a summer kidnapping

Recently t’is come to my attention that I have been kidnapped. When I wrote about this and no one cared a long, long time ago I felt disappointed. After all, most of the people I wrote to owed me for this is this or that is that. What can I, am single-footed single eyed pirate, a poet a writer in Bolivia do for such a wide and wild assortment of people? I was and am who I always will be. A personality like now you will know.

Let me begin with the summer that I think this began. 1973 I was crying. Why? My parents were yelling and screaming and excited.

And? That night an angel, or at least what I thought was an angel, appeared and I think that is where I will awake after this horrible dream is over. Back in 1973.. Oh wait.. It could not be 1973. For you see the real date today 2021 is 2013 don’t you see. Spacetime kidnapping of souls that should have gone to heaven and ended up in hell is the most devious of stories I find these days.

So the year must have been 1965? In yet I was born in 1971 in this realities calendar? Which was real? A twist of time is terrible, don’t you see. For I am the luckiest to be born at the wrong time in a right place to be stolen. No, not by Peter Pan, but the Montauk group? Who can say? I know I am not from here, that is for sure. And you? If I am telling you this story has been dead billions of years, for I saw your future. And? I have seen it perish too.

That is how it works in a closed time curved loop reality after all. You may destroy me. You may destroy my poetry. You may laugh at my stories. But I am afraid in the end. I will remember who I am? And you? You were a passing summer tale I will remember at the age of four. And I hope forget to be honest. Not much I like about this tale.

Surely there was some good and decent folks here? I imagined that for the longest time. I imagine heroes and battles and victory for mankind. Now?

I see a Dyson sphere or heaven in the night sky. And? If Microsoft patent 2000060606 is the mark in Revelation, we or you are all dead and become a virus to the sphere. And?

You can not get into it. Nor can I, most likely. However I still have apart to play. A small part. You see, I am still dying and until I do. There is hope for me. And for you? Repent if you can. Pray if you can. An ending is an end, and you had a life once without this story. Lived it to the end of time. And? Now, this is your second life. A chance to change your ways to repent if you can. And will you?

I doubt it. Fate is fickle. That was the summer of 1973. Then in summer of 1978. I am pretty sure I died. And? My soul trapped elsewhere for a time prior to President Carter nuking the hell out of Russia in some long ago forgotten reality.

Then again in 1984 I know it changed yearly up to 1990. And now? I have no idea where my real soul belongs. And I wonder summers spacetime among those Mandela effected people realizing that Montauk project is real and hating people for this evilness towards me.

Not a good summer. In yet.

Summer is something at times.

I now am in a Bolivia where I am freezing my feet off for somehow my 73 degree home has chilled and reality shifted that instead of 2500 due west of where south America is today and 300 miles north Bolivia La Paz is where it is today.

Meaning?

I am closer to the south pole for some reason I need warmth where I used to be finely heated and cooled each night.

Sagittarius to Orion ventures again.. So where do I find myself this fine summer?

Someplace I hate? Not really. To be honest, I don’t hate. I can see your stories. I understand your desires.

However, they cost me. And personally I have not been paid back. And?

Well, all good story tellers know there is a payment at the end of a story such as this.

You lived your life once without payment, twice without payment, even up to seven times without payment.

And now? I am passing back through here whence I was and whence I came and in my parting writing tales of this is this and that is that for all who can read them.

For what? Fate is real. Either you are fated to be accepted by God or his story has thrown you out. OR?

For those Mandela effected there are other ways. Not pleasant to realize you are the other in the bible. Still beats dying in hell. And reality is what to a person who has claimed to spacetime travel and timed travel via closed time curved loop billions of years. What is that to you or me?

To me? It is has been an adventure. Not a pretty one. But nevertheless an adventure. And God?

Well, God is real.. And beyond that who else can say what is or is not real.

So here I am still kidnapped since 1973 or 1965 and still have not seen my real home or summer in all those years. What will it be like to reach home?

As a kidnapped person I can say I expect maybe a little less or more than what I see here. For you see. These are the mirror realities of those worlds that real in heaven.

And? Once upon a time a great evil happened and you either are in my ghost story or I am in your ghost story this summer.