The Rolling Wave of Fire.
by Rewired
7/31/99

I awoke knowing something horrible had happened, but not what, and my apparent amnesia didn’t seem to surprise me. I awoke draped in a horrible feeling. It was an eerie and terrifying mood; a crude mixture of hate, sadness, and fear, all which seemed deeper than the sea and darker than the ocean of space.

It was the morning of July 31, 1999, and I was living in an apartment with two friends of mine at the time. I said absolutely nothing to anyone that morning. Actions were not thought out, it was all pre-programmed routine. I made my coffee, ate little to nothing, got my shit together and left out the door. I drove to work, walked into the restaurant, clocked in and went about my duties feeling as if I was in a trance. I, for all intensive purposes, was simply not there, and no one else seemed to notice.

In the back dish room, I was on the receiving end. It was my coworker’s job to rinse the dirty dishes and put them in the machine. When they were cleaned, I separated everything and put them back in their appropriate places across the restaurant. I’d been there for maybe half an hour, still going about things like a zombie. I took the tray of hot, steaming silverware that had just come out of the washing machine, dumped them before me on the table and began to sortout and separate the knives, forks and spoons.

Then, out of absolutely nowhere, it hit me like a ton of bricks dropped from seven stories.

I was no longer in the dish room. I was in what appeared to be a big city, looking down a road or something that existed between two very tall buildings. It was dark; not late night, it seemed, but certainly evening. Strangely, no one seemed to be around. I think I briefly wondered where I was and how I’d gotten there, but I didn’t spend much time reflecting on those questions. I didn’t have had long to really think about them because something else had quickly caught my attention. Something that made all else irrelevant: on the road in-between the two buildings, a sky-high, monstrous, rolling wave of fire was headedstraight towards me. It dwarfed anything I can imagine, towered over all the buildings I could see and incinerated everything as it continued to roll towards me. Though I was certain that I was not significant enough to be it’s target, it was equally obvious that I was in it’s path.

Thoughts seemed to go through my head at light speed. I first wondered if it was an atom bomb explosion or if a comet had struck the earth, but those questions passed by quickly like a leaf in a hurricane: it didn’t matter. The moment I began to question it’s origins, I mentally slapped myself if my face, telling myself to wake the fuck up. It wasn’t as if I was watching this on television or considering the scenario in my head. This wasn’t a dream. I was here. I was staring dead into the face of it. This was reality. The most profound terror imaginable swept over me. I had the impulse to run, to hide, to get the fuck away and find some place underground, but be it fear or something else I couldn’t find the ability to move. I soon realized the futility of my thoughts, for it was all too obvious that I could never run fast enough or find a place to hide quickly enough to escape this thing. It was too tall, too wide, and coming at me far too quickly. The truth rushing before me was unquestionably inevitable, undeniable, unavoidable and inescapable: I was going to die.

It wasn’t my life that flashed before me, but what it all came down to. What came to me were all perspectives I’d built, all the feelings I’d felt. It was the pattern underlying everything I’d ever experienced. All of it rushed to summation, broke down into fundamentals and overtook me. I felt my own self-pity as I subjected myself to my own self-judgement. An unbelievably vast, wide range of penetrating emotions swept over me; the most ego-shattering sense of fear, regret, hopelessness and anger. I was overtaken with sorrow for all I could’ve been, done, thought and felt, and how much more I could’ve grown in this life had I not held back. It was a sadness I don’t remember ever feeling before. It built and built, and the climax brought me the final question. I couldn’t help but consider if I had been right all those years. Would I indeed go on, or this was truly the last few moments of `me’? I let that fear pass as well, for if I was no longer, I wouldn’t be there to react to it. If I did go on, I would be forced to remember how I left in doubt and fear.

Then that was it. I gave up. I said “fuck it.” I felt myself relax and let go of everything. I accepted my fate, for I decided that I might as well invite the inevitability of death in this moment than struggle against it. I didn’t want to leave this life hanging onto all this shit I’d dwelled on in my life; all this hate and regret and confusion and fear. The wave of fire got closer, and I felt myself open. I breathed deep and exhaled, closing my eyes.

When I opened them up again, I didn’t find myself cut loose in the Otherworld, where I’d assumed I’d go when I finally kicked it. I instead found myself looking back down at silverware. Not at all what I’d expected the afterlife to be. I was in shock or something, because for a moment I was completely unable to move. Then I suddenly came out of it. I hadn’t died at all. I was alive and well, all in one piece. I realizedthat I had just re-experienced a part of whatever had gone on the night prior.

I shuddered. I’d been so certain I was going to die. There had been no question at all. Though I felt happy to be alive, and I was suddenly stricken with this deep sense of my own mortality, I was instantly terrified by what had happened to me as I stood before that wave of fire racing towards me. I couldn’t bear the fact that I’d given up and into the inevitability and certainty of death. I hadn’t fought at all, but to the contrary: I’d invited it. That horrified me.

I knew that there was much more that had happened that I couldn’t recall. It was on the tip of my mental tongue but sliding away, like that itch from underneath the skin that fingernails just can’t get at. It was lingering there just out of reach; just enough to let me know it was there, but not close enough for me to reach out and grab it. I could see there was much lingering there that was important, but only enough to leave me in cold fear and anger at my inability to remember what it was.

One thing I knew for sure: it was Them. They’d come back last night. The only reason I had re-experienced that event was because the emotions that were associated with it were so intense that they could not be buried or pushed away - it was more intense than any mental block they could put in me.

I looked around the dish room. No one was looking my way. The world went on, entirely oblivious to me or what I’d just seen. My fellow dishwasher was lost in his own little world.

It bothered me all day, and I couldn’t shake it. It was like an ominous, torturous, teasing shadow that followed me around and would not leave me alone. I tried with all my might to push it out of my mind until I could sit down and write about it, but it remained nonetheless, taunting me. I tried writing it after work, but I only had a cup of coffee and wrote about a paragraph before leaving. I couldn’t even write about it, and that alone was unusual.

Upon arriving home, I found an empty and dark apartment waiting for me. Comforting in a way, but I was also alone, and therefore an easy target. I was absolutely exhausted. I felt as if I hadn’t slept in days. I pushed everything off my bed frantically and crashed - literally - face-first into the mattress. I was out instantly.

The next thing I remember is Ludwig pounding on my door like a mother fucking madman. I awoke unrested, disoriented, and absolutely agitated. I was confused, dizzy and cold, and felt as if I had been drugged. I felt as if I had just seen something unspeakably horrible and could do nothing about it. As if I’d just had a fight or argument and lost. I also felt as though that abrupt awakening destroyed any minute chance I had of recalling what had happened between then and when I crashed. I knew there was much that had happened. I tried to clear my head a minute and try and remember, but Ludwig yet again rapped on my door like a mother-fucking madman, and I heard the laughter of others behind him. I don’t know who opened the door or if I said anything. All I remember is a herd of people crowded into my room. Ludwig led the crowd, and behind him a herd of others followed. I was agitated and enraged at their presence. I felt confused by the emotional residue left behind by whatever had justhappened, and I didn’t want them to be here to see me like this. at the same time, I was afraid for them to leave, because then the Little Shits might return.

My body seemed to be going into convulsions, but no one seemed to notice. I tried to talk but my tongue seemed to be malfunctioning. I stuttered and stammered and when I tried to say something it just wouldn’t come out. Finally deciding I needed some place to sit down before I collapsed, I sat on a nearby chair and tried to pull myself together.

Kirk was on my bed with Andrea. At first I thought he was looking at me, which freaked me out, because I wasn’t in the mood for anyone to point their eyes in my direction in a probing fashion. I soon realized that he wasn’t staring at me, however; he was looking just over my right shoulder.

“That looks like you,” Kirk said.

Right behind me, taped to an art board and propped up on the infamous chair was a pastel piece I’d been working on. The picture depicted my ex-girlfriend, Claire, in a window in the background. Out of view from the window frame was a man who had a hand on her shoulder. Her hand was coming in through a hole that had been busted in the bottom of the window. In the foreground and towards the bottom stood me in a black shirt. I had a scowlon my face and had one hand held out as if to stress anger as the other tightly gripped my bleeding chest. The picture was supposed to symbolize me turning my back on her in anger. In the picture, her face was blank. I hadn’t been able to get her face right, mostly due to the fact that what I most often drew was abstract and the only recognizable human being I seemed to be able to draw myself. Since I hadn’t been able to get it right, however, I’d hoped Kirk wouldn’t make the connection with who she was supposed to be. He had a habit of taking every opportunity he had to lecture me about how I should get over her. Even at that point in my life I would’ve agreed with him, but it was still a hot emotional topic with me and this was the last thing I needed to him to bring up at the moment.

When I stopped shaking for a moment and looked back up at his face, I noticed he was squinting his eyes at the painting. I was hoping so much that it wasn’t her shirt he was looking at - I’d just realized one connection he would certainly make.

He said my name, and he said it in that tone I was all-too-familiar with. Then he asked the question I'd hoped like hell he wouldn't ask: "That shirt on that girl in the window - that doesn’t say `Army’, does it?”

I really, really wasn’t in the mood for that conversation - or any conversation for that matter - so I tried to deliver that fact to him in my tone when I told him in a stern voice, “no.”

That seemed to be it. By all outward appearances, all was well. He seemed to have gotten the point that I wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, and he dropped it. I wasalready on edge, and I felt myself slipping off - bringing her up was not the best of ideas right now. He seemed to understand that in some way. He seemed to respect that. Others, apparently, need things to be spelled out for them.

As I had been speaking, though, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Nick pick up something. Nick laughed, apparently at my “no.”

“It’s not supposed to be Claire, huh?” Nick was holding up the photo of Claire, which I’d been using as a guide for the picture and placed face-down on the chair. He was holding it up for the entire room to see.

I boiled over. I was fucking furious. I was on fire. I jumped up out of my chair and grabbed the photo from his hand. I got in his face. “HOW THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW THAT WAS THERE, GOD DAMNIT? HAVE YOU BEEN IN MY FUCKING ROOM? DON’T FUCK WITH MY STUFF, NICK, THIS IS MY FUCKING ROOM, MY FUCKING PRIVACY. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT MY GODDAMNED WINDOW,” I screamed at him, or words to that affect. Nick had backed up as my yelling raised volume, holding up his hands sarcastically. “GET OUT,” I told him, pointing to my open doorway as my head rung. He stepped back, just outside the door frame of my room, with his hands in his pockets. He looked shocked and a little confused by my mental state, perhaps even a bit afraid, but I wanted him weeping in a corner.

I looked over briefly at Kirk and Andrea, who seemed unaffected at my rage, as did Sandra. It was as if they weren’t even seeing this. Nothing seemed right. I wasn’t even entirely certain if all of this was happening. Was this another one of the full-sensory mind-fucks, like the wave of fire?

I felt a hand grab my shoulder. It was Ludwig, and he dragged me backwards and pushed me down into the chair. “Calm the hell down,” he told me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to rip his arm off.

I was quiet for awhile, and no one seemed to bother me. I had a cigarette, made some coffee, and tried to let go of my rage and of any hopes of recalling just what had gone on the last two nights. I’d gotten used to shit like this. I had to. It’s funny having this major portion of your own life shut off, hidden away and locked from you. Occasionally you get sneak previews of the secret movie you play a role in, but aren’t allowed to see in totality for reasons that are also hidden from you. Reasons you sense are sinister.

Having any experience with them brings forth feelings I couldn’t give justice to if I wrote down an encyclopedia dedicated wholly to them. Even in the experiences where I don’t remember seeing their faces or recall them at all, I have the distinct knowledge they were there. I know what I feel when I’m around them. I know how I feel the morning after seeing them. Preceeding an experience, you feel like a dark universe unto yourself. You don’t care what others think of you or the experience. Everything else in your life - all your hopes and dreams of the future; all the things at the level of human society - all this seems petty and trivial. You feel as if the purpose of human society is revealed to be some distraction that is, at the core, utterly meaningless, foolish and childish. You trust and believe no one but yourself. No one better dare touch you or look at you, or even breathe your way. You don’t try to explain it to them, because even if they believed you they couldn’t understand. How could they if not you?

The questioning and contemplation you do in mundane consciousness as to whether that is real and whether they are malevolent is revealed as pointless. The question as to whether they’re planning something dreadful for our future; something for their benefit - all this is seen as a waste of time. You know what They’re doing: beliefs are not necessary. It is cold, hard, physical and real before you, but try as you might - and from years of experience you know it - upon awakening to mundane consciousness you will subject this reality to question, doubting the experience all over again. Why? No hard evidence remains, unless it’s buried beneath your skin. Half the time, you cannot remember what happened for the life of you. You’re only left with that lingering residue feeling you’ve come to associate with being in Their presence. If you’re lucky, you catch glimpses of just what the hell had gone on the night prior. Most of the time, though, you’re just left with the horrid feelings, building anger and incomprehensible fear.

Deep down you know it’s true, and you await the hell they’re preparing to unleash on us. A heaven in their mind-raping, manipulating eyes. You’re left waiting in this sleep that comes with being human, pacifying your inner turmoil by hiding it beneath a veil of uncertainty. A patchwork quilt of fabricated questions you pretend to ask yourself to keep yourself sane and ease your deep knowing in the reality of This. In the reality of Them. You hide beneath the mask of doubt, for only in doubt to you see hope. Only in the questions can you hold onto some loose, wavering, fluid figment resembling sanity. You find comfort in the lie until it all comes crumbling down.

It crumbles when They come back. When you hear the buzzing in your ear, feel the presence in your room, see the strobe lights in your window, feel the pain behind your ear, or wake up with muscle spasms feeling cold and dirty, knowing you’d just witnessed something horrid and unthinkable. Hope crumbles when They take you away again, showing you those Things and put those pictures in your head again through their raping eyes. The images they draw you into. The ones that seem so fucking real. Then the wheel of shit starts all over again. The wheel you cannot stop, because They have control. They see right through you, invading your mental privacy through their raping eyes, exposing every inch of your soul with a glance. They’re seeking something; looking for something, and this is so far above and beyond you it’s barely conceivable. You know they’ll find it, though. When they do, it’s all over.

The Monster Without a Face.
by Rewired
02/00/01

I did some research on intrinsic data fields last night on the internet, wrote some poetry and listened to some music. I began feeling rather tired, so I decided to lie down and put my Mind Machine on. I ran program eleven, QuickTheta. I lay back and relaxed my body. When I felt that my state of consciousness had altered, I began concentrating with intensity upon Ajna, just above the space between my eyebrows. After some time and persistence, I felt all the energy in my body withdraw into my head. The flickering colored lights of the machine beat through my eyelids, and the thumping sound of the earphones became the focus of my attention. All else I seemed to be reasonably desensitized from. I suddenly felt energy thrusting in mybody and through my third eye. It actually felt as if I were vomiting or ejaculating through my forehead. It was a physical sensation; not merely a mental one.

Soon, after the program had ended and I was still unable to fall asleep or will myself out-of-body, I turned off the machine. I turned on the lights in my room and listened to some more music for awhile and then went outside for a cigarette. Back inside my room, I sat in the lotus position with my back against the wall and a pillow beneath me. I concentrated on my breathing, trying not to affect it consciously but rather trying to observe it from a detached, objective perspective. After perhaps a half an hour to an hour I got up and went to bed, feeling relaxed and refreshed as last. As I lay there on the edge of sleep, I found that I was still calmly but completely focused on my breathing.

I awoke once at nine, then at ten, and again at eleven. I got out of bed at noon, went downstairs and saw that everyone was home. I put my work clothes in the dryer, made half a pot of coffee, and then rushed upstairs to write down a dream I’d just remembered.

In the dream, I’d gone to a house to see Cole, who I haven’t seen in thirteen years. He was nowhere to be found. I see his sister, Jane, by the door only briefly. She seems older and more mature. She’s with who I assumed was their mother, Ellie, though I only saw them by the doorway out of the corner of my eye briefly and didn’t seem to want to even look their way.

I was talking with Cole’s youngest brother, Simon. He was much older now, and looked very different. He seemed very tired and drowsy, and went to lie down on a couch nearby. All I’d wanted by coming here, it seemed, was to see the father’s face. I kept trying to talk Simon into letting me look through any old pictures or photo albums he might have. He wouldn’t do it, however - he seemed annoyed at the request. I found his attitude towards me as rather odd.

I started looking at all the available pictures around the place. I have the impression that I was looking around for pictures, but where I really saw them was in my mind as some still picture show. They were pictures of black men both thin and large, of white men clean-shaven and with beards, with angry faces and happy faces. I would look at one picture, and then the next, and then the next, wondering which one was his true face. These pictures displayed many people, any of which I'd strongly considered (within the context of the dream) could be him.

I ask Simon about it again, but he still wouldn’t answer. He was lying down right beside the open doorway that led into the next room. I asked him why he was so drowsy and out of it. He told me, in his groggy state, that he was on a drug his dad always put him on. A strange feeling swept over me - almost a recollection of that fact in my youth when I used to go over to their house. I asked what the drug was, and he pointed over to the coffee table, where I found an off-brown bottle of pills that looked familiar. I looked for the ingredients or information about the drug on the bottle, but found none. In big, bold letters on the bottle, however, was the name of the drug. Unfortunately, upon awakening I couldn’t remember the name specifically. In the dream, however, it did have a specific name. It may have been Anemic, Onemic, Solnemic, something along those lines.

After writing down the dream, I got my coffee and went outside for a cigarette outside. I was very disturbed by the dream. It had struck a deep chord. I wondered what exactly it was supposed to mean: was the drug symbolic, or was it actually medication that they’d taken (and perhaps I’d taken) at their house when I was young? How would they have access to any type of drug? The father, Malcolm, Sr. - the Monster Without a Face - was a carpenter. What did Ellie do for a living? I couldn’t remember. Perhaps Ellie worked at a hospital, where she might be able to acquire mind-inducing drugs. It was a crazy, stupid idea, but it was worth looking into.

Inside the house, after bumping a box of recipes my mother had on the microwave onto the floor, I asked her, while picking them up, what it was that Ellie had done for a living.

“She used to be a cook,” mom said.

As far as I was concerned, that answered nothing.

The Self-Beheading.
by Rewired
4/21/01

I was in a mucky area in a forest, like a marsh or swamp. I had willingly cut off my own head. Strangely, I could still breathe and see. I remember playing with my face as I held my head in my hands. My face looked as if it had been dead for awhile, as the eyes were dried up and glossy-looking. I closed my eyelids with my thumbs and dropped my head to the ground. It was rather freaky but I was glad to see it go. I somehow associated loosing my head and face with taking a spiritual path; loosing a certain something that was holding me back before.

Sometime during the dream, I had discovered that dad had joined what I seemed to consider a dark, violent, hate-group -- I got the impression it was `Neo-Nazi.' There was a large trunk he had a lot of things in. Something inside it had something to do with planes. He was a very angry man, very unlike he seems to be in real life. I didn't see much of him in the dream, just an image of him before the trunk and a general knowledge.

As I went around without a head, I found it hard to interact with others. I knew that no girl would ever find me attractive if I had no face, and I was upset to realize that I had this deep and inescapable fear of being lonely. Due to those social concerns, I suppose, I decided to go find my head and put it back on. I did eventually find it in the swamp.

As I put it back on, I suddenly found myself deeply afraid that I would never gain back the ability to use it. I put it on and it fit well, but it was hard to gain control of at first. It had a sort of numb feeling about it (like when your leg has been asleep for a long time, but this was way past the level of feeling of `pricking needles'). I made facial expressions to try to regain control over my features, as if I was trying to `fit back into it' like one tries to wriggle and stretch his fingers when trying to fit his hands into a rubber glove. Though my head didn't seem to tilt or anything, I felt the need to hold it steady with one hand for awhile, for it still felt odd and awkward to have my head back on. My teeth had turned yellow and were rotting. I looked rather sickly, and I still had that scar across my neck where I’d cut my head off. I felt so sad an embarrassed, and wondered why I’d ever cut off my head in the first place.

After awhile, I picked at a layer of skin that began below the scar around my neck. I then slowly pulled at it, and found that it was this dead coat of skin that covered my entire head. I pulled it all off and found that I had new skin beneath it, and the scar around my neck was gone.

With things back to normal, I walked on the front patio of my house. I looked over the front woods of my parent’s house and saw some planes in formation fly out of sight. I also spotted a hovering gas station over the tree tops, and I turned to ask someone just where the hell that had come from.

"Oh, I forgot about that," the person said, "that's been there for awhile."

As for my interpretation, the whole dream seemed to illustrate the problem of my imbalance of needs: the social and sexual need of the physical world against the spiritual need in the Otherworld. Loosing my head purposely might be related to my desire to change recently and pursue my more spiritual interests head-on. It also seems to illustrate the fears I have of loosing one world by venturing into the other, or being trapped in either. It signifies my fear of change, and, perhaps more specifically, the fears that strike me when I awaken to find myself out of body. Even the sensation of putting my head back on and how I "fit back into it" had a high likeness to returning tothe body.
My father may symbolize nothing more than himself. It seemed to be a wholly self-driven dream, however, and I feel he may really symbolize certain aspects of myself, what I’m denying, or what I'm becoming. Seeing as how one’s parents are usually the individuals who have the biggest psychological impact on that person, he might symbolize the traits I acquired from him; the characteristics I learned from him. The trunk might symbolize secrets or old memories, and the plane connection may involve the repressed ability to transcend things, to rise above a situation and soar to new and higher levels of consciousness. The gas station (fuel) above the forest (the unconscious) may symbolize the renewed energy that may await if I were ever to achieve my goals. As for the neo-nazi hate group, my anger has never been as strong as it has been as of late, and my lack of ability to rise above these feelings have never been more extreme…

CannAbyss
by Rewired
06/00/01

They continue to pass around the ritual tool as we all play the first video game I’ve played in eons. It’s called `Worms.’ I was the blue color, a character called Fantasy -- last pick of the draw. Kind of reminded me of how things worked in gym class in high school. I feel that way, too. I feel different. Detached. As if I’m viewing the world on a screen in the back row of a dark theater.

It comes my way for me to hand it to someone else for maybe the third time around and I suddenly had the urge to be a part of this little ritual. I take a deep hit, cough, and immediately feel the warmth flow over with me. The feeling is hard to describe. It’s kind of like being part of a larger entity that enveloped all of us. It was a warm cocoon in which I felt secure and spiritually intimate with all of them. I felt at peace. Barriers between us all seemed to melt. I felt as if I were part of something greater. I was connected again, at peace again - but only for a moment.

Suddenly, I fall from everything. I feel distant from everybody, going deeper within myself. I feel very inside of myself. Very dissociated and detached, as if I’m imploding. I’m launched into my own cold, dark emptiness. I slip into this grim dissociation, forced into horrid contemplation. I’m falling out of what I now realize to be a false world to where reality is revealed as a verb and plural. The world seems cloaked in this dark mist.

All is revealed as illusion, and I’m loosing my belief in that illusion. I need that belief in order to maintain some ground in reality, but this plant is blocking my ability. Time seems all fucked up and moments intermingle. The boundaries between the inside and outside of my mind are suddenly blurring, shaking, fading lines. I don’t know if I said something or thought it, if they said something to me or it was all a product of my mind. My entire self-concept is skewered. At times it seems as though all sense of self has disappeared - I totally forget who I am, even that I’m here. I forget what it feels like to be safe in my own, cozy, old petty delusional sense of reality and self. I can barely remember the blessing of distraction or the peace found in my comforting self-fiction.

Throughout all of this, I feel certain that there is something there in the back of my mind; something terrible that I don’t want to think about. It’s something that is always there beneath my consciousness, silently threatening me with the most wicked of things. It’s always there, awaiting the opportunity to reveal my secrets to me when I take these trips off orbit.

I feel myself sinking into the Abyss within me, so I try to focus on the world around me. I try to focus on the three of them. They all look at me, but they can’t see the terror in here, behind these clouded eyes. I’m left alone with my own personal monsters, my own self-judgements, my own fears. I’m so afraid of losing control over my mind and my emotions; of saying something or doing something or revealing something unintended.

She looks at me and reaches out. Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me. I can’t speak or move in the emergence. My body’s shaking and cold, but I need that, because it remains the only evidence of my body’s existence as I withdraw into my horrors. I’m poisoned by this medicated meditation and chemically bound to my self-reflection; sentencing myself to hells I’ve built within and hidden from myself. This is death, and each person is their only god: one judges oneself, and one creates their own after-existence. Each one of us creates for themselves the life that proceeds the skin. What have I done to you all? What have I done to myself? What have I become? I’m so sorry. Is there hope for reversal?

I need to remember this fear. I have to remember this.

The Connection.
by Rewired
9/29/01

It was early morning on September 29, 2001, when I finally lay down to bed. It had been another night of reading the most bizarre of things, scrambling to understand things I knew damned well I was powerless against, and my body severely needed some downtime. I lay down in bed, relaxing my body consciously as I always do, and tried to relax. I felt myself sinking deeper into relaxation. Then further. Further.

Then I entered what I like to call the Danger Zone: I felt the intense dissociation from my senses and my body; I felt that familiar numbness wash over me until I was paralyzed. I felt the distance grow as I fell from all bodily awareness into the familiar `energy body.’

It was beautiful in a way down here. You had no need to breath. Thought is immediately translated to action. It’s also really fucking frightening, though, even after seven years splattered with these periodic experiences.

I was floating in a dark void of a world, as if underwater or in the zero gravity of space, without the need to breath. Here in the place I’ve come to call the Limbo, every movement is made as if it’s made in a water-like atmosphere. Like being underwater, it’s all sink or swim here. I’ve always felt it best to treat the situation as if I was in water: if I let myself panic, I’ll drown. I’d only end up falling deeper and draw all negativity around me to myself. If I relax, I’ll float and rise upward, back to my body, and that’s the best way to handle it. I find the “white cocoon of light” technique to work rather well, regardless of whether it’s merely psychological (as, of course, this all may indeed be). By envisioning yourself in that cheesy, protective ball of white light, emitted from the chest area in the mind, it gives in the least a sense of security and protection. That sense of security and protection is quite valuable, too, especially when you’re trying to concentrate on relaxing and floating and don’t wish to be vulnerable to more powerful forces at the same time.

In the act of floating, I have a chance of reactivating my sensory perception in my biological body. I can get some vague impression of the direction of my body, of it’s temperature or muscles. I can even find some vague sound from the physical world barely picked up on by my senses to focus on. Focusing on that sound, body sensation, smell, taste or whatever will eventually trigger a reentry into the corporeal. It’s not as easy as it sounds, but I find it absolutely necessary. The farther down you go, the deeper you delve in, the more you detach, the harder it is to find your way back. So when I find myself over there, that’s the first thing I try to do: reconnect with my physical body in full. Many, if they believe me at all, would act surprised at my desire not to go further and stay detached longer. These people may hold the same belief of many accounts I’ve read throughout the years, in which various people have claimed that you cannot die during an out-of-body experience.. This proclamation may be comforting to some, but though I may be dumb in some respects, I’m not a complete idiot. It didn’t take me long to realize the fact of the matter. If one had indeed become so detached from their physical body that their biological functions ceased, how the bloody hell would they come back to confirm that it could happen? I’m not one for taking chances in these types of experiences, though occasionally I’m a smidgen more daring.

So I went looking for a sound. It wasn’t much of a challenge this time around, for I immediately got a sound to focus on. I heard this distorted, slightly echoing, muffled “whirring” in my head - as if, yet again, I were listening to something from under water. I wasn’t entirely sure which world it belonged to, but I took the chance. Focus acts as a rope, and you’ve just got to keep focusing until you can pull yourself back. When doing this, it seems as though the harder and more complete your focus, the closer you get to what your focusing on until you can literally “become” it. This “thing that you’re focusing on” - the noise - is, in actuality, not the “objective" source of the noise but the biological body’s interpretation of the signals picked up by your senses. Therefore, in "focusing on the noise" one would actually be focusing on an aspect of the physical body and, by law of the Otherworld, by focusing you would draw yourself to the target of your focus. By the time you reach the target of your focus, you’re in the biological body and back within the context of the physical world, which has it’s own set of rules - so you don’t “become” the target of whatever’s making the noise. At least, that’s my rationalization for the phenomenon.

So focused hard, and the noise got louder and clearer, and when I got real close I began to feel as if I was climbing up out of a pond. Then I blacked out for a moment. Once I got my senses back and regained authority over my voluntary body functions, I immediately initiated movement to ensure the connection remained (I’ve found my way back before, only to fall back in when I didn’t maintain focus on the physical body). I flexed my hands a bit, twisted my neck and rolled my shoulders. I breathed deeply, making extreme expressions on my face, trying to blink quickly and then keep my eyes as open as I could. I did this for the same reason that someone moves their hands in wriggling, sporadic fashions when trying to fit it into a rubber glove: to ensure you fit back in fully and comfortably. Once I had ensured I’d slipped completely back into skin again, I remained in bed for awhile with my eyes open. Before deciding it was safe to go to sleep, I remembered the noise that had pulled me up and wondered what it had been. Listening quietly, I suddenly realized that the muffled whirring noise had been the electric fan on my computer. I’d left the computer on in the middle of writing an article. I decided to leave it on just in case I slipped out and fell back down and in again. With that, I rolled over on my side and drifted off to sleep.

When I awoke, it was around a quarter to eight in that evening. I was relatively pissed off that I’d slept through another day off, but I supposed that I’d needed the sleep. It was then that I noticed I felt quite strange for some reason, and I immediately wondered if it was due to the fact that I’d slipped out earlier. After getting up, I found that my computer was all fucked up and read an error on the screen - something that pissed me off. It had been fine when I’d left it on before going to bed and I probably hadn’t saved my work. I tried to reboot it using the keyboard, but I found that the keyboard wasn’t responding, either. I shut down the computer and restarted it, and it rebooted as if it had not been properly shut down. The keyboard still didn’t respond. I twiddled with the connections, rebooted again, and finally my computer was back to normal.

Did this have something to do with the fact that I’d slipped out the morning before, or was that jumping to conclusions? I wondered. The computer had done this once before. It was about month ago in August, the day before I’d walked out of my job in absolute anger. I didn’t recall any out-of-body experience that evening, however, though I had gotten a strange dream. I shrugged and let it go. I needed coffee.

I brushed my teeth and then proceeded downstairs to make some coffee. I still felt very odd. The house was an eerie quiet. My two sisters and my mother weren’t home. My dad was sitting in the chair by the window in the front room watching some weird movie on the TV. When I came down, he looked like he’d awoke by the noise of me walking down the stairs. I figured he’d probably just nodded off while watching a movie, as that’s not at all that unusual for my father. I asked him whether he or mom had turned off my computer, and I wasn’t surprised at all when he said that no one had been in my room while I was sleeping. I also wasn’t surprised when I asked him whether the electricity had gone off and he informed me it hadn’t, for even if it had gone off on one side of the house my clock would be fucked up and not merely my computer. It also should have in no way fucked up my keyboard, at least in no way that could be easily fixed by me wriggling the switches. Still pissed off and confused, I poured myself a cup of coffee, mixed in some sugar, put on my shoes and proceeded to go outside to have a cigarette.
I half-noticed it as I approached the door, and began becoming confused by it as I opened that door. After the door was fully open, it was not something that could easily be ignored. I just looked at it, unable to move or talk or even think for a moment.

There was a large, radiant, shimmering and unearthly red light hovering at the far end of my front yard, right between the two-horse barn and the driveway that cut through the wooded area right behind the object. It was big, it was bright, and it was in my front yard. Furthermore, I was awake and in total mundane consciousness. This was unprecedented.

The weird feeling I’d had since waking up reached a peak. I suddenly knew why I’d felt so weird upon awakening. I’d finally caught the fuckers in the act.

I saw it begin to move upward a bit, and I grabbed my chance - the chance I’d been waiting for since December of 1994. “Dad... dad, dad, DAD - C’MERE. C’MERE QUICK. C’MERE NOW!”

Obediently, and frantically, my father hopped from his chair in front of the television and came running to the door. As he approached, the light had lifted up a bit more, drawn back a little, dimmed, and then began descending behind some trees. It seemed to be getting tinier - perhaps an indication that it was moving away, or perhaps somehow shrinking. By the time my father got to the door, it was barely in my view, but he could still clearly see it, and saw it immediately.

“What the hell is that?” He said in a shocked and curious tone.

My eyes were still fixed on it. It was unbelievable that I was in a normal mental state. even more unbelievable that he was here to see this. “So you see it?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Is that a flare? No... that’s bizarre.”

Never underestimate a fellow human being’s attempt to rationalize a situation. Even from what he saw, it obviously wasn’t a flare - not only, from what he had seen, was the thing too damned big but there were absolutely no planes in the area. Not in sight and not in sound. If he had seen it when it was in our yard and in front of the trees, he wouldn’t have been able to even offer the possibility that it was a flare. It was a shame he hadn’t seen it when it was that close, too, but the important thing was that he saw it. He saw enough of it to leave him shocked and curious, and that’s all that I’d been hoping for: separate validation to make these last seven years seem a little bit more than just indications of my depleting sanity.

“You want to take a walk?” I asked, my eyes watching it dim and shrink from view. I knew we wouldn’t find it, but the pursuit alone would be legendary. “What did you do over the weekend, Tim?” They’d ask. “Oh, me and my dad chased down a UFO in his pick-up truck,” I’d say. I knew I wouldn’t, though.

“Yeah,” he said immediately, “just let me get my shoes.”

When he came back outside, the thing was no longer in sight. He said we should take the truck, and so I climbed in - but not until after I had placed my coffee on a nearby rock. It was hot, fresh coffee that would serve as a good means of measuring the amount of time it would be between when we left and when we got back.

We headed down the driveway and turned left towards Valentine Road. He looked all about the sky. Strangely, I noticed I wasn't doing so. I didn’t expect us to see anything, and I was right. I kept my eyes the whole time on the clock, figuring it was better to be paranoid than sorry.

“It’s weird that you would’ve stepped outside at just the right time to see that,” he told me. I nodded in agreement without further commentary. It was one of those moments when I wanted to spew at him everything that had happened over the years, all the things I’d been too scared to tell him for so long. I held my tongue, though. After we saw that it wasn’t around, we turned back to go home.

After he closed the door to the house, I got out my cigarettes and lit one up. We didn’t talk about the red light for a long time after that. He’d tell my mother about it a few days later, and then she’d ask me about it. She’d go on to tell me how it reminded her of the `comet’ she’d seen on the highway a few years ago, which was reported in the papers.

I picked up the cup of coffee that I’d left behind outside. It was still warm - evidence that there hadn’t been a missing time episode. I didn’t expect there to be, either, for the same reason I didn’t look at the sky as dad and I went on our little adventure: I was fairly certain of what the red light was, and that it was long gone by now because it had done it’s job. It had only mistakenly hung around too long afterward. I was lucky to have caught the bastards and gotten the weak validation I’d gotten. I only wished I could remember what had happened before I awoke in that weird mood. I wished I could remember where I’d spent my day off. I wished I knew the connection between the out-of-body experiences and the little fucks inside that UFO; a connection finally implied by both an out-of-body experience and a two-witness UFO sighting occurring within the span of twenty-four hours.

Autumn Separatio.
10/21/01
by Rewired

The episode on September 29 turned out to be a prelude to a host of strange experiences. The first occurred a little over a week after dad and I saw the nocturnal red light, on the early morning of October 7. I was in bed when I began to feel those familiar sensations again. My body again fell to the numbness and I again felt detached. To fight the process before it got into it’s final stages, I was moving on the bed frantically. I found it hard to move, and I eventually rolled off my mattress and onto the floor. That’s when the uncertainty hit me. I wasn’t at all sure what world I was in.

I crawled across the floor of my dark room. I was a little disoriented, scared, and even a little pissed off, because things didn’t seem to be making any sense. Though things seemed fluid and `different’ somehow, I still wasn’t entirely certain if this was the real world or the Otherworld. I decided to bite a nearby blanket to see if I had a sense of taste, and when I did so I certainly felt the texture on my tongue. It certainly tasted real. I looked around to find something and saw in the blurry darkness a blinking, green semi-colon of light. I figured that it must be my alarm clock, so I grabbed it and moved it to see if it was real. It felt real and it looked real, but it had no numbers. It just had that green, flashing semi-colon. I pulled at the alarm clock and unplugged it, frustrated. I was certainly awake and had all sensory ability, but that still didn’t answer what reality it was and what state of consciousness I was `awake’ within. I knew I had always had the entire field of the senses in the Otherworld (the only one I never truly noticed was the sense of smell).

Suddenly I felt a tremendous pressure on my physical body, like something was pulling at me. As if there was some elastic between my body and I, and if I were to detach from my body any further and go any deeper into it would snap. I knew then that I must be in the Otherworld, and I was finally able to pull myself out of it. I awoke on the bed in my room. I apparently hadn’t moved during the entire experience. I had fallen out of my body, through the Limbo and found myself in an alternate version of my bedroom again. The squirming on the bed, the rolling on the floor, the blanket, the clock - apparently none of what I’d experienced had occurred in ordinary, physical reality at all.


For the next two days, I decided to ignore the out-of-body experiences for now and find out all I could about the September 29 experience. I’d checked the web sites where they posted sightings, hoping to find anyone else who had seen the red nocturnal light, but I found nothing on that date. When the outside search wasn’t fruitful, I decided to go in an absolutely different direction.

On October 9 I put myself under self-hypnosis. It was something I hadn’t attempted in quite a while, and I was quite curious if I could access anymemory of me being on that craft, if indeed the red light was a craft. I reached a state of relaxation, then of warmth, then of detachment. I reached the point where I felt as if I was “all in my head” and focused on wordless intent and tried to focus acutely on the “strange feeling” I had the night I’d seen the red light. I eventually began getting flashes. I felt as if I was relocating somewhere else, at sometime in the past, and about to re-experience a memory again. The next time it flashed, I was able to hold it for just a moment. I found myself lying naked on a cool table, with my left hand touching my right arm. Things were crystal clear. The color was rich and I had completely relocated into the memory in full sensory awareness. It only lasted for a brief moment, however, because I panicked. I tried again and got the same image, but I couldn't find the focus to go any further. I gave up, rolled over and went to sleep.


For the next week or so, my sleeping schedule became more bizarre, even for me. Since high school, I could usually get by relatively easily with little sleep. I never fell asleep spontaneously. I suddenly began to loose that control. I would be just fine one moment, feet jumping due to caffeine as usual, and all of a sudden I would be hit with this unprecedented exhaustion. I would have the unbearable urge to crawl into bed without turning off my computer, the light or anything. Sometimes I wouldn’t even get up to go to bed; I’d just zonk out wherever I was and loose time - like on the eleventh. That was another weird night.

I was had been flipping channels, bored and too scared to think, when I began watching the movie The Final Days (about the Watergate scandals) on television. Somewhere during watching it, I simply “wasn’t there” all of a sudden. I suppose I could’ve fallen asleep, but that’s very strange for me unless I intentionally lie down to do so and I don’t recall closing or opening my eyes. It was two o’clock in the morning when I “awoke,” and then I went upstairs, lay down and zonked out. Upon awakening, my computer yet again read an error on the screen.


Then, on the early morning of October 21, something even more disturbing occurred. It was a few minutes before three in the morning. I had been doing some writing on my computer when I was again overcome with this feeling of exhaustion, and this unbearable urge to just crawl in my bed. I laid down after setting my alarm clock, deciding to fight the urge and read a bit. I didn’t get far until I realized my mind wasn’t registering the words I was reading, so with my computer and light left on, book in hands, I closed my eyes. Within minutes my body was paralyzed again as my mind reached a higher state of awareness and I began to feel myself slipping away. My sense volume went down, my body became paralyzed, and I was forced out of body and into the Limbo.

I immediately heard this horrible electronic-like screeching noise, a lot like the kind of sound you would get on a channel that won’t come in on AM radio. This noise did not originate from my computer fan; that I knew for certain for several reasons. To start with, it was far too loud, and didn’t even remotely sound like anything I owned and had on. It also didn’t have that sound effect to it as if you were hearing it underwater, which was very strange. There was also the fact that I didn’t just hear it, I felt it. It vibrated my entire energy body. I tried to fight it by putting up my white cocoon as a protective measure, but after a lot of effort I still couldn’t reconnect with my physical body or deafen myself to the noise. Rather, it seemed to be building in both noise and frequency.

As I continued fighting for reconnection, something happened that had never before occurred. I heard this very clear and distinctive and extremely angry male voice say to me inside my head “you’d better let it take,” “you’d better let it give,” or something to that affect. I suddenly felt as if, through this screeching, someone was reading my mind. I got the impression that the screeching maybe a side-affect of my resistance to separate from my body completely, and to whatever force might be trying to dominate me or my body or my mind during this experience. Rather than submitting, I struggled all the more, and I decided two could play at the clairaudience game.

“GO TO HELL,” I told them, solely in Limbo. “I’M NOT AFRAID OF YOU.”

Whether this was a self-affirmation or merely me blatantly lying I cannot be sure. Though they never spoke again, the screeching continued. Then, in the void of the Limbo, I saw a surfacing image. It was a translucent and colorless outline of a kid I’d hated in high school and hadn’t thought of in a long time. Along side of him, a picture of the classic Gray being then arose. Whether the images stemmed from me or the origin of the voice I didn’t know, but I hadn’t a damned clue as to what the meaning was supposed to be. I was more worried about the origins of the voice. I was worried that it might be Ee. (Ee was the creature who used to attack me during my initial and much more intense and complete out-of-body experiences back in 1995. A friend of mine who could also travel out-of-body and had seemed to rid me of the thing in 1999.) I hadn’t seen the little shit in almost three years. Was this his return? Had he developed more fully, to the point where he could speak to me so clearly in my head? How much powerful might he have become?

I decided that if it was Ee, and if he tried to attack me, I’d try to “eat” procedure again, as suggested to me by my friend Ludwig and my last psychologist. It involved the act of drawing the creature into me - “eating” it, “hugging” it, “resonating” with it - rather than battling against it. Last time I tried it was back in 1997, and I received beautiful kaleidoscopic images and a loud buzzing noise in my ears as a result. No creature appeared, however, but the imagery remained. I decided to try the “eat” procedure with the images, unable to think of anything else to do. It did squat. Apparently it doesn’t work with transparent imagery. Note that.

Eventually I was able to pull out of it and back Home. I blasted into bodily awareness, head dizzy as if I’d been spinning around and temples feeling the lingering feeling of pressure. My mind was acutely aware. I immediately sat upright in bed. I quickly went to the head of my bed and looked out the window (I’d been sleeping at the foot, away from the window) and saw that there was no red light. Looking at the clock, I saw that it was 3:14am. I was certain it hadn’t taken more then ten to fifteen minutes, much less than it would’ve taken for me to fall asleep and have a dream. I was no longer tired as I was roughly thirty minutes ago before slipping out. To the contrary, I was now overtaken with energy that disallowed me to sleep for the rest of the night.

I went outside to see if I could see anything strange, but there wasn’t a plane in sight, let alone an unidentified nocturnal red light of immense brilliance. There was, however, strange `heat lighting’ that I found rather bizarre, from a source I determined must be located far behind the woods to the back of my house. The flashing was sharp, however - not like your average heat lighting, I’m certain. There wasn’t thunder or rain. It never did rain that night, but the flashing continued for awhile. My father commented on it, too, without me saying anything about it. He had asked me if it had been raining at all when he came downstairs about half an hour later while I was up watching television, and commented on the odd flashes of the `heat lightning.’

I wrote a bit, trying to find out why this disturbed me so much when things like this, and even with much more weirdness, had been occurring consciously for almost seven years. What bothered me, I think, was the very human sound to the voice, and the fact that it had originated from inside my head. Perhaps I truly was schizophrenic.


The day before Halloween, I had become strange exhausted again and lay down on my bed on my stomach with my face down in my pillow. As I was on my bed in the hypnagogic state, I got the feeling of beginning to `slip out’ of my body - downward, as usual. It felt exactly as if I was slowly dunking my head in a pool of water. I felt my face slowly descend, first touching the water’s skin and then feeling it climb up my faceas my face descended deeper into it. It felt absolutely physically real, and I wasn't even deep into Limbo. Then I’d automatically rise out again as soon as I gained awareness seconds later. It was a rather strange, and it happened quite a few times in succession. I didn’t seem to be able to sink into it completely, perhaps because I couldn’t seem to deplete awareness long enough to slip through the border. The very last time it happened, I was awakened by the sound of my parents calling me from downstairs.

Not ten minutes later, I came back upstairs and went to lay back on my bed. It happened again, and I fell through the water this time. I was “gone” for a bit, indicating that I’d been in normal dream awareness for a short period of time. My memories in this instance skip over the Limbo, but I ended up in my `other room,’ and the environment was of a vivid, colorful intensity that was close, but certainly not as intense, as my initial projections in 1995. They were less confusing this time, and I was less terrified. I also wasn’t zipping around the place like a maniac. It also seemed that I could actually maintain some ground and move not unlike I did in the physical world, though I was less aware than usual. All in all, this portion of the experience possessed visual and other sensory qualities more resembling a lucid dream than anything else.

The climax of this willed awareness was reached while I was looking at a mirror in my `other room'. I using every ounce of Will I could cough up to gain higher awareness and remember this upon awakening. When I looked at my face, I saw blurry black holes where my eyes and mouth should be. As I was doing this, some strong force was trying to hold me back and turn me the other way. It was wrapped around my waist, and in the mirror I saw it was an appendage of what appeared to be Ee. He was in his initial form now, a body with no real form but just a clear, translucent jelly-like energy form that distorted the surrounding environment. This was his original form, during the initial 1995 encounters, when I saw myself fighting with him in the mirror in a similar `alternate room.’

After that brief intense awareness, there is a gap in memory. The next thing I remember is a very vivid dream, where events continued in a less intense and more fragmentary manner.

I’d gone off with someone in the dream; the passenger in a car. I believe we’d gone to the drive-through ATM machine when I saw something beside the machine that I thought to be very bizarre at the time. After awakening, in my dream log I’d see that I had written down “a mouse and a hole” to explain the odd element, but I’m not entirely certain that’s what I saw. I’m more inclined to believe it was just a product of grasping.

I’m back at home and outside to the right of the house coming out of the front door. My mother’s there on the side of the house, and my sisters are in the back. I look up and see a silver saucer going overhead. I think I tell her to look, or at least the facial expression on my face seem to indicate I’m seeing something out of the ordinary up there, so my mom takes her binoculars and, looking through the wide end, searches the sky for the saucer, which has already passed, and I believe at the time was either gone or had traveled to the backyard and was hiding in the trees.

I see a light in the woods around where our neighbors house is. It’s a little too bright, but I still tell myself that it was their house light and not the saucer. I walk to the woods on the other side of the house, through the backyard, and began heading toward where the old barn used to be. There seemed to be an elevated path; a long wooden deck-structure with a wooden railing. I began to walk on it. I got more than three quarters the way to where the old barn used to be and saw `mom’ there - and I immediately knew it was NOT really `mom.’ She has those blurry black vortices for eyes that I had earlier in the first scene, when trying to look in the mirror. She reaches her hand over the railing and attempts to grab my head or strangle me. We struggled for awhile.

Then I awoke again in the other room. Apparently all this had been a dream (in actuality, a dream within a dream). I head downstairs and I see a friend of mine come out of my downstairs bathroom. She’s got her hair dyed blonde and she’s in these kid-like pajamas. It wasn’t a solid color; it was white or blue and had light-colored designs on it. She sits down beside me and we talk a bit. Then a group of us get in their car and we go to the same bank I was at earlier with the unknown guy. I again see that “thing of importance” that I identified, in my forgetfulness upon awakening, as a “mouse and a hole.” I told them I was just there with the other guy in my “dream” (the one I had within this dream).

We then go home I go up into my room alone. I’m sorting through some papers or something, looking for something on th