Time? Lost in time?
Lost? Sure I have been lost. Just going down the street turning around
and poof. I have a completely new reality in front of me. They call it
Mandela effect. I call it closed time curved loop time travel backwards
in time. Locals call me nuts at times. Telling me the mountain did not
move. For them sure. For me? Nope, it sure has moved. Same with South
America, Seattle, Washington, Japan, New Zealand. Lost? I use to be able
to walk a city and go to a specific place after seeing it once.
So?
You are a small town boy. Who lived in Sunnyvale then Goleta,
California. Columbus, Ohio, Bismarck North Dakota, Austin Texas, Denver,
Colorado, Orlando, Florida, Salt Lake City and many more. That is just
to name a few places I could easily find a good cafe or bookstore at. I
knew places and people and locations. Now?Now. I rise the public transportation with a mind of adventure. I mean traveling time one never knows when a cafe will be opened closed or disappear from one reality to the next. I think that was the funny part about talking to Louis before he passed away. He scared me. Old English teacher here in La Paz, Bolivia. He was traveling too. And what he told was funny. I mean to me it is. To you? Nothing new. I mean you are stuck here and I? Tomorrow will be lost someplace else. Do I care?
Awe. Carrying. I think the most awkward part of time travel. It is not a single person I know in my household can tell me a specific story we had together. That if you would have lived with me on my world you would have known.
That and cheese. I think who ever freezes your cheese at night might not know what cheese tasted like. Maybe it is the Matrix effect everything tastes like chicken.
Lost? I will tell you one of the better lost stories.
Sept 2016 Wild. I am not sure if I am going crazy or if the time has changed. Or seasons. I remember winter in Bolivia and this.. This is not the weather I remember. Being blind for a year and half, maybe I am just more crazy than I think I am. Some things have changed so dramatically. I wonder a lot these days. I think I should not have read that book. To realize this now is a bit too late. Everything seems the same in yet. I can not put my finger on what has changed. The people? Yes, their personalities in yet. I get to go outside tomorrow can’t wait.
In the early morning walking outside for the first time since my eyes went blood red. And I saw galaxies swirling in my eyes all in blood for sometime. Leaving the doorway, I almost faint. My mountain is gone. I am not sure what to do? How can I misplace an entire mountain in my memory? I ask a simple question where is it? The reply rather floors me. My pronoun-cation of the mountain and their reply to the word is totally different.
What has happened? The mystery deepens when I realize a whole side of the mountain I live on has slated down by an additional degree or so. And either someone in one year has decided to paint every single house in the neighborhood or I am no longer where I was at.
I ask about a friend. I try to explain what I am seeing. He laughs, and that is that nothing. I insist. Some months and several realities later, I finally force the issue and have him drive me to my mountain. The google says 3 hours 15 minutes. Wild. We are driving on paved roads. How can this be? I knew the road was dirt. When did they pave it I ask? I don’t recall the answer.
Four hours into the drive I think my friend is getting nervous. Why? The mountain has moved. And google maps either is crazy or has no concept of how fast a crazy driver of Bolivia can drive. He sped up when I mention that I thought the mountain was on the left side of the road when we crossed the bridge and now it is on the right side? Right? He concurs and starts more quizzing me on a story I had about something else.
Five hours into the trip and either 80 kilometers on a paved road has no concept of distance and speed or we are lost. Can not be lost the navigator screen keeps on showing a path. In yet? We were going rather fast. He was or is a policeman so he can skip the speed limit and I am sure we should have been there in an hour.
We finally reach a small town at the supposedly base of the mountain. Only now it is on the other side of a mountain. Makes no sense. According to the store owner where I purchase some snacks we passed it and the mountain is just down the road a few kilometers. Since when did Bolivia use Kilometers? This is South America and under the guidance of the United States used miles.
Freaking out my driver and I go back the way we come. Some how missing the road to the mountain. I ask to stop. We both get out and look back. There is the mountain. Wild. Where was it when we went up the road?
Well, I guess I won’t get to stand on the mountain. And the next day there is a party and I try to discuss our trip to the mountain. My friend is weird ed out dramatically. Seems I have taken his soul to another world. Meaning? He is a bit peeved because a certain location within La Paz has changed. I did not tell him everyone he knew also had different stories and a different reality. Why freak him out more than what was happening to him?
I think the key to the event was the realization. I shall not be able to get on the right path to the mountain.
Or riding a bus looking at a very lovely lady. Then almost having a heart attack because when you look back she has aged to like being 60 or 70 year of age.
Or Challenges? Yes. I have had them. Like? I was preparing to take a math class spring of 1989 my junior year. I wanted to get 9 credits to start off college. I had already made plans. When suddenly I found my mother deciding for me to go on Close Up trip to Washington D.C,. I was not really happy with this idea. The group going were the upper class of juniors. I personally wanted to do something else.
I did not get involved with most of the auctions to raise money. Why? I was not invited. Time to go I owed more money than what I thought the trip was worth. I asked to not go. No. I must go. It was to be an experience.
I gave up on my college classes at Dull Knife and went the spring of 1989 to Washington. There the Chinese ambassador and I got into an argument over a question. Let me be blunt. I said China would invade Taiwan if the US was not supporting Taiwan. You might wonder why this was important? If you are Mandela effected some of you will remember that tank guy got ran over in your realities. While in my reality tank guy lived and served 10 years in some form of prison camp. I did not hear much about him after his arrest or if he lived after the arrest.
What am I trying to say? Time traveler exist for a purpose to remind humanity to change their ways and be kind. Is that all the story?
I could talk about arguments with Ron Marlone the US congressman on insurance and sports. Or a dream? Or the time I slipped away from the guided tour of the White House went to the side panel staircase. It was by Lincoln bedroom. The door clicks inward. Taking the star case down four floors to the cafeteria ran almost all by African Americans. I got a free lunch there. Why? I forget to be honest. Anyways I went out from there tand saw Ted Kennedy get off one of those little train like vehicles. He was with another senator I do not recall his name and a few other people.
Then I found someone. Who? Let me be honest this is that haziness of a dream state kicks in. He looked almost like me. I sort of followed him down the left tunnel.
Why? I was a junior in high school. I did not party, I was not anybody and well I just wanted to see where a person so similar to me could end up in Washington D.C.
He was greeted and joined another group of people most in military uniforms. And they ended up at a steel spiraling staircase.
The staircase could only take one person at a time and they meaning five of them went up each over there time. Now this is why I say this is a dream. Because if it was not the whole story does not make sense to me anymore. I saw them go up and well if I saw them. They could see me. The underground there is dark but the lighting was not that bad.
Having gone this far I figured why not. I climbed up the stairs and entered into a closed area in front of a door. I pushed and the door opened.
There were the five and a whole lot more people sitting around in a circle. There I could see through glass that some how I was now in a room in the Library of congress. I had entered no one seemed to care and well I went and sat down.
Now, what was said? Let me say it was a story hour. Meaning? I had never heard of Robert Francis Burton until 2017. In yet, if there were ever a group of people like him. This was it. The stories were wild and crazy as far as I could tell.
Each person would or seemed to get up and tell a story as long or bigger than the last one. From doing strange things to seeing things.
They went around the room. Front sits first than the second row in which I was seated. I felt like I had no problem being here. I mean I knew tall tales too.
The man prior to me told an extraordinary tale. About World War I and reality changes he remembered one way versus. Well let me be honest the way I remember history.
Now, he stopped and they waited. For a moment I did not know what to do. I mean sort of like party crashing the first time with people you do not know.
Then someone that I later met in 2000 at the Columbus, Ohio military parade asked me to tell a story.
So since the gentleman told a World War I story. I followed up with story told to me by my great cousin's friend who was a junk-man. At the end I sat down. Thinking I had told it rather well and no one seemed even phased. That some teenager was sitting with military and politicians tell a story.
Then the next person began his story. This happened again each person telling a story. What made this so unreal is what I had learned in history class versus the exploits or the narratives were. Each person telling the story seemed rather unreal.
There were eleven men in that room and they told stories until after 10 PM. I had left the tour a little before 11 AM. Why this sems like so much of a dream is I do not recall eating or drinking. When my turn came around again I told them a personal story that I remembered as a kid of seven being involved with. Dealing with cloning. I mean if they can say Hitler's eyes were brown not blue or that Bob Crane died in 1977 not 1978 or 79? And they knew who his killer was. What matter if I told the story?
However, after telling them this story I was in for a bit of a surprise. Evidently cloning was not a topic for the group. Again a future general I would meet later in life asked who I was and what I was doing there. I admitted I was a lost high school student just listening to some of the funnest stories I had ever heard.
This did not go
over so well. The guy that looked sort of like me said no problem to the
group and promised to take care of things. That was around 10ish. He
got me out of there and into the underground subway. Some how he knew my
hotel for I had not a clue where Close Up was staying and got me to my
stop three blocks away. This was 89 when Washington DC was the murder
capital of the world. He asked if I was scared. I kind of laughed. You
see. I told him one last story. That I came from the murder capital of
the world. Math wise. He laughed and we parted ways. Now a days I wonder
about that dream.
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