a reply to: 3n19m470
Thank you for your encouragement, I do appreciate it - and for your concern that it might be difficult to relive. In some ways, it is very hard to
look back on it, and I realise that within my soul I still feel quite bitter about a lot of what's occurred. I've felt very much like the subject of
a 'rat in a maze' experiment, to borrow an analogy which almost fits. In truth, there's a better analogy, which I'll describe - it comes from a
science fiction story which was included in a book of sci-fi short stories, edited by Michael Moorcock, the phenomenal SF writer of yesteryear.
The book in question was from the series "Best SF Stories from New Worlds", and my copy was from around 1967. The copy I had was actually a
non-returned loan my 'father' took from the Officer's Mess library on the RAF base on which I was born, in Lincoln, England - the abstract
connections, later in life, gave me pause for thought to consider possible meaning having been assigned to its position on a shelf in my bedroom, aged
ten. The story in question was called "The Squirrel Cage", and it was an excellent, frightening, imagined nightmare of a situation for the
protagonist. Basically, a man woke up in a white room, with no memory of how he arrived, or when - everything was white, there was no detail of any
sort, no windows or visible doors. A white box. He found he was wearing white clothes. In front of him was a typewriter, on a white table, with a
pile of white paper next to it. He started out by doing what any of us would do - he explored the room, calling out for someone to explain to him why
he was in this predicament. His cries grew louder, day by day, as he scrabbled around the walls & floor, trying to find a way out. Each day after he
slept, a meal would appear in his room, with a drink. After he slept, the previous meal's plate & glass had been swapped out for new rations.
Nothing else happened, he was totally alone, unable to fathom why he was a prisoner in this strange & terrifying state. Eventually, he wondered about
whether he was supposed to communicate using the typewriter. He began to write simple requests for an explanation, simply reaching out looking for an
answer. No answer was given. Each time he slept, his written work was swapped out for some fresh paper & ink, but no reply ever came. He finally
went mad, writing long, rampbling & disjointed prose, screaming through the text that he wanted to know WHY. The answer never came - he was simply
observed, his writing taken, his food provided. No explanation - a total nightmare.
The analogy is bleak, and I know I can't have described it well enough to convey the growing sense of horror which the protagonist felt as each day
went by (there was no day/night cycle, it was just whiteness). I include the analogy here, because in my experience of life to date, I have often
felt like the man in the white room. There have been events so strange, chilling, and deafeningly real, that I haven't been able to discuss them with
ANYONE, ever, despite having fairly close confidants through my involvement in church over the past twelve years. I have often, like the man in the
white room, reached out to those who appear in my life (I seem to have had a number of 'handlers over the years) - I would drop hints, look for signs
that they were holding back some knowledge of what was happening in my life. Surely they knew? They most often had connections to either the
military, or the underworld - my handful of closest 'friends' of my youth went on to become respected actors after I had dropped off the surface of
the earth in my late teens. Over the years, I would try to ask covert questions, to see whether these sudden arrivals into my circumstance were
willing to help me put the pieces together (such folk were always, from day one, dropping hints of foreknowledge, with encoded/suggestive form &
style). Unfortunately, as with the white room, nobody - despite much in the way of baiting, with comments which were clearly & irrefutably far too
preternaturally precise to have been coincident - nobody has, as yet, been willing to give a full affirmative, to validate my 'quest for answers'.
If I was seeking answers from the walls, I wouldn't expect an answer. It has felt very unfair, because even when I've tried really hard to stay on
the centre lane, to 'be normal', there has been an incessant flow of circumstantial engineering. Situations of life, foisted by deliberate actions of
either family or state, have often entirely corrupted my attempts to 'live a normal life'. NB - currently I seem to have entered a new phase, a sort
of acknowledgement which I will get to as soon as it's appropriate to the narrative.
Now I must add, that I swear to you all, I have not sought out the perpetuation of these strangely engineered situations, meetings, incidents &
commentaries (I realise I haven't described much in the way of the events I'm alluding to, but I will try to get to that quickly after this 'scene
setting'). This group, or groups, have followed me, as though no matter what I do, where I go, there are people with money, power & access, hanging
around the edges, finding ways to interfere, to negatively influence - as though they're trying to prompt a path of self-destruction. I'm acutely
aware that these manipulations are not carried out by everyone around me (I'm not deluded into a 'Truman Show' condition), and I do, these days,
manage to lead a fairly ordinary (under the circumstances) lifestyle, though the intereference, it seems, is far from over.
Now it isn't all negative, I should stress this. Although the time between age 6 to age 28 was populated with many highly negative events, under the
strain of lots of manipulation (I believe including hypnosis & chemical influence, perhaps 'psychotronics' too) there was also a 'hidden hand of
mercy', some group who were savvy enough to realise what was happening to me, who were organised, with wealth & influence, and whom have mimicked the
preternatural style of the negative element in their engagement with me, to confirm back to me that yes, something weird IS going on. Rather than
assault me with confusion & abuse, these have actively sought to encourage me, to motivate me, and to bring to my attention binding universal truth -
instead of the twisted stuff I'm otherwise accustomed to.
I look forward to describing these things further, but typing for a long time like this takes it out of me. I apologise for the thin detail of this
particular post, it really is just to try to familiarise you with my state of mind & the generalities. I will make an effort to create a timeline at
some point soon - the more I think of it, the more ominous a task it feels, I didn't think it would weigh on me like this. I realise now that I'm
considering putting some dark personal experience up for others to see, and I hope you don't mind giving me some time to sort through it before I
Many thanks for reading to this point, I will get back to this fairly soon.