I swear I'm sane

Nice------
Just looped a little Eric Satie.

Not much of a blogger, am I.
No, didn't think so.

Well, quite frankly, I thought I'd finished with this stuff for a while. You might not know this yet, but it takes a little while to put one of these bitches down. I've been happy as a lark with things up here. Honestly- I've got life by the balls-yeah! That's the ticket

It started out pretty small. Certain things would sort of strike me from no where. A certain scene on a television, the actions of a stranger, the motion of clouds.

Something untouchable about these things I saw - moments both grim and beautiful - that stopped me in my tracks as though I'd witnessed it a million times but had just now seen it.

Lately it's been a bit more noticeable. I get confused by the things people say; caught on their syntax - lost in the haze of their ideas. I forget where I am sometimes, or how old I am, or what I'm about to do. And recently I've felt like I wake up in a different world sometimes.

Yeah, I'm sure you think that's funny, or stupid, or quaint in a homo-gothic kind of way but I'm confident I know what's been going on - just not why.

You'll snicker because all you'll see are a few bits of random coordination; you won't feel the sick retching sensation that comes after you witness something that you're should didn't exist, in fact couldn't exist in the reality you remembered the day before.But small things like forgetting someone's favorite color or food are just the beginning. Wait until the towel you knew was grey and dingy changes into the red one that is clean and pressed and no one else was around who could have possibly changed it for you. Or things that vanish and reappear without any discernible pattern. It makes you beg the question: Am I insane because I'm leaving things all over the place and forgetting, or am I insane because things are moving around without my permission. Not a healthy question to have to ask yourself.

Tonight, as I was walking home, TWO busses drove past me, both on streets where busses had never driven before. YES, you can say that maybe I never noticed them before, or perhaps their routes had just been changed. Frankly, I thought they were just lost at first. Then I saw people riding on them. God, I must be going insane - of course. The man wasn't looking at me, he couldn't have been. He was asleep, right?

Well, just before the busses a guy kept motioning to me. He teetered in front of a red mustang with the passenger side door open. Shirtless and slit-eyed he started waggling a gang sign to me and muttering under his breath. Last week two guys held me up for some shit. Christ, people stop me all the time wanting shit. What the fuji?! I know someone is trying to tell me something but what!!

That guy on the bus just now was the worst though. I think he's why I felt like I had to sit down and write this shit. Thing is, it went down in a really strange style.I saw a parking spot going the opposite direction from which I was driving. I also noticed my roomate's car. I slid into the right lane to go when traffic cleared. A CTA bus came rumbling down the street - a street I've lived on for three years and no bus has ever sullied its pristine paths even though it is a fairly broad avenue. I noted it, flipped a u-turn, took a left and sidled into the parking spot I had picked out.

As I got out of the car another bus comes rumbling along and I look because I'm confused as to why I'm seeing so many busses , consecutively, on two streets that I've never seen buses on before. The second bus would have been following me. It was heading north.

I looked at the bus and a man in a dingy and flattened ball cap glanced up at me. I'll never forget his red curly hair, like carrots that had just been dug from the earth-- dirty and twisted at the roots. His face was shrunken against his jaw and when he saw me he leaped out of his seat and glared at me for a full second as the bus passed by - again on a street where no buses go.

What the Fuji!!! Do they already know I'm here? How? The better question is why don't they just fujiing kidnap me or whatever they're going to do.

I doubt anyone who might ever read this could even guess what it feels like.

The mugging last week really shook me. I can't believe how slack I've become. They say it's not fear that kills, it's lack of fear. GOD! I know better than that. Things are starting to get weird and I'm not sure what to do. I've settled to much this winter. I'm a sane person, I am critical and reasonable. I think about shit before I say it. I pay attention.

Why can't I figure out what's going on?

I feel like someone is speaking to my back and because I am deaf and blind, the only thing they can do is kick and hit me to get my attention. I wish my skin was as tough as the shit blocking my ears; I feel like I just went deaf in my left ear for ten seconds.

God damn. I've got to get out of here. Where am I going to go. Is the end coming? So I need to prepare? Do I need to amass a fortune so I will be prepared when it comes? I'm positive most of the rich people will survive.

Why do I feel like just sitting back and letting it wash over me. Letting the molten lava pour from the ground and burn me to cinders in a matter of seconds. Letting the waters flood into my third floor apartment crushing me against my ceiling. Letting food and advertising strangle me with their love.

Why is it so important for me to ensure my survival? Why not someone else? Why does it matter at all if any humans survive?

Maybe they haven't struck because I'm not scared enough, because It's never to late - only too early. I don't think that every person is followed and threatened, but I can say with all confidence to keep your head down so they can't find you accidentally.

Christ, I've got to go to sleep.

Someone is outside of my window yelling. Car doors are slamming. I think they are fighting.

Why the hell am I'm blogging anyway?

It's been few months since I bothered putting down anything in this forsaken desolation of a media outlet. I don't know why. In fact I don't know why I'm actually typing anything right now. I suppose there is a bit of me that wants to celebrate the demise of a tepid winter, one more chalk mark on the prison walls of my life.

I've been keeping my head pretty low these days. I've been keeping my E-eyes peeled for any relevant info. Sites like this and this. Not too much I can learn here, but it's nice to see what the hell is going on in the world. Frankly, as much as I dislike their buffoonery, I doubt Scientologists murdered my brother.

You see the thing is, most of these 'cults' are just gatherings of fanatics posturing behind some enigmatic figure. They are all the same; simply followers of humanity's personality obsession. The thing is there are some people out there whose motives lie along different paths. Paths marked by the implaccable movement of the stars or the deep rumblings that lie beneath the ancient hypoborean waves.

I digress.

There hasn't been much notable news lately and I might need to pursue other avenues in order to gain some clarity into the past few years. I've got to find out what started this hellish chain reaction; at least as much as my family is concerned. Somehow I feel that it is all much larger and insidious that I originally imagined.

I've started having dreams again. I haven't had these types of dreams since my sister-in-law was still around. I had hoped I'd gotten past that time in my life. I think that it might be due to the fact that I've lessened up on the drinking, but whatever the cause, I'm starting to think that sleep might be a luxury I can do without.

The dreams always seem to begin the same: I am tied to a stone table. My head has been shaved. I can feel a twinge of pain where wax has been dripped on my chest, yet I can't see it because my head is fastened securely to the table. The ceiling coalesces above me; it's incense. The incense is pungent and seems to reek of decay. I can't place my finger on the scent.

In the past a low hum of chanting voices would oscilate slowly at my feet. I can't remeber what the words were, but the chant existed as a treacherous dichotomy both profoundly disturbing in pure disymmetry and anxiety, yet oddly compeling in regularity and swelling. It was as if the human voice were being twisted and drowned by the ancient patterns of the sea. The voices would start as harsh raspy whispers and cresendo into a gutteral undulating wail. They would not act in unison but in a sort of controlled anarchy; it was maddening. This would last longer than I felt my sanity could withstand repeating over and over, until I began to hallucinate.

In my past dreams the chanting would evaporate into the crashing of waves against some ancient pitted craig. Visions would form in the mists above me. Visions of dismembered bodies being tossed piecemeal into the briney crests where frothing unseen mouths devoured them like carp to bred crumbs. Sometimes the bodies were my friends or family; sometimes they were children. Occasionally animals were used. Nausea would wash over me and just as the bile hit my tongue a voice would whisper something in my ear, my bonds would be severed and something cold , cylindrical, and heavy would be pressed in my hand. Then I would wake up. God, it's all so vivid...

What is different now is the intensity of the dreams. I feel myself on the slab, but there is no chanting. I hear the waves pounding but see no horrific visions. The voice whipers to me, but my bonds remain. Now the voice is unmistakeable; it says, "soon." When I wake, the smell of incense and sea water seem to fill my room. I'm not very happy about all of this. I don't think it can mean anything good.

I guess I know why I'm writing my tonight. I have a bad feeling about the coming weeks. It's probably best to be very cautious.

does it really need a Gottdammed Title???!!!

Well, I suppose this is my Happy New Year posting. My New Year's resolution is to not die this year.

The holidays were atrocious I spent them mostly in some podunk ass-backward town in Kansas. What was it called again? Oh yeah, Lawrence. Home of the midwest Art fucks. I found a little holiday sublet. It's amazing how quiet a college town gets over the Holidays, but I felt pretty safe being there. I actually had a chance to get in touch with my mom again, which was a... uh...necessity. Pardon me if I don't use the word 'pleasant'. I'm using Hushmail now so I don't have to worry as much about my E-location being revealed. That's a pretty decent feeling, though I doubt I should get too comfortable. Lethargy is death. I used to say that about sentimentality too.

I'm rockin out to this band I played with one night in boston. It was a show at Ottobar many many years ago. A Swarthy drunken event. They were cool, interesting; whatever. Stuff you'd expect to see on a Wednesday night. We had a decently fun night, traded CDs etc. Ijust happened to see it in a used CD bin so I picked it up for like $3. It's a pretty decent CD actually. Marvelkind. Whatever. Underground Rock is completely worthless. If it's good it's still born. The rest just need to be aborted.

The thing about that night that I remember was hanging out upstairs way after closing time, smoking some sweet Georgia Brown when the conversation turns to Freemasonry and the Occult. Of course in any decent conversation about the Occult the topic invariably turns to Aleistair Crowley, the godfather of 20th century hoo-ha. Well, this guy opens up his chain wallet and hands me this business card. The only thing on it is the sentence, " There is no enemy anywhere." I kept that card for a pretty long time, at least until my car was destroyed. I'm pretty sure it was in there somewhere.

It's funny that you don't see the pages I delete.

Those were my younger days, of course. I used to have a good time rockin around in a rockabilly-metal band. Learned many things about the nature of Homo eDrunkus and Homo Sluttian. I met a whole bunch of interesting characters all over the place. Some of them not such nice people.

I've always been a person who was happier thinking a about all things instead of one thing. My brother was a solid thinker and pretty much blasted any subject that he tackled. I, however, knew a little bit about pretty much everything he had to say to me and I burned him all the time with it.

Thing is, being able to stay on one thing helps you succed in thet field. Being a bit good in a bunch of things just gets you in trouble.

Oh, god. Can't type anymore. Goodnight.

2 reasons

I've been very busy lately. I found a place to sort of keep my car for a while and have been chillin' around town for a while. Making money isn't really involved in the scenario, but I am learning some things.

You have to take the things you learn and put a quantity on them. "How damaging was this?" "How much did I benefit from that decision?" At the end of the day do you have more or less than you started out with, that is of prime importance. I think people feel this way. Therefore, a person needs to exact very skeptical scrutiny on their experiences be they exciting or mundane. Life is short, so take a shitload of notes.

Heretofor a calculation begins to develop. Let's see if we can chart it:

Degree of life satisfaction=rate of learning* better decisions

rate of learning=awareness+application of knowledge

better decisions=negative responses/application of knowledge

knowledge=(listening)(watching)(feeling)(analyzing)(dreaming)

so if my quality of life can be enhanced by boosting other factors that relate to happiness, I am inclined to focus my studies to that increase; to do otherwise would be to pursue a philosophy of sadness.

WARNING!

Not all decisions made for good reasons will reuslt in net positive outcomes!!!!!

As Net Degree of Life Satisfaction weighs heavily on the outcome of moral/comfortable behavior not all actions will yield a positive net bonus. This is not something that Reactionists feel very friendly about. Their primary goal is noramlization of belief structures. Unfortunately, they do not have the proper calculations to cull this property of humanity into fashion. Man perpetuates the function of disparate belief patterns under the most rigorous of normalization excersizes.

Rationalists, however, differ in believing that all things will irreversably disintegrate as they had once put themselves together. Therefore, all modern existence is a wash. It is merely an abnormal reaction to a few misled chemicals. True meaning to time, life, and the cosmos are as ridiculous as a wing for a face or plastic for skin. "If you belive life has meaning and you are willing to die for it, what meaning has life?" Making predictions on events that are unlikely is not generally considered "good practice" for an aspiring Rationalist.

My god I'm frunken. O
m not even sure where I am and it's kind of sark do I"m typing by the light of the monitor. I'm stoned as hell and pretty drunl so I"m using this guys typewriter to publish this littel ode to thoughtfulness.

HOOoooo Boy.....


I what I"ve been trying to get at for the past hour is that I try to balance all of my decision making with two factors. If I have two reasons to go and do grocery shopping, then it's worth doing. If I'm not sure what I should do with myasekf on a Saturday night then
I need to balance which options will fullfill the greatest positive reserves in my character. This, of course, is completely objective.

Everything I try to do must be upheld by two positive focused results in order to better my chances on gaining a net positive result from every decision I encounter. Ok, sir stoney will edit this later for a more conscious mind. I should be ok here for a bit.

God Curse Your Sober Mortal Souls

I don't think any of you out there could even guess what it's like to be followed. You could not even fathom, in in you wildest dreams what it means to not go to the places you love because you know someone is gonna see it and tell someone else. Fuck!

I am writing from a random truck stop in some greasy hellhole, to tell you I'm fucking miserable. I had no Thanksgiving to speak of, and Christmas is actually going to endanger me... cuz I"ll be the only guy without anywhere to go!

Look:


I am in a very serious need to find my brother. Not only does he mean my life to me, but I need him. Damn! My head is swirled. I've wanted to write here; so much to say. (haha- it said 'her' originally) A lot has happened recently. Thank god for the midwest. there is nothing out here; anonymity is perfunctory. No one cares who you are.

It's not like that where I'm from. Everyone knows everything about you, your mother, your sisters, your fucking aunts and uncles. It's sick. There are people everywhere; crawling out of every open sewer. God it's enough to choke you. All the same too, all of them. Swarthy; downtrodden; ancient.

Out here (her again) nothing uncommon happens. The scenery expands at its bland pace covering the rich loam with seedy indignation and ripe hypocracy. It's utterly fantastic. You never know where you are, or who is going to find you.

I just got paid for a pretty large delivery. I don't know what it was, but I can be sure it wasn't bodies or animals. The vehicle was too compact to have much more than pharmaceticals buried in the lining. I have a new ride (shitty, of course) and a few thousand dollars in my pocket to keep me fed for a while, but honestly, I"m starting to get worried.

Unfortunately, I can't blame my own moral decrepitude on my brother. Though I suspect him of some dark, apocryphal stuff, I am completely prepared to accept the unending shit-tide of horrible luck and self-obliteration that my own bad decisions have started. Pretty much I have burned all my bridges, and all the wood to make future bridges, and every piece of driftwood and flotsam that could ever even remotely be construed as of bridge making proportion and burned it right up. No one comes and talks to me; I am left alone. I am the last man standing on a deserted island full of large, mishappen stone heads.

Luckily it's not too bad out here. I believe I have enough blankets to stay in the car tonight. I can't go on anyway.

My Brother

Hello again.

I'd like to talk a bit about my brother and what type of guy he is in order for you, the reader, to get a feeling of what can happen to you no matter how "safe" or "smart" or "well-heeled" you think you are. For example, you may not have known, but cults overwhelmingly target intelligent and well-adjusted people as they are the most likely to reject the norms society ratchets us into and to try something new and extreme, with the right coaxing, of course...

Peter is my older brother. We grew up in a small suburb of Baltimore in the 70's. Peter is older by a little over two years. He is my only sibling. Our mother and father have never separated and still live together, albeit in a different suburb of Baltimore.

You may have read something about birth order once and I can say my brother fit the "older sibling" role perfectly. He was careful, watchful and obedient, and a little bit cruel--though angelic. He lived to set an example for me, and aside from a few random events, he generally did. I was, of course, awed by his intelligence, athleticism, and general irreverence. He was kindhearted, but not at all afraid of a little mischief. We occassionally took advantage of the woods behind our house to propose the most outlandish and savage sabbats; virgins and blood drinking and the whole nine yards. Understand, our father was a methodist minister in the next town over, and we, being true to our nature, were 100% P.K. Let me say: We preferred tricks over treats.

Of course you might not know what a PK is, but I can tell you this: When you know the business of everyone in the church, God seems just a bit more worthless than he already was. Honestly, and my father was not the guy to say anything and point fingers, but I kept my eyes and ears open, and I know what kind of horrible things happen to people. They keep happening too. God, in my humble opinion, is a long way off on a VERY extended vacation. Good riddance too. I don't know how people can put up with it every Sunday.

Whatever...

Peter finished high school doing pretty well and maintaining just enough interest in the world to go to college. He attended a small University in upper Connecticut where he met his future wife, whom I will not name. He studied mathmatics and graduated with top marks, of course. He stayed there to earn his MA in psychology and started working as a tutor in the small, ramshackle village the school whithered in. Personally, I believe he couldn't think of anything better to do. Too bad for him.

This is where things started to get a bit strange. He, having fallen into the academic life, went right onto a doctorate program in, what else, religious studies. So this is 1997. He's gotten degrees in two completely unrelated fields and is working on a doctorate in a third. Frankly, religious studies doesn't surprise me. Shit, I study it myself CONSTANTLY, but this is the point where I realize something else is pulling my brother's strings. Something isn't right here. Logic doesn't seem to be the prime motivator anymore; he's looking for something.

Let me think, I've got to re-connect the dots. He got married in 19 -- I can't remember--, but they had been dating for a pretty long time. I had spent a few weekend trips with them and a couple of holidays before they got married. This was a while ago, maybe seven years, christ I can't remember. God she was a bitch. I swear, you'd just sit there and she'd despise you with this sinister stare that looked like she was almost smiling but her eyes were burning. Not, I don't know, smoldering or sultry, but it was like the pupils would be moving, sizing you up and tossing you out. God, this sounds insane, but I swear she had lizard eyes. Jesus, it was the most uncomfortable gaze and I think she knew it because she would always keep her eylids sort of half shut or squinty so you couldn't tell she was looking at you. God, she was horrible. Where was I?

Brother, Doctorate...right. Honestly, I can't get the freaky eyes of my sister-in-law out of my head. It wasn't just her eyes, though. She was always on my brother, like some sex crazed succubi, and she'd honestly stick her tongue out at you if you tried to take Peter's attention away from her. The worst part of all was that she was actually REALLY, truly smart...and I hate to say it, wise. You'd think she was some catty tramp, and then she'd school you on basic principles of physics and why it proved you could never be happy. GOD! GOD! I hate her!

I remember one year just before they got married, she and Peter came down to my parent's house for Thanksgiving. I was up from U of M(aryland, duh!) and we were watching some assinine thing on television. Fucking, A*****h, gets up and straddles my brother, while he's sitting right next to my mom, puts her arms across his shoulders, licks his ear, for like a good 10 seconds and peers over at my mom. AND THEN she says to my mom, "He's the best thing you ever did. The closest you came to changing the world." GOD! WTF?!!!! This woman was insane, I swear to god. That was a very strange moment and my mom, a very shy and frail woman, just RAN for the kitchen and didn't say a word the rest of the night. Whatsername sat there ladling gespatcho into her napkin all through dinner, ruined it. She was e-v-i-l.

I digress. She met a most unfortunate end and it is with deepest respect and admiration for the dead that I even mention her here. (BITCH)

Really, though, I shouldn't get too angry or anything, but this is a pretty good place to get it out. Who the fuck cares? Nobody's even reading this...

I suppose now, you think, I owe you a bit of background on me... to be fair of course. Well, for Thanksgiving this year, I pulled into a BP station, somewhere outside of Albuquerque and bought a saran wrapped turkey hoagie and some chili Corn Nuts. This was mostly due to the closure of the local Mc Donalds and my inability to procure a nice greasy cheeseburger. The Turkey sandwich just seemed right, and well Corn Nuts were...from the Indians. Needless to say it was a(n im)memorable Thanksgiving.

Brief Intro

Hi. I don't have much time to write this as the missives of daily life keep me well occupied. I will briefly state my intention with the diary.

Primarily I am journalling my hunt to discover the wherabouts of my missing brother, Peter. My belief is that he was kidnapped or otherwise dissappeared due to his affiliations with demonic underground cults. I have reason to believe this because of recently discovered notes that have come to the light, notes which I have only recently been granted access. His encounters and ideas are vague, however, the name Dagon is emphatically printed in the margin a number of times.

I will describe the last few encounters I had with my brother in greater detail as I have time.

I have started this journal in order to document my discoveries, as well as to reveal the insidious actions of the cult of Dagon and other "demon worshipping cults". I also intend to leave this as a testament and beacon to my brother, whom I hope to be alive, and will presume so until such time as I am unable to no longer deny the vast and sinister implications of his death.

If anyone has any clues to the wherabouts of Peter Eisenhart or activities of the Cult of Dagon that they are willing to divulge, it will have to happen in this forum, as anything else would compromise the safety of all involved. Please post a comment under the current post and we will continue any dialog as necessary. PLEASE DO NOT POST YOUR REAL NAME OR WHEREABOUTS!


I can't think of anything else to say tonight. I'll probably have to edit this tomorrow.