boss, or you might want to work on practicing more often.” Still, as I came too reality I was still thinking of never doing this again, and never again having to look at those ugly and hideous demonic faces.
Hellenistic Artemis came to me in the form of a dragon slayer who’s foe was Hydros and came from the sea, her place of attack was atop the wooden Eiffel energy tower and she needed no standard weapons. She only needed her father’s helmet and directed energy weapon from a large wooden chest, after donning the gear that was too big for her body the enormous Leviathan immediately hid back underneath the sea.
So eternal life it was, camping within a lustrous painting, a forest with genius strokes creating real branches that reflected a kaleidoscopic yellow mosaic sun, as it sets behind the threes, the cherries reflect its yellow and orange light, they could be pick up and eaten, and the ceder trees have depth to them as you walked in, deeper and deeper, and even deeper. And somewhere, far in the distance but too far to be seen with the naked eye were the Hebrews, the tall whites emanating the holy spirit from their naked bodies and living their lives in harmony under the 10 laws of Moses. But when I went back to the camp-site and entered back into my cabin the people there were all small and all from my past, and they stayed on cots next to open windows that had no pains of glass.
Nonetheless [waking], all around me is still that continual barrage of circus side-show torment that only has the illusion to dissipate, because when I see that my torment is still present I tell myself; ‘but to dissipate to what end?’.
It continues to dissipate with the argument I had with her over the phone in April and with the guilt and the fear that I felt afterward of never being able to get a job. With no internet as I wake up listening to my own personal soundtrack which complimented my dream, and if I woke up in just the right position behind my open window blinds, the sun would shine down on my face and there it would infuse me in waking slumber with divine songs.
It dissipates with my going many times to use the internet at Starbucks and with my starting to pay for the Xfinity wifi hotspot where I live, with my listening to Pooh-sticks in 2019, and even going so far as to write about it. And it dissipates with another nightmare, one I’ve had before, about my face looking different and my nose seemingly missing, in it’s place a prosthetic one made of rubber, bulbous and dirty, it’s coming off and hard to keep in its place, it’s edges worn and tattered.
My future glinted last night, and in the early morning, yesterday morning, in the frost glinting on the windshield of Jymmie-Reeds stolen jeep. With her and my sister Lee on a white snowy hill, coming down submerging into the cold snowy icy black lake but not really feeling anything or hearing one drop or splash of water. Sliding smoothly, and subtly across the black ice and back into saving Grace at the Chehalis river at South Bank Rd. At first it is enormous, like the Colombia River and a enormous cruise ship travels down the right coast. Glinting with metals and iron and glass, its beautiful, and the trees and the jagged mountains off the coast are beautiful, but it goes away with a storm, and sweeps my boat away into the abyss of sleep. Back onto South Bank Rd.. I take a detour at the bridge, and go underneath it to wade in the cool water, similar to submerging into the cold dewy icy black lake, Amy was there calling my sister Lee, and they stayed with me as girl friends stay with a young black-latino. Wading across the water to the shore Amy sat wet and nonchalant. Lee meets me high in the air to witness and give salvation to the giant flailing Indian stick-man, made of totem poles that were never carved. It gave me a temporary cleanliness that was my ticket onto a feckless bus-ride out of my rural childhood. Where I once lived in real life in a real large but rural home. In the back of this bus, sweet and cool and pristine and clean, I look out the vaguely tinted window onto Teckla Cartwright’s childhood home, but it looks different and more luxurious with its brick walls vanishing behind trees and overlooking the landscape. And its as I past back down Garrard Crk. Rd that it appears slightly different, while I’m on my way back I slowly begin to realize I’m actually entering back into Post Edenic Paradise, and my bus ride takes me back out of my rural home land and back into the rural suburbs cast down with post edenic morning sunlight. The rural suburbs of long past forgotten one story flats, nestled deep within comfortable pockets of post edenic chaos sprawling out and urbanizing into one uptown singularity. The familiarity of Post Eden! The Fatherland! I briefly have to put on travelers shades as attendants prepare my own gear. They take me onto the freeway and under a tunnel. I come back out and I see downtown Seattle not far of in the distance. I’m on a Greyhound skirmishing with the battle bots with invisible long lost technology. It’s a trolly now probably, but its nowhere to be found, only the red and grey and yellow bus stop that looks vintage and the robotic apparition made up of bits and shards of black waking nothingness. And very close now in the distance loom the sky scrapers, located in the center of the place where I can be if I just let go of the physical world and win over the demons that are keeping me from the world of the Lord and the Savior, our Jesus Christ!