LETTERS TO EVELYN

 

LETTERS TO EVELYN

 

 

 

 

John Selman

 

 

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

Eve............................................................................................................ 11

Dear Evelyn, ............................................................................................. 13

Introduction .............................................................................................. 15

Chapter 1 The Selman Chronicles: Pilot. Posted on May 8, 2012.......... 21

Chapter 2 The Encounter. Posted on May 12, 2012............................... 25

Chapter 3 New Year’s 2000. Posted on May 15, 2012. .......................... 29

Chapter 4 Muster the Strength. Posted on May 24, 2012....................... 33

Chapter 5 Oh Captain, HorribleCaptain. Posted on June 4, 2012. ................ 37

Chapter 6 My Blood Is Your Blood. Posted on June 11, 2012................ 59

Chapter 7 The Speech That Roared. Posted on June 15, 2012. ............. 63

Chapter 8 Grandmother Selman. Posted on October 12, 2014............... 71

Chapter 9 Yeah! Flight School. Posted on June 27, 2012. ..................... 73

Chapter 10 Helicopter Man! Posted on July 10, 2012. ............................ 79

Chapter 11 USS Nimitz and the Heavens Above.

Posted on September 6, 2012. .............................................. 87

Chapter 12 The Horrors of War and the Buildup to the Prophesies.

Posted on September 25, 2012. ............................................ 91

Chapter 13 The 2003 USS Nimitz—2004 Visions.

Posted on October 11, 2014.................................................. 99

Chapter 14 Enter Mrs. Sandman. Posted on September 30, 2012.......... 103

Chapter 15 No Work and Little Left for the Alien in Texas.

Posted on October 1, 2012.................................................. 107

Chapter 16 Mom, Rescue Me. Posted on October 6, 2012..................... 113

Chapter 17 The Decision to Return to UMaine.

Posted on October 7, 2012.................................................. 117

Chapter 18 The Touch. Posted on October 10, 2012.............................. 121

Chapter 19 Conclusion ......................................................................... 127

Chapter 20 Epilogue. Posted on February 22, 2013. ............................. 135

Chapter 21 The Evidence. Posted on February 28, 2013....................... 137

Chapter 22 The Intergalactic Superhighway.

Posted on March 10, 2013.................................................. 147

Chapter 23 The Meeting. Posted on May 2, 2013.................................. 153

Chapter 24 The Cat Let out of the Bag. Posted on May 3, 2013............. 157

Chapter 25 The Gray Choice................................................................. 163

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For Evelyn, who saves me in every way 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, to give you hope and a future.

 

 

Genesis 6:8

But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.

 

 

Matthew 5:44

But I say unto you love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them who don’t love you, and persecute you; For if you only love who love you, what reward is there in that?

 

 

“Love your family.”

 

 

“All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.”

-Stephen Hawking

 

 

"Every person is worthy of too much Care"


"Every Baby is Born with Blue eyes"

 

 

“The Omniverse, all God’s stars, planets, and nebulae are inside each and every one of us.”

 

 

“Have a sense of humor, even when no one is looking.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eve

 

I want to be your friend,

A hand I hope you’re willing to lend,

In hopes for a new tomorrow,

The crown I’m going to borrow.

 

 

The ubiquity of love will shine bright of light.

In the stars of nebulae in the height of night,

The galaxies will collide, and every star will wright.

The rebirth of imagination is from you so bright.

Our friends from the stars will come with love and glory,

Bring something to believe in and save my story.

 

 

For the gray, Zea, Seh, playh, Drey, and Bleh we are willing to first look

In my heart, my soul, you all took.

On the day of contact, you’ll see me there.

The music will rejoice the weather fair.

With a little luck, we can roll the dice.

Just the handshake, all of our technology and friendship will suffice.

On the day of contact, I will ask you once more:

Be my friend of the stars of heaven, for

Look at the stars,

You can always just look at the moon.

They were put there for you

So you can spoon.

 

 

Every Man is Christ.

Every Man is Adam.

Every Woman is Eve.

Every Man is Jesus.

Every Woman is Mary.

Every Woman is Eve.

Every Man begins new life

Of every Woman Queen

Together we fly.

Together we cry.

Together we fall

In love with all.

 

 

Eve, Mary, Daughter of God, God’s Princess, Mother of all Omniverses of all time,

Eyes so brown like Earthy planets when I look to them,

A voice so ageless the angels praise and sing so impressed,

I’m so lucky to have found you; I feel so blessed.

Return with open eyes and a wide heart to save us,

Weaved and received into a soul so wondrous.

Only you could be the one searching to seek us.

Stay with me through the ages; it would be just.

 

 

It has been so long since I first saw you in my imagination.

I’m now on the edge of salvation

Or at the edge of the universe’s cold hue.

I kept seeing you,

Happy like the morning dew

On the side of my plane,

And when I was in so much pain,

And when I was becoming an officer, gold and navy blue,

Since then it has been a wondrous joy

We get from seeing your magic, astronomic, perpetual love woo true.

 

 

By reading my poem, please don’t leave.

It’s just a caring guy who wears a heart on his sleeve.

We love you forever for everyone and for everything, like you wouldn’t

imagine and couldn’t believe.

It is my only hope you’ll be our Eve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Evelyn,

 

I’m so sorry for everything. I understand this whole thing might be a mistake, but here is my letter, the letter I wanted to send to you the moment you touched my hands, and it is the long version. I am only writing to you in hope that you find me in your heart someday and say hello to me sometime in the future. You have left me so afraid of who I so desperately respect and love—you—after all I’ve been through in my life. You’re my memories of my artwork, Evelyn. There’s so much I see in you that may or may not be visible to you, and I have so very much to tell you from my journeys across the globe in the navy. We love you, Evelyn. To me, also to anyone who reads my book, and in our eyes, you are the future first queen of all omniverses, and our space between, with only an equal amount of love in our hearts. For this reason, I need for you to read my book carefully, as it is condensed with a lot of information in a short amount of space. I have lost a lot of weight, about thirty-five pounds, and I am aiming to get back into shape this year. But I have sunk into the deepest depths of despair while at the same time being in heaven, thinking about you ever since you opened my embrace onto my chemistry booklet similar to some rose opening its petals to the sun. This whole life that I’ve lived seems to unravel like a synchronicity-filled fairy tale. That is, all our lives as a fairy tale replete with synchronicities. For these reasons, I mention some things two times in a row (1) to confirm you’re paying attention and (2) for you to believe me. I apologize again for all that I have done, which for both of us, in my opinion, at times has been a beautiful disaster. Please read my story with careful eyes and see yourself near me.

Please read carefully and see if you even vaguely remember any of my story, Evelyn. I am training to become a materials or aerospace engineer, which will enable me to earn extra income, and it is my only hope that it will bring me closer to you in chemistry studies. Please forgive me for that awful stare, Evelyn. I am so sorry from the deepest depths of my heart. I’m in so much pain from what I have done to myself. I hurt myself horribly when I stared at you like I’ve been stared at by so many persons I’ve known in this life after so much abuse. I am simultaneously the happiest and saddest man alive. I am ecstatic knowing that I met you, but I am also so sad at the same time because you’re not in my life.

I had an unbelievable journey writing my life’s story, as you indirectly recommended we all write a life’s novel on your inspiring business website. My life for the last few years has been occupied by you in my heart, and for this joy you have given everyone, I’m giving you everything in all omniverses. Feel safe. Please read it carefully, as it is condensed because I didn’t want to waste any of your time, and I know you are busy.

I have no expectations to come of this story, our love. All my life I have experienced love unrequited, and I have been nearly always single since I was twenty-four, after my visit in Utica. I am now thirty-eight. I have no one except my mother and, on seldom occasion, my family in Maine. I don’t know what I can do to remedy the stresses of being alone and having no one to talk to. For these reasons, I’m sending you my book in an e-mail, and my only hope is that you read it, our love.

No one believes me when I tell them what I experienced. But I know who you are and who you could be in our hearts. You are God’s princess. I only hope I will know the joys of being your friend. Please read my story.

Please come back to me. We’ll have butterflies of love in our hearts for the rest of our eternal lives if you read my story. You’re working so hard, and you’re so successful, and I’m so proud and happy you’re doing well and to have even met you. I love you more than you could believe and wouldn’t imagine, Eve. Please read my story; it will tell you everything. It will tell you why I was in so much pain when I first really met you and why I shooed love away when I was still in love with Maria. This story is everything, and I urge you to read with careful eyes. I could have turned my story into a gigantic one thousand-page book, but I know you must be very busy, so I kept it to the point. Thank you, Evelyn, for everything you have done for me, but again, it is my only hope you find me somewhere in your friendly heart. Thank you, and we will always adore you. Please, my novella is completed. It, in as much as the purpose, sense, and direction of all omniverses, is all about you.

 

 

 

INTRODUCTION

 

I was born John Jackson Selman III on May 8th, 1976, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but I grew up in Brunswick, Maine. I have lived in Brunswick since I was four years old as an only child, when my parents were divorced in 1980. My grandfather, who was a lawyer, a judge, an admiral, and second-in-command for all legal affairs in the US Navy as deputy judge advocate general, passed away the same year. Apparently, he was the first JAG officer to bring forth a type of case against the United States to the US Supreme Court. The problem of double jeopardy in the military was that when there was an infraction of the law by a sailor, soldier, airman, or marine, there would be punishment by both civilian and military courts. My grandfather wanted to do away with this double jeopardy but passed away in 1980 right after my birthday before he could make the change. However, that was his legacy, and he was posthumously promoted to admiral because of admiral-like duties as a captain. It was a hard year in 1980, and I was saddened by my losses. My father was also a naval officer, as I have been too. It is our family tradition to be an officer in the military.

My parents went through a stormy divorce in 1980 because all sides were hurt by the VA-93 Raven squadron lingo my father introduced to our household. Once, when I was flying with my father in a PA-28 Cherokee as a three-year-old, I begged my father to fly through a towering, billowy cumulonimbus cloud in the distance. He struck me hard and said, “You wanna pass away, Son?” I was knocked out for three minutes. As a result of the hardship between my parents, my mother divorced my father and received a sizable settlement amounting to $130,000, most of which he has yet to pay.

My father was a professional airline transport pilot who crossed the picket lines when Eastern Airlines had financial troubles. Consequently, my father was blackballed by the airline industry and couldn’t find himself a pilot job afterward. Being shunned with that scarlet letter on his chest given by the airline industry after he had flown for more than thirteen thousand hours in the air and with 298 bombing missions in the Vietnamese conflict was devastating for him. He loved to fly; he was a magician in the air and a stellar pilot. If there was one man who could start up, take off, fly, accomplish a mission, and land with a plane, it was my father. Now that his livelihood was taken away, I think it drove him over the edge. Most of the time, in the navy as an officer, one is treated with loyalty, respect, and dignity, which is something I still miss to this day. I say most of the time because my experiences were quite different from those of other officers. Nonetheless, it has taken me quite some time to adjust to the challenges of life as a civilian. I think my father went through the same challenges when he transitioned to civilian life, and it translated into devastation for our family when my parents were still together and after they were divorced.

My first extraterrestrial memory is an obscure one. I don’t know if it even happened. But it was a memory that came when I had struggles with my mental health. Much of the devastation my father introduced to our family and his profession as a fighter pilot in the Vietnamese conflict transformed my imagination toward science fiction stories of destruction done by extraterrestrial races on Earth when they first visit. As a young boy, I can vividly remember fantasizing about the story War of the Worlds, the musical by Jeff Wayne where an extraterrestrial civilization lands on Earth and attacks humanity with advanced weapons, only to succumb to earthly bacteria. I found an album on the turntable one day, with its artwork depicting glowing red weed consuming the landscape, aliens hatching from their spacecraft and taking over Earth, and then flocks of birds tearing and picking at the alien-fighting machines oozing red shreds out of their hulls as they were succumbing to the earthly bacteria.

I would write and modify pieces for school assignments that emulated this story with passion and fervor. I couldn’t stop thinking and writing about aliens taking over Earth as a boy, and then saving my love, Beth, like in the story from them. Dreams I had of making contact with alien civilizations had always been on my mind.

Then one night, I had a writing assignment when I was eight years old in the fourth grade in Brunswick, Maine, and I was sitting on my bed. The yellow-and-white-striped sheets looked bright in the light that was shining down on me as I was transcribing my story. All of a sudden, I could see a glimmering, sparkling outline of an extraterrestrial being inside my room! The exoskeleton looked like the surface of a rose stem, with dozens of dullened, round-tipped protrusions pointing outward at a downward angle from her body. She seemed black but almost like an oil slick, as if there were multicolored, stroboscopic Newton rings projected brightly in the light above me. Immediately, I was taken aback by what stood before me four feet away, and I could tell she was trying to communicate with me telepathically. The being sat down next to me on my bed, but the bed didn’t move. Notwithstanding this, I knew there was an extraterrestrial being with amazing technologies at her disposal sitting next to me to my left. The being was a female. She looked slender with this exoskeleton and had large golden eyes, and when she spoke, her English words were communicated to me somehow. I moved to the other side of the bed, and the being changed sides with me instantaneously. I moved to the middle of the bed, and the being teleported to a crouched position on the floor less than a foot in front of me, and she asked me, “How old do you think I am?”

“How old?” I buoyantly asked.

They couldn’t stop laughing. “I am over five thousand Earth years old, and the technology I use to stay alive came from you. Think deeply about what you want in life,” she said gently. “Never stare, never stare ... never stare,” they whispered as they left. “It may destroy you,” they said urgently as they approached me again and then left through the wall. The extraterrestrial beings disappeared, and I didn’t see or hear anything from this race until I was fourteen years old, and then later when I was twenty-nine.

My second extraterrestrial memory is as clear as a starry night sky. The night was dark and warm, but every star could be seen at the University of Maine on October 22, 1997. There was a warm front that weekend, and it was nearly seventy degrees that evening. I was on my second year back at school as an economics and German major. I was with my best friend, Brian, a math major, in his upstairs room in Penobscot Hall. “Let’s go outside and go smokin’ butts, bro,” he said. So we decided to go to the botanical gardens located on the southwest side of the UMaine campus in the middle of the night to smoke cigarettes with every star in the sky blazing through the atmosphere. We walked by the library, the union (where we often played fifty-cent games of Tekken together), and then Jenness Hall. Finally we got to the botanical gardens, and we lay in the grass near the pond carved out of the landscape. We were talking about the time I had spent the last summer in New Jersey, living with his family in their posh basement and working at Six Flags Great Adventure as an atmospheric character. I was James Smith the town crier with a big colonial hat in the mornings and Jack the juggling jester at night over the summer, 1997 in Jackson, New Jersey. We knew each other well, and as I said before, we were best friends.

We were looking at the sky and seeing shooting stars and birds flying overhead illuminated by the campus lights. We talked about the times we had spent together in our first year of college when I’d earned failing grades and was counseled to leave school by friends and work for a year. We were motivating ourselves to get good grades that year. Looking straight up while I was lying down, twenty-one years old, my young back smothering the eight-inch blades of grass in different directions, with Brian lying next to me, suddenly all these memories of being a loser in school, known as someone who picked his nose, being made fun of and ignored, flooded my mind. And I missed my best friend, Andy Pennell, who’d taken his life earlier that year. I started to cry, and little bright points of flashes went off sixty to eighty degrees up in altitude. I said to Brian, “Look at those stars! They’re exploding. Well, whad’ya know; they’re little supernovas. Hahaha,” I finished funny like Ace Ventura. Brian giggled.

“What are those? Are those jets?” he asked, still lying down.

“I don’t know,” I answered. I continued to look up at the sky, and Brian sat upright when suddenly three lights in a triangular formation appeared less than two hundred feet away, just behind of the tree line, thirty-five feet high. I didn’t think they were anything other than streetlights that were just turned on, or a street sweeper, or some man-made source I wasn’t aware of at the time, but Brian said, “Holy sh——, John, look at that!” I still didn’t think anything of it when I moved my eyes and saw strange lights, but then I moved my head into the upright position with my body lying flat and saw three colored lights moving in formation as if they were on a hovering craft near the tree line. One red light on the left side, a blue light on the right, and an ivory, yellowish-white light on top, forming a giant triangle forty to fifty feet wide, shifted down and to the left. It carved a curved trajectory, slowly moving down and to the left. It made no noise whatsoever, and no tree limbs were reflecting light back to our eyes, so we didn’t see them. It was just three lights in formation moving down and to the left like on the bottom right side of a circle and then on a straight line tracking left about 175 feet away behind the tree line in the woods.

Five seconds after I first saw it, I identified it as an extraterrestrial craft, and I jumped up and started to run after the craft, but Brian tackled me almost twenty feet later. It disappeared, and we never saw it again.

“Let me go! Let me go, Brian! Let me go!” I shouted while I was wrestling with him on the ground. But he subdued me, holding me tight, and it was then when the craft disappeared as Brian was calming me down. I was ready to be abducted that night!

We searched everywhere for anything around campus that could have had a blue, a red, and ivory, yellowish-white light on top in the middle after we got up and left, but we found nothing. “What was that? What on or above Earth was that, Briguy?”

“I don’t know!” he whispered.

“They ... were F-15s, yes. They had to have been. We saw them moving, then lighting the sky on fire with light! Like little firecrackers in the sky, then one big one! What are they doing?”

“I don’t know, John, and I don’t know what that thing was either, so let’s get out of here.”

“Why are you being so quiet, Brian?” I asked.

On the way home, we said to ourselves that maybe it could’ve been a street sweeper or a dump truck or a police car, but nothing we knew of could have moved initially with the lower two multicolored lights being thirty-five feet in the air, moving down and to the left in the middle of the woods in a curved trajectory. We also then assumed that no craft we knew of could have moved the way it did while making no sound, and we said to ourselves it must have been a real alien craft because there was no way we were hallucinating the same sight simultaneously. We talk about it to this day, and to this day, I still believe it was an alien craft.

My story is one that must be told, and I am bringing it to you for every reason a real extraterrestrial “contactee” would want to share his story. My story is mostly about unrequited love, but it also has elements of otherworldly exploration, which I have experienced at many points in my life. Thank you for making it this far. Now let’s prepare ourselves for the journey ahead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

The Selman Chronicles: Pilot. Posted on May 8, 2012.

 

This is a story that will take you on a journey through the last twelve and a half years of my life. And what a journey it has been. My name is John Selman. I’m from Brunswick, Maine, and I’m pursuing a materials or aerospace engineering degree starting in one or two semesters.

I am faced with a dilemma, and I must document the feelings, the emotions, and the facts to bring these events to you in a presentable way. I am at a crossroads. I fell in love with a woman named Evelyn Tuskegee for every reason a man could fall in love with a woman.

It all began in college when I was at the University of Maine as an NROTC student and midshipman in spring 1999, after the University of Maine’s men’s ice hockey team won the NCAA national championships. I had a bright and promising future. I had just earned the highest GPA I had ever earned as a German and physics major (3.50) and had just received an NROTC scholarship covering all my tuition costs. Coddiwompling my way through NROTC, avoiding mistakes in daily conversation, getting by with doing well on physical fitness tests, and keeping every uniform I owned in perfect shape, summer was approaching, and I had to prepare for the three jobs I had lined up. This summer in 1999, I was to be a landscaper, helping this elderly fellow who had a lot of dreams and memories, some clear yet others faded. I was also to be a telemarketer for MBNA (Maryland Bank National Association) in Brunswick, Maine. Lastly, I was to be a construction grunt for a nearby contractor. I would be riding my bike between all three jobs, which amounted to more than twenty-five miles per day. Sometimes I had to act fast like Clark Kent to change from one outfit to the other, most of the time being filthy with paint, trash, mud and dirt all over me and my jeans. Every day was at least a sixteen-hour workday, so I often had to rush between jobs.

The future was bright. I wanted to be a jet pilot, flying hundreds of miles per hour, coping with the enormous stresses of Gz in tight turns in aerial maneuvering. Drugs, impure thoughts leading to impure actions, and any sense of animosity toward government, law, and military customs and traditions had completely left my life, and I had found my inspiration in the US Constitution and Navy values. My dream was to become an aircraft carrier pilot. My father was an aircraft carrier pilot in the Vietnamese conflict flying 298 bombing missions aboard two different aircraft carriers, the USS Bonhomme Richard (CV-31) and the USS Ranger (CV-61), and I wanted to do the same.

Summer came and went, and I had a very sweet girlfriend, Gwen, who a marine introduced me to in the fall of 1999. I earned a respectable GPA, and that was that. Nothing would prepare me for the extreme pain and sorrow that would follow in the next event of my life. Nothing could prepare me for it.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

The Encounter. Posted on May 12, 2012.

 

My father had long been an inspiration to me. I loved my father very much and genuinely wanted to follow in his footsteps. The son of an Ottumwa, Iowan Portuguese immigrant family with an English name, and one-eighth Native American Choctaw Indian in his blood, he had a hard childhood of being on a leash and living off peanut butter and jelly because of a lack of cooking skills at home by the parental units. So this leads us to these questions: Who knew this kid playing with model rockets and cherry bombs in the backyard, with a knack for mischief, would be an Eagle Scout, an electrical engineering major at the Naval Academy, and an A-4 Skyhawk and A-7 Corsair II attack pilot in Vietnam? Who would’ve predicted the starry-eyed career of an Eastern Airlines 727 pilot with over thirteen thousand hours in the air? And who would’ve suspected his atrocious downfall?

In the fall of 1999, my father invited me to visit after I had contacted his wingman, Whizzer White, via the A-4 Skyhawk Association website, when I was looking for an e-mail address, a phone number ... some contact that would enable me to speak to him who I desperately wanted to be like, and who I hadn’t seen in almost eight years, when he visited Maine once in 1991. Finally, I got a response. He was living in Utica, New York, as a truck driver, married to Jona Selman, so we started to communicate via e-mail. In a few months, I got an invitation to see him over New Year’s 2000. Keep in mind this was the man who kidnapped me when I was four years old for eleven weeks after the divorce because he couldn’t pay child support. In 1981, my father tore me from my mother’s arms and quickly carried me to the car waiting on the trailer park street with its engine running. After he propped me in the backseat, we sped off with my father driving, and Jona, his wife, in the front passenger side.

I was traveling by bus from Brunswick, Maine. The sunny daylight of my departure on the day after Christmas 1999, the cold crisp air, hardly a cloud in the sky, was long. It took seventeen hours to reach Utica, and it was similar to being on a different world. The rush of inflow of passengers in and out of the bus stations, the dirty streets, the emptiness that I felt, being trusted to travel so far with these ominous strangers sitting in front of me was all so strange somehow. Sitting at the last bus station before my arrival in Ithaca, I distinctly remember a warning. This was a warning that told me in the back of my mind, “Don’t go any further.” There was an elderly woman with wispy white hair. She gleamed at me with these sunglasses that seemed to make her look like an alien, a gray alien. I was stunned. The sun was going down, and the wooden interior of the bus station was cozy while I was eating a sandwich. The freezing temperatures outside and the snowdrifts all looked deep blue outside the building’s black-trimmed windows.

Finally, the bus stopped at my destination, the lights turned on, and I took my bags from the overhead compartments. Looking outside the windows, I could see a giant shadow sitting on the driver’s side of an old Chrysler. The shoulders hung from his six foot two frame were broad and puffed, and I could almost remember him lowering his head. In the background, I could see the light shining from the streetlight just behind him, creating a glittering wet street with extremely large, empty, black swathes of darkness all around. I felt anger emanating from this shadow that was staring at me, illuminated inside the bright bus. It was very strange and was almost like an out-of-body experience.

This was my father, the same father who used to take me flying in a PA-28 Cherokee airplane when my family was still in Albuquerque. I was three years old as an only child when he was an airline pilot, and later when I was twenty-six, I would solo in a PA-28 for my private pilot’s license in 2002. We greeted each other wonderfully and went to his house.

When I walked through the double door to enter into the kitchen of his house, I saw a genuinely gleeful woman, Jona Selman, who is my stepmother, cheerfully smiling and standing almost fifteen feet away near the bedroom door. At the time I saw her, however, I melted because she floated to me like a ghost. Her walking toward me in a trance with no vertical movement and then embracing me with all these memories made me feel uneasy. I shook my head in small side-to-side movements, whispering, “No, no,” nervously as she approached me. I didn’t want all this attention, the penetrating gaze with haze in her eyes as she drifted to me for an immediate soft hug.

I hadn’t seen her since I was kidnapped, and presently in 2012, I have very odd memories of torture in my encounters with her, most of which are unmentionable. One time, Jona drove home with me in the car—I was in the backseat—with the car stereo on full blast for fifteen minutes with crazed behavior.

Lastly, after my parents were divorced, when I was nine years old, my mother and I received a mysterious package in the mail, and we opened it. The same fluid and smooth, curvy cursive writing was on the package that had been on the letters we received over the years before from my father (written by Jona), so we knew it was from them, and I thought it was a birthday present because it was spring. Slowly, we tore the outside of the tape on the corner of the box, and out flew several ants and other insects. We quickly went outside and opened it more and discovered the whole package had been filled with a white dress and thousands of tiny insects. “This was horrible. Absolutely horrible. Horrible!” I said to my mother. I remembered these memories clearly and had no idea where this was going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

New Year’s 2000. Posted on May 15, 2012.

 

We talked for days and caught up on times. He raved about the King James Bible and only mentioned the Book of Mormon once. He went on and on about how the attacks of the locust swarms were about to come. We even went trucking in his big rig and talked about old times together. Some parts of the discussion centered on my father’s service in Vietnam.

One story had my father inside his A-4E Skyhawk, below zero on the altimeter reading, when he was pulling up out of a bombing run at night. More stories of white puff flak bursts in the air, the airframe shattering gray puffs and the devastating black puffs from the 57 mm shells. Those were the worst and fatal if hit directly onto such a small jet. I remember him describing the sound of bullets passing through his wing, sounding like soda pop cans being opened. Lastly, another story sent my father beneath the aircraft carrier landing deck as he was quickly approaching the landing zone at 150 knots in the darkness. He had to abort the landing and wave off at the last second, and had he waited any longer to do this, he might have collided with the ship’s deck.

For the one week that I was there, however, I can’t recall a single conversation where I was completely comfortable. There was always something they thought I didn’t know about myself or the world around me. She was a Mormon; she also seemed convinced about end times and the Alex Jones misery.

A day later, after Jona had reviled about her cooking skills, when Jona and my father suggested that I go driving in his big rig to deliver goods on his shipping assignment, Jona said she would be staying home. My father parked the big rig in the dirt driveway and then moved it onto the road down the hill 150 feet from the house, and we began our two-day journey.

One day into our itinerary, when we were driving along the highway in my father’s Freightliner big rig, my father asked if he could deliver a prayer for me. He placed his hand on my forehead like I was a space jockey in its cockpit on the alien ship from the movie Alien, directed by Ridley Scott (1979). His large, soft-handed palm was on my forehead with his fingertips resting on the top of my head. He whispered his unintelligible, incoherent prayer and spent the next three minutes trying to coerce me into telling him of a disaster.

“Son, I want you to tell me of a disaster in the future. Go right ahead, say something,” he said.

After more than three minutes of questioning and pleading and my saying flatly, confidently, and assertively, “No,” each time, I finally said very lightly, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas.”

He said back enthusiastically, “Son, I am proud of you. You might have just saved it all.”

I looked at my digital watch almost fifteen seconds later, which showed 7:59 a.m. Slowly, at 8:01 EST as the big rig hummed along the highway, he pulled out his pen and printed on the back cover of his King James Bible the day’s date, December 27, 1999, and that there would someday be a tsunami the day after Christmas. He finished writing at 8:02. Of course, there could have eventually been a tsunami the day after Christmas far off into the future because of laws of time and probability. Little did I know that this was an important event, as it would later turn out that it would happen exactly five years in the future to the minute. The year 2000 was a leap year.

The whole time I was with them in 1999–2000, I was kind and generous and made every effort to be as sweet, caring, and amiable as possible. I came with presents, and one of them was a book, The Hand of God by Michael Reagan, that I gave to my real mother that Christmas. I only wanted to make Jona proud in my decision to become a navy pilot like my father before me.

Well, I had just been designated for entry into the naval aviator pipeline, and I was self-actualized, living in the pleasures of what could be if given a chance. I honestly don’t even think they lived there in that old house in Utica. I think they were just renting the property. I look back on the whole time I was there, and I just thought the whole visitation was troubling. How could I let these two people who I thought were family be so two-faced?

The morning I left, January 3rd, 2000, after Jona skipped dinner the night before, Jona made me a plate of scrambled eggs. She set the plate down on the table like a careful waitress. Mid-meal, dousing my eggs with ketchup I said, "These eggs are so good. So great. Wow, am I hungry. Are they cage free?" I inquired back and laughed lightly. "Yes," she said back. “They’re terrific,” she whispered when she moved her eyes onto the floor. We left for the bus station after I completed my meal.

As soon as I got on the bus, I got the sensation that someone was watching me. I looked to the right through the window, and there was Jona, sitting on the street bench looking at me fiercely as if I had done something wrong, like when I was five years old during the kidnapping and she was somehow dissatisfied with my behavior. The look she gave me was as if she wanted to teach me a hard lesson for something I had done to her. I kept a sunny disposition and waved back at her quickly.

In the next moment, my life did a complete 180-degree reversal for the worst. I saw a flash, my brain buzzed lightly for just over a second, and I saw a creature that looked bright white outlined with broad shoulders and sharp claws. The body was black, and it looked like an alien, a xenomorphic alien from Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), conceived by H.R. Giger. The flash disappeared, and I was startled. I whispered to myself a few seconds later, “I better not have been poisoned. Oh my God ... what was that?” Ten seconds elapsed, and I heard what began as light hissing sounds growing in intensity, louder and more ferocious, becoming roars and elephant-like shrieks and screams over the next twenty seconds. Suddenly, hundreds then thousands, then millions upon billions of crowded, small then tiny, then large, muscular insectoid black aliens began jittering, writhing, and jerking in plain view. Immediately, my heart sank into my bowels. I knew I had been poisoned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4

 

Muster the Strength. Posted on May 24, 2012.

 

So I sat there on the bus wheezing from the horror and shock that I had been poisoned for seventeen hours. I didn’t know whether I was going to survive the whole time I was on this drug because every moment was a hallucination, and I didn’t know how much of the substance she laced my eggs with.

Meanwhile, universes were spinning around me, and I didn’t know where my head was. My worst fears had come alive, and my sense of safety and security had vanished. I felt like I was in the middle of explosions as large as the big bang, and aliens were alive, real to me and trying to sleuth their way into eating me around every corner, every second. Aliens, large, black, biblical locusts began spouting from the twig tips of bushes and grew out of my torso. Open and vulnerable, unknowingly on my way to fight the demons of the underworld for almost a whole year, I slid and slouched on my seat. I knew I had eaten the eggs at least an hour ago and said to myself, “Sh—, the eggs are already digested. I don’t think I can puke it up. Well, I’ve done this before, I’ve done psychedelics before, long ago, way before I entered the navy, so let’s see how long this lasts.” But at that time when the drug had taken effect, it was still on its way to full blast. What I hadn’t known was that Jona had laced my eggs, which tasted completely normal, with an equivalent effect of anywhere between two hundred and five hundred doses of lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD. I would be hallucinating for over ten months.

On this drug, whatever it was, they wouldn’t tell me, I saw horrific creatures I had never encountered before. At least we were not properly introduced, considering they were trying to wipe me out at every corner, in every hallway and on every walkway when I returned to UMaine. When I went to the bathroom, blood was in my urine three or four times.

The sleep never came. I cried and cried so hard over this, sitting on the grass near the entrance to my apartment at DTAV (Doris Twitchell Allen Village). I felt like I was being attacked by frightening extraterrestrials every second. The cars drove by, and all I could do was sit outside and cry while the aliens enjoyed attacking me for ten months. My girlfriend broke up with me abruptly without telling me why. My mother told me to leave the house during spring vacation because of the creditors approaching the door at home and calling, and because I kept secluded and stationed in my room.

I wasn’t earning money yet, in fact I was losing money, so I had no way of paying the bills on my new truck and I was afraid of speaking to any person, even family. I moved and was living with my half sisters for spring break. I knew what lay ahead of me, and the numbers are staggering.

I first went twelve days with no sleep at all. Then, suddenly, almost nineteen minutes of sleep after attempting every technique known to man. After being awake for five consecutive days, I would sleep for five and a half hours, but for the remainder of the time I was hallucinating, I slept no more than three hours per day, gradually approaching that figure near the end when the drug finally wore off after ten months. Night after night, for the first two months back in school at UMaine in 2000, twenty, thirty, then forty-five minutes of sleep would come each night after every three weeks that passed, but I was bleary every day, and every movement was a challenge as I was hallucinating constantly still, with aliens assaulting me on every step. I was broken, but I couldn’t let anyone know what happened to me.

My NROTC academic adviser, who was a senior lieutenant, noticed I was exhausted from day one after I returned to school and specifically had me come to his office to meet with him in the middle of the spring semester so he could ask me some personal questions about how I had been doing

all this time. He had noticed the bags under my eyes, my tired demeanor, and my wanly, pale complexion. I answered every question with a straight face and enthusiastically laughed when I needed to, even with aliens in the room staring at me and eating me alive. I managed a 3.17 GPA that last semester and managed to rank first in my UMaine NROTC graduation class. I also ranked first on my fitness report (a job evaluation) out of a twenty-two-member midshipman crew aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65). They are not great achievements, but the memories make me very happy nonetheless.

Too much was riding on this. I had to muster the strength for my next encounter. I was aboard this USS Enterprise (CVN-65), a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier containing the most nuclear reactors of any ship in history, eight of them, in June–July 2000 after my UMaine graduation. I was on my first-class midshipman cruise, and I received instruction from a petty officer on the morning of July 4th to meet in the commanding officer’s office with the executive officer, number two in command of America’s flagship, in twenty minutes at 0600. This was one day after I was given a full, unopened Coke can from a random sailor who knocked on the midshipman stateroom door. Upon answering the door, he passed the can from his left hand to his right and held it up and said, “I am the random sailor! This is for you. Do you want it?”

I paused for a moment and said, “Yes ... please, thank you,” secretly hoping for a chemical antidote to my hallucinations.

The petty officer left, and I closed the door. I popped the can open and took a small sip. I almost puked as I ran toward the sink mirror and found blood on my lips. The silvery taste and slippery feel in my mouth was sickening, so I spit it out and vigorously wiped it clean with water all over my face until it was gone. I then thought about all the stuff that happened to me and realized there was an important reason why this can of blood was given to me. I intently took a second, small, regulated sip, and it slid uncomfortably down my throat. I then poured some of it into the sink, scrubbing the remaining blood down the drain with my fingers before I set the almost-full can carefully into the trash. It was approaching 0600.

“I guess I’m going to find out what all this hardship was for. God, I hope I get answers on why this all happened, including the blood-filled can. God, I’m still hallucinating so badly, and I can’t sleep. God, please let me not screw this up, and I hope I’m not in trouble,” I said quietly to myself after I looked around the stateroom to make sure nobody heard me.

Okay, I had to prepare. Service dress blues ready to go. I walked up the stairwell to go to the CO’s office. Knock, knock, knock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

 

Oh Captain, My Captain. Posted on June 4, 2012.

 

 

 

The door opened quickly. I was five minutes early, and there walked the executive officer toward the CO’s desk. His back was turned to me the whole way. He turned around. “Come here,” he said, and I walked behind him close to the CO’s desk, and we started to chitchat for a brief twenty seconds, and that’s when the fireworks started. I remember the content of our conversation, but I can’t recall the order in which the topics were talked about. This account approximates to almost 80 percent of what we said.

The captain opened his speech with defining himself as a Jewish man to me; he was friendly, intelligent, and welcoming. “I’m Jewish,” he said with an eerie smile. He then proceeded to explain the fact that he didn’t like the people of his own religion because of what he said was responsible for the mass violence done by the Bolsheviks in the Russian Revolution. He yelled tirelessly at me, saying there were sixty-six million people who died horrific deaths in Russia. I didn’t believe him during the whole encounter, but years later, I capsized to his stories about the people who passed away by finding loose information on the Internet. It all seemed plausible, wicked, and sadistic and would explain some of the sensitive issues and their reactions modern society must cope with. But I stood firmly against this O-6 captain firing hate speech down my throat. I told him that we needed to help these people he spoke of to make the world a better place and that they deserve only the best that life on earth has to offer.

The experience with that captain would not have severely altered my life had he not said over and over again that I was Jesus. I would be in midsentence, standing there trying to convince this hateful man of the joys that the future has to bring, and he would say, “You’re Jesus.” He said it calmly with an ominous smile about nine or twelve times during this encounter, and every time I didn’t believe him, even with my experience in Utica fresh on my mind. I emphatically denied that I was Jesus and said that I wanted to be an F/A-18E Super Hornet pilot instead.

The captain then said, “Wave your arms a little.”

I didn’t know what he was referring to, but I did exactly as he instructed me to, even though he had been firing hate speech against the people of his own religion down my throat. He quickly changed the subject and said, “Music trails your movements, John.” He looked me over and wouldn’t stop looking at me with an awed and intimidating expression as if I was Jesus. The captain could have been telling me to move my arms because he wanted to see my energy or to see how I would react, but I waved my arms lightly for under a minute, and he smiled as I moved them. Unfortunately, through the whole conversation, he was screaming and explicitly proclaiming, crying over the Bolshevik Revolution and praising the supposed fact that I was Jesus.

I had a very pragmatic and practical personality at the time. I would find more efficient ways of accomplishing even the smallest of tasks to make the sailors above me and below my rank of midshipman first class more productive, and I wanted in every way to correct this ailing man who was telling me I was Jesus and crying over the sixty-six million people who passed away in Russia.

“I’ve been longing for someone to say that I’m special, but I strongly object to the idea that I’m Jesus. There is no way I can be Jesus, Captain,” I retorted.

“Oh yeah? Well, I bet you didn’t know who made the periodic table, do you? You created it, John,” he asserted.

“Oh man, there is absolutely no possible way I could’ve done this! I did not create the periodic table; some Russian named Mendeleev made it! Why the hell are you saying these things?” I asked. “Let me rephrase that. Oh God, I’m so sorry. Why on earth are you saying these things? Mmmm!”

“John, you have to listen to me. You are Jesus. You are!” he said again.

He talked about the numerology, symbols, and orientation of the periodic table and the various elements along its rows and columns, and every accusation he made about my involvement in its formation I denied to the fullest extent possible. “I swear if we find another use for silicon! ... Let’s me say something. Let me say something. Shh,” he replied.

“Okay, sir, sure,” I answered.

“Sehhhllman, you luff her, hehehe.” He started to titter and laugh.

“What does that mean? I’m not in love with anyone!”

“Oh but you are ... we are ... with you! I’ve never seen anything like this. Have you heard of the element ... hee hee hee ... sulfur? Selenium?” he poignantly pressed.

“Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh let me guess, you’re diagonal to being anti-money. Hahaha ... very funny ... You’re even next to your bro who’s mine? Bromine? You’re even on the left side. Yeah! I really can't stand this goddamn language. Selman I love her? You’ve got to be kidding! Ha ... ha ... ha! Oh, I’m staying away from silver. Aw yeah!” the captain paused after his frustration with my name. “The left side of Bromine. You’re nuts, John. I don’t know if we’re all going crazy over you and your ... stupid and friendly name but, there is an order. What you think about your career in the navy, is mine, okay? Rest assured, we will be watching you,”

“Sir, you need to get a grip on something ... listen to some Aerosmith, whatever ... Stop this nonsense!” I pleaded with him.

The captain swallowed the spit in his mouth, and with an intently strong whisper, he hinted with more innuendo with what he had to say next. “How many selements do you want, John?” as his wretched but warm breath breezed across my forehead.

We then moved onto other topics such as what my favorite playing card was, which I replied was the ace of spades, my favorite airplane and my favorite fairy tale. I replied with the A-4 Skyhawk and Beauty and the Beast. My favorite bird, and I replied with owls. He also had me sing many tunes out of my head that I had to fabricate on the spot, three of which eventually were Owl City’s “Alligator Sky,” Coldplay’s “Sky Full of Stars,” and Christina Perri’s “Human,” among others, complete with 10 percent of the lyrics between songs.

I then remembered the time when I was driving along the highways with my father in his big rig and told the captain of the tsunami the day after Christmas. I informed him of the conversation I had with my father in 1999–2000, but I didn’t know where it would be or the date. “All I know is that my father wrote down a disaster that might have giant consequences that may be a tsunami the day after Christmas. I mumbled it for him to write down in the back cover of his Bible eventually, after almost four minutes of harassment. He coerced me to say it! I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say it. I swear this will never happen. I promise you that this will never ever happen! It will never happen, sir. It cannot, will not, and ever not! In fact...” I walked some feet away and started to wave my hands and arms around wildly, connecting the atoms and molecules of rock, dirt, magma, mantle, crust, and core, to join all atoms within these regions of the Earth to stop and prevent any chemical or physics vector from forming that could cause a tsunami at any time in the future. I stopped, and he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears.

He then asked, “What do you want if it comes true?”

I said, “I don’t want anything. This is a warning; I want us to be prepared for this. I don’t want a thing. I do not want a thing! But I told my father of a tsunami the day after Christmas, and he wrote it in the back cover of his King James Bible,” I told him softly but breathless.

“King James Bible,” he said confoundedly.

He pressed further for almost two more minutes, and finally I said, “All right, sir. Fifty bucks. It is worth fifty bucks to me ... but this money is a failure—that’s if it happens,” I said in frustration after almost three minutes of harassment. I then thought of my favorite sports team, the Boston Red Sox, and saw them winning the World Series soon. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I knew it would happen soon. I felt so empty after having a premonition of something so catastrophic while at the same time joyful I stood in silence. “The Boston Red Sox ... will be world champions ... and there will be a tsunami ... the day after Christmas,” I said as I sighed, tearfully and nervous.

I also told him on July 4th of 2000 about the Twin Tower disaster. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I knew something catastrophic would happen to them. I remember seeing them on fire while I was speaking to the captain. I told him they wouldn’t be standing and that something had to be done, but I didn’t know the date. “No, no, no. Don’t tell me!” he yelped as he crouched down away from me.

I said it anyways. “I’m sorry to say this, but the Twin Towers will eventually not be standing,” I said as I wept. I was sobbing, and the captain was uncomfortable. I could tell he was trying to tell me that I was God as he crouched down again looking at the deck floor, but I insisted that he not say it. “Don’t say it, Captain ... please don’t. If you care about me, don’t say what I know you’re about to say,” I begged him for a full half minute before he could say anything. Two minutes later, he called me Jesus again with a chilling grin, but he never called me God. Thank goodness!

After that happened, however, I distinctly remember him looking into my eyes and crying as if he was Jodie Foster in the movie Contact when she looks into the center of the universe. His silvery gray-haired head was shaking while his eyes were simultaneously crying with no tears, and he said, “Some ... kind of event ... no ... no words ... nothing to describe it! I’m ... so ... beautiful, so beautiful. I had no idea. I had no idea. I had no idea.”

I interrupted him in midsentence while he held me in place, “No, sir, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this. It’s all right. It’s all right,” I reassured him. “I’m not anyone that great. Please stop. Please.” Five minutes later in the conversation, I wanted to know what he was seeing in me though. “Please, do let me see what you saw in me! I desperately want to see it, and I beg you to let me see it someday. The movie Contact is my favorite movie ever made! And if what Jodie Foster sees in the middle of the universe is real, I want to see it! Let me see it, please. What did you see? What did you see, sir?” I eagerly asked.

The captain didn’t tell me anything about what he saw, and we moved on to other topics, as I had my father on my mind at the time. He gave me a warm hug that lasted a good ten seconds, and I was stressed out. “Okay, that’s enough. That’s enough, sir, that’s enough,” I said. I had been called Jesus on several occasions already, and the hallucinations I was still suffering were lucidly on my mind, as were the conversations I had with my father.

After the hug, he stood in front of me, and out of the blue, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? What on earth for?” I replied.

“I can’t say I’m just ... sorry, okay?” Minutes later, he said he wanted to talk to me about something very serious. He asked me if I had an orgy with multiple female sailors. I emphatically denied that I had any sort of romantic connection with any female sailor on the ship.

“No, sir, I did not have any sort of relationship like that with anyone on USS Enterprise. I’ve been single since January. No way.” I begged him to believe me.

“Well, you can have your relationship anywhere else but not on this ship,” he warned.

“Yes, sir, I promise that I never had nor will ever have any sort of romantic connection with any female under your command ... or any command!” I said.

Apparently, my reputation on the ship was so praiseworthy, I had female sailors falling in love with me and spreading rumors to the chiefs, who then told the command master chief, who told the command. I would never in my right mind jeopardize my future in the navy as a pilot, and sex was the last thing on my mind when I was on USS Enterprise, let alone an orgy.

“I’ve got something to ask you, John, and I want to know your answer,” the captain said. “Listen to me ...” he paused. I looked at him patiently waiting for a question. “Would you f—— another man’s wife?” he asked intensely. I waited for an answer to come to mind.

“Um, let me think a minute.” Five seconds elapsed as I thought to myself. I replied with what came to my mind first and said, “Um, well ... why, yes, I would! Yes, I would have sex with her. I would have sex with her and have sex with her again, and you can stop asking me all these questions anytime. There, I said it!” I then suggested that we move onto other topics because I was uncomfortable and sensed that he was memorizing what I said and that my reply could get me into trouble.

Because of my childhood experiences listening to War of the Worlds, the musical, and because he was asking me what I would like to see in media, movies, and music, I asked if a remake of the 1953 War of the Worlds production could be made to explore the boundaries of the horrors that could transpire if we don’t find a peaceful civilization to befriend in the future. I told him by either 2017 or 2019 or 2030 there must be contact made with gray extraterrestrial civilizations because their skin is smooth and easy on the eyes compared to what I saw while I was on the drug that my stepmother poisoned me with. I told him that the story I used to listen to when I was three years old, Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, the musical, must be made into a movie, because I needed to know what to feel about the story. My living nightmares that I told him about were eventually put on the silver screen in the form of many sci-fi movies that were to come. Eventually, after talking about the future of music, movies, and TV, I asked him questions about what it was like to fly in the navy and had an idea, an idea that would benefit myself and the music world.

When I was in junior high school, I had a lively black pet gerbil named Candy who, after being held by a fierce and competitive friend down the street, turned against me and became the most vicious and dangerous creature I had ever seen. “Come here, Candy, let me work on you a little,” said my friend down the street as he reached into the cage and diabolically snickered when I invited him to our house for a visit. He held him for almost thirty seconds, tittering and laughing. He put Candy back into his cage and then left after being at my house for about two minutes total and cackled down the street.

Whenever I approached the glass cage for two days after that, Candy would jump a foot high to the screen cover, endlessly looking to bite me. “That mouse is after your blood,” my mother said to me. A week went by, his savage behavior continued, and I got the idea that maybe I should give him some of my blood, so I bit a hangnail and held my finger over the cage. Candy was up on his hind legs waiting eagerly, then jumping, then leaping, then bouncing around the glass cage walls. The drop of blood wouldn’t drip, so I shook it off, and it fell near the far left corner. Candy immediately chased and searched to the far left corner, frantically and zealously, looking for any way to find it. Shortly thereafter, Candy began to exercise profusely, running at the speed of light in his exercise wheel nonstop, sometimes faster. As a last resort a few days after that, I donned thick rubber, then canvas gloves to calm him down, but Candy’s personality had changed so much that he often couldn’t even be looked at. Candy then passed away almost two months later inside the exercise wheel when my mother and I returned home from somewhere I cannot remember, maybe from swim practice. He must have run at least five-hundred miles. I remembered the fact that Candy went crazy, but I completely forgot the blood drop incident because I was still under the influence of the poison. Completely forgotten. I was so totally afraid of what Candy would do to me in the afterlife, and I said to the captain that I was so distraught and afraid of my pet gerbil’s ghost, that my future would be placed on the shoulders of a mouse, a mouse that would save Candy’s spirit, be one with him and create a heavenly afterlife for them both by crawling into a DJs computer and making him famous with a logo that would represent something amiable, something people can relate to, and it would be a mouse head. I waved my arms around again and said, “It’s the animal kingdom, it’s dreams and inspirations, it’s Disney! It’s everything! His music will change the world for the better! All to save my pet’s soul and whatever he was so upset about when he was still alive! My pet gerbil is going to be upgraded to a mouse by marrying a mouse. And then we’ll bring them back to life with technology in the future. Isn’t that grand? I hope that he’s all right now. I need to save his soul! His spirit and his life!” I claimed. I then named the DJ Deadmau5, after the finding he would make in his computer if I didn’t make jets. I hinged my career on a single mouse where, if it crawled into a computer and made a DJ famous by passing away, it cost me my naval aviation career pipeline selection to become a fighter pilot. I was set in my mind to fly helicopters, instead of my jet dream of pulling 9 Gz in a rocket ship airplane designed to fly fast. I became possessed again and waved my arms wildly, collecting all the energies of everything, and infused my future on a mouse who was to be famous and save my pet gerbil in the afterlife by being one with him if I selected helicopters. I named the DJ and defined his country of origin and manifested him by waving my arms wildly in the CO’s office, with the XO standing right next to me. If the mouse passed away, I was set to be a helicopter pilot.

If the mouse survived and the DJ career of Deadmau5 never happened, I told the captain, “It’s not going to happen. I need to get jets, sir. I only want to communicate to you how far I am willing to go to fly jets in the navy like my father before me. I am willing to sacrifice a mouse ’cause it’s gonna cost yah if I don’t make jets, and I’ll make us better for it! A mouse that I know will find the destiny as a wonder of the world, and knowing my luck in life, that mouse will find it in the form of music. Now no more sacrifice! No more death! No more wars. These mice see. They get experimented on and suffer so much at the hands of scientific experiments. From now on, I say these mice are saviors from heaven, just like any other creature. These mice, they see so much grief and see so much pain.”

“I’m not listening to this,” the captain said when I was in midsentence, and he plugged his ears sealed tight, shaking his head, and with his eyes closed said, “La-la-la-la-la,” like he was Lloyd Christmas on Dumb and Dumber (1994) refuting a Triple Stamp objection from Harry Dunn.

“Think of all the mice that have grown big tumors or have been maimed or even dissected alive. Or, just dissected rather,” I finished somberly.

The captain uncovered his ears. “What?” the captain asked, then quickly cupped his ears again when I opened my mouth.

“It’s such a tragedy every time I see or hear of a mouse being maimed or hurt by some scientist, or run over by a car, or hit by a truck. This mouse shall save the animal kingdom, step right up! Step right up and witness the spectacle that is this mouse! Step right up.” I said the last sentence indifferently and somewhat despondently.

“La-la-la-la. Now that’s a warning. Now don’t say anything like that ever! Ever! Ever, John. Notice how I said la four times? You were a German major weren’t you?” the captain asked.

“Rah-ra-ra-ra. This mouse will save them all. It will,” I said as the captain closed his ears again squeezed tighter than before. I lightly grabbed his arm. “It will. It will. It will, Captain.” I then tugged, then pulled, then jerked his left arm away from his ear with a suction cup sound emanating from his head. “This mouse is going to be good, Captain.” I kept saying how great this mouse was going to be.

The captain capped his ears tightly. “La-la-la-la!”

“I am ready to protect my country by flying missions for the navy, and I am not afraid of anything. Not even a mouse.”

“La-L-la-L-la! L-L-L-L-L-L-Laaaahhh!” the captain shouted with his irate tongue rapidly flicking the roof of his mouth. I stopped speaking. He slowly uncovered his head. I took a breath to say how much I loved mice, and his hands went straight back to his ears. I closed my mouth, and he uncapped his ears slowly. I opened my mouth to describe mice, and quickly his hands went back to the sides of his head. Back and forth we did this five times again and again, with me unable to utter a syllable.

“I’m not even afraid of saving my pet gerbil,” I said sorrowfully.

Seconds later, the captain asked, “Are you sure you haven’t read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Have you read it, John?”

“Me? Oh no, no, sir. I haven’t read it,” I said.

“Let me ask you something.” He rattled his fist. “Let me ask you something.”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Is death good?”

I paused for a brief moment. “No.”

“Then why the f—— are you giving what you have away? You’re giving what humanity has over everything to animals. Animals! You freak!” he wailed as he took my arm and threw my center of gravity four feet to my right. “Come here. I am so sorry for swearing at you. I promise I won’t do it again. Over here,” he said like Lloyd Christmas talking to the gunman in Dumb and Dumber (1994).

I then said current TV programs were boring and needed a boost to waken the fun times we have ahead and manifested a man and TV show in my imagination to be as funny if not funnier than The Simpsons as time progressed by. I waved my arms wildly, with the captain standing before me, and imagined a perfect man to claim the helm of an animated sitcom series. I even named him correctly if I remember right, the creator of what I mentioned to be Family Guy, the show much funnier and edgier than The Simpsons. I can’t recall whether I had actually seen literature or something online about Family Guy though. I only said that there had to be something funnier to watch than The Simpsons so I waved my arms wildly and manifested more energy out of the universe and infused it into the imagination of a great man with a deep voice to animate countless stories about my friend Claude Balls, who is a Yankees fan in real life, but I wanted him to be funny, a Patriots, and a Red Sox fan. Peter Griffin and my friend Claude Balls were to be spitting images of each other.

We were on the topic of music, movies, and TV, so I gave him everything I knew about these fantastic things. Years later, I would learn that Deadmau5 would be a famous DJ after a mouse somehow entered into his computer and passed away while chewing on some electrical wires. With this inspiration, the DJ created a mouse helmet that resembled the mouse that passed away. Family Guy, an animated sitcom much funnier and edgier than The Simpsons, would debut on TV years later with Peter Griffin as the star, a mirror-image of my friend Claude Balls, an Irish-American Catholic, tall, overweight, glasses, short brown hair, with a large, gracefully rounded head and having no idea which way was up but always with enumerated moments of sheer brilliance, but a big Yankees fan.

After our discussions of media and music, I pleaded with him that there was too much of a disparity in incomes across the globe and that help was needed from America’s rich and powerful to make a change. They would be seen as heroes across the globe, so I thought the extreme rich giving away their wealth was a great idea. After the captain mentioned he knew Bill Gates, I then instructed the captain to inform Bill Gates he must give away his fortune to Africa and impoverished countries around the globe. If he kept the riches he owned, I was certain he would be ridiculed and hated. The United States would be seen as a nation of scrooges. I said these things only out of my concern for Mr. Gates and the United States. “Now, I am not Jesus, and I swear by that. But since you’re calling me Jesus, I’m making you do what should’ve been done a long time ago. Make the super-rich give away their wealth to better the world. Rich people can be heroes too! See what I mean?” I finished with a strong whisper. Years later on television and the Internet, I would learn that Bill Gates was contributing most of his wealth to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation founded in 1994.

“Now, John, I’d like to ask you what makes you tick. What do you do to succeed? How do you get by in life?” he poignantly asked.

“Well sir, I turn the other cheek. I turn the other cheek. I let people hit me, I let people clobber me, I let people starve me, I let people say bad things, all they want, and I don’t fight back. In life, there almost always seems to be a person, or more than one person, who just won’t stop hurting you, and when the time comes to defend yourself, you don’t react with anger or despair. If you want peace, to be on the side of God with ultimate love and wisdom, and have many friends, many friends who love you and like you and stay with you through the ages, you must turn the other cheek. You must turn the other cheek, so keep loving people, to keep loving people,” I answered.

“Are you sure you’re not Jesus, John? A lot of this sounds like it’s straight from the Bible,” he said.

“There is no way I can be Jesus, sir,” I answered.

“All right, let me ask you something, John ... Jesus. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, fire away,” I replied.

“Can I ask you how many times should I turn the other cheek before I stop?”

“Um, well let me think about it for a second,” I said, questioning his rationale.

“How many times! Please!”

“Okay, I’m thinking. You’re Jewish, um, so ... five times for you, and so many more times for any Christian. I swear it!” I answered. He walked toward the other side of the room and told me to look toward the bulkhead away from him. I stood there patiently waiting, looking at the wall. I then asked if it was okay for me to look at him.

“Can I have a glance at you, sir?” I asked as he stood fifteen feet away to my left.

“Sure, have a look.” I turned my head and saw him looking at some papers he was holding in his hands. Ten seconds elapsed, and he said,

“Can you look at the wall now, John?” For another minute, he stood there fifteen feet away, with me looking at the wall, flipping through his papers. He walked over to me standing near the CO’s desk and said, “I’m still reeling from what you just said to me, Jesus.”

“I am not Jesus! Why do you keep saying that I’m Jesus? How, please tell me how can I be Jesus? All I’m saying is keep loving persons to keep loving persons.” I took his hands. “Keep loving people to keep loving people. You have to keep loving people to keep loving people these days. Now why am I having to be Jesus?”

“I’m going to ignore that question, John. Let me ask you this. Why did you say ‘these days’ at the end there? Yeah.”

“I said it because in the future, days are going to get infinitely better. I promise. It’s a natural law that things always get better; our people become better, they act better, they eat better! Things always become easier to learn and achieve, as society gets older, as love gets older, as we get older. As we age with only infinite life to live, things always become better,” I claimed.

I had been so offended by what the captain was telling me. He was calling me Jesus, saying horrible things about various segments of world society, crying over sixty-six million deaths in Russia due to the Bolshevik Revolution, while the aliens were hiding behind a corner. To this day, I am still baffled as to how I gave him such socially acceptable albeit comical answers to his intruding questions. He even showed me an old original copy of a book depicting sixty-six million passing away in Russia with pictures of fields of crucified bodies. “Look at this book; sixty-six million are dead because of us! Are we maggots, John?”

“No, sir!”

“Sixty-six million! Can you hear me? Sixty-six million!” he said.

“This is bullshit. I can’t stand to hear this Jesus crap again and again. I’m not a king, and I am not Jesus. Stop hating yourselves and pay attention to what I have told you because it might just save us all. I am not Jesus! Nor do I want to be! He was crucified! I might not know everything, but what I do know is clear to me, and I see only evil in you,” I replied.

“You had better be Jesus, John. Stand in front of me and say that you are! You have to be!” he wailed as he was shaking my shoulders.

“All right fine, but only if I never become famous and stay anonymous for the rest of my Godforsaken life. I’m telling you I’m not Jesus! I’m still hallucinating from whatever I ate at my stepmother’s house! But I’m only going along with this to somehow please you. Awight ow’kye I’you Sheezus,” I replied to give him some meek sense of satisfaction as I mumbled the words incorrectly with humor.

The whole time I was in the commanding officer’s office, with him standing in front of me, he yelled relentlessly how much I was Jesus and how sixty-six million people had passed away in Russia. I tried calming him down, and he wouldn’t stop, so I asked him if I could make the world a better place by imagining my hopeful future wife to be. I told him that I had an idea. I interrupted him while he was speaking (because there was no other way out of the sad feelings I knew I would experience if none of my dreams came true, and I knew it would be extremely difficult to find someone who would accept me and my experiences. I only wanted to be happy in my decision to manifest an astoundingly awe-inspiring woman into existence through psychic channeling if I was Jesus). I wanted a woman that even extraterrestrial civilizations could worship, a woman who could be queen of all omniverses, to make America the country of everything. So, “All right fine, I’m Jesus,” I said quietly as I turned counterclockwise to walk six feet away from the captain.

There was no way I was going to go through life and miss my calling to be married and have children and a family someday because of these experiences. So I started to wave my arms wildly in the CO’s office with the XO standing close by, while thinking about the voyage that began six months ago, focusing all my awareness of all omniverses and energies to the formation of the future queen of all my dreams. I walked further away from the captain and was facing the other door, and I thought only I would at least see this in the most fabulous woman who ever existed. Her smile was to be of bizarre, extraordinary, metamorphic exquisiteness. Her eyes were to be of brown earthy planets from which all life came. Her nose was to be of a voluminous tetrahedral shape existing in the enclosed interior atoms bonded to the exterior of diamond unit cells. “I’m going to borrow something from you, king ... who is not me, Captain! Come this way, king. Let me borrow something from you, sir.” I then borrowed the diamond ownership of the king who I knew was the diamond king of all omniverses and infused tetrahedrons into her nose and then all shapes of love into her soul and body. “Now for the purple hue. She’s going to be purple, Captain! She’s royalty!” I bellowed to him. “Purple skin,” I whispered. Infusing a being with omniversalizing love, compassion, and wonder was a tiring experience, and I ended up on the floor of the CO’s office lying down in exhaustion. As soon as I knew she was alive, I saw edelweiss flowers shooting everywhere sounding like bubbles being popped in midair in my imagination as my eyes were closed and my body was shaking and waving, as I released my energy to her. It was the alchemy of God Himself that possessed me. After I slowly got up, her name, Evelyn Tuskegee, came to me like a premonition, and I told the captain that she must be named Evelyn Tuskegee. I said it in a whisper-like lisped voice into his left ear. I told him her eye color and her chosen veterinary profession to be. I told him she would be lovely and that any guy could fall in love with her. I described everything about her.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35IG7baRV6c

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35IG7baRV6c&list=RD35IG7baRV6c#t=0

Then, when I knew she existed in my imagination, I knelt down five feet away from the captain, asking for forgiveness from God for making her so exquisitely wonderful and beautiful. I lifted my left hand and made a sleight of hand twisting motion with my left fingers to curl the end of her right big toe clockwise from my perspective. I made a soft sound singing “Ach du Lieber Augustin” and twisted her right toe more clockwise with my left hand  fingers in my imagination. I stood up, and we began talking again, “I know this is edging us to the brink of danger but, this woman has an imperfection: her perfect imperfect right big toe Sir! It’s saving everyone from having to go your way, namely, everyone being left handed I’m sure of it. It has a twist. You just said, I’m even on the left side of Bromine!”

“That isn’t what we want, John. I’m only kidding.” he replied snidely.

Two minutes later upon completion of my universal takeover operation in my mind, I sensed a danger, which was a danger that would prevent completion of my omniversal plan with Evelyn. Her being the most wonderful woman in the history of all omniverses set the stage for catastrophe. In the future, I could have called her the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe, because to me, she was already that way in the future when we were to first meet. To her, if I were to call her out on her beauty, she would be hostile because of how alienating the experience of being told she was the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe would be.

I said to the captain, “Hold on, sir. I think something just happened.”

I walked seven feet away from him toward the other door, looked down on the floor, and asked myself ten years into the future, “You didn’t ... did you? You didn’t do it. I know you didn’t! What did you say, John? What did you say to her? What did you do? Did you stare at her? Did you call her the most beautiful woman in the history of the universe? I can’t believe it. You better hope she comes back to you, John! You idiot! If anything, you call her the most ‘wonderful’ woman in the history of the universe, not the most ‘beautiful,’” I cried. “Or, if you really love her, say you like her, … but don’t tell anyone that I told you that, okay?

“John, are you sure you want her to be purple?” he asked as he heckled in laughter.

“Yes! I’m sure of it! I am 100 percent certain. This lady is queen. She’s a sign of royalty!”

“Are you sure?” the captain asked.

In the next moment, I thought of singing my favorite European folk song, “Ach, du lieber Augustin,” to the captain. I didn’t know if the song originated from Germany or Austria, nor did I know who the composer was, but I knew it was from European culture because I had sung it many times when I was an exchange student in the Black Forest of Baden Wuerttemberg, Germany, in high school. I knew Evelyn Tuskegee had to be born in August, because it was the most interesting name for a month in the year, and the most Teutonic because of that folk song.

“Sir, can I sing another song for you? This is for her.”

“What song?” he asked quietly.

“Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to sing this song for you? She was born in August, or she’s going to be born in that month. I don’t know what year, but I know she’s an Augustin,” I interrupted.

“Okay,” he replied.

“In 1986? That’s eleven years younger than me! Well, if she’s eleven years younger than me, she’s going to have to be with the Adam,” I finished solemnly and quietly in a weeping tone of voice. “Or marry him, I wanted to say. Holy smokes John. What did I do? What did I do? I’m a little scared, Captain. See ... um ... there might be an Adam somewhere. I’m not sure what it is about this feeling.”

“What?” he asked.

“There might be an Adam somewhere, I’m not sure. And then she can marry me? Right? She can marry me too, right? I’m an Adam too, aren’t I? I’m Adam,” I finished despondently.

“Let me ask you a question, John, and your answer better be a no. Are you Adam?” he poignantly asked.

“Well, we need to save him too! Aw. We’re gonna have to bring aliens down! Oh my God!”

“Why?” the captain pertinently asked as he grabbed my left shoulder.

“Why are you grabbing me?”

“Why do we have to bring aliens to Earth, John?”

“Well, if I meet this woman, or girl or whatever you want to call it, I’m going to fall in love! See? And I am never going to fall out of it! I mean ... it’s going to be so hard to live without her. That is, if she doesn’t love me back. Oh man. Oh man. Oh my God.”

“What about the aliens, John? Tell me, please!”

“No.”

“Tell me about the extraterrestrials, John. Tell me now! Right now!”

“This is so crazy. Here I am on an aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise of all ships, and the executive officer is telling me to tell him what I know about aliens? This is nuts.”

“John, you must tell me why we have to bring aliens to Earth, okay?”

“Now I do not want to be considered schizophrenic, but uh ... well, if we bring the aliens down to Earth, we’ll all be Mormons! Now that’s just a signal! It’s a sign, that’s all. It’s a sign!” I answered.

“What’s the sign, John? What is it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I just don’t want to get into trouble. That’s the sign! I just don’t want to be in trouble, okay? Can I sing now?”

He looked away toward the floor for a few seconds, then looked at me. “Sure.”

I sighed, then started to sing. “Well, here goes. Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin. Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, ach. Augustin, Augustin, Augustin ach,” I repeated the stanzas again. I hurriedly went back to singing calmly and solemnly, “Ach du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin. Ach du lieber Augustin, Augustin ach.” I waved my arms around wildly again and associated her birthday in August. I then connected energies out of all omniverses even more with my hands, arms, and legs and formed the date upon the stars when she was born, August 17. I let God choose the year.

“Captain, you’ll never guess what day she was born,” I said, tittering from the knowledge that I knew she existed.

His demeanor waned a little nervously, “Whe—”

“August 17! Do you know why?” I replied.

“Wh—”

“Because I’m seven!” I started to laugh, “I’m seven, I’m seven ... relax ... it’s a double negative. He was crucified. No triple negative, John (I said to myself in the future), sir, and everyone else. I’m just a seven. There are a lot of sevens! Everyone is ... a seven! It’s perfect! It has the word eve in it! Doesn’t it?”

“Ok,” he said. “But you’re not the exact seven, John.” Our conversation paused for almost five seconds. “What does that mean? Do you know?” he asked.

“What does that mean? Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know. What does the fact that I am not a perfect seven mean? Are you serious? Who the f— knows? I’m just a midshipman, sir! I can cuss just like a sailor, can’t I? I’m in the navy, aren’t I? What on earth is all this about? Why am I here? What are we doing? Am I really going to be an officer? Can I please just fly for the navy? I’m just a midshipman,” I replied as I cried uncontrollably.

“John, you’re time traveling,” he said assuredly as he hugged me.

“What do you mean by time traveling, or traveling through time?”

“You’ll know,” he said softly. “Jesus,” he said as he sneered laughing.

“I don’t want to know! Ever!” I said back.

“You will,” the captain said warmly.

When I created Evelyn in my imagination moments before, I was possessed like I had never felt before, but it was quickly forgotten because I was concerned about the security of the United States. China had been antagonistic in its annual White Papers published by the government each year. I was concerned that I couldn’t be what he was telling me I was, but I desperately wanted to fly jets off carriers similar to my father before me. “You’re Jesus,” he would say as he eerily smiled. I didn’t know what to say back so I continued to ask him questions about the alien world I had been living on for the previous six months since the turn of the century. I had questions about what the space jockey in the first Alien movie was, and that a prequel was needed to explain where the alien world I had been living on came from. The hallucinations I was still experiencing were hideous and frightening and seemed so real. To this day, if someone asked me if I thought what I saw was real, I would say, “Under certain conditions, yes.” I later found out that the release date of Prometheus in America, which I enthusiastically labeled what should be the movie called Paradise because of the dichotomy I was feeling at the time, stuck between the joys of hopefully flying in the navy and the hallucinations I was experiencing, was exactly one month after my birthday, May 8, and Michael Fassbender, who plays the android in Prometheus, is from Heidelberg, Germany, the same birthplace of my mother. I told him I wouldn’t want that movie exactly on my birthday because I thought it could open a portal and allow horrific aliens through to our world because I was still hallucinating constantly.

Also, the Alien prequel was originally called Paradise, but Ridley Scott later changed the name to Prometheus, which I told the captain. “You have a choice—please name the movie Prometheus or Paradise, Prometheus or Paradise.” I then lowered the volume of my voice. “Prometheus”—I smiled—“or Paradise.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to look up the meaning of Prometheus. Do you know what Prometheus is?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea. Just name it! Prometheus or Paradise,” I said quickly. “Will you stop writing this down, John? Oh fricken-A, will you stop typing this into your computer for anyone’s God sake? It’s your choice. It is your choice,” I said with a nervous smile and then concern. “Name it whatever the heck you want, sir!”

We then talked about the future of world athletes. I thought of Jesse Owens, who was a world hero after he had shamed Germany in the 1936 Olympics. Just like I had before, I waved my arms wildly again and created in my imagination an athlete who would dominate track and field, and another athlete who would dominate swimming, because I was a swimmer in high school. The bodies were to be perfectly suited for the sports they played and would make the impossible seem easily achievable. Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps would be their names. “Mark Spitz’s Olympic records will not last,” I said. “I promise you, these men will rewrite the standard upon which greatness is measured,” I added further.

“All this sounds interesting however, John. But you’re Jesus,” he said as he tittered.

“I cannot be Jesus. All I want to do is fly a plane like my father and like you,” I explained.

“You don’t want to be like me,” he answered.

He then said nonchalantly that he had carried out ceremonies with the Skull and Bones secret society based out of Yale University, “And yes, I’ve had ceremonies with Skull and Bones too, John,” he said when he gave a grim grin.

“Really? You actually have friends in Skull and Bones? Oh my God. That is so amazing! Awesome! You really made my day, Captain. Thank you for telling me this. Skull and Bones?” I said excitedly.

The captain changed topics on several occasions, and I had manifested many things to come in my future life already. Suddenly, after the last episode of waving my arms around like a wild rock star playing guitar, after all his requests to channel energy into past and future manifestations, I became a little tired, and I viewed the captain with suspicion slightly. “Hey, what is this? Why do I have to do this stuff for you? All I want to do is fly for the navy. Don’t you think we’re taking this a little too far? I’m still tired from being poisoned. But I have the drive and the willpower to be successful in today’s navy, and I’m really looking forward to serving my country as an officer. Is all this magic necessary for me becoming an officer?” I asked.

“Yes, John. Just listen to me. You’re Jesus,” he said calmly.

I even said I was afraid of ever making contact with extraterrestrials because I was still hallucinating every few seconds. I had no idea what a world government would bring, but I knew it had to be good. “Now, get yourselves together. Something is happening in the world, and the only way we can effect the necessary changes we need to make is by global involvement of all leaders and dignitaries, economic, political and military. We need the new world order. We need health care. It is amoral to make a profit on someone’s disease! Prepare yourselves; something unimaginably wonderful is on its way, but at the same time, we’re on our way to running into a brick wall, which would be the obstacles of income disparities, poverty, pollution, and disease. So maybe we should bring the grays down before a catastrophe happens like an asteroid?” I suggested as I interjected.

The captain remained silent and didn’t mention anything about a new world order. I then begged him to allow me to be the first to bring them down. “Let me be the first, Captain, please. Please let me be the first to be abducted and get video. I know I can do it. I’ve lived on an extraterrestrial world for six months, and I’m used to it! Please let me be the first ...” I begged.

All of a sudden, the captain said I was king. “You’re king,” he said softly as I was more than five feet away from him.

Immediately, I asked in a loud but passionate voice, “Is this what all I’ve been through about? Oh my God. I can’t believe it! I’m king? Really? Aw!” I slammed my right foot down as if I was getting married at a Jewish wedding, crushing an imaginary wine bottle. “Aw!” I slammed my right foot down again and again on the deck floor saying, “Aw!” each time. “I’m king?” I cried.

The captain was confused. “Why are you slamming your foot down?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stopped being a possessed man imagining myself marrying none out of a vast number around me in a blue-green lit room, with the offer up to everyone anyone married to be rulers of all omniverses.

Five minutes later in the conversation, I turned and walked almost five feet away from the captain. As I turned from him almost eighty degrees to go to where I imagined Evelyn to be, a vision of an angel on an ancient resplendent galley rig elegantly adorned with soft ribbons drifting leeway on top of the pond behind my home. She encouraged me to do what I had in mind next. I had this idea because I knew this female was going to be the Eve of all omniverses, so when I walked four to five feet away, I jabbed my left and right elbows into the left and right sides of my torso. I took my left hand and gently pulled a rib out of my left ribcage. I held this imaginary rib of mine before her for over twenty seconds as I stood there thinking about her hand holding mine.

Five or ten minutes later in the conversation, I came closer to the captain and promised him in a secretive voice, “All I know is, with Evelyn Tuskegee, we can rule the galaxy for the rest of eternity!” I crushed my own left vice grip as hard as I could while my forearm was twitching from the many kilograms of pressure I had never felt before in the palm of my hand. “The galaxy!” I promised him as he was on the verge of cracking up. I felt like Darth Vader, and my voice sounded like him too. The captain remained stoically silent and proceeded to continue to talk about music, movies, and television.

Looking back on the demeanor of the captain, how humbling he was in my small dreams of ruling the galaxy, there was a flaw in my reasoning. He remained silent when I promised him the Milky Way galaxy. I even promised him that mankind could rule the Virgo Supercluster, the galactic supercluster the Milky Way belongs to with Andromeda, if the second coming of Christ had happened, which I still emphatically denied that I was, because I wanted to be a jet fighter pilot so badly. Impersonating Yoda from The Empire Strikes Back, I said in a wise tone of voice while looking up at the overhead ceiling, “There is another, and he is walking the Earth today.”

Later in the conversation, almost ten minutes before I left, the captain did say there was another, and that he had the “life” everyone’s heart was seeking and was responsible for the big bang after I was waving my arms wildly, collecting energies from everything in all omniverses and creating another king if I couldn’t live long enough to find Evelyn. Fast forward to later in 2002, I would meet a clandestine young naval flight officer attrite in Strike Operations on USS Nimitz after I left flight school, and he said, “Thanks for the nose,” in a griping tone of voice when I first met him. He had a wide nose; his face was stunning. He had purple eyes, and his hair was jet black, but when he arrived in Strike Operations on USS Nimitz, his head was shaved bald, and he acted strange. He was extremely intelligent, often reading five books at a time, and graduated from the US Naval Academy’s Seaman to Admiral program with a degree in electrical engineering. He said he DOR’ed (Drop on Request) from the naval flight officer program because he wanted to be comfortable. He would sit inside Strike Operations for hours at a time with his baby-blue blanket, acting like a child, giving me snobbish looks while reading his highbrow classic philosophy books. “This doesn’t work! ... It doesn’t work,” he said after almost an hour and a half of tangling, creasing, and rumpling the blue blanket with his hands to the strike officer, Strike-O, and an operations specialist petty officer sitting in front of their computers. I was sitting by the far right corner door in Strike Operations reading a book, Blind Man’s Bluff by Sherry Sonntag. This was more than two years after my present conversation with the captain, and to this day I am baffled as to why he never spoke to me, why they hardly ever talked to me, why they acted reticent about everything concerning current events on ship, and why he said I was holy before he left for another duty station. He was a Presbyterian and gave me a beautiful and slender Italian gold leaf leather copy of the Bible and a Starbucks cup as random gifts.

Later, in 2005, when I hit struggles with my mental health, I heard the voices of gray extraterrestrial beings telling me this man was “king.” I only offered the captain to rule the galaxy, but for some reason, I think he wanted the whole undivided omniverse to worship this second coming of Christ. I imagined and manifested the second king if I couldn’t be Jesus because of my experience with my stepmother, or if I never found Evelyn, by waving my arms around wildly and focusing my energies on creating the perfect “man” inside the CO’s office with the executive officer standing there before me. The new king was to be responsible for the big bang, so I possessed and took control of the universe’s and then all omniverses’ past, went back in time, and sent the mass and energy of the explosion to him, the king. I wanted in every way to relinquish my role as Jesus to the captain and become a jet fighter pilot instead, so I waved my arms wildly. I connected all the energies of all omniverses and made the perfect one, who would be king. The letters of his last name, I later learned, consisted of the same number of positions right of A in the alphabet and add up to the same number as in the word “seven”: (S = 19) + (E = 5) + (V = 22) + (E = 5) + (N = 14) = 65. His last name was Durham: (D = 4) + (U = 21) + (R = 18) + (H = 8) + (A = 1) + (M = 13) = 65. He was to be the 777, the return of Christ. My name is one letter placement off: (S = 19) + (E = 5) + (L = 12) + (M = 13) + (A = 1) + (N = 14) = 64 but it sounds more similar to “seven.” Could this be a divine sign? Probably not, but it is a synchronicity worth mentioning.

Right before I met Mr. Durham in 2002, I saw in my imagination a mouth that was chewing on a swirly colored popsicle. I asked the strike officer in the other room what the new flight attrite’s name was, and Strike-O said, “Durham.” I then notched off the placements of letters in his name. The conversations with the captain in 2000 had been on my mind, and I wanted to know, for some curious reason, how many positions right of A the letters in his name were, and how it compared to mine in the word “seven.” It was a match! And my name was off by one I noticed right before I first met him. “Very strange,” I said to myself in 2002 right before the two flight attrites came to Strike Operations.

One afternoon, over two years later in 2002, Durham asked me if he could “have what I have.” I was completely thrown off as to what to say to this stranger I hadn’t talked with much before, so I said, “If you’re responsible for the big bang.” He left the room in Strike Operations and returned smiling, asking me questions on several occasions about who I should marry. A few months later, I would witness him acting like an imbecile in Current Operations, chewing on a red popsicle and then sliding half of it off across the room. It slid six feet, melted, and it made a stain on the tiled flooring. So, at the time when I was talking to the captain, I said I didn’t want what he was giving me; all I wanted to do was fly jets off aircraft carriers, so I gave this “perfect man” I hadn’t met before everything the captain was trying to communicate to me, which was an identity as Jesus. He never called me the second coming of Christ, but he continued to say how much he was sorry and insisted that I had to be Jesus. We were fighting about this a few times. The captain would tell me that I’m Jesus, and then I would say I couldn’t be Jesus because of what my stepmother did to me, so I referred him to the perfect diamond man I had created in my imagination moments before.

Then I said I wanted to fly jets off carriers just like my father because I thought it was the time to speak my wishes now that a genie had risen. When he heard me speak of jets, he began to ask me a series of mathematical questions, and one was to find the square root of a large number down to the ninth digit. When I answered it correctly on the first attempt, he showed me the answer on his modest, old, and scratchy gray calculator and gave me the same ominous grin when he called me Jesus! I then accused him of using mind control to give me the answer telepathically before I gave him the correct answer. I said it all jokingly because to this day even I was amazed at my temporary math ability.

“Hey, you psychically gave me the answer before I even got here; It couldn’t have been me,” I made the accusation with humor as I laughed. He then looked at me with the same ominous grin when he called me Jesus and gave me a conundrum. He asked me what was the relationship between the clockwise/counterclockwise orientation of a propeller or rotor spinning and the observer’s position inside all eight quadrants on the x, y and z axes in 3-D space. As much as I visualized, restated, and thought about the problem through to answer it correctly for a full four minutes, I still came up with the wrong answer.

So, frustrated at what the captain was telling and yelling at me, things I had never heard before about world history and me being Jesus, I went over, above and beyond, to prove what he was saying to me was untrue, but I finally broke down. More than half a year had passed since I was first poisoned, and I was hallucinating constantly still. I had no way out of the feelings and the emotions that had been building over the previous six months, so, all of a sudden, I cried out loud, without having read any scripture from the Bible, “I don’t know if I can be who you are telling me, Captain, but I am! I am! I am! I am! I am! I am the alpha and the omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. I am! Do you hear me out there?” I said as I looked around the CO’s office.

The captain then looked at me with an inquisitive expression and asked, “What do you think that is? What is it that you are?”

I paused for a brief moment. “I don’t know,” I replied faithfully in a soft voice as I looked at him. Another brief moment passed, and I said, “But when it comes to living life to the fullest, I honestly believe that living life for other people can be very rewarding. Live for other people, and do anything you can do to help them. I’m sorry, but I can’t fall. I didn’t fall when I was poisoned, and I am not about to do it now. You help these people! You love these people! The sky belongs to no one, and we die for each other, and no matter how lonely things get, there is always a way, which is to love people who you may perceive as an enemy! Love your enemies, sir,” I said to him. He came back and continued to call me Jesus, without my knowledge that what I had said was in the New Testament of the Bible.

I cannot expect my audience to believe everything I have shown because I have no proof, but could these events have been somehow implemented from my conversations with the captain? Could a divine intervention be responsible for the Twin Towers disaster premonition and my correct answer to his math quiz? I don’t know the answer to these questions among the many others I have about this episode in the life that I’ve lived. So, I begged this captain to find this girl whom I imagined was the most wonderful woman in the history and future of all omniverses, the Eve of our hearts, Evelyn Tuskegee. For two minutes, I begged him to help me somehow find this woman I imagined to be true at some time in the future. Sure enough, it eventually happened.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 6

 

My Blood Is Your Blood. Posted on June 11, 2012.

 

The rest of the conversation was very precarious. I had to act like a midshipman, a naval officer (because I was about to be commissioned), and somehow please his wish that I was Jesus without actually saying so. I had a lot of dreams to fly for the navy, so there was a lot of pressure. I did my best to allow this very high-ranking naval officer to do what he pleased.

Some of it was strange; he asked me if I would allow him to drink my blood and if I would drink his. I said yes to him drinking my blood, but I refused to drink his. I immediately suggested I get a glass of water so I could bite my finger and allow the blood to drip into the glass, but he got it for me from the captain’s mess. He brought a four-sevenths filled glass of water, and I bit my right middle fingertip hard three or four times. I dropped it playfully into the glass so the captain wouldn’t be scared because he wanted me to drop it from another finger other than the one I chose for him. Before I bit my right middle finger, he asked, “Does it have to be that one?”

“Relax, sir. Relax. My blood is your blood, no matter where I get it from,” I said.

I actually wanted him to drink my blood for some reason. I look back on it, and it was an experience I will never forget. Soon after he warily drank three to four small gulps of the clear liquid with exactly ten drops of blood from my right middle fingertip in it, the captain proceeded to beg me to drink his. After he positioned a filled glass of clear liquid from the cabinet to the CO’s tabletop, he was charged and was really juicing it up for me to do what he wanted, but I couldn’t do it. He said I could marry whom I wanted to if I drank it, but I still refused. I was still terrified from the poisoning experience that I didn’t want to ingest anything that wasn’t food or that I knew could be tainted or laced with drugs. “I don’t think I can. I just know I’m not supposed to drink it. I’m so sorry.”

“Come on, John, you can marry who you want! I promise. I promise you can. You can marry whoever you want, John. Just drink it.”

“No, I don’t think I should. I just—I just know I’m not supposed to do it.”

“Just do it, John. Come on!” the captain said. “Come over here, drink it. Everything will be fine! Here. Over here,” he finished like Lloyd Christmas.

“No! I can’t. I cannot do that,” I said. The water sitting on the table looked so intimidating to me. I refused to drink it. No regrets.

Then he started to pick my family apart, and he was saying filthy and offensive things about my sisters. Eventually, I got agitated because he was saying so many bad things about them. They were all over forty years old, and they still are hardworking, great, and loving people. I told him there shouldn’t be any question about whether they were going to be safe or not, but he maintained his position and wouldn’t budge.

The conversation dwindled, and I knew it was time for me to leave. Before I left for the hangar bay to meet for morning quarters, he told me to stand upright, and he began to very lightly touch, or closely hover his hands and finger/s on various points across my body, on my shoulder, on my stomach, on my ankle and my toes even. Most of the time, I felt nothing. He then collected a stool sample inside an earwax removal irrigation bulb I had in my medical kit inside my stateroom. I went to the bathroom to prepare the sample after I suggested the method I use to do it. Gross.

Before I left, after I came back from the bathroom, I saw him bent over in front of the other desk, and he asked me if I wanted to try anything. I told him, “No, sir, but I respect you. I wouldn’t advise telling anyone about this ... but whatever. Thanks, Captain.” I closed the door at 0647 that July 4th, 2000, and I left for my stateroom to change into my coveralls and attend morning quarters in the hangar bay where I would deliver a grand speech, almost forty-five minutes after we said hello.

He then followed me out in the p-way when I was twenty feet down, and he pleaded me to dislike my half siblings on my mother’s side or at least my half sisters. “No f—ing way! I said it because I’m sex deprived! There, I said it! I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to say that, okay? I didn’t mean what I said.”

“What did you say, John?” he asked.

“You figure it out. I know you taped me! Go away! Just go, away.”

“Come on!” he implored.

“Get away from me!”

“Please?” he said with an assured pleading look.

I then spun away with such displeasure I was swearing the whole way down the p-way toward my stateroom to go muster up for morning quarters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7

 

The Speech That Roared. Posted on June 15, 2012.

 

I had built quite a reputation on that ship. I had received more qualifications on that ship than anyone had in three weeks before it seemed like, because I was sleeping less than two hours per day, and I spent all my waking time “getting qualled” on the bridge, in engineering, damage control, CDC (Combat Direction Center), deck department, and many other places on ship. I cannot talk much about it because there were places I am obligated to continue to protect. But there were thirteen or fourteen qualifications I had earned, and I asked one of the chiefs who was conducting morning quarters if I could inform the standing sailors of why I was so successful. He enthusiastically approved, and I took the floor.

I remember a few jokes, but I was a man possessed by a million burning phoenixes, flying at the speed of light like Rob Zombie on steroids, preaching the joys that life in the navy has to bring, the importance of superior teamwork, craftsmanship, and leadership ... core values of the navy, honor, courage, and commitment ... the study habits for attaining a degree, the daily habits for a good and productive life, the refusal of racism, and the threats the current world faces such as a hostile China and terrorism. It went on about five times the length of the following verbal statement with approximately the same message behind it.

“My name is midshipman first class John Selman, and I’m here to fill your ears full of information on how you’ve been doing as a team on our ship USS Enterprise in our great Navy. Don’t worry, I’m a kind and gentle midshipman. Now, I have to question why some of you here are in the Navy in the first place, because we fight every day for ideals such as freedom and equality for all, justice, fairness and forgiveness. We are made of each other.

It’s called dispersion people. Every time you see a Genghis Khan float off in the air, you are looking at history. History! Now these same water molecules were once part of these very famous men and women. You are part of them! They are part of you. You breathe and drink the trees and every living thing in Earth’s life cycle. Be wary of your thoughts and what you see around you. Follow your President, not the other leaders! You want to see that FDR floating from your heart every day. You need to see that FDR sweating from your pores.

So we are not horndogs running around looking for the hottest woman shipmates. Quit your fornicating and exactly follow all the navy’s procedures now! We say to ourselves:

  • To take charge of this post and all government property in view.
  • To walk my post in a military manner, keeping always on the alert, and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing.
  • To report all violations of orders I am instructed to enforce.
  • To repeat all calls from posts more distant from the guard house than my own.
  • To quit my post only when properly relieved.
  • To receive, obey, and pass on to the sentry who relieves me all orders from the Commanding Officer, Command Duty Officer, Officer of the Deck, and Officers and Petty Officers of the Watch only.
  • To talk to no one except in the line of duty.
  • To give the alarm in case of fire or disorder.
  • To call the Officer of the Deck in any case not covered by instructions.
  • To salute all officers and colors and standards not cased.
  • To be especially watchful at night and during the time for challenging, to challenge all persons on or near my post, and to allow no one to pass without proper authority,”

I said our navy’s thirteenth General Order in an inner city black person’s voice. “Why do we have to keep telling our lookouts to report contacts? Why are we unable to call the office we’re trying to reach? Why is that propeller governor not working? Why are we unable to get HAZMAT? Why would you ever leave a bad impression on a co-worker? With your career in the navy on the line? Because we’re afraid of each other.

Worship your family, your work, your shipmates, all of you, your ones at home, your command, Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham, Buddha, God, who isn’t me ... whoever inspires you, think of them and keep us afloat, get that jet off the planet, attend your quarters, get some food in you. Then ... do it again and be safe the whole way doing it! Use your hands! Move stuff!

Find your dexterity, rote memorization of procedures, situational awareness, background knowledge and last but not least. Can anyone guess? Safety precautions. Safety precautions. Who knows all the safety precautions for their job? Who wants to be a volunteer? Who knows their safety procedures for their job only the best?” I summoned my fascinatedly stunned audience.

One sailor who was a plane captain (a Brown Shirt) volunteered so he recited each step in an F/A-18C General Electric F404 hot start emergency engine shutdown by the time 10 seconds had elapsed. We even had another sailor time the plane captain with a stopwatch! “Now don’t we all look up to what we do? Because of this guy. This is how good we want you to be with your functional occupations for the navy. We are all connected into one big family. We’re all helping each other out in remarkable ways, livin’ our lives, day by day, getting the job done correctly as a responsible adult. Do you know what the word responsible means? Is the word responsibility equivalent to the word adult? Nod your head. It's true. Yes it is. We think only about what's legal here in the armed forces. Who we are internally is precisely what we fight for. We do not think of illegal acts and debauchery. We don't have threesomes or foursomes or any number of 'somes in our navy. Importantly, we also don't think of children in any bad, horrible way. Children are our sparkle, they have no reason to be abused. It's sad that I have to say something here, however you never abuse a child. Never! You do not touch sparkle. You do not change a sparkle when it's sparkling. You don't do anything to sparkle when it is a sparkle. Not here, not in our navy, not in our United States. Leave sparkle alone. If you even think about an illegal act, you should leave the armed forces right now, while you can, and let us do our jobs protecting America. Never abuse a child. Stay away from other people's children. Some things are terrible and horrendous, and you should never think about them. Fight it! Fight it in every way! Use a lightsaber, use your favorite logo, crush your number one foe. Fight it! In our navy, you have to be the best.

     No matter where you’re from, you are the best. Right now, on this day and forever, you are all the best! That is how good we want you to be with your functional occupations for the navy. We are all connected into one big family. We’re all helping each other out in remarkable ways, livin’ our lives, day by day, getting the job done correctly as a responsible adult. We’re coworkers!

 

We’re in this world together, no matter where you’re from. You are the best. Right now, on this day and forever, you are all the best! This is the message that I’ve been trying to get to you for so long. Your life is all a network optimization of your own God, who you follow, whether it is what you want or what you don’t want. What do you want to do in life? Do you want to fly 500 knots, 30,000 feet with a navy airplane? Do you want to take ownership of a surface vessel? Do you want to command a submarine? Who wants to be a pilot? You can tell me. Who wants to be a pilot and fly?

Raise your hand. You can do it. Raise your hand! Thirty ... sixty ... ninety. Outstanding. That is just outstanding! What a navy do we have. All you have to do is find a major in college, join ROTC and only think say do what they say. Do everything! Get a white piece of paper and write down all your extraordinary thoughts of our days, your lists, your memories, your ideas on a business, anything that makes you happy and well.

The trick is to take the eight-and-a-half by eleven and fold it in half, then crossing that fold two times into eight quadrants per side. Make a list. Make a list for everything my big sailors. Then, when you’re finished making lists for the day, stamp a hole into one of the corners and refold to put it on a ring after the eighth day.

Talk to each other, share your thoughts with shipmates. We want to know you better. Black people, why are you so afraid of us? You’re quiet. I love that about you but ... when someone of a different race than you approaches, we are not out to get you. We love you black people. If Abraham Lincoln was the best president, you can be rest assured we care more for you, than anyone in the world. We fly to the sun people.

Now let me tell you, what I have seen on this ship has been querulous and unacceptable! I see this every day in my interactions with these adults!” I claimed as I pointed to the predominantly white port side of the ship.

“We’re not respecting each other. We’re not respecting ourselves. We’re not mingling together. We’re not respecting ourselves. We’re insulting ourselves. We go off on tangents, to step on each other’s feet and shoulders to get ahead. We interrupt each other. We’re not listening. We’re insecure, and we go mad over nothing. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. People of different races arguing over who’s the biggest. Well, I’m here to tell you that you are all the biggest and the best. If it’s bad, don’t think about it.

Be friendly, to your family, friends and strangers. We pay you to be a part of God’s army, so act like it! We pay you to be friendly to each another, right? We pay you to work as a team right? We fight for love, and only love of our country and our world called Earth. I don’t want to ever see you lonely because of what I’m telling you, but let me fill you in on a little secret. Look at us. See us work. Observe how similar we all are to God himself. God gave everyone to everyone, to you in the beginning. Life is a riddle and you have to figure it out. We were all created in God’s image, and God is giving Earth everything to everyone what he has, today. This racism has to stop. Look at black people, white people. They were all created from Adam and Eve! Tell me, what color eyes do you think Adam and Eve have!? Brown! Yes, brown!

Have you ever thought for a second how it is to be a black person in the civilian world? In the Navy? On here? USS Enterprise! Have you seen a Star Trek episode in your life? We stand for each other, for every American, foreign or domestic. We are not war mongers, we are all Chinese, we are all French, we are all English, we are all Russian, we are all Swahili, we are all Australian! But I say to you, love your enemies, pray for those who curse you and despitefully use you. For if you only love who love you, what reward is there in that? Now get behind me, and let’s make this place the United States of all Omniverses!”

People were asking me to repeat things on two or three occasions so they could write what I said down on their notepads. After my last words spoken, after about twenty-five to thirty minutes of vehement love and passionate speech, I landed a backflip for the first time in my life, and everyone gasped for air. It was a perfect landing, toes forty-five degrees apart. At the end of it all, all six hundred sailors I was speaking in front of had whooped, wailed, and screamed out of joy with their fists pumping right after I lifted my hands, and then some of them gathered around me, looked at their watches, noticed it was near the middle of the year 2000, the Fourth of July, and they started calling me Jesus! When I heard this, I thought I would imitate Brian from Monty Python’s The Life of Brian interpreted into German, and I said after I paused, perplexed, “Fack off!” Some laughed, but most were disappointed in my response because they hadn’t seen The Life of Brian interpreted into German.

Some were whispering to each other and then said to me, “Only the holy one denies his holiness!” “I’m telling you it’s him,” they whispered between each other.

“What is all ‘dis flying in the sun all about?” asked one of the sailors around me.

“I said fly to the sun, not in it,” I conned back.

I had no idea what I could do to stop the following that was about to happen, and the only funny way I could do it was to imitate Brian in The Life of Brian and say, “Fack off!” a second time when they started to call me Jesus repeatedly. All I wanted to do was fly a jet off carriers like my father, and now that I was on a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise (CVN-65), I wanted nothing to come in the way of my dreams of becoming a naval aviator.

Afterward, I found a group of ten or fifteen petty officers arguing about some of the things I said in the speech. I was puzzled by what had happened to cause this commotion, and I knew from my Bluejacket’s Manual that I was obligated to prevent disorder, an uproar, or upheaval, so I made a solemn prayer, and I spread my arms to part the sea of races in front of me. They grouped together into their own races and stopped arguing. Holy Moses, how did this happen? Then, five minutes later, my face started to flush red, and I started to laugh grotesquely hysterical, thinking of what Jona Selman would think about me being some reincarnated Jesus. I would have the last laugh on her. Then one of the other sailors called me the devil. It was a zany day, but at the end of the cruise, I ranked first, and one of the Naval Academy midshipmen, who was the only man I ever saw who had shinier shoes than me, said it was the best display of leadership he had ever seen. Fun times even through all the headache of still having that drug in my system when it was just starting to wear off. When I knew I was going to make it to flight school, where my dreams could come true in almost every way, I turned into a superman. I took out a penny in front of a group of enlisted crew members and bent it barehanded with at least twenty degrees of torsional twist. I felt the edge and screw dislocation movements of atoms being shoved to the surface of the penny in my fingers as it plastically deformed. I gave the penny to a black sailor, and everyone came to lift me up into the air, and I went crowd surfing with at least twenty sailors holding me up. It was amazing.

Lastly, when the party waned amid more marvelous commotion that I had created, I was talking to some admirals, and the captain who was calling me Jesus was there in the front hangar bay. Some of the high-ranking admirals witnessed almost everything, including what was about to happen next. I desperately wanted to talk to the captain, but he kissed me on the forehead instead in front of the admirals standing nearby, and I replied as I giggled, “Judas, you betray the son of man with a kiss.” I then gave him a big smile. He then yelled, “Shut up!” in front of the admirals. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t even read the Bible yet, and here I was on USS Enterprise reciting lines out of it? How could this happen? Why would he tell me to shut up if he was calling me Jesus moments before that day?

After I left USS Enterprise in Norfolk, Virginia, I signed for my commission in Castine, Maine, and left for Pensacola with my belongings inside the back of my truck, the good ol’ 1999 silver Dodge Dakota.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 8

 

Grandmother Selman. Posted on October 12, 2014.

 

On my way to Pensacola, I stopped in Fairfax, Virginia, to visit my grandmother, Sophia Elizabeth (Fuller-Selman) Cofield.  After my grandfather passed away in 1980, she married Co, the nickname of a US Navy captain and an esteemed close friend of our family who had relations with her while she was married to my grandfather, Richard Jackson Selman Sr. A baby girl was born in this relationship while my grandfather was still alive, who is now my beautiful and smart aunt who is a nurse.

When I arrived at her house in September, 2000, I walked up the steps to see the same gray stone lions sitting on either side of the front door that I remember seeing as a young boy when my parents were still together, which made me so happy and at ease. I had lost all contact with my Selman side of the family when my parents were divorced, and I was so thrilled to see this place that I hadn’t been to in over twenty years. These deep gray stone lions were such a majestic symbol of my grandmother and our family, and a knowing memory that came to me that filled me with so much love and exhilaration, bliss, peace, and enchantment. The hallucinations waned to a minimum. I touched the lions’ rough, stone, curly fur indentations and waves with my left hand, then touched the lions’ heads, legs, and torsos with my hands. The hallucinations stopped!

My grandmother then invited me to lunch at a local restaurant, and when we left her house, the hallucinations began again! She told me about the jets my father flew and the B-24s my great-uncle flew. She said for me to fly safe and nail the program as I left for Pensacola, Florida.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Yeah! Flight School. Posted on June 27, 2012.

 

As I came into flight school, narrowly escaping being whisked away in a rainstorm at night, I had already forgotten the memories of my imagination aboard USS Enterprise, Evelyn. But I knew something in life was waiting for me ... that only could have been Evelyn.

API, which stood for Aviation Preflight Indoctrination, was a six-week indoctrination phase of our training and was based on intense study of aerodynamics, aviation systems, weather, navigation along with physical fitness tests, psychological tests (which were in fact intimidating, as I took them because I was still crazed from the drugs my stepmother doused my eggs with), and medical screening tests by NAMI, Naval Aerospace Medical Institute. I remember the saying they used for those flight students who failed a medical screening test, which was a NAMI whammy. A very sad situation indeed for those who experienced this, but I was lucky and only had to see a doctor for fifteen minutes.

In API, I was still seeing black alien locusts in the grassy fields of Pensacola Naval Air Station and in my dreams on ghastly alien worlds, and they were always chasing after me. Visions of oyster pearls being portals allowing the aliens to hair-raisingly jump dimensions were tormenting all the time. I was still only averaging two to three hours of sleep per night.

The conversations with the captain had been bouncing around in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what we talked about. At night, inside the bachelor officers’ quarters (BOQ), I could hear the scuttling of mice and cockroaches crawling inside the walls, which frightened me to no end because some of the hallucinations coincided with these noises. Morning after morning, I found numerous huge two-and-a-half-inch-long cockroaches lying upside down in my apartment at the BOQ, which was equally as disconcerting because of the hallucinations that had persisted for so long. Some were still moving, lying on their backs. But as I said before, long forgotten were the vibrant memories of my imagination loving a wondrous woman who could only be Eve, who I hadn’t met yet but had memories in my subconscious of when I was talking to the captain aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65).

API was fun but difficult, as many hours of study were involved. Some didn’t crack it, and some aced the program, but what made them equal was their sense of duty to country and to the navy ... and what awaited them in their careers at the time was either to be a swashbuckling gunboat lieutenant (which is what I would have wanted to do had I stayed in after five years, out of MIUW-106, Mobile Inshore Undersea Warfare-106 when I was in the Naval Reserve after active duty), or a naval aviator. I read many stories, however, about various instructors brandishing spears in the classroom and threatening student naval aviators about the perils of failing the next test ... and one of them was to be scorned to some laborious navy work. The differences between what I imagined to be my future and the horrors that could actually transpire were so vast, I had no inclination to think any other way—that I could make it, that is, become a naval aviator and then acquire a few engineering degrees and apply for NASA. Wow, I get to be harassed by aliens on the ground for almost a year and then live in outer space. Well, if it was good enough to be in outer space, it was good enough for me, so that was my plan, to be a fighter pilot and then an astronaut.

I feel it is important to mention that if I had told a soul that I was poisoned, I most certainly would have left the program, so keeping myself hush-hush about the Jona situation was a top priority.

Then came primary phase airplane pilot training in Corpus Christi, and I had to “fight” with my on-wing instructor the whole way. I was pushed against the instrument panel to insult my instructor back against his sputtering fire of spit almost with every rotation of the T-34C’s propeller, at 1000 feet of altitude, and 192 knots.

That person’s last name was Lancaster, with a first name Brian. He was maybe the most beautiful person I ever saw. But only more than half of my primary flights were made with him sitting in the backseat, mashing me with horrible insults. Finally, four weeks into my primary phase pilot training, on the morning of October 4, 2000, the drug had worn off, and the hallucinations stopped. I was sleeping more than six hours per night, and I was thrilled. But even with the happiness and increase in mental acuteness that followed my poisoning experience, my primary on-wing instructor never failed me. He just passed me to the next flight, which was equivalent to receiving a D- on every paper and test from a professor all semester long.

He was a hard grader, I will admit, and I selected helicopters, the very last choice on my list of jets, props, and heavies. After I cried pathetically for over thirteen hours because I couldn’t climb into my shiny jet and prove my stepmother wrong, I proceeded to complete the primary and intermediate T-34C Turbomentor training phases.

I was exhausted, but I had more energy than when I was at UMaine since the turn of the century. At UMaine, I was spent and had little energy to keep my eyes open with my hair on fire. When I got to USS Enterprise, I utilized every ounce of strength to get ahead, and it showed in the number of qualifications I achieved.

After my solo in Corpus Christi, I received orders to fly to Roswell, New Mexico, to fly at Roswell International, home of the now-famous and long-storied 1947 UFO crash. Here I was in Roswell after I had been living in outer space for ten months. The vast dirt plains en route to the tarmacs were soft and fluffy, and my boots sunk airily into the powdered ground, like walking on the moon. I almost thought for a time that as I was in Roswell, and that now I had seen aliens while on the drug I was poisoned with, and that the conversations with the captain had happened in 2000 a year earlier, that the powers that be knew what I was going through. I think I was wrong. I believe now that the only people who knew what I was going through were myself, my father, his wife, Jona, and possibly the captain who kept on calling me Jesus.

On one solo flight, as I was flying in the pattern at Roswell International, I saw the image of a young woman’s face projected on the left side of my T-34C in my mind’s eye! It was her, Evelyn, but I forgot her name. All I saw was a beautiful brown-eyed woman with dark brown hair and an eccentric smile. “That’s her! Yippee! She exists, John!” I screamed in the cockpit. “Now all I have to do is meet her!” I yelled further as I completed a 230-knot clockwise 360-degree turn over the Roswell downtown. “And I have no idea how I’m going to do it,” I replied to myself, desperately hopeless similar to Lonestar in Spaceballs (1987) as I rolled out to enter the pattern over the airport.

When I was on the ground in Roswell, my friends and I stopped at a local restaurant near the airport. I stepped outside onto the back lawn where the farmers were going to plant seed and reached for the ground. Slowly I sifted the powdered earth onto the ground to where it came and saw universes, galaxies, planets, stars, and nebulae sprinkle onto the padded Earth below me and thought to myself there was a reason. There was a reason why I had to go through what I went through—that was to see it in myself, everything in myself and then meet a biblical Eve who my life was to be about. After I had completed aerobatics and formation flying in Roswell, I proceeded to study intermediate phase pilot training.

In intermediates, another instructor other than my on-wing from primary and I flew on a cross-country from Corpus Christi, Texas, to San Jose, California, to check on pistachio trees in his farm nearby. En route back to home base, we encountered extreme weather at night where I was forced to submerge my inner fear of being struck by lightning. Flash after flash after flash, the airplane cockpit was lit up like a strobe light shining on a dim Christmas tree. Suddenly, an opening of clear sky between me and the ground, and on the corner of my left eye I could see a bolt of lightning approaching from a far-off ten- to fifteen-mile distance from the left side, and it branched out immediately. It branched out so far as the eye could see in front of me and behind me in the form of a giant sheet of lightning like a vast network of brightly illuminated veins of electricity from a blitzed Zeus in the sky, covering the bottom of the cloud deck like a floating, white fire blanket at 7,000 feet, a hundred feet above our heads. We had already declared an emergency because we were low on fuel and we had to get down ASAP. Bam! The instructor landed extremely hard, as this was a night flight, and he decided to take the controls on the landing.

Time was short after we landed in Corpus Christi, so then I drove off to helicopters from the hot and humid days and sharp burr-laden grassy fields of Texas back to the sunny skies on top of Pensacola beaches, again to study how to be the man I wanted to be, and that was a naval aviator.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 10

 

Helicopter Man! Posted on July 10, 2012.

 

 

 

Selecting helicopters was painful for me. I had my heart set on jets and flying off carriers just like my father, so I cried deliriously for about a half a day. At first, when I lay my eyes on that Bell 206 helicopter, I couldn’t stand it. When I was in ground school, I wanted to throw my helmet bag into my truck and go home, frustrated at how I never got what I wanted in life. The brain inside my head was in all sense of the word “scrambled” like eggs in a frying pan by my stepmother, Jona. My main instructor in primary flight training wouldn’t stop insulting me and gave me awful grades (I still love him as a brother and wouldn’t have wanted any other instructor because I flew helicopters), and now this ... I select helicopters out of primary. So yeah, I was pitifully pathetic. Not only was I pathetic, but my father started to call the CO at my new squadron. He called him on several occasions, saying nasty things about his service as a helicopter pilot. I then called him back, and he started to ridicule me for selecting helicopters. He laughed and hung up. Because of my attitude problem, I got out to a slow start and received a down for failing a course rules test (seventy-eight out of a hundred, eighty minimum). My aerodynamics was excellent, a ninety-six out of a hundred.

Once I started to fly them, however, it was angelic. My on-wing with a large, dark bow-handle mustache was finally friendly, and I still keep contact with him to this day. Flying that rugged yet flimsy airframe was just like floating in ecstasy on a magic carpet ride, and wow did I have fun. I flew over dolphins leaping out of the water in the daytime and played around with the searchlight in the steamy Florida nights. Watch out for the alligators.

Key West on our cross-country flight was the most amazing time. Snorkeling in the warm waters where thirty to forty brightly colored fish swam above the reefs and all around me was like being in a different universe I never knew existed. They all had different personalities and were investigating my every move. Some would nip at my skin, while others would swim around me brushing against my arms and legs.

Then, one night while I was studying for my next flight, I started to hear the voice of a young East Asian man morphing into different races asking me if I approve of something. “Do you approve? Do you approve? Do you approve?” the voice would say. The voice never said what he wanted me to approve of, but I said, “No,” almost ten times before I finally caved in and said, “Okay, I approve. Now what is it you want me to approve of?” The voices stopped. I studied for my next flight and fell asleep. The next morning, I turned on the television and there was the South Tower, on fire, and I witnessed the North Tower being hit live with a passenger plane. I don’t know what this means, but thinking back today I suspect maybe there’s the possibility that extraterrestrials could have been at the controls of this disaster. The voices sounded so precise and exact and could even at times be ignored, but they would come back and seemed to be flashing loud in my face, asking me, “Do you approve?” Later in 2003, my best and only friend on ship would fit the profile of the person I heard the day before September 11, 2001. The squadrons stood down for a week, and no flights were made; getting back to basics was a necessity, and everyone was in shock.

The rest of my flight training was a challenge as I had gotten into a drunken brawl with my best friend, Mike, from helicopter flight training. I passed out in the fight, and he jumped up as high as possible and landed his knee into my right side, causing what I later learned to be a subluxation. I could barely eat, walk, talk, and sleep again! I couldn’t even use the bathroom for two days. I was stuck in a mental dilemma; I had no way out of the pain from nervous system shock that weekend other than to cry out and say, “I love pain, I love pain, I love pain,” for fifteen hours straight. I must have said, “I love pain” at least ten thousand times that weekend. I made up my mind that there was no way I was going to leave my flight training because of it, so I told no one except Mike, my best friend in flight school.

It was so painful, I collapsed in the middle of the squadron because of my back that had been crushed by my 220-pound friend’s knee. I couldn’t get up at first, and it took me almost fifteen seconds of every effort in my body to get up before I finally did. Some of the other flight students helped me up, and eventually I was standing. I thanked them and stayed silent like I did when I was poisoned by my stepmother. Nobody could know what had happened to me. I didn’t want to leave the flight program, and I knew a NAMI whammy could have been waiting for me had I told a doctor.

But like I said before, I had a great time in helicopters once I started to fly them. I was an excellent pilot with crisp basic air work who got out to a slow start. I got to fly so many different types of helicopters and airplanes. It was an absolute joy to fly with the cyclic control stick in my right hand and my collective rotor pitch lever in my left while controlling the helicopter’s side-to-side direction (yaw) with the anti-torque pedals at my feet.

In the next two days, I was to fly exposure flights with fleet aircraft. My morning flight was in the AW-1W Super Cobra. I was waiting for the ship standing in the crew house with other students who were also eagerly waiting for their turn to handle a real helicopter, a big one. I waited many minutes past my scheduled nine o’clock takeoff time, looking around the shed, when suddenly I heard the repetitious booming thump of another AH-1W Super Cobra slowly approaching the landing pad in a standard hover, shoulder height above the ground. It gently touched down onto the landing pad, and the student inside climbed out. He gave his standard thumbs up before leaving the rotor arc. The squadron duty officer called my name. I walked to the screaming craft, and I gave my thumbs up before walking underneath the rotating blades. The pilot in command (PIC) inside hadn’t responded for almost a minute until he waved me in, a standard operating procedure (SOP) no-no. I walked reluctantly to the loud, spinning, screaming machine and climbed in and sat down into the front cockpit seat. I looked around the left and right sides and looked forward at the instrument panel, which was covered by a black cloth. Suddenly, a minute later, the engines went silent! No sound was coming from the engines, and I heard only the heaven of birds chirping and the wind blowing. I felt calm and peace surrounding my soul. I turned my head left and saw the rotor system grind to a halt. Suddenly, two black warrior locusts were fighting for control of the aft cockpit. Loud bangs and thumps were sensed by the seat of my pants as the aircraft was kicked and plodded by the fight between them. Suddenly a third hulk-like gray extraterrestrial locust hybrid, smashed the two black locusts to the side a hundred feet away as they howled elephant-like shrieks. They then ran away in fear. The Cobra helicopter wobbled side to forth as the gray hybrid squatted up to the aft cockpit. “Growl!” “Sir? Sir? Sir?” No one was in the aft cockpit and no answer. I paused for thirty-five seconds looking at the red Casio G-Shock watch issued to me in API. The black cloth was still lying in front of the instrument panel when suddenly the cloth blew in different directions! It flailed around, wildly blustering in horrible directions, brushing against my face and helmet for a full minute when suddenly the black cloth flew into my stomach! I was so afraid and nervous for the next minute until it jumped over me and covered my head. I was many times almost suffocated as I pulled the indestructible black cloth in as many directions as I could for thirty seconds until it jumped back onto the instrument panel motionless. I looked to the aft cockpit and imagined my line of vision far away from me. I saw the horizon on my left and said in quick sequence, “Sir!” I turned my head to the instrument panel, and the black fabric was gone! “What was that?” I cried out.

An empty, dark space then existed in place of the instrument panel after it disappeared. I was so spooked! I stood up ready to get out because I was afraid for my life. I then sat back down again, determined to fly a high-performance machine at least once in my flying career that I feared was going to be run over by my father in his big rig with no winged chest candy on my uniform. I glanced left in back to see if he was in his seat; no one was there, so I moved my head straight ahead, fracked with fear. The engines and rotor system started up again, and the canopy window on my left closed quickly with a bang. I turned my head straight, and the cockpit panel in front of me was a dark shadow! The alien sightings and the magic black cloth were a result of residual drugs in my system.

The PIC lifted the collective easily, and the skids teetered. We floated off the ground, and he positioned our standard five-foot hover. The instruments then brightly lit, shone pristine reflections with perfect, luminous, flat crystal glass displays and circular instruments, much more advanced than what I saw when I first climbed into the front seat. These instruments were light-years ahead of the H-65D Dauphin cockpit I had seen. The environmental control system nozzles were blaring gray-white water vapor into my eyes underneath my visor and into my face, giving me a cold sauna. The pilot taxied our craft to the yellow thirty-foot squares forming the parallel and perpendicular box pattern working area on the airfield, 1300 feet away. The pilot transferred the controls to me, and I started to fly along the edges of the box parallel and then perpendicular to the lines, keeping the helo straight and smooth, crossing the corners and pedal turning perfectly, when the pilot behind me told me I could do what I wanted.

I lowered the nose gently, and with great, slow amplitude, I levered the collective up as we sped off south of the airfield. We were approaching 140 knots when the pilot said, “Okay, I have the collective.” He pulled up hard with force, and the nose rose to almost vertical, then past the vertical. My heart was below my seat and then far in back of me forty feet past the tail of the craft when we first pulled 6–7 Gz and the PIC lit the afterburners. Flying straight up to the heavens, I was blissfully in a trance, space-lifted to God in the center of the universe every second of the 7,000-foot climb. The pilot transferred the controls to me saying, “You have the controls.”

I put my hands on the stick and collective lever. “I have the controls.”

“You have the controls.”

I lowered the nose from the near vertical slowly and formed a cobra-like pattern in the sky until the nose dipped below twenty degrees high above the horizon. The PIC then said, “I have the controls!” He rolled fast but smooth with the horizon spinning, curving left and down and then pushing the nose down, and down further until the helicopter was inverted. When he inverted us almost 140 degrees upside-down, hurtling toward the airfield, he lit the afterburners again. As we turned and tumbled this way and that, we were now 2,000 feet above the north-south runway. He flipped the helicopter upright smoothly in a motionless hover, still 2,000 feet above the Runway 14 threshold, and he lit the afterburners as we darted south in different directions.

I was scared out of my mind for the next three minutes during which I hollered, “These things have afterburners! Afterburners! And they’re silent. I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Yup, we’ve got afterburners in all axes. We can pretty much go anywhere we want. Now there’s nothing wrong in saying pretty much is there?”

“No, sir!”

“Good,” he bellowed deep. Onward we sped off in different directions, angling the helo one way and lighting the fires on our backs, angling another way and then accelerating very close to the corner of the airfield. He said, “Never guess what we’ll do next.” I said to myself, “Huh?”

The PIC told me he was making a call to tower, but I didn’t hear anything. My heart was still beating fast from how we had just flown many miles away and back. “How on earth could we do that?” I asked on the mic. No answer. We flew toward the landing pad booming once for a second, approached the landing site, and he let me set it down. I thanked the marine pilot and climbed out of the cockpit.

My next flight was to be with the MH-53E Super Sea Dragon, and it was the most challenging to fly. Weighing in at a maximum seventy-eight thousand pounds with over eight thousand shaft horsepower and a hundred-foot-long fuselage, I could feel the weight of the Earth spinning around me as the seven-bladed rotor system rotated. It was a beautiful helicopter, but I could feel every rivet holding on for dear life! The whole aircraft wobbled like it was a flying washing machine on its spin cycle. My grip on the cyclic control stick had never been tighter, and I could feel the arthritis traveling up my right arm in addition to the excruciating back pain I had at the time. We floated in for a light touchdown, just as soft and controlled, if not better than the helicopter aircraft commander (HAC) sitting next to me on the right. The crew chief was amazed! Immediately, I gently lifted the collective to go around for another pass. We were at four hundred feet flying in the pattern over the houses in the nearby neighborhood.

The thunder of Thor that I was in control of pounded and shook the ground beneath me as we flew forward over house after house after house. Finally, we came in around for another approach on Runway 21, so I touched down gently again, and the crew chief gave me a pat on the back as I left for the cargo bay. The helicopter aircraft commander took the controls, and no one had any idea what was about to happen next. The HAC lifted us up quickly fifty feet into the air. Everyone inside the cargo bay was firmly pressed into their seats. Then, looking out the front windscreen, I saw the horizon leave my field of view. With the runway in plain view looking through the front windscreen, twenty-five feet away from me, my stomach turned, and I was starting to feel like an experimental flight test monkey. The horizon was now above our heads as the HAC muscled more collective, more power, all eight thousand horses galloping at full strength, even more bite to the blades taken out of the air when we pulled 5 Gz into the emergency escape maneuver. Everyone in the back cargo bay, all the student naval aviators were terrified but not the two pilots and the crew chief. Below is a link of the escape maneuver video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEC9L5A3bSw

Near the end of my flight training, I had shipboard qualifications, but even though I may have been one out of two hundred flight students who could hover the first time my hands touched the stick, I consistently touched down four to six inches behind the line where I was supposed to because I was afraid that the rotor disc would catastrophically touch the ship’s superstructure. My formation flying in the helicopter was equally as tenuous.

In the end, my super emergency procedure whiplash recital abilities (I was the best in the squadron) and good systems, aerodynamics, air work, and instrument work could not outweigh my weaknesses. So, on my last flight, I was duped by my instructor, who played a trick on me by saying we would fly back home with a “down” (a failed flight) if we did not wait five minutes into our working area before we performed a cruise climb and descent maneuver. I knew by that time we would be under class C airspace surrounding Pensacola International and that it required communication with their tower because their airspace overlapped this working area. We were in the middle of performing the formation cruise-climb-descent, which is a climb of one thousand feet and a descent of one thousand feet while turning 360 degrees, all the while flying in formation. I was hitting the numbers accurately as the lead ship when suddenly I noticed the DME (distance measuring equipment) indicator from the VORTAC navigation station (VHF onmidirectional range tactical air navigation—an indicator on the instrument panel showing our degree position from the airport) was showing me .2 nautical miles horizontally and 120 feet vertically inside the Pensacola International’s airspace, and we were on our descent heading out of it. I stayed silent. At a hundred feet inside the airspace, my instructor, who was a big, burly marine, noticed the mistake, and we headed off immediately to do our next flight, as this was a double header. I knew this was my last straw. I tried my best to do well, and I got average grades for my last flight. I came close to finding the watering hole target, which was mostly obscured by the tree canopies, but the average grade wasn’t the one “above” (the term used in flight school to describe an above-average flight) I needed to get winged the next day. You heard correctly; I was going to get winged the next day. I knew the last straw had been laid. I was lucky I didn’t freak out in the cockpit. The end of my flying career was near, and when we landed, everyone knew what happened.

I told my mother who was visiting from Maine, and I immediately saw the disappointment in her brown eyes. “No wings?” she said, on the verge of weeping tears and her breath held back, speechless.

As soon as I told my girlfriend from Pensacola that I had failed out that midmorning, she broke up with me in the worst way. “I will destroy you. You will never amount to anything. I will destroy you,” she said. She had destroyed me in that conversation. She beat me up horribly, and the only thing I could do was weep in despair while I was on the phone with her. I never knew for a moment in my life that someone could act in such a way after what had happened to me. I hit rock bottom in the deepest depths of my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 11

 

USS Nimitz and the Heavens Above. Posted on September

6, 2012.

 

After flight school, I had two offers from my career detailer as a general aviation officer. One was to report to Norfolk, Virginia, and serve on an amphibian ship loaded with AV-8B Harriers and helicopters in the gator navy. The other, which sounded much nicer, was to serve aboard the flagship of the Nimitz class aircraft carriers, USS Nimitz (CVN-68) in grand ol’ sunny San Diego, so that’s where I went. Before I reported, I lived on the submarine base on the peninsula covering Coronado Island. As soon as I got aboard, the atmosphere was very nice and enjoyable.

It was a pleasant working environment in Strike Operations. Then, two other flight school attrites came, and we did not get along, or at least no one spoke to one another. The atmosphere then turned silent, and I was ignored by my colleagues, which made things difficult.

An officers-only meeting would take place at McPs, a bar located on Coronado Island. I had a lot of frustrations on my mind because I eventually left flight school and didn’t get winged. Then in the distance, I could make out a familiar face, but I couldn’t figure it out. I melted again and could only utter one word, “You?” It was the captain from USS Enterprise who kept on calling me Jesus! I didn’t know what this was going to mean for me, but I had a growing optimism that things would turn out great, and I could redesignate to Navy SEAL, considering their camps were on the beaches nearby. The captain greeted me with the same ominous smile I remember from USS Enterprise! He was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz! Immediately, I was freaked out, but I soon quipped by saying how much I loved my Operations Department job when I introduced myself to the group of officers who stood before me.

Then came my secret education at a facility called Tactical Training Group Pacific. There I was introduced to the equally young female naval officer named Maria Anastasia, a lieutenant junior grade like me. When I first looked at Maria, I felt something strange come over me. It was as if a vault door had opened in plain sight. It was black to dark gray. It moved deeper into Maria and out of sight. Suddenly the stars in front of me became clearer. I whispered, “Some kind of event? No words. No words. Nothing to describe it. I’m so beautiful? So, beautiful. pp Poetryyy. I had no idea. I had no ideeea. I had no idtee. I had no ... idea.” I started to squal from a Godly emotion, but no tears rolled. If there were one movie I could use to describe the emotion I had when I first saw Maria, it would be Contact when Jodie Foster looks into the center of the universe and turns into a little girl. Well, I turned into a little boy for ten seconds. I saw trillions of stars, galaxies, nebulae, and past friends of my previous life. I saw God Himself. He had a white beard and wore a white robe. The whole universe was centered on the self of a female naval officer with a Russian-Jewish last name from Russia, who stood before me. I started to cry, scintillating in the loving light I saw from the center of the universe. Millions of stars were shifting and revolving slowly about the center and then raced out toward me before my eyes into three dimensions, into crosses that resembled giant, shimmering, multicolored jacks I used to play with as a kid with a small rubber ball. Stars and nebulae were flying around me, changing and morphing into different dimensions, different diamond shapes that looked bright and clear as day.

Then for four minutes a light, thin veil of stars twinkled everywhere in my vision. God made his presence, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was quite the jokester and was trying to woo her from the start. I took out my hand and dug my fingers into my chest like a kung fu master, put my heart into an imaginary doggie bag, folded its top edge three times, handed her the doggie bag, and fell backward. I was desperate, and she was beautiful. She had long, flowing, bright strawberry-blonde, almost bright and light green hair bound in a bun, and she seemed to laugh with me. I fell in love, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12

 

The Horrors of War and the Buildup to the Prophesies.

Posted on September 25, 2012.

 

Some force was sucking me into Maria, as I couldn’t get rid of my symptoms of taking two Viagra each day in public for at least three weeks. I was so embarrassed. Strange feelings I never felt before were submitting me every waking second of the day. It was hysteria, but I knew taking a line out of a movie when stars were burning bright as day, deep in the blackness of space in front of your very eyes meant something important.

It meant something I never knew existed before. I didn’t know exactly what that was, but in the back of my mind, I knew this was something absolutely huge. To relive that emotion, the plain sight of everything in our universe and then start crying like Jodie Foster in the movie Contact was so unforgettable. And to this end, my life turned in the direction of love for my one and only, sometimes with no control.

On our preparation and training cruises for our upcoming deployment in 2003, JTFEX and COMPTUEX (joint task force exercise and comprehensive theater unit exercise), we traveled to Vancouver Island, and the others enjoyed laughing their heads off at the porn videos Lieutenant Commander Swint was showing us. My head was occupied by Maria though. Long forgotten were the memories of my life force imagining Evelyn on USS Enterprise (CVN-65). All I could think about was my universal encounter with Maria and the fact that somehow the man who kept calling me Jesus was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz (CVN-68). You heard correctly; he was now my CO aboard USS Nimitz, my new duty station. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t stop this myriad emotion for Maria and forgot quickly how much I hopelessly begged my current captain to eventually find Evelyn.

In Strike Operations, an intelligence based office in the Operations Department aboard USS Nimitz, I had the most difficult time with my colleagues, who refused to speak of events concerning the ship. All the while, I was so much in love with Maria because of my universal encounter where I saw the entire universe and God superimposed on the whole vision though. I was constantly thinking about her and how I could somehow woo her heart. No matter how many questions were asked in Strike Operations, I was hardly responded to by the other two flight attrites who arrived. One was in the naval aviator pipeline for one or two months and had an insatiable appetite for making jokes that glorified his own sense of humor, and the other, who had purple eyes and a shaved head, was a naval flight officer attrite.

The funny one, Jeremy, arrived first, and we got along somewhat, but there was always an element of competition in his every move. We even went to a Padres vs. Red Sox game together. But he was more interested in finding the ultimate intelligent joke and crossword puzzle to stand out from the crowd. The second one, the short, stalky Mr. Durham with the purple eyes and jet-black hair, said in a griping tone of voice, sharply staring at me with furious deep purple eyes on the other side of the open door when I first met him, “Thanks for the nose.” Months later, the strike officer and Mr. Durham started asking me whom I should marry on multiple occasions. I wanted to marry Maria, but the other officers said I wanted “something new” and that Maria was the least of my concerns. I would later find out that this was true, but it wasn’t until 2010 that I would discover this. Could the captain have talked with Mr. Durham like he talked to me? I may never know the answer to this speculation. On one afternoon, Mr. Durham asked if he could “have what I have.” “Can I have what you have?” asked Mr. Durham as he entered the room when I was alone on the computer. I thought to myself for five seconds how to respond and then turned to him, “If you’re responsible for the big bang.” He left the space and came back thirty minutes later smiling and asked me whom I wanted to marry again!

Around this time when I first met him, when I was alone in the next-door room, I notched off the letters in his name and compared it to the letter placements of the letters right of A in the alphabet in the word “seven.” It was a match! I computed my name, and it was off by one. Again, this was nothing significant in scientific terms, but it was this discovery along with the interactions I had with Mr. Durham on ship that formed my opinion of him as an intellectual badass, who believed he was master of everything despite a stature no taller than Danny Devito, overweight but with a very powerful, wide frame. He often read five books at a time, mostly consisting of highbrow philosophy books, and he graduated from the US Navy’s Seaman to Admiral Program at the Naval Academy with a degree in electrical engineering, the same degree my father had from the academy. Every time he spoke to me, he had to correct his eyeglasses. He almost always ignored my questions, statements, and appeals for amends. He treated me with superiority over me in every conversation. Eventually, I started to believe what I was witnessing. I pulled up a chair next to Durham and asked politely, “Are you God?” No answer. The only response was a thousand-yard stare into his computer screen.

“Are you God? You can tell me ... You seem like God, or how I would imagine God to look and act. I’m not sure, there’s something about you that I remember from somewhere,” I rebutted my statement.

“No, you don’t,” Durham answered back dispassionately.

“Oh my God, you’re the boy I’ve been in competition with all my life! I remember you, you with your black hair. You, were the black draconian monster I kept seeing high up in the sky when I was younger. You somehow ... invented cigarettes. He ... he ... heh. You are God, from what I remember at least,” I reached deeper.

“And what else did you invent? Your ganja? Your Mary Jane? You better watch it when you get out and start smoking ropes ... I’m taking this,” Mr. Durham stated as he looked up, corrected his eyeglasses, grabbed some papers and quickly left the space. I was bewildered yet again at his cold shoulder and fast exit. What was more perplexing, was his thievery of the God identity. “No, wait,” I begged him to stay. The door slammed shut. He returned an hour later, then sitting quietly in front of his computer station keeping mum about any person or thing on ship.

I thought that the captain, who was my nemesis and inspiration aboard USS Enterprise, as executive officer, number two in command of the ship, and who was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz, would be able to even possibly get me back into the naval aviator pipeline again, depending on how good my fitness report was. I never met with the captain personally when I was under his command for the second time though; I was transferred to Supply Department just after our 2003 combat cruise set sail and did the best job I could do.

It was never enough for my boss, who was a lieutenant commander and wouldn’t stop hammering me day after day. The man went berserk every time he saw me, which was on a nonstop basis every day in the hangar bay, in his office, in the wardroom, in the bathroom even. The only thing I could do was give him body language as if I loved him and answer his questions to the best of my ability. Wherever I was, he was there verbally beating me up, horribly making threats to do bodily harm every waking second of the day, which was long. My workdays lasted anywhere between twenty and forty hours, extending beyond the limits of normal expectation. The sleep never came again! Workdays weren’t days anymore. They turned into multiple days strung together, and even weeks! An average day would consist of approximately thirty straight hours of standing watch on the bridge (which was fun, and I have many stories about my bridge watch), attending meetings, inspecting storerooms, standing watch in CDC (Combat Direction Center), and writing instructions, and if I was lucky, I would get two hours of sleep. I felt the damage to my body when the second year of sleep deprivation came.

This didn’t stop me from being a good bridge watch team member though. Once, when we were in the Strait of Hormuz, I spotted five yellow speedboats, pointing them out to the ship’s navigator who was a commander, and a SH-60B helicopter pilot, the assistant navigator who was a P-3 naval flight officer, the officer of the deck, and the conning officer, who directed the helmsman and the lee helmsman. The captain who kept on calling me Jesus was present in his chair, but I didn’t bother him. I was the junior officer of the watch (JOOW). As soon as I started reporting these yellow speedboats traveling at over forty knots in the distance five to seven miles away to four different people at their watch stations, the officer of the deck, who was a female Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department officer, soon got annoyed at my directives to look out for the possible Iranian speedboats, so she told me to practice looking up codes in one of the nautical almanacs we had on the bridge. I walked over to my watch station, and I was thumbing through the literature. As soon as I lifted my head after I had buried it in the books for about four minutes, I saw the five speedboats that I reported to the four different officers on the bridge so insistently, located two hundred yards off the bow of the aircraft carrier, clustered together, floating in large waves, approaching us quickly. “ANAV ... ANAV,” I urgently pulled on the assistant navigator’s sleeve. Soon, the assistant navigator was calling all attention to the bow of the ship. Everyone looked up and saw them; soon we were worrying about our pants! We blew through their formation and remained steady at twenty-eight knots. We were lucky they didn’t have any explosives, and it made the whole bridge watch team look incompetent.

Then came the US Navy SEAL PFT BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition School) physical fitness entry test. The Navy SEAL PFT test took place in Bahrain where it was 115 degrees at 10:00 a.m. I passed the pull-ups with fourteen, much less than my peak of twenty-eight. I passed the curl-ups with a hundred, push-ups were eighty-nine, and the swim time was first with a time of 7:18 for a five-hundred-yard survival stroke, which was over forty-five seconds faster than the second-place swimmer. I was in first place until the run. On the run, in the nearly 120-degree heat, I was fourth with a time of 8:10 running 1.5 miles in camouflage and boots, missing the cutoff time by ten seconds. Again, I was disappointed.

In the remaining three months of cruise, the air wing lost a $65 million jet because two of the air wing sailors had retrieved from the Hazardous Materials Minimization Center without permission the wrong hazardous materials for their aircraft. All four crew members ejected safely and were rescued via helicopter. I was Hazardous Materials Division officer. After this class A aviation mishap, I was demoted to Waste Processing officer, and some of the Nimitz crew and people in the HAZMAT division called me Trash-O (trash officer). The abuse from my boss got worse, and the spaces I was in charge of were odiously dirty, sometimes one-fourth-filled with pulped waste food from the discarded meals of the ship. I remember the men and women I was in charge of, filling the pulper with shovels full of waste fruit, entrees, and leftovers from the supply department. The ship had a lot of trash, and I was large in charge of it, the first billet of its kind. Maria saw it all. There I was in front of everyone who did hard, glorious jobs for the navy inside the USS Nimitz wardroom, and I was professionally crucified every day by my boss. The name-calling continued. Every other day or so, for more than one hour at a time, my boss would push me into the supply officer’s office and start screaming and yelling horrible profanities while pounding his fists on the desk. I was surprised he didn’t break his hands.

I did everything I could do to muster more strength to overcome these challenges of my pride being demolished. I was doing all that I could to woo Maria while she was still on the same ship as me.

Lastly, when we were in Hawaii on our way home to pull back into port in San Diego, I never knew what conversations I would have with my best and only friend on ship. Hawaii was my beautiful reward for working so hard for so long. After I flew a sailplane in Oahu through a 6G pull in a downward vertical spun spiral, my best friend, Ensign Brian Hong, a strong Christian and a Korean American from California, and I were sitting on the beach on the North Shore. The sky was crystal-clear blue, and the waves were crashing far away. Looking at the distant waves and sitting in the sand, he said something very mysterious. He told me, “Bring ’em down, dude.” I could only imagine what he could have meant by saying this, but I suspected he was referring to extraterrestrial beings, and I confronted him.

“Why do you want me to bring down aliens?” I asked.

“It’s just the way and a good idea,” he told me.

I argued with him, telling him it was a bad idea, because I still had painful memories of the experience I had with my stepmother, but I didn’t mention the fact that I was poisoned. I then agreed with him, but when we got back on ship, he redesignated to weather metro officer, and I was alone on USS Nimitz. I had no one to talk to and share the terrible times with my boss with.

Could this person be the same one I heard the day before September 11, 2001? I will probably never know the answer to this question, but when the combat cruise finally came to an end, I slept for three days. I looked at my Casio G-Shock watch once, and it was November 15, 2003. When I woke up, it was the seventeenth. Maria left for another duty station, and I was exhausted from the unnecessary abuse in life. It was then when a large drop of water dripped onto my forehead from the bunk above me. My body started to clench and cramp. Lying in my bunk bed staring straight up at the bunk above me, energized and infused with so much spiritual pain, my body was whimpering and ailing for an answer to my woes. All these painful memories of my father and other people came. I was crying uncontrollably, vibrating in painful emotion, but no tears rolled. My eyes were snapped shut, and I was gritting my teeth and straining my jaw as hard as I could without breaking my teeth with an ear-to-ear, openmouthed frown. All my pride had been destroyed. Maria never wrote back, and I thought my heart was hers. It felt like microscopic knives and needles were flowing through my veins and tumbling through my nerves for over thirteen minutes. While my body was straining as hard as it could, Mr. Durham, who slept in the bunk above me, left the stateroom and said, “I had fun, dude.”

I replied with a yelp. He closed the door, and it was as if I was pulling 25 Gz in a jet, and my body couldn’t take it anymore. “I ... love Evelyn Tuskegee!” I mumbled uncontrollably. I gasped for air, choking. “Who is that?” I said to myself, crying. “I’m in love with Maria!” I reiterated. At this point, I saw imaginary soldiers driving nails into my wrists as I withered in denial of service of someone at least being a friend nearby on such a hostile ship. A light turned on, but I couldn’t locate where the light was coming from. I wiped my eyes, and my palms were covered in blood.

As soon as I stopped crying, it was similar to being shot out of a cannon. My head was tumbling, and I felt so indescribable. I was seeing distant universes, and I could see short and distant times of the future. I wondered for a few minutes who Evelyn Tuskegee was, but the image of God and His universe being in front of me had been etched into my mind. Then the memories of the captain from USS Enterprise came, but the memories had been far too faded for me to recall Evelyn, so I let go of them. I remembered my universal encounter with Maria, and I saw my father’s face in the bulkhead with a circular Lipitor logo surrounding him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

The 2003 USS Nimitz—2004 Visions. Posted on

October 11, 2014.

 

 

 

Lying down in my bunk in the pitch-black of the ship, listening to the fluid transfer of the piping above me and the distant machinery sounding off, I saw my father in other different positions in my stateroom. “Well, the first thing I’m going to do is make the Red Sox win the World Series,” I said to myself quietly but confidently. The Yankees would be crushed.

I peeked around my bunk. I saw Him, and then saw the Red Sox winning the World Series against the Cardinals. Inside my sleeping bag on my bunk and pillow, the Red Sox had fallen zero to three games against the Yankees after a massive ten-plus run deficit defeat in the American League Championship series. In game four on October 17, with the Yankees pitching and leading 4–3 with baseball’s best closer, Mariano Rivera, on the mound, three months after what my father showed me as Evelyn’s birthday, I saw a base runner on first base steal second like the thief in the night of Fenway Park. I saw him eventually score and the Red Sox eventually winning game four, 6–4. In what I knew to be game six of the series, an injured Red Sox pitcher named Schilling, having an Austrian name, the same as Austria’s old currency pitch for the Red Sox, had a medical procedure completed to repair a tendon called a suture in his right ankle the day before. Eventually, I saw digital TV screens projecting Schilling’s ankle bleeding and blood diffusing into his sock in a large single bloodstain, with cameras intently focusing on the bloody red sock making Red Sox history, there and then in that minute when I saw him hobble off the mound to the dugout before winning the game. I knew that the comeback from a three games to zero deficit would be the largest comeback win in baseball playoff history, eventually defeating the Yankees and then the Cardinals in four straight games in the 2004 World Series.

Unlike these sports premonitions and effects of the clairvoyance I had at the moment, I imagined a glowing bright future for all of us, with the United States trimmed in gold and platinum. Diamonds would rise from the beaches and could be found and kicked around on a normal stroll everywhere. Visions and pushes to society for cold fusion, perpetual-motion machines, new gaming consoles, and techno gadgets getting thinner, lighter, and more capable were at the forefront of my thoughts. New watches, new style, new humor that everyone understood, even social media network sites I remember speaking to the captain about were formed in my imagination. I then heard a crack in the Earth’s crust. “What was that?” I asked. Two seconds later, I saw the colossal flash of an energetic star exploding from where I knew to be fifty thousand light-years away. “Oh God, I hope it isn’t near us,” I said out loud several times inside my stateroom and then my apartment. I prayed for hours, then weeks and months after, that it wouldn’t happen here or anywhere else, or if it did happen somewhere, that none would cause any harmful effects to anything. I then thought back to my time with my father before I was poisoned when we were trucking in his Freightliner 18-wheeler during the New Year’s visit. He told me on December 27, 1999, inside the truck cabin delivering goods driving on the highway, to name a disaster. At first I refused. It took him almost four minutes to coerce me into just mumbling a random disaster, and I said quietly, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas.”

“Son, I am proud of you. You might have just saved it all,” he said excitedly. He wrote the day’s date and the nature of the disaster on the back of his Bible. The rest of the conversation was strange too.

“Strange memory,” I said to myself.

So, lying there in my bunk on USS Nimitz in November 2003 after we pulled into the San Diego port after our combat cruise, two seconds elapsed when I saw a video from the future of the tsunami the day after Christmas 2004. It was atrocious. Then, suddenly, I saw what was the largest and most energetic flash of radiation from outside our solar system in recorded history detected by Earth. The flash of radiation, as I saw it, lightly caressed Earth’s atmosphere in faint disturbances in a message that everything was going to be okay and that a brilliant future was on its way. Just beyond a year later, exactly five years after my conversation with my father, when I said, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas,” after almost four minutes of continuous coercion inside his Freightliner big rig, at 7:59 a.m. on December 27, 1999 (the year 2000 was a leap year), the most massive tsunami in history struck Indonesia at 7:59 a.m. local Indonesia time, December 26, 2004. The tsunami struck the dayafter Christmas, and a day later the magnetar explosion was detected as the Boston Red Sox were world champions:

http://www.nasa.gov/vision/universe/watchtheskies/swift_nsu_0205.html

“Scientists have detected a flash of light from across the galaxy so powerful that it bounced off the moon and lit up the Earth’s upper atmosphere. The flash was brighter than anything ever detected from beyond our solar system and lasted over a tenth of a second. NASA and European satellites and many radio telescopes detected the flash and its aftermath on December 27, 2004. Two science teams report about this event at a special press event today at NASA headquarters. A multitude of papers are planned

for publication.

Brian Cameron, a graduate student at Caltech under the tutorage of Prof. Shri Kulkarni, leads a second scientific paper based on VLA data.

Amateur astronomers detected the disturbance in the Earth’s ionosphere and relayed this information through the American Association of Variable Star

Observers (http://www.aavso.org/).”

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 14

 

Enter Mrs. Sandman. Posted on September 30, 2012.

 

 

As soon as I heard the crack almost one year before the tsunami struck and felt the immense hot flash of the magnetar explosion, a voice of a strange but very powerful East Asian woman took over my soul temporarily as I was lying in my bunk. It was as if my mind had been reprogrammed by her to be in effect sixty years ago, and she was dictating what was happening to humanity at the time. The mass casualties caused by the Nazis and the Bolsheviks were hers, and we were fighting for control.

I was trying to save them, but the Asian woman was trying to make these events happen with my brain. Traveling into the future ten minutes ago, I was now stuck in the past during WWII, with the Asian lady completing the history books with my brain. Overall, I counted seventy-two million people passed away in the fight between us. Millions of souls had been vanquished.

Eventually, almost an hour later, the voices dissipated, but my imagination was running around the cosmos meeting and greeting extraterrestrial civilizations left and right. I was hearing alien voices sounding like a high-pitched submarine sounding off for a dive. “Oouuuga ... oouuuga! Ooooouuga,” they said. Inside my bunk, I uttered one word because I was afraid some of what had happened and what I experienced would come back to bite me. “Aliens,” I said when I recovered from the journey around the cosmos. I was so afraid of my own thoughts that I was giving the navy a chance to intervene and help if they had any type of listening device in my stateroom but to no avail.

I made an appointment with the ship’s physical therapist, who is a native Filipino, and he popped my back into place. The pain was gone! But I was still exhausted from the two years of sleep deprivation and abuse and the pain I experienced from my back subluxation. Six months later in July 2004, I would be promoted to lieutenant, but three days after that, I received an honorable discharge because my designator (billet or job) was cut from the US Navy for budget cuts, and I would never see the captain again after I was pinned lieutenant. Right after I was pinned lieutenant in the commanding officer’s office, with many senior department heads and the captain, who was calling me Jesus, close by, I heard the captain say, “This shit is real, I know it is,” as he was looking out the bright brass circular window on the bulkhead, called in the navy a deadlight.

In the wardroom, I wrote a joke for my departing speech with a punch line the captain will well remember for the rest of his life, I’m sure. I asked the wardroom, “When on an aircraft carrier, why is it necessary to kiss the commanding officer’s butt?” No answer. “Because it’s holy,” I answered back. Everyone was laughing and demanded some bull ensign magic for a standup routine. I snapped the last photo of this book submission, which didn’t pass copyright protection editing, moments after the concluding statement of my naval career.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15

 

No Work and Little Left for the Alien in Texas. Posted on

October 1, 2012.

 

 

 

After I left the military, I was looking everywhere in San Diego for a job. I went to transition counseling but I found no work. I was miserable and looking for any way out which for me, ended up being exercise. I was working out five times a week, running fifteen miles every week. On ship, I was used to running six miles per day just to train for the Navy SEAL PFT test. Luckily for me I had considerable savings in my bank account I had accumulated over the combat cruise to last me through the trying times ahead.

I literally burnt myself out doing this intense exercise for months living on spaghetti and oatmeal. I laid in my bed and it felt like I was being dragged to the center of the earth. My body wouldn’t move or respond to my greatest desires to get out of bed. It felt like I was being glued to the bed so much that my body became limp and numb. This lasted for at least three months and then the tsunami actually struck with my foresight of the event.

I told my roommate Ahmed Umaña, a Costa Rican with a flair for bottled medicine and sneaking my laundry detergent that there would be a tsunami in Indonesia next week. I left to visit my cousins in Washington, DC, for Christmas, and the moment I touched down back in San Diego, I turned on the TV in my room at home, and there was the tsunami on the news. Eventually, people would be posting online information about the tsunami and the gamma-ray burst being connected somehow, which had disturbed the upper atmosphere like nothing ever recorded:

http://www.etheric.com/GalacticCenter/GRB.html

Osama Bin Laden would be witnessed on TV claiming that the West had weapons of mass destruction dug deep into the Earth’s crust or other weapons to cause catastrophe in strategic areas of the world. What people hadn’t known was that when I saw these prophetic visions lying in my bunk on USS Nimitz after we pulled into port, I had experienced actual memory, foresight, and prediction of the events that unfolded. I saw the dramatic Red Sox World Series victory. I heard and saw the Earth fissure causing the tsunami in Muslim countries. I saw the magnetar explode at a time fifty thousand years ago. What I hadn’t known at the time though was that these events would be my downfall.

Ahmed would start yelling and screaming at me, telling me to leave his sight, calling me a “prima donna” for telling him there would be a tsunami in Indonesia the day after Christmas. “What the hell do you think you are? A prima donna? Get out of here!” he wailed. I received my fifty-dollar check from USS Nimitz that the captain promised me in 2000 in the mail in late January 2005, but I didn’t cash it. I felt so empty that the lives of 275,000 people could have been hinged on a fifty-dollar reward for having a correct premonition that I threw it in the trash. The voices of the East Asian lady returned and wouldn’t stop in February, March, April, and then May. I left my apartment seeing and hearing aliens and UFOs everywhere, with the Asian lady’s voice clearly saying, “I’m so happy, I’m so happy, I’m so happy,” over and over again, sounding like Miss Piggy from The Muppets. The one-hundred-thousand-foot-high clouds formed shapes and patterns I had never seen before, and it was like being on an alien world for weeks. I thought that the world was going to end and didn’t know anything else to do except go to the hospital.

There I met a young woman who the nurses kept me away from because of the house rules for a clinic in California. Opposite sexes are to be kept apart. She told me of a dream she had that America’s coastline was covered in gold and platinum dust, with diamonds poking from the particulate material! This was the same vision I had when I was lying in my bunk under Mr. Durham! They released me and sent me a bill for $13,000 for occupying a bed for seventy-two hours.

The voices wouldn’t stop and it was similar to being on a different planet. The dogs would bark while I was at a motel deep in Arizona, where my running away from these voices took me, and they would morph into the Asian lady’s voice saying horribly nasty things over and over again. I must have heard these profanities 680,000 times in my travels across the dangerous badlands of California, to the open grasslands of Texas, to no end.

It was like my head was stuck in a speaker with her and my coworker / best friend from USS Nimitz saying these scathing things over and over again. I was seeing aliens everywhere and was wondering if they were going to jump dimensions and take over the Earth with my state of consciousness. The aliens were falling out of the sky as I was driving on the highways. I was driving fearfully back to Maine to my mother because the voices wouldn’t stop and I was a long way from San Diego. When I was in Arizona, I heard the voices of gray aliens with their craft hovering above my truck. “Drink waaaater, drink waaaaaater, drink waaaaater, good boy. Drink waaaaater, drink waaaater, drink waaaaaaaaater, good boy,” the grays would sing. They would say “good boy” whenever I swallowed something liquid, like my saliva. I stopped at a grocery store and bought a three-gallon container of water. I drank water until I puked, and the grays kept saying “good boy” in a high-pitched voice every sip until they dissipated two hours later. To this day, I always order soda water with my meal at a restaurant. “Only life, no more hurt,” they said before they left.

Finally, I reached Texas and was forty miles away from Pecos on Highway 20. The slow-pumping black reciprocating oil wells scattered across the plains of western side Texas looked like thirty-foot-high swaying, black locusts lunging before eating the wells. It was a bright, sunny day, and I had no idea I would be in for yet another thriller experience. As I was driving with the passenger-side window open, I started to hear chirping, clicking sounds from the right side of the road. I was seeing patterns in the wind blowing the grass in different directions as I drove by, and there were these pods sounding off, making these sounds, jumping 250 feet forward in front of the truck as they passed by my window as I drove, hovering five to ten feet in the air. “Drdrdrdrdrrrrr, drdrdrdrdrrrrr, drdrdrdrdrrrrr,” they sounded off as they passed. I remembered immediately back to a time when I was fourteen, driving home from swim practice in high school and my mom was driving. It was winter, and I had frozen hair-icicles hanging on my forehead that night when we walked to the car. I had my passenger-side window open in the maroon Subaru, and these chirping, clicking sounds wouldn’t stop. It sounded like they were following the car, so I told my mom to stop the car. She wouldn’t, so now that I was driving fifteen years later when I heard these chirping, clicking sounds again in the summer of 2005, I decided to investigate.

I stopped the Dodge Dakota and got out. I walked into the grass twenty-five feet into a level area on the side of the highway. I was facing west. I saw nothing. I turned clockwise to look east, and down and to the left I saw a shimmering, sparkling outline of a forearm with circular buttons on it, as if it had some type of biomechanical suit integrated with its wear! I could see right through it. It was a real extraterrestrial biological entity less than two feet away! Many colors of the rainbow twinkled and sparkled; orange, purple, red, green, and gold glimmered. I held out my hand to shake hands with this intelligence less than two feet away, but he remained motionless. Twelve seconds later, with my arm still extended for a handshake, intense fear came over me as if the being wanted to roast me on a spit for lunch and dinner! I raced back to my truck and sped off as fast as possible with the accelerator glued to the floorboard. I got out of there quick!

Later, in 2009, I would witness the extraterrestrials I saw and heard that day on the silver screen when District 9 came out. They looked and sounded exactly alike, and I was mesmerized by the movie. The only thing missing from the alien in the movie was the technology integrated with its forearm. I couldn’t help but relate to Wikus van de Merwe in the movie District 9 when he gets poisoned by the alien spray device and turns into an alien. When I was hallucinating aliens while on the drug that my stepmother poisoned me with in 2000, and then when I was aboard USS Enterprise, on the inside, my thoughts were so controlled by the substance I couldn’t concentrate. On the outside, however, I was superman when I was on USS Enterprise, which led to a remark on my fitness report by the commanding officer, “nonpareil performance.” I had fooled everyone into thinking I was more than fit to fly, which was just what I wanted. But my whole life and career after my NAMI health checkup in API was one miserable failure after another, and I could not stop thinking about how my poisoning experience with my stepmother or my conversations with the captain aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65) could have altered my life. The close encounter with the District 9 alien was also a life-changing event for me, as was the UFO sighting with Brian in 1997.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

Mom, Rescue Me. Posted on October 6, 2012.

 

Eventually I ended up in Wichita Falls, Texas, driving my now-tired ’99 Dodge Dakota, asking people to “do me in.” On my last stop, the police finally noticed my strange behavior and took me in. I don’t know if they knew who I was and gave me strange treatment because of this, or if they just gave me strange treatment because I was randomly selected from a long list of customers to get weird treatment, but I was scared out of my wits. They parked the car in the middle of a field at night many miles from society and lights, and I felt this rocking motion in the police car as if hands were tipping it side to side. It was very unnerving and intimidating; I wasn’t sure if they were planning to blow up the car. When I got out eventually after hours of driving, sitting in the backseat, I kept my eyes closed in shackles, and that’s when the hospital took me in. I called my mother in tears, and the biggest teardrop splashed against the tiled flooring of the hospital. On its way down, I could see the sparkling internal reflection of the bright lights above me shining my lucky star back to heavenly Maine, like my mom.

We were all given the chance to do moderately interesting activities at the hospital. Equipped with a canteen and plenty of people to talk to, I thought it was a somewhat pleasurable experience being there. It was pleasurable in that I knew I wasn’t the only one struggling, and the friends I made there gave me inspiration to move on and thrive.

Six weeks after I arrived, my mother flew to Dallas, Fort Worth, and we trekked across the country to retrieve all my belongings, which I had left in San Diego. The whole time, my thoughts were occupied by Maria and how to somehow woo her. I was in love with her because of the Godly vision I saw when we first met. When we got to my apartment, we found that I was robbed of my silk and fish Persian carpets and my watches among other things.

Finally, after cleaning my room and hitching a U-Haul trailer to my truck, we got my belongings from San Diego and drove back home to Maine. My mother and I talked the whole way about our breakup, our family, and good times ahead as the countryside and cities passed us. The moment I arrived at the U-Haul station in Brunswick on Bath Road, I spun the attaching nut connecting the U-Haul trailer less than 1/36th of a turn, and it fell off the drive bolt connecting the trailer to the truck after 2500 miles of driving though the plateaus and mountains of Colorado, to the dizzying slanted plains of Nebraska, the cornfields of Iowa, and the Great Lakes of New York and Pennsylvania. The bolt let go after being spun nearly fifteen degrees. Amazing. I had a guardian angel on my shoulder the whole way, a gift from God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 17

 

The Decision to Return to UMaine.

Posted on October 7, 2012.

 

 

 

In 2009, after I had invested the last of my money into my online business, a paranormal search engine, and after I had delved into a chemistry book I found at the local library when I moved back to Brunswick, I decided it was time to attempt an engineering degree. I remembered a time when I was six years old in first grade. We were in Smith’s class, but we had a substitute teacher that day, and I was playing with some scotch tape and scribbling my number-two pencil on it. 

I asked myself, "How would my pencil graphite affect the strength of the scotch tape?  I believe the scotch tape would be stronger, so just allow me to give it a tensile test."  

So I pulled and pulled it apart more to the breaking point and found the tape was far stronger than just a regular piece of plastic with adhesive on it.  The tape was held together under greater force than a normal piece of tape by a single leaflet of graphene, which was the strongest man-made material for three years, twenty-eight years into the future until linear acetylenic carbon, a triple-bonded carbon molecule also called carbyne was isolated in 2013. I remembered this moment when I gave it to the substitute teacher. In 2010, two Russian scientists won the Nobel Prize in physics for the graphene discovery. So I decided I wanted to become a materials engineer. To prepare for this, I needed two chemistry classes, and they offered them at UMaine.

 

At the first introduction to the chemistry teacher’s assistants when I returned to UMaine, I was still in love with Maria, having forgotten all the interactions and the soul-piercing psychic channeling I made nine years ago in 2000 on USS Enterprise, the pride of the US Navy with Evelyn Tuskegee.

One of the teacher’s assistants was named Evelyn, but I didn’t recall her full name until the first time she touched me. One of the chemistry directors made sure I looked at her and laid eyes on her. The director called my name. I looked at one of the TAs, and they saw my eyes were offset from their intended recipient, so they told me, “Next one over, John,” and I saw her.

It was Evelyn. She looked so innocent, so pure, and slightly uncomfortable but confident, looking down and to the right toward the floor. No stars, no universe, no flying nebulae, just an earthy, wonderful, brown-eyed, very young twenty-two--year-old stood before me fifteen feet away. At first I wondered how this director knew my name and then called it out and to make sure I saw Evelyn, but for some conspicuous reason, I forgot about this introduction, which I remotely suspect came from the same secret societies that I was exposed to on USS Enterprise with the captain. So, Evelyn and I remained strangers until she touched me deep, and wow did it burn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 18

 

The Touch. Posted on October 10, 2012.

 

As I was taking the chemistry class, I remembered a time when I was still in love with Maria in 2005, when I met her boyfriend (now loving husband) at the door of their apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. He asked to see my shoes for some reason, and I remembered Maria from my childhood as I had foretelling memories of my future interactions with her as an adult. Hence the symptoms of déjà vu. I currently have even more déjà vu symptoms resulting from my memories of Evelyn aboard USS Enterprise, but Maria was on my mind at the time. From this vision of a beautifully crafted leather pair of soles on my feet, I interpreted this as an opportunity to do something romantic for Maria, which for me would be to walk across the country and collapse on her doorstep when I got there. I got as far as Bangor from Orono in the cold and wet 2009 December winter. With huge blisters on my feet, I begged for a bus ticket back home from a McDonald’s employee. God bless his soul.

Tired, miserable, and weeping in despair from all the effort that went into winning Maria’s heart and failing every attempt at it for eight years, I had my hands covering my work on my chemistry paper, which was close to being clear of any writing on it whatsoever. I had lost all hope of ever finding someone as special as Maria was to me. Suddenly, this young woman walks over and reaches for my hands covering my paper. Gradually, and as if filled with the memory foam material my mattress is made of, this young woman slowly opened my hands similar to one thin metal rose opening its petals to the sun. Still in love with Maria, I was shocked at this foreign touch that felt so good but seemed to burn my soul hot. “Don’t ... aw ... why ... don’t ... don’t,” I said as if I was lying intently about my desperate need for attention, but she refused to let go of my hands without her gently opening my work up to the lights above in room 315 in Aubert Hall at the University of Maine.

So baffled as to why this woman showed such caring affection for me, I gave this young Evelyn a look I am looking forward to forgetting forever. I laid down my pencil smoothly, and I looked up, possessed by alertness and aloofness, staring at her as if I was asking her why she turned my attention away from Maria. I gave her the same look my stepmother, Jona, gave me when I was sitting on the bus ready to leave Utica on January 3, 2000, and then in 2002 when Mr. Durham stared at me in almost every reticent encounter I had with him on USS Nimitz (CVN-68). I couldn’t understand why this intelligent, beautiful, and young nineteen-year-old came over and touched me so affectionately and obsequiously. The only thing I could do was return the treatment I received from people in the first thirty-three years of my life, which was cold, cruel, and aloof for the first time in my life. During this ethereal experience, I could have looked up at her and asked, “Are you Eve?” because I knew it was her the whole time, and when I felt her presence touching my hands and saw her and heard her ageless voice, I knew she was the Eve of all omniverses. But I didn’t do it. She looked at me and looked at the wall ninety degrees to my right, intermittently glancing at me, smiled, and started to giggle. I kept staring and then relaxed and sighed as I looked down onto my desk and then the floor. I stared at her again for ten seconds as she tried to smile at me, and then she backed away slowly, ten to fifteen feet away like on the verge of having a nightmare, with a frightened frown.

Twenty seconds later, I looked at her, and I said to quietly to myself, “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s her. It’s her, oh no, oh no.” Forty-five seconds after that, I raised my hand and asked one of the other teacher’s assistants, who was a guy, what her name was. “Can you tell me what her name is standing over there please?”

“Her? That’s Evelyn Tuskegee. Yes, she’s a veterinary student. Do you know her?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I lied to avoid causing him to say anything to her about me. I thought to myself, Oh my God, she’s the one, the one I have been waiting for, the chosen one I’ve been looking for all my life. The one I saw my life with when I begged the captain to somehow find her, and then marry her to save me, the one I saw on the side of my aircraft when I soloed in Roswell, the one I knew as a boy in my imagination. Immediately, I apologized for the villainous look I gave her. I earnestly called her name out, and she walked over and sat down at the desk next to me. “I’m so sorry. Evelyn. I didn’t mean to do that. Um, it was a bad thing I did. I’m really sorry.” She seemed to accept my apology, and it appeared as if we moved on. Immediately my mind was racing at a million miles a minute trying to figure out how to woo Evelyn. I knew what her major was, and it was the same field as my memory with the captain when I told him her chosen profession to be, a Veterinarian. Same face, same hometown, same name, same family names, same major, same everything! She was the perfect match to my long-lost painting of my imagination aboard USS Enterprise.

The next class, I left the recitation session in the middle of class and said goodbye, saying regrettably in an interpretive Mainer accent, “I’m goin’ out for another cigarette.” The next class came, and I was dressed up in an argyle sweater, hoping to leave the best impression of myself as possible. When Evelyn showed me a paragraph in my chemistry book, I nudged my right middle finger away from her middle finger three millimeters, and she moved her left middle finger four millimeters closer to mine. Our middle fingertips were three millimeters apart for four seconds before I swiped my hand away. It was a success. One small step for a woman, one giant leap for mankind! As soon as I got home from chemistry class, I asked her to the engineering ball the next Friday via e-mail, and she said yes! But she wrote that she had to work that weekend while I was in thermodynamics class.

So she backed out. When I wrote poetry to her, she was scared and aloof. When I wrote letters to her, I called her the most beautiful woman in the history of the universe, and when she presented her side of the story in court for sending her five to ten e-mails and seven friend requests on Facebook, she wrote that she didn’t like my comments on her “beauty.” I made the exact mistake so many times in my e-mails that I knew I would make ten years prior by calling her the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe. Two years later, I witnessed the same right big toe I imagined twisted in 2000 aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65) in a photo she took of herself dancing in the rain. Evelyn, please, if you’re reading this, please believe me when I say you are Eve. I’m so different from the way I was when I first met you. I am so sorry I left you with a bad impression. I’m really just a normal guy, and I can promise really almost anything to you in my heart. You can be with anyone, you can marry anyone, your soul mate, your one and only, and I will be still thrilled for you. I’m ecstatic for having seen you once. Or, maybe sometime in the future you, or I, or anyone can marry one or more than one person.

At this point in my life, I felt it was necessary to write a book to show how fragile some dreams are and not to worry about them if they go unfulfilled. The dream of wooing memories of my imagination when I was on USS Enterprise is a pie-in-the-sky dream.

What I learned from my experiences is that all omniverses, all of God and all His stars and planets are fully inside each and every one of us, and our love for it brings us closer to the heart of everything. What I saw in Maria Anastasia was unforgettable, and it was a lovely sight that fills me with joy and happiness and an undeniable sense of assurance that God not only exists but also loves us, cares for us, and regards our compassion with tremendous, strength. It was an experience that I will never forget. But, despite this experience and memory I have of seeing everything and God Himself in Maria, I hope for the day I can reach for Evelyn’s hand. It is my only wish that they are both happy and that Evelyn finds me somewhere in her heart. There is nothing left to sacrifice. I have given everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 19

 

Conclusion

 

I do want to say first that Evelyn could very well be the one I’ve been searching for all my life. In Albuquerque, I have a strange memory of meeting the captain with my father at the local airport one day, who must have been an ensign at the time and just graduated from college. In my meeting with the captain in 2000, he said he knew Bill Gates, who was with the captain (then ensign) when I met these strange men around 1979. Oddly enough, around the time when I was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Microsoft opened its doors in my hometown. Could this be a conspiracy? Could there be people in power who believe that I’m Jesus? Could my poisoning, which at the time enabled me to see an alternate reality, be part of this conspiracy? Could the conspiracies I remotely suspect exist have come from higher powers in the government? From the captain, who I believe is a deceiver? Would it be from me? Or all these entities? Could the captain who was calling me Jesus have been told by senior officers in the government to tell me the things he said to me? Could I have been given the captain’s blood inside the Coke can by the random petty officer? Was the fact that the captain commanded two aircraft carriers that I was on a conspiracy? Could I have actually had a predictive vision of the Twin Towers on fire and the tsunami the day after Christmas when I was talking with the captain in 2000, and then the latter with my roommate, Ahmed, in 2004? Was there a reason why he asked me for a reward for the correct premonition of the tsunami but didn’t and crouched away saying, “No, no, no don’t tell me,” when I told him of the Twin Tower disaster? Will Evelyn return to be the first Eve of all omniverses, and unite them all under one US government? And could have Ensign Hong known the captain and been instructed to tell me to bring gray extraterrestrials down to Earth? I don’t know the answer to these questions among the many others I have about this decade of my life, but I’ve had experiences that point to a yes answer to them.

To conclude my story would be disappointing in my current situation because my love for Evelyn has gone unrequited for almost four years nonstop, but I have to. I would love to be able to tell you that extraterrestrials will come and save our civilization with their technologies and Jesus has returned, who won’t be crucified but will be king of all omniverses, only to pass it down to the next person in line, who will unite all things where everyone transforms into Christ, and we meet our relatives from the stars, and it is what I had in mind when I decided to channel Evelyn into my imagination on USS Enterprise (CVN-65). When I first met Evelyn in person, there was an instant connection, but I lost it in the fiery stare I gave her after she touched my hands so wonderfully.

This is another reason why I am the happiest and saddest man alive. I almost feel like I can never marry anyone as special as Evelyn is to me because of all these reasons, and I see her in my dreams often. It has been like running a marathon that never ends, and I hurt and ache every day because of it.

I can tell you in my most honest opinion of my life’s revelations that I have seen myself in two universes, fallen in love deeply twice among many other times, seen three UFOs, met the District 9 aliens on two occasions, been intentionally poisoned and tortured, but one thing inside me remains strong ... this is my love for myself. Not so long ago, for such a long time since I left the navy, I wasn’t the same man I used to be. My memory was corroded from all the sleep deprivation, my metabolism was low, and I had depression from losing the connections I had with Maria Anastasia and Evelyn Tuskegee. Since upon starting my semesters at school, however, I have found the way to not only cope with the things that I endured but to also thrive from them. I found the love that I have for Jona, because if she hadn’t done what she did to me, I wouldn’t have been so low and broken in my life to see God and all His omniverses we live in in Maria at TACTRAGRUPAC, and I wouldn’t have recognized Evelyn so quickly if I hadn’t been poisoned. So the only thing I can do is forgive her. I know the captain has, and you should too. I know for a fact that the captain is a walking talking forgiveness machine.

I only arrived at my present level of happiness by writing my book. And I hope that anyone who reads this navy memoir can find comfort knowing that all omniverses were always yours. God gave everyone to everyone, to you in the beginning. But if I was Jesus, or despite the fact that I am not, every man is Jesus and a brother, and I treat them that way. We all have our cross to bear today.

The extraterrestrial crafts and beings I have seen with my own eyes, on one occasion confirmed by my friend Brian when I was with at the University of Maine, are extremely advanced. In these contacts I have made from other worlds, I understand they have immortalizing medical technologies that can allow us to live for thousands of years if not for much longer, living unimaginably long and productive lives. I only wish that our secret world government would clean up its act and inform people of these possible extraterrestrial encounters. Title 14 Section 1211 of the US Code of Federal Regulations states that any person making contact or observing alien craft or beings can be fined up to $5,000 and imprisoned for up to one year. So far, I would have spent $25,000 and been incarcerated for five years. For these reasons, they must tell us about and legalize these very real experiences that can happen to anyone.

The problem with secrecy in secret societies is an exasperating one. It seems as if they could be aligning the stars for first contact in the near future, but the things they say and do, like blindfolding, before, during, and/or after physical and/or verbal abuse, gaslighting, biblical identities (which I am a trillion times guiltier of by trying to communicate to Evelyn that she’s Eve like any other woman), formation walking, blood drinking, human remains presentation, and secrecy vows are far more damaging to the personalities of those involved.

Notwithstanding these negative experiences, all my life I have been enthralled at the prospect of finding evidence of intelligent life on other planets because of the technology and other offerings they have waiting for us. The universe 13.82 billion years old. The human information age is only thirty years old. There absolutely must be an extraterrestrial intelligence able to visit Earth, if we’ve advanced far ahead enough to take our exciting first airplane ride on December 17, 1903, and fly to the moon almost 66 years later on July 16, 1969. I only wish for every person to jump for joy to the music of love that is waiting for each and every one of us. Our God-given right to make friends from another world has been taken away, and we should stand in our moment of truth to save ourselves from the potential disaster we know as our projected future, with pollution and disease booming in poor areas of the world. All I know is Evelyn can save us from this emptiness. Only Evelyn makes all omniverses special enough to befriend our relatives from the stars first, and I think that together we can make this happen. Out of a hundred billion galaxies and ten thousand advanced extraterrestrial civilizations per galaxy in the observable universe and the many more universes and omniverses that should exist elsewhere, we guys, our planet Earth could be the one.

I am very excited for our future. As I said before, there are many technologies that will immortalize us and allow us to travel to the stars. I feel like this will happen regardless of whether I am with Evelyn or not, or whether we make contact with extraterrestrial civilizations or not, but these advances could be so much easier and so much more special than that. I’ve chased after an extraterrestrial spacecraft less than two hundred feet away with my friend Brian at the botanical gardens on the University of Maine campus in 1997, and I’ve had a close encounter where I stood less than two feet in front of an extraterrestrial being in 2005. From these experiences, I can honestly say we are being visited more often than we realize and that the powers that be on Earth are very well aware of the extraterrestrial question.

Another question I ask of myself is why such an easy act could inflict so much pain on another individual. A dash of this, a dash of that ... this person shall live the misery he knows as his worst fears for a year, and should not forget it. In some sense of the word, my navy experience was the crucifixion of my soul, not my body. Jona is my savior in every way, however. If I hadn’t been poisoned, I might not have seen God in Maria, nor would I have probably met Evelyn. It was this breakthrough of the hardship that followed January 3, 2000, that made me see God and His creation in everyone on October 22, 2002 and brought me to my knees in front of Evelyn. It was such a grand feeling and sight with sounds from heaven that makes me know God not only exists everywhere in everything, but also in every thought experienced by every living and nonliving thing. Thank you, Jona. You are the best stepmother my father’s son could have ever known. Lastly, I also learned that I should always worship my real Mom and just love my father for any reason a family would feel safer having been protected by a service member.

To show my boundless love for Evelyn, I have decided to embark on an expedition up Mt. Goodwin Austen or Mt. Everest to plant a flag asking her for a date, and to fund my journey, I have decided to allocate all profits from my book, and all donations to this project, costing me $30,000. I only ask that my audience suggest my story with their friends or donate to jjspilot24@gmail.com PayPal. I feel that I need to do this because there isn’t another Evelyn Tuskegee, and the ideas of mine for her are prolific. You are my greatest discovery, and I would be nothing without you.

 

Love,

John

 

 

 

I even wrote to the captain in a last-ditch attempt to find answers on what he told me in 2000 on USS Enterprise:

 

Hi, Captain,

I wanted to write and say I hope all and everything is well with you. I also wanted to ask if you could please possibly elaborate on what you told me aboard USS Enterprise. I am desperate for answers, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t write to you. That conversation we had on USS Enterprise was the most important conversation of my life with a friend, and I haven’t stopped thinking about what I believe you said was that I was Jesus somehow. I can remember you telling me about Russian history, and you wouldn’t stop, so I decided to manifest at least in my imagination my hopeful future wife-to-be into existence ... at least in my imagination. When her name came to me like a premonition, I begged you to somehow find Evelyn Tuskegee. Well, I found her, and she’s afraid of me because of all that I’ve written about to her. There is a way, I believe, that she could possibly understand she could be the Eve of my heart that I begged to find when I was talking with you. She’s twenty-two, and I am thirty-six. Am I too old to be pursuing her? I think I may be, but she’s the perfect match of my long-lost imagination aboard USS Enterprise when we were talking about me being Jesus. I told you that I couldn’t be Jesus, but I had the premonition of the Red Sox winning soon, the tsunami the day after Christmas (which I told my father about when we went trucking in his big rig right before I was poisoned in 2000), and the Twin Towers disaster. So, all these interactions and the life I’ve lived since my conversations with you have brought me to realize we all could be in some way Christ and we are all able to accept His word.

Anyways, I wrote a book about all that we talked about and my interactions with Evelyn Tuskegee. You can proofread it if you like. Again, she may be the Eve we have all been looking for, but it would be the biggest tragedy of my life if she doesn’t find me in her heart. How can I accomplish this? How can I still woo her from the deepest depths of my heart while she’s in Alaska? Thank you again, Captain, for all the times we had, and I will never forget you.

Respectfully,

 

John

 

Post Script: I’m desperate for answers as I had a strange but magical experience with Maria Anastasia, a female naval officer who was with me on USS Nimitz in SCC. When I was introduced to her at TACTRAGRUPAC Point Loma, I saw the whole universe in her, and thousands upon thousands of trillions of stars and nebulae were revolving slowly, all inside and around her before my very eyes; I saw God Himself. He wore a white robe and had a huge white beard. Well, she’s now married, and I’m afraid the same thing is going to happen with Evelyn. Evelyn is my last hope if you want me to still be Jesus. When I saw the whole universe in Maria, it was just like the movie Contact when Jodie Foster looks into the center of the universe. Anyway, all I’m looking for is answers and hopefully a way back to Evelyn with the answers I may receive from you. I adore you, Captain, and I always will. All I need is a little reassurance that I’m not Jesus, or that I really am. I would also like some ideas from that great engineering mind of yours on how I can woo Evelyn. Are we making contact with the grays soon? My best friend on ship, Ensign Hong, who was an officer who worked with Ed Delarosa, whom I had a close working relationship with in Engineering Department on USS Nimitz, told me, “Bring ’em down, dude,” when we were in Hawaii sitting in the sand on the North Shore.

He said it assertively, and I wondered what he could have meant by this. I asked, “Why do you want me to bring down aliens?”

“Because it’s the way, and a good idea,” he said. When I had the discussions about Jesus and Russian history with you in 2000, I said we need to make contact with them by 2030. Is this actually going to happen? Do you have any inside information on this? Who am I? Who could I be? Am I Jesus? Did sixty-six million really pass away in Russia? Is this all real? I’m sorry, Captain, but since 2000 in our discussions, I have been delusional, initially without even knowing it when I dismissed our conversation with disbelief. Then in 2005 all these magical memories came. When I gave the speech in the hangar bay, I felt just like Jesus. I felt like a million supermen. So with all these premonitions, visions, and abilities I had, could I really be Jesus? Please stay my friend, Captain. Thank you for humbling me in my friend request a while ago.

All I’m saying is there may be alien civilizations who believe we may be the best world with only our Earth being the omniverse’s number one home. Now that I have found only the one I was searching for, I gave her the same look my stepmother gave me when I was sitting on the bus waiting to leave Utica on my New Year’s visit in 2000, and the same look that Durham almost always gave me. How can I woo Evelyn Tuskegee somehow? Is there even a remote possibility she could return after time has gone by?

Typical. I get handed all universes in a conversation aboard the most powerful aircraft carrier in the world, USS Enterprise (CVN-65), and I never hear from him no matter how many e-mails I sent. I called the captain’s office in an engineering firm once in 2016 after I left USS Nimitz (CVN-68), but he lied, saying he wasn’t on that ship in 2000. This is an outright lie, but I told him to lie about that encounter. The record books apparently have been altered by certain naval delegates to skirt my conversation with him on command of this retired O-6 captain’s wishes.

In 2000, my instruction to him was to stamp out all memory of me and always deny me to the grave, because I wanted to be considered fit to fly and climb into a capable aircraft to conduct missions for my country.

Just as I ordered him to, he wiped it out of his memory and denied it to the fullest extent possible. Thus, to this day, I am answerless and foggy in all aspects of this magnificent and marvelous spectacle other than my imagination, but my imagination has clear vision as to all that I need in my life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 20

 

Epilogue. Posted on February 22, 2013.

 

My story up to this point has been nonfiction, a true story. I now feel it is necessary to introduce a sci-fi fantasy. What if she had come back to me? What if Evelyn returned at some point in the future, realizing who she could be in my heart, understanding my perceptions of her and seeing what I see in her? I believe this could be the start of a grand story, so here it is.

As soon as I was given the opportunity to send Evelyn my story, I sent it to her on her personal website.

I wrote back to her the first moment I could:

 

Dear Evelyn,

It has been my only hope that you could see yourself the way I see you for a brief, special moment. Please forgive my messages, Evelyn. Everything I have told you in my letters and poetry is true. Every woman is Eve, Evelyn. Believe it. Mary, Jesus, and Adam are all our real identities. You’re not the only one. We all are. Again though, I am so sorry for bringing you into my novella, but I needed to. The information in my book is weighty but reputable, hopeful for our future but requires some significant time to digest.

Some people might not believe what I have told you, but I bet anything that anyone who really knows you knows that you really are worthy of such attention. I’m sorry. I had to send you my story, so here it is. I hope you read it, if you like and I can send a copy to you.

 

Love,

John

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21

 

The Evidence. Posted on February 28, 2013.

 

Evelyn wrote back with a positive answer. All that I had been trying to communicate to her, she suddenly realized—saving humankind with love and bringing friendship and technologies from extraterrestrial civilizations that I had made contact with in the past was a great theory to prove. Eventually we set a date and time for her to meet me at my front door.

It was a bright, sparsely white spotted medium sized puff-cloudy summer morning, and Evelyn knocked on my door. I walked over to the gateway with nervous swirls in my heart. I opened the door and said, “Jesus Christ!”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Evelyn retorted. “So I guess you found me,” Evelyn continued. I was stunned.

“I think I did, Evelyn. I’m not sure how all this happened, but I think I met you after all these years from the beginning of time for a very special reason. You saved me from my collapse. You have no idea how long I have waited for you to come into my life,” I said as I smirked.

“Tell me how long,” she said.

“Since the big bang and infinitely long before the big bang, ever since creation,” I answered.

“What did you mean when you said I was queen of all universes?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, Evelyn. Just remember who you are in my heart, and you will always be safe, I promise. You stand above it all with your polished omniversal crown residing in heavens above every day, so just remember the fact that you are. Don’t worry about what’s about to happen next. We’ll play it day by day, and if we do become famous with my stupid life’s story, let’s roll with it! We can do this, Evelyn!” She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. We raced back to my Prius, and we chatted the whole way.

“When are we making contact?” she asked.

“I told the captain by 2030, but hopefully we will do it so much sooner. I told him we make contact with the grays by that year because in 2030, our population will soon exceed our ability to support it. It was the latest date I could have possibly chosen. Poverty, pollution, and sea water contamination will be a problem, so I told him in 2000 when I had the premonition of the tsunami and the Twin Towers disaster that we need to make official contact by that year. Their technologies will enable us to do really amazing things such as travel to the stars, meet our friends from distant galaxies, and live for thousands of years, if not forever!”

When we climbed into my Prius to go out for lunch, I continued talking. “Now, I’m only telling you what needs to happen, not what is necessarily going to happen. I have heard voices of gray extraterrestrials for several hours telling me to drink water for some reason. And for some reason I think it was good advice, so I think they are friendly and have intentions to meet us one day. Plus, one of my coworkers who was my best friend on ship who I don’t have contact with anymore told me to ‘Bring ’em down,’” he said. “When I heard the voices of the grays in 2005, they didn’t say when they were coming nor if they were coming. They may never come. But I do know we need to find a way to acquire their technologies ... this is one of the reasons why I wanted to be a materials or aerospace engineer, to find new stuff, or fly off this planet sitting in my own pair of pants. And make enough money to pay for a new pair if you ever leave me. I haven’t heard any voices in years, and I’m free from the shackles of the illness I had at one time in my life. My illness didn’t occur naturally; it was because of what happened to me in the navy. Please don’t worry, my love. I will never even try to act in a way that estranges us again, not once more,” I explained.

“It’s okay, John. I understand. No matter what, we can make it happen. I would have loved you even if your illness occurred naturally, John,” she answered. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said again.

“Not to worry, my love, I do. I feel like the happiest person in the world because of my dreams with you. We’ll always be safe now,” I replied.

“What about your father? Why did he do the things he did to you? Will we be safe from him and his wife?” she asked worriedly.

“I don’t think he will do anything to us now. He never wanted me to be a navy pilot. He had to work as a truck driver, while my Mom received a sizeable settlement amounting to about $130,000 after their divorce. He could be in debt for the rest of his life because of me, so they sabotaged my career by poisoning me with a substance that made me hallucinate for almost a year. I am so sorry I was crazed when I first met you. I never expected to find you at UMaine. I was there to study hard, and I didn’t care what I had to do to get what I wanted. I am so sorry I acted in such a way that worried you so much. I will never act that way again. I never knew the universe’s Eve was so young and that I was so old,” I said as I looked at her.

“I understand how you feel; it must be difficult, I can imagine. But just think though—had he not poisoned you, or if you were younger, you would have been a pilot, and you wouldn’t have met me,” she replied.

“You may be right, my love, but my being eleven years older than you gives me vertigo, especially when I could be with your friends ... what will they think? Will they think that it is okay for us to be together? I don’t know the answer to that question. What will your parents think? Will they be embarrassed or ashamed? I never want any animosity to be with your family over me. And for this reason, I want you to make sure this is truly what you want to do with your priceless love life,” I said as I wept.

“It’s okay, John. I understand your story, and I read it word for word. I believe you, and I see why you wrote it,” she said.

We ate lunch at a local bakery. We couldn’t stop talking about the future of all universes and how we could see it all one day with love in our imaginations. We couldn’t stop laughing. “This can’t be real,” she said.

“I’m only saying it could be real, but it is a reality currently only in memory and imagination, and I’m telling you it’s the only thing I know. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known, since I saw you once as a boy, and then on the side of my aircraft when I soloed on detachment in Roswell inside the T-34C.”

She brought me to her house and introduced me to her parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee, please, come here. I need to show you something. Here, look at this map of the world. Tell me, what does the world look like? We have America over here looking like a pig, Canada there with a hole in its heart, Mother Russia looking like a mad woman on fire. Ireland looks as though it is America’s heart given to England, and look over here; America grows a new heart in New Jersey on its chest. Every state has a projection of power and humor, and we can make America the country of everything if we can become famous with your daughter, Evelyn the veterinarian, Eve.

Look at this, all of this. Mississippi looks just like Bart Simpson smoking a pipe shaped like Louisiana, and a retarded brother the the east with a water pistol shaped like Florida to his throat. Scandinavia looks like a Sigourney Weaver alien, Germany an elderly woman with its baby in its arms, Italy a boot, England a foot, France just like a pentagon, Israel a shard of glass. South Carolina looks just like a diamond and Bhutan, well, just looks kinda like what Bhutan would look like. Our world’s creation was clearly done with intelligent design, everyone. Look at the map. I remember these memories in the womb, Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee, as if Evelyn, our Eve, created black people by looking at them before she was born with her beautiful brown eyes. Oh, please do pay attention. It was as if when I was in the womb, I had complete control like an orchestra to conduct events around our planet for your daughter and I to one day meet and fall in love and make first contact with extraterrestrial civilizations. I love your daughter so much. I’m sure you know by now.” The parents were flabbergasted. “Your daughter is Eve. I even planned it in the womb so that I would meet the most perplexing Jewish man on earth and twist her right big toe clockwise from my perspective at that moment on the greatest the fastest USS Enterprise (CVN-65) that ever was, right in front of him, with that captain on the morning of July 4th, 2000 at 0634 EST. This is the toe; look at her toe. It saved us all from what the CO would’ve wanted through history, that is ... namely being required to be left handed.” I started to whine like a younger version of me. “And of course look at the rest of her, her orangutan ears, her Eve-like eyes, all of her. I can’t believe it,” I said. “And she’s friendly and intelligent. She certainly lifted me out of the despair I had over Maria, but I will always remember what happened that morning in San Diego. It just tells me there are many more beautiful things than just the science of it all. Although important, it isn’t everything. Your daughter is all of it and everyone, and everything to everyone in all omniverses. There’s so much more to this, or just everything might be just ... like ... uh ... a synchronicity. I can just go home ...”

“Oh no, you just wait right here. I will go get her and tell her.” The two coaxed me to stay like Mary Swanson pleads with Lloyd Christmas when he presents her the multimillion-dollar briefcase. “Be right back. I know you won’er!” Mr. Tuskegee griped.

“She’s our first Eve, Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee,” I promised them.

Eventually, we eloped in the spring of 2015. We lived successfully in the outskirts of Portland, Maine, where I worked as a materials engineer at Fairchild Semiconductor in 2018 after I graduated with my second bachelor’s degree.

Then one night, I was making beef burgundy in the kitchen in the spring of 2019. I looked out the window and could see the same red, blue, and ivory, yellowish-white lights outside the window as when I was with my friend Brian at the botanical gardens at the University of Maine in 1997!

“Evelyn, quick come here ... Let me switch off the burners,” I hurriedly said. “Oh my God, it’s a real alien craft, the same one I saw in 1997! They’re here for us. I can’t believe it. Let me get the camera and the lights,” I said.

“I’ve got mine; you go get yours,” Evelyn said.

The night was pitch black in the woods. The tree line was illuminated in front of Evelyn’s eyes by the three lights five hundred yards away. The craft hovered closer to our house. Some of the limbs appeared red, some blue and others looked yellow. I started to run as fast as I could back to the window when all of a sudden the whole craft lit up like a Las Vegas casino! Beautiful, brightly colored striations across the entire fifty-foot-wide craft scintillated, sparkled, and twinkled iridescent colors. The craft had landed, and they were less than a hundred feet away! “Power, unlock, camera ...” I said. Evelyn had everything recorded. The windows were black square openings separated by dark gray dividing panels, and it made no sound other than a faint electrical humming sound I could never duplicate.

“Honey, it’s here! I can’t believe it, but it’s true. They’re here for us, and we have everything recorded. This is so amazing!” I said quickly.

We captured every movement the spacecraft made with our video cameras, minus my novice photography mistakes. It hovered left, and we followed it. It hovered right; we followed it again. Over the tree line it floated in, and every second I had the camera glued to the craft. All of a sudden, the spacecraft disappeared, and I said, “It disappeared, but we got everything we’re looking for, Evelyn. It’s all up to us to document this. We may want to post this on YouTube.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.

We took the connector out of the computer and inserted it into the cameras, uploaded the pictures and video, and looked at them. What we saw was incredible.

“This footage has never been seen before. I have never seen anything like it before. I’m not sure if we should post that. We could gain notoriety because of these videos and I’m not sure if we want all the attention that goes along with it,” I said. We had hit the jackpot. The videos and pictures were irrefutable evidence that extraterrestrial visitation was real. All the laws of time and probability had taken place there and on that evening, with a 13.82-billion-year-old universe, and our information age being thirty years old. We finally made contact. Eventually, we decided the footage was too important for it not to be posted on YouTube, so we did so anonymously.

“I’m not sure if we should be doing this. I always knew we were going to be the ones to capture this. This is potentially dangerous for us both. No matter what happens though, we’ll always be together because I know who you are, Evelyn. I may not be the only one who recognizes who you are, but I did know at one time I was going to meet you years before you touched my hands. This is the ultimate comfort, Evelyn. It means I knew who you are years before many others, and I’m sorry again if I acted in a rude way when I first met you,” I said. I told that her since the start of time in our universe there has been a chosen one and that the creator of the chosen one is God.

I said all of this in admiration of her parents. Things were definitely beyond our comprehension of what we had done, and it was the only catalyst that humankind was looking for. The video made waves. Overnight, we had ten thousand plays on YouTube. Within a week, the sighting had been submitted to UFOCasebook.com among other websites such as Yahoo, Google, and MSN. Soon on YouTube, within a month we had a million views.

The video we captured was intense, and I knew it was going to cause a chain reaction across the whole world. The glimmering, shimmering, striated lights across the hull of the spacecraft were mesmerizing, and no one could refute the evidence we presented. All the colors of the rainbow and then some others we hadn’t seen before changing into others were shone oceans-deep into our eyes, and we couldn’t believe what we had done.

Soon, many comments were made on the video. “Is this real? Who took the footage? Where did you find this?” they all asked.

“This may not be what we wanted. I used to be a loser, and now everyone wants a part of me. But I think the footage we got is too important not to leave it posted. Let’s keep it anonymous and not tell a soul that we’re the ones who took this,” I answered back.

“You mean to say what you implied in your letters is all real?” she asked.

“In our imaginations, at least I think, it comes down to us if we post this stuff on YouTube with credit or not. I have no idea how we’re going to be affected, but it has to be good. I can’t imagine there being any other gift from God that could be more valuable,” I answered again. “We could get it all one day if we get belief from the grays. You’re so smart and beautiful, Evelyn. I really believe you were meant to be some kind of queen someday, my love, like every other woman on this world. We really can let this happen, but at the same time, I also don’t want it to happen. It could make things terribly complex. So let’s keep the settings to anonymous, and let’s tell no one, not a soul,” I said.

“Okay, good idea,” she replied.

“All I know is we must get their friendship and technologies to bring them down to Earth and save people from future man-made and natural disasters such as pollution and asteroids,” I said. CNN headline news, Yahoo, Bing, and all the others climbed on board the bandwagon to showcase the glittering lights shone across the entire alien spacecraft by broadcasting the video. The video could not be refuted, as the US Air Force had no aircraft in our airspace at the time.

“The US Air Force and other aviation services announced today there was no identified aircraft on the night of May 1, 2019, at approximately 10:00 p.m. in the vicinity of a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Portland, Maine, where a video of a mysterious unidentified aerial phenomena was taken on the same night,” the local news iterated. Suddenly, an announcement was made by the president on national television, and all channels were covering his speech at the podium.

“A closely guarded secret has now been revealed. The question of whether we are alone in our universe has been answered. On the night of May 1, 2019, an extraterrestrial spacecraft was observed in Portland, Maine, and for the safety of our citizens, please do not be alarmed. The US government has known for an undisclosed amount of time that we are being visited by extraterrestrial spacecraft, and this recent finding in the form of a video has made it necessary for us to pass our knowledge to you. The United States is leading an international coalition on assimilating the world to this change of belief, ideas, exchange, and knowledge, and to this end, we are making every effort to promote calm, peace, prosperity, and a harmonious return to the stars in the coming years. We have just received word from the extraterrestrial contacts we have made already that the universe and its shared intelligent inhabitants are ready to welcome Earth into the Intergalactic Superhighway. We are arranging talks between our civilizations to begin an exciting new age of discovery and exploration. I am now ready to answer any questions you may have.”

The president was bombarded with camera clicks and frantic questions, one of which was, “How long has the US government known that we are being visited by extraterrestrial civilizations?” Another was, “What will this coalition be called? How will this coalition determine laws and human values? Will it be secret?” Many more followed. “When will we be making official contact? When will we know who our friends are and who could be potentially unfriendly? Where are they from? Is the whole universe in on this? What will happen to religion in the world? What technologies can we acquire from them? What is the Intergalactic Superhighway?” And lastly, “Who are the people who brought the video forward?” We were both watching the TV when the last question was asked, and our jaws dropped. Hiding behind our couch and nervously nibbling on our fingernails, we were both afraid of the otherworldly backlash that could occur if our identities were released and if people were uncontrollable in their reactions to the video.

Mass demonstrations and outdoor parties were held. Paris, London, Moscow, and New York were alive with magnificent displays of fanfare for our otherworldly friends. “When are they coming?” “We want the Intergalactic Superhighway!” they chanted. It was May 7, the day before my birthday, and Evelyn and I were holed up in our house, hoping no one would come or call. I was afraid the grays would land again outside our house on my birthday because stranger things had happened. Nothing happened, but the cheering and parades and elaborate displays of posters and costumes continued.

Soon, extraterrestrial crafts and beings were shown on TV from the secret facilities already built to house and protect our visitors from the stars. Interviews were made. The gray alien bodies, clad in soft, white woven fabric, looked smooth, frail but strong, and their body language was deliberate yet playful. Their mouths moved very little when they talked, and rows of cone-shaped teeth could sometimes be seen but only on rare occasion. Their skin looked light gray and was sleek, with some idiosyncratic humanlike features like freckles and small discolorations.

They never lost the image of being “cool” with one another, and they seemed to have a brotherhood of friendly dispositions, personalities that, when observed carefully, appeared likeable and playful. They always spoke with the utmost respect for their interviewers and every other Earthling they met.

Their long, white fluffy robes had been monogrammed with a symbol; it was a cross! The cross, emblazoned with many colors like a stained-glass window, looked beautiful with its green, orange, red, blue, and purple. The center was faded into black. A glowing purple flower, looking like a lady slipper, only illuminated by a dazzling, brilliant rim of naturally occurring luminous plant tissue, was hung from the top of the cross. They called it a birth flower. Their message was simple; it was time for humankind to accept their help in bringing us to higher ground ... that is, so we could make it and survive our adolescent ages and war weary hearts. They said the technology of immortalizing medical procedures was on its way and that the technologies recently developed by their civilization had been simple; we were going to start living forever, and we could bring people back to life who passed on. We were also going to travel to the stars in spacecraft engineered out of the technologies the grays were giving Earth: wormhole induction propulsion, gravitational field manipulation, interstellar warp drive systems, and many more were coming. The already vast fields of engineering sciences humankind had studied up to that point had begun their immeasurable buildup and revolution.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22

 

The Intergalactic Superhighway. Posted on March 10,

2013.

 

 

 

“The people who have taken the video and posted it on the Internet have chosen to remain anonymous for now,” the president answered. “The Intergalactic Superhighway is the vast nexus of intelligent civilizations that have arrived here on Earth to welcome us into their family,” the president said. Nuclear fusion to power the revolution started up first. Up sprang safe, reliable, and clean sources of energy across the world. Society and culture had begun a new transformation like nothing ever seen before.

Computers, cell phones, and other electronic gadgets had gotten thinner, clearer, lighter, smaller, and extraordinarily more capable. Some phones had pop-out touch-screen displays made of fabric, easy on the touch, and able to project interactive 3-D holographic displays before our very eyes. We could talk to our relatives vacationing on the moon, Mars, and other planets in the solar system, after the first extraterrestrial vacation spots sprang up, using exokinetic electromagnetic radiation. Spacecraft utilizing wormhole induction propulsion, teleportation, and gravitational field manipulation were being built in the industries that were once spewing out gasoline-consuming vehicles. Finally, we could travel into space in our own personal spacecraft. The aliens were here, and all that I was claiming to be true eventually happened at this most opportune time in June 2019.

More technologies came, one of the most revolutionary being artificial biologically and nanoscale grown materials for building products ranging from houses to airplanes to paper, from the food we eat to the cars we drive and mostly everything that required everyday use. Almost everything we consumed could be grown in labs. Even the labs themselves could be grown out of the ground with bacteria or nanobots that had been developed by the grays and Pleiadians. Mundane jobs that required repetitive motions and caused unnecessary stress on the body had been replaced with either mechanized robots, bacteria, or nanobots. The engineers, who would be the ones to implement all these technologies, had grown in size from 2 percent of the population of the United States to 30 percent in a decade. By 2035, this figure had grown to 50 percent in the world. Half of the world’s population were engineers, and new products and new sciences were learned as we transformed the workforce from a group of service-oriented jobs to a group of engineers and scientists. There was so much to learn that new schools began springing up across the world with new material to be taught to new students entering into their medical and engineering related fields.

The sciences of physics and chemistry were overhauled, and a grand unified field theory was brought by the grays. Uniting Newton’s gravity law, Coulomb’s electrostatic law, and the Gilbert model of magnetic attractive force required an explanation of how the new equation functioned as a complex proof, which required mathematics, physics, and chemistry that hadn’t been discovered.

 

F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R^2

F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

The equations are remarkably similar, and the mathematical proof used by the scientists to unify gravity, electricity, and magnetism went into micro-scales never observed before, of distances in meters between new subatomic particles. Scientists up to that point hadn’t been able to evaluate the mathematical proofs necessary to physically and chemically relate the three equations. They obsessively needed to create gravity from electricity for gravitational propulsion. They tried relentlessly to formulate a grand unified theory of everything, but the grays provided the guidance and introduced the technologies necessary for infinite longevity, warp drive systems, teleportation, and intergalactic travel so that humankind could travel to the stars safely and reliably.

“We can travel to every star in the sky because of you, Evelyn. Can I be famous with you?” I asked her. “Yes, let’s be the Lord’s messengers.”

My conversations with the captain had been on my mind when we were discussing these things when suddenly the phone rang. It was the captain! Like the mad Hadden engineer from the movie Contact, the captain said he wanted to meet with me in Newport News, Virginia, with my love, Evelyn, to speak about the whole technological revolution we had started anonymously. I contacted the captain weeks earlier via e-mail to ask him what I should do with the evidence. He finally reciprocated our yearning for more information on what we talked about in 2000 aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65), about how I begged him to see Evelyn someday, and then when my meeting with her actually happened, everything fell apart. I had questions about the 2004 tsunami, the magnetar explosion, and the Boston Red Sox. Lastly, I wanted to know what all the fuss was about with him calling me Jesus and what the crosses the gray aliens were wearing on their robes meant. The captain explained on the phone about how important it was that we be there on pier 16 at precisely noon one month from that day on June 1, 2019.

“Okay, July 1 at noon, sir, pier 16,” I said.

“Oh my god, Evelyn, it is really happening, and it is all real. We just might become king and queen of the universe for a while, my love; and we’ll be the first ones to give it away too,” I said to her.

“Like you said, you loved me like I wouldn’t imagine and couldn’t believe, and I can’t believe it right now. I never knew how much you cared about me ... ever,” she said in tears of disbelief. “I’m sorry, John, for all you’ve been through with everything. I have an important question I need to ask you. When your body clenched and cramped that night in your bunk on ship when you returned from cruise, what did you feel ... when you called out my name in pain?” she asked.

“I felt all the pain of the universe in my blood. It felt like my body was about to explode. It was like all the energies from the big bang were pushing my cells apart in all directions like I was about to blow up. I mumbled your name without thinking about what I was about to say next while it felt like pulling 50 Gz in a fighter jet, and then, it came out, ‘I ... love ... Evelyn Tuskegee,’” I said. “I got it all out, and I said it all clearly enough but barely caught my breath after I said your name. At the time, I had no idea who you were. I thought I was meant to be with someone else, namely Maria, because of what I saw in 2002 at the secret navy training facility,” I explained further. “When I was younger I saw a giant, glowing, blue and white, shiny, and sparkly four-pointed star form on the body of a young Jewish girl, Heidi, when I was in the first grade. I loved her through grade school, middle school, and high school. I was even invited to her house three or four times. But that love went unrequited indefinitely, and I failed to woo her. Then I saw the universe, or at least an unimaginably large portion of it with God superimposed on the image in Maria, who I believe is Russian Jewish. I will always love them as friends. I was so shocked at what I had seen in both these females that I said to myself it all had to be real in one form or another. The love never came back though.

From this, I learned that when it comes to requiting love, that is a different story. When it comes to requiting love, these visions of stars, nebulae, and galaxies may only be illusions. I will never be with Maria or with Heidi, but I learned that the whole universe is really inside every part of it, with everything living and nonliving strongly connected through the love I have for you, Evelyn. The universe is inside all of us. So, anyway, both crushes went unrequited.

Then the same thing almost happened with you, and I had no idea what to do in my situation other than to send you my book in an e-mail. In 2000, the captain called me Jesus, said I was king, and minutes later when I focused all my energies across the universe and infused it into you in my imagination that same hour, the holiest being in the history and future of all omniverses, you were formed in my imagination. I knew who you were in 2000, but that was quickly forgotten when I met Maria, and unfortunately for me, it got me into so much trouble with you when we first really met. I am so sorry, Evelyn. I love you, and I love every man you’ve ever loved too,” I said. “I love you too,” she replied. We kissed each other good night.

“What do you think the captain wants with us?” Evelyn asked just before falling asleep.

“He said he wanted to meet you, and give us a tour of one of the ships. We’ll get to see the bridge, and we’ll also get to look at some of the combat and weapons spaces. He also wanted to talk about the video we took and how things have changed since we made contact with the grays and Pleiadians. We’re making contact with other galaxies soon, and they’re coming here next year, I heard on the news,” I said to Evelyn. “Yes, I heard that too. They’re making preparations for visitation centers in the major cities where the ships will be coming in. It’s really amazing. Good night, hon,” she whispered.

Weeks went by, and soon it was time to fly to Newport News in our new Chevrolet Zion with a clear crystal fuselage and structural frame, the interstellar spacecraft taken from alien designs marketed for almost anyone in the world. The interior was plush and luxurious, clad in white, soft fabrics trimmed in black and knotted wood. It was comparable to driving an extreme luxury vehicle before contact with the grays, like a Rolls Royce from back in the day before the Intergalactic Superhighway revolution, only the machine could fly! I loved to show off my hovering skills inside the spacecraft to Evelyn; I just loved to hold it steady and float around for light touchdowns. Finally, after ten minutes of playing around, we lifted off the ground, and the treetops flew by. We were on our way to Newport News at ten thousand miles per hour and five hundred feet of altitude to meet with the captain at noon. We took off at 11:25 a.m.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 23

 

The Meeting. Posted on May 2, 2013.

 

We landed on the corner of the parking lot and walked over to pier 16, fifteen minutes early. He was standing there ... he had shorts and a T-shirt and sneakers, considered in the military proper civilian attire. He walked over to us, shook our hands, and said it was good to see us.

“It’s great to see you, John. What have you been doing lately?” he asked.

“We’ve been doing great. I’m a materials engineer now, and I’m married to the love of my life. I have so many questions to ask of you. What should we do with the video? Should we remain anonymous? Earth’s first Eve is here on this planet, and she’s standing right next to me. Sir, I would like you to meet Evelyn,” I said out of joy to the captain.

“I remember what John did and how much he begged me to find you someday,” he said.

Evelyn smiled and laughed at the flattery. “Oh you have no idea what he went through to woo me. What did he say to you when he begged you to find me?” Evelyn asked.

“He whispered your name, Evelyn Tuskegee, into my left ear and said you must be named Evelyn Tuskegee. I did nothing,” the captain said as he was struck by Evelyn’s smile.

“Why did you keep calling me Jesus that day on USS Enterprise in 2000 in the CO’s office? Am I really Jesus? I have all these boyhood memories of creating the universe and conducting wars around planet Earth to ensure my own survival to grow up in the most powerful country in the world, the United States. I remember Evelyn’s name as a child when I was manifesting her in my imagination. I then manifested her in my imagination again with you when we were on USS Enterprise ... all this déjà vu is making me crazy, but it feels so wonderful now that the love I have for Evelyn is requited. Am I really Jesus?” I asked the captain.

“Yes you are, John, and you married the universe’s Eve in your heart, I can tell. You should know the answer to that question already. You’re about to be shot off the deck of the Earth into the wild gold blackness of space. You found Evelyn, and the laws of everything first belong to you both. But remember, whenever you see something dark, black, and mysterious, think of me,” said the captain as he turned and walked up the pier to the cruiser’s brow.

He told us to follow him, and he had someone give us a tour of the ship he commanded. We saw the Combat Direction Center, the bridge, Engineering, Damage Control and met many department heads as we were instructed on how to handle fires, steer the ship, and dock. After the tour, we left and got inside our Zion.

We flew back home in our spacecraft, stopping on the moon for dinner. We gently lifted the collective together, which was a safety no-no, and waved good-bye to the captain. “Weird guy,” Evelyn said. I giggled with an inhale laugh profusely, “Yeah, he is.”

Up hovered our Zion, equipped with gravitational propulsion and an interstellar warp drive system, and we lifted off. The propulsion system toward the back of the craft, which looked like a disk with a bulging rounded aft section, whirred like a thunderous whale in the back. We gained speed and left the atmosphere with the ground leaving our backs at immeasurable speed. We left the atmosphere, and the blackness of space became clear. The brightest stars and planets burned bright first, and then the whole planet behind us luminously reflected the sunlight into our eyes as we turned the spacecraft around to look where we came from. The Earth looked brilliantly bright white, blue, and brown green. The distance we had covered to exit our atmosphere was evidently clear, and we used the infinite windscreen given by our clear-hulled craft to zoom into many different towns and cities in which we had lived. We took some pictures and left for the moon, turning the spacecraft headed for Lunar Dune’s, a great restaurant and cargo ship stop for the drivers shipping interstellar goods. We ate delicious cuisine, modeled after earthly delicacies.

The food had been prepared in a meal-creating machine called a quantum food solidifier, or QFS abbreviated, which modeled an exact replica of our European cuisine through teleportation of particles into a space inside a metal box, almost looking like a microwave, only much larger. The view was spectacular. Many rovers and spacecraft hovered and came in for approaches, kicking dirt up in all directions.

“How did you know it was me when you first looked up and saw me after your stare?” Evelyn asked.

“I saw your face, and then I asked one of the other teacher’s assistants what your name was, and it was the same name I remembered when I was talking to the captain in 2000, my love,” I replied.

“Why did you give me that stare, John? Why did you make me do what I did to you?” she asked again.

“I don’t know, Evelyn. Just know that I can’t hurt you or anyone else. What I did to you was terrible, and I only hope you can forget it. I just thought we would be too far apart in age for us to ever be together, and I did what had been done to me all my life, for the first time ever to you, and I am so sorry for it,” I explained.

We left the moon the next day after we had spent the night on top of the lunar mountain Copernica Lumina inside our spacecraft. When we got home back in Portland, we called the police, unslept our computer, and changed all our personal account information settings back from anonymous and unlisted to public.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. The grays wore crosses on their robes, Evelyn,” I said as I whispered to her.

“I know! Do the grays believe you’re Jesus?” Evelyn asked.

“I don’t know the answer to that question. But the words of Christ in the Bible are those of the infinite wisdom and love from God Himself. I have heard voices of the grays before, and they were friendly, telling me in a singing high-pitched voice to drink water while I was driving in Arizona.

But I know it is my job to say that every being in all omniverses is Jesus. Everything is fully inside each and every one of us. I saw it, Evelyn. It was in another person, but I know that the answer to life in the universe is that Jesus, Mary, Adam, Eve, you, and I are all inside every beating heart in all omniverses. Our love created everything so that everyone could be king and queen, and everything in history to this point is leading us to our vast kingdom across all omniverses for a brief special moment. I’m going to bed, my love,” I said to her.

“Me too,” she said.

We went to sleep and waited for the phone calls and the e-mails to come because we had made the UFO video profile information public. Toonces and Pascal, our cat and puppy, were snuggled next to us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 24

 

The Cat Let out of the Bag. Posted on May 3, 2013.

 

We woke up to a phone call from the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. They asked us if we wanted to be on their show, next to the Pleiadian universal dignitary they had on the same evening. They wanted us to be on the show the next night! Our plane tickets would be paid for, in addition to hotel and other accommodations, and we accepted the invitation.

Our e-mail inbox had thirty thousand e-mails, and we were debating what we were going to say that night on national television. The event would be broadcast on international venues as well. The whole world was watching and wondering who these two people were who had so humbly captured the irrefutable UFO evidence. The word spread like wildfire that we were the ones who captured the video. The phone rung repeatedly from the newspapers, television shows, and magazines. We looked at it as a service to mankind that we were finally giving people the answers they were looking for. Who were these two people who captured the first video of a brightly lit UFO that then brought the system of secrecy in secret societies to its knees with respect to the UFO cover-up that the government had been keeping secret for so many years? The government still would not disclose how long they had had evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence.

When we arrived onstage, everyone was cheering and clapping. Evelyn looked astoundingly beautiful with a birth flower in her hair and a red dress. Jay Leno shook our hands, and we sat down. “So you get around, I hear. You took the first good UFO video!” Jay says.

“The government has been keeping extraterrestrial visitation a secret for many years. It is good to finally see us go to the stars again since the big bang,” I answered. “I’m just like everyone else. I’m no different from you or any other person. We are all Jesus. We are all holy. Look at us. If there were any other planet that was to be the center of it all, it would be us. We have the stars, planets, and every living being ... everything in all omniverses fully inside each and every one of us,” I explained.

“You realize you made the biggest discovery in the history of mankind?” Leno asked.

“The important thing is that it all happened. We don’t have to work as hard anymore. All this technology they brought here is unbelievable, and we don’t need money anymore. We could currently be considered communists now. Almost everything is done for us,” I replied.

“Well, we don’t work at crummy jobs anymore. How about that?” Leno said. Everyone cheered and clapped. We were relieved of the misery we had known, as many of our mundane jobs had vanished, and it was a relief that everyone had found who had changed the system of secrecy inside the US government to one of disclosure, to a certain extent at least, enough to tell the public that alien visitation was real and that we had hitched the ride on the Intergalactic Superhighway within a matter of months. Everyone was relieved and ecstatic. The cheers lasted for a full minute, and Jay was thrown off by how loud the crowd was. Two billion people had tuned in to witness the spectacle of the first photographers to capture a great close-in UFO video. Almost all had traveled to the stars in the Milky Way and Andromeda, and soon we would be traveling to distant galaxies once the Intergalactic Federation came.

“So you and your love live in Portland? It’s a wonderful city there. I would love to visit sometime soon. I understand you’re a materials engineer. How’s that been for you lately?” Jay asked.

“It’s been really challenging. Engineering is difficult enough, and the technologies the grays and Pleiadians brought make things much more complicated. It is my hope we can get more engineers out there into the workforce and encourage students to complete their degree. It is a difficult field, but to everyone out there, for anyone studying materials, it looks great on a resume,” I answered.

“I read your book, John. You have an amazing story to tell. Are you Jesus?” Jay asked poignantly.

“The crosses the grays were wearing were a symbol. This was a symbol that Earth would be saved by Jesus and His word, and that the horrors we have known as the twentieth century are now over. A new day has risen, and since the big bang, the omniverse has been waiting to complete the plan of God and His servant. Just like you yourselves, I am your connection to God. Just like you, I am Jesus, and I follow His word in the Bible. You are all the central characters of the Bible too, all that is good. You are all Adam, and Eve, Jesus and Mary, for all Omniverses to be populated by, all for you,” I answered. Everyone was shocked and gasped in disbelief. Evelyn remained smiling, as she was the first to believe my story. The audience clamored and rustled with whispers and murmurs.

“Everything in my life has led me to believe that I am Jesus. I have had many people call me this before. My message is for you all to be Christ and follow His word on Matthew 5:44,” I said.

The Pleiadian next to me was nodding his head and clicking loudly as everything was being translated for him to the audience because his vocal cords could not pronounce English words very well. Pleiadians working with television crews had provided the translation for us. He could understand English quite well, but his auditory speaking ability was atrocious. His mother tongue was captivating though. The audience couldn’t decide whether to pay attention to the subtitles underneath his seat or the Pleiadian words being enunciated through his slithery mouth. The subtitles were saying, “What John is saying is true. We have the technology to do amazing things. We can now travel to distant galaxies and bring anyone and everyone back to life because we have all of Earth’s history recorded. We can even transform your world to be the center of all infinite omniverses, the most loving and loved, revered and wondrous religious center ever created.” Everyone cheered and clapped at the end of each sentence. Everyone knew it would be a huge transformation the Earth would undergo, but we were ready for all of what was only ours from the start.

Meanwhile, within two months of our discovery on our camera, countless buildings had been erected many miles tall. The buildings were breathtaking. Even an amusement park modeled after the land of Oz had been built with the nanobot and organic bacterial construction methods.

Flying buildings were here, and teleportation was their front door. They circled the globe in giant ship-like cauldrons floating on fire in the sky, in and out of the atmosphere. Immediately, there were protests and parties held outside Jerusalem, the White House, the Kremlin, Buckingham Palace, and the Hague. Many of the Christians of the world had gathered together to chant the words of freedom and prosperity promised by the words of Jesus from the Bible. The vast kingdom had come, and it was time to have a talk with my beloved wife, Evelyn, about how things could change and about how our message to the universe had to be communicated.

“I don’t know if we can do this, Evelyn. I love you so much, and I don’t want any of this that has happened to come between us. We could be the most famous pair in the history of all omniverses, completed with all kings and queens to enjoy the fruits of modern technology. How are we going to get our message to the universe that everyone else is, Evelyn? I don’t know how we can do it, but it has to be done. We have to do this for humankind, for the benefit of humanity, that our message of knowing that we are not alone is finally here, and we’re safe now that we are connected to the Intergalactic Superhighway, and that reality is everyone’s beautiful dream come true.”

“You must do this, John. We must set the example for the values we all share, that all extraterrestrials worship humankind, John, that they are giving the Earth all universes and that every human rules it all. We’re no different from anyone else. This is your journey, John. I love you, and we can make it happen, because of all that Earth is. Your father and his wife may be after you! We need protection, and the better way to do it is to get famous and expose them,” Evelyn replied.

“I can and I can’t. I can’t say everything,” I replied.

The moon looked like a glowing metropolis in the sky every starry night. Millions of people had moved there, with sprouting leafy woodlands and lush, grassy fields growing in craters, ejecta, and basins, and sprawling cities peering out of the artificial atmosphere. Food inside the quantum food solidifier had never tasted more exceptional on our visits to the hotels and motels overlooking the earthrises. We had the finest spiced meats and cheeses, along with the most delectable of berry cheesecake desserts on our weekly visits. “Let’s go to where the grays are from,” I suggested.

“Yeah!” Evelyn said. “But let’s go to Jupiter first. I hear they have a tour guide of the molten surface deep down inside the atmosphere, and you even get to keep a piece of Io’s volcanic rock.”

“That’s a great idea, Evelyn. Let’s go,” I said.

We walked outside, hopped inside our Chevrolet Zion, and took off. Again we stopped at Lunar Dune’s and had lunch before the Jupiter tour. At Lunar Dune’s, we had a serious discussion about what had happened and why we were the first to document alien visitation and introduce the Intergalactic Superhighway to human civilization.

“What does this all mean? Why do we have to be the ones to do this? This is all a dream. I have never known what I was before I met you. I had a hunch, but I didn’t know it was you, my personal Jesus, who thought he could save us at the most opportune time in chemistry class and did, after so many years of being apart and fighting. This is the destiny I never wanted,” she said.

“But this is the destiny you always had. You were meant to be the queen first. You’re Eve, Evelyn. That’s the message I have been trying to communicate to you for so long. We’re together now, and nothing can stop us. I have the story and the message to do this,” I explained. “Look at that toe! I am Jesus, Evelyn, and you are my destiny! Let’s go to the farthest reaches of the universe and never be found for a long time, or we can bring everyone with us ... who’s going to pilot the ship?” I asked.

“I will,” she said.

“Easy does it,” I calmly said. Lightly, we gently lifted off the ground to go to Jupiter and the Lobina world deep in the other side of the universe, which was very old. It was approximately six billion years older than most of our universe and was the home of the gray civilization, who had come to unite the universe and declare a king and queen in their plans of a universal intergalactic order, oriented around the words of Christ—love for enemies, help the sick and poor, and the Ten Commandments, among many other precepts contained in the Old and New Testaments.

“Let’s go, John,” Evelyn said as she eased the collective pitch lever into the upright position.

We left the atmosphere at incredible speed. Evelyn rotated the nose forward, and we beamed out of the atmosphere as we headed toward Jupiter. We visited the station already built to guide tours through the Jovian atmosphere and even below the surface of the liquid metal ocean surface. The tour guide company, called Jupiter Interplanetary Tours, had specially designed spacecraft to withstand the pressures of gravity even within the deepest molten metal oceans below the surface of the howling atmosphere, with storms raging two, even three times bigger than the Earth itself.

We stepped on board and sat in our seats, designed with microfiber harnesses that expanded across our chests when they were put on. The tour staff closed the hatch, and we sailed past the Calisto surface toward the red eye of Jupiter. “This is the red eye, folks. Its winds are sustained at over 270 miles per hour,” the guide told us. The clouds looked fast and ripped past us at great speeds. Deeper and deeper we plunged into the Jovian atmosphere for two hours until suddenly we dropped into a liquid that wasn’t water. It was an ocean of liquid metal hydrogen, many tens of thousands of miles deep! We plunged deeper into the liquid metal ocean. We took pictures at the surface, and when we stared our dive toward the center of Jupiter, we prayed that our spacecraft wouldn’t be damaged by the enormous pressures of atmosphere and liquid metal hydrogen. Eventually, we got to the bottom of the thirty-thousand-mile-deep metal ocean to the iron core and raised our craft back to base on Calisto. We were given a piece of Io’s yellow sulfur volcanic rock with beautiful, sparkling crystals on it. We got back into our spacecraft, had dinner from our quantum food solidifier, luscious tender beef roulade, and took off for Lobina, approximately thirty-five septillion light-years away where the grays were from.

Soon, our Chevrolet Zions were fitted with interstellar warp drive systems capable of reaching the farthest corners of any known omniverse. The ship hummed and howled as we traversed the wormhole through our inducted propulsion system. Meanwhile, millions of stars and galaxies whizzed past our heads in the heads-up display system projected onto the windscreen. The nuclear reactions from the interstellar warp drive system in the back of the craft whirred and growled and sent the vibrations into our seats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 25

 

The Gray Choice

 

Finally, we saw Lobina on our exokinetic universal radar system, and according to our atomic clock, we had traveled for two hours and thirty minutes. What we saw en route was incredible. The wormhole we transited looked through the windscreen like a blur of light sources passing by the sides of the spacecraft and whizzed by our eyes in perfect harmony.

Our coordinates had been programmed into our navigation system uploaded by the Pleiadians and grays on Earth. We slowed to an appropriate speed as we approached Lobina slowly, and we heard over the communications frequency that Mr. Durham, the silent, reticent man I met on USS Nimitz, was king of the planet and that the grays had been following him on Earth, observing his conversations, his daily routine, and reading his academic work! What they found was astounding. Durham was the first one who united the gravitational, electrostatic, and magnetic attraction equations, about fifteen years before the Intergalactic Superhighway came, in his studies as an electrical engineering student at the Naval Academy.

The grays and Pleiadians had only been able to arrive on Earth when they themselves had united the three equations by observing Durham’s work from Lobina and Ponteden, using faster-than-light projections onto Earth:

 

1) F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R ^ 2

2) F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

3) F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

========================

 

Equation 1: F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R ^ 2

G = Gravitational constant = 6.6738 x 10 ^ -11 (m ^ 3) * (kg ^

-1) * (s ^ -2)

M1 = Mass of first particle or object (in kilograms)

M2 = Mass of second particle or object

R = Distance between the two masses

========================

Equation 2: F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

k = Coulomb’s constant = 8.9876 x 10 ^ 9 (N * m^2) / (C ^ 2)

Q1 = Charge of first particle or object (in Coulombs)

Q2 = Charge of second particle or object (in Coulombs)

R = Distance between the two charges

N = Newtons = kilogram * seconds / (meters ^ 2)

m = meters

s = time in seconds

C = Coulomb = 1 Ampere * second

A = Ampere = 1 C / s

1 Ampere = 6.2500 * 10 ^ 18 electrons

1 electron = 9.1094 * 10 ^ -31 kilograms

1 electron = 1.6022 * 10 ^ -19 Coulombs

========================

Equation 3: F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

μ = magnetic field permeability of space of intervening medium (ability

of a magnetic field to permeate the space between two magnets, which is

different for every material); for a vacuum, μ(o) = 4π * 10^-7 (N / A^2)

 

Qm1 = Magnitude of first magnetic pole (in A * meters)

Qm2 = Magnitude of second magnetic pole (in A * meters)

R = Distance between magnets (in meters)

========================

Very important note: For a vacuum, the 4π in the μ(o) of the numerator

cancels the 4π in the denominator, so our equation becomes:

F (magnetic attraction) = 10^-7 * (Qm1 * Qm2) / R ^ 2

Therefore, all three equations have the same denominator in a vacuum!

========================

Miscellaneous equations and constants that may or may not be used for

solving:

E = h * f = Planck energy to frequency relation in Joules

1 Joule = 1 N * meter = 1 N * m = W * second = 1 Watt * s = 1

kg * m2

/ s2

h = Planck’s constant = 6.6261 * 10 ^ -34 (kg * m ^ 2 / s)

f = Frequency (in hertz)

1 Hertz = 1 Cycle per second

t = Time

A = Amplitude in meters

k = 2 * π / λ

λ = Wavelength in meters

x = Position travelled in t (time)

ꙍ = 2 * π * f

e = 2.7183

i = square root of -1

E = Energy of electron group in Joules

V = Velocity of electron in m / s

 

 

 

Only, the grays and Pleiadians hadn’t been able to unite these three equations in 1997, which coincidentally was the same year as my UFO sighting with Brian, because Durham did it first!

Nonetheless, I had been racing to physically unite these three equations on my own since I was a physics major in college at UMaine. Little did I know that someone at the Naval Academy had achieved the grand unifying theory by uniting the equations and hadn’t published his work. But the grays were watching his every move, and he knew this fact. Before 1997, in my childhood encounter with the Pleiadian, the grays and Pleiadians had only been able to project images and record any point in the universe, which caused them to appear like sparkling, translucent 3-D beings walking through the deserts, forests, cities, and house interiors, into people’s rooms and causing sounds in the night. These were only projections, and they had the technology to do this since Mr. Durham claimed his kingdom, serendipitously releasing his mathematical proof to the grays, allowing them to visit the first time in October 1997. It was this mathematical proof that gave us the Intergalactic Superhighway and all of the technology that came with this transformation of Lobina and Earth. The first advance, the ability to create gravity from electricity by this evaluative method, was the most influential.

Lobina looked beautiful through the windscreen. It was significantly larger, approximately three times larger than Earth and explained the short stature of the grays because of the larger gravitational field. Their heads were huge relative to their bodies, and they had large, black, almond-shaped eyes that were paralyzing if looked at directly. Even with the playful dispositions they always displayed, like on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno three months ago in June 2019, the eyes of the grays first seemed stunning and deep and were a little frightening, to tell you the truth.

The white clouds and ships en route to their destinations within the Lobina star system passed us by at tremendous speeds. Ten thousand miles per hour, we sped past bustling waterfalls, sharp-ridged, five-hundred-thousand-foot-high mountains, and then massive, glittering buildings, all of which were many tens of miles high, along our flight path to the decontamination center. Reptilian dinosaurs many thousands of feet tall roamed the countryside. It was a beautiful route we had chosen. Finally, we got to the decontamination center to visit this aesthetically pleasing scenographic alien world, which had been taken care of meticulously. All trash had to be compacted into a cube 1 x 1 x 1 inches in size, and then used as fuel for cities and spacecraft.

Everywhere were photos of Durham. Even the monarchial president of the capital, Lobina Durantar, was called the Durham, and they were in the process of naming the star of Lobina’s orbit “Durham”!

“Wow, all this for a human being. This is amazing! Just think of what the grays are going to do with our planet. I used to know that guy,” I said.

“But doesn’t Earth think you’re Jesus?” Evelyn asked.

“I wouldn’t want that privilege in a million years, Evelyn, but the message is simple: we’re all servants and rulers of everything around us. We are free to claim everything around us and say that it’s ours to keep through feelings, perception, and thought, and God is with us all throughout the entire way, but we are not free from the consequences of our actions that I learned so desperately when I e-mailed you, after this captain called me Jesus and after I had all those magical and paranormal experiences. I couldn’t help but get into trouble telling you what happened to me. I think that’s why the grays chose the other guy,” I replied.

The billboards passed our field of view, but we turned around to look at one of them projecting the short-statured Mr. Durham with luminous, purple eyes and a jet-black Mohawk saying, “The sky!”

“Evelyn, I remember seeing him looking in the mirror constantly like he was playing with contact lenses but wasn’t. When he was my bunkmate, he must’ve injected quantum dots he stole from the reactor department behind his irises for them to glow purple like that,” I told her.

“That’s disgusting. Hardcore but disgusting,” Evelyn replied.

“The sky!”

The crowd responded, “What?” The crowd skirmished with murmurs and whispers.

“The sky!”

“He-he ... what? Huh?” the crowd retorted.

“This guy!”

The crowd laughed again and repeatedly, unable to tell whether God with a black Mohawk and a white beard was saying “the sky” above he was promising them, or “this guy” as he held up my S-9A trash officer photo.

Durham continued, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone out into the desert with only a magnet and survived! I even built a damn ranch! All for this guy!”

The USS Nimitz shipmates on Earth were sitting in the front row tittering, making every effort not to laugh. But they were failing miserably.

“I’m giving you everything, not like ... this guy!” he said as he held a photo of me. “He gives you ... nothing! I gave you the grand unifying theory, everybody! Yes indeed, I did! I even almost died for this man to finish his engineering degree on time! The sky!”

The crowd went wild with laughter.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been connected to a bio device and turned into the damned creature from Black Lagoon! All by the Freemasons, you people! The sky!” The clouds across all omniverses turned dark and stormy. With his platinum crown now visible from the front window of hi diamond castle in Dyamon, now circling the globe as he approached orbital speed and spoke perched on his diamond podium, Durham stood tall for a short man and belted out repeatedly with the audience’s answers of laughter and hysteria, “The sky!”

With laughter, the crowds watching their screens answered back. His planet, made of a large chunk of diamond floating around in space he maneuvered to orbit the Earth and the sun, turned scarlet red and became beet warm for the cold climates and cool for the hot climates. The sky cleared and became purple! “There’s the Adam ...” Durham rumbled. The crowd went silent. “The sky!” the crowd started to giggle and titter like the Roman soldiers from Monty Python’s The Life of Brian (1979). “I’m God! Of the sky!” Durham belted.

“Now look!” Durham presented a glass case. Inside rolled out an atom, a large, black, fourteen-foot atom, only the atom was moving and wiggling, singing, whining, and laughing like the singing bush on The Three Amigos.

The electrons holding the basketball-sized nuclei together were electrically whirring and buzzing around in circles about the centers of masses between nuclei. “He’s got a great sense of humor ... unlike ... this guy!” Durham belted as he held a photo of me and the atom sung “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” “Yip, this this is the first man, everybody,” Durham claimed. “And he belongs with ... Eve!”

All of a sudden came a man out of the atom. It deformed and morphed into a gestalt of a strong man, the strongest man since Durham himself. He had been alive since the dawn of man! “He’s also a chemistry whiz, everybody, so if you have any questions ...” Durham flatly stated.

“Oh my God, who is he?” the crowd wildly inquired.

“We have a lie in front of us, people! This guy!” Mr. Durham timely punctuated his argument with a joke and my photo. Some of the Freemasons coaxing him to stay more proper but keep a sense of humor were complaining, whispering behind the stage in Dyamon, his floating diamond castle. “You see ... if it’s funny and can be used in a poetic, songlike manner, you can use it, and I do it every day!” he finished despondently energetic, with his short, stalky frame giving us his A-7B bomber pilot arms waving in the air side to side, almost like Jack from Tekken before and after every duel. This was his signal for the crowd to laugh, and it was then when the crowds of all infinite omniverses erupted with laughter.

“He even failed out of the most prestigious school I had him approved for, Rutgers University. It’s right here! It’s right here! It’s right here!”

People started to ask questions. “Who is this?” the crowd murmured.

“This guy! John Jackson Selman III, and he’s responsible for everything that went on between us. Yip!” Durham snapped back.

“Well, aren’t you God, and this guy can be Jesus?” the crowd asked.

“Naw, he gave that right up a long time ago. Remember Holodomor, John? Remember Dresden? Remember Hiroshima? Remember Nagasaki?” Durham condescended. “He failed out,” he finished, despondently energetic, out of breath after every attempt known to his conscience to forgive me for failing out of Rutgers engineering and not pursuing a degree.

“I have seven master’s degrees and three doctorates, one MD, one doctorate of philosophy, and a damn habilitation in economics!” he said as he smashed the diamond podium down to the floor with his hands. “Give it here. How many times have you asked God for your woman, Jahn?” Mr. Durham condescended with his mouth full of gummy colas, some hanging out. “C’mon, John! I’m unpredictable, Jahn!” He startled everyone with laughter.

The Pleiadians gave him the number that had been tallied through the life that I’ve lived. “15,978,192 times? That’s 15,978,191 times you’ve been more miserable for this woman than me for mine, Jahn. C’mon, Jahn! You, usin’ your good left hand for everything, my good man. Well, I got news for you, Jahn. It isn’t gonna happen unless you let me marry ya both!” Mr. Durham condescended.

“He sounds awfully boiling, piping-hot mad, oops. Sounds kinda crazy like that Candy creature you had too,” Evelyn said to me. We laughed and giggled comically. “What does this mean for us?” she asked.

“This is going to be interesting for us, for the US, for history maybe,” I replied.

“Bull crap, John. That man is after you. You are way too trusting. We have to go to New Mexico and away from these media centers,” she said.

“Extraterrestrial dinosaur crap eleven o’clock. Watch out. Okay, we’ll go and pick up our families, and you take the Betsy to get your parents, and I can use the Zion to go get my mom, sisters, and my brother. Don’t worry about me; you take the lead ship. I will follow you,” I said to her.

We returned to Earth, back to a plot of land in the outskirts of Albuquerque, New Mexico, knowing the events that unfolded in my life could almost always be refuted because I had no mathematical proof or the gumption to speak in front of an infinite audience against this crazed and rabid man, who followed us and married us a second time on TV, saying, “You got to be a diva! ... I mean ... a Div-O! I just wanted to marry you! You were a Division Officer.”

Our family lived famously as the butt of Mr. Durham’s jokes on TV for the rest of our lives, playing harmonica and watching the boob on the tube making fun of my every effort to attain a degree and outsmart or outwit him on ship—that is, to steal his throne. He said just before we were married, “Do you, Evelyn Tuskegee, take this guy to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do. Now get out of here,” she said as she giggled. We lightly smacked lips, and countless stars became clear through the purple-red-blue sky on Earth. Nebulae and galaxies were clear and visible, animals and some plants could talk, bees could be kept as pets because they no longer stung, and our sun was warm, red and perfect everywhere. Butterflies wandered fleetingly in every field and above flowing streams. Friends, soda, delicacies created by our quantum food solidifiers, interstellar travel—all the things made possible by one mathematical and chemical equation, the grand unifying theory of everything, giving our United States technologies and understanding almost never heard of before, were bountiful and plentiful. The sandy shores of America turned into gold and then platinum powdered walkways that everyone enjoyed kicking and picking up diamonds out of. Everyone lived in luxury, and enjoyed acting out scenes from The Old Testament with loved ones, as we began the starting population of all omniverses for humankind to explore and take ownership and responsibility for all of everything everywhere, onward and upward, forever. We then lived on a ranch in a huge log cabin with a veterinary farm in the Joshua trees of Albuquerque, New Mexico, started with a magnet we ripped off our Chevrolet Zion braking system, in the United States of All Omniverses.

 

 

 

 

© Copyright Letters to Evelyn

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Letters to Evelyn

 

 

 

LETTERS TO EVELYN

 

LETTERS TO EVELYN

 

 

 

 

John Selman

 

 

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

Eve............................................................................................................ 11

Dear Evelyn, ............................................................................................. 13

Introduction .............................................................................................. 15

Chapter 1 The Selman Chronicles: Pilot. Posted on May 8, 2012.......... 21

Chapter 2 The Encounter. Posted on May 12, 2012............................... 25

Chapter 3 New Year’s 2000. Posted on May 15, 2012. .......................... 29

Chapter 4 Muster the Strength. Posted on May 24, 2012....................... 33

Chapter 5 Oh Captain, My Captain. Posted on June 4, 2012. ................ 37

Chapter 6 My Blood Is Your Blood. Posted on June 11, 2012................ 59

Chapter 7 The Speech That Roared. Posted on June 15, 2012. ............. 63

Chapter 8 Grandmother Selman. Posted on October 12, 2014............... 71

Chapter 9 Yeah! Flight School. Posted on June 27, 2012. ..................... 73

Chapter 10 Helicopter Man! Posted on July 10, 2012. ............................ 79

Chapter 11 USS Nimitz and the Heavens Above.

Posted on September 6, 2012. .............................................. 87

Chapter 12 The Horrors of War and the Buildup to the Prophesies.

Posted on September 25, 2012. ............................................ 91

Chapter 13 The 2003 USS Nimitz—2004 Visions.

Posted on October 11, 2014.................................................. 99

Chapter 14 Enter Mrs. Sandman. Posted on September 30, 2012.......... 103

Chapter 15 No Work and Little Left for the Alien in Texas.

Posted on October 1, 2012.................................................. 107

Chapter 16 Mom, Rescue Me. Posted on October 6, 2012..................... 113

Chapter 17 The Decision to Return to UMaine.

Posted on October 7, 2012.................................................. 117

Chapter 18 The Touch. Posted on October 10, 2012.............................. 121

Chapter 19 Conclusion ......................................................................... 127

Chapter 20 Epilogue. Posted on February 22, 2013. ............................. 135

Chapter 21 The Evidence. Posted on February 28, 2013....................... 137

Chapter 22 The Intergalactic Superhighway.

Posted on March 10, 2013.................................................. 147

Chapter 23 The Meeting. Posted on May 2, 2013.................................. 153

Chapter 24 The Cat Let out of the Bag. Posted on May 3, 2013............. 157

Chapter 25 The Gray Choice................................................................. 163

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For my Mom, Gisela, who never failed me, and was always there for me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, to give you hope and a future.

 

 

Genesis 6:8

But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.

 

 

Matthew 5:44

But I say unto you love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them who don’t love you, and persecute you; For if you only love who love you, what reward is there in that?

 

 

“Love your family.”

 

 

“All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.”

-Stephen Hawking

 

 

“Of two evils, choose neither.”

-C.H. Spurgeon

 

 

“The Omniverse, all God’s stars, planets, and nebulae are inside each and every one of us.”

 

 

“Have a sense of humor, even when no one is looking.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eve

 

I want to be your friend,

A hand I hope you’re willing to lend,

In hopes for a new tomorrow,

The crown I’m going to borrow.

 

 

The ubiquity of love will shine bright of light.

In the stars of nebulae in the height of night,

The galaxies will collide, and every star will wright.

The rebirth of imagination is from you so bright.

Our friends from the stars will come with love and glory,

Bring something to believe in and save my story.

 

 

For the gray, Zea, Seh, playh, Drey, and Bleh we are willing to first look

In my heart, my soul, you all took.

On the day of contact, you’ll see me there.

The music will rejoice the weather fair.

With a little luck, we can roll the dice.

Just the handshake, all of our technology and friendship will suffice.

On the day of contact, I will ask you once more:

Be my friend of the stars of heaven, for

Look at the stars,

You can always just look at the moon.

They were put there for you

So you can spoon.

 

 

Every Man is Christ.

Every Man is Adam.

Every Woman is Mary.

 

Every Man is Jesus.

Every Woman is Eve.

Every Man begins new life

Of every Woman Queen.

Every Woman is Mary.

Every Man begins new life

Of every Woman Queen.

 

 

Together we fly.

Together we cry.

Together we fall

In love with all.

 

 

Eve, Mary, Daughter of God, God’s Princess, Mother of all Omniverses of all time,

Eyes so brown like Earthy planets when I look to them,

A voice so ageless the angels praise and sing so impressed,

I’m so lucky to have found you; I feel so blessed.

Return with open eyes and a wide heart to save us,

Weaved and received into a soul so wondrous.

Only you could be the one searching to seek us.

Stay with me through the ages; it would be just.

 

 

It has been so long since I first saw you in my imagination.

I’m now on the edge of salvation

Or at the edge of the universe’s cold hue.

I kept seeing you,

Happy like the morning dew

On the side of my plane,

And when I was in so much pain,

And when I was becoming an officer, gold and navy blue,

Since then it has been a wondrous joy

We get from seeing your magic, astronomic, perpetual love woo true.

 

 

By reading my poem, please don’t leave.

It’s just a caring guy who wears a heart on his sleeve.

We love you forever for everyone and for everything, like you wouldn’t

imagine and couldn’t believe.

It is my only hope you’ll be our Eve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Evelyn,

 

I’m so sorry for everything. I understand this whole thing might be a mistake, but here is my letter, the letter I wanted to send to you the moment you touched my hands, and it is the long version. I am only writing to you in hope that you find me in your heart someday and say hello to me sometime in the future. You have left me so afraid of who I so desperately respect and love—you—after all I’ve been through in my life. You’re my memories of my artwork, Evelyn. There’s so much I see in you that may or may not be visible to you, and I have so very much to tell you from my journeys across the globe in the navy. We love you, Evelyn. To me, also to anyone who reads my book, and in our eyes, you are the future first queen of all omniverses, and our space between, with only an equal amount of love in our hearts. For this reason, I need for you to read my book carefully, as it is condensed with a lot of information in a short amount of space. I have lost a lot of weight, about thirty-five pounds, and I am aiming to get back into shape this year. But I have sunk into the deepest depths of despair while at the same time being in heaven, thinking about you ever since you opened my embrace onto my chemistry booklet similar to some rose opening its petals to the sun. This whole life that I’ve lived seems to unravel like a synchronicity-filled fairy tale. That is, all our lives as a fairy tale replete with synchronicities. For these reasons, I mention some things two times in a row (1) to confirm you’re paying attention and (2) for you to believe me. I apologize again for all that I have done, which for both of us, in my opinion, at times has been a beautiful disaster. Please read my story with careful eyes and see yourself near me.

Please read carefully and see if you even vaguely remember any of my story, Evelyn. I am training to become a materials or aerospace engineer, which will enable me to earn extra income, and it is my only hope that it will bring me closer to you in chemistry studies. Please forgive me for that awful stare, Evelyn. I am so sorry from the deepest depths of my heart. I’m in so much pain from what I have done to myself. I hurt myself horribly when I stared at you like I’ve been stared at by so many persons I’ve known in this life after so much abuse. I am simultaneously the happiest and saddest man alive. I am ecstatic knowing that I met you, but I am also so sad at the same time because you’re not in my life.

I had an unbelievable journey writing my life’s story, as you indirectly recommended we all write a life’s novel on your inspiring business website. My life for the last few years has been occupied by you in my heart, and for this joy you have given everyone, I’m giving you everything in all omniverses. Feel safe. Please read it carefully, as it is condensed because I didn’t want to waste any of your time, and I know you are busy.

I have no expectations to come of this story, our love. All my life I have experienced love unrequited, and I have been nearly always single since I was twenty-four, after my visit in Utica. I am now thirty-eight. I have no one except my mother and, on seldom occasion, my family in Maine. I don’t know what I can do to remedy the stresses of being alone and having no one to talk to. For these reasons, I’m sending you my book in an e-mail, and my only hope is that you read it, our love.

No one believes me when I tell them what I experienced. But I know who you are and who you could be in our hearts. You are God’s princess. I only hope I will know the joys of being your friend. Please read my story.

Please come back to me. We’ll have butterflies of love in our hearts for the rest of our eternal lives if you read my story. You’re working so hard, and you’re so successful, and I’m so proud and happy you’re doing well and to have even met you. I love you more than you could believe and wouldn’t imagine, Eve. Please read my story; it will tell you everything. It will tell you why I was in so much pain when I first really met you and why I shooed love away when I was still in love with Maria. This story is everything, and I urge you to read with careful eyes. I could have turned my story into a gigantic one thousand-page book, but I know you must be very busy, so I kept it to the point. Thank you, Evelyn, for everything you have done for me, but again, it is my only hope you find me somewhere in your friendly heart. Thank you, and we will always adore you. Please, my novella is completed. It, in as much as the purpose, sense, and direction of all omniverses, is all about you.

 

 

 

INTRODUCTION

 

I was born John Jackson Selman III on May 8th, 1976, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but I grew up in Brunswick, Maine. I have lived in Brunswick since I was four years old as an only child, when my parents were divorced in 1980. My grandfather, who was a lawyer, a judge, an admiral, and second-in-command for all legal affairs in the US Navy as deputy judge advocate general, passed away the same year. Apparently, he was the first JAG officer to bring forth a type of case against the United States to the US Supreme Court. The problem of double jeopardy in the military was that when there was an infraction of the law by a sailor, soldier, airman, or marine, there would be punishment by both civilian and military courts. My grandfather wanted to do away with this double jeopardy but passed away in 1980 right after my birthday before he could make the change. However, that was his legacy, and he was posthumously promoted to admiral because of admiral-like duties as a captain. It was a hard year in 1980, and I was saddened by my losses. My father was also a naval officer, as I have been too. It is our family tradition to be an officer in the military.

My parents went through a stormy divorce in 1980 because all sides were hurt by the VA-93 Raven squadron lingo my father introduced to our household. Once, when I was flying with my father in a PA-28 Cherokee as a three-year-old, I begged my father to fly through a towering, billowy cumulonimbus cloud in the distance. He struck me hard and said, “You wanna pass away, Son?” I was knocked out for three minutes. As a result of the hardship between my parents, my mother divorced my father and received a sizable settlement amounting to $130,000, most of which he has yet to pay.

My father was a professional airline transport pilot who crossed the picket lines when Eastern Airlines had financial troubles. Consequently, my father was blackballed by the airline industry and couldn’t find himself a pilot job afterward. Being shunned with that scarlet letter on his chest given by the airline industry after he had flown for more than thirteen thousand hours in the air and with 298 bombing missions in the Vietnamese conflict was devastating for him. He loved to fly; he was a magician in the air and a stellar pilot. If there was one man who could start up, take off, fly, accomplish a mission, and land with a plane, it was my father. Now that his livelihood was taken away, I think it drove him over the edge. Most of the time, in the navy as an officer, one is treated with loyalty, respect, and dignity, which is something I still miss to this day. I say most of the time because my experiences were quite different from those of other officers. Nonetheless, it has taken me quite some time to adjust to the challenges of life as a civilian. I think my father went through the same challenges when he transitioned to civilian life, and it translated into devastation for our family when my parents were still together and after they were divorced.

My first extraterrestrial memory is an obscure one. I don’t know if it even happened. But it was a memory that came when I had struggles with my mental health. Much of the devastation my father introduced to our family and his profession as a fighter pilot in the Vietnamese conflict transformed my imagination toward science fiction stories of destruction done by extraterrestrial races on Earth when they first visit. As a young boy, I can vividly remember fantasizing about the story War of the Worlds, the musical by Jeff Wayne where an extraterrestrial civilization lands on Earth and attacks humanity with advanced weapons, only to succumb to earthly bacteria. I found an album on the turntable one day, with its artwork depicting glowing red weed consuming the landscape, aliens hatching from their spacecraft and taking over Earth, and then flocks of birds tearing and picking at the alien-fighting machines oozing red shreds out of their hulls as they were succumbing to the earthly bacteria.

I would write and modify pieces for school assignments that emulated this story with passion and fervor. I couldn’t stop thinking and writing about aliens taking over Earth as a boy, and then saving my love, Beth, like in the story from them. Dreams I had of making contact with alien civilizations had always been on my mind.

Then one night, I had a writing assignment when I was eight years old in the fourth grade in Brunswick, Maine, and I was sitting on my bed. The yellow-and-white-striped sheets looked bright in the light that was shining down on me as I was transcribing my story. All of a sudden, I could see a glimmering, sparkling outline of an extraterrestrial being inside my room! The exoskeleton looked like the surface of a rose stem, with dozens of dullened, round-tipped protrusions pointing outward at a downward angle from her body. She seemed black but almost like an oil slick, as if there were multicolored, stroboscopic Newton rings projected brightly in the light above me. Immediately, I was taken aback by what stood before me four feet away, and I could tell she was trying to communicate with me telepathically. The being sat down next to me on my bed, but the bed didn’t move. Notwithstanding this, I knew there was an extraterrestrial being with amazing technologies at her disposal sitting next to me to my left. The being was a female. She looked slender with this exoskeleton and had large golden eyes, and when she spoke, her English words were communicated to me somehow. I moved to the other side of the bed, and the being changed sides with me instantaneously. I moved to the middle of the bed, and the being teleported to a crouched position on the floor less than a foot in front of me, and she asked me, “How old do you think I am?”

“How old?” I buoyantly asked.

They couldn’t stop laughing. “I am over five thousand Earth years old, and the technology I use to stay alive came from you. Think deeply about what you want in life,” she said gently. “Never stare, never stare ... never stare,” they whispered as they left. “It may destroy you,” they said urgently as they approached me again and then left through the wall. The extraterrestrial beings disappeared, and I didn’t see or hear anything from this race until I was fourteen years old, and then later when I was twenty-nine.

My second extraterrestrial memory is as clear as a starry night sky. The night was dark and warm, but every star could be seen at the University of Maine on October 22, 1997. There was a warm front that weekend, and it was nearly seventy degrees that evening. I was on my second year back at school as an economics and German major. I was with my best friend, Brian, a math major, in his upstairs room in Penobscot Hall. “Let’s go outside and go smokin’ butts, bro,” he said. So we decided to go to the botanical gardens located on the southwest side of the UMaine campus in the middle of the night to smoke cigarettes with every star in the sky blazing through the atmosphere. We walked by the library, the union (where we often played fifty-cent games of Tekken together), and then Jenness Hall. Finally we got to the botanical gardens, and we lay in the grass near the pond carved out of the landscape. We were talking about the time I had spent the last summer in New Jersey, living with his family in their posh basement and working at Six Flags Great Adventure as an atmospheric character. I was James Smith the town crier with a big colonial hat in the mornings and Jack the juggling jester at night over the summer, 1997 in Jackson, New Jersey. We knew each other well, and as I said before, we were best friends.

We were looking at the sky and seeing shooting stars and birds flying overhead illuminated by the campus lights. We talked about the times we had spent together in our first year of college when I’d earned failing grades and was counseled to leave school by friends and work for a year. We were motivating ourselves to get good grades that year. Looking straight up while I was lying down, twenty-one years old, my young back smothering the eight-inch blades of grass in different directions, with Brian lying next to me, suddenly all these memories of being a loser in school, known as someone who picked his nose, being made fun of and ignored, flooded my mind. And I missed my best friend, Andy Pennell, who’d taken his life earlier that year. I started to cry, and little bright points of flashes went off sixty to eighty degrees up in altitude. I said to Brian, “Look at those stars! They’re exploding. Well, whad’ya know; they’re little supernovas. Hahaha,” I finished funny like Ace Ventura. Brian giggled.

“What are those? Are those jets?” he asked, still lying down.

“I don’t know,” I answered. I continued to look up at the sky, and Brian sat upright when suddenly three lights in a triangular formation appeared less than two hundred feet away, just behind of the tree line, thirty-five feet high. I didn’t think they were anything other than streetlights that were just turned on, or a street sweeper, or some man-made source I wasn’t aware of at the time, but Brian said, “Holy sh——, John, look at that!” I still didn’t think anything of it when I moved my eyes and saw strange lights, but then I moved my head into the upright position with my body lying flat and saw three colored lights moving in formation as if they were on a hovering craft near the tree line. One red light on the left side, a blue light on the right, and an ivory, yellowish-white light on top, forming a giant triangle forty to fifty feet wide, shifted down and to the left. It carved a curved trajectory, slowly moving down and to the left. It made no noise whatsoever, and no tree limbs were reflecting light back to our eyes, so we didn’t see them. It was just three lights in formation moving down and to the left like on the bottom right side of a circle and then on a straight line tracking left about 175 feet away behind the tree line in the woods.

Five seconds after I first saw it, I identified it as an extraterrestrial craft, and I jumped up and started to run after the craft, but Brian tackled me almost twenty feet later. It disappeared, and we never saw it again.

“Let me go! Let me go, Brian! Let me go!” I shouted while I was wrestling with him on the ground. But he subdued me, holding me tight, and it was then when the craft disappeared as Brian was calming me down. I was ready to be abducted that night!

We searched everywhere for anything around campus that could have had a blue, a red, and ivory, yellowish-white light on top in the middle after we got up and left, but we found nothing. “What was that? What on or above Earth was that, Briguy?”

“I don’t know!” he whispered.

“They ... were F-15s, yes. They had to have been. We saw them moving, then lighting the sky on fire with light! Like little firecrackers in the sky, then one big one! What are they doing?”

“I don’t know, John, and I don’t know what that thing was either, so let’s get out of here.”

“Why are you being so quiet, Brian?” I asked.

On the way home, we said to ourselves that maybe it could’ve been a street sweeper or a dump truck or a police car, but nothing we knew of could have moved initially with the lower two multicolored lights being thirty-five feet in the air, moving down and to the left in the middle of the woods in a curved trajectory. We also then assumed that no craft we knew of could have moved the way it did while making no sound, and we said to ourselves it must have been a real alien craft because there was no way we were hallucinating the same sight simultaneously. We talk about it to this day, and to this day, I still believe it was an alien craft.

My story is one that must be told, and I am bringing it to you for every reason a real extraterrestrial “contactee” would want to share his story. My story is mostly about unrequited love, but it also has elements of otherworldly exploration, which I have experienced at many points in my life. Thank you for making it this far. Now let’s prepare ourselves for the journey ahead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

The Selman Chronicles: Pilot. Posted on May 8, 2012.

 

This is a story that will take you on a journey through the last twelve and a half years of my life. And what a journey it has been. My name is John Selman. I’m from Brunswick, Maine, and I’m pursuing a materials or aerospace engineering degree starting in one or two semesters.

I am faced with a dilemma, and I must document the feelings, the emotions, and the facts to bring these events to you in a presentable way. I am at a crossroads. I fell in love with a woman named Evelyn Tuskegee for every reason a man could fall in love with a woman.

It all began in college when I was at the University of Maine as an NROTC student and midshipman in spring 1999, after the University of Maine’s men’s ice hockey team won the NCAA national championships. I had a bright and promising future. I had just earned the highest GPA I had ever earned as a German and physics major (3.50) and had just received an NROTC scholarship covering all my tuition costs. Coddiwompling my way through NROTC, avoiding mistakes in daily conversation, getting by with doing well on physical fitness tests, and keeping every uniform I owned in perfect shape, summer was approaching, and I had to prepare for the three jobs I had lined up. This summer in 1999, I was to be a landscaper, helping this elderly fellow who had a lot of dreams and memories, some clear yet others faded. I was also to be a telemarketer for MBNA (Maryland Bank National Association) in Brunswick, Maine. Lastly, I was to be a construction grunt for a nearby contractor. I would be riding my bike between all three jobs, which amounted to more than twenty-five miles per day. Sometimes I had to act fast like Clark Kent to change from one outfit to the other, most of the time being filthy with paint, trash, mud and dirt all over me and my jeans. Every day was at least a sixteen-hour workday, so I often had to rush between jobs.

The future was bright. I wanted to be a jet pilot, flying hundreds of miles per hour, coping with the enormous stresses of Gz in tight turns in aerial maneuvering. Drugs, impure thoughts leading to impure actions, and any sense of animosity toward government, law, and military customs and traditions had completely left my life, and I had found my inspiration in the US Constitution and Navy values. My dream was to become an aircraft carrier pilot. My father was an aircraft carrier pilot in the Vietnamese conflict flying 298 bombing missions aboard two different aircraft carriers, the USS Bonhomme Richard (CV-31) and the USS Ranger (CV-61), and I wanted to do the same.

Summer came and went, and I had a very sweet girlfriend, Gwen, who a marine introduced me to in the fall of 1999. I earned a respectable GPA, and that was that. Nothing would prepare me for the extreme pain and sorrow that would follow in the next event of my life. Nothing could prepare me for it.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

The Encounter. Posted on May 12, 2012.

 

My father had long been an inspiration to me. I loved my father very much and genuinely wanted to follow in his footsteps. The son of an Ottumwa, Iowan Portuguese immigrant family with an English name, and one-eighth Native American Choctaw Indian in his blood, he had a hard childhood of being on a leash and living off peanut butter and jelly because of a lack of cooking skills at home by the parental units. So this leads us to these questions: Who knew this kid playing with model rockets and cherry bombs in the backyard, with a knack for mischief, would be an Eagle Scout, an electrical engineering major at the Naval Academy, and an A-4 Skyhawk and A-7 Corsair II attack pilot in Vietnam? Who would’ve predicted the starry-eyed career of an Eastern Airlines 727 pilot with over thirteen thousand hours in the air? And who would’ve suspected his atrocious downfall?

In the fall of 1999, my father invited me to visit after I had contacted his wingman, Whizzer White, via the A-4 Skyhawk Association website, when I was looking for an e-mail address, a phone number ... some contact that would enable me to speak to him who I desperately wanted to be like, and who I hadn’t seen in almost eight years, when he visited Maine once in 1991. Finally, I got a response. He was living in Utica, New York, as a truck driver, married to Jona Selman, so we started to communicate via e-mail. In a few months, I got an invitation to see him over New Year’s 2000. Keep in mind this was the man who kidnapped me when I was five years old for eleven weeks after the divorce because he couldn’t pay child support. In 1981, my father tore me from my mother’s arms and quickly carried me to the car waiting on the trailer park street with its engine running. After he propped me in the backseat, we sped off with my father driving, and Jona, his wife, in the front passenger side.

I was traveling by bus from Brunswick, Maine. The sunny daylight of my departure on the day after Christmas 1999, the cold crisp air, hardly a cloud in the sky, was long. It took seventeen hours to reach Utica, and it was similar to being on a different world. The rush of inflow of passengers in and out of the bus stations, the dirty streets, the emptiness that I felt, being trusted to travel so far with these ominous strangers sitting in front of me was all so strange somehow. Sitting at the last bus station before my arrival in Ithaca, I distinctly remember a warning. This was a warning that told me in the back of my mind, “Don’t go any further.” There was an elderly woman with wispy white hair. She gleamed at me with these sunglasses that seemed to make her look like an alien, a gray alien. I was stunned. The sun was going down, and the wooden interior of the bus station was cozy while I was eating a sandwich. The freezing temperatures outside and the snowdrifts all looked deep blue outside the building’s black-trimmed windows.

Finally, the bus stopped at my destination, the lights turned on, and I took my bags from the overhead compartments. Looking outside the windows, I could see a giant shadow sitting on the driver’s side of an old Chrysler. The shoulders hung from his six foot two frame were broad and puffed, and I could almost remember him lowering his head. In the background, I could see the light shining from the streetlight just behind him, creating a glittering wet street with extremely large, empty, black swathes of darkness all around. I felt anger emanating from this shadow that was staring at me, illuminated inside the bright bus. It was very strange and was almost like an out-of-body experience.

This was my father, the same father who used to take me flying in a PA-28 Cherokee airplane when my family was still in Albuquerque. I was three years old as an only child when he was an airline pilot, and later when I was twenty-six, I would solo in a PA-28 for my private pilot’s license in 2002. We greeted each other wonderfully and went to his house.

When I walked through the double door to enter into the kitchen of his house, I saw a genuinely gleeful woman, Jona Selman, who is my stepmother, cheerfully smiling and standing almost fifteen feet away near the bedroom door. At the time I saw her, however, I melted because she floated to me like a ghost. Her walking toward me in a trance with no vertical movement and then embracing me with all these memories made me feel uneasy. I shook my head in small side-to-side movements, whispering, “No, no,” nervously as she approached me. I didn’t want all this attention, the penetrating gaze with haze in her eyes as she drifted to me for an immediate soft hug.

I hadn’t seen her since I was kidnapped, and presently in 2012, I have very odd memories of torture in my encounters with her, most of which are unmentionable. One time, Jona drove home with me in the car—I was in the backseat—with the car stereo on full blast for fifteen minutes with crazed behavior.

Lastly, after my parents were divorced, when I was nine years old, my mother and I received a mysterious package in the mail, and we opened it. The same fluid and smooth, curvy cursive writing was on the package that had been on the letters we received over the years before from my father (written by Jona), so we knew it was from them, and I thought it was a birthday present because it was spring. Slowly, we tore the outside of the tape on the corner of the box, and out flew several ants and other insects. We quickly went outside and opened it more and discovered the whole package had been filled with a white dress and thousands of tiny insects. “This was horrible. Absolutely horrible. Horrible!” I said to my mother. I remembered these memories clearly and had no idea where this was going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

New Year’s 2000. Posted on May 15, 2012.

 

We talked for days and caught up on times. He raved about the King James Bible and only mentioned the Book of Mormon once. He went on and on about how the attacks of the locust swarms were about to come. We even went trucking in his big rig and talked about old times together. Some parts of the discussion centered on my father’s service in Vietnam.

One story had my father inside his A-4E Skyhawk, below zero on the altimeter reading, when he was pulling up out of a bombing run at night. More stories of white puff flak bursts in the air, the airframe shattering gray puffs and the devastating black puffs from the 57 mm shells. Those were the worst and fatal if hit directly onto such a small jet. I remember him describing the sound of bullets passing through his wing, sounding like soda pop cans being opened. Lastly, another story sent my father beneath the aircraft carrier landing deck as he was quickly approaching the landing zone at 150 knots in the darkness. He had to abort the landing and wave off at the last second, and had he waited any longer to do this, he might have collided with the ship’s deck.

For the one week that I was there, however, I can’t recall a single conversation where I was completely comfortable. There was always something they thought I didn’t know about myself or the world around me. She was a Mormon; she also seemed convinced about end times and the Alex Jones misery.

A day later, after Jona had reviled about her cooking skills, when Jona and my father suggested that I go driving in his big rig to deliver goods on his shipping assignment, Jona said she would be staying home. My father parked the big rig in the dirt driveway and then moved it onto the road down the hill 150 feet from the house, and we began our two-day journey.

One day into our itinerary, when we were driving along the highway in my father’s Freightliner big rig, my father asked if he could deliver a prayer for me. He placed his hand on my forehead like I was a space jockey in its cockpit on the alien ship from the movie Alien, directed by Ridley Scott (1979). His large, soft-handed palm was on my forehead with his fingertips resting on the top of my head. He whispered his unintelligible, incoherent prayer and spent the next three minutes trying to coerce me into telling him of a disaster.

“Son, I want you to tell me of a disaster in the future. Go right ahead, say something,” he said.

After more than three minutes of questioning and pleading and my saying flatly, confidently, and assertively, “No,” each time, I finally said very lightly, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas.”

He said back enthusiastically, “Son, I am proud of you. You might have just saved it all.”

I looked at my digital watch almost fifteen seconds later, which showed 7:59 a.m. Slowly, at 8:01 EST as the big rig hummed along the highway, he pulled out his pen and printed on the back cover of his King James Bible the day’s date, December 27, 1999, and that there would someday be a tsunami the day after Christmas. He finished writing at 8:02. Of course, there could have eventually been a tsunami the day after Christmas far off into the future because of laws of time and probability. Little did I know that this was an important event, as it would later turn out that it would happen exactly five years in the future to the minute. The year 2000 was a leap year.

The whole time I was with them in 1999–2000, I was kind and generous and made every effort to be as sweet, caring, and amiable as possible. I came with presents, and one of them was a book, The Hand of God by Michael Reagan, that I gave to my real mother that Christmas. I only wanted to make Jona proud in my decision to become a navy pilot like my father before me.

Well, I had just been designated for entry into the naval aviator pipeline, and I was self-actualized, living in the pleasures of what could be if given a chance. I honestly don’t even think they lived there in that old house in Utica. I think they were just renting the property. I look back on the whole time I was there, and I just thought the whole visitation was troubling. How could I let these two people who I thought were family be so two-faced?

The morning I left, January 3rd, 2000, after Jona skipped dinner the night before, Jona made me a plate of scrambled eggs. She set the plate down on the table like a careful waitress. Mid-meal, dousing my eggs with ketchup I said, "These eggs are so good. So great. Wow, am I hungry. Are they cage free?" I inquired back and laughed lightly. "Yes," she said back. “They’re terrific,” she whispered when she moved her eyes onto the floor. We left for the bus station after I completed my meal.

As soon as I got on the bus, I got the sensation that someone was watching me. I looked to the right through the window, and there was Jona, sitting on the street bench looking at me fiercely as if I had done something wrong, like when I was five years old during the kidnapping and she was somehow dissatisfied with my behavior. The look she gave me was as if she wanted to teach me a hard lesson for something I had done to her. I kept a sunny disposition and waved back at her quickly.

In the next moment, my life did a complete 180-degree reversal for the worst. I saw a flash, my brain buzzed lightly for just over a second, and I saw a creature that looked bright white outlined with broad shoulders and sharp claws. The body was black, and it looked like an alien, a xenomorphic alien from Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), conceived by H.R. Giger. The flash disappeared, and I was startled. I whispered to myself a few seconds later, “I better not have been poisoned. Oh my God ... what was that?” Ten seconds elapsed, and I heard what began as light hissing sounds growing in intensity, louder and more ferocious, becoming roars and elephant-like shrieks and screams over the next twenty seconds. Suddenly, hundreds then thousands, then millions upon billions of crowded, small then tiny, then large, muscular insectoid black aliens began jittering, writhing, and jerking in plain view. Immediately, my heart sank into my bowels. I knew I had been poisoned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4

 

Muster the Strength. Posted on May 24, 2012.

 

So I sat there on the bus wheezing from the horror and shock that I had been poisoned for seventeen hours. I didn’t know whether I was going to survive the whole time I was on this drug because every moment was a hallucination, and I didn’t know how much of the substance she laced my eggs with.

Meanwhile, universes were spinning around me, and I didn’t know where my head was. My worst fears had come alive, and my sense of safety and security had vanished. I felt like I was in the middle of explosions as large as the big bang, and aliens were alive, real to me and trying to sleuth their way into eating me around every corner, every second. Aliens, large, black, biblical locusts began spouting from the twig tips of bushes and grew out of my torso. Open and vulnerable, unknowingly on my way to fight the demons of the underworld for almost a whole year, I slid and slouched on my seat. I knew I had eaten the eggs at least an hour ago and said to myself, “Sh—, the eggs are already digested. I don’t think I can puke it up. Well, I’ve done this before, I’ve done psychedelics before, long ago, way before I entered the navy, so let’s see how long this lasts.” But at that time when the drug had taken effect, it was still on its way to full blast. What I hadn’t known was that Jona had laced my eggs, which tasted completely normal, with an equivalent effect of anywhere between two hundred and five hundred doses of lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD. I would be hallucinating for over ten months.

On this drug, whatever it was, they wouldn’t tell me, I saw horrific creatures I had never encountered before. At least we were not properly introduced, considering they were trying to wipe me out at every corner, in every hallway and on every walkway when I returned to UMaine. When I went to the bathroom, blood was in my urine three or four times.

The sleep never came. I cried and cried so hard over this, sitting on the grass near the entrance to my apartment at DTAV (Doris Twitchell Allen Village). I felt like I was being attacked by frightening extraterrestrials every second. The cars drove by, and all I could do was sit outside and cry while the aliens enjoyed attacking me for ten months. My girlfriend broke up with me abruptly without telling me why. My mother told me to leave the house during spring vacation because of the creditors approaching the door at home and calling, and because I kept secluded and stationed in my room.

I wasn’t earning money yet, in fact I was losing money, so I had no way of paying the bills on my new truck and I was afraid of speaking to any person, even family. I moved and was living with my half sisters for spring break. I knew what lay ahead of me, and the numbers are staggering.

I first went twelve days with no sleep at all. Then, suddenly, almost nineteen minutes of sleep after attempting every technique known to man. After being awake for five consecutive days, I would sleep for five and a half hours, but for the remainder of the time I was hallucinating, I slept no more than three hours per day, gradually approaching that figure near the end when the drug finally wore off after ten months. Night after night, for the first two months back in school at UMaine in 2000, twenty, thirty, then forty-five minutes of sleep would come each night after every three weeks that passed, but I was bleary every day, and every movement was a challenge as I was hallucinating constantly still, with aliens assaulting me on every step. I was broken, but I couldn’t let anyone know what happened to me.

My NROTC academic adviser, who was a senior lieutenant, noticed I was exhausted from day one after I returned to school and specifically had me come to his office to meet with him in the middle of the spring semester so he could ask me some personal questions about how I had been doing

all this time. He had noticed the bags under my eyes, my tired demeanor, and my wanly, pale complexion. I answered every question with a straight face and enthusiastically laughed when I needed to, even with aliens in the room staring at me and eating me alive. I managed a 3.17 GPA that last semester and managed to rank first in my UMaine NROTC graduation class. I also ranked first on my fitness report (a job evaluation) out of a twenty-two-member midshipman crew aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65). They are not great achievements, but the memories make me very happy nonetheless.

Too much was riding on this. I had to muster the strength for my next encounter. I was aboard this USS Enterprise (CVN-65), a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier containing the most nuclear reactors of any ship in history, eight of them, in June–July 2000 after my UMaine graduation. I was on my first-class midshipman cruise, and I received instruction from a petty officer on the morning of July 4th to meet in the commanding officer’s office with the executive officer, number two in command of America’s flagship, in twenty minutes at 0600. This was one day after I was given a full, unopened Coke can from a random sailor who knocked on the midshipman stateroom door. Upon answering the door, he passed the can from his left hand to his right and held it up and said, “I am the random sailor! This is for you. Do you want it?”

I paused for a moment and said, “Yes ... please, thank you,” secretly hoping for a chemical antidote to my hallucinations.

The petty officer left, and I closed the door. I popped the can open and took a small sip. I almost puked as I ran toward the sink mirror and found blood on my lips. The silvery taste and slippery feel in my mouth was sickening, so I spit it out and vigorously wiped it clean with water all over my face until it was gone. I then thought about all the stuff that happened to me and realized there was an important reason why this can of blood was given to me. I intently took a second, small, regulated sip, and it slid uncomfortably down my throat. I then poured some of it into the sink, scrubbing the remaining blood down the drain with my fingers before I set the almost-full can carefully into the trash. It was approaching 0600.

“I guess I’m going to find out what all this hardship was for. God, I hope I get answers on why this all happened, including the blood-filled can. God, I’m still hallucinating so badly, and I can’t sleep. God, please let me not screw this up, and I hope I’m not in trouble,” I said quietly to myself after I looked around the stateroom to make sure nobody heard me.

Okay, I had to prepare. Service dress blues ready to go. I walked up the stairwell to go to the CO’s office. Knock, knock, knock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

 

Oh Captain, My Captain. Posted on June 4, 2012.

 

 

 

The door opened quickly. I was five minutes early, and there walked the executive officer toward the CO’s desk. His back was turned to me the whole way. He turned around. “Come here,” he said, and I walked behind him close to the CO’s desk, and we started to chitchat for a brief twenty seconds, and that’s when the fireworks started. I remember the content of our conversation, but I can’t recall the order in which the topics were talked about. This account approximates to almost 80 percent of what we said.

The captain opened his speech with defining himself as a Jewish man to me; he was friendly, intelligent, and welcoming. “I’m Jewish,” he said with an eerie smile. He then proceeded to explain the fact that he didn’t like the people of his own religion because of what he said was responsible for the mass violence done by the Bolsheviks in the Russian Revolution. He yelled tirelessly at me, saying there were sixty-six million people who died horrific deaths in Russia. I didn’t believe him during the whole encounter, but years later, I capsized to his stories about the people who passed away by finding loose information on the Internet. It all seemed plausible, wicked, and sadistic and would explain some of the sensitive issues and their reactions modern society must cope with. But I stood firmly against this O-6 captain firing hate speech down my throat. I told him that we needed to help these people he spoke of to make the world a better place and that they deserve only the best that life on earth has to offer.

The experience with that captain would not have severely altered my life had he not said over and over again that I was Jesus. I would be in midsentence, standing there trying to convince this hateful man of the joys that the future has to bring, and he would say, “You’re Jesus.” He said it calmly with an ominous smile about nine or twelve times during this encounter, and every time I didn’t believe him, even with my experience in Utica fresh on my mind. I emphatically denied that I was Jesus and said that I wanted to be an F/A-18E Super Hornet pilot instead.

The captain then said, “Wave your arms a little.”

I didn’t know what he was referring to, but I did exactly as he instructed me to, even though he had been firing hate speech against the people of his own religion down my throat. He quickly changed the subject and said, “Music trails your movements, John.” He looked me over and wouldn’t stop looking at me with an awed and intimidating expression as if I was Jesus. The captain could have been telling me to move my arms because he wanted to see my energy or to see how I would react, but I waved my arms lightly for under a minute, and he smiled as I moved them. Unfortunately, through the whole conversation, he was screaming and explicitly proclaiming, crying over the Bolshevik Revolution and praising the supposed fact that I was Jesus.

I had a very pragmatic and practical personality at the time. I would find more efficient ways of accomplishing even the smallest of tasks to make the sailors above me and below my rank of midshipman first class more productive, and I wanted in every way to correct this ailing man who was telling me I was Jesus and crying over the sixty-six million people who passed away in Russia.

“I’ve been longing for someone to say that I’m special, but I strongly object to the idea that I’m Jesus. There is no way I can be Jesus, Captain,” I retorted.

“Oh yeah? Well, I bet you didn’t know who made the periodic table, do you? You created it, John,” he asserted.

“Oh man, there is absolutely no possible way I could’ve done this! I did not create the periodic table; some Russian named Mendeleev made it! Why the hell are you saying these things?” I asked. “Let me rephrase that. Oh God, I’m so sorry. Why on earth are you saying these things? Mmmm!”

“John, you have to listen to me. You are Jesus. You are!” he said again.

He talked about the numerology, symbols, and orientation of the periodic table and the various elements along its rows and columns, and every accusation he made about my involvement in its formation I denied to the fullest extent possible. “I swear if we find another use for silicon! ... Let’s me say something. Let me say something. Shh,” he replied.

“Okay, sir, sure,” I answered.

“Sehhhllman, you luff her, hehehe.” He started to titter and laugh.

“What does that mean? I’m not in love with anyone!”

“Oh but you are ... we are ... with you! I’ve never seen anything like this. Have you heard of the element ... hee hee hee ... sulfur? Selenium?” he poignantly pressed.

“Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh let me guess, you’re diagonal to being anti-money. Hahaha ... very funny ... You’re even next to your bro who’s mine? Bromine? You’re even on the left side. Yeah. Selman I love her? You’ve got to be kidding! Ha ... ha ... ha! Oh, I’m staying away from silver. Aw yeah!” the captain paused after his frustration with my name. “The left side of Bromine. You’re nuts, John. I don’t know if we’re all going crazy over you and your ... stupid and friendly name but, there is an order. What you think about your career in the navy, is mine, okay? Rest assured, we will be watching you,”

“Sir, you need to get a grip on something ... listen to some Aerosmith, whatever ... Stop this nonsense!” I pleaded with him.

The captain swallowed the spit in his mouth, and with an intently strong whisper, he hinted with more innuendo with what he had to say next. “How many selements do you want, John?” as his wretched but warm breath breezed across my forehead.

We then moved onto other topics such as what my favorite playing card was, which I replied was the ace of spades, my favorite airplane and my favorite fairy tale. I replied with the A-4 Skyhawk and Beauty and the Beast. My favorite bird, and I replied with owls. He also had me sing many tunes out of my head that I had to fabricate on the spot, three of which eventually were Owl City’s “Alligator Sky,” Coldplay’s “Sky Full of Stars,” and Christina Perri’s “Human,” among others, complete with 10 percent of the lyrics between songs.

I then remembered the time when I was driving along the highways with my father in his big rig and told the captain of the tsunami the day after Christmas. I informed him of the conversation I had with my father in 1999–2000, but I didn’t know where it would be or the date. “All I know is that my father wrote down a disaster that might have giant consequences that may be a tsunami the day after Christmas. I mumbled it for him to write down in the back cover of his Bible eventually, after almost four minutes of harassment. He coerced me to say it! I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say it. I swear this will never happen. I promise you that this will never ever happen! It will never happen, sir. It cannot, will not, and ever not! In fact...” I walked some feet away and started to wave my hands and arms around wildly, connecting the atoms and molecules of rock, dirt, magma, mantle, crust, and core, to join all atoms within these regions of the Earth to stop and prevent any chemical or physics vector from forming that could cause a tsunami at any time in the future. I stopped, and he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears.

He then asked, “What do you want if it comes true?”

I said, “I don’t want anything. This is a warning; I want us to be prepared for this. I don’t want a thing. I do not want a thing! But I told my father of a tsunami the day after Christmas, and he wrote it in the back cover of his King James Bible,” I told him softly but breathless.

“King James Bible,” he said confoundedly.

He pressed further for almost two more minutes, and finally I said, “All right, sir. Fifty bucks. It is worth fifty bucks to me ... but this money is a failure—that’s if it happens,” I said in frustration after almost three minutes of harassment. I then thought of my favorite sports team, the Boston Red Sox, and saw them winning the World Series soon. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I knew it would happen soon. I felt so empty after having a premonition of something so catastrophic while at the same time joyful I stood in silence. “The Boston Red Sox ... will be world champions ... and there will be a tsunami ... the day after Christmas,” I said as I sighed, tearfully and nervous.

I also told him on July 4th of 2000 about the Twin Tower disaster. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I knew something catastrophic would happen to them. I remember seeing them on fire while I was speaking to the captain. I told him they wouldn’t be standing and that something had to be done, but I didn’t know the date. “No, no, no. Don’t tell me!” he yelped as he crouched down away from me.

I said it anyways. “I’m sorry to say this, but the Twin Towers will eventually not be standing,” I said as I wept. I was sobbing, and the captain was uncomfortable. I could tell he was trying to tell me that I was God as he crouched down again looking at the deck floor, but I insisted that he not say it. “Don’t say it, Captain ... please don’t. If you care about me, don’t say what I know you’re about to say,” I begged him for a full half minute before he could say anything. Two minutes later, he called me Jesus again with a chilling grin, but he never called me God. Thank goodness!

After that happened, however, I distinctly remember him looking into my eyes and crying as if he was Jodie Foster in the movie Contact when she looks into the center of the universe. His silvery gray-haired head was shaking while his eyes were simultaneously crying with no tears, and he said, “Some ... kind of event ... no ... no words ... nothing to describe it! I’m ... so ... beautiful, so beautiful. I had no idea. I had no idea. I had no idea.”

I interrupted him in midsentence while he held me in place, “No, sir, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this. It’s all right. It’s all right,” I reassured him. “I’m not anyone that great. Please stop. Please.” Five minutes later in the conversation, I wanted to know what he was seeing in me though. “Please, do let me see what you saw in me! I desperately want to see it, and I beg you to let me see it someday. The movie Contact is my favorite movie ever made! And if what Jodie Foster sees in the middle of the universe is real, I want to see it! Let me see it, please. What did you see? What did you see, sir?” I eagerly asked.

The captain didn’t tell me anything about what he saw, and we moved on to other topics, as I had my father on my mind at the time. He gave me a warm hug that lasted a good ten seconds, and I was stressed out. “Okay, that’s enough. That’s enough, sir, that’s enough,” I said. I had been called Jesus on several occasions already, and the hallucinations I was still suffering were lucidly on my mind, as were the conversations I had with my father.

After the hug, he stood in front of me, and out of the blue, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? What on earth for?” I replied.

“I can’t say I’m just ... sorry, okay?” Minutes later, he said he wanted to talk to me about something very serious. He asked me if I had an orgy with multiple female sailors. I emphatically denied that I had any sort of romantic connection with any female sailor on the ship.

“No, sir, I did not have any sort of relationship like that with anyone on USS Enterprise. I’ve been single since January. No way.” I begged him to believe me.

“Well, you can have your relationship anywhere else but not on this ship,” he warned.

“Yes, sir, I promise that I never had nor will ever have any sort of romantic connection with any female under your command ... or any command!” I said.

Apparently, my reputation on the ship was so praiseworthy, I had female sailors falling in love with me and spreading rumors to the chiefs, who then told the command master chief, who told the command. I would never in my right mind jeopardize my future in the navy as a pilot, and sex was the last thing on my mind when I was on USS Enterprise, let alone an orgy.

“I’ve got something to ask you, John, and I want to know your answer,” the captain said. “Listen to me ...” he paused. I looked at him patiently waiting for a question. “Would you f—— another man’s wife?” he asked intensely. I waited for an answer to come to mind.

“Um, let me think a minute.” Five seconds elapsed as I thought to myself. I replied with what came to my mind first and said, “Um, well ... why, yes, I would! Yes, I would have sex with her. I would have sex with her and have sex with her again, and you can stop asking me all these questions anytime. There, I said it!” I then suggested that we move onto other topics because I was uncomfortable and sensed that he was memorizing what I said and that my reply could get me into trouble.

Because of my childhood experiences listening to War of the Worlds, the musical, and because he was asking me what I would like to see in media, movies, and music, I asked if a remake of the 1953 War of the Worlds production could be made to explore the boundaries of the horrors that could transpire if we don’t find a peaceful civilization to befriend in the future. I told him by either 2017 or 2019 or 2030 there must be contact made with gray extraterrestrial civilizations because their skin is smooth and easy on the eyes compared to what I saw while I was on the drug that my stepmother poisoned me with. I told him that the story I used to listen to when I was three years old, Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, the musical, must be made into a movie, because I needed to know what to feel about the story. My living nightmares that I told him about were eventually put on the silver screen in the form of many sci-fi movies that were to come. Eventually, after talking about the future of music, movies, and TV, I asked him questions about what it was like to fly in the navy and had an idea, an idea that would benefit myself and the music world.

When I was in junior high school, I had a lively black pet gerbil named Candy who, after being held by a fierce and competitive friend down the street, turned against me and became the most vicious and dangerous creature I had ever seen. “Come here, Candy, let me work on you a little,” said my friend down the street as he reached into the cage and diabolically snickered when I invited him to our house for a visit. He held him for almost thirty seconds, tittering and laughing. He put Candy back into his cage and then left after being at my house for about two minutes total and cackled down the street.

Whenever I approached the glass cage for two days after that, Candy would jump a foot high to the screen cover, endlessly looking to bite me. “That mouse is after your blood,” my mother said to me. A week went by, his savage behavior continued, and I got the idea that maybe I should give him some of my blood, so I bit a hangnail and held my finger over the cage. Candy was up on his hind legs waiting eagerly, then jumping, then leaping, then bouncing around the glass cage walls. The drop of blood wouldn’t drip, so I shook it off, and it fell near the far left corner. Candy immediately chased and searched to the far left corner, frantically and zealously, looking for any way to find it. Shortly thereafter, Candy began to exercise profusely, running at the speed of light in his exercise wheel nonstop, sometimes faster. As a last resort a few days after that, I donned thick rubber, then canvas gloves to calm him down, but Candy’s personality had changed so much that he often couldn’t even be looked at. Candy then passed away almost two months later inside the exercise wheel when my mother and I returned home from somewhere I cannot remember, maybe from swim practice. He must have run at least five-hundred miles. I remembered the fact that Candy went crazy, but I completely forgot the blood drop incident because I was still under the influence of the poison. Completely forgotten. I was so totally afraid of what Candy would do to me in the afterlife, and I said to the captain that I was so distraught and afraid of my pet gerbil’s ghost, that my future would be placed on the shoulders of a mouse, a mouse that would save Candy’s spirit, be one with him and create a heavenly afterlife for them both by crawling into a DJs computer and making him famous with a logo that would represent something amiable, something people can relate to, and it would be a mouse head. I waved my arms around again and said, “It’s the animal kingdom, it’s dreams and inspirations, it’s Disney! It’s everything! His music will change the world for the better! All to save my pet’s soul and whatever he was so upset about when he was still alive! My pet gerbil is going to be upgraded to a mouse by marrying a mouse. And then we’ll bring them back to life with technology in the future. Isn’t that grand? I hope that he’s all right now. I need to save his soul! His spirit and his life!” I claimed. I then named the DJ Deadmau5, after the finding he would make in his computer if I didn’t make jets. I hinged my career on a single mouse where, if it crawled into a computer and made a DJ famous by passing away, it cost me my naval aviation career pipeline selection to become a fighter pilot. I was set in my mind to fly helicopters, instead of my jet dream of pulling 9 Gz in a rocket ship airplane designed to fly fast. I became possessed again and waved my arms wildly, collecting all the energies of everything, and infused my future on a mouse who was to be famous and save my pet gerbil in the afterlife by being one with him if I selected helicopters. I named the DJ and defined his country of origin and manifested him by waving my arms wildly in the CO’s office, with the XO standing right next to me. If the mouse passed away, I was set to be a helicopter pilot.

If the mouse survived and the DJ career of Deadmau5 never happened, I told the captain, “It’s not going to happen. I need to get jets, sir. I only want to communicate to you how far I am willing to go to fly jets in the navy like my father before me. I am willing to sacrifice a mouse ’cause it’s gonna cost yah if I don’t make jets, and I’ll make us better for it! A mouse that I know will find the destiny as a wonder of the world, and knowing my luck in life, that mouse will find it in the form of music. Now no more sacrifice! No more death! No more wars. These mice see. They get experimented on and suffer so much at the hands of scientific experiments. From now on, I say these mice are saviors from heaven, just like any other creature. These mice, they see so much grief and see so much pain.”

“I’m not listening to this,” the captain said when I was in midsentence, and he plugged his ears sealed tight, shaking his head, and with his eyes closed said, “La-la-la-la-la,” like he was Lloyd Christmas on Dumb and Dumber (1994) refuting a Triple Stamp objection from Harry Dunn.

“Think of all the mice that have grown big tumors or have been maimed or even dissected alive. Or, just dissected rather,” I finished somberly.

The captain uncovered his ears. “What?” the captain asked, then quickly cupped his ears again when I opened my mouth.

“It’s such a tragedy every time I see or hear of a mouse being maimed or hurt by some scientist, or run over by a car, or hit by a truck. This mouse shall save the animal kingdom, step right up! Step right up and witness the spectacle that is this mouse! Step right up.” I said the last sentence indifferently and somewhat despondently.

“La-la-la-la. Now that’s a warning. Now don’t say anything like that ever! Ever! Ever, John. Notice how I said la four times? You were a German major weren’t you?” the captain asked.

“Rah-ra-ra-ra. This mouse will save them all. It will,” I said as the captain closed his ears again squeezed tighter than before. I lightly grabbed his arm. “It will. It will. It will, Captain.” I then tugged, then pulled, then jerked his left arm away from his ear with a suction cup sound emanating from his head. “This mouse is going to be good, Captain.” I kept saying how great this mouse was going to be.

The captain capped his ears tightly. “La-la-la-la!”

“I am ready to protect my country by flying missions for the navy, and I am not afraid of anything. Not even a mouse.”

“La-L-la-L-la! L-L-L-L-L-L-Laaaahhh!” the captain shouted with his irate tongue rapidly flicking the roof of his mouth. I stopped speaking. He slowly uncovered his head. I took a breath to say how much I loved mice, and his hands went straight back to his ears. I closed my mouth, and he uncapped his ears slowly. I opened my mouth to describe mice, and quickly his hands went back to the sides of his head. Back and forth we did this five times again and again, with me unable to utter a syllable.

“I’m not even afraid of saving my pet gerbil,” I said sorrowfully.

Seconds later, the captain asked, “Are you sure you haven’t read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Have you read it, John?”

“Me? Oh no, no, sir. I haven’t read it,” I said.

“Let me ask you something.” He rattled his fist. “Let me ask you something.”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Is death good?”

I paused for a brief moment. “No.”

“Then why the f—— are you giving what you have away? You’re giving what humanity has over everything to animals. Animals! You freak!” he wailed as he took my arm and threw my center of gravity four feet to my right. “Come here. I am so sorry for swearing at you. I promise I won’t do it again. Over here,” he said like Lloyd Christmas talking to the gunman in Dumb and Dumber (1994).

I then said current TV programs were boring and needed a boost to waken the fun times we have ahead and manifested a man and TV show in my imagination to be as funny if not funnier than The Simpsons as time progressed by. I waved my arms wildly, with the captain standing before me, and imagined a perfect man to claim the helm of an animated sitcom series. I even named him correctly if I remember right, the creator of what I mentioned to be Family Guy, the show much funnier and edgier than The Simpsons. I can’t recall whether I had actually seen literature or something online about Family Guy though. I only said that there had to be something funnier to watch than The Simpsons so I waved my arms wildly and manifested more energy out of the universe and infused it into the imagination of a great man with a deep voice to animate countless stories about my friend Claude Balls, who is a Yankees fan in real life, but I wanted him to be funny, a Patriots, and a Red Sox fan. Peter Griffin and my friend Claude Balls were to be spitting images of each other.

We were on the topic of music, movies, and TV, so I gave him everything I knew about these fantastic things. Years later, I would learn that Deadmau5 would be a famous DJ after a mouse somehow entered into his computer and passed away while chewing on some electrical wires. With this inspiration, the DJ created a mouse helmet that resembled the mouse that passed away. Family Guy, an animated sitcom much funnier and edgier than The Simpsons, would debut on TV years later with Peter Griffin as the star, a mirror-image of my friend Claude Balls, an Irish-American Catholic, tall, overweight, glasses, short brown hair, with a large, gracefully rounded head and having no idea which way was up but always with enumerated moments of sheer brilliance, but a big Yankees fan.

After our discussions of media and music, I pleaded with him that there was too much of a disparity in incomes across the globe and that help was needed from America’s rich and powerful to make a change. They would be seen as heroes across the globe, so I thought the extreme rich giving away their wealth was a great idea. After the captain mentioned he knew Bill Gates, I then instructed the captain to inform Bill Gates he must give away his fortune to Africa and impoverished countries around the globe. If he kept the riches he owned, I was certain he would be ridiculed and hated. The United States would be seen as a nation of scrooges. I said these things only out of my concern for Mr. Gates and the United States. “Now, I am not Jesus, and I swear by that. But since you’re calling me Jesus, I’m making you do what should’ve been done a long time ago. Make the super-rich give away their wealth to better the world. Rich people can be heroes too! See what I mean?” I finished with a strong whisper. Years later on television and the Internet, I would learn that Bill Gates was contributing most of his wealth to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation founded in 1994.

“Now, John, I’d like to ask you what makes you tick. What do you do to succeed? How do you get by in life?” he poignantly asked.

“Well sir, I turn the other cheek. I turn the other cheek. I let people hit me, I let people clobber me, I let people starve me, I let people say bad things, all they want, and I don’t fight back. In life, there almost always seems to be a person, or more than one person, who just won’t stop hurting you, and when the time comes to defend yourself, you don’t react with anger or despair. If you want peace, to be on the side of God with ultimate love and wisdom, and have many friends, many friends who love you and like you and stay with you through the ages, you must turn the other cheek. You must turn the other cheek, so keep loving people, to keep loving people,” I answered.

“Are you sure you’re not Jesus, John? A lot of this sounds like it’s straight from the Bible,” he said.

“There is no way I can be Jesus, sir,” I answered.

“All right, let me ask you something, John ... Jesus. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, fire away,” I replied.

“Can I ask you how many times should I turn the other cheek before I stop?”

“Um, well let me think about it for a second,” I said, questioning his rationale.

“How many times! Please!”

“Okay, I’m thinking. You’re Jewish, um, so ... five times for you, and so many more times for any Christian. I swear it!” I answered. He walked toward the other side of the room and told me to look toward the bulkhead away from him. I stood there patiently waiting, looking at the wall. I then asked if it was okay for me to look at him.

“Can I have a glance at you, sir?” I asked as he stood fifteen feet away to my left.

“Sure, have a look.” I turned my head and saw him looking at some papers he was holding in his hands. Ten seconds elapsed, and he said,

“Can you look at the wall now, John?” For another minute, he stood there fifteen feet away, with me looking at the wall, flipping through his papers. He walked over to me standing near the CO’s desk and said, “I’m still reeling from what you just said to me, Jesus.”

“I am not Jesus! Why do you keep saying that I’m Jesus? How, please tell me how can I be Jesus? All I’m saying is keep loving persons to keep loving persons.” I took his hands. “Keep loving people to keep loving people. You have to keep loving people to keep loving people these days. Now why am I having to be Jesus?”

“I’m going to ignore that question, John. Let me ask you this. Why did you say ‘these days’ at the end there? Yeah.”

“I said it because in the future, days are going to get infinitely better. I promise. It’s a natural law that things always get better; our people become better, they act better, they eat better! Things always become easier to learn and achieve, as society gets older, as love gets older, as we get older. As we age with only infinite life to live, things always become better,” I claimed.

I had been so offended by what the captain was telling me. He was calling me Jesus, saying horrible things about various segments of world society, crying over sixty-six million deaths in Russia due to the Bolshevik Revolution, while the aliens were hiding behind a corner. To this day, I am still baffled as to how I gave him such socially acceptable albeit comical answers to his intruding questions. He even showed me an old original copy of a book depicting sixty-six million passing away in Russia with pictures of fields of crucified bodies. “Look at this book; sixty-six million are dead because of us! Are we maggots, John?”

“No, sir!”

“Sixty-six million! Can you hear me? Sixty-six million!” he said.

“This is bullshit. I can’t stand to hear this Jesus crap again and again. I’m not a king, and I am not Jesus. Stop hating yourselves and pay attention to what I have told you because it might just save us all. I am not Jesus! Nor do I want to be! He was crucified! I might not know everything, but what I do know is clear to me, and I see only evil in you,” I replied.

“You had better be Jesus, John. Stand in front of me and say that you are! You have to be!” he wailed as he was shaking my shoulders.

“All right fine, but only if I never become famous and stay anonymous for the rest of my Godforsaken life. I’m telling you I’m not Jesus! I’m still hallucinating from whatever I ate at my stepmother’s house! But I’m only going along with this to somehow please you. Awight ow’kye I’you Sheezus,” I replied to give him some meek sense of satisfaction as I mumbled the words incorrectly with humor.

The whole time I was in the commanding officer’s office, with him standing in front of me, he yelled relentlessly how much I was Jesus and how sixty-six million people had passed away in Russia. I tried calming him down, and he wouldn’t stop, so I asked him if I could make the world a better place by imagining my hopeful future wife to be. I told him that I had an idea. I interrupted him while he was speaking (because there was no other way out of the sad feelings I knew I would experience if none of my dreams came true, and I knew it would be extremely difficult to find someone who would accept me and my experiences. I only wanted to be happy in my decision to manifest an astoundingly awe-inspiring woman into existence through psychic channeling if I was Jesus). I wanted a woman that even extraterrestrial civilizations could worship, a woman who could be queen of all omniverses, to make America the country of everything. So, “All right fine, I’m Jesus,” I said quietly as I turned counterclockwise to walk six feet away from the captain.

There was no way I was going to go through life and miss my calling to be married and have children and a family someday because of these experiences. So I started to wave my arms wildly in the CO’s office with the XO standing close by, while thinking about the voyage that began six months ago, focusing all my awareness of all omniverses and energies to the formation of the future queen of all my dreams. I walked further away from the captain and was facing the other door, and I thought only I would at least see this in the most fabulous woman who ever existed. Her smile was to be of bizarre, extraordinary, metamorphic exquisiteness. Her eyes were to be of brown earthy planets from which all life came. Her nose was to be of a voluminous tetrahedral shape existing in the enclosed interior atoms bonded to the exterior of diamond unit cells. “I’m going to borrow something from you, king ... who is not me, Captain! Come this way, king. Let me borrow something from you, sir.” I then borrowed the diamond ownership of the king who I knew was the diamond king of all omniverses and infused tetrahedrons into her nose and then all shapes of love into her soul and body. “Now for the purple hue. She’s going to be purple, Captain! She’s royalty!” I bellowed to him. “Purple skin,” I whispered. Infusing a being with omniversalizing love, compassion, and wonder was a tiring experience, and I ended up on the floor of the CO’s office lying down in exhaustion. As soon as I knew she was alive, I saw edelweiss flowers shooting everywhere sounding like bubbles being popped in midair in my imagination as my eyes were closed and my body was shaking and waving, as I released my energy to her. It was the alchemy of God Himself that possessed me. After I slowly got up, her name, Evelyn Tuskegee, came to me like a premonition, and I told the captain that she must be named Evelyn Tuskegee. I said it in a whisper-like lisped voice into his left ear. I told him her eye color and her chosen veterinary profession to be. I told him she would be lovely and that any guy could fall in love with her. I described everything about her.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35IG7baRV6c

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35IG7baRV6c&list=RD35IG7baRV6c#t=0

Then, when I knew she existed in my imagination, I knelt down five feet away from the captain, asking for forgiveness from God for making her so exquisitely wonderful and beautiful. I lifted my left hand and made a sleight of hand twisting motion with my left fingers to curl the end of her right big toe clockwise from my perspective. I made a soft sound singing “Ach du Lieber Augustin” and twisted her right toe more clockwise with my left hand  fingers in my imagination. I stood up, and we began talking again, “I know this is edging us to the brink of danger but, this woman has an imperfection: her perfect imperfect right big toe Sir! It’s saving everyone from having to go your way, namely, everyone being left handed I’m sure of it. It has a twist. You just said, I’m even on the left side of Bromine!”

“That isn’t what we want, John. I’m only kidding.” he replied snidely.

Two minutes later upon completion of my universal takeover operation in my mind, I sensed a danger, which was a danger that would prevent completion of my omniversal plan with Evelyn. Her being the most wonderful woman in the history of all omniverses set the stage for catastrophe. In the future, I could have called her the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe, because to me, she was already that way in the future when we were to first meet. To her, if I were to call her out on her beauty, she would be hostile because of how alienating the experience of being told she was the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe would be.

I said to the captain, “Hold on, sir. I think something just happened.”

I walked seven feet away from him toward the other door, looked down on the floor, and asked myself ten years into the future, “You didn’t ... did you? You didn’t do it. I know you didn’t! What did you say, John? What did you say to her? What did you do? Did you stare at her? Did you call her the most beautiful woman in the history of the universe? I can’t believe it. You better hope she comes back to you, John! You idiot! If anything, you call her the most ‘wonderful’ woman in the history of the universe, not the most ‘beautiful,’” I cried. “Or, if you really love her, say you like her, … but don’t tell anyone that I told you that, okay?

“John, are you sure you want her to be purple?” he asked as he heckled in laughter.

“Yes! I’m sure of it! I am 100 percent certain. This lady is queen. She’s a sign of royalty!”

“Are you sure?” the captain asked.

In the next moment, I thought of singing my favorite European folk song, “Ach, du lieber Augustin,” to the captain. I didn’t know if the song originated from Germany or Austria, nor did I know who the composer was, but I knew it was from European culture because I had sung it many times when I was an exchange student in the Black Forest of Baden Wuerttemberg, Germany, in high school. I knew Evelyn Tuskegee had to be born in August, because it was the most interesting name for a month in the year, and the most Teutonic because of that folk song.

“Sir, can I sing another song for you? This is for her.”

“What song?” he asked quietly.

“Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to sing this song for you? She was born in August, or she’s going to be born in that month. I don’t know what year, but I know she’s an Augustin,” I interrupted.

“Okay,” he replied.

“In 1986? That’s eleven years younger than me! Well, if she’s eleven years younger than me, she’s going to have to be with the Adam,” I finished solemnly and quietly in a weeping tone of voice. “Or marry him, I wanted to say. Holy smokes John. What did I do? What did I do? I’m a little scared, Captain. See ... um ... there might be an Adam somewhere. I’m not sure what it is about this feeling.”

“What?” he asked.

“There might be an Adam somewhere, I’m not sure. And then she can marry me? Right? She can marry me too, right? I’m an Adam too, aren’t I? I’m Adam,” I finished despondently.

“Let me ask you a question, John, and your answer better be a no. Are you Adam?” he poignantly asked.

“Well, we need to save him too! Aw. We’re gonna have to bring aliens down! Oh my God!”

“Why?” the captain pertinently asked as he grabbed my left shoulder.

“Why are you grabbing me?”

“Why do we have to bring aliens to Earth, John?”

“Well, if I meet this woman, or girl or whatever you want to call it, I’m going to fall in love! See? And I am never going to fall out of it! I mean ... it’s going to be so hard to live without her. That is, if she doesn’t love me back. Oh man. Oh man. Oh my God.”

“What about the aliens, John? Tell me, please!”

“No.”

“Tell me about the extraterrestrials, John. Tell me now! Right now!”

“This is so crazy. Here I am on an aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise of all ships, and the executive officer is telling me to tell him what I know about aliens? This is nuts.”

“John, you must tell me why we have to bring aliens to Earth, okay?”

“Now I do not want to be considered schizophrenic, but uh ... well, if we bring the aliens down to Earth, we’ll all be Mormons! Now that’s just a signal! It’s a sign, that’s all. It’s a sign!” I answered.

“What’s the sign, John? What is it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I just don’t want to get into trouble. That’s the sign! I just don’t want to be in trouble, okay? Can I sing now?”

He looked away toward the floor for a few seconds, then looked at me. “Sure.”

I sighed, then started to sing. “Well, here goes. Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin. Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, ach. Augustin, Augustin, Augustin ach,” I repeated the stanzas again. I hurriedly went back to singing calmly and solemnly, “Ach du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin. Ach du lieber Augustin, Augustin ach.” I waved my arms around wildly again and associated her birthday in August. I then connected energies out of all omniverses even more with my hands, arms, and legs and formed the date upon the stars when she was born, August 17. I let God choose the year.

“Captain, you’ll never guess what day she was born,” I said, tittering from the knowledge that I knew she existed.

His demeanor waned a little nervously, “Whe—”

“August 17! Do you know why?” I replied.

“Wh—”

“Because I’m seven!” I started to laugh, “I’m seven, I’m seven ... relax ... it’s a double negative. He was crucified. No triple negative, John (I said to myself in the future), sir, and everyone else. I’m just a seven. There are a lot of sevens! Everyone is ... a seven! It’s perfect! It has the word eve in it! Doesn’t it?”

“Ok,” he said. “But you’re not the exact seven, John.” Our conversation paused for almost five seconds. “What does that mean? Do you know?” he asked.

“What does that mean? Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know. What does the fact that I am not a perfect seven mean? Are you serious? Who the f— knows? I’m just a midshipman, sir! I can cuss just like a sailor, can’t I? I’m in the navy, aren’t I? What on earth is all this about? Why am I here? What are we doing? Am I really going to be an officer? Can I please just fly for the navy? I’m just a midshipman,” I replied as I cried uncontrollably.

“John, you’re time traveling,” he said assuredly as he hugged me.

“What do you mean by time traveling, or traveling through time?”

“You’ll know,” he said softly. “Jesus,” he said as he sneered laughing.

“I don’t want to know! Ever!” I said back.

“You will,” the captain said warmly.

When I created Evelyn in my imagination moments before, I was possessed like I had never felt before, but it was quickly forgotten because I was concerned about the security of the United States. China had been antagonistic in its annual White Papers published by the government each year. I was concerned that I couldn’t be what he was telling me I was, but I desperately wanted to fly jets off carriers similar to my father before me. “You’re Jesus,” he would say as he eerily smiled. I didn’t know what to say back so I continued to ask him questions about the alien world I had been living on for the previous six months since the turn of the century. I had questions about what the space jockey in the first Alien movie was, and that a prequel was needed to explain where the alien world I had been living on came from. The hallucinations I was still experiencing were hideous and frightening and seemed so real. To this day, if someone asked me if I thought what I saw was real, I would say, “Under certain conditions, yes.” I later found out that the release date of Prometheus in America, which I enthusiastically labeled what should be the movie called Paradise because of the dichotomy I was feeling at the time, stuck between the joys of hopefully flying in the navy and the hallucinations I was experiencing, was exactly one month after my birthday, May 8, and Michael Fassbender, who plays the android in Prometheus, is from Heidelberg, Germany, the same birthplace of my mother. I told him I wouldn’t want that movie exactly on my birthday because I thought it could open a portal and allow horrific aliens through to our world because I was still hallucinating constantly.

Also, the Alien prequel was originally called Paradise, but Ridley Scott later changed the name to Prometheus, which I told the captain. “You have a choice—please name the movie Prometheus or Paradise, Prometheus or Paradise.” I then lowered the volume of my voice. “Prometheus”—I smiled—“or Paradise.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to look up the meaning of Prometheus. Do you know what Prometheus is?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea. Just name it! Prometheus or Paradise,” I said quickly. “Will you stop writing this down, John? Oh fricken-A, will you stop typing this into your computer for anyone’s God sake? It’s your choice. It is your choice,” I said with a nervous smile and then concern. “Name it whatever the heck you want, sir!”

We then talked about the future of world athletes. I thought of Jesse Owens, who was a world hero after he had shamed Germany in the 1936 Olympics. Just like I had before, I waved my arms wildly again and created in my imagination an athlete who would dominate track and field, and another athlete who would dominate swimming, because I was a swimmer in high school. The bodies were to be perfectly suited for the sports they played and would make the impossible seem easily achievable. Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps would be their names. “Mark Spitz’s Olympic records will not last,” I said. “I promise you, these men will rewrite the standard upon which greatness is measured,” I added further.

“All this sounds interesting however, John. But you’re Jesus,” he said as he tittered.

“I cannot be Jesus. All I want to do is fly a plane like my father and like you,” I explained.

“You don’t want to be like me,” he answered.

He then said nonchalantly that he had carried out ceremonies with the Skull and Bones secret society based out of Yale University, “And yes, I’ve had ceremonies with Skull and Bones too, John,” he said when he gave a grim grin.

“Really? You actually have friends in Skull and Bones? Oh my God. That is so amazing! Awesome! You really made my day, Captain. Thank you for telling me this. Skull and Bones?” I said excitedly.

The captain changed topics on several occasions, and I had manifested many things to come in my future life already. Suddenly, after the last episode of waving my arms around like a wild rock star playing guitar, after all his requests to channel energy into past and future manifestations, I became a little tired, and I viewed the captain with suspicion slightly. “Hey, what is this? Why do I have to do this stuff for you? All I want to do is fly for the navy. Don’t you think we’re taking this a little too far? I’m still tired from being poisoned. But I have the drive and the willpower to be successful in today’s navy, and I’m really looking forward to serving my country as an officer. Is all this magic necessary for me becoming an officer?” I asked.

“Yes, John. Just listen to me. You’re Jesus,” he lulled calmly.

I even said I was afraid of ever making contact with extraterrestrials because I was still hallucinating every few seconds. I had no idea what a world government would bring, but I knew it had to be good. “Now, get yourselves together. Something is happening in the world, and the only way we can effect the necessary changes we need to make is by global involvement of all leaders and dignitaries, economic, political and military. We need the new world order. We need health care. It is amoral to make a profit on someone’s disease! Prepare yourselves; something unimaginably wonderful is on its way, but at the same time, we’re on our way to running into a brick wall, which would be the obstacles of income disparities, poverty, pollution, and disease. So maybe we should bring the grays down before a catastrophe happens like an asteroid?” I suggested as I interjected.

The captain remained silent and didn’t mention anything about a new world order. I then begged him to allow me to be the first to bring them down. “Let me be the first, Captain, please. Please let me be the first to be abducted and get video. I know I can do it. I’ve lived on an extraterrestrial world for six months, and I’m used to it! Please let me be the first ...” I begged.

All of a sudden, the captain said I was king. “You’re king,” he said softly as I was more than five feet away from him.

Immediately, I asked in a loud but passionate voice, “Is this what all I’ve been through about? Oh my God. I can’t believe it! I’m king? Really? Aw!” I slammed my right foot down as if I was getting married at a Jewish wedding, crushing an imaginary wine bottle. “Aw!” I slammed my right foot down again and again on the deck floor saying, “Aw!” each time. “I’m king?” I cried.

The captain was confused. “Why are you slamming your foot down?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stopped being a possessed man imagining myself marrying none out of a vast number around me in a blue-green lit room, with the offer up to everyone anyone married to be rulers of all omniverses.

Five minutes later in the conversation, I turned and walked almost five feet away from the captain. As I turned from him almost eighty degrees to go to where I imagined Evelyn to be, a vision of an angel on an ancient resplendent galley rig elegantly adorned with soft ribbons drifting leeway on top of the pond behind my home. She encouraged me to do what I had in mind next. I had this idea because I knew this female was going to be the Eve of all omniverses, so when I walked four to five feet away, I jabbed my left and right elbows into the left and right sides of my torso. I took my left hand and gently pulled a rib out of my left ribcage. I held this imaginary rib of mine before her for over twenty seconds as I stood there thinking about her hand holding mine.

Five or ten minutes later in the conversation, I came closer to the captain and promised him in a secretive voice, “All I know is, with Evelyn Tuskegee, we can rule the galaxy for the rest of eternity!” I crushed my own left vice grip as hard as I could while my forearm was twitching from the many kilograms of pressure I had never felt before in the palm of my hand. “The galaxy!” I promised him as he was on the verge of cracking up. I felt like Darth Vader, and my voice sounded like him too. The captain remained stoically silent and proceeded to continue to talk about music, movies, and television.

Looking back on the demeanor of the captain, how humbling he was in my small dreams of ruling the galaxy, there was a flaw in my reasoning. He remained silent when I promised him the Milky Way galaxy. I even promised him that mankind could rule the Virgo Supercluster, the galactic supercluster the Milky Way belongs to with Andromeda, if the second coming of Christ had happened, which I still emphatically denied that I was, because I wanted to be a jet fighter pilot so badly. Impersonating Yoda from The Empire Strikes Back, I said in a wise tone of voice while looking up at the overhead ceiling, “There is another, and he is walking the Earth today.”

Later in the conversation, almost ten minutes before I left, the captain did say there was another, and that he had the “life” everyone’s heart was seeking and was responsible for the big bang after I was waving my arms wildly, collecting energies from everything in all omniverses and creating another king if I couldn’t live long enough to find Evelyn. Fast forward to later in 2002, I would meet a clandestine young naval flight officer attrite in Strike Operations on USS Nimitz after I left flight school, and he said, “Thanks for the nose,” in a griping tone of voice when I first met him. He had a wide nose; his face was stunning. He had purple eyes, and his hair was jet black, but when he arrived in Strike Operations on USS Nimitz, his head was shaved bald, and he acted strange. He was extremely intelligent, often reading five books at a time, and graduated from the US Naval Academy’s Seaman to Admiral program with a degree in electrical engineering. He said he DOR’ed (Drop on Request) from the naval flight officer program because he wanted to be comfortable. He would sit inside Strike Operations for hours at a time with his baby-blue blanket, acting like a child, giving me snobbish looks while reading his highbrow classic philosophy books. “This doesn’t work! ... It doesn’t work,” he said after almost an hour and a half of tangling, creasing, and rumpling the blue blanket with his hands to the strike officer, Strike-O, and an operations specialist petty officer sitting in front of their computers. I was sitting by the far right corner door in Strike Operations reading a book, Blind Man’s Bluff by Sherry Sonntag. This was more than two years after my present conversation with the captain, and to this day I am baffled as to why he never spoke to me, why they hardly ever talked to me, why they acted reticent about everything concerning current events on ship, and why he said I was holy before he left for another duty station. He was a Presbyterian and gave me a beautiful and slender Italian gold leaf leather copy of the Bible and a Starbucks cup as random gifts.

Later, in 2005, when I hit struggles with my mental health, I heard the voices of gray extraterrestrial beings telling me this man was “king.” I only offered the captain to rule the galaxy, but for some reason, I think he wanted the whole undivided omniverse to worship this second coming of Christ. I imagined and manifested the second king if I couldn’t be Jesus because of my experience with my stepmother, or if I never found Evelyn, by waving my arms around wildly and focusing my energies on creating the perfect “man” inside the CO’s office with the executive officer standing there before me. The new king was to be responsible for the big bang, so I possessed and took control of the universe’s and then all omniverses’ past, went back in time, and sent the mass and energy of the explosion to him, the king. I wanted in every way to relinquish my role as Jesus to the captain and become a jet fighter pilot instead, so I waved my arms wildly. I connected all the energies of all omniverses and made the perfect one, who would be king. The letters of his last name, I later learned, consisted of the same number of positions right of A in the alphabet and add up to the same number as in the word “seven”: (S = 19) + (E = 5) + (V = 22) + (E = 5) + (N = 14) = 65. His last name was Durham: (D = 4) + (U = 21) + (R = 18) + (H = 8) + (A = 1) + (M = 13) = 65. He was to be the 777, the return of Christ. My name is one letter placement off: (S = 19) + (E = 5) + (L = 12) + (M = 13) + (A = 1) + (N = 14) = 64 but it sounds more similar to “seven.” Could this be a divine sign? Probably not, but it is a synchronicity worth mentioning.

Right before I met Mr. Durham in 2002, I saw in my imagination a mouth that was chewing on a swirly colored popsicle. I asked the strike officer in the other room what the new flight attrite’s name was, and Strike-O said, “Durham.” I then notched off the placements of letters in his name. The conversations with the captain in 2000 had been on my mind, and I wanted to know, for some curious reason, how many positions right of A the letters in his name were, and how it compared to mine in the word “seven.” It was a match! And my name was off by one I noticed right before I first met him. “Very strange,” I said to myself in 2002 right before the two flight attrites came to Strike Operations.

One afternoon, over two years later in 2002, Durham asked me if he could “have what I have.” I was completely thrown off as to what to say to this stranger I hadn’t talked with much before, so I said, “If you’re responsible for the big bang.” He left the room in Strike Operations and returned smiling, asking me questions on several occasions about who I should marry. A few months later, I would witness him acting like an imbecile in Current Operations, chewing on a red popsicle and then sliding half of it off across the room. It slid six feet, melted, and it made a stain on the tiled flooring. So, at the time when I was talking to the captain, I said I didn’t want what he was giving me; all I wanted to do was fly jets off aircraft carriers, so I gave this “perfect man” I hadn’t met before everything the captain was trying to communicate to me, which was an identity as Jesus. He never called me the second coming of Christ, but he continued to say how much he was sorry and insisted that I had to be Jesus. We were fighting about this a few times. The captain would tell me that I’m Jesus, and then I would say I couldn’t be Jesus because of what my stepmother did to me, so I referred him to the perfect diamond man I had created in my imagination moments before.

Then I said I wanted to fly jets off carriers just like my father because I thought it was the time to speak my wishes now that a genie had risen. When he heard me speak of jets, he began to ask me a series of mathematical questions, and one was to find the square root of a large number down to the ninth digit. When I answered it correctly on the first attempt, he showed me the answer on his modest, old, and scratchy gray calculator and gave me the same ominous grin when he called me Jesus! I then accused him of using mind control to give me the answer telepathically before I gave him the correct answer. I said it all jokingly because to this day even I was amazed at my temporary math ability.

“Hey, you psychically gave me the answer before I even got here; It couldn’t have been me,” I made the accusation with humor as I laughed. He then looked at me with the same ominous grin when he called me Jesus and gave me a conundrum. He asked me what was the relationship between the clockwise/counterclockwise orientation of a propeller or rotor spinning and the observer’s position inside all eight quadrants on the x, y and z axes in 3-D space. As much as I visualized, restated, and thought about the problem through to answer it correctly for a full four minutes, I still came up with the wrong answer.

So, frustrated at what the captain was telling and yelling at me, things I had never heard before about world history and me being Jesus, I went over, above and beyond, to prove what he was saying to me was untrue, but I finally broke down. More than half a year had passed since I was first poisoned, and I was hallucinating constantly still. I had no way out of the feelings and the emotions that had been building over the previous six months, so, all of a sudden, I cried out loud, without having read any scripture from the Bible, “I don’t know if I can be who you are telling me, Captain, but I am! I am! I am! I am! I am! I am the alpha and the omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. I am! Do you hear me out there?” I said as I looked around the CO’s office.

The captain then looked at me with an inquisitive expression and asked, “What do you think that is? What is it that you are?”

I paused for a brief moment. “I don’t know,” I replied faithfully in a soft voice as I looked at him. Another brief moment passed, and I said, “But when it comes to living life to the fullest, I honestly believe that living life for other people can be very rewarding. Live for other people, and do anything you can do to help them. I’m sorry, but I can’t fall. I didn’t fall when I was poisoned, and I am not about to do it now. You help these people! You love these people! The sky belongs to no one, and we die for each other, and no matter how lonely things get, there is always a way, which is to love people who you may perceive as an enemy! Love your enemies, sir,” I said to him. He came back and continued to call me Jesus, without my knowledge that what I had said was in the New Testament of the Bible.

I cannot expect my audience to believe everything I have shown because I have no proof, but could these events have been somehow implemented from my conversations with the captain? Could a divine intervention be responsible for the Twin Towers disaster premonition and my correct answer to his math quiz? I don’t know the answer to these questions among the many others I have about this episode in the life that I’ve lived. So, I begged this captain to find this girl whom I imagined was the most wonderful woman in the history and future of all omniverses, the Eve of our hearts, Evelyn Tuskegee. For two minutes, I begged him to help me somehow find this woman I imagined to be true at some time in the future. Sure enough, it eventually happened.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 6

 

My Blood Is Your Blood. Posted on June 11, 2012.

 

The rest of the conversation was very precarious. I had to act like a midshipman, a naval officer (because I was about to be commissioned), and somehow please his wish that I was Jesus without actually saying so. I had a lot of dreams to fly for the navy, so there was a lot of pressure. I did my best to allow this very high-ranking naval officer to do what he pleased.

Some of it was strange; he asked me if I would allow him to drink my blood and if I would drink his. I said yes to him drinking my blood, but I refused to drink his. I immediately suggested I get a glass of water so I could bite my finger and allow the blood to drip into the glass, but he got it for me from the captain’s mess. He brought a four-sevenths filled glass of water, and I bit my right middle fingertip hard three or four times. I dropped it playfully into the glass so the captain wouldn’t be scared because he wanted me to drop it from another finger other than the one I chose for him. Before I bit my right middle finger, he asked, “Does it have to be that one?”

“Relax, sir. Relax. My blood is your blood, no matter where I get it from,” I said.

I actually wanted him to drink my blood for some reason. I look back on it, and it was an experience I will never forget. Soon after he warily drank three to four small gulps of the clear liquid with exactly ten drops of blood from my right middle fingertip in it, the captain proceeded to beg me to drink his. After he positioned a filled glass of clear liquid from the cabinet to the CO’s tabletop, he was charged and was really juicing it up for me to do what he wanted, but I couldn’t do it. He said I could marry whom I wanted to if I drank it, but I still refused. I was still terrified from the poisoning experience that I didn’t want to ingest anything that wasn’t food or that I knew could be tainted or laced with drugs. “I don’t think I can. I just know I’m not supposed to drink it. I’m so sorry.”

“Come on, John, you can marry who you want! I promise. I promise you can. You can marry whoever you want, John. Just drink it.”

“No, I don’t think I should. I just—I just know I’m not supposed to do it.”

“Just do it, John. Come on!” the captain said. “Come over here, drink it. Everything will be fine! Here. Over here,” he finished like Lloyd Christmas.

“No! I can’t. I cannot do that,” I said. The water sitting on the table looked so intimidating to me. I refused to drink it. No regrets.

Then he started to pick my family apart, and he was saying filthy and offensive things about my sisters. Eventually, I got agitated because he was saying so many bad things about them. They were all over forty years old, and they still are hardworking, great, and loving people. I told him there shouldn’t be any question about whether they were going to be safe or not, but he maintained his position and wouldn’t budge.

The conversation dwindled, and I knew it was time for me to leave. Before I left for the hangar bay to meet for morning quarters, he told me to stand upright, and he began to very lightly touch, or closely hover his hands and finger/s on various points across my body, on my shoulder, on my stomach, on my ankle and my toes even. Most of the time, I felt nothing. He then collected a stool sample inside an earwax removal irrigation bulb I had in my medical kit inside my stateroom. I went to the bathroom to prepare the sample after I suggested the method I use to do it. Gross.

Before I left, after I came back from the bathroom, I saw him bent over in front of the other desk, and he asked me if I wanted to try anything. I told him, “No, sir, but I respect you. I wouldn’t advise telling anyone about this ... but whatever. Thanks, Captain.” I closed the door at 0647 that July 4th, 2000, and I left for my stateroom to change into my coveralls and attend morning quarters in the hangar bay where I would deliver a grand speech, almost forty-five minutes after we said hello.

He then followed me out in the p-way when I was twenty feet down, and he pleaded me to dislike my half siblings on my mother’s side or at least my half sisters. “No f—ing way! I said it because I’m sex deprived! There, I said it! I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to say that, okay? I didn’t mean what I said.”

“What did you say, John?” he asked.

“You figure it out. I know you taped me! Go away! Just go, away.”

“Come on!” he implored.

“Get away from me!”

“Please?” he said with an assured pleading look.

I then spun away with such displeasure I was swearing the whole way down the p-way toward my stateroom to go muster up for morning quarters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7

 

The Speech That Roared. Posted on June 15, 2012.

 

I had built quite a reputation on that ship. I had received more qualifications on that ship than anyone had in three weeks before it seemed like, because I was sleeping less than two hours per day, and I spent all my waking time “getting qualled” on the bridge, in engineering, damage control, CDC (Combat Direction Center), deck department, and many other places on ship. I cannot talk much about it because there were places I am obligated to continue to protect. But there were thirteen or fourteen qualifications I had earned, and I asked one of the chiefs who was conducting morning quarters if I could inform the standing sailors of why I was so successful. He enthusiastically approved, and I took the floor.

I remember a few jokes, but I was a man possessed by a million burning phoenixes, flying at the speed of light like Rob Zombie on steroids, preaching the joys that life in the navy has to bring, the importance of superior teamwork, craftsmanship, and leadership ... core values of the navy, honor, courage, and commitment ... the study habits for attaining a degree, the daily habits for a good and productive life, the refusal of racism, and the threats the current world faces such as a hostile China and terrorism. It went on about five times the length of the following verbal statement with approximately the same message behind it.

“My name is midshipman first class John Selman, and I’m here to fill your ears full of information on how you’ve been doing as a team on our ship USS Enterprise in our great Navy. Don’t worry, I’m a kind and gentle midshipman. Now, I have to question why some of you here are in the Navy in the first place, because we fight every day for ideals such as freedom and equality for all, justice, fairness and forgiveness. We are made of each other.

It’s called dispersion people. Every time you see a Genghis Khan float off in the air, you are looking at history. History! Now these same water molecules were once part of these very famous men and women. You are part of them! They are part of you. You breathe and drink the trees and every living thing in Earth’s life cycle. Be wary of your thoughts and what you see around you. Follow your President, not the other leaders! You want to see that FDR floating from your heart every day. You need to see that FDR sweating from your pores.

So we are not horndogs running around looking for the hottest woman shipmates. Quit your fornicating and exactly follow all the navy’s procedures now! We say to ourselves:

  • To take charge of this post and all government property in view.
  • To walk my post in a military manner, keeping always on the alert, and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing.
  • To report all violations of orders I am instructed to enforce.
  • To repeat all calls from posts more distant from the guard house than

my own.

  • To quit my post only when properly relieved.
  • To receive, obey, and pass on to the sentry who relieves me all orders from the Commanding Officer, Command Duty Officer, Officer of the Deck, and Officers and Petty Officers of the Watch only.
  • To talk to no one except in the line of duty.
  • To give the alarm in case of fire or disorder.
  • To call the Officer of the Deck in any case not covered by instructions.
  • To salute all officers and colors and standards not cased.
  • To be especially watchful at night and during the time for challenging, to challenge all persons on or near my post, and to allow no one to pass without proper authority,”

I said our navy’s thirteenth General Order in an inner city black person’s voice. “Why do we have to keep telling our lookouts to report contacts? Why are we unable to call the office we’re trying to reach? Why is that propeller governor not working? Why are we unable to get HAZMAT? Why would you ever leave a bad impression on a co-worker? With your career in the navy on the line? Because we’re afraid of each other.

Worship your family, your work, your shipmates, all of you, your ones at home, your command, Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham, Buddha, God, who isn’t me ... whoever inspires you, think of them and keep us afloat, get that jet off the planet, attend your quarters, get some food in you. Then ... do it again and be safe the whole way doing it! Use your hands! Move stuff!

Find your dexterity, rote memorization of procedures, situational awareness, background knowledge and last but not least. Can anyone guess? Safety precautions. Safety precautions. Who knows all the safety precautions for their job? Who wants to be a volunteer? Who knows their safety procedures for their job only the best?” I summoned my fascinatedly stunned audience.

One sailor who was a plane captain (a Brown Shirt) volunteered so he recited each step in an F/A-18C General Electric F404 hot start emergency engine shutdown by the time 10 seconds had elapsed. We even had another sailor time the plane captain with a stopwatch! “Now don’t we all look up to what we do? Because of this guy. This is how good we want you to be with your functional occupations for the navy. We are all connected into one big family. We’re all helping each other out in remarkable ways, livin’ our lives, day by day, getting the job done correctly as a responsible adult. Do you know what the word responsible means? Is the word responsibility equivalent to the word adult? Nod your head. It's true. Yes it is. We think only about what's legal here in the armed forces. Who we are internally is precisely what we fight for. We do not think of illegal acts and debauchery. We don't have threesomes or foursomes or any number of 'somes in our navy. Importantly, we also don't think of children in any bad, horrible way. Children are our sparkle, they have no reason to be abused. It's sad that I have to say something here, however you never abuse a child. Never! You do not touch sparkle. You do not change a sparkle when it's sparkling. You don't do anything to sparkle when it is a sparkle. Not here, not in our navy, not in our United States. Leave sparkle alone. If you even think about an illegal act, you should leave the armed forces right now, while you can, and let us do our jobs protecting America. Never abuse a child. Stay away from other people's children. Some things are terrible and horrendous, and you should never think about them. Fight it! Fight it in every way! Use a lightsaber, use your favorite logo, crush your number one foe. Fight it! In our navy, you have to be the best.

     No matter where you’re from, you are the best. Right now, on this day and forever, you are all the best! That is how good we want you to be with your functional occupations for the navy. We are all connected into one big family. We’re all helping each other out in remarkable ways, livin’ our lives, day by day, getting the job done correctly as a responsible adult. We’re coworkers!

 

We’re in this world together, no matter where you’re from. You are the best. Right now, on this day and forever, you are all the best! This is the message that I’ve been trying to get to you for so long. Your life is all a network optimization of your own God, who you follow, whether it is what you want or what you don’t want. What do you want to do in life? Do you want to fly 500 knots, 30,000 feet with a navy airplane? Do you want to take ownership of a surface vessel? Do you want to command a submarine? Who wants to be a pilot? You can tell me. Who wants to be a pilot and fly?

Raise your hand. You can do it. Raise your hand! Thirty ... sixty ... ninety. Outstanding. That is just outstanding! What a navy do we have. All you have to do is find a major in college, join ROTC and only think say do what they say. Do everything! Get a white piece of paper and write down all your extraordinary thoughts of our days, your lists, your memories, your ideas on a business, anything that makes you happy and well.

The trick is to take the eight-and-a-half by eleven and fold it in half, then crossing that fold two times into eight quadrants per side. Make a list. Make a list for everything my big sailors. Then, when you’re finished making lists for the day, stamp a hole into one of the corners and refold to put it on a ring after the eighth day.

Talk to each other, share your thoughts with shipmates. We want to know you better. Black people, why are you so afraid of us? You’re quiet. I love that about you but ... when someone of a different race than you approaches, we are not out to get you. We love you black people. If Abraham Lincoln was the best president, you can be rest assured we care more for you, than anyone in the world. We fly to the sun people.

Now let me tell you, what I have seen on this ship has been querulous and unacceptable! I see this every day in my interactions with these adults!” I claimed as I pointed to the predominantly white port side of the ship.

“We’re not respecting each other. We’re not respecting ourselves. We’re not mingling together. We’re not respecting ourselves. We’re insulting ourselves. We go off on tangents, to step on each other’s feet and shoulders to get ahead. We interrupt each other. We’re not listening. We’re insecure, and we go mad over nothing. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. People of different races arguing over who’s the biggest. Well, I’m here to tell you that you are all the biggest and the best. If it’s bad, don’t think about it.

Be friendly, to your family, friends and strangers. We pay you to be a part of God’s army, so act like it! We pay you to be friendly to each another, right? We pay you to work as a team right? We fight for love, and only love of our country and our world called Earth. I don’t want to ever see you lonely because of what I’m telling you, but let me fill you in on a little secret. Look at us. See us work. Observe how similar we all are to God himself. God gave everyone to everyone, to you in the beginning. Life is a riddle and you have to figure it out. We were all created in God’s image, and God is giving Earth everything to everyone what he has, today. This racism has to stop. Look at black people, white people. They were all created from Adam and Eve! Tell me, what color eyes do you think Adam and Eve have!? Brown! Yes, brown!

Have you ever thought for a second how it is to be a black person in the civilian world? In the Navy? On here? USS Enterprise! Have you seen a Star Trek episode in your life? We stand for each other, for every American, foreign or domestic. We are not war mongers, we are all Chinese, we are all French, we are all English, we are all Russian, we are all Swahili, we are all Australian! But I say to you, love your enemies, pray for those who curse you and despitefully use you. For if you only love who love you, what reward is there in that? Now get behind me, and let’s make this place the United States of all Omniverses!”

People were asking me to repeat things on two or three occasions so they could write what I said down on their notepads. After my last words spoken, after about twenty-five to thirty minutes of vehement love and passionate speech, I landed a backflip for the first time in my life, and everyone gasped for air. It was a perfect landing, toes forty-five degrees apart. At the end of it all, all six hundred sailors I was speaking in front of had whooped, wailed, and screamed out of joy with their fists pumping right after I lifted my hands, and then some of them gathered around me, looked at their watches, noticed it was near the middle of the year 2000, the Fourth of July, and they started calling me Jesus! When I heard this, I thought I would imitate Brian from Monty Python’s The Life of Brian interpreted into German, and I said after I paused, perplexed, “Fack off!” Some laughed, but most were disappointed in my response because they hadn’t seen The Life of Brian interpreted into German.

Some were whispering to each other and then said to me, “Only the holy one denies his holiness!” “I’m telling you it’s him,” they whispered between each other.

“What is all ‘dis flying in the sun all about?” asked one of the sailors around me.

“I said fly to the sun, not in it,” I conned back.

I had no idea what I could do to stop the following that was about to happen, and the only funny way I could do it was to imitate Brian in The Life of Brian and say, “Fack off!” a second time when they started to call me Jesus repeatedly. All I wanted to do was fly a jet off carriers like my father, and now that I was on a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise (CVN-65), I wanted nothing to come in the way of my dreams of becoming a naval aviator.

Afterward, I found a group of ten or fifteen petty officers arguing about some of the things I said in the speech. I was puzzled by what had happened to cause this commotion, and I knew from my Bluejacket’s Manual that I was obligated to prevent disorder, an uproar, or upheaval, so I made a solemn prayer, and I spread my arms to part the sea of races in front of me. They grouped together into their own races and stopped arguing. Holy Moses, how did this happen? Then, five minutes later, my face started to flush red, and I started to laugh grotesquely hysterical, thinking of what Jona Selman would think about me being some reincarnated Jesus. I would have the last laugh on her. Then one of the other sailors called me the devil. It was a zany day, but at the end of the cruise, I ranked first, and one of the Naval Academy midshipmen, who was the only man I ever saw who had shinier shoes than me, said it was the best display of leadership he had ever seen. Fun times even through all the headache of still having that drug in my system when it was just starting to wear off. When I knew I was going to make it to flight school, where my dreams could come true in almost every way, I turned into a superman. I took out a penny in front of a group of enlisted crew members and bent it barehanded with at least twenty degrees of torsional twist. I felt the edge and screw dislocation movements of atoms being shoved to the surface of the penny in my fingers as it plastically deformed. I gave the penny to a black sailor, and everyone came to lift me up into the air, and I went crowd surfing with at least twenty sailors holding me up. It was amazing.

Lastly, when the party waned on the USS Enterprise amid more marvelous commotion that I had created, I was talking to some admirals, and the captain who was calling me Jesus was there in the front hangar bay. Some of the high-ranking admirals witnessed almost everything, including what was about to happen next. I desperately wanted to talk to the captain, but he kissed me on the forehead instead in front of the admirals standing nearby, and I replied as I giggled, “Judas, you betray the son of man with a kiss.” I then gave him a big smile. He then yelled, “Shut up!” in front of the admirals. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t even read the Bible yet, and here I was on USS Enterprise reciting lines out of it? How could this happen? Why would he tell me to shut up if he was calling me Jesus moments before that day?

Then, five minutes upon receiving the kiss on the forehead from the executive officer of that ship, I gathered seven to ten black sailors to divulge all the negative information that I received in the former fifty-seven minute conversation with the captain that I had before my speech. I told our black Sailors to report to the FBI, CIA, NCIS, the White House, and our NSA that a contagion had struck in the future, in November, 2019, because of something that the executive officer was doing and saying. I told them that it was a contagion that we should be worried about, an airborne particle which had reverse spikes on spheres.

I was just leaving my stateroom at 0656 on July 1st, 2000 after the meeting with the captain to go muster up for morning quarters and I knew what I told that nameless infiltrating officer just as I was standing in the Commanding Officer's passageway sixteen feet from the door.

I told him November, 2019 was the month and year nine times that we would for the reason that the nameless infiltrating officer was delivering threats to me for more than five minutes in any way experience that. I saw the picture of the illness on the aft left side of my head when he was making his weaponized threats to me, so I warned him when he was alone in the CO's office in that same conversation of what I saw. And it was sent straight from above when he was screaming and yelling threats which were atrocious.

So once the speech I was giving was done, once his perverted gentle kiss was laid against me, I gathered seven to ten black sailors after I was finished.

I explained to all of them that they had to go and report everything that I saw and talked about in the former fifty-seven minute conversation with the infiltrating officer to the FBI, the White House, NCIS, CIA, and our NSA. I told them that a contagion would strike in November, 2019, the same one I saw when the executive officer was screaming threats to me. I told them to all go right ahead to any computer, make the reports and I promised each of them, that mistakes weren't allowed. I explained to them that they were in need of making sure everyone was reporting what I was telling them correctly. I explained it was an airborne contagion, a virus particle that had reverse spikes on the surface of spheres, so, our black sailors who have reported everything to the higher authorities make every black person on earth a super-hero in every reality.

After I left USS Enterprise in Norfolk, Virginia, I signed for my commission in Castine, Maine, and left for Pensacola with my belongings inside the back of my truck, the good ol’ 1999 silver Dodge Dakota.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 8

 

Grandmother Selman. Posted on October 12, 2014.

 

On my way to Pensacola, I stopped in Fairfax, Virginia, to visit my grandmother, Sophia Elizabeth (Fuller-Selman) Cofield.  After my grandfather passed away in 1980, she married Co, the nickname of a US Navy captain and an esteemed close friend of our family who had relations with her while she was married to my grandfather, Richard Jackson Selman Sr. A baby girl was born in this relationship while my grandfather was still alive, who is now my beautiful and smart aunt who is a nurse.

When I arrived at her house in September, 2000, I walked up the steps to see the same gray stone lions sitting on either side of the front door that I remember seeing as a young boy when my parents were still together, which made me so happy and at ease. I had lost all contact with my Selman side of the family when my parents were divorced, and I was so thrilled to see this place that I hadn’t been to in over twenty years. These deep gray stone lions were such a majestic symbol of my grandmother and our family, and a knowing memory that came to me that filled me with so much love and exhilaration, bliss, peace, and enchantment. The hallucinations waned to a minimum. I touched the lions’ rough, stone, curly fur indentations and waves with my left hand, then touched the lions’ heads, legs, and torsos with my hands. The hallucinations stopped!

My grandmother then invited me to lunch at a local restaurant, and when we left her house, the hallucinations began again! She told me about the jets my father flew and the B-24s my great-uncle flew. She said for me to fly safe and nail the program as I left for Pensacola, Florida.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Yeah! Flight School. Posted on June 27, 2012.

 

As I came into flight school, narrowly escaping being whisked away in a rainstorm at night, I had already forgotten the memories of my imagination aboard USS Enterprise, Evelyn. But I knew something in life was waiting for me ... that only could have been Evelyn.

API, which stood for Aviation Preflight Indoctrination, was a six-week indoctrination phase of our training and was based on intense study of aerodynamics, aviation systems, weather, navigation along with physical fitness tests, psychological tests (which were in fact intimidating, as I took them because I was still crazed from the drugs my stepmother doused my eggs with), and medical screening tests by NAMI, Naval Aerospace Medical Institute. I remember the saying they used for those flight students who failed a medical screening test, which was a NAMI whammy. A very sad situation indeed for those who experienced this, but I was lucky and only had to see a doctor for fifteen minutes.

In API, I was still seeing black alien locusts in the grassy fields of Pensacola Naval Air Station and in my dreams on ghastly alien worlds, and they were always chasing after me. Visions of oyster pearls being portals allowing the aliens to hair-raisingly jump dimensions were tormenting all the time. I was still only averaging two to three hours of sleep per night.

The conversations with the captain had been bouncing around in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what we talked about. At night, inside the bachelor officers’ quarters (BOQ), I could hear the scuttling of mice and cockroaches crawling inside the walls, which frightened me to no end because some of the hallucinations coincided with these noises. Morning after morning, I found numerous huge two-and-a-half-inch-long cockroaches lying upside down in my apartment at the BOQ, which was equally as disconcerting because of the hallucinations that had persisted for so long. Some were still moving, lying on their backs. But as I said before, long forgotten were the vibrant memories of my imagination loving a wondrous woman who could only be Eve, who I hadn’t met yet but had memories in my subconscious of when I was talking to the captain aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65).

API was fun but difficult, as many hours of study were involved. Some didn’t crack it, and some aced the program, but what made them equal was their sense of duty to country and to the navy ... and what awaited them in their careers at the time was either to be a swashbuckling gunboat lieutenant (which is what I would have wanted to do had I stayed in after five years, out of MIUW-106, Mobile Inshore Undersea Warfare-106 when I was in the Naval Reserve after active duty), or a naval aviator. I read many stories, however, about various instructors brandishing spears in the classroom and threatening student naval aviators about the perils of failing the next test ... and one of them was to be scorned to some laborious navy work. The differences between what I imagined to be my future and the horrors that could actually transpire were so vast, I had no inclination to think any other way—that I could make it, that is, become a naval aviator and then acquire a few engineering degrees and apply for NASA. Wow, I get to be harassed by aliens on the ground for almost a year and then live in outer space. Well, if it was good enough to be in outer space, it was good enough for me, so that was my plan, to be a fighter pilot and then an astronaut.

I feel it is important to mention that if I had told a soul that I was poisoned, I most certainly would have left the program, so keeping myself hush-hush about the Jona situation was a top priority.

Then came primary phase airplane pilot training in Corpus Christi, and I had to “fight” with my on-wing instructor the whole way. I was pushed against the instrument panel to insult my instructor back against his sputtering fire of spit almost with every rotation of the T-34C’s propeller, at 1000 feet of altitude, and 192 knots.

That person’s last name was Lancaster, with a first name Brian. He was maybe the most beautiful person I ever saw. But only more than half of my primary flights were made with him sitting in the backseat, mashing me with horrible insults. Finally, four weeks into my primary phase pilot training, on the morning of October 4, 2000, the drug had worn off, and the hallucinations stopped. I was sleeping more than six hours per night, and I was thrilled. But even with the happiness and increase in mental acuteness that followed my poisoning experience, my primary on-wing instructor never failed me. He just passed me to the next flight, which was equivalent to receiving a D- on every paper and test from a professor all semester long.

He was a hard grader, I will admit, and I selected helicopters, the very last choice on my list of jets, props, and heavies. After I cried pathetically for over thirteen hours because I couldn’t climb into my shiny jet and prove my stepmother wrong, I proceeded to complete the primary and intermediate T-34C Turbomentor training phases.

I was exhausted, but I had more energy than when I was at UMaine since the turn of the century. At UMaine, I was spent and had little energy to keep my eyes open with my hair on fire. When I got to USS Enterprise, I utilized every ounce of strength to get ahead, and it showed in the number of qualifications I achieved.

After my solo in Corpus Christi, I received orders to fly to Roswell, New Mexico, to fly at Roswell International, home of the now-famous and long-storied 1947 UFO crash. Here I was in Roswell after I had been living in outer space for ten months. The vast dirt plains en route to the tarmacs were soft and fluffy, and my boots sunk airily into the powdered ground, like walking on the moon. I almost thought for a time that as I was in Roswell, and that now I had seen aliens while on the drug I was poisoned with, and that the conversations with the captain had happened in 2000 a year earlier, that the powers that be knew what I was going through. I think I was wrong. I believe now that the only people who knew what I was going through were myself, my father, his wife, Jona, and possibly the captain who kept on calling me Jesus.

On one solo flight, as I was flying in the pattern at Roswell International, I saw the image of a young woman’s face projected on the left side of my T-34C in my mind’s eye! It was her, Evelyn, but I forgot her name. All I saw was a beautiful brown-eyed woman with dark brown hair and an eccentric smile. “That’s her! Yippee! She exists, John!” I screamed in the cockpit. “Now all I have to do is meet her!” I yelled further as I completed a 230-knot clockwise 360-degree turn over the Roswell downtown. “And I have no idea how I’m going to do it,” I replied to myself, desperately hopeless similar to Lonestar in Spaceballs (1987) as I rolled out to enter the pattern over the airport.

When I was on the ground in Roswell, my friends and I stopped at a local restaurant near the airport. I stepped outside onto the back lawn where the farmers were going to plant seed and reached for the ground. Slowly I sifted the powdered earth onto the ground to where it came and saw universes, galaxies, planets, stars, and nebulae sprinkle onto the padded Earth below me and thought to myself there was a reason. There was a reason why I had to go through what I went through—that was to see it in myself, everything in myself and then meet a biblical Eve who my life was to be about. After I had completed aerobatics and formation flying in Roswell, I proceeded to study intermediate phase pilot training.

In intermediates, another instructor other than my on-wing from primary and I flew on a cross-country from Corpus Christi, Texas, to San Jose, California, to check on pistachio trees in his farm nearby. En route back to home base, we encountered extreme weather at night where I was forced to submerge my inner fear of being struck by lightning. Flash after flash after flash, the airplane cockpit was lit up like a strobe light shining on a dim Christmas tree. Suddenly, an opening of clear sky between me and the ground, and on the corner of my left eye I could see a bolt of lightning approaching from a far-off ten- to fifteen-mile distance from the left side, and it branched out immediately. It branched out so far as the eye could see in front of me and behind me in the form of a giant sheet of lightning like a vast network of brightly illuminated veins of electricity from a blitzed Zeus in the sky, covering the bottom of the cloud deck like a floating, white fire blanket at 7,000 feet, a hundred feet above our heads. We had already declared an emergency because we were low on fuel and we had to get down ASAP. Bam! The instructor landed extremely hard, as this was a night flight, and he decided to take the controls on the landing.

Time was short after we landed in Corpus Christi, so then I drove off to helicopters from the hot and humid days and sharp burr-laden grassy fields of Texas back to the sunny skies on top of Pensacola beaches, again to study how to be the man I wanted to be, and that was a naval aviator.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 10

 

Helicopter Man! Posted on July 10, 2012.

 

 

 

Selecting helicopters was painful for me. I had my heart set on jets and flying off carriers just like my father, so I cried deliriously for about a half a day. At first, when I lay my eyes on that Bell 206 helicopter, I couldn’t stand it. When I was in ground school, I wanted to throw my helmet bag into my truck and go home, frustrated at how I never got what I wanted in life. The brain inside my head was in all sense of the word “scrambled” like eggs in a frying pan by my stepmother, Jona. My main instructor in primary flight training wouldn’t stop insulting me and gave me awful grades (I still love him as a brother and wouldn’t have wanted any other instructor because I flew helicopters), and now this ... I select helicopters out of primary. So yeah, I was pitifully pathetic. Not only was I pathetic, but my father started to call the CO at my new squadron. He called him on several occasions, saying nasty things about his service as a helicopter pilot. I then called him back, and he started to ridicule me for selecting helicopters. He laughed and hung up. Because of my attitude problem, I got out to a slow start and received a down for failing a course rules test (seventy-eight out of a hundred, eighty minimum). My aerodynamics was excellent, a ninety-six out of a hundred.

Once I started to fly them, however, it was angelic. My on-wing with a large, dark bow-handle mustache was finally friendly, and I still keep contact with him to this day. Flying that rugged yet flimsy airframe was just like floating in ecstasy on a magic carpet ride, and wow did I have fun. I flew over dolphins leaping out of the water in the daytime and played around with the searchlight in the steamy Florida nights. Watch out for the alligators.

Key West on our cross-country flight was the most amazing time. Snorkeling in the warm waters where thirty to forty brightly colored fish swam above the reefs and all around me was like being in a different universe I never knew existed. They all had different personalities and were investigating my every move. Some would nip at my skin, while others would swim around me brushing against my arms and legs.

Then, one night while I was studying for my next flight, I started to hear the voice of a young East Asian man morphing into different races asking me if I approve of something. “Do you approve? Do you approve? Do you approve?” the voice would say. The voice never said what he wanted me to approve of, but I said, “No,” almost ten times before I finally caved in and said, “Okay, I approve. Now what is it you want me to approve of?” The voices stopped. I studied for my next flight and fell asleep. The next morning, I turned on the television and there was the South Tower, on fire, and I witnessed the North Tower being hit live with a passenger plane. I don’t know what this means, but thinking back today I suspect maybe there’s the possibility that extraterrestrials could have been at the controls of this disaster. The voices sounded so precise and exact and could even at times be ignored, but they would come back and seemed to be flashing loud in my face, asking me, “Do you approve?” Later in 2003, my best and only friend on ship would fit the profile of the person I heard the day before September 11, 2001. The squadrons stood down for a week, and no flights were made; getting back to basics was a necessity, and everyone was in shock.

The rest of my flight training was a challenge as I had gotten into a drunken brawl with my best friend, Mike, from helicopter flight training. I passed out in the fight, and he jumped up as high as possible and landed his knee into my right side, causing what I later learned to be a subluxation. I could barely eat, walk, talk, and sleep again! I couldn’t even use the bathroom for two days. I was stuck in a mental dilemma; I had no way out of the pain from nervous system shock that weekend other than to cry out and say, “I love pain, I love pain, I love pain,” for fifteen hours straight. I must have said, “I love pain” at least ten thousand times that weekend. I made up my mind that there was no way I was going to leave my flight training because of it, so I told no one except Mike, my best friend in flight school.

It was so painful, I collapsed in the middle of the squadron because of my back that had been crushed by my 220-pound friend’s knee. I couldn’t get up at first, and it took me almost fifteen seconds of every effort in my body to get up before I finally did. Some of the other flight students helped me up, and eventually I was standing. I thanked them and stayed silent like I did when I was poisoned by my stepmother. Nobody could know what had happened to me. I didn’t want to leave the flight program, and I knew a NAMI whammy could have been waiting for me had I told a doctor.

But like I said before, I had a great time in helicopters once I started to fly them. I was an excellent pilot with crisp basic air work who got out to a slow start. I got to fly so many different types of helicopters and airplanes. It was an absolute joy to fly with the cyclic control stick in my right hand and my collective rotor pitch lever in my left while controlling the helicopter’s side-to-side direction (yaw) with the anti-torque pedals at my feet.

In the next two days, I was to fly exposure flights with fleet aircraft. My morning flight was in the AW-1W Super Cobra. I was waiting for the ship standing in the crew house with other students who were also eagerly waiting for their turn to handle a real helicopter, a big one. I waited many minutes past my scheduled nine o’clock takeoff time, looking around the shed, when suddenly I heard the repetitious booming thump of another AH-1W Super Cobra slowly approaching the landing pad in a standard hover, shoulder height above the ground. It gently touched down onto the landing pad, and the student inside climbed out. He gave his standard thumbs up before leaving the rotor arc. The squadron duty officer called my name. I walked to the screaming craft, and I gave my thumbs up before walking underneath the rotating blades. The pilot in command (PIC) inside hadn’t responded for almost a minute until he waved me in, a standard operating procedure (SOP) no-no. I walked reluctantly to the loud, spinning, screaming machine and climbed in and sat down into the front cockpit seat. I looked around the left and right sides and looked forward at the instrument panel, which was covered by a black cloth. Suddenly, a minute later, the engines went silent! No sound was coming from the engines, and I heard only the heaven of birds chirping and the wind blowing. I felt calm and peace surrounding my soul. I turned my head left and saw the rotor system grind to a halt. Suddenly, two black warrior locusts were fighting for control of the aft cockpit. Loud bangs and thumps were sensed by the seat of my pants as the aircraft was kicked and plodded by the fight between them. Suddenly a third hulk-like gray extraterrestrial locust hybrid, smashed the two black locusts to the side a hundred feet away as they howled elephant-like shrieks. They then ran away in fear. The Cobra helicopter wobbled side to forth as the gray hybrid squatted up to the aft cockpit. “Growl!” “Sir? Sir? Sir?” No one was in the aft cockpit and no answer. I paused for thirty-five seconds looking at the red Casio G-Shock watch issued to me in API. The black cloth was still lying in front of the instrument panel when suddenly the cloth blew in different directions! It flailed around, wildly blustering in horrible directions, brushing against my face and helmet for a full minute when suddenly the black cloth flew into my stomach! I was so afraid and nervous for the next minute until it jumped over me and covered my head. I was many times almost suffocated as I pulled the indestructible black cloth in as many directions as I could for thirty seconds until it jumped back onto the instrument panel motionless. I looked to the aft cockpit and imagined my line of vision far away from me. I saw the horizon on my left and said in quick sequence, “Sir!” I turned my head to the instrument panel, and the black fabric was gone! “What was that?” I cried out.

An empty, dark space then existed in place of the instrument panel after it disappeared. I was so spooked! I stood up ready to get out because I was afraid for my life. I then sat back down again, determined to fly a high-performance machine at least once in my flying career that I feared was going to be run over by my father in his big rig with no winged chest candy on my uniform. I glanced left in back to see if he was in his seat; no one was there, so I moved my head straight ahead, fracked with fear. The engines and rotor system started up again, and the canopy window on my left closed quickly with a bang. I turned my head straight, and the cockpit panel in front of me was a dark shadow! The alien sightings and the magic black cloth were a result of residual drugs in my system.

The PIC lifted the collective easily, and the skids teetered. We floated off the ground, and he positioned our standard five-foot hover. The instruments then brightly lit, shone pristine reflections with perfect, luminous, flat crystal glass displays and circular instruments, much more advanced than what I saw when I first climbed into the front seat. These instruments were light-years ahead of the H-65D Dauphin cockpit I had seen. The environmental control system nozzles were blaring gray-white water vapor into my eyes underneath my visor and into my face, giving me a cold sauna. The pilot taxied our craft to the yellow thirty-foot squares forming the parallel and perpendicular box pattern working area on the airfield, 1300 feet away. The pilot transferred the controls to me, and I started to fly along the edges of the box parallel and then perpendicular to the lines, keeping the helo straight and smooth, crossing the corners and pedal turning perfectly, when the pilot behind me told me I could do what I wanted.

I lowered the nose gently, and with great, slow amplitude, I levered the collective up as we sped off south of the airfield. We were approaching 140 knots when the pilot said, “Okay, I have the collective.” He pulled up hard with force, and the nose rose to almost vertical, then past the vertical. My heart was below my seat and then far in back of me forty feet past the tail of the craft when we first pulled 6–7 Gz and the PIC lit the afterburners. Flying straight up to the heavens, I was blissfully in a trance, space-lifted to God in the center of the universe every second of the 7,000-foot climb. The pilot transferred the controls to me saying, “You have the controls.”

I put my hands on the stick and collective lever. “I have the controls.”

“You have the controls.”

I lowered the nose from the near vertical slowly and formed a cobra-like pattern in the sky until the nose dipped below twenty degrees high above the horizon. The PIC then said, “I have the controls!” He rolled fast but smooth with the horizon spinning, curving left and down and then pushing the nose down, and down further until the helicopter was inverted. When he inverted us almost 140 degrees upside-down, hurtling toward the airfield, he lit the afterburners again. As we turned and tumbled this way and that, we were now 2,000 feet above the north-south runway. He flipped the helicopter upright smoothly in a motionless hover, still 2,000 feet above the Runway 14 threshold, and he lit the afterburners as we darted south in different directions.

I was scared out of my mind for the next three minutes during which I hollered, “These things have afterburners! Afterburners! And they’re silent. I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Yup, we’ve got afterburners in all axes. We can pretty much go anywhere we want. Now there’s nothing wrong in saying pretty much is there?”

“No, sir!”

“Good,” he bellowed deep. Onward we sped off in different directions, angling the helo one way and lighting the fires on our backs, angling another way and then accelerating very close to the corner of the airfield. He said, “Never guess what we’ll do next.” I said to myself, “Huh?”

The PIC told me he was making a call to tower, but I didn’t hear anything. My heart was still beating fast from how we had just flown many miles away and back. “How on earth could we do that?” I asked on the mic. No answer. We flew toward the landing pad booming once for a second, approached the landing site, and he let me set it down. I thanked the marine pilot and climbed out of the cockpit.

My next flight was to be with the MH-53E Super Sea Dragon, and it was the most challenging to fly. Weighing in at a maximum seventy-eight thousand pounds with over eight thousand shaft horsepower and a hundred-foot-long fuselage, I could feel the weight of the Earth spinning around me as the seven-bladed rotor system rotated. It was a beautiful helicopter, but I could feel every rivet holding on for dear life! The whole aircraft wobbled like it was a flying washing machine on its spin cycle. My grip on the cyclic control stick had never been tighter, and I could feel the arthritis traveling up my right arm in addition to the excruciating back pain I had at the time. We floated in for a light touchdown, just as soft and controlled, if not better than the helicopter aircraft commander (HAC) sitting next to me on the right. The crew chief was amazed! Immediately, I gently lifted the collective to go around for another pass. We were at four hundred feet flying in the pattern over the houses in the nearby neighborhood.

The thunder of Thor that I was in control of pounded and shook the ground beneath me as we flew forward over house after house after house. Finally, we came in around for another approach on Runway 21, so I touched down gently again, and the crew chief gave me a pat on the back as I left for the cargo bay. The helicopter aircraft commander took the controls, and no one had any idea what was about to happen next. The HAC lifted us up quickly fifty feet into the air. Everyone inside the cargo bay was firmly pressed into their seats. Then, looking out the front windscreen, I saw the horizon leave my field of view. With the runway in plain view looking through the front windscreen, twenty-five feet away from me, my stomach turned, and I was starting to feel like an experimental flight test monkey. The horizon was now above our heads as the HAC muscled more collective, more power, all eight thousand horses galloping at full strength, even more bite to the blades taken out of the air when we pulled 5 Gz into the emergency escape maneuver. Everyone in the back cargo bay, all the student naval aviators were terrified but not the two pilots and the crew chief. Below is a link of the escape maneuver video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEC9L5A3bSw

Near the end of my flight training, I had shipboard qualifications, but even though I may have been one out of two hundred flight students who could hover the first time my hands touched the stick, I consistently touched down four to six inches behind the line where I was supposed to because I was afraid that the rotor disc would catastrophically touch the ship’s superstructure. My formation flying in the helicopter was equally as tenuous.

In the end, my super emergency procedure whiplash recital abilities (I was the best in the squadron) and good systems, aerodynamics, air work, and instrument work could not outweigh my weaknesses. So, on my last flight, I was duped by my instructor, who played a trick on me by saying we would fly back home with a “down” (a failed flight) if we did not wait five minutes into our working area before we performed a cruise climb and descent maneuver. I knew by that time we would be under class C airspace surrounding Pensacola International and that it required communication with their tower because their airspace overlapped this working area. We were in the middle of performing the formation cruise-climb-descent, which is a climb of one thousand feet and a descent of one thousand feet while turning 360 degrees, all the while flying in formation. I was hitting the numbers accurately as the lead ship when suddenly I noticed the DME (distance measuring equipment) indicator from the VORTAC navigation station (VHF onmidirectional range tactical air navigation—an indicator on the instrument panel showing our degree position from the airport) was showing me .2 nautical miles horizontally and 120 feet vertically inside the Pensacola International’s airspace, and we were on our descent heading out of it. I stayed silent. At a hundred feet inside the airspace, my instructor, who was a big, burly marine, noticed the mistake, and we headed off immediately to do our next flight, as this was a double header. I knew this was my last straw. I tried my best to do well, and I got average grades for my last flight. I came close to finding the watering hole target, which was mostly obscured by the tree canopies, but the average grade wasn’t the one “above” (the term used in flight school to describe an above-average flight) I needed to get winged the next day. You heard correctly; I was going to get winged the next day. I knew the last straw had been laid. I was lucky I didn’t freak out in the cockpit. The end of my flying career was near, and when we landed, everyone knew what happened.

I told my mother who was visiting from Maine, and I immediately saw the disappointment in her brown eyes. “No wings?” she said, on the verge of weeping tears and her breath held back, speechless.

As soon as I told my girlfriend from Pensacola that I had failed out that midmorning, she broke up with me in the worst way. “I will destroy you. You will never amount to anything. I will destroy you,” she said. She had destroyed me in that conversation. She beat me up horribly, and the only thing I could do was weep in despair while I was on the phone with her. I never knew for a moment in my life that someone could act in such a way after what had happened to me. I hit rock bottom in the deepest depths of my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 11

 

USS Nimitz and the Heavens Above. Posted on September

6, 2012.

 

After flight school, I had two offers from my career detailer as a general aviation officer. One was to report to Norfolk, Virginia, and serve on an amphibian ship loaded with AV-8B Harriers and helicopters in the gator navy. The other, which sounded much nicer, was to serve aboard the flagship of the Nimitz class aircraft carriers, USS Nimitz (CVN-68) in grand ol’ sunny San Diego, so that’s where I went. Before I reported, I lived on the submarine base on the peninsula covering Coronado Island. As soon as I got aboard, the atmosphere was very nice and enjoyable.

It was a pleasant working environment in Strike Operations. Then, two other flight school attrites came, and we did not get along, or at least no one spoke to one another. The atmosphere then turned silent, and I was ignored by my colleagues, which made things difficult.

An officers-only meeting would take place at McPs, a bar located on Coronado Island. I had a lot of frustrations on my mind because I eventually left flight school and didn’t get winged. Then in the distance, I could make out a familiar face, but I couldn’t figure it out. I melted again and could only utter one word, “You?” It was the captain from USS Enterprise who kept on calling me Jesus! I didn’t know what this was going to mean for me, but I had a growing optimism that things would turn out great, and I could redesignate to Navy SEAL, considering their camps were on the beaches nearby. The captain greeted me with the same ominous smile I remember from USS Enterprise! He was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz! Immediately, I was freaked out, but I soon quipped by saying how much I loved my Operations Department job when I introduced myself to the group of officers who stood before me.

Then came my secret education at a facility called Tactical Training Group Pacific. There I was introduced to the equally young female naval officer named Maria Anastasia, a lieutenant junior grade like me. When I first looked at Maria, I felt something strange come over me. It was as if a vault door had opened in plain sight. It was black to dark gray. It moved deeper into Maria and out of sight. Suddenly the stars in front of me became clearer. I whispered, “Some kind of event? No words. No words. Nothing to describe it. I’m so beautiful? So, beautiful. pp Poetryyy. I had no idea. I had no ideeea. I had no idtee. I had no ... idea.” I started to squal from a Godly emotion, but no tears rolled. If there were one movie I could use to describe the emotion I had when I first saw Maria, it would be Contact when Jodie Foster looks into the center of the universe and turns into a little girl. Well, I turned into a little boy for ten seconds. I saw trillions of stars, galaxies, nebulae, and past friends of my previous life. I saw God Himself. He had a white beard and wore a white robe. The whole universe was centered on the self of a female naval officer with a Russian-Jewish last name from Russia, who stood before me. I started to cry, scintillating in the loving light I saw from the center of the universe. Millions of stars were shifting and revolving slowly about the center and then raced out toward me before my eyes into three dimensions, into crosses that resembled giant, shimmering, multicolored jacks I used to play with as a kid with a small rubber ball. Stars and nebulae were flying around me, changing and morphing into different dimensions, different diamond shapes that looked bright and clear as day.

Then for four minutes a light, thin veil of stars twinkled everywhere in my vision. God made his presence, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was quite the jokester and was trying to woo her from the start. I took out my hand and dug my fingers into my chest like a kung fu master, put my heart into an imaginary doggie bag, folded its top edge three times, handed her the doggie bag, and fell backward. I was desperate, and she was beautiful. She had long, flowing, bright strawberry-blonde, almost bright and light green hair bound in a bun, and she seemed to laugh with me. I fell in love, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12

 

The Horrors of War and the Buildup to the Prophesies.

Posted on September 25, 2012.

 

Some force was sucking me into Maria, as I couldn’t get rid of my symptoms of taking two Viagra each day in public for at least three weeks. I was so embarrassed. Strange feelings I never felt before were submitting me every waking second of the day. It was hysteria, but I knew taking a line out of a movie when stars were burning bright as day, deep in the blackness of space in front of your very eyes meant something important.

It meant something I never knew existed before. I didn’t know exactly what that was, but in the back of my mind, I knew this was something absolutely huge. To relive that emotion, the plain sight of everything in our universe and then start crying like Jodie Foster in the movie Contact was so unforgettable. And to this end, my life turned in the direction of love for my one and only, sometimes with no control.

On our preparation and training cruises for our upcoming deployment in 2003, JTFEX and COMPTUEX (joint task force exercise and comprehensive theater unit exercise), we traveled to Vancouver Island, and the others enjoyed laughing their heads off at the porn videos Lieutenant Commander Swint was showing us. My head was occupied by Maria though. Long forgotten were the memories of my life force imagining Evelyn on USS Enterprise (CVN-65). All I could think about was my universal encounter with Maria and the fact that somehow the man who kept calling me Jesus was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz (CVN-68). You heard correctly; he was now my CO aboard USS Nimitz, my new duty station. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t stop this myriad emotion for Maria and forgot quickly how much I hopelessly begged my current captain to eventually find Evelyn.

In Strike Operations, an intelligence based office in the Operations Department aboard USS Nimitz, I had the most difficult time with my colleagues, who refused to speak of events concerning the ship. All the while, I was so much in love with Maria because of my universal encounter where I saw the entire universe and God superimposed on the whole vision though. I was constantly thinking about her and how I could somehow woo her heart. No matter how many questions were asked in Strike Operations, I was hardly responded to by the other two flight attrites who arrived. One was in the naval aviator pipeline for one or two months and had an insatiable appetite for making jokes that glorified his own sense of humor, and the other, who had purple eyes and a shaved head, was a naval flight officer attrite.

The funny one, Jeremy, arrived first, and we got along somewhat, but there was always an element of competition in his every move. We even went to a Padres vs. Red Sox game together. But he was more interested in finding the ultimate intelligent joke and crossword puzzle to stand out from the crowd. The second one, the short, stalky Mr. Durham with the purple eyes and jet-black hair, said in a griping tone of voice, sharply staring at me with furious deep purple eyes on the other side of the open door when I first met him, “Thanks for the nose.” Months later, the strike officer and Mr. Durham started asking me whom I should marry on multiple occasions. I wanted to marry Maria, but the other officers said I wanted “something new” and that Maria was the least of my concerns. I would later find out that this was true, but it wasn’t until 2010 that I would discover this. Could the captain have talked with Mr. Durham like he talked to me? I may never know the answer to this speculation. On one afternoon, Mr. Durham asked if he could “have what I have.” “Can I have what you have?” asked Mr. Durham as he entered the room when I was alone on the computer. I thought to myself for five seconds how to respond and then turned to

him. “If you’re responsible for the big bang.” He left the space and came back thirty minutes later smiling and asked me whom I wanted to marry again!

Around this time when I first met him, when I was alone in the next-door room, I notched off the letters in his name and compared it to the letter placements of the letters right of A in the alphabet in the word “seven.” It was a match! I computed my name, and it was off by one. Again, this was nothing significant in scientific terms, but it was this discovery along with the interactions I had with Mr. Durham on ship that formed my opinion of him as an intellectual badass, who believed he was master of everything despite a stature no taller than Danny Devito, overweight but with a very powerful, wide frame. He often read five books at a time, mostly consisting of highbrow philosophy books, and he graduated from the US Navy’s Seaman to Admiral Program at the Naval Academy with a degree in electrical engineering, the same degree my father had from the academy. Every time he spoke to me, he had to correct his eyeglasses. He almost always ignored my questions, statements, and appeals for amends. He treated me with superiority over me in every conversation. Eventually, I started to believe what I was witnessing. I pulled up a chair next to Durham and asked politely, “Are you God?” No answer. The only response was a thousand-yard stare into his computer screen.

“Are you God? You can tell me ... You seem like God, or how I would imagine God to look and act. I’m not sure, there’s something about you that I remember from somewhere,” I rebutted my statement.

“No, you don’t,” Durham answered back dispassionately.

“Oh my God, you’re the boy I’ve been in competition with all my life! I remember you, you with your black hair. You, were the black draconian monster I kept seeing high up in the sky when I was younger. You somehow ... invented cigarettes. He ... he ... heh. You are God, from what I remember at least,” I reached deeper.

“And what else did you invent? Your ganja? Your Mary Jane? You better watch it when you get out and start smoking ropes ... I’m taking this,” Mr. Durham stated as he looked up, corrected his eyeglasses, grabbed some papers and quickly left the space. I was bewildered yet again at his cold shoulder and fast exit. What was more perplexing, was his thievery of the God identity. “No, wait,” I begged him to stay. The door slammed shut. He returned an hour later, then sitting quietly in front of his computer station keeping mum about any person or thing on ship.

I thought that the captain, who was my nemesis and inspiration aboard USS Enterprise, as executive officer, number two in command of the ship, and who was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz, would be able to even possibly get me back into the naval aviator pipeline again, depending on how good my fitness report was. I never met with the captain personally when I was under his command for the second time though; I was transferred to Supply Department just after our 2003 combat cruise set sail and did the best job I could do.

It was never enough for my boss, who was a lieutenant commander and wouldn’t stop hammering me day after day. The man went berserk every time he saw me, which was on a nontop basis every day in the hangar bay, in his office, in the wardroom, in the bathroom even. The only thing I could do was give him body language as if I loved him and answer his questions to the best of my ability. Wherever I was, he was there verbally beating me up, horribly making threats to do bodily harm every waking second of the day, which was long. My workdays lasted anywhere between twenty and forty hours, extending beyond the limits of normal expectation. The sleep never came again! Workdays weren’t days anymore. They turned into multiple days strung together, and even weeks! An average day would consist of approximately thirty straight hours of standing watch on the bridge (which was fun, and I have many stories about my bridge watch), attending meetings, inspecting storerooms, standing watch in CDC (Combat Direction Center), and writing instructions, and if I was lucky, I would get two hours of sleep. I felt the damage to my body when the second year of sleep deprivation came.

This didn’t stop me from being a good bridge watch team member though. Once, when we were in the Strait of Hormuz, I spotted five yellow speedboats, pointing them out to the ship’s navigator who was a commander, and a SH-60B helicopter pilot, the assistant navigator who was a P-3 naval flight officer, the officer of the deck, and the conning officer, who directed the helmsman and the lee helmsman. The captain who kept on calling me Jesus was present in his chair, but I didn’t bother him. I was the junior officer of the watch (JOOW). As soon as I started reporting these yellow speedboats traveling at over forty knots in the distance five to seven miles away to four different people at their watch stations, the officer of the deck, who was a female Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department officer, soon got annoyed at my directives to look out for the possible Iranian speedboats, so she told me to practice looking up codes in one of the nautical almanacs we had on the bridge. I walked over to my watch station, and I was thumbing through the literature. As soon as I lifted my head after I had buried it in the books for about four minutes, I saw the five speedboats that I reported to the four different officers on the bridge so insistently, located two hundred yards off the bow of the aircraft carrier, clustered together, floating in large waves, approaching us quickly. “ANAV ... ANAV,” I urgently pulled on the assistant navigator’s sleeve. Soon, the assistant navigator was calling all attention to the bow of the ship. Everyone looked up and saw them; soon we were worrying about our pants! We blew through their formation and remained steady at twenty-eight knots. We were lucky they didn’t have any explosives, and it made the whole bridge watch team look incompetent.

Then came the US Navy SEAL PFT BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition School) physical fitness entry test. The Navy SEAL PFT test took place in Bahrain where it was 115 degrees at 10:00 a.m. I passed the pull-ups with fourteen, much less than my peak of twenty-eight. I passed the curl-ups with a hundred, push-ups were eighty-nine, and the swim time was first with a time of 7:18 for a five-hundred-yard survival stroke, which was over forty-five seconds faster than the second-place swimmer. I was in first place until the run. On the run, in the nearly 120-degree heat, I was fourth with a time of 8:10 running 1.5 miles in camouflage and boots, missing the cutoff time by ten seconds. Again, I was disappointed.

In the remaining three months of cruise, the air wing lost a $65 million jet because two of the air wing sailors had retrieved from the Hazardous Materials Minimization Center without permission the wrong hazardous materials for their aircraft. All four crew members ejected safely and were rescued via helicopter. I was Hazardous Materials Division officer. After this class A aviation mishap, I was demoted to Waste Processing officer, and some of the Nimitz crew and people in the HAZMAT division called me Trash-O (trash officer). The abuse from my boss got worse, and the spaces I was in charge of were odiously dirty, sometimes one-fourth-filled with pulped waste food from the discarded meals of the ship. I remember the men and women I was in charge of, filling the pulper with shovels full of waste fruit, entrees, and leftovers from the supply department. The ship had a lot of trash, and I was large in charge of it, the first billet of its kind. Maria saw it all. There I was in front of everyone who did hard, glorious jobs for the navy inside the USS Nimitz wardroom, and I was professionally crucified

every day by my boss. The name-calling continued. Every other day or so, for more than one hour at a time, my boss would push me into the supply officer’s office and start screaming and yelling horrible profanities while pounding his fists on the desk. I was surprised he didn’t break his hands.

I did everything I could do to muster more strength to overcome these challenges of my pride being demolished. I was doing all that I could to woo Maria while she was still on the same ship as me.

Lastly, when we were in Hawaii on our way home to pull back into port in San Diego, I never knew what conversations I would have with my best and only friend on ship. Hawaii was my beautiful reward for working so hard for so long. After I flew a sailplane in Oahu through a 6G pull in a downward vertical spun spiral, my best friend, Ensign Brian Hong, a strong Christian and a Korean American from California, and I were sitting on the beach on the North Shore. The sky was crystal-clear blue, and the waves were crashing far away. Looking at the distant waves and sitting in the sand, he said something very mysterious. He told me, “Bring ’em down, dude.” I could only imagine what he could have meant by saying this, but I suspected he was referring to extraterrestrial beings, and I confronted him.

“Why do you want me to bring down aliens?” I asked.

“It’s just the way and a good idea,” he told me.

I argued with him, telling him it was a bad idea, because I still had painful memories of the experience I had with my stepmother, but I didn’t mention the fact that I was poisoned. I then agreed with him, but when we got back on ship, he redesignated to weather metro officer, and I was alone on USS Nimitz. I had no one to talk to and share the terrible times with my boss with.

Could this person be the same one I heard the day before September 11, 2001? I will probably never know the answer to this question, but when the combat cruise finally came to an end, I slept for three days. I looked at my Casio G-Shock watch once, and it was November 15, 2003. When I woke up, it was the seventeenth. Maria left for another duty station, and I was exhausted from the unnecessary abuse in life. It was then when a large drop of water dripped onto my forehead from the bunk above me. My body started to clench and cramp. Lying in my bunk bed staring straight up at the bunk above me, energized and infused with so much spiritual pain, my body was whimpering and ailing for an answer to my woes. All these painful memories of my father and other people came. I was crying uncontrollably, vibrating in painful emotion, but no tears rolled. My eyes were snapped shut, and I was gritting my teeth and straining my jaw as hard as I could without breaking my teeth with an ear-to-ear, openmouthed frown. All my pride had been destroyed. Maria never wrote back, and I thought my heart was hers. It felt like microscopic knives and needles were flowing through my veins and tumbling through my nerves for over thirteen minutes. While my body was straining as hard as it could, Mr. Durham, who slept in the bunk above me, left the stateroom and said, “I had fun, dude.”

I replied with a yelp. He closed the door, and it was as if I was pulling 25 Gz in a jet, and my body couldn’t take it anymore. “I ... love Evelyn Tuskegee!” I mumbled uncontrollably. I gasped for air, choking. “Who is that?” I said to myself, crying. “I’m in love with Maria!” I reiterated. At this point, I saw imaginary soldiers driving nails into my wrists as I withered in denial of service of someone at least being a friend nearby on such a hostile ship. A light turned on, but I couldn’t locate where the light was coming from. I wiped my eyes, and my palms were covered in blood.

As soon as I stopped crying, it was similar to being shot out of a cannon. My head was tumbling, and I felt so indescribable. I was seeing distant universes, and I could see short and distant times of the future. I wondered for a few minutes who Evelyn Tuskegee was, but the image of God and His universe being in front of me had been etched into my mind. Then the memories of the captain from USS Enterprise came, but the memories had been far too faded for me to recall Evelyn, so I let go of them. I remembered my universal encounter with Maria, and I saw my father’s face in the bulkhead with a circular Lipitor logo surrounding him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

The 2003 USS Nimitz—2004 Visions. Posted on

October 11, 2014.

 

 

 

Lying down in my bunk in the pitch-black of the ship, listening to the fluid transfer of the piping above me and the distant machinery sounding off, I saw my father in other different positions in my stateroom. “Well, the first thing I’m going to do is make the Red Sox win the World Series,” I said to myself quietly but confidently. The Yankees would be crushed.

I peeked around my bunk. I saw Him, and then saw the Red Sox winning the World Series against the Cardinals. Inside my sleeping bag on my bunk and pillow, the Red Sox had fallen zero to three games against the Yankees after a massive ten-plus run deficit defeat in the American League Championship series. In game four on October 17, with the Yankees pitching and leading 4–3 with baseball’s best closer, Mariano Rivera, on the mound, three months after what my father showed me as Evelyn’s birthday, I saw a base runner on first base steal second like the thief in the night of Fenway Park. I saw him eventually score and the Red Sox eventually winning game four, 6–4. In what I knew to be game six of the series, an injured Red Sox pitcher named Schilling, having an Austrian name, the same as Austria’s old currency pitch for the Red Sox, had a medical procedure completed to repair a tendon called a suture in his right ankle the day before. Eventually, I saw digital TV screens projecting Schilling’s ankle bleeding and blood diffusing into his sock in a large single bloodstain, with cameras intently focusing on the bloody red sock making Red Sox history, there and then in that minute when I saw him hobble off the mound to the dugout before winning the game. I knew that the comeback from a three games to zero deficit would be the largest comeback win in baseball playoff history, eventually defeating the Yankees and then the Cardinals in four straight games in the 2004 World Series.

Unlike these sports premonitions and effects of the clairvoyance I had at the moment, I imagined a glowing bright future for all of us, with the United States trimmed in gold and platinum. Diamonds would rise from the beaches and could be found and kicked around on a normal stroll everywhere. Visions and pushes to society for cold fusion, perpetual-motion machines, new gaming consoles, and techno gadgets getting thinner, lighter, and more capable were at the forefront of my thoughts. New watches, new style, new humor that everyone understood, even social media network sites I remember speaking to the captain about were formed in my imagination. I then heard a crack in the Earth’s crust. “What was that?” I asked. Two seconds later, I saw the colossal flash of an energetic star exploding from where I knew to be fifty thousand light-years away. “Oh God, I hope it isn’t near us,” I said out loud several times inside my stateroom and then my apartment. I prayed for hours, then weeks and months after, that it wouldn’t happen here or anywhere else, or if it did happen somewhere, that none would cause any harmful effects to anything. I then thought back to my time with my father before I was poisoned when we were trucking in his Freightliner 18-wheeler during the New Year’s visit. He told me on December 27, 1999, inside the truck cabin delivering goods driving on the highway, to name a disaster. At first I refused. It took him almost four minutes to coerce me into just mumbling a random disaster, and I said quietly, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas.”

“Son, I am proud of you. You might have just saved it all,” he said excitedly. He wrote the day’s date and the nature of the disaster on the back of his Bible. The rest of the conversation was strange too.

“Strange memory,” I said to myself.

So, lying there in my bunk on USS Nimitz in November 2003 after we pulled into the San Diego port after our combat cruise, two seconds elapsed when I saw a video from the future of the tsunami the day after Christmas 2004. It was atrocious. Then, suddenly, I saw what was the largest and most energetic flash of radiation from outside our solar system in recorded history detected by Earth. The flash of radiation, as I saw it, lightly caressed Earth’s atmosphere in faint disturbances in a message that everything was going to be okay and that a brilliant future was on its way. Just beyond a year later, exactly five years after my conversation with my father, when I said, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas,” after almost four minutes of continuous coercion inside his Freightliner big rig, at 7:59 a.m. on December 27, 1999 (the year 2000 was a leap year), the most massive tsunami in history struck Indonesia at 7:59 a.m. local Indonesia time, December 26, 2004. The tsunami struck the dayafter Christmas, and a day later the magnetar explosion was detected as the Boston Red Sox were world champions:

http://www.nasa.gov/vision/universe/watchtheskies/swift_nsu_0205.html

“Scientists have detected a flash of light from across the galaxy so powerful that it bounced off the moon and lit up the Earth’s upper atmosphere. The flash was brighter than anything ever detected from beyond our solar system and lasted over a tenth of a second. NASA and European satellites and many radio telescopes detected the flash and its aftermath on December 27, 2004. Two science teams report about this event at a special press event today at NASA headquarters. A multitude of papers are planned

for publication.

Brian Cameron, a graduate student at Caltech under the tutorage of Prof. Shri Kulkarni, leads a second scientific paper based on VLA data.

Amateur astronomers detected the disturbance in the Earth’s ionosphere and relayed this information through the American Association of Variable Star

Observers (http://www.aavso.org/).”

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 14

 

Enter Mrs. Sandman. Posted on September 30, 2012.

 

 

As soon as I heard the crack almost one year before the tsunami struck and felt the immense hot flash of the magnetar explosion, a voice of a strange but very powerful East Asian woman took over my soul temporarily as I was lying in my bunk. It was as if my mind had been reprogrammed by her to be in effect sixty years ago, and she was dictating what was happening to humanity at the time. The mass casualties caused by the Nazis and the Bolsheviks were hers, and we were fighting for control.

I was trying to save them, but the Asian woman was trying to make these events happen with my brain. Traveling into the future ten minutes ago, I was now stuck in the past during WWII, with the Asian lady completing the history books with my brain. Overall, I counted seventy-two million people passed away in the fight between us. Millions of souls had been vanquished.

Eventually, almost an hour later, the voices dissipated, but my imagination was running around the cosmos meeting and greeting extraterrestrial civilizations left and right. I was hearing alien voices sounding like a high-pitched submarine sounding off for a dive. “Oouuuga ... oouuuga! Ooooouuga,” they said. Inside my bunk, I uttered one word because I was afraid some of what had happened and what I experienced would come back to bite me. “Aliens,” I said when I recovered from the journey around the cosmos. I was so afraid of my own thoughts that I was giving the navy a chance to intervene and help if they had any type of listening device in my stateroom but to no avail.

I made an appointment with the ship’s physical therapist, who is a native Filipino, and he popped my back into place. The pain was gone! But I was still exhausted from the two years of sleep deprivation and abuse and the pain I experienced from my back subluxation. Six months later in July 2004, I would be promoted to lieutenant, but three days after that, I received an honorable discharge because my designator (billet or job) was cut from the US Navy for budget cuts, and I would never see the captain again after I was pinned lieutenant. Right after I was pinned lieutenant in the commanding officer’s office, with many senior department heads and the captain, who was calling me Jesus, close by, I heard the captain say, “This shit is real, I know it is,” as he was looking out the bright brass circular window on the bulkhead, called in the navy a deadlight.

In the wardroom, I wrote a joke for my departing speech with a punch line the captain will well remember for the rest of his life, I’m sure. I asked the wardroom, “When on an aircraft carrier, why is it necessary to kiss the commanding officer’s butt?” No answer. “Because it’s holy,” I answered back. Everyone was laughing and demanded some bull ensign magic for a standup routine. I snapped the last photo of this book submission, which didn’t pass copyright protection editing, moments after the concluding statement of my naval career.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15

 

No Work and Little Left for the Alien in Texas. Posted on

October 1, 2012.

 

 

 

After I left the military, I was looking everywhere in San Diego for a job. I went to transition counseling but I found no work. I was miserable and looking for any way out which for me, ended up being exercise. I was working out five times a week, running fifteen miles every week. On ship, I was used to running six miles per day just to train for the Navy SEAL PFT test. Luckily for me I had considerable savings in my bank account I had accumulated over the combat cruise to last me through the trying times ahead.

I literally burnt myself out doing this intense exercise for months living on spaghetti and oatmeal. I laid in my bed and it felt like I was being dragged to the center of the earth. My body wouldn’t move or respond to my greatest desires to get out of bed. It felt like I was being glued to the bed so much that my body became limp and numb. This lasted for at least three months and then the tsunami actually struck with my foresight of the event.

I told my roommate Ahmed Umaña, a Costa Rican with a flair for bottled medicine and sneaking my laundry detergent that there would be a tsunami in Indonesia next week. I left to visit my cousins in Washington, DC, for Christmas, and the moment I touched down back in San Diego, I turned on the TV in my room at home, and there was the tsunami on the news. Eventually, people would be posting online information about the tsunami and the gamma-ray burst being connected somehow, which had disturbed the upper atmosphere like nothing ever recorded:

http://www.etheric.com/GalacticCenter/GRB.html

Osama Bin Laden would be witnessed on TV claiming that the West had weapons of mass destruction dug deep into the Earth’s crust or other weapons to cause catastrophe in strategic areas of the world. What people hadn’t known was that when I saw these prophetic visions lying in my bunk on USS Nimitz after we pulled into port, I had experienced actual memory, foresight, and prediction of the events that unfolded. I saw the dramatic Red Sox World Series victory. I heard and saw the Earth fissure causing the tsunami in Muslim countries. I saw the magnetar explode at a time fifty thousand years ago. What I hadn’t known at the time though was that these events would be my downfall.

Ahmed would start yelling and screaming at me, telling me to leave his sight, calling me a “prima donna” for telling him there would be a tsunami in Indonesia the day after Christmas. “What the hell do you think you are? A prima donna? Get out of here!” he wailed. I received my fifty-dollar check from USS Nimitz that the captain promised me in 2000 in the mail in late January 2005, but I didn’t cash it. I felt so empty that the lives of 275,000 people could have been hinged on a fifty-dollar reward for having a correct premonition that I threw it in the trash. The voices of the East Asian lady returned and wouldn’t stop in February, March, April, and then May. I left my apartment seeing and hearing aliens and UFOs everywhere, with the Asian lady’s voice clearly saying, “I’m so happy, I’m so happy, I’m so happy,” over and over again, sounding like Miss Piggy from The Muppets. The one-hundred-thousand-foot-high clouds formed shapes and patterns I had never seen before, and it was like being on an alien world for weeks. I thought that the world was going to end and didn’t know anything else to do except go to the hospital.

There I met a young woman who the nurses kept me away from because of the house rules for a clinic in California. Opposite sexes are to be kept apart. She told me of a dream she had that America’s coastline was covered in gold and platinum dust, with diamonds poking from the particulate material! This was the same vision I had when I was lying in my bunk under Mr. Durham! They released me and sent me a bill for $13,000 for occupying a bed for seventy-two hours.

The voices wouldn’t stop and it was similar to being on a different planet. The dogs would bark while I was at a motel deep in Arizona, where my running away from these voices took me, and they would morph into the Asian lady’s voice saying horribly nasty things over and over again. I must have heard these profanities 680,000 times in my travels across the dangerous badlands of California, to the open grasslands of Texas, to no end.

It was like my head was stuck in a speaker with her and my coworker / best friend from USS Nimitz saying these scathing things over and over again. I was seeing aliens everywhere and was wondering if they were going to jump dimensions and take over the Earth with my state of consciousness. The aliens were falling out of the sky as I was driving on the highways. I was driving fearfully back to Maine to my mother because the voices wouldn’t stop and I was a long way from San Diego. When I was in Arizona, I heard the voices of gray aliens with their craft hovering above my truck. “Drink waaaater, drink waaaaaater, drink waaaaater, good boy. Drink waaaaater, drink waaaater, drink waaaaaaaaater, good boy,” the grays would sing. They would say “good boy” whenever I swallowed something liquid, like my saliva. I stopped at a grocery store and bought a three-gallon container of water. I drank water until I puked, and the grays kept saying “good boy” in a high-pitched voice every sip until they dissipated two hours later. To this day, I always order soda water with my meal at a restaurant. “Only life, no more hurt,” they said before they left.

Finally, I reached Texas and was forty miles away from Pecos on Highway 20. The slow-pumping black reciprocating oil wells scattered across the plains of western side Texas looked like thirty-foot-high swaying, black locusts lunging before eating the wells. It was a bright, sunny day, and I had no idea I would be in for yet another thriller experience. As I was driving with the passenger-side window open, I started to hear chirping, clicking sounds from the right side of the road. I was seeing patterns in the wind blowing the grass in different directions as I drove by, and there were these pods sounding off, making these sounds, jumping 250 feet forward in front of the truck as they passed by my window as I drove, hovering five to ten feet in the air. “Drdrdrdrdrrrrr, drdrdrdrdrrrrr, drdrdrdrdrrrrr,” they sounded off as they passed. I remembered immediately back to a time when I was fourteen, driving home from swim practice in high school and my mom was driving. It was winter, and I had frozen hair-icicles hanging on my forehead that night when we walked to the car. I had my passenger-side window open in the maroon Subaru, and these chirping, clicking sounds wouldn’t stop. It sounded like they were following the car, so I told my mom to stop the car. She wouldn’t, so now that I was driving fifteen years later when I heard these chirping, clicking sounds again in the summer of 2005, I decided to investigate.

I stopped the Dodge Dakota and got out. I walked into the grass twenty-five feet into a level area on the side of the highway. I was facing west. I saw nothing. I turned clockwise to look east, and down and to the left I saw a shimmering, sparkling outline of a forearm with circular buttons on it, as if it had some type of biomechanical suit integrated with its wear! I could see right through it. It was a real extraterrestrial biological entity less than two feet away! Many colors of the rainbow twinkled and sparkled; orange, purple, red, green, and gold glimmered. I held out my hand to shake hands with this intelligence less than two feet away, but he remained motionless. Twelve seconds later, with my arm still extended for a handshake, intense fear came over me as if the being wanted to roast me on a spit for lunch and dinner! I raced back to my truck and sped off as fast as possible with the accelerator glued to the floorboard. I got out of there quick!

Later, in 2009, I would witness the extraterrestrials I saw and heard that day on the silver screen when District 9 came out. They looked and sounded exactly alike, and I was mesmerized by the movie. The only thing missing from the alien in the movie was the technology integrated with its forearm. I couldn’t help but relate to Wikus van de Merwe in the movie District 9 when he gets poisoned by the alien spray device and turns into an alien. When I was hallucinating aliens while on the drug that my stepmother poisoned me with in 2000, and then when I was aboard USS Enterprise, on the inside, my thoughts were so controlled by the substance I couldn’t concentrate. On the outside, however, I was superman when I was on USS Enterprise, which led to a remark on my fitness report by the commanding officer, “nonpareil performance.” I had fooled everyone into thinking I was more than fit to fly, which was just what I wanted. But my whole life and career after my NAMI health checkup in API was one miserable failure after another, and I could not stop thinking about how my poisoning experience with my stepmother or my conversations with the captain aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65) could have altered my life. The close encounter with the District 9 alien was also a life-changing event for me, as was the UFO sighting with Brian in 1997.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

Mom, Rescue Me. Posted on October 6, 2012.

 

Eventually I ended up in Wichita Falls, Texas, driving my now-tired ’99 Dodge Dakota, asking people to “do me in.” On my last stop, the police finally noticed my strange behavior and took me in. I don’t know if they knew who I was and gave me strange treatment because of this, or if they just gave me strange treatment because I was randomly selected from a long list of customers to get weird treatment, but I was scared out of my wits. They parked the car in the middle of a field at night many miles from society and lights, and I felt this rocking motion in the police car as if hands were tipping it side to side. It was very unnerving and intimidating; I wasn’t sure if they were planning to blow up the car. When I got out eventually after hours of driving, sitting in the backseat, I kept my eyes closed in shackles, and that’s when the hospital took me in. I called my mother in tears, and the biggest teardrop splashed against the tiled flooring of the hospital. On its way down, I could see the sparkling internal reflection of the bright lights above me shining my lucky star back to heavenly Maine, like my mom.

We were all given the chance to do moderately interesting activities at the hospital. Equipped with a canteen and plenty of people to talk to, I thought it was a somewhat pleasurable experience being there. It was pleasurable in that I knew I wasn’t the only one struggling, and the friends I made there gave me inspiration to move on and thrive.

Six weeks after I arrived, my mother flew to Dallas, Fort Worth, and we trekked across the country to retrieve all my belongings, which I had left in San Diego. The whole time, my thoughts were occupied by Maria and how to somehow woo her. I was in love with her because of the Godly vision I saw when we first met. When we got to my apartment, we found that I was robbed of my silk and fish Persian carpets and my watches among other things.

Finally, after cleaning my room and hitching a U-Haul trailer to my truck, we got my belongings from San Diego and drove back home to Maine. My mother and I talked the whole way about our breakup, our family, and good times ahead as the countryside and cities passed us. The moment I arrived at the U-Haul station in Brunswick on Bath Road, I spun the attaching nut connecting the U-Haul trailer less than 1/36th of a turn, and it fell off the drive bolt connecting the trailer to the truck after 2500 miles of driving though the plateaus and mountains of Colorado, to the dizzying slanted plains of Nebraska, the cornfields of Iowa, and the Great Lakes of New York and Pennsylvania. The bolt let go after being spun nearly fifteen degrees. Amazing. I had a guardian angel on my shoulder the whole way, a gift from God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 17

 

The Decision to Return to UMaine.

Posted on October 7, 2012.

 

 

 

In 2009, after I had invested the last of my money into my online business, a paranormal search engine, and after I had delved into a chemistry book I found at the local library when I moved back to Brunswick, I decided it was time to attempt an engineering degree. I remembered a time when I was six years old in first grade. We were in Smith’s class, but we had a substitute teacher that day, and I was playing with some scotch tape and scribbling my number-two pencil on it. 

I asked myself, "How would my pencil graphite affect the strength of the scotch tape?  I believe the scotch tape would be stronger, so just allow me to give it a tensile test."  

So I pulled and pulled it apart more to the breaking point and found the tape was far stronger than just a regular piece of plastic with adhesive on it.  The tape was held together under greater force than a normal piece of tape by a single leaflet of graphene, which was the strongest man-made material for three years, twenty-eight years into the future until linear acetylenic carbon, a triple-bonded carbon molecule also called carbyne was isolated in 2013. I remembered this moment when I gave it to the substitute teacher. In 2010, two Russian scientists won the Nobel Prize in physics for the graphene discovery. So I decided I wanted to become a materials engineer. To prepare for this, I needed two chemistry classes, and they offered them at UMaine.

 

At the first introduction to the chemistry teacher’s assistants when I returned to UMaine, I was still in love with Maria, having forgotten all the interactions and the soul-piercing psychic channeling I made nine years ago in 2000 on USS Enterprise, the pride of the US Navy with Evelyn Tuskegee.

One of the teacher’s assistants was named Evelyn, but I didn’t recall her full name until the first time she touched me. One of the chemistry directors made sure I looked at her and laid eyes on her. The director called my name. I looked at one of the TAs, and they saw my eyes were offset from their intended recipient, so they told me, “Next one over, John,” and I saw her.

It was Evelyn. She looked so innocent, so pure, and slightly uncomfortable but confident, looking down and to the right toward the floor. No stars, no universe, no flying nebulae, just an earthy, wonderful, brown-eyed, very young twenty-two--year-old stood before me fifteen feet away. At first I wondered how this director knew my name and then called it out and to make sure I saw Evelyn, but for some conspicuous reason, I forgot about this introduction, which I remotely suspect came from the same secret societies that I was exposed to on USS Enterprise with the captain. So, Evelyn and I remained strangers until she touched me deep, and wow did it burn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 18

 

The Touch. Posted on October 10, 2012.

 

As I was taking the chemistry class, I remembered a time when I was still in love with Maria in 2005, when I met her boyfriend (now loving husband) at the door of their apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. He asked to see my shoes for some reason, and I remembered Maria from my childhood as I had foretelling memories of my future interactions with her as an adult. Hence the symptoms of déjà vu. I currently have even more déjà vu symptoms resulting from my memories of Evelyn aboard USS Enterprise, but Maria was on my mind at the time. From this vision of a beautifully crafted leather pair of soles on my feet, I interpreted this as an opportunity to do something romantic for Maria, which for me would be to walk across the country and collapse on her doorstep when I got there. I got as far as Bangor from Orono in the cold and wet 2009 December winter. With huge blisters on my feet, I begged for a bus ticket back home from a McDonald’s employee. God bless his soul.

Tired, miserable, and weeping in despair from all the effort that went into winning Maria’s heart and failing every attempt at it for eight years, I had my hands covering my work on my chemistry paper, which was close to being clear of any writing on it whatsoever. I had lost all hope of ever finding someone as special as Maria was to me. Suddenly, this young woman walks over and reaches for my hands covering my paper. Gradually, and as if filled with the memory foam material my mattress is made of, this young woman slowly opened my hands similar to one thin metal rose opening its petals to the sun. Still in love with Maria, I was shocked at this foreign touch that felt so good but seemed to burn my soul hot. “Don’t ... aw ... why ... don’t ... don’t,” I said as if I was lying intently about my desperate need for attention, but she refused to let go of my hands without her gently opening my work up to the lights above in room 315 in Aubert Hall at the University of Maine.

So baffled as to why this woman showed such caring affection for me, I gave this young Evelyn a look I am looking forward to forgetting forever. I laid down my pencil smoothly, and I looked up, possessed by alertness and aloofness, staring at her as if I was asking her why she turned my attention away from Maria. I gave her the same look my stepmother, Jona, gave me when I was sitting on the bus ready to leave Utica on January 3, 2000, and then in 2002 when Mr. Durham stared at me in almost every reticent encounter I had with him on USS Nimitz (CVN-68). I couldn’t understand why this intelligent, beautiful, and young nineteen-year-old came over and touched me so affectionately and obsequiously. The only thing I could do was return the treatment I received from people in the first thirty-three years of my life, which was cold, cruel, and aloof for the first time in my life. During this ethereal experience, I could have looked up at her and asked, “Are you Eve?” because I knew it was her the whole time, and when I felt her presence touching my hands and saw her and heard her ageless voice, I knew she was the Eve of all omniverses. But I didn’t do it. She looked at me and looked at the wall ninety degrees to my right, intermittently glancing at me, smiled, and started to giggle. I kept staring and then relaxed and sighed as I looked down onto my desk and then the floor. I stared at her again for ten seconds as she tried to smile at me, and then she backed away slowly, ten to fifteen feet away like on the verge of having a nightmare, with a frightened frown.

Twenty seconds later, I looked at her, and I said to quietly to myself, “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s her. It’s her, oh no, oh no.” Forty-five seconds after that, I raised my hand and asked one of the other teacher’s assistants, who was a guy, what her name was. “Can you tell me what her name is standing over there please?”

“Her? That’s Evelyn Tuskegee. Yes, she’s a veterinary student. Do you know her?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I lied to avoid causing him to say anything to her about me. I thought to myself, Oh my God, she’s the one, the one I have been waiting for, the chosen one I’ve been looking for all my life. The one I saw my life with when I begged the captain to somehow find her, and then marry her to save me, the one I saw on the side of my aircraft when I soloed in Roswell, the one I knew as a boy in my imagination. Immediately, I apologized for the villainous look I gave her. I earnestly called her name out, and she walked over and sat down at the desk next to me. “I’m so sorry. Evelyn. I didn’t mean to do that. Um, it was a bad thing I did. I’m really sorry.” She seemed to accept my apology, and it appeared as if we moved on. Immediately my mind was racing at a million miles a minute trying to figure out how to woo Evelyn. I knew what her major was, and it was the same field as my memory with the captain when I told him her chosen profession to be, a Veterinarian. Same face, same hometown, same name, same family names, same major, same everything! She was the perfect match to my long-lost painting of my imagination aboard USS Enterprise.

The next class, I left the recitation session in the middle of class and said goodbye, saying regrettably in an interpretive Mainer accent, “I’m goin’ out for another cigarette.” The next class came, and I was dressed up in an argyle sweater, hoping to leave the best impression of myself as possible. When Evelyn showed me a paragraph in my chemistry book, I nudged my right middle finger away from her middle finger three millimeters, and she moved her left middle finger four millimeters closer to mine. Our middle fingertips were three millimeters apart for four seconds before I swiped my hand away. It was a success. One small step for a woman, one giant leap for mankind! As soon as I got home from chemistry class, I asked her to the engineering ball the next Friday via e-mail, and she said yes! But she wrote that she had to work that weekend while I was in thermodynamics class.

So she backed out. When I wrote poetry to her, she was scared and aloof. When I wrote letters to her, I called her the most beautiful woman in the history of the universe, and when she presented her side of the story in court for sending her five to ten e-mails and seven friend requests on Facebook, she wrote that she didn’t like my comments on her “beauty.” I made the exact mistake so many times in my e-mails that I knew I would make ten years prior by calling her the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe. Two years later, I witnessed the same right big toe I imagined twisted in 2000 aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65) in a photo she took of herself dancing in the rain. Evelyn, please, if you’re reading this, please believe me when I say you are Eve. I’m so different from the way I was when I first met you. I am so sorry I left you with a bad impression. I’m really just a normal guy, and I can promise really almost anything to you in my heart. You can be with anyone, you can marry anyone, your soul mate, your one and only, and I will be still thrilled for you. I’m ecstatic for having seen you once. Or, maybe sometime in the future you, or I, or anyone can marry one or more than one person.

At this point in my life, I felt it was necessary to write a book to show how fragile some dreams are and not to worry about them if they go unfulfilled. The dream of wooing memories of my imagination when I was on USS Enterprise is a pie-in-the-sky dream.

What I learned from my experiences is that all omniverses, all of God and all His stars and planets are fully inside each and every one of us, and our love for it brings us closer to the heart of everything. What I saw in Maria Anastasia was unforgettable, and it was a lovely sight that fills me with joy and happiness and an undeniable sense of assurance that God not only exists but also loves us, cares for us, and regards our compassion with tremendous, strength. It was an experience that I will never forget. But, despite this experience and memory I have of seeing everything and God Himself in Maria, I hope for the day I can reach for Evelyn’s hand. It is my only wish that they are both happy and that Evelyn finds me somewhere in her heart. There is nothing left to sacrifice. I have given everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 19

 

Conclusion

 

I'm hereto say first that Evelyn could very well be the one I’ve been searching for all my life. In Albuquerque, I have a strange memory of meeting the captain with my father at the local airport one day, who must have been an ensign at the time and just graduated from college. In my meeting with the captain in 2000, he said he knew Bill Gates, who was with the captain (then ensign) when I met these strange men around 1979. Oddly enough, around the time when I was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Microsoft opened its doors in my hometown. Could this be a conspiracy? Could there be people in power who believe that I’m Jesus? Could my poisoning, which at the time enabled me to see an alternate reality, be part of this conspiracy? Could the conspiracies I remotely suspect exist have come from higher powers in the government? From the captain, who I believe is a deceiver? Would it be from me? Or all these entities? Could the captain who was calling me Jesus have been told by senior officers in the government to tell me the things he said to me? Could I have been given the captain’s blood inside the Coke can by the random petty officer? Was the fact that the captain commanded two aircraft carriers that I was on a conspiracy? Could I have actually had a predictive vision of the Twin Towers on fire and the tsunami the day after Christmas when I was talking with the captain in 2000, and then the latter with my roommate, Ahmed, in 2004? Was there a reason why he asked me for a reward for the correct premonition of the tsunami but didn’t and crouched away saying, “No, no, no don’t tell me,” when I told him of the Twin Tower disaster? Will Evelyn return to be the first Eve of all omniverses, and unite them all under one US government? And could have Ensign Hong known the captain and been instructed to tell me to bring gray extraterrestrials down to Earth? I don’t know the answer to these questions among the many others I have about this decade of my life, but I’ve had experiences that point to a yes answer to them.

To conclude my story would be disappointing in my current situation because my love for Evelyn has gone unrequited for almost four years nonstop, but I have to. I would love to be able to tell you that extraterrestrials will come and save our civilization with their technologies and Jesus has returned, who won’t be crucified but will be king of all omniverses, only to pass it down to the next person in line, who will unite all things where everyone transforms into Christ, and we meet our relatives from the stars, and it is what I had in mind when I decided to channel Evelyn into my imagination on USS Enterprise (CVN-65). When I first met Evelyn in person, there was an instant connection, but I lost it in the fiery stare I gave her after she touched my hands so wonderfully.

This is another reason why I am the happiest and saddest man alive. I almost feel like I can never marry anyone as special as Evelyn is to me because of all these reasons, and I see her in my dreams often. It has been like running a marathon that never ends, and I hurt and ache every day because of it.

I can tell you in my most honest opinion of my life’s revelations that I have seen myself in two universes, fallen in love deeply twice among many other times, seen three UFOs, met the District 9 aliens on two occasions, been intentionally poisoned and tortured, but one thing inside me remains strong ... this is my love for myself. Not so long ago, for such a long time since I left the navy, I wasn’t the same man I used to be. My memory was corroded from all the sleep deprivation, my metabolism was low, and I had depression from losing the connections I had with Maria Anastasia and Evelyn Tuskegee. Since upon starting my semesters at school, however, I have found the way to not only cope with the things that I endured but to also thrive from them. I found the love that I have for Jona, because if she hadn’t done what she did to me, I wouldn’t have been so low and broken in my life to see God and all His omniverses we live in in Maria at TACTRAGRUPAC, and I wouldn’t have recognized Evelyn so quickly if I hadn’t been poisoned. So the only thing I can do is forgive her. I know the captain has, and you should too. I know for a fact that the captain is a walking talking forgiveness machine.

I only arrived at my present level of happiness by writing my book. And I hope that anyone who reads this navy memoir can find comfort knowing that all omniverses were always yours. God gave everyone to everyone, to you in the beginning. But if I was Jesus, or despite the fact that I am not, every man is Jesus and a brother, and I treat them that way. We all have our cross to bear today.

The extraterrestrial crafts and beings I have seen with my own eyes, on one occasion confirmed by my friend Brian when I was with at the University of Maine, are extremely advanced. In these contacts I have made from other worlds, I understand they have immortalizing medical technologies that can allow us to live for thousands of years if not for much longer, living unimaginably long and productive lives. I only wish that our secret world government would clean up its act and inform people of these possible extraterrestrial encounters. Title 14 Section 1211 of the US Code of Federal Regulations states that any person making contact or observing alien craft or beings can be fined up to $5,000 and imprisoned for up to one year. So far, I would have spent $25,000 and been incarcerated for five years. For these reasons, they must tell us about and legalize these very real experiences that can happen to anyone.

The problem with secrecy in secret societies is an exasperating one. It seems as if they could be aligning the stars for first contact in the near future, but the things they say and do, like blindfolding, before, during, and/or after physical and/or verbal abuse, gaslighting, biblical identities (which I am a trillion times guiltier of by trying to communicate to Evelyn that she’s Eve like any other woman), formation walking, blood drinking, human remains presentation, and secrecy vows are far more damaging to the personalities of those involved.

Notwithstanding these negative experiences, all my life I have been enthralled at the prospect of finding evidence of intelligent life on other planets because of the technology and other offerings they have waiting for us. The universe 13.82 billion years old. The human information age is only thirty years old. There absolutely must be an extraterrestrial intelligence able to visit Earth, if we’ve advanced far ahead enough to take our exciting first airplane ride on December 17, 1903, and fly to the moon almost 66 years later on July 16, 1969. I only wish for every person to jump for joy to the music of love that is waiting for each and every one of us. Our God-given right to make friends from another world has been taken away, and we should stand in our moment of truth to save ourselves from the potential disaster we know as our projected future, with pollution and disease booming in poor areas of the world. All I know is Evelyn can save us from this emptiness. Only Evelyn makes all omniverses special enough to befriend our relatives from the stars first, and I think that together we can make this happen. Out of a hundred billion galaxies and ten thousand advanced extraterrestrial civilizations per galaxy in the observable universe and the many more universes and omniverses that should exist elsewhere, we guys, our planet Earth could be the one.

I am very excited for our future. As I said before, there are many technologies that will immortalize us and allow us to travel to the stars. I feel like this will happen regardless of whether I am with Evelyn or not, or whether we make contact with extraterrestrial civilizations or not, but these advances could be so much easier and so much more special than that. I’ve chased after an extraterrestrial spacecraft less than two hundred feet away with my friend Brian at the botanical gardens on the University of Maine campus in 1997, and I’ve had a close encounter where I stood less than two feet in front of an extraterrestrial being in 2005. From these experiences, I can honestly say we are being visited more often than we realize and that the powers that be on Earth are very well aware of the extraterrestrial question.

Another question I ask of myself is why such an easy act could inflict so much pain on another individual. A dash of this, a dash of that ... this person shall live the misery he knows as his worst fears for a year, and should not forget it. In some sense of the word, my navy experience was the crucifixion of my soul, not my body. Jona is my savior in every way, however. If I hadn’t been poisoned, I might not have seen God in Maria, nor would I have probably met Evelyn. It was this breakthrough of the hardship that followed January 3, 2000, that made me see God and His creation in everyone on October 22, 2002 and brought me to my knees in front of Evelyn. It was such a grand feeling and sight with sounds from heaven that makes me know God not only exists everywhere in everything, but also in every thought experienced by every living and nonliving thing. Thank you, Jona. You are the best stepmother my father’s son could have ever known. Lastly, I also learned that I should always worship my real Mom and just love my father for any reason a family would feel safer having been protected by a service member.

To show my boundless love for Evelyn, I have decided to embark on an expedition up Mt. Goodwin Austen or Mt. Everest to plant a flag asking her for a date, and to fund my journey, I have decided to allocate all profits from my book, and all donations to this project, costing me $30,000. I only ask that my audience suggest my story with their friends or donate to jjspilot24@gmail.com PayPal. I feel that I need to do this because there isn’t another Evelyn Tuskegee, and the ideas of mine for her are prolific. You are my greatest discovery, and I would be nothing without you.

 

Love,

John

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 20

 

Epilogue. Posted on February 22, 2013.

 

My story up to this point has been nonfiction, a true story. I now feel it is necessary to introduce a sci-fi fantasy. What if she had come back to me? What if Evelyn returned at some point in the future, realizing who she could be in my heart, understanding my perceptions of her and seeing what I see in her? I believe this could be the start of a grand story, so here it is.

As soon as I was given the opportunity to send Evelyn my story, I sent it to her on her personal website.

I wrote back to her the first moment I could:

 

Dear Evelyn,

It has been my only hope that you could see yourself the way I see you for a brief, special moment. Please forgive my messages, Evelyn. Everything I have told you in my letters and poetry is true. Every woman is Eve, Evelyn. Believe it. Mary, Jesus, and Adam are all our real identities. You’re not the only one. We all are. Again though, I am so sorry for bringing you into my novella, but I needed to. The information in my book is weighty but reputable, hopeful for our future but requires some significant time to digest.

Some people might not believe what I have told you, but I bet anything that anyone who really knows you knows that you really are worthy of such attention. I’m sorry. I had to send you my story, so here it is. I hope you read it, if you like and I can send a copy to you.

 

Love,

John

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21

 

The Evidence. Posted on February 28, 2013.

 

Evelyn wrote back with a positive answer. All that I had been trying to communicate to her, she suddenly realized—saving humankind with love and bringing friendship and technologies from extraterrestrial civilizations that I had made contact with in the past was a great theory to prove. Eventually we set a date and time for her to meet me at my front door.

It was a bright, sparsely white spotted medium sized puff-cloudy summer morning, and Evelyn knocked on my door. I walked over to the gateway with nervous swirls in my heart. I opened the door and said, “Jesus Christ!”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Evelyn retorted. “So I guess you found me,” Evelyn continued. I was stunned.

“I think I did, Evelyn. I’m not sure how all this happened, but I think I met you after all these years from the beginning of time for a very special reason. You saved me from my collapse. You have no idea how long I have waited for you to come into my life,” I said as I smirked.

“Tell me how long,” she said.

“Since the big bang and infinitely long before the big bang, ever since creation,” I answered.

“What did you mean when you said I was queen of all universes?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, Evelyn. Just remember who you are in my heart, and you will always be safe, I promise. You stand above it all with your polished omniversal crown residing in heavens above every day, so just remember the fact that you are. Don’t worry about what’s about to happen next. We’ll play it day by day, and if we do become famous with my stupid life’s story, let’s roll with it! We can do this, Evelyn!” She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. We raced back to my Prius, and we chatted the whole way.

“When are we making contact?” she asked.

“I told the captain by 2030, but hopefully we will do it so much sooner. I told him we make contact with the grays by that year because in 2030, our population will soon exceed our ability to support it. It was the latest date I could have possibly chosen. Poverty, pollution, and sea water contamination will be a problem, so I told him in 2000 when I had the premonition of the tsunami and the Twin Towers disaster that we need to make official contact by that year. Their technologies will enable us to do really amazing things such as travel to the stars, meet our friends from distant galaxies, and live for thousands of years, if not forever!”

When we climbed into my Prius to go out for lunch, I continued talking. “Now, I’m only telling you what needs to happen, not what is necessarily going to happen. I have heard voices of gray extraterrestrials for several hours telling me to drink water for some reason. And for some reason I think it was good advice, so I think they are friendly and have intentions to meet us one day. Plus, one of my coworkers who was my best friend on ship who I don’t have contact with anymore told me to ‘Bring ’em down,’” he said. “When I heard the voices of the grays in 2005, they didn’t say when they were coming nor if they were coming. They may never come. But I do know we need to find a way to acquire their technologies ... this is one of the reasons why I wanted to be a materials or aerospace engineer, to find new stuff, or fly off this planet sitting in my own pair of pants. And make enough money to pay for a new pair if you ever leave me. I haven’t heard any voices in years, and I’m free from the shackles of the illness I had at one time in my life. My illness didn’t occur naturally; it was because of what happened to me in the navy. Please don’t worry, my love. I will never even try to act in a way that estranges us again, not once more,” I explained.

“It’s okay, John. I understand. No matter what, we can make it happen. I would have loved you even if your illness occurred naturally, John,” she answered. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said again.

“Not to worry, my love, I do. I feel like the happiest person in the world because of my dreams with you. We’ll always be safe now,” I replied.

“What about your father? Why did he do the things he did to you? Will we be safe from him and his wife?” she asked worriedly.

“I don’t think he will do anything to us now. He never wanted me to be a navy pilot. He had to work as a truck driver, while my Mom received a sizeable settlement amounting to about $130,000 after their divorce. He could be in debt for the rest of his life because of me, so they sabotaged my career by poisoning me with a substance that made me hallucinate for almost a year. I am so sorry I was crazed when I first met you. I never expected to find you at UMaine. I was there to study hard, and I didn’t care what I had to do to get what I wanted. I am so sorry I acted in such a way that worried you so much. I will never act that way again. I never knew the universe’s Eve was so young and that I was so old,” I said as I looked at her.

“I understand how you feel; it must be difficult, I can imagine. But just think though—had he not poisoned you, or if you were younger, you would have been a pilot, and you wouldn’t have met me,” she replied.

“You may be right, my love, but my being eleven years older than you gives me vertigo, especially when I could be with your friends ... what will they think? Will they think that it is okay for us to be together? I don’t know the answer to that question. What will your parents think? Will they be embarrassed or ashamed? I never want any animosity to be with your family over me. And for this reason, I want you to make sure this is truly what you want to do with your priceless love life,” I said as I wept.

“It’s okay, John. I understand your story, and I read it word for word. I believe you, and I see why you wrote it,” she said.

We ate lunch at a local bakery. We couldn’t stop talking about the future of all universes and how we could see it all one day with love in our imaginations. We couldn’t stop laughing. “This can’t be real,” she said.

“I’m only saying it could be real, but it is a reality currently only in memory and imagination, and I’m telling you it’s the only thing I know. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known, since I saw you once as a boy, and then on the side of my aircraft when I soloed on detachment in Roswell inside the T-34C.”

She brought me to her house and introduced me to her parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee, please, come here. I need to show you something. Here, look at this map of the world. Tell me, what does the world look like? We have America over here looking like a pig, Canada there with a hole in its heart, Mother Russia looking like a mad woman on fire. Ireland looks as though it is America’s heart given to England, and look over here; America grows a new heart in New Jersey on its chest. Every state has a projection of power and humor, and we can make America the country of everything if we can become famous with your daughter, Evelyn the veterinarian, Eve.

Look at this, all of this. Mississippi looks just like Bart Simpson smoking a pipe shaped like Louisiana, and a retarded brother the the east with a water pistol shaped like Florida to his throat. Scandinavia looks like a Sigourney Weaver alien, Germany an elderly woman with its baby in its arms, Italy a boot, England a foot, France just like a pentagon, Israel a shard of glass. South Carolina looks just like a diamond and Bhutan, well, just looks kinda like what Bhutan would look like. Our world’s creation was clearly done with intelligent design, everyone. Look at the map. I remember these memories in the womb, Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee, as if Evelyn, our Eve, created black people by looking at them before she was born with her beautiful brown eyes. Oh, please do pay attention. It was as if when I was in the womb, I had complete control like an orchestra to conduct events around our planet for your daughter and I to one day meet and fall in love and make first contact with extraterrestrial civilizations. I love your daughter so much. I’m sure you know by now.” The parents were flabbergasted. “Your daughter is Eve. I even planned it in the womb so that I would meet the most perplexing Jewish man on earth and twist her right big toe clockwise from my perspective at that moment on the greatest the fastest USS Enterprise (CVN-65) that ever was, right in front of him, with that captain on the morning of July 4th, 2000 at 0634 EST. This is the toe; look at her toe. It saved us all from what the CO would’ve wanted through history, that is ... namely being required to be left handed.” I started to whine like a younger version of me. “And of course look at the rest of her, her orangutan ears, her Eve-like eyes, all of her. I can’t believe it,” I said. “And she’s friendly and intelligent. She certainly lifted me out of the despair I had over Maria, but I will always remember what happened that morning in San Diego. It just tells me there are many more beautiful things than just the science of it all. Although important, it isn’t everything. Your daughter is all of it and everyone, and everything to everyone in all omniverses. There’s so much more to this, or just everything might be just ... like ... uh ... a synchronicity. I can just go home ...”

“Oh no, you just wait right here. I will go get her and tell her.” The two coaxed me to stay like Mary Swanson pleads with Lloyd Christmas when he presents her the multimillion-dollar briefcase. “Be right back. I know you won’er!” Mr. Tuskegee griped.

“She’s our first Eve, Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee,” I promised them.

Eventually, we eloped in the spring of 2015. We lived successfully in the outskirts of Portland, Maine, where I worked as a materials engineer at Fairchild Semiconductor in 2018 after I graduated with my second bachelor’s degree.

Then one night, I was making beef burgundy in the kitchen in the spring of 2019. I looked out the window and could see the same red, blue, and ivory, yellowish-white lights outside the window as when I was with my friend Brian at the botanical gardens at the University of Maine in 1997!

“Evelyn, quick come here ... Let me switch off the burners,” I hurriedly said. “Oh my God, it’s a real alien craft, the same one I saw in 1997! They’re here for us. I can’t believe it. Let me get the camera and the lights,” I said.

“I’ve got mine; you go get yours,” Evelyn said.

The night was pitch black in the woods. The tree line was illuminated in front of Evelyn’s eyes by the three lights five hundred yards away. The craft hovered closer to our house. Some of the limbs appeared red, some blue and others looked yellow. I started to run as fast as I could back to the window when all of a sudden the whole craft lit up like a Las Vegas casino! Beautiful, brightly colored striations across the entire fifty-foot-wide craft scintillated, sparkled, and twinkled iridescent colors. The craft had landed, and they were less than a hundred feet away! “Power, unlock, camera ...” I said. Evelyn had everything recorded. The windows were black square openings separated by dark gray dividing panels, and it made no sound other than a faint electrical humming sound I could never duplicate.

“Honey, it’s here! I can’t believe it, but it’s true. They’re here for us, and we have everything recorded. This is so amazing!” I said quickly.

We captured every movement the spacecraft made with our video cameras, minus my novice photography mistakes. It hovered left, and we followed it. It hovered right; we followed it again. Over the tree line it floated in, and every second I had the camera glued to the craft. All of a sudden, the spacecraft disappeared, and I said, “It disappeared, but we got everything we’re looking for, Evelyn. It’s all up to us to document this. We may want to post this on YouTube.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.

We took the connector from the computer and inserted it into the cameras, uploaded the pictures and video, and looked at them. What we saw was incredible.

“This footage has never been seen before. I have never seen anything like it before. I’m not sure if we should post that. We could gain notoriety because of these videos and I’m not sure if we want all the attention that goes along with it,” I said. We had hit the jackpot. The videos and pictures were irrefutable evidence that extraterrestrial visitation was real. All the laws of time and probability had taken place there and on that evening, with a 13.82-billion-year-old universe, and our information age being thirty years old. We finally made contact. Eventually, we decided the footage was too important for it not to be posted on YouTube, so we did so anonymously.

“I’m not sure if we should be doing this. I always knew we were going to be the ones to capture this. This is potentially dangerous for us both. No matter what happens though, we’ll always be together because I know who you are, Evelyn. I may not be the only one who recognizes who you are, but I did know at one time I was going to meet you years before you touched my hands. This is the ultimate comfort, Evelyn. It means I knew who you are years before many others, and I’m sorry again if I acted in a rude way when I first met you,” I said. I told that her since the start of time in our universe there has been a chosen one and that the creator of the chosen one is God.

I said all of this in admiration of her parents. Things were definitely beyond our comprehension of what we had done, and it was the only catalyst that humankind was looking for. The video made waves. Overnight, we had ten thousand plays on YouTube. Within a week, the sighting had been submitted to UFOCasebook.com among other websites such as Yahoo, Google, and MSN. Soon on YouTube, within a month we had a million views.

The video we captured was intense, and I knew it was going to cause a chain reaction across the whole world. The glimmering, shimmering lined lights across the hull of the spacecraft were mesmerizing, and no one could refute the evidence we presented. All the colors of the rainbow and then some others we hadn’t seen before changing into others were shone oceans-deep into our eyes, and we couldn’t believe what we had done.

Soon, many comments were made on the video. “Is this real? Who took the footage? Where did you find this?” they all asked.

“This may not be what we wanted. I used to be a loser, and now everyone wants a part of me. But I think the footage we got is too important not to leave it posted. Let’s keep it anonymous and not tell a soul that we’re the ones who took this,” I answered back.

“You mean to say what you implied in your letters is all real?” she asked.

“In our imaginations, at least I think, it comes down to us if we post this stuff on YouTube with credit or not. I have no idea how we’re going to be affected, but it has to be good. I can’t imagine there being any other gift from God that could be more valuable,” I answered again. “We could get it all one day if we get belief from the grays. You’re so smart and beautiful, Evelyn. I really believe you were meant to be some kind of queen someday, my love, like every other woman on this world. We really can let this happen, but at the same time, I also don’t want it to happen. It could make things terribly complex. So let’s keep the settings to anonymous, and let’s tell no one, not a soul,” I said.

“Okay, good idea,” she replied.

“All I know is we must get their friendship and technologies to bring them down to Earth and save people from future man-made and natural disasters such as pollution and asteroids,” I said. CNN headline news, Yahoo, Bing, and all the others climbed on board the bandwagon to showcase the glittering lights shone across the entire alien spacecraft by broadcasting the video. The video could not be refuted, as the US Air Force had no aircraft in our airspace at the time.

“The US Air Force and other aviation services announced today there was no identified aircraft on the night of May 1, 2019, at approximately 10:00 p.m. in the vicinity of a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Portland, Maine, where a video of a mysterious unidentified aerial phenomena was taken on the same night,” the local news iterated. Suddenly, an announcement was made by the president on national television, and all channels were covering his speech at the podium.

“A closely guarded secret has now been revealed. The question of whether we are alone in our universe has been answered. On the night of May 1, 2019, an extraterrestrial spacecraft was observed in Portland, Maine, and for the safety of our citizens, please do not be alarmed. The US government has known for an undisclosed amount of time that we are being visited by extraterrestrial spacecraft, and this recent finding in the form of a video has made it necessary for us to pass our knowledge to you. The United States is leading an international coalition on assimilating the world to this change of belief, ideas, exchange, and knowledge, and to this end, we are making every effort to promote calm, peace, prosperity, and a harmonious return to the stars in the coming years. We have just received word from the extraterrestrial contacts we have made already that the universe and its shared intelligent inhabitants are ready to welcome Earth into the Intergalactic Superhighway. We are arranging talks between our civilizations to begin an exciting new age of discovery and exploration. I am now ready to answer any questions you may have.”

The president was bombarded with camera clicks and frantic questions, one of which was, “How long has the US government known that we are being visited by extraterrestrial civilizations?” Another was, “What will this coalition be called? How will this coalition determine laws and human values? Will it be secret?” Many more followed. “When will we be making official contact? When will we know who our friends are and who could be potentially unfriendly? Where are they from? Is the whole universe in on this? What will happen to religion in the world? What technologies can we acquire from them? What is the Intergalactic Superhighway?” And lastly, “Who are the people who brought the video forward?” We were both watching the TV when the last question was asked, and our jaws dropped. Hiding behind our couch and nervously nibbling on our fingernails, we were both afraid of the otherworldly backlash that could occur if our identities were released and if people were uncontrollable in their reactions to the video.

Mass demonstrations and outdoor parties were held. Paris, London, Moscow, and New York were alive with magnificent displays of fanfare for our otherworldly friends. “When are they coming?” “We want the Intergalactic Superhighway!” they chanted. It was May 7, the day before my birthday, and Evelyn and I were holed up in our house, hoping no one would come or call. I was afraid the grays would land again outside our house on my birthday because stranger things had happened. Nothing happened, but the cheering and parades and elaborate displays of posters and costumes continued.

Soon, extraterrestrial crafts and beings were shown on TV from the secret facilities already built to house and protect our visitors from the stars. Interviews were made. The gray alien bodies, clad in soft, white woven fabric, looked smooth, frail but strong, and their body language was deliberate yet playful. Their mouths moved very little when they talked, and rows of cone-shaped teeth could sometimes be seen but only on rare occasion. Their skin looked light gray and was sleek, with some idiosyncratic humanlike features like freckles and small discolorations.

They never lost the image of being “cool” with one another, and they seemed to have a brotherhood of friendly dispositions, personalities that, when observed carefully, appeared likeable and playful. They always spoke with the utmost respect for their interviewers and every other Earthling they met.

Their long, white fluffy robes had been monogrammed with a symbol; it was a cross! The cross, emblazoned with many colors like a stained-glass window, looked beautiful with its green, orange, red, blue, and purple. The center was faded into black. A glowing purple flower, looking like a lady slipper, only illuminated by a dazzling, brilliant rim of naturally occurring luminous plant tissue, was hung from the top of the cross. They called it a birth flower. Their message was simple; it was time for humankind to accept their help in bringing us to higher ground ... that is, so we could make it and survive our adolescent ages and war weary hearts. They said the technology of immortalizing medical procedures was on its way and that the technologies recently developed by their civilization had been simple; we were going to start living forever, and we could bring people back to life who passed on. We were also going to travel to the stars in spacecraft engineered out of the technologies the grays were giving Earth: wormhole induction propulsion, gravitational field manipulation, interstellar warp drive systems, and many more were coming. The already vast fields of engineering sciences humankind had studied up to that point had begun their immeasurable buildup and revolution.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22

 

The Intergalactic Superhighway. Posted on March 10,

2013.

 

 

 

“The people who have taken the video and posted it on the Internet have chosen to remain anonymous for now,” the president answered. “The Intergalactic Superhighway is the vast nexus of intelligent civilizations that have arrived here on Earth to welcome us into their family,” the president said. Nuclear fusion to power the revolution started up first. Up sprang safe, reliable, and clean sources of energy across the world. Society and culture had begun a new transformation like nothing ever seen before.

Computers, cell phones, and other electronic gadgets had gotten thinner, clearer, lighter, smaller, and extraordinarily more capable. Some phones had pop-out touch-screen displays made of fabric, easy on the touch, and able to project interactive 3-D holographic displays before our very eyes. We could talk to our relatives vacationing on the moon, Mars, and other planets in the solar system, after the first extraterrestrial vacation spots sprang up, using exokinetic electromagnetic radiation. Spacecraft utilizing wormhole induction propulsion, teleportation, and gravitational field manipulation were being built in the industries that were once spewing out gasoline-consuming vehicles. Finally, we could travel into space in our own personal spacecraft. The aliens were here, and all that I was claiming to be true eventually happened at this most opportune time in June 2019.

More technologies came, one of the most revolutionary being artificial biologically and nanoscale grown materials for building products ranging from houses to airplanes to paper, from the food we eat to the cars we drive and mostly everything that required everyday use. Almost everything we consumed could be grown in labs. Even the labs themselves could be grown out of the ground with bacteria or nanobots that had been developed by the grays and Pleiadians. Mundane jobs that required repetitive motions and caused unnecessary stress on the body had been replaced with either mechanized robots, bacteria, or nanobots. The engineers, who would be the ones to implement all these technologies, had grown in size from 2 percent of the population of the United States to 30 percent in a decade. By 2035, this figure had grown to 50 percent in the world. Half of the world’s population were engineers, and new products and new sciences were learned as we transformed the workforce from a group of service-oriented jobs to a group of engineers and scientists. There was so much to learn that new schools began springing up across the world with new material to be taught to new students entering into their medical and engineering related fields.

The sciences of physics and chemistry were overhauled, and a grand unified field theory was brought by the grays. Uniting Newton’s gravity law, Coulomb’s electrostatic law, and the Gilbert model of magnetic attractive force required an explanation of how the new equation functioned as a complex proof, which required mathematics, physics, and chemistry that hadn’t been discovered.

 

F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R^2

F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

The equations are remarkably similar, and the mathematical proof used by the scientists to unify gravity, electricity, and magnetism went into micro-scales never observed before, of distances in meters between new subatomic particles. Scientists up to that point hadn’t been able to evaluate the mathematical proofs necessary to physically and chemically relate the three equations. They obsessively needed to create gravity from electricity for gravitational propulsion. They tried relentlessly to formulate a grand unified theory of everything, but the grays provided the guidance and introduced the technologies necessary for infinite longevity, warp drive systems, teleportation, and intergalactic travel so that humankind could travel to the stars safely and reliably.

“We can travel to every star in the sky because of you, Evelyn. Can I be famous with you?” I asked her. “Yes, let’s be the Lord’s messengers.”

My conversations with the captain had been on my mind when we were discussing these things when suddenly the phone rang. It was the captain! Like the mad Hadden engineer from the movie Contact, the captain said he wanted to meet with me in Newport News, Virginia, with my love, Evelyn, to speak about the whole technological revolution we had started anonymously. I contacted the captain weeks earlier via e-mail to ask him what I should do with the evidence. He finally reciprocated our yearning for more information on what we talked about in 2000 aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65), about how I begged him to see Evelyn someday, and then when my meeting with her actually happened, everything fell apart. I had questions about the 2004 tsunami, the magnetar explosion, and the Boston Red Sox. Lastly, I wanted to know what all the fuss was about with him calling me Jesus and what the crosses the gray aliens were wearing on their robes meant. The captain explained on the phone about how important it was that we be there on pier 16 at precisely noon one month from that day on June 1, 2019.

“Okay, July 1 at noon, sir, pier 16,” I said.

“Oh my god, Evelyn, it is really happening, and it is all real. We just might become king and queen of the universe for a while, my love; and we’ll be the first ones to give it away too,” I said to her.

“Like you said, you loved me like I wouldn’t imagine and couldn’t believe, and I can’t believe it right now. I never knew how much you cared about me ... ever,” she said in tears of disbelief. “I’m sorry, John, for all you’ve been through with everything. I have an important question I need to ask you. When your body clenched and cramped that night in your bunk on ship when you returned from cruise, what did you feel ... when you called out my name in pain?” she asked.

“I felt all the pain of the universe in my blood. It felt like my body was about to explode. It was like all the energies from the big bang were pushing my cells apart in all directions like I was about to blow up. I mumbled your name without thinking about what I was about to say next while it felt like pulling 50 Gz in a fighter jet, and then, it came out, ‘I ... love ... Evelyn Tuskegee,’” I said. “I got it all out, and I said it all clearly enough but barely caught my breath after I said your name. At the time, I had no idea who you were. I thought I was meant to be with someone else, namely Maria, because of what I saw in 2002 at the secret navy training facility,” I explained further. “When I was younger I saw a giant, glowing, blue and white, shiny, and sparkly four-pointed star form on the body of a young Jewish girl, Heidi, when I was in the first grade. I loved her through grade school, middle school, and high school. I was even invited to her house three or four times. But that love went unrequited indefinitely, and I failed to woo her. Then I saw the universe, or at least an unimaginably large portion of it with God superimposed on the image in Maria, who I believe is Russian Jewish. I will always love them as friends. I was so shocked at what I had seen in both these females that I said to myself it all had to be real in one form or another. The love never came back though.

From this, I learned that when it comes to requiting love, that is a different story. When it comes to requiting love, these visions of stars, nebulae, and galaxies may only be illusions. I will never be with Maria or with Heidi, but I learned that the whole universe is really inside every part of it, with everything living and nonliving strongly connected through the love I have for you, Evelyn. The universe is inside all of us. So, anyway, both crushes went unrequited.

Then the same thing almost happened with you, and I had no idea what to do in my situation other than to send you my book in an e-mail. In 2000, the captain called me Jesus, said I was king, and minutes later when I focused all my energies across the universe and infused it into you in my imagination that same hour, the holiest being in the history and future of all omniverses, you were formed in my imagination. I knew who you were in 2000, but that was quickly forgotten when I met Maria, and unfortunately for me, it got me into so much trouble with you when we first really met. I am so sorry, Evelyn. I love you, and I love every man you’ve ever loved too,” I said. “I love you too,” she replied. We kissed each other good night.

“What do you think the captain wants with us?” Evelyn asked just before falling asleep.

“He said he wanted to meet you, and give us a tour of one of the ships. We’ll get to see the bridge, and we’ll also get to look at some of the combat and weapons spaces. He also wanted to talk about the video we took and how things have changed since we made contact with the grays and Pleiadians. We’re making contact with other galaxies soon, and they’re coming here next year, I heard on the news,” I said to Evelyn. “Yes, I heard that too. They’re making preparations for visitation centers in the major cities where the ships will be coming in. It’s really amazing. Good night, hon,” she whispered.

Weeks went by, and soon it was time to fly to Newport News in our new Chevrolet Zion with a clear crystal fuselage and structural frame, the interstellar spacecraft taken from alien designs marketed for almost anyone in the world. The interior was plush and luxurious, clad in white, soft fabrics trimmed in black and knotted wood. It was comparable to driving an extreme luxury vehicle before contact with the grays, like a Rolls Royce from back in the day before the Intergalactic Superhighway revolution, only the machine could fly! I loved to show off my hovering skills inside the spacecraft to Evelyn; I just loved to hold it steady and float around for light touchdowns. Finally, after ten minutes of playing around, we lifted off the ground, and the treetops flew by. We were on our way to Newport News at ten thousand miles per hour and five hundred feet of altitude to meet with the captain at noon. We took off at 11:25 a.m.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 23

 

The Meeting. Posted on May 2, 2013.

 

We landed on the corner of the parking lot and walked over to pier 16, fifteen minutes early. He was standing there ... he had shorts and a T-shirt and sneakers, considered in the military proper civilian attire. He walked over to us, shook our hands, and said it was good to see us.

“It’s great to see you, John. What have you been doing lately?” he asked.

“We’ve been doing great. I’m a materials engineer now, and I’m married to the love of my life. I have so many questions to ask of you. What should we do with the video? Should we remain anonymous? Earth’s first Eve is here on this planet, and she’s standing right next to me. Sir, I would like you to meet Evelyn,” I said out of joy to the captain.

“I remember what John did and how much he begged me to find you someday,” he said.

Evelyn smiled and laughed at the flattery. “Oh you have no idea what he went through to woo me. What did he say to you when he begged you to find me?” Evelyn asked.

“He whispered your name, Evelyn Tuskegee, into my left ear and said you must be named Evelyn Tuskegee. I did nothing,” the captain said as he was struck by Evelyn’s smile.

“Why did you keep calling me Jesus that day on USS Enterprise in 2000 in the CO’s office? Am I really Jesus? I have all these boyhood memories of creating the universe and conducting wars around planet Earth to ensure my own survival to grow up in the most powerful country in the world, the United States. I remember Evelyn’s name as a child when I was manifesting her in my imagination. I then manifested her in my imagination again with you when we were on USS Enterprise ... all this déjà vu is making me crazy, but it feels so wonderful now that the love I have for Evelyn is requited. Am I really Jesus?” I asked the captain.

“Yes you are, John, and you married the universe’s Eve in your heart, I can tell. You should know the answer to that question already. You’re about to be shot off the deck of the Earth into the wild gold blackness of space. You found Evelyn, and the laws of everything first belong to you both. But remember, whenever you see something dark, black, and mysterious, think of me,” said the captain as he turned and walked up the pier to the cruiser’s brow.

He told us to follow him, and he had someone give us a tour of the ship he commanded. We saw the Combat Direction Center, the bridge, Engineering, Damage Control and met many department heads as we were instructed on how to handle fires, steer the ship, and dock. After the tour, we left and got inside our Zion.

We flew back home in our spacecraft, stopping on the moon for dinner. We gently lifted the collective together, which was a safety no-no, and waved good-bye to the captain. “Weird guy,” Evelyn said. I giggled with an inhale laugh profusely, “Yeah, he is.”

Up hovered our Zion, equipped with gravitational propulsion and an interstellar warp drive system, and we lifted off. The propulsion system toward the back of the craft, which looked like a disk with a bulging rounded aft section, whirred like a thunderous whale in the back. We gained speed and left the atmosphere with the ground leaving our backs at immeasurable speed. We left the atmosphere, and the blackness of space became clear. The brightest stars and planets burned bright first, and then the whole planet behind us luminously reflected the sunlight into our eyes as we turned the spacecraft around to look where we came from. The Earth looked brilliantly bright white, blue, and brown green. The distance we had covered to exit our atmosphere was evidently clear, and we used the infinite windscreen given by our clear-hulled craft to zoom into many different towns and cities in which we had lived. We took some pictures and left for the moon, turning the spacecraft headed for Lunar Dune’s, a great restaurant and cargo ship stop for the drivers shipping interstellar goods. We ate delicious cuisine, modeled after earthly delicacies.

The food had been prepared in a meal-creating machine called a quantum food solidifier, or QFS abbreviated, which modeled an exact replica of our European cuisine through teleportation of particles into a space inside a metal box, almost looking like a microwave, only much larger. The view was spectacular. Many rovers and spacecraft hovered and came in for approaches, kicking dirt up in all directions.

“How did you know it was me when you first looked up and saw me after your stare?” Evelyn asked.

“I saw your face, and then I asked one of the other teacher’s assistants what your name was, and it was the same name I remembered when I was talking to the captain in 2000, my love,” I replied.

“Why did you give me that stare, John? Why did you make me do what I did to you?” she asked again.

“I don’t know, Evelyn. Just know that I can’t hurt you or anyone else. What I did to you was terrible, and I only hope you can forget it. I just thought we would be too far apart in age for us to ever be together, and I did what had been done to me all my life, for the first time ever to you, and I am so sorry for it,” I explained.

We left the moon the next day after we had spent the night on top of the lunar mountain Copernica Lumina inside our spacecraft. When we got home back in Portland, we called the police, unslept our computer, and changed all our personal account information settings back from anonymous and unlisted to public.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. The grays wore crosses on their robes, Evelyn,” I said as I whispered to her.

“I know! Do the grays believe you’re Jesus?” Evelyn asked.

“I don’t know the answer to that question. But the words of Christ in the Bible are those of the infinite wisdom and love from God Himself. I have heard voices of the grays before, and they were friendly, telling me in a singing high-pitched voice to drink water while I was driving in Arizona.

But I know it is my job to say that every being in all omniverses is Jesus. Everything is fully inside each and every one of us. I saw it, Evelyn. It was in another person, but I know that the answer to life in the universe is that Jesus, Mary, Adam, Eve, you, and I are all inside every beating heart in all omniverses. Our love created everything so that everyone could be king and queen, and everything in history to this point is leading us to our vast kingdom across all omniverses for a brief special moment. I’m going to bed, my love,” I said to her.

“Me too,” she said.

We went to sleep and waited for the phone calls and the e-mails to come because we had made the UFO video profile information public. Toonces and Pascal, our cat and puppy, were snuggled next to us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 24

 

The Cat Let out of the Bag. Posted on May 3, 2013.

 

We woke up to a phone call from the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. They asked us if we wanted to be on their show, next to the Pleiadian universal dignitary they had on the same evening. They wanted us to be on the show the next night! Our plane tickets would be paid for, in addition to hotel and other accommodations, and we accepted the invitation.

Our e-mail inbox had thirty thousand e-mails, and we were debating what we were going to say that night on national television. The event would be broadcast on international venues as well. The whole world was watching and wondering who these two people were who had so humbly captured the irrefutable UFO evidence. The word spread like wildfire that we were the ones who captured the video. The phone rung repeatedly from the newspapers, television shows, and magazines. We looked at it as a service to mankind that we were finally giving people the answers they were looking for. Who were these two people who captured the first video of a brightly lit UFO that then brought the system of secrecy in secret societies to its knees with respect to the UFO cover-up that the government had been keeping secret for so many years? The government still would not disclose how long they had had evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence.

When we arrived onstage, everyone was cheering and clapping. Evelyn looked astoundingly beautiful with a birth flower in her hair and a red dress. Jay Leno shook our hands, and we sat down. “So you get around, I hear. You took the first good UFO video!” Jay says.

“The government has been keeping extraterrestrial visitation a secret for many years. It is good to finally see us go to the stars again since the big bang,” I answered. “I’m just like everyone else. I’m no different from you or any other person. We are all Jesus. We are all holy. Look at us. If there were any other planet that was to be the center of it all, it would be us. We have the stars, planets, and every living being ... everything in all omniverses fully inside each and every one of us,” I explained.

“You realize you made the biggest discovery in the history of mankind?” Leno asked.

“The important thing is that it all happened. We don’t have to work as hard anymore. All this technology they brought here is unbelievable, and we don’t need money anymore. We could currently be considered communists now. Almost everything is done for us,” I replied.

“Well, we don’t work at crummy jobs anymore. How about that?” Leno said. Everyone cheered and clapped. We were relieved of the misery we had known, as many of our mundane jobs had vanished, and it was a relief that everyone had found who had changed the system of secrecy inside the US government to one of disclosure, to a certain extent at least, enough to tell the public that alien visitation was real and that we had hitched the ride on the Intergalactic Superhighway within a matter of months. Everyone was relieved and ecstatic. The cheers lasted for a full minute, and Jay was thrown off by how loud the crowd was. Two billion people had tuned in to witness the spectacle of the first photographers to capture a great close-in UFO video. Almost all had traveled to the stars in the Milky Way and Andromeda, and soon we would be traveling to distant galaxies once the Intergalactic Federation came.

“So you and your love live in Portland? It’s a wonderful city there. I would love to visit sometime soon. I understand you’re a materials engineer. How’s that been for you lately?” Jay asked.

“It’s been really challenging. Engineering is difficult enough, and the technologies the grays and Pleiadians brought make things much more complicated. It is my hope we can get more engineers out there into the workforce and encourage students to complete their degree. It is a difficult field, but to everyone out there, for anyone studying materials, it looks great on a resume,” I answered.

“I read your book, John. You have an amazing story to tell. Are you Jesus?” Jay asked poignantly.

“The crosses the grays were wearing were a symbol. This was a symbol that Earth would be saved by Jesus and His word, and that the horrors we have known as the twentieth century are now over. A new day has risen, and since the big bang, the omniverse has been waiting to complete the plan of God and His servant. Just like you yourselves, I am your connection to God. Just like you, I am Jesus, and I follow His word in the Bible. You are all the central characters of the Bible too, all that is good. You are all Adam, and Eve, Jesus and Mary, for all Omniverses to be populated by, all for you,” I answered. Everyone was shocked and gasped in disbelief. Evelyn remained smiling, as she was the first to believe my story. The audience clamored and rustled with whispers and murmurs.

“Everything in my life has led me to believe that I am Jesus. I have had many people call me this before. My message is for you all to be Christ and follow His word on Matthew 5:44,” I said.

The Pleiadian next to me was nodding his head and clicking loudly as everything was being translated for him to the audience because his vocal cords could not pronounce English words very well. Pleiadians working with television crews had provided the translation for us. He could understand English quite well, but his auditory speaking ability was atrocious. His mother tongue was captivating though. The audience couldn’t decide whether to pay attention to the subtitles underneath his seat or the Pleiadian words being enunciated through his slithery mouth. The subtitles were saying, “What John is saying is true. We have the technology to do amazing things. We can now travel to distant galaxies and bring anyone and everyone back to life because we have all of Earth’s history recorded. We can even transform your world to be the center of all infinite omniverses, the most loving and loved, revered and wondrous religious center ever created.” Everyone cheered and clapped at the end of each sentence. Everyone knew it would be a huge transformation the Earth would undergo, but we were ready for all of what was only ours from the start.

Meanwhile, within two months of our discovery on our camera, countless buildings had been erected many miles tall. The buildings were breathtaking. Even an amusement park modeled after the land of Oz had been built with the nanobot and organic bacterial construction methods.

Flying buildings were here, and teleportation was their front door. They circled the globe in giant ship-like cauldrons floating on fire in the sky, in and out of the atmosphere. Immediately, there were protests and parties held outside Jerusalem, the White House, the Kremlin, Buckingham Palace, and the Hague. Many of the Christians of the world had gathered together to chant the words of freedom and prosperity promised by the words of Jesus from the Bible. The vast kingdom had come, and it was time to have a talk with my beloved wife, Evelyn, about how things could change and about how our message to the universe had to be communicated.

“I don’t know if we can do this, Evelyn. I love you so much, and I don’t want any of this that has happened to come between us. We could be the most famous pair in the history of all omniverses, completed with all kings and queens to enjoy the fruits of modern technology. How are we going to get our message to the universe that everyone else is, Evelyn? I don’t know how we can do it, but it has to be done. We have to do this for humankind, for the benefit of humanity, that our message of knowing that we are not alone is finally here, and we’re safe now that we are connected to the Intergalactic Superhighway, and that reality is everyone’s beautiful dream come true.”

“You must do this, John. We must set the example for the values we all share, that all extraterrestrials worship humankind, John, that they are giving the Earth all universes and that every human rules it all. We’re no different from anyone else. This is your journey, John. I love you, and we can make it happen, because of all that Earth is. Your father and his wife may be after you! We need protection, and the better way to do it is to get famous and expose them,” Evelyn replied.

“I can and I can’t. I can’t say everything,” I replied.

The moon looked like a glowing metropolis in the sky every starry night. Millions of people had moved there, with sprouting leafy woodlands and lush, grassy fields growing in craters, ejecta, and basins, and sprawling cities peering out of the artificial atmosphere. Food inside the quantum food solidifier had never tasted more exceptional on our visits to the hotels and motels overlooking the earthrises. We had the finest spiced meats and cheeses, along with the most delectable of berry cheesecake desserts on our weekly visits. “Let’s go to where the grays are from,” I suggested.

“Yeah!” Evelyn said. “But let’s go to Jupiter first. I hear they have a tour guide of the molten surface deep down inside the atmosphere, and you even get to keep a piece of Io’s volcanic rock.”

“That’s a great idea, Evelyn. Let’s go,” I said.

We walked outside, hopped inside our Chevrolet Zion, and took off. Again we stopped at Lunar Dune’s and had lunch before the Jupiter tour. At Lunar Dune’s, we had a serious discussion about what had happened and why we were the first to document alien visitation and introduce the Intergalactic Superhighway to human civilization.

“What does this all mean? Why do we have to be the ones to do this? This is all a dream. I have never known what I was before I met you. I had a hunch, but I didn’t know it was you, my personal Jesus, who thought he could save us at the most opportune time in chemistry class and did, after so many years of being apart and fighting. This is the destiny I never wanted,” she said.

“But this is the destiny you always had. You were meant to be the queen first. You’re Eve, Evelyn. That’s the message I have been trying to communicate to you for so long. We’re together now, and nothing can stop us. I have the story and the message to do this,” I explained. “Look at that toe! I am Jesus, Evelyn, and you are my destiny! Let’s go to the farthest reaches of the universe and never be found for a long time, or we can bring everyone with us ... who’s going to pilot the ship?” I asked.

“I will,” she said.

“Easy does it,” I calmly said. Lightly, we gently lifted off the ground to go to Jupiter and the Lobina world deep in the other side of the universe, which was very old. It was approximately six billion years older than most of our universe and was the home of the gray civilization, who had come to unite the universe and declare a king and queen in their plans of a universal intergalactic order, oriented around the words of Christ—love for enemies, help the sick and poor, and the Ten Commandments, among many other precepts contained in the Old and New Testaments.

“Let’s go, John,” Evelyn said as she eased the collective pitch lever into the upright position.

We left the atmosphere at incredible speed. Evelyn rotated the nose forward, and we beamed out of the atmosphere as we headed toward Jupiter. We visited the station already built to guide tours through the Jovian atmosphere and even below the surface of the liquid metal ocean surface. The tour guide company, called Jupiter Interplanetary Tours, had specially designed spacecraft to withstand the pressures of gravity even within the deepest molten metal oceans below the surface of the howling atmosphere, with storms raging two, even three times bigger than the Earth itself.

We stepped on board and sat in our seats, designed with microfiber harnesses that expanded across our chests when they were put on. The tour staff closed the hatch, and we sailed past the Calisto surface toward the red eye of Jupiter. “This is the red eye, folks. Its winds are sustained at over 270 miles per hour,” the guide told us. The clouds looked fast and ripped past us at great speeds. Deeper and deeper we plunged into the Jovian atmosphere for two hours until suddenly we dropped into a liquid that wasn’t water. It was an ocean of liquid metal hydrogen, many tens of thousands of miles deep! We plunged deeper into the liquid metal ocean. We took pictures at the surface, and when we stared our dive toward the center of Jupiter, we prayed that our spacecraft wouldn’t be damaged by the enormous pressures of atmosphere and liquid metal hydrogen. Eventually, we got to the bottom of the thirty-thousand-mile-deep metal ocean to the iron core and raised our craft back to base on Calisto. We were given a piece of Io’s yellow sulfur volcanic rock with beautiful, sparkling crystals on it. We got back into our spacecraft, had dinner from our quantum food solidifier, luscious tender beef roulade, and took off for Lobina, approximately thirty-five septillion light-years away where the grays were from.

Soon, our Chevrolet Zions were fitted with interstellar warp drive systems capable of reaching the farthest corners of any known omniverse. The ship hummed and howled as we traversed the wormhole through our inducted propulsion system. Meanwhile, millions of stars and galaxies whizzed past our heads in the heads-up display system projected onto the windscreen. The nuclear reactions from the interstellar warp drive system in the back of the craft whirred and growled and sent the vibrations into our seats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 25

 

The Gray Choice

 

Finally, we saw Lobina on our exokinetic universal radar system, and according to our atomic clock, we had traveled for two hours and thirty minutes. What we saw en route was incredible. The wormhole we transited looked through the windscreen like a blur of light sources passing by the sides of the spacecraft and whizzed by our eyes in perfect harmony.

Our coordinates had been programmed into our navigation system uploaded by the Pleiadians and grays on Earth. We slowed to an appropriate speed as we approached Lobina slowly, and we heard over the communications frequency that Mr. Durham, the silent, reticent man I met on USS Nimitz, was king of the planet and that the grays had been following him on Earth, observing his conversations, his daily routine, and reading his academic work! What they found was astounding. Durham was the first one who united the gravitational, electrostatic, and magnetic attraction equations, about fifteen years before the Intergalactic Superhighway came, in his studies as an electrical engineering student at the Naval Academy.

The grays and Pleiadians had only been able to arrive on Earth when they themselves had united the three equations by observing Durham’s work from Lobina and Ponteden, using faster-than-light projections onto Earth:

 

1) F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R ^ 2

2) F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

3) F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

========================

 

Equation 1: F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R ^ 2

G = Gravitational constant = 6.6738 x 10 ^ -11 (m ^ 3) * (kg ^

-1) * (s ^ -2)

M1 = Mass of first particle or object (in kilograms)

M2 = Mass of second particle or object

R = Distance between the two masses

========================

Equation 2: F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

k = Coulomb’s constant = 8.9876 x 10 ^ 9 (N * m^2) / (C ^ 2)

Q1 = Charge of first particle or object (in Coulombs)

Q2 = Charge of second particle or object (in Coulombs)

R = Distance between the two charges

N = Newtons = kilogram * seconds / (meters ^ 2)

m = meters

s = time in seconds

C = Coulomb = 1 Ampere * second

A = Ampere = 1 C / s

1 Ampere = 6.2500 * 10 ^ 18 electrons

1 electron = 9.1094 * 10 ^ -31 kilograms

1 electron = 1.6022 * 10 ^ -19 Coulombs

========================

Equation 3: F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

μ = magnetic field permeability of space of intervening medium (ability

of a magnetic field to permeate the space between two magnets, which is

different for every material); for a vacuum, μ(o) = 4π * 10^-7 (N / A^2)

 

Qm1 = Magnitude of first magnetic pole (in A * meters)

Qm2 = Magnitude of second magnetic pole (in A * meters)

R = Distance between magnets (in meters)

========================

Very important note: For a vacuum, the 4π in the μ(o) of the numerator

cancels the 4π in the denominator, so our equation becomes:

F (magnetic attraction) = 10^-7 * (Qm1 * Qm2) / R ^ 2

Therefore, all three equations have the same denominator in a vacuum!

========================

Miscellaneous equations and constants that may or may not be used for

solving:

E = h * f = Planck energy to frequency relation in Joules

1 Joule = 1 N * meter = 1 N * m = W * second = 1 Watt * s = 1

kg * m2

/ s2

h = Planck’s constant = 6.6261 * 10 ^ -34 (kg * m ^ 2 / s)

f = Frequency (in hertz)

1 Hertz = 1 Cycle per second

t = Time

A = Amplitude in meters

k = 2 * π / λ

λ = Wavelength in meters

x = Position travelled in t (time)

ꙍ = 2 * π * f

e = 2.7183

i = −

m = Mass

E = Energy of electron group in Joules

V = Velocity of electron in m / s

 

 

 

Only, the grays and Pleiadians hadn’t been able to unite these three equations in 1997, which coincidentally was the same year as my UFO sighting with Brian, because Durham did it first!

Nonetheless, I had been racing to physically unite these three equations on my own since I was a physics major in college at UMaine. Little did I know that someone at the Naval Academy had achieved the grand unifying theory by uniting the equations and hadn’t published his work. But the grays were watching his every move, and he knew this fact. Before 1997, in my childhood encounter with the Pleiadian, the grays and Pleiadians had only been able to project images and record any point in the universe, which caused them to appear like sparkling, translucent 3-D beings walking through the deserts, forests, cities, and house interiors, into people’s rooms and causing sounds in the night. These were only projections, and they had the technology to do this since Mr. Durham claimed his kingdom, serendipitously releasing his mathematical proof to the grays, allowing them to visit the first time in October 1997. It was this mathematical proof that gave us the Intergalactic Superhighway and all of the technology that came with this transformation of Lobina and Earth. The first advance, the ability to create gravity from electricity by this evaluative method, was the most influential.

Lobina looked beautiful through the windscreen. It was significantly larger, approximately three times larger than Earth and explained the short stature of the grays because of the larger gravitational field. Their heads were huge relative to their bodies, and they had large, black, almond-shaped eyes that were paralyzing if looked at directly. Even with the playful dispositions they always displayed, like on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno three months ago in June 2019, the eyes of the grays first seemed stunning and deep and were a little frightening, to tell you the truth.

The white clouds and ships en route to their destinations within the Lobina star system passed us by at tremendous speeds. Ten thousand miles per hour, we sped past bustling waterfalls, sharp-ridged, five-hundred-thousand-foot-high mountains, and then massive, glittering buildings, all of which were many tens of miles high, along our flight path to the decontamination center. Reptilian dinosaurs many thousands of feet tall roamed the countryside. It was a beautiful route we had chosen. Finally, we got to the decontamination center to visit this aesthetically pleasing scenographic alien world, which had been taken care of meticulously. All trash had to be compacted into a cube 1 x 1 x 1 inches in size, and then used as fuel for cities and spacecraft.

Everywhere were photos of Durham. Even the monarchial president of the capital, Lobina Durantar, was called the Durham, and they were in the process of naming the star of Lobina’s orbit “Durham”!

“Wow, all this for a human being. This is amazing! Just think of what the grays are going to do with our planet. I used to know that guy,” I said.

“But doesn’t Earth think you’re Jesus?” Evelyn asked.

“I wouldn’t want that privilege in a million years, Evelyn, but the message is simple: we’re all servants and rulers of everything around us. We are free to claim everything around us and say that it’s ours to keep through feelings, perception, and thought, and God is with us all throughout the entire way, but we are not free from the consequences of our actions that I learned so desperately when I e-mailed you, after this captain called me Jesus and after I had all those magical and paranormal experiences. I couldn’t help but get into trouble telling you what happened to me. I think that’s why the grays chose the other guy,” I replied.

The billboards passed our field of view, but we turned around to look at one of them projecting the short-statured Mr. Durham with luminous, purple eyes and a jet-black Mohawk saying, “The sky!”

“Evelyn, I remember seeing him looking in the mirror constantly like he was playing with contact lenses but wasn’t. When he was my bunkmate, he must’ve injected quantum dots he stole from the reactor department behind his irises for them to glow purple like that,” I told her.

“That’s disgusting. Hardcore but disgusting,” Evelyn replied.

“The sky!”

The crowd responded, “What?” The crowd skirmished with murmurs and whispers.

“The sky!”

“He-he ... what? Huh?” the crowd retorted.

“This guy!”

The crowd laughed again and repeatedly, unable to tell whether God with a black Mohawk and a white beard was saying “the sky” above he was promising them, or “this guy” as he held up my S-9A trash officer photo.

Durham continued, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone out into the desert with only a magnet and survived! I even built a damn ranch! All for this guy!”

The USS Nimitz shipmates on Earth were sitting in the front row tittering, making every effort not to laugh. But they were failing miserably.

“I’m giving you everything, not like ... this guy!” he said as he held a photo of me. “He gives you ... nothing! I gave you the grand unifying theory, everybody! Yes indeed, I did! I even almost died for this man to finish his engineering degree on time! The sky!”

The crowd went wild with laughter.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been connected to a bio device and turned into the damned creature from Black Lagoon! All by the Freemasons, you people! The sky!” The clouds across all omniverses turned dark and stormy. With his platinum crown now visible from the front window of hi diamond castle in Dyamon, now circling the globe as he approached orbital speed and spoke perched on his diamond podium, Durham stood tall for a short man and belted out repeatedly with the audience’s answers of laughter and hysteria, “The sky!”

With laughter, the crowds watching their screens answered back. His planet, made of a large chunk of diamond floating around in space he maneuvered to orbit the Earth and the sun, turned scarlet red and became beet warm for the cold climates and cool for the hot climates. The sky cleared and became purple! “There’s the Adam ...” Durham rumbled. The crowd went silent. “The sky!” the crowd started to giggle and titter like the Roman soldiers from Monty Python’s The Life of Brian (1979). “I’m God! Of the sky!” Durham belted.

“Now look!” Durham presented a glass case. Inside rolled out an atom, a large, black, fourteen-foot atom, only the atom was moving and wiggling, singing, whining, and laughing like the singing bush on The Three Amigos.

The electrons holding the basketball-sized nuclei together were electrically whirring and buzzing around in circles about the centers of masses between nuclei. “He’s got a great sense of humor ... unlike ... this guy!” Durham belted as he held a photo of me and the atom sung “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” “Yip, this this is the first man, everybody,” Durham claimed. “And he belongs with ... Eve!”

All of a sudden came a man out of the atom. It deformed and morphed into a gestalt of a strong man, the strongest man since Durham himself. He had been alive since the dawn of man! “He’s also a chemistry whiz, everybody, so if you have any questions ...” Durham flatly stated.

“Oh my God, who is he?” the crowd wildly inquired.

“We have a lie in front of us, people! This guy!” Mr. Durham timely punctuated his argument with a joke and my photo. Some of the Freemasons coaxing him to stay more proper but keep a sense of humor were complaining, whispering behind the stage in Dyamon, his floating diamond castle. “You see ... if it’s funny and can be used in a poetic, songlike manner, you can use it, and I do it every day!” he finished despondently energetic, with his short, stalky frame giving us his A-7B bomber pilot arms waving in the air side to side, almost like Jack from Tekken before and after every duel. This was his signal for the crowd to laugh, and it was then when the crowds of all infinite omniverses erupted with laughter.

“He even failed out of the most prestigious school I had him approved for, Rutgers University. It’s right here! It’s right here! It’s right here!”

People started to ask questions. “Who is this?” the crowd murmured.

“This guy! John Jackson Selman III, and he’s responsible for everything that went on between us. Yip!” Durham snapped back.

“Well, aren’t you God, and this guy can be Jesus?” the crowd asked.

“Naw, he gave that right up a long time ago. Remember Holodomor, John? Remember Dresden? Remember Hiroshima? Remember Nagasaki?” Durham condescended. “He failed out,” he finished, despondently energetic, out of breath after every attempt known to his conscience to forgive me for failing out of Rutgers engineering and not pursuing a degree.

“I have seven master’s degrees and three doctorates, one MD, one doctorate of philosophy, and a damn habilitation in economics!” he said as he smashed the diamond podium down to the floor with his hands. “Give it here. How many times have you asked God for your woman, Jahn?” Mr. Durham condescended with his mouth full of gummy colas, some hanging out. “C’mon, John! I’m unpredictable, Jahn!” He startled everyone with laughter.

The Pleiadians gave him the number that had been tallied through the life that I’ve lived. “15,978,192 times? That’s 15,978,191 times you’ve been more miserable for this woman than me for mine, Jahn. C’mon, Jahn! You, usin’ your good left hand for everything, my good man. Well, I got news for you, Jahn. It isn’t gonna happen unless you let me marry ya both!” Mr. Durham condescended.

“He sounds awfully boiling, piping-hot mad, oops. Sounds kinda crazy like that Candy creature you had too,” Evelyn said to me. We laughed and giggled comically. “What does this mean for us?” she asked.

“This is going to be interesting for us, for the US, for history maybe,” I replied.

“Bull crap, John. That man is after you. You are way too trusting. We have to go to New Mexico and away from these media centers,” she said.

“Extraterrestrial dinosaur crap eleven o’clock. Watch out. Okay, we’ll go and pick up our families, and you take the Betsy to get your parents, and I can use the Zion to go get my mom, sisters, and my brother. Don’t worry about me; you take the lead ship. I will follow you,” I said to her.

We returned to Earth, back to a plot of land in the outskirts of Albuquerque, New Mexico, knowing the events that unfolded in my life could almost always be refuted because I had no mathematical proof or the gumption to speak in front of an infinite audience against this crazed and rabid man, who followed us and married us a second time on TV, saying, “You got to be a diva! ... I mean ... a Div-O! I just wanted to marry you! You were a Division Officer.”

Our family lived famously as the butt of Mr. Durham’s jokes on TV for the rest of our lives, playing harmonica and watching the boob on the tube making fun of my every effort to attain a degree and outsmart or outwit him on ship—that is, to steal his throne. He said just before we were married, “Do you, Evelyn Tuskegee, take this guy to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do. Now get out of here,” she said as she giggled. We lightly smacked lips, and countless stars became clear through the purple-red-blue sky on Earth. Nebulae and galaxies were clear and visible, animals and some plants could talk, bees could be kept as pets because they no longer stung, and our sun was warm, red and perfect everywhere. Butterflies wandered fleetingly in every field and above flowing streams. Friends, soda, delicacies created by our quantum food solidifiers, interstellar travel—all the things made possible by one mathematical and chemical equation, the grand unifying theory of everything, giving our United States technologies and understanding almost never heard of before, were bountiful and plentiful. The sandy shores of America turned into gold and then platinum powdered walkways that everyone enjoyed kicking and picking up diamonds out of. Everyone lived in luxury, and enjoyed acting out scenes from The Old Testament with loved ones, as we began the starting population of all omniverses for humankind to explore and take ownership and responsibility for all of everything everywhere, onward and upward, forever. We then lived on a ranch in a huge log cabin with a veterinary farm in the Joshua trees of Albuquerque, New Mexico, started with a magnet we ripped off our Chevrolet Zion braking system, in the United States of All Omniverses.

 

 

 

 

© Copyright Letters to Evelyn

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Letters to Evelyn

 

 

 

LETTERS TO EVELYN

 

LETTERS TO EVELYN

 

 

 

 

John Selman

 

 

 

 

 

 

CONTENTS

 

Eve............................................................................................................ 11

Dear Evelyn, ............................................................................................. 13

Introduction .............................................................................................. 15

Chapter 1 The Selman Chronicles: Pilot. Posted on May 8, 2012.......... 21

Chapter 2 The Encounter. Posted on May 12, 2012............................... 25

Chapter 3 New Year’s 2000. Posted on May 15, 2012. .......................... 29

Chapter 4 Muster the Strength. Posted on May 24, 2012....................... 33

Chapter 5 Oh Captain, My Captain. Posted on June 4, 2012. ................ 37

Chapter 6 My Blood Is Your Blood. Posted on June 11, 2012................ 59

Chapter 7 The Speech That Roared. Posted on June 15, 2012. ............. 63

Chapter 8 Grandmother Selman. Posted on October 12, 2014............... 71

Chapter 9 Yeah! Flight School. Posted on June 27, 2012. ..................... 73

Chapter 10 Helicopter Man! Posted on July 10, 2012. ............................ 79

Chapter 11 USS Nimitz and the Heavens Above.

Posted on September 6, 2012. .............................................. 87

Chapter 12 The Horrors of War and the Buildup to the Prophesies.

Posted on September 25, 2012. ............................................ 91

Chapter 13 The 2003 USS Nimitz—2004 Visions.

Posted on October 11, 2014.................................................. 99

Chapter 14 Enter Mrs. Sandman. Posted on September 30, 2012.......... 103

Chapter 15 No Work and Little Left for the Alien in Texas.

Posted on October 1, 2012.................................................. 107

Chapter 16 Mom, Rescue Me. Posted on October 6, 2012..................... 113

Chapter 17 The Decision to Return to UMaine.

Posted on October 7, 2012.................................................. 117

Chapter 18 The Touch. Posted on October 10, 2012.............................. 121

Chapter 19 Conclusion ......................................................................... 127

Chapter 20 Epilogue. Posted on February 22, 2013. ............................. 135

Chapter 21 The Evidence. Posted on February 28, 2013....................... 137

Chapter 22 The Intergalactic Superhighway.

Posted on March 10, 2013.................................................. 147

Chapter 23 The Meeting. Posted on May 2, 2013.................................. 153

Chapter 24 The Cat Let out of the Bag. Posted on May 3, 2013............. 157

Chapter 25 The Gray Choice................................................................. 163

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For my Mom, Gisela, who never failed me, and was always there for me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, to give you hope and a future.

 

 

Genesis 6:8

But Noah found grace in the eyes of the Lord.

 

 

Matthew 5:44

But I say unto you love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them who don’t love you, and persecute you; For if you only love who love you, what reward is there in that?

 

 

“Love your family.”

 

 

“All we need to do is make sure we keep talking.”

-Stephen Hawking

 

 

“Of two evils, choose neither.”

-C.H. Spurgeon

 

 

“The Omniverse, all God’s stars, planets, and nebulae are inside each and every one of us.”

 

 

“Have a sense of humor, even when no one is looking.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eve

 

I want to be your friend,

A hand I hope you’re willing to lend,

In hopes for a new tomorrow,

The crown I’m going to borrow.

 

 

The ubiquity of love will shine bright of light.

In the stars of nebulae in the height of night,

The galaxies will collide, and every star will wright.

The rebirth of imagination is from you so bright.

Our friends from the stars will come with love and glory,

Bring something to believe in and save my story.

 

 

For the gray, Zea, Seh, playh, Drey, and Bleh we are willing to first look

In my heart, my soul, you all took.

On the day of contact, you’ll see me there.

The music will rejoice the weather fair.

With a little luck, we can roll the dice.

Just the handshake, all of our technology and friendship will suffice.

On the day of contact, I will ask you once more:

Be my friend of the stars of heaven, for

Look at the stars,

You can always just look at the moon.

They were put there for you

So you can spoon.

 

 

Every Man is Christ.

Every Man is Adam.

Every Woman is Mary.

 

Every Man is Jesus.

Every Woman is Eve.

Every Man begins new life

Of every Woman Queen.

Every Woman is Mary.

Every Man begins new life

Of every Woman Queen.

 

 

Together we fly.

Together we cry.

Together we fall

In love with all.

 

 

Eve, Mary, Daughter of God, God’s Princess, Mother of all Omniverses of all time,

Eyes so brown like Earthy planets when I look to them,

A voice so ageless the angels praise and sing so impressed,

I’m so lucky to have found you; I feel so blessed.

Return with open eyes and a wide heart to save us,

Weaved and received into a soul so wondrous.

Only you could be the one searching to seek us.

Stay with me through the ages; it would be just.

 

 

It has been so long since I first saw you in my imagination.

I’m now on the edge of salvation

Or at the edge of the universe’s cold hue.

I kept seeing you,

Happy like the morning dew

On the side of my plane,

And when I was in so much pain,

And when I was becoming an officer, gold and navy blue,

Since then it has been a wondrous joy

We get from seeing your magic, astronomic, perpetual love woo true.

 

 

By reading my poem, please don’t leave.

It’s just a caring guy who wears a heart on his sleeve.

We love you forever for everyone and for everything, like you wouldn’t

imagine and couldn’t believe.

It is my only hope you’ll be our Eve.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Evelyn,

 

I’m so sorry for everything. I understand this whole thing might be a mistake, but here is my letter, the letter I wanted to send to you the moment you touched my hands, and it is the long version. I am only writing to you in hope that you find me in your heart someday and say hello to me sometime in the future. You have left me so afraid of who I so desperately respect and love—you—after all I’ve been through in my life. You’re my memories of my artwork, Evelyn. There’s so much I see in you that may or may not be visible to you, and I have so very much to tell you from my journeys across the globe in the navy. We love you, Evelyn. To me, also to anyone who reads my book, and in our eyes, you are the future first queen of all omniverses, and our space between, with only an equal amount of love in our hearts. For this reason, I need for you to read my book carefully, as it is condensed with a lot of information in a short amount of space. I have lost a lot of weight, about thirty-five pounds, and I am aiming to get back into shape this year. But I have sunk into the deepest depths of despair while at the same time being in heaven, thinking about you ever since you opened my embrace onto my chemistry booklet similar to some rose opening its petals to the sun. This whole life that I’ve lived seems to unravel like a synchronicity-filled fairy tale. That is, all our lives as a fairy tale replete with synchronicities. For these reasons, I mention some things two times in a row (1) to confirm you’re paying attention and (2) for you to believe me. I apologize again for all that I have done, which for both of us, in my opinion, at times has been a beautiful disaster. Please read my story with careful eyes and see yourself near me.

Please read carefully and see if you even vaguely remember any of my story, Evelyn. I am training to become a materials or aerospace engineer, which will enable me to earn extra income, and it is my only hope that it will bring me closer to you in chemistry studies. Please forgive me for that awful stare, Evelyn. I am so sorry from the deepest depths of my heart. I’m in so much pain from what I have done to myself. I hurt myself horribly when I stared at you like I’ve been stared at by so many persons I’ve known in this life after so much abuse. I am simultaneously the happiest and saddest man alive. I am ecstatic knowing that I met you, but I am also so sad at the same time because you’re not in my life.

I had an unbelievable journey writing my life’s story, as you indirectly recommended we all write a life’s novel on your inspiring business website. My life for the last few years has been occupied by you in my heart, and for this joy you have given everyone, I’m giving you everything in all omniverses. Feel safe. Please read it carefully, as it is condensed because I didn’t want to waste any of your time, and I know you are busy.

I have no expectations to come of this story, our love. All my life I have experienced love unrequited, and I have been nearly always single since I was twenty-four, after my visit in Utica. I am now thirty-eight. I have no one except my mother and, on seldom occasion, my family in Maine. I don’t know what I can do to remedy the stresses of being alone and having no one to talk to. For these reasons, I’m sending you my book in an e-mail, and my only hope is that you read it, our love.

No one believes me when I tell them what I experienced. But I know who you are and who you could be in our hearts. You are God’s princess. I only hope I will know the joys of being your friend. Please read my story.

Please come back to me. We’ll have butterflies of love in our hearts for the rest of our eternal lives if you read my story. You’re working so hard, and you’re so successful, and I’m so proud and happy you’re doing well and to have even met you. I love you more than you could believe and wouldn’t imagine, Eve. Please read my story; it will tell you everything. It will tell you why I was in so much pain when I first really met you and why I shooed love away when I was still in love with Maria. This story is everything, and I urge you to read with careful eyes. I could have turned my story into a gigantic one thousand-page book, but I know you must be very busy, so I kept it to the point. Thank you, Evelyn, for everything you have done for me, but again, it is my only hope you find me somewhere in your friendly heart. Thank you, and we will always adore you. Please, my novella is completed. It, in as much as the purpose, sense, and direction of all omniverses, is all about you.

 

 

 

INTRODUCTION

 

I was born John Jackson Selman III on May 8th, 1976, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but I grew up in Brunswick, Maine. I have lived in Brunswick since I was four years old as an only child, when my parents were divorced in 1980. My grandfather, who was a lawyer, a judge, an admiral, and second-in-command for all legal affairs in the US Navy as deputy judge advocate general, passed away the same year. Apparently, he was the first JAG officer to bring forth a type of case against the United States to the US Supreme Court. The problem of double jeopardy in the military was that when there was an infraction of the law by a sailor, soldier, airman, or marine, there would be punishment by both civilian and military courts. My grandfather wanted to do away with this double jeopardy but passed away in 1980 right after my birthday before he could make the change. However, that was his legacy, and he was posthumously promoted to admiral because of admiral-like duties as a captain. It was a hard year in 1980, and I was saddened by my losses. My father was also a naval officer, as I have been too. It is our family tradition to be an officer in the military.

My parents went through a stormy divorce in 1980 because all sides were hurt by the VA-93 Raven squadron lingo my father introduced to our household. Once, when I was flying with my father in a PA-28 Cherokee as a three-year-old, I begged my father to fly through a towering, billowy cumulonimbus cloud in the distance. He struck me hard and said, “You wanna pass away, Son?” I was knocked out for three minutes. As a result of the hardship between my parents, my mother divorced my father and received a sizable settlement amounting to $130,000, most of which he has yet to pay.

My father was a professional airline transport pilot who crossed the picket lines when Eastern Airlines had financial troubles. Consequently, my father was blackballed by the airline industry and couldn’t find himself a pilot job afterward. Being shunned with that scarlet letter on his chest given by the airline industry after he had flown for more than thirteen thousand hours in the air and with 298 bombing missions in the Vietnamese conflict was devastating for him. He loved to fly; he was a magician in the air and a stellar pilot. If there was one man who could start up, take off, fly, accomplish a mission, and land with a plane, it was my father. Now that his livelihood was taken away, I think it drove him over the edge. Most of the time, in the navy as an officer, one is treated with loyalty, respect, and dignity, which is something I still miss to this day. I say most of the time because my experiences were quite different from those of other officers. Nonetheless, it has taken me quite some time to adjust to the challenges of life as a civilian. I think my father went through the same challenges when he transitioned to civilian life, and it translated into devastation for our family when my parents were still together and after they were divorced.

My first extraterrestrial memory is an obscure one. I don’t know if it even happened. But it was a memory that came when I had struggles with my mental health. Much of the devastation my father introduced to our family and his profession as a fighter pilot in the Vietnamese conflict transformed my imagination toward science fiction stories of destruction done by extraterrestrial races on Earth when they first visit. As a young boy, I can vividly remember fantasizing about the story War of the Worlds, the musical by Jeff Wayne where an extraterrestrial civilization lands on Earth and attacks humanity with advanced weapons, only to succumb to earthly bacteria. I found an album on the turntable one day, with its artwork depicting glowing red weed consuming the landscape, aliens hatching from their spacecraft and taking over Earth, and then flocks of birds tearing and picking at the alien-fighting machines oozing red shreds out of their hulls as they were succumbing to the earthly bacteria.

I would write and modify pieces for school assignments that emulated this story with passion and fervor. I couldn’t stop thinking and writing about aliens taking over Earth as a boy, and then saving my love, Beth, like in the story from them. Dreams I had of making contact with alien civilizations had always been on my mind.

Then one night, I had a writing assignment when I was eight years old in the fourth grade in Brunswick, Maine, and I was sitting on my bed. The yellow-and-white-striped sheets looked bright in the light that was shining down on me as I was transcribing my story. All of a sudden, I could see a glimmering, sparkling outline of an extraterrestrial being inside my room! The exoskeleton looked like the surface of a rose stem, with dozens of dullened, round-tipped protrusions pointing outward at a downward angle from her body. She seemed black but almost like an oil slick, as if there were multicolored, stroboscopic Newton rings projected brightly in the light above me. Immediately, I was taken aback by what stood before me four feet away, and I could tell she was trying to communicate with me telepathically. The being sat down next to me on my bed, but the bed didn’t move. Notwithstanding this, I knew there was an extraterrestrial being with amazing technologies at her disposal sitting next to me to my left. The being was a female. She looked slender with this exoskeleton and had large golden eyes, and when she spoke, her English words were communicated to me somehow. I moved to the other side of the bed, and the being changed sides with me instantaneously. I moved to the middle of the bed, and the being teleported to a crouched position on the floor less than a foot in front of me, and she asked me, “How old do you think I am?”

“How old?” I buoyantly asked.

They couldn’t stop laughing. “I am over five thousand Earth years old, and the technology I use to stay alive came from you. Think deeply about what you want in life,” she said gently. “Never stare, never stare ... never stare,” they whispered as they left. “It may destroy you,” they said urgently as they approached me again and then left through the wall. The extraterrestrial beings disappeared, and I didn’t see or hear anything from this race until I was fourteen years old, and then later when I was twenty-nine.

My second extraterrestrial memory is as clear as a starry night sky. The night was dark and warm, but every star could be seen at the University of Maine on October 22, 1997. There was a warm front that weekend, and it was nearly seventy degrees that evening. I was on my second year back at school as an economics and German major. I was with my best friend, Brian, a math major, in his upstairs room in Penobscot Hall. “Let’s go outside and go smokin’ butts, bro,” he said. So we decided to go to the botanical gardens located on the southwest side of the UMaine campus in the middle of the night to smoke cigarettes with every star in the sky blazing through the atmosphere. We walked by the library, the union (where we often played fifty-cent games of Tekken together), and then Jenness Hall. Finally we got to the botanical gardens, and we lay in the grass near the pond carved out of the landscape. We were talking about the time I had spent the last summer in New Jersey, living with his family in their posh basement and working at Six Flags Great Adventure as an atmospheric character. I was James Smith the town crier with a big colonial hat in the mornings and Jack the juggling jester at night over the summer, 1997 in Jackson, New Jersey. We knew each other well, and as I said before, we were best friends.

We were looking at the sky and seeing shooting stars and birds flying overhead illuminated by the campus lights. We talked about the times we had spent together in our first year of college when I’d earned failing grades and was counseled to leave school by friends and work for a year. We were motivating ourselves to get good grades that year. Looking straight up while I was lying down, twenty-one years old, my young back smothering the eight-inch blades of grass in different directions, with Brian lying next to me, suddenly all these memories of being a loser in school, known as someone who picked his nose, being made fun of and ignored, flooded my mind. And I missed my best friend, Andy Pennell, who’d taken his life earlier that year. I started to cry, and little bright points of flashes went off sixty to eighty degrees up in altitude. I said to Brian, “Look at those stars! They’re exploding. Well, whad’ya know; they’re little supernovas. Hahaha,” I finished funny like Ace Ventura. Brian giggled.

“What are those? Are those jets?” he asked, still lying down.

“I don’t know,” I answered. I continued to look up at the sky, and Brian sat upright when suddenly three lights in a triangular formation appeared less than two hundred feet away, just behind of the tree line, thirty-five feet high. I didn’t think they were anything other than streetlights that were just turned on, or a street sweeper, or some man-made source I wasn’t aware of at the time, but Brian said, “Holy sh——, John, look at that!” I still didn’t think anything of it when I moved my eyes and saw strange lights, but then I moved my head into the upright position with my body lying flat and saw three colored lights moving in formation as if they were on a hovering craft near the tree line. One red light on the left side, a blue light on the right, and an ivory, yellowish-white light on top, forming a giant triangle forty to fifty feet wide, shifted down and to the left. It carved a curved trajectory, slowly moving down and to the left. It made no noise whatsoever, and no tree limbs were reflecting light back to our eyes, so we didn’t see them. It was just three lights in formation moving down and to the left like on the bottom right side of a circle and then on a straight line tracking left about 175 feet away behind the tree line in the woods.

Five seconds after I first saw it, I identified it as an extraterrestrial craft, and I jumped up and started to run after the craft, but Brian tackled me almost twenty feet later. It disappeared, and we never saw it again.

“Let me go! Let me go, Brian! Let me go!” I shouted while I was wrestling with him on the ground. But he subdued me, holding me tight, and it was then when the craft disappeared as Brian was calming me down. I was ready to be abducted that night!

We searched everywhere for anything around campus that could have had a blue, a red, and ivory, yellowish-white light on top in the middle after we got up and left, but we found nothing. “What was that? What on or above Earth was that, Briguy?”

“I don’t know!” he whispered.

“They ... were F-15s, yes. They had to have been. We saw them moving, then lighting the sky on fire with light! Like little firecrackers in the sky, then one big one! What are they doing?”

“I don’t know, John, and I don’t know what that thing was either, so let’s get out of here.”

“Why are you being so quiet, Brian?” I asked.

On the way home, we said to ourselves that maybe it could’ve been a street sweeper or a dump truck or a police car, but nothing we knew of could have moved initially with the lower two multicolored lights being thirty-five feet in the air, moving down and to the left in the middle of the woods in a curved trajectory. We also then assumed that no craft we knew of could have moved the way it did while making no sound, and we said to ourselves it must have been a real alien craft because there was no way we were hallucinating the same sight simultaneously. We talk about it to this day, and to this day, I still believe it was an alien craft.

My story is one that must be told, and I am bringing it to you for every reason a real extraterrestrial “contactee” would want to share his story. My story is mostly about unrequited love, but it also has elements of otherworldly exploration, which I have experienced at many points in my life. Thank you for making it this far. Now let’s prepare ourselves for the journey ahead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

 

The Selman Chronicles: Pilot. Posted on May 8, 2012.

 

This is a story that will take you on a journey through the last twelve and a half years of my life. And what a journey it has been. My name is John Selman. I’m from Brunswick, Maine, and I’m pursuing a materials or aerospace engineering degree starting in one or two semesters.

I am faced with a dilemma, and I must document the feelings, the emotions, and the facts to bring these events to you in a presentable way. I am at a crossroads. I fell in love with a woman named Evelyn Tuskegee for every reason a man could fall in love with a woman.

It all began in college when I was at the University of Maine as an NROTC student and midshipman in spring 1999, after the University of Maine’s men’s ice hockey team won the NCAA national championships. I had a bright and promising future. I had just earned the highest GPA I had ever earned as a German and physics major (3.50) and had just received an NROTC scholarship covering all my tuition costs. Coddiwompling my way through NROTC, avoiding mistakes in daily conversation, getting by with doing well on physical fitness tests, and keeping every uniform I owned in perfect shape, summer was approaching, and I had to prepare for the three jobs I had lined up. This summer in 1999, I was to be a landscaper, helping this elderly fellow who had a lot of dreams and memories, some clear yet others faded. I was also to be a telemarketer for MBNA (Maryland Bank National Association) in Brunswick, Maine. Lastly, I was to be a construction grunt for a nearby contractor. I would be riding my bike between all three jobs, which amounted to more than twenty-five miles per day. Sometimes I had to act fast like Clark Kent to change from one outfit to the other, most of the time being filthy with paint, trash, mud and dirt all over me and my jeans. Every day was at least a sixteen-hour workday, so I often had to rush between jobs.

The future was bright. I wanted to be a jet pilot, flying hundreds of miles per hour, coping with the enormous stresses of Gz in tight turns in aerial maneuvering. Drugs, impure thoughts leading to impure actions, and any sense of animosity toward government, law, and military customs and traditions had completely left my life, and I had found my inspiration in the US Constitution and Navy values. My dream was to become an aircraft carrier pilot. My father was an aircraft carrier pilot in the Vietnamese conflict flying 298 bombing missions aboard two different aircraft carriers, the USS Bonhomme Richard (CV-31) and the USS Ranger (CV-61), and I wanted to do the same.

Summer came and went, and I had a very sweet girlfriend, Gwen, who a marine introduced me to in the fall of 1999. I earned a respectable GPA, and that was that. Nothing would prepare me for the extreme pain and sorrow that would follow in the next event of my life. Nothing could prepare me for it.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

 

The Encounter. Posted on May 12, 2012.

 

My father had long been an inspiration to me. I loved my father very much and genuinely wanted to follow in his footsteps. The son of an Ottumwa, Iowan Portuguese immigrant family with an English name, and one-eighth Native American Choctaw Indian in his blood, he had a hard childhood of being on a leash and living off peanut butter and jelly because of a lack of cooking skills at home by the parental units. So this leads us to these questions: Who knew this kid playing with model rockets and cherry bombs in the backyard, with a knack for mischief, would be an Eagle Scout, an electrical engineering major at the Naval Academy, and an A-4 Skyhawk and A-7 Corsair II attack pilot in Vietnam? Who would’ve predicted the starry-eyed career of an Eastern Airlines 727 pilot with over thirteen thousand hours in the air? And who would’ve suspected his atrocious downfall?

In the fall of 1999, my father invited me to visit after I had contacted his wingman, Whizzer White, via the A-4 Skyhawk Association website, when I was looking for an e-mail address, a phone number ... some contact that would enable me to speak to him who I desperately wanted to be like, and who I hadn’t seen in almost eight years, when he visited Maine once in 1991. Finally, I got a response. He was living in Utica, New York, as a truck driver, married to Jona Selman, so we started to communicate via e-mail. In a few months, I got an invitation to see him over New Year’s 2000. Keep in mind this was the man who kidnapped me when I was five years old for eleven weeks after the divorce because he couldn’t pay child support. In 1981, my father tore me from my mother’s arms and quickly carried me to the car waiting on the trailer park street with its engine running. After he propped me in the backseat, we sped off with my father driving, and Jona, his wife, in the front passenger side.

I was traveling by bus from Brunswick, Maine. The sunny daylight of my departure on the day after Christmas 1999, the cold crisp air, hardly a cloud in the sky, was long. It took seventeen hours to reach Utica, and it was similar to being on a different world. The rush of inflow of passengers in and out of the bus stations, the dirty streets, the emptiness that I felt, being trusted to travel so far with these ominous strangers sitting in front of me was all so strange somehow. Sitting at the last bus station before my arrival in Ithaca, I distinctly remember a warning. This was a warning that told me in the back of my mind, “Don’t go any further.” There was an elderly woman with wispy white hair. She gleamed at me with these sunglasses that seemed to make her look like an alien, a gray alien. I was stunned. The sun was going down, and the wooden interior of the bus station was cozy while I was eating a sandwich. The freezing temperatures outside and the snowdrifts all looked deep blue outside the building’s black-trimmed windows.

Finally, the bus stopped at my destination, the lights turned on, and I took my bags from the overhead compartments. Looking outside the windows, I could see a giant shadow sitting on the driver’s side of an old Chrysler. The shoulders hung from his six foot two frame were broad and puffed, and I could almost remember him lowering his head. In the background, I could see the light shining from the streetlight just behind him, creating a glittering wet street with extremely large, empty, black swathes of darkness all around. I felt anger emanating from this shadow that was staring at me, illuminated inside the bright bus. It was very strange and was almost like an out-of-body experience.

This was my father, the same father who used to take me flying in a PA-28 Cherokee airplane when my family was still in Albuquerque. I was three years old as an only child when he was an airline pilot, and later when I was twenty-six, I would solo in a PA-28 for my private pilot’s license in 2002. We greeted each other wonderfully and went to his house.

When I walked through the double door to enter into the kitchen of his house, I saw a genuinely gleeful woman, Jona Selman, who is my stepmother, cheerfully smiling and standing almost fifteen feet away near the bedroom door. At the time I saw her, however, I melted because she floated to me like a ghost. Her walking toward me in a trance with no vertical movement and then embracing me with all these memories made me feel uneasy. I shook my head in small side-to-side movements, whispering, “No, no,” nervously as she approached me. I didn’t want all this attention, the penetrating gaze with haze in her eyes as she drifted to me for an immediate soft hug.

I hadn’t seen her since I was kidnapped, and presently in 2012, I have very odd memories of torture in my encounters with her, most of which are unmentionable. One time, Jona drove home with me in the car—I was in the backseat—with the car stereo on full blast for fifteen minutes with crazed behavior.

Lastly, after my parents were divorced, when I was nine years old, my mother and I received a mysterious package in the mail, and we opened it. The same fluid and smooth, curvy cursive writing was on the package that had been on the letters we received over the years before from my father (written by Jona), so we knew it was from them, and I thought it was a birthday present because it was spring. Slowly, we tore the outside of the tape on the corner of the box, and out flew several ants and other insects. We quickly went outside and opened it more and discovered the whole package had been filled with a white dress and thousands of tiny insects. “This was horrible. Absolutely horrible. Horrible!” I said to my mother. I remembered these memories clearly and had no idea where this was going.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3

 

New Year’s 2000. Posted on May 15, 2012.

 

We talked for days and caught up on times. He raved about the King James Bible and only mentioned the Book of Mormon once. He went on and on about how the attacks of the locust swarms were about to come. We even went trucking in his big rig and talked about old times together. Some parts of the discussion centered on my father’s service in Vietnam.

One story had my father inside his A-4E Skyhawk, below zero on the altimeter reading, when he was pulling up out of a bombing run at night. More stories of white puff flak bursts in the air, the airframe shattering gray puffs and the devastating black puffs from the 57 mm shells. Those were the worst and fatal if hit directly onto such a small jet. I remember him describing the sound of bullets passing through his wing, sounding like soda pop cans being opened. Lastly, another story sent my father beneath the aircraft carrier landing deck as he was quickly approaching the landing zone at 150 knots in the darkness. He had to abort the landing and wave off at the last second, and had he waited any longer to do this, he might have collided with the ship’s deck.

For the one week that I was there, however, I can’t recall a single conversation where I was completely comfortable. There was always something they thought I didn’t know about myself or the world around me. She was a Mormon; she also seemed convinced about end times and the Alex Jones misery.

A day later, after Jona had reviled about her cooking skills, when Jona and my father suggested that I go driving in his big rig to deliver goods on his shipping assignment, Jona said she would be staying home. My father parked the big rig in the dirt driveway and then moved it onto the road down the hill 150 feet from the house, and we began our two-day journey.

One day into our itinerary, when we were driving along the highway in my father’s Freightliner big rig, my father asked if he could deliver a prayer for me. He placed his hand on my forehead like I was a space jockey in its cockpit on the alien ship from the movie Alien, directed by Ridley Scott (1979). His large, soft-handed palm was on my forehead with his fingertips resting on the top of my head. He whispered his unintelligible, incoherent prayer and spent the next three minutes trying to coerce me into telling him of a disaster.

“Son, I want you to tell me of a disaster in the future. Go right ahead, say something,” he said.

After more than three minutes of questioning and pleading and my saying flatly, confidently, and assertively, “No,” each time, I finally said very lightly, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas.”

He said back enthusiastically, “Son, I am proud of you. You might have just saved it all.”

I looked at my digital watch almost fifteen seconds later, which showed 7:59 a.m. Slowly, at 8:01 EST as the big rig hummed along the highway, he pulled out his pen and printed on the back cover of his King James Bible the day’s date, December 27, 1999, and that there would someday be a tsunami the day after Christmas. He finished writing at 8:02. Of course, there could have eventually been a tsunami the day after Christmas far off into the future because of laws of time and probability. Little did I know that this was an important event, as it would later turn out that it would happen exactly five years in the future to the minute. The year 2000 was a leap year.

The whole time I was with them in 1999–2000, I was kind and generous and made every effort to be as sweet, caring, and amiable as possible. I came with presents, and one of them was a book, The Hand of God by Michael Reagan, that I gave to my real mother that Christmas. I only wanted to make Jona proud in my decision to become a navy pilot like my father before me.

Well, I had just been designated for entry into the naval aviator pipeline, and I was self-actualized, living in the pleasures of what could be if given a chance. I honestly don’t even think they lived there in that old house in Utica. I think they were just renting the property. I look back on the whole time I was there, and I just thought the whole visitation was troubling. How could I let these two people who I thought were family be so two-faced?

The morning I left, January 3rd, 2000, after Jona skipped dinner the night before, Jona made me a plate of scrambled eggs. She set the plate down on the table like a careful waitress. Mid-meal, dousing my eggs with ketchup I said, "These eggs are so good. So great. Wow, am I hungry. Are they cage free?" I inquired back and laughed lightly. "Yes," she said back. “They’re terrific,” she whispered when she moved her eyes onto the floor. We left for the bus station after I completed my meal.

As soon as I got on the bus, I got the sensation that someone was watching me. I looked to the right through the window, and there was Jona, sitting on the street bench looking at me fiercely as if I had done something wrong, like when I was five years old during the kidnapping and she was somehow dissatisfied with my behavior. The look she gave me was as if she wanted to teach me a hard lesson for something I had done to her. I kept a sunny disposition and waved back at her quickly.

In the next moment, my life did a complete 180-degree reversal for the worst. I saw a flash, my brain buzzed lightly for just over a second, and I saw a creature that looked bright white outlined with broad shoulders and sharp claws. The body was black, and it looked like an alien, a xenomorphic alien from Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), conceived by H.R. Giger. The flash disappeared, and I was startled. I whispered to myself a few seconds later, “I better not have been poisoned. Oh my God ... what was that?” Ten seconds elapsed, and I heard what began as light hissing sounds growing in intensity, louder and more ferocious, becoming roars and elephant-like shrieks and screams over the next twenty seconds. Suddenly, hundreds then thousands, then millions upon billions of crowded, small then tiny, then large, muscular insectoid black aliens began jittering, writhing, and jerking in plain view. Immediately, my heart sank into my bowels. I knew I had been poisoned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 4

 

Muster the Strength. Posted on May 24, 2012.

 

So I sat there on the bus wheezing from the horror and shock that I had been poisoned for seventeen hours. I didn’t know whether I was going to survive the whole time I was on this drug because every moment was a hallucination, and I didn’t know how much of the substance she laced my eggs with.

Meanwhile, universes were spinning around me, and I didn’t know where my head was. My worst fears had come alive, and my sense of safety and security had vanished. I felt like I was in the middle of explosions as large as the big bang, and aliens were alive, real to me and trying to sleuth their way into eating me around every corner, every second. Aliens, large, black, biblical locusts began spouting from the twig tips of bushes and grew out of my torso. Open and vulnerable, unknowingly on my way to fight the demons of the underworld for almost a whole year, I slid and slouched on my seat. I knew I had eaten the eggs at least an hour ago and said to myself, “Sh—, the eggs are already digested. I don’t think I can puke it up. Well, I’ve done this before, I’ve done psychedelics before, long ago, way before I entered the navy, so let’s see how long this lasts.” But at that time when the drug had taken effect, it was still on its way to full blast. What I hadn’t known was that Jona had laced my eggs, which tasted completely normal, with an equivalent effect of anywhere between two hundred and five hundred doses of lysergic acid diethylamide, or LSD. I would be hallucinating for over ten months.

On this drug, whatever it was, they wouldn’t tell me, I saw horrific creatures I had never encountered before. At least we were not properly introduced, considering they were trying to wipe me out at every corner, in every hallway and on every walkway when I returned to UMaine. When I went to the bathroom, blood was in my urine three or four times.

The sleep never came. I cried and cried so hard over this, sitting on the grass near the entrance to my apartment at DTAV (Doris Twitchell Allen Village). I felt like I was being attacked by frightening extraterrestrials every second. The cars drove by, and all I could do was sit outside and cry while the aliens enjoyed attacking me for ten months. My girlfriend broke up with me abruptly without telling me why. My mother told me to leave the house during spring vacation because of the creditors approaching the door at home and calling, and because I kept secluded and stationed in my room.

I wasn’t earning money yet, in fact I was losing money, so I had no way of paying the bills on my new truck and I was afraid of speaking to any person, even family. I moved and was living with my half sisters for spring break. I knew what lay ahead of me, and the numbers are staggering.

I first went twelve days with no sleep at all. Then, suddenly, almost nineteen minutes of sleep after attempting every technique known to man. After being awake for five consecutive days, I would sleep for five and a half hours, but for the remainder of the time I was hallucinating, I slept no more than three hours per day, gradually approaching that figure near the end when the drug finally wore off after ten months. Night after night, for the first two months back in school at UMaine in 2000, twenty, thirty, then forty-five minutes of sleep would come each night after every three weeks that passed, but I was bleary every day, and every movement was a challenge as I was hallucinating constantly still, with aliens assaulting me on every step. I was broken, but I couldn’t let anyone know what happened to me.

My NROTC academic adviser, who was a senior lieutenant, noticed I was exhausted from day one after I returned to school and specifically had me come to his office to meet with him in the middle of the spring semester so he could ask me some personal questions about how I had been doing

all this time. He had noticed the bags under my eyes, my tired demeanor, and my wanly, pale complexion. I answered every question with a straight face and enthusiastically laughed when I needed to, even with aliens in the room staring at me and eating me alive. I managed a 3.17 GPA that last semester and managed to rank first in my UMaine NROTC graduation class. I also ranked first on my fitness report (a job evaluation) out of a twenty-two-member midshipman crew aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65). They are not great achievements, but the memories make me very happy nonetheless.

Too much was riding on this. I had to muster the strength for my next encounter. I was aboard this USS Enterprise (CVN-65), a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier containing the most nuclear reactors of any ship in history, eight of them, in June–July 2000 after my UMaine graduation. I was on my first-class midshipman cruise, and I received instruction from a petty officer on the morning of July 4th to meet in the commanding officer’s office with the executive officer, number two in command of America’s flagship, in twenty minutes at 0600. This was one day after I was given a full, unopened Coke can from a random sailor who knocked on the midshipman stateroom door. Upon answering the door, he passed the can from his left hand to his right and held it up and said, “I am the random sailor! This is for you. Do you want it?”

I paused for a moment and said, “Yes ... please, thank you,” secretly hoping for a chemical antidote to my hallucinations.

The petty officer left, and I closed the door. I popped the can open and took a small sip. I almost puked as I ran toward the sink mirror and found blood on my lips. The silvery taste and slippery feel in my mouth was sickening, so I spit it out and vigorously wiped it clean with water all over my face until it was gone. I then thought about all the stuff that happened to me and realized there was an important reason why this can of blood was given to me. I intently took a second, small, regulated sip, and it slid uncomfortably down my throat. I then poured some of it into the sink, scrubbing the remaining blood down the drain with my fingers before I set the almost-full can carefully into the trash. It was approaching 0600.

“I guess I’m going to find out what all this hardship was for. God, I hope I get answers on why this all happened, including the blood-filled can. God, I’m still hallucinating so badly, and I can’t sleep. God, please let me not screw this up, and I hope I’m not in trouble,” I said quietly to myself after I looked around the stateroom to make sure nobody heard me.

Okay, I had to prepare. Service dress blues ready to go. I walked up the stairwell to go to the CO’s office. Knock, knock, knock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

 

Oh Captain, My Captain. Posted on June 4, 2012.

 

 

 

The door opened quickly. I was five minutes early, and there walked the executive officer toward the CO’s desk. His back was turned to me the whole way. He turned around. “Come here,” he said, and I walked behind him close to the CO’s desk, and we started to chitchat for a brief twenty seconds, and that’s when the fireworks started. I remember the content of our conversation, but I can’t recall the order in which the topics were talked about. This account approximates to almost 80 percent of what we said.

The captain opened his speech with defining himself as a Jewish man to me; he was friendly, intelligent, and welcoming. “I’m Jewish,” he said with an eerie smile. He then proceeded to explain the fact that he didn’t like the people of his own religion because of what he said was responsible for the mass violence done by the Bolsheviks in the Russian Revolution. He yelled tirelessly at me, saying there were sixty-six million people who died horrific deaths in Russia. I didn’t believe him during the whole encounter, but years later, I capsized to his stories about the people who passed away by finding loose information on the Internet. It all seemed plausible, wicked, and sadistic and would explain some of the sensitive issues and their reactions modern society must cope with. But I stood firmly against this O-6 captain firing hate speech down my throat. I told him that we needed to help these people he spoke of to make the world a better place and that they deserve only the best that life on earth has to offer.

The experience with that captain would not have severely altered my life had he not said over and over again that I was Jesus. I would be in midsentence, standing there trying to convince this hateful man of the joys that the future has to bring, and he would say, “You’re Jesus.” He said it calmly with an ominous smile about nine or twelve times during this encounter, and every time I didn’t believe him, even with my experience in Utica fresh on my mind. I emphatically denied that I was Jesus and said that I wanted to be an F/A-18E Super Hornet pilot instead.

The captain then said, “Wave your arms a little.”

I didn’t know what he was referring to, but I did exactly as he instructed me to, even though he had been firing hate speech against the people of his own religion down my throat. He quickly changed the subject and said, “Music trails your movements, John.” He looked me over and wouldn’t stop looking at me with an awed and intimidating expression as if I was Jesus. The captain could have been telling me to move my arms because he wanted to see my energy or to see how I would react, but I waved my arms lightly for under a minute, and he smiled as I moved them. Unfortunately, through the whole conversation, he was screaming and explicitly proclaiming, crying over the Bolshevik Revolution and praising the supposed fact that I was Jesus.

I had a very pragmatic and practical personality at the time. I would find more efficient ways of accomplishing even the smallest of tasks to make the sailors above me and below my rank of midshipman first class more productive, and I wanted in every way to correct this ailing man who was telling me I was Jesus and crying over the sixty-six million people who passed away in Russia.

“I’ve been longing for someone to say that I’m special, but I strongly object to the idea that I’m Jesus. There is no way I can be Jesus, Captain,” I retorted.

“Oh yeah? Well, I bet you didn’t know who made the periodic table, do you? You created it, John,” he asserted.

“Oh man, there is absolutely no possible way I could’ve done this! I did not create the periodic table; some Russian named Mendeleev made it! Why the hell are you saying these things?” I asked. “Let me rephrase that. Oh God, I’m so sorry. Why on earth are you saying these things? Mmmm!”

“John, you have to listen to me. You are Jesus. You are!” he said again.

He talked about the numerology, symbols, and orientation of the periodic table and the various elements along its rows and columns, and every accusation he made about my involvement in its formation I denied to the fullest extent possible. “I swear if we find another use for silicon! ... Let’s me say something. Let me say something. Shh,” he replied.

“Okay, sir, sure,” I answered.

“Sehhhllman, you luff her, hehehe.” He started to titter and laugh.

“What does that mean? I’m not in love with anyone!”

“Oh but you are ... we are ... with you! I’ve never seen anything like this. Have you heard of the element ... hee hee hee ... sulfur? Selenium?” he poignantly pressed.

“Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh let me guess, you’re diagonal to being anti-money. Hahaha ... very funny ... You’re even next to your bro who’s mine? Bromine? You’re even on the left side. Yeah. Selman I love her? You’ve got to be kidding! Ha ... ha ... ha! Oh, I’m staying away from silver. Aw yeah!” the captain paused after his frustration with my name. “The left side of Bromine. You’re nuts, John. I don’t know if we’re all going crazy over you and your ... stupid and friendly name but, there is an order. What you think about your career in the navy, is mine, okay? Rest assured, we will be watching you,”

“Sir, you need to get a grip on something ... listen to some Aerosmith, whatever ... Stop this nonsense!” I pleaded with him.

The captain swallowed the spit in his mouth, and with an intently strong whisper, he hinted with more innuendo with what he had to say next. “How many selements do you want, John?” as his wretched but warm breath breezed across my forehead.

We then moved onto other topics such as what my favorite playing card was, which I replied was the ace of spades, my favorite airplane and my favorite fairy tale. I replied with the A-4 Skyhawk and Beauty and the Beast. My favorite bird, and I replied with owls. He also had me sing many tunes out of my head that I had to fabricate on the spot, three of which eventually were Owl City’s “Alligator Sky,” Coldplay’s “Sky Full of Stars,” and Christina Perri’s “Human,” among others, complete with 10 percent of the lyrics between songs.

I then remembered the time when I was driving along the highways with my father in his big rig and told the captain of the tsunami the day after Christmas. I informed him of the conversation I had with my father in 1999–2000, but I didn’t know where it would be or the date. “All I know is that my father wrote down a disaster that might have giant consequences that may be a tsunami the day after Christmas. I mumbled it for him to write down in the back cover of his Bible eventually, after almost four minutes of harassment. He coerced me to say it! I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say it. I swear this will never happen. I promise you that this will never ever happen! It will never happen, sir. It cannot, will not, and ever not! In fact...” I walked some feet away and started to wave my hands and arms around wildly, connecting the atoms and molecules of rock, dirt, magma, mantle, crust, and core, to join all atoms within these regions of the Earth to stop and prevent any chemical or physics vector from forming that could cause a tsunami at any time in the future. I stopped, and he couldn’t believe his eyes and ears.

He then asked, “What do you want if it comes true?”

I said, “I don’t want anything. This is a warning; I want us to be prepared for this. I don’t want a thing. I do not want a thing! But I told my father of a tsunami the day after Christmas, and he wrote it in the back cover of his King James Bible,” I told him softly but breathless.

“King James Bible,” he said confoundedly.

He pressed further for almost two more minutes, and finally I said, “All right, sir. Fifty bucks. It is worth fifty bucks to me ... but this money is a failure—that’s if it happens,” I said in frustration after almost three minutes of harassment. I then thought of my favorite sports team, the Boston Red Sox, and saw them winning the World Series soon. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I knew it would happen soon. I felt so empty after having a premonition of something so catastrophic while at the same time joyful I stood in silence. “The Boston Red Sox ... will be world champions ... and there will be a tsunami ... the day after Christmas,” I said as I sighed, tearfully and nervous.

I also told him on July 4th of 2000 about the Twin Tower disaster. I didn’t know when it was going to happen, but I knew something catastrophic would happen to them. I remember seeing them on fire while I was speaking to the captain. I told him they wouldn’t be standing and that something had to be done, but I didn’t know the date. “No, no, no. Don’t tell me!” he yelped as he crouched down away from me.

I said it anyways. “I’m sorry to say this, but the Twin Towers will eventually not be standing,” I said as I wept. I was sobbing, and the captain was uncomfortable. I could tell he was trying to tell me that I was God as he crouched down again looking at the deck floor, but I insisted that he not say it. “Don’t say it, Captain ... please don’t. If you care about me, don’t say what I know you’re about to say,” I begged him for a full half minute before he could say anything. Two minutes later, he called me Jesus again with a chilling grin, but he never called me God. Thank goodness!

After that happened, however, I distinctly remember him looking into my eyes and crying as if he was Jodie Foster in the movie Contact when she looks into the center of the universe. His silvery gray-haired head was shaking while his eyes were simultaneously crying with no tears, and he said, “Some ... kind of event ... no ... no words ... nothing to describe it! I’m ... so ... beautiful, so beautiful. I had no idea. I had no idea. I had no idea.”

I interrupted him in midsentence while he held me in place, “No, sir, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this. It’s all right. It’s all right,” I reassured him. “I’m not anyone that great. Please stop. Please.” Five minutes later in the conversation, I wanted to know what he was seeing in me though. “Please, do let me see what you saw in me! I desperately want to see it, and I beg you to let me see it someday. The movie Contact is my favorite movie ever made! And if what Jodie Foster sees in the middle of the universe is real, I want to see it! Let me see it, please. What did you see? What did you see, sir?” I eagerly asked.

The captain didn’t tell me anything about what he saw, and we moved on to other topics, as I had my father on my mind at the time. He gave me a warm hug that lasted a good ten seconds, and I was stressed out. “Okay, that’s enough. That’s enough, sir, that’s enough,” I said. I had been called Jesus on several occasions already, and the hallucinations I was still suffering were lucidly on my mind, as were the conversations I had with my father.

After the hug, he stood in front of me, and out of the blue, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for? What on earth for?” I replied.

“I can’t say I’m just ... sorry, okay?” Minutes later, he said he wanted to talk to me about something very serious. He asked me if I had an orgy with multiple female sailors. I emphatically denied that I had any sort of romantic connection with any female sailor on the ship.

“No, sir, I did not have any sort of relationship like that with anyone on USS Enterprise. I’ve been single since January. No way.” I begged him to believe me.

“Well, you can have your relationship anywhere else but not on this ship,” he warned.

“Yes, sir, I promise that I never had nor will ever have any sort of romantic connection with any female under your command ... or any command!” I said.

Apparently, my reputation on the ship was so praiseworthy, I had female sailors falling in love with me and spreading rumors to the chiefs, who then told the command master chief, who told the command. I would never in my right mind jeopardize my future in the navy as a pilot, and sex was the last thing on my mind when I was on USS Enterprise, let alone an orgy.

“I’ve got something to ask you, John, and I want to know your answer,” the captain said. “Listen to me ...” he paused. I looked at him patiently waiting for a question. “Would you f—— another man’s wife?” he asked intensely. I waited for an answer to come to mind.

“Um, let me think a minute.” Five seconds elapsed as I thought to myself. I replied with what came to my mind first and said, “Um, well ... why, yes, I would! Yes, I would have sex with her. I would have sex with her and have sex with her again, and you can stop asking me all these questions anytime. There, I said it!” I then suggested that we move onto other topics because I was uncomfortable and sensed that he was memorizing what I said and that my reply could get me into trouble.

Because of my childhood experiences listening to War of the Worlds, the musical, and because he was asking me what I would like to see in media, movies, and music, I asked if a remake of the 1953 War of the Worlds production could be made to explore the boundaries of the horrors that could transpire if we don’t find a peaceful civilization to befriend in the future. I told him by either 2017 or 2019 or 2030 there must be contact made with gray extraterrestrial civilizations because their skin is smooth and easy on the eyes compared to what I saw while I was on the drug that my stepmother poisoned me with. I told him that the story I used to listen to when I was three years old, Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds, the musical, must be made into a movie, because I needed to know what to feel about the story. My living nightmares that I told him about were eventually put on the silver screen in the form of many sci-fi movies that were to come. Eventually, after talking about the future of music, movies, and TV, I asked him questions about what it was like to fly in the navy and had an idea, an idea that would benefit myself and the music world.

When I was in junior high school, I had a lively black pet gerbil named Candy who, after being held by a fierce and competitive friend down the street, turned against me and became the most vicious and dangerous creature I had ever seen. “Come here, Candy, let me work on you a little,” said my friend down the street as he reached into the cage and diabolically snickered when I invited him to our house for a visit. He held him for almost thirty seconds, tittering and laughing. He put Candy back into his cage and then left after being at my house for about two minutes total and cackled down the street.

Whenever I approached the glass cage for two days after that, Candy would jump a foot high to the screen cover, endlessly looking to bite me. “That mouse is after your blood,” my mother said to me. A week went by, his savage behavior continued, and I got the idea that maybe I should give him some of my blood, so I bit a hangnail and held my finger over the cage. Candy was up on his hind legs waiting eagerly, then jumping, then leaping, then bouncing around the glass cage walls. The drop of blood wouldn’t drip, so I shook it off, and it fell near the far left corner. Candy immediately chased and searched to the far left corner, frantically and zealously, looking for any way to find it. Shortly thereafter, Candy began to exercise profusely, running at the speed of light in his exercise wheel nonstop, sometimes faster. As a last resort a few days after that, I donned thick rubber, then canvas gloves to calm him down, but Candy’s personality had changed so much that he often couldn’t even be looked at. Candy then passed away almost two months later inside the exercise wheel when my mother and I returned home from somewhere I cannot remember, maybe from swim practice. He must have run at least five-hundred miles. I remembered the fact that Candy went crazy, but I completely forgot the blood drop incident because I was still under the influence of the poison. Completely forgotten. I was so totally afraid of what Candy would do to me in the afterlife, and I said to the captain that I was so distraught and afraid of my pet gerbil’s ghost, that my future would be placed on the shoulders of a mouse, a mouse that would save Candy’s spirit, be one with him and create a heavenly afterlife for them both by crawling into a DJs computer and making him famous with a logo that would represent something amiable, something people can relate to, and it would be a mouse head. I waved my arms around again and said, “It’s the animal kingdom, it’s dreams and inspirations, it’s Disney! It’s everything! His music will change the world for the better! All to save my pet’s soul and whatever he was so upset about when he was still alive! My pet gerbil is going to be upgraded to a mouse by marrying a mouse. And then we’ll bring them back to life with technology in the future. Isn’t that grand? I hope that he’s all right now. I need to save his soul! His spirit and his life!” I claimed. I then named the DJ Deadmau5, after the finding he would make in his computer if I didn’t make jets. I hinged my career on a single mouse where, if it crawled into a computer and made a DJ famous by passing away, it cost me my naval aviation career pipeline selection to become a fighter pilot. I was set in my mind to fly helicopters, instead of my jet dream of pulling 9 Gz in a rocket ship airplane designed to fly fast. I became possessed again and waved my arms wildly, collecting all the energies of everything, and infused my future on a mouse who was to be famous and save my pet gerbil in the afterlife by being one with him if I selected helicopters. I named the DJ and defined his country of origin and manifested him by waving my arms wildly in the CO’s office, with the XO standing right next to me. If the mouse passed away, I was set to be a helicopter pilot.

If the mouse survived and the DJ career of Deadmau5 never happened, I told the captain, “It’s not going to happen. I need to get jets, sir. I only want to communicate to you how far I am willing to go to fly jets in the navy like my father before me. I am willing to sacrifice a mouse ’cause it’s gonna cost yah if I don’t make jets, and I’ll make us better for it! A mouse that I know will find the destiny as a wonder of the world, and knowing my luck in life, that mouse will find it in the form of music. Now no more sacrifice! No more death! No more wars. These mice see. They get experimented on and suffer so much at the hands of scientific experiments. From now on, I say these mice are saviors from heaven, just like any other creature. These mice, they see so much grief and see so much pain.”

“I’m not listening to this,” the captain said when I was in midsentence, and he plugged his ears sealed tight, shaking his head, and with his eyes closed said, “La-la-la-la-la,” like he was Lloyd Christmas on Dumb and Dumber (1994) refuting a Triple Stamp objection from Harry Dunn.

“Think of all the mice that have grown big tumors or have been maimed or even dissected alive. Or, just dissected rather,” I finished somberly.

The captain uncovered his ears. “What?” the captain asked, then quickly cupped his ears again when I opened my mouth.

“It’s such a tragedy every time I see or hear of a mouse being maimed or hurt by some scientist, or run over by a car, or hit by a truck. This mouse shall save the animal kingdom, step right up! Step right up and witness the spectacle that is this mouse! Step right up.” I said the last sentence indifferently and somewhat despondently.

“La-la-la-la. Now that’s a warning. Now don’t say anything like that ever! Ever! Ever, John. Notice how I said la four times? You were a German major weren’t you?” the captain asked.

“Rah-ra-ra-ra. This mouse will save them all. It will,” I said as the captain closed his ears again squeezed tighter than before. I lightly grabbed his arm. “It will. It will. It will, Captain.” I then tugged, then pulled, then jerked his left arm away from his ear with a suction cup sound emanating from his head. “This mouse is going to be good, Captain.” I kept saying how great this mouse was going to be.

The captain capped his ears tightly. “La-la-la-la!”

“I am ready to protect my country by flying missions for the navy, and I am not afraid of anything. Not even a mouse.”

“La-L-la-L-la! L-L-L-L-L-L-Laaaahhh!” the captain shouted with his irate tongue rapidly flicking the roof of his mouth. I stopped speaking. He slowly uncovered his head. I took a breath to say how much I loved mice, and his hands went straight back to his ears. I closed my mouth, and he uncapped his ears slowly. I opened my mouth to describe mice, and quickly his hands went back to the sides of his head. Back and forth we did this five times again and again, with me unable to utter a syllable.

“I’m not even afraid of saving my pet gerbil,” I said sorrowfully.

Seconds later, the captain asked, “Are you sure you haven’t read The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Have you read it, John?”

“Me? Oh no, no, sir. I haven’t read it,” I said.

“Let me ask you something.” He rattled his fist. “Let me ask you something.”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Is death good?”

I paused for a brief moment. “No.”

“Then why the f—— are you giving what you have away? You’re giving what humanity has over everything to animals. Animals! You freak!” he wailed as he took my arm and threw my center of gravity four feet to my right. “Come here. I am so sorry for swearing at you. I promise I won’t do it again. Over here,” he said like Lloyd Christmas talking to the gunman in Dumb and Dumber (1994).

I then said current TV programs were boring and needed a boost to waken the fun times we have ahead and manifested a man and TV show in my imagination to be as funny if not funnier than The Simpsons as time progressed by. I waved my arms wildly, with the captain standing before me, and imagined a perfect man to claim the helm of an animated sitcom series. I even named him correctly if I remember right, the creator of what I mentioned to be Family Guy, the show much funnier and edgier than The Simpsons. I can’t recall whether I had actually seen literature or something online about Family Guy though. I only said that there had to be something funnier to watch than The Simpsons so I waved my arms wildly and manifested more energy out of the universe and infused it into the imagination of a great man with a deep voice to animate countless stories about my friend Claude Balls, who is a Yankees fan in real life, but I wanted him to be funny, a Patriots, and a Red Sox fan. Peter Griffin and my friend Claude Balls were to be spitting images of each other.

We were on the topic of music, movies, and TV, so I gave him everything I knew about these fantastic things. Years later, I would learn that Deadmau5 would be a famous DJ after a mouse somehow entered into his computer and passed away while chewing on some electrical wires. With this inspiration, the DJ created a mouse helmet that resembled the mouse that passed away. Family Guy, an animated sitcom much funnier and edgier than The Simpsons, would debut on TV years later with Peter Griffin as the star, a mirror-image of my friend Claude Balls, an Irish-American Catholic, tall, overweight, glasses, short brown hair, with a large, gracefully rounded head and having no idea which way was up but always with enumerated moments of sheer brilliance, but a big Yankees fan.

After our discussions of media and music, I pleaded with him that there was too much of a disparity in incomes across the globe and that help was needed from America’s rich and powerful to make a change. They would be seen as heroes across the globe, so I thought the extreme rich giving away their wealth was a great idea. After the captain mentioned he knew Bill Gates, I then instructed the captain to inform Bill Gates he must give away his fortune to Africa and impoverished countries around the globe. If he kept the riches he owned, I was certain he would be ridiculed and hated. The United States would be seen as a nation of scrooges. I said these things only out of my concern for Mr. Gates and the United States. “Now, I am not Jesus, and I swear by that. But since you’re calling me Jesus, I’m making you do what should’ve been done a long time ago. Make the super-rich give away their wealth to better the world. Rich people can be heroes too! See what I mean?” I finished with a strong whisper. Years later on television and the Internet, I would learn that Bill Gates was contributing most of his wealth to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation founded in 1994.

“Now, John, I’d like to ask you what makes you tick. What do you do to succeed? How do you get by in life?” he poignantly asked.

“Well sir, I turn the other cheek. I turn the other cheek. I let people hit me, I let people clobber me, I let people starve me, I let people say bad things, all they want, and I don’t fight back. In life, there almost always seems to be a person, or more than one person, who just won’t stop hurting you, and when the time comes to defend yourself, you don’t react with anger or despair. If you want peace, to be on the side of God with ultimate love and wisdom, and have many friends, many friends who love you and like you and stay with you through the ages, you must turn the other cheek. You must turn the other cheek, so keep loving people, to keep loving people,” I answered.

“Are you sure you’re not Jesus, John? A lot of this sounds like it’s straight from the Bible,” he said.

“There is no way I can be Jesus, sir,” I answered.

“All right, let me ask you something, John ... Jesus. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, fire away,” I replied.

“Can I ask you how many times should I turn the other cheek before I stop?”

“Um, well let me think about it for a second,” I said, questioning his rationale.

“How many times! Please!”

“Okay, I’m thinking. You’re Jewish, um, so ... five times for you, and so many more times for any Christian. I swear it!” I answered. He walked toward the other side of the room and told me to look toward the bulkhead away from him. I stood there patiently waiting, looking at the wall. I then asked if it was okay for me to look at him.

“Can I have a glance at you, sir?” I asked as he stood fifteen feet away to my left.

“Sure, have a look.” I turned my head and saw him looking at some papers he was holding in his hands. Ten seconds elapsed, and he said,

“Can you look at the wall now, John?” For another minute, he stood there fifteen feet away, with me looking at the wall, flipping through his papers. He walked over to me standing near the CO’s desk and said, “I’m still reeling from what you just said to me, Jesus.”

“I am not Jesus! Why do you keep saying that I’m Jesus? How, please tell me how can I be Jesus? All I’m saying is keep loving persons to keep loving persons.” I took his hands. “Keep loving people to keep loving people. You have to keep loving people to keep loving people these days. Now why am I having to be Jesus?”

“I’m going to ignore that question, John. Let me ask you this. Why did you say ‘these days’ at the end there? Yeah.”

“I said it because in the future, days are going to get infinitely better. I promise. It’s a natural law that things always get better; our people become better, they act better, they eat better! Things always become easier to learn and achieve, as society gets older, as love gets older, as we get older. As we age with only infinite life to live, things always become better,” I claimed.

I had been so offended by what the captain was telling me. He was calling me Jesus, saying horrible things about various segments of world society, crying over sixty-six million deaths in Russia due to the Bolshevik Revolution, while the aliens were hiding behind a corner. To this day, I am still baffled as to how I gave him such socially acceptable albeit comical answers to his intruding questions. He even showed me an old original copy of a book depicting sixty-six million passing away in Russia with pictures of fields of crucified bodies. “Look at this book; sixty-six million are dead because of us! Are we maggots, John?”

“No, sir!”

“Sixty-six million! Can you hear me? Sixty-six million!” he said.

“This is bullshit. I can’t stand to hear this Jesus crap again and again. I’m not a king, and I am not Jesus. Stop hating yourselves and pay attention to what I have told you because it might just save us all. I am not Jesus! Nor do I want to be! He was crucified! I might not know everything, but what I do know is clear to me, and I see only evil in you,” I replied.

“You had better be Jesus, John. Stand in front of me and say that you are! You have to be!” he wailed as he was shaking my shoulders.

“All right fine, but only if I never become famous and stay anonymous for the rest of my Godforsaken life. I’m telling you I’m not Jesus! I’m still hallucinating from whatever I ate at my stepmother’s house! But I’m only going along with this to somehow please you. Awight ow’kye I’you Sheezus,” I replied to give him some meek sense of satisfaction as I mumbled the words incorrectly with humor.

The whole time I was in the commanding officer’s office, with him standing in front of me, he yelled relentlessly how much I was Jesus and how sixty-six million people had passed away in Russia. I tried calming him down, and he wouldn’t stop, so I asked him if I could make the world a better place by imagining my hopeful future wife to be. I told him that I had an idea. I interrupted him while he was speaking (because there was no other way out of the sad feelings I knew I would experience if none of my dreams came true, and I knew it would be extremely difficult to find someone who would accept me and my experiences. I only wanted to be happy in my decision to manifest an astoundingly awe-inspiring woman into existence through psychic channeling if I was Jesus). I wanted a woman that even extraterrestrial civilizations could worship, a woman who could be queen of all omniverses, to make America the country of everything. So, “All right fine, I’m Jesus,” I said quietly as I turned counterclockwise to walk six feet away from the captain.

There was no way I was going to go through life and miss my calling to be married and have children and a family someday because of these experiences. So I started to wave my arms wildly in the CO’s office with the XO standing close by, while thinking about the voyage that began six months ago, focusing all my awareness of all omniverses and energies to the formation of the future queen of all my dreams. I walked further away from the captain and was facing the other door, and I thought only I would at least see this in the most fabulous woman who ever existed. Her smile was to be of bizarre, extraordinary, metamorphic exquisiteness. Her eyes were to be of brown earthy planets from which all life came. Her nose was to be of a voluminous tetrahedral shape existing in the enclosed interior atoms bonded to the exterior of diamond unit cells. “I’m going to borrow something from you, king ... who is not me, Captain! Come this way, king. Let me borrow something from you, sir.” I then borrowed the diamond ownership of the king who I knew was the diamond king of all omniverses and infused tetrahedrons into her nose and then all shapes of love into her soul and body. “Now for the purple hue. She’s going to be purple, Captain! She’s royalty!” I bellowed to him. “Purple skin,” I whispered. Infusing a being with omniversalizing love, compassion, and wonder was a tiring experience, and I ended up on the floor of the CO’s office lying down in exhaustion. As soon as I knew she was alive, I saw edelweiss flowers shooting everywhere sounding like bubbles being popped in midair in my imagination as my eyes were closed and my body was shaking and waving, as I released my energy to her. It was the alchemy of God Himself that possessed me. After I slowly got up, her name, Evelyn Tuskegee, came to me like a premonition, and I told the captain that she must be named Evelyn Tuskegee. I said it in a whisper-like lisped voice into his left ear. I told him her eye color and her chosen veterinary profession to be. I told him she would be lovely and that any guy could fall in love with her. I described everything about her.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35IG7baRV6c

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=35IG7baRV6c&list=RD35IG7baRV6c#t=0

Then, when I knew she existed in my imagination, I knelt down five feet away from the captain, asking for forgiveness from God for making her so exquisitely wonderful and beautiful. I lifted my left hand and made a sleight of hand twisting motion with my left fingers to curl the end of her right big toe clockwise from my perspective. I made a soft sound singing “Ach du Lieber Augustin” and twisted her right toe more clockwise with my left hand  fingers in my imagination. I stood up, and we began talking again, “I know this is edging us to the brink of danger but, this woman has an imperfection: her perfect imperfect right big toe Sir! It’s saving everyone from having to go your way, namely, everyone being left handed I’m sure of it. It has a twist. You just said, I’m even on the left side of Bromine!”

“That isn’t what we want, John. I’m only kidding.” he replied snidely.

Two minutes later upon completion of my universal takeover operation in my mind, I sensed a danger, which was a danger that would prevent completion of my omniversal plan with Evelyn. Her being the most wonderful woman in the history of all omniverses set the stage for catastrophe. In the future, I could have called her the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe, because to me, she was already that way in the future when we were to first meet. To her, if I were to call her out on her beauty, she would be hostile because of how alienating the experience of being told she was the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe would be.

I said to the captain, “Hold on, sir. I think something just happened.”

I walked seven feet away from him toward the other door, looked down on the floor, and asked myself ten years into the future, “You didn’t ... did you? You didn’t do it. I know you didn’t! What did you say, John? What did you say to her? What did you do? Did you stare at her? Did you call her the most beautiful woman in the history of the universe? I can’t believe it. You better hope she comes back to you, John! You idiot! If anything, you call her the most ‘wonderful’ woman in the history of the universe, not the most ‘beautiful,’” I cried. “Or, if you really love her, say you like her, … but don’t tell anyone that I told you that, okay?

“John, are you sure you want her to be purple?” he asked as he heckled in laughter.

“Yes! I’m sure of it! I am 100 percent certain. This lady is queen. She’s a sign of royalty!”

“Are you sure?” the captain asked.

In the next moment, I thought of singing my favorite European folk song, “Ach, du lieber Augustin,” to the captain. I didn’t know if the song originated from Germany or Austria, nor did I know who the composer was, but I knew it was from European culture because I had sung it many times when I was an exchange student in the Black Forest of Baden Wuerttemberg, Germany, in high school. I knew Evelyn Tuskegee had to be born in August, because it was the most interesting name for a month in the year, and the most Teutonic because of that folk song.

“Sir, can I sing another song for you? This is for her.”

“What song?” he asked quietly.

“Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to sing this song for you? She was born in August, or she’s going to be born in that month. I don’t know what year, but I know she’s an Augustin,” I interrupted.

“Okay,” he replied.

“In 1986? That’s eleven years younger than me! Well, if she’s eleven years younger than me, she’s going to have to be with the Adam,” I finished solemnly and quietly in a weeping tone of voice. “Or marry him, I wanted to say. Holy smokes John. What did I do? What did I do? I’m a little scared, Captain. See ... um ... there might be an Adam somewhere. I’m not sure what it is about this feeling.”

“What?” he asked.

“There might be an Adam somewhere, I’m not sure. And then she can marry me? Right? She can marry me too, right? I’m an Adam too, aren’t I? I’m Adam,” I finished despondently.

“Let me ask you a question, John, and your answer better be a no. Are you Adam?” he poignantly asked.

“Well, we need to save him too! Aw. We’re gonna have to bring aliens down! Oh my God!”

“Why?” the captain pertinently asked as he grabbed my left shoulder.

“Why are you grabbing me?”

“Why do we have to bring aliens to Earth, John?”

“Well, if I meet this woman, or girl or whatever you want to call it, I’m going to fall in love! See? And I am never going to fall out of it! I mean ... it’s going to be so hard to live without her. That is, if she doesn’t love me back. Oh man. Oh man. Oh my God.”

“What about the aliens, John? Tell me, please!”

“No.”

“Tell me about the extraterrestrials, John. Tell me now! Right now!”

“This is so crazy. Here I am on an aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise of all ships, and the executive officer is telling me to tell him what I know about aliens? This is nuts.”

“John, you must tell me why we have to bring aliens to Earth, okay?”

“Now I do not want to be considered schizophrenic, but uh ... well, if we bring the aliens down to Earth, we’ll all be Mormons! Now that’s just a signal! It’s a sign, that’s all. It’s a sign!” I answered.

“What’s the sign, John? What is it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know. I just don’t want to get into trouble. That’s the sign! I just don’t want to be in trouble, okay? Can I sing now?”

He looked away toward the floor for a few seconds, then looked at me. “Sure.”

I sighed, then started to sing. “Well, here goes. Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin. Ach, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, ach. Augustin, Augustin, Augustin ach,” I repeated the stanzas again. I hurriedly went back to singing calmly and solemnly, “Ach du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin. Ach du lieber Augustin, Augustin ach.” I waved my arms around wildly again and associated her birthday in August. I then connected energies out of all omniverses even more with my hands, arms, and legs and formed the date upon the stars when she was born, August 17. I let God choose the year.

“Captain, you’ll never guess what day she was born,” I said, tittering from the knowledge that I knew she existed.

His demeanor waned a little nervously, “Whe—”

“August 17! Do you know why?” I replied.

“Wh—”

“Because I’m seven!” I started to laugh, “I’m seven, I’m seven ... relax ... it’s a double negative. He was crucified. No triple negative, John (I said to myself in the future), sir, and everyone else. I’m just a seven. There are a lot of sevens! Everyone is ... a seven! It’s perfect! It has the word eve in it! Doesn’t it?”

“Ok,” he said. “But you’re not the exact seven, John.” Our conversation paused for almost five seconds. “What does that mean? Do you know?” he asked.

“What does that mean? Sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know. What does the fact that I am not a perfect seven mean? Are you serious? Who the f— knows? I’m just a midshipman, sir! I can cuss just like a sailor, can’t I? I’m in the navy, aren’t I? What on earth is all this about? Why am I here? What are we doing? Am I really going to be an officer? Can I please just fly for the navy? I’m just a midshipman,” I replied as I cried uncontrollably.

“John, you’re time traveling,” he said assuredly as he hugged me.

“What do you mean by time traveling, or traveling through time?”

“You’ll know,” he said softly. “Jesus,” he said as he sneered laughing.

“I don’t want to know! Ever!” I said back.

“You will,” the captain said warmly.

When I created Evelyn in my imagination moments before, I was possessed like I had never felt before, but it was quickly forgotten because I was concerned about the security of the United States. China had been antagonistic in its annual White Papers published by the government each year. I was concerned that I couldn’t be what he was telling me I was, but I desperately wanted to fly jets off carriers similar to my father before me. “You’re Jesus,” he would say as he eerily smiled. I didn’t know what to say back so I continued to ask him questions about the alien world I had been living on for the previous six months since the turn of the century. I had questions about what the space jockey in the first Alien movie was, and that a prequel was needed to explain where the alien world I had been living on came from. The hallucinations I was still experiencing were hideous and frightening and seemed so real. To this day, if someone asked me if I thought what I saw was real, I would say, “Under certain conditions, yes.” I later found out that the release date of Prometheus in America, which I enthusiastically labeled what should be the movie called Paradise because of the dichotomy I was feeling at the time, stuck between the joys of hopefully flying in the navy and the hallucinations I was experiencing, was exactly one month after my birthday, May 8, and Michael Fassbender, who plays the android in Prometheus, is from Heidelberg, Germany, the same birthplace of my mother. I told him I wouldn’t want that movie exactly on my birthday because I thought it could open a portal and allow horrific aliens through to our world because I was still hallucinating constantly.

Also, the Alien prequel was originally called Paradise, but Ridley Scott later changed the name to Prometheus, which I told the captain. “You have a choice—please name the movie Prometheus or Paradise, Prometheus or Paradise.” I then lowered the volume of my voice. “Prometheus”—I smiled—“or Paradise.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to look up the meaning of Prometheus. Do you know what Prometheus is?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea. Just name it! Prometheus or Paradise,” I said quickly. “Will you stop writing this down, John? Oh fricken-A, will you stop typing this into your computer for anyone’s God sake? It’s your choice. It is your choice,” I said with a nervous smile and then concern. “Name it whatever the heck you want, sir!”

We then talked about the future of world athletes. I thought of Jesse Owens, who was a world hero after he had shamed Germany in the 1936 Olympics. Just like I had before, I waved my arms wildly again and created in my imagination an athlete who would dominate track and field, and another athlete who would dominate swimming, because I was a swimmer in high school. The bodies were to be perfectly suited for the sports they played and would make the impossible seem easily achievable. Usain Bolt and Michael Phelps would be their names. “Mark Spitz’s Olympic records will not last,” I said. “I promise you, these men will rewrite the standard upon which greatness is measured,” I added further.

“All this sounds interesting however, John. But you’re Jesus,” he said as he tittered.

“I cannot be Jesus. All I want to do is fly a plane like my father and like you,” I explained.

“You don’t want to be like me,” he answered.

He then said nonchalantly that he had carried out ceremonies with the Skull and Bones secret society based out of Yale University, “And yes, I’ve had ceremonies with Skull and Bones too, John,” he said when he gave a grim grin.

“Really? You actually have friends in Skull and Bones? Oh my God. That is so amazing! Awesome! You really made my day, Captain. Thank you for telling me this. Skull and Bones?” I said excitedly.

The captain changed topics on several occasions, and I had manifested many things to come in my future life already. Suddenly, after the last episode of waving my arms around like a wild rock star playing guitar, after all his requests to channel energy into past and future manifestations, I became a little tired, and I viewed the captain with suspicion slightly. “Hey, what is this? Why do I have to do this stuff for you? All I want to do is fly for the navy. Don’t you think we’re taking this a little too far? I’m still tired from being poisoned. But I have the drive and the willpower to be successful in today’s navy, and I’m really looking forward to serving my country as an officer. Is all this magic necessary for me becoming an officer?” I asked.

“Yes, John. Just listen to me. You’re Jesus,” he lulled calmly.

I even said I was afraid of ever making contact with extraterrestrials because I was still hallucinating every few seconds. I had no idea what a world government would bring, but I knew it had to be good. “Now, get yourselves together. Something is happening in the world, and the only way we can effect the necessary changes we need to make is by global involvement of all leaders and dignitaries, economic, political and military. We need the new world order. We need health care. It is amoral to make a profit on someone’s disease! Prepare yourselves; something unimaginably wonderful is on its way, but at the same time, we’re on our way to running into a brick wall, which would be the obstacles of income disparities, poverty, pollution, and disease. So maybe we should bring the grays down before a catastrophe happens like an asteroid?” I suggested as I interjected.

The captain remained silent and didn’t mention anything about a new world order. I then begged him to allow me to be the first to bring them down. “Let me be the first, Captain, please. Please let me be the first to be abducted and get video. I know I can do it. I’ve lived on an extraterrestrial world for six months, and I’m used to it! Please let me be the first ...” I begged.

All of a sudden, the captain said I was king. “You’re king,” he said softly as I was more than five feet away from him.

Immediately, I asked in a loud but passionate voice, “Is this what all I’ve been through about? Oh my God. I can’t believe it! I’m king? Really? Aw!” I slammed my right foot down as if I was getting married at a Jewish wedding, crushing an imaginary wine bottle. “Aw!” I slammed my right foot down again and again on the deck floor saying, “Aw!” each time. “I’m king?” I cried.

The captain was confused. “Why are you slamming your foot down?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stopped being a possessed man imagining myself marrying none out of a vast number around me in a blue-green lit room, with the offer up to everyone anyone married to be rulers of all omniverses.

Five minutes later in the conversation, I turned and walked almost five feet away from the captain. As I turned from him almost eighty degrees to go to where I imagined Evelyn to be, a vision of an angel on an ancient resplendent galley rig elegantly adorned with soft ribbons drifting leeway on top of the pond behind my home. She encouraged me to do what I had in mind next. I had this idea because I knew this female was going to be the Eve of all omniverses, so when I walked four to five feet away, I jabbed my left and right elbows into the left and right sides of my torso. I took my left hand and gently pulled a rib out of my left ribcage. I held this imaginary rib of mine before her for over twenty seconds as I stood there thinking about her hand holding mine.

Five or ten minutes later in the conversation, I came closer to the captain and promised him in a secretive voice, “All I know is, with Evelyn Tuskegee, we can rule the galaxy for the rest of eternity!” I crushed my own left vice grip as hard as I could while my forearm was twitching from the many kilograms of pressure I had never felt before in the palm of my hand. “The galaxy!” I promised him as he was on the verge of cracking up. I felt like Darth Vader, and my voice sounded like him too. The captain remained stoically silent and proceeded to continue to talk about music, movies, and television.

Looking back on the demeanor of the captain, how humbling he was in my small dreams of ruling the galaxy, there was a flaw in my reasoning. He remained silent when I promised him the Milky Way galaxy. I even promised him that mankind could rule the Virgo Supercluster, the galactic supercluster the Milky Way belongs to with Andromeda, if the second coming of Christ had happened, which I still emphatically denied that I was, because I wanted to be a jet fighter pilot so badly. Impersonating Yoda from The Empire Strikes Back, I said in a wise tone of voice while looking up at the overhead ceiling, “There is another, and he is walking the Earth today.”

Later in the conversation, almost ten minutes before I left, the captain did say there was another, and that he had the “life” everyone’s heart was seeking and was responsible for the big bang after I was waving my arms wildly, collecting energies from everything in all omniverses and creating another king if I couldn’t live long enough to find Evelyn. Fast forward to later in 2002, I would meet a clandestine young naval flight officer attrite in Strike Operations on USS Nimitz after I left flight school, and he said, “Thanks for the nose,” in a griping tone of voice when I first met him. He had a wide nose; his face was stunning. He had purple eyes, and his hair was jet black, but when he arrived in Strike Operations on USS Nimitz, his head was shaved bald, and he acted strange. He was extremely intelligent, often reading five books at a time, and graduated from the US Naval Academy’s Seaman to Admiral program with a degree in electrical engineering. He said he DOR’ed (Drop on Request) from the naval flight officer program because he wanted to be comfortable. He would sit inside Strike Operations for hours at a time with his baby-blue blanket, acting like a child, giving me snobbish looks while reading his highbrow classic philosophy books. “This doesn’t work! ... It doesn’t work,” he said after almost an hour and a half of tangling, creasing, and rumpling the blue blanket with his hands to the strike officer, Strike-O, and an operations specialist petty officer sitting in front of their computers. I was sitting by the far right corner door in Strike Operations reading a book, Blind Man’s Bluff by Sherry Sonntag. This was more than two years after my present conversation with the captain, and to this day I am baffled as to why he never spoke to me, why they hardly ever talked to me, why they acted reticent about everything concerning current events on ship, and why he said I was holy before he left for another duty station. He was a Presbyterian and gave me a beautiful and slender Italian gold leaf leather copy of the Bible and a Starbucks cup as random gifts.

Later, in 2005, when I hit struggles with my mental health, I heard the voices of gray extraterrestrial beings telling me this man was “king.” I only offered the captain to rule the galaxy, but for some reason, I think he wanted the whole undivided omniverse to worship this second coming of Christ. I imagined and manifested the second king if I couldn’t be Jesus because of my experience with my stepmother, or if I never found Evelyn, by waving my arms around wildly and focusing my energies on creating the perfect “man” inside the CO’s office with the executive officer standing there before me. The new king was to be responsible for the big bang, so I possessed and took control of the universe’s and then all omniverses’ past, went back in time, and sent the mass and energy of the explosion to him, the king. I wanted in every way to relinquish my role as Jesus to the captain and become a jet fighter pilot instead, so I waved my arms wildly. I connected all the energies of all omniverses and made the perfect one, who would be king. The letters of his last name, I later learned, consisted of the same number of positions right of A in the alphabet and add up to the same number as in the word “seven”: (S = 19) + (E = 5) + (V = 22) + (E = 5) + (N = 14) = 65. His last name was Durham: (D = 4) + (U = 21) + (R = 18) + (H = 8) + (A = 1) + (M = 13) = 65. He was to be the 777, the return of Christ. My name is one letter placement off: (S = 19) + (E = 5) + (L = 12) + (M = 13) + (A = 1) + (N = 14) = 64 but it sounds more similar to “seven.” Could this be a divine sign? Probably not, but it is a synchronicity worth mentioning.

Right before I met Mr. Durham in 2002, I saw in my imagination a mouth that was chewing on a swirly colored popsicle. I asked the strike officer in the other room what the new flight attrite’s name was, and Strike-O said, “Durham.” I then notched off the placements of letters in his name. The conversations with the captain in 2000 had been on my mind, and I wanted to know, for some curious reason, how many positions right of A the letters in his name were, and how it compared to mine in the word “seven.” It was a match! And my name was off by one I noticed right before I first met him. “Very strange,” I said to myself in 2002 right before the two flight attrites came to Strike Operations.

One afternoon, over two years later in 2002, Durham asked me if he could “have what I have.” I was completely thrown off as to what to say to this stranger I hadn’t talked with much before, so I said, “If you’re responsible for the big bang.” He left the room in Strike Operations and returned smiling, asking me questions on several occasions about who I should marry. A few months later, I would witness him acting like an imbecile in Current Operations, chewing on a red popsicle and then sliding half of it off across the room. It slid six feet, melted, and it made a stain on the tiled flooring. So, at the time when I was talking to the captain, I said I didn’t want what he was giving me; all I wanted to do was fly jets off aircraft carriers, so I gave this “perfect man” I hadn’t met before everything the captain was trying to communicate to me, which was an identity as Jesus. He never called me the second coming of Christ, but he continued to say how much he was sorry and insisted that I had to be Jesus. We were fighting about this a few times. The captain would tell me that I’m Jesus, and then I would say I couldn’t be Jesus because of what my stepmother did to me, so I referred him to the perfect diamond man I had created in my imagination moments before.

Then I said I wanted to fly jets off carriers just like my father because I thought it was the time to speak my wishes now that a genie had risen. When he heard me speak of jets, he began to ask me a series of mathematical questions, and one was to find the square root of a large number down to the ninth digit. When I answered it correctly on the first attempt, he showed me the answer on his modest, old, and scratchy gray calculator and gave me the same ominous grin when he called me Jesus! I then accused him of using mind control to give me the answer telepathically before I gave him the correct answer. I said it all jokingly because to this day even I was amazed at my temporary math ability.

“Hey, you psychically gave me the answer before I even got here; It couldn’t have been me,” I made the accusation with humor as I laughed. He then looked at me with the same ominous grin when he called me Jesus and gave me a conundrum. He asked me what was the relationship between the clockwise/counterclockwise orientation of a propeller or rotor spinning and the observer’s position inside all eight quadrants on the x, y and z axes in 3-D space. As much as I visualized, restated, and thought about the problem through to answer it correctly for a full four minutes, I still came up with the wrong answer.

So, frustrated at what the captain was telling and yelling at me, things I had never heard before about world history and me being Jesus, I went over, above and beyond, to prove what he was saying to me was untrue, but I finally broke down. More than half a year had passed since I was first poisoned, and I was hallucinating constantly still. I had no way out of the feelings and the emotions that had been building over the previous six months, so, all of a sudden, I cried out loud, without having read any scripture from the Bible, “I don’t know if I can be who you are telling me, Captain, but I am! I am! I am! I am! I am! I am the alpha and the omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end. I am! Do you hear me out there?” I said as I looked around the CO’s office.

The captain then looked at me with an inquisitive expression and asked, “What do you think that is? What is it that you are?”

I paused for a brief moment. “I don’t know,” I replied faithfully in a soft voice as I looked at him. Another brief moment passed, and I said, “But when it comes to living life to the fullest, I honestly believe that living life for other people can be very rewarding. Live for other people, and do anything you can do to help them. I’m sorry, but I can’t fall. I didn’t fall when I was poisoned, and I am not about to do it now. You help these people! You love these people! The sky belongs to no one, and we die for each other, and no matter how lonely things get, there is always a way, which is to love people who you may perceive as an enemy! Love your enemies, sir,” I said to him. He came back and continued to call me Jesus, without my knowledge that what I had said was in the New Testament of the Bible.

I cannot expect my audience to believe everything I have shown because I have no proof, but could these events have been somehow implemented from my conversations with the captain? Could a divine intervention be responsible for the Twin Towers disaster premonition and my correct answer to his math quiz? I don’t know the answer to these questions among the many others I have about this episode in the life that I’ve lived. So, I begged this captain to find this girl whom I imagined was the most wonderful woman in the history and future of all omniverses, the Eve of our hearts, Evelyn Tuskegee. For two minutes, I begged him to help me somehow find this woman I imagined to be true at some time in the future. Sure enough, it eventually happened.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 6

 

My Blood Is Your Blood. Posted on June 11, 2012.

 

The rest of the conversation was very precarious. I had to act like a midshipman, a naval officer (because I was about to be commissioned), and somehow please his wish that I was Jesus without actually saying so. I had a lot of dreams to fly for the navy, so there was a lot of pressure. I did my best to allow this very high-ranking naval officer to do what he pleased.

Some of it was strange; he asked me if I would allow him to drink my blood and if I would drink his. I said yes to him drinking my blood, but I refused to drink his. I immediately suggested I get a glass of water so I could bite my finger and allow the blood to drip into the glass, but he got it for me from the captain’s mess. He brought a four-sevenths filled glass of water, and I bit my right middle fingertip hard three or four times. I dropped it playfully into the glass so the captain wouldn’t be scared because he wanted me to drop it from another finger other than the one I chose for him. Before I bit my right middle finger, he asked, “Does it have to be that one?”

“Relax, sir. Relax. My blood is your blood, no matter where I get it from,” I said.

I actually wanted him to drink my blood for some reason. I look back on it, and it was an experience I will never forget. Soon after he warily drank three to four small gulps of the clear liquid with exactly ten drops of blood from my right middle fingertip in it, the captain proceeded to beg me to drink his. After he positioned a filled glass of clear liquid from the cabinet to the CO’s tabletop, he was charged and was really juicing it up for me to do what he wanted, but I couldn’t do it. He said I could marry whom I wanted to if I drank it, but I still refused. I was still terrified from the poisoning experience that I didn’t want to ingest anything that wasn’t food or that I knew could be tainted or laced with drugs. “I don’t think I can. I just know I’m not supposed to drink it. I’m so sorry.”

“Come on, John, you can marry who you want! I promise. I promise you can. You can marry whoever you want, John. Just drink it.”

“No, I don’t think I should. I just—I just know I’m not supposed to do it.”

“Just do it, John. Come on!” the captain said. “Come over here, drink it. Everything will be fine! Here. Over here,” he finished like Lloyd Christmas.

“No! I can’t. I cannot do that,” I said. The water sitting on the table looked so intimidating to me. I refused to drink it. No regrets.

Then he started to pick my family apart, and he was saying filthy and offensive things about my sisters. Eventually, I got agitated because he was saying so many bad things about them. They were all over forty years old, and they still are hardworking, great, and loving people. I told him there shouldn’t be any question about whether they were going to be safe or not, but he maintained his position and wouldn’t budge.

The conversation dwindled, and I knew it was time for me to leave. Before I left for the hangar bay to meet for morning quarters, he told me to stand upright, and he began to very lightly touch, or closely hover his hands and finger/s on various points across my body, on my shoulder, on my stomach, on my ankle and my toes even. Most of the time, I felt nothing. He then collected a stool sample inside an earwax removal irrigation bulb I had in my medical kit inside my stateroom. I went to the bathroom to prepare the sample after I suggested the method I use to do it. Gross.

Before I left, after I came back from the bathroom, I saw him bent over in front of the other desk, and he asked me if I wanted to try anything. I told him, “No, sir, but I respect you. I wouldn’t advise telling anyone about this ... but whatever. Thanks, Captain.” I closed the door at 0647 that July 4th, 2000, and I left for my stateroom to change into my coveralls and attend morning quarters in the hangar bay where I would deliver a grand speech, almost forty-five minutes after we said hello.

He then followed me out in the p-way when I was twenty feet down, and he pleaded me to dislike my half siblings on my mother’s side or at least my half sisters. “No f—ing way! I said it because I’m sex deprived! There, I said it! I’m sorry, and I didn’t mean to say that, okay? I didn’t mean what I said.”

“What did you say, John?” he asked.

“You figure it out. I know you taped me! Go away! Just go, away.”

“Come on!” he implored.

“Get away from me!”

“Please?” he said with an assured pleading look.

I then spun away with such displeasure I was swearing the whole way down the p-way toward my stateroom to go muster up for morning quarters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7

 

The Speech That Roared. Posted on June 15, 2012.

 

I had built quite a reputation on that ship. I had received more qualifications on that ship than anyone had in three weeks before it seemed like, because I was sleeping less than two hours per day, and I spent all my waking time “getting qualled” on the bridge, in engineering, damage control, CDC (Combat Direction Center), deck department, and many other places on ship. I cannot talk much about it because there were places I am obligated to continue to protect. But there were thirteen or fourteen qualifications I had earned, and I asked one of the chiefs who was conducting morning quarters if I could inform the standing sailors of why I was so successful. He enthusiastically approved, and I took the floor.

I remember a few jokes, but I was a man possessed by a million burning phoenixes, flying at the speed of light like Rob Zombie on steroids, preaching the joys that life in the navy has to bring, the importance of superior teamwork, craftsmanship, and leadership ... core values of the navy, honor, courage, and commitment ... the study habits for attaining a degree, the daily habits for a good and productive life, the refusal of racism, and the threats the current world faces such as a hostile China and terrorism. It went on about five times the length of the following verbal statement with approximately the same message behind it.

“My name is midshipman first class John Selman, and I’m here to fill your ears full of information on how you’ve been doing as a team on our ship USS Enterprise in our great Navy. Don’t worry, I’m a kind and gentle midshipman. Now, I have to question why some of you here are in the Navy in the first place, because we fight every day for ideals such as freedom and equality for all, justice, fairness and forgiveness. We are made of each other.

It’s called dispersion people. Every time you see a Genghis Khan float off in the air, you are looking at history. History! Now these same water molecules were once part of these very famous men and women. You are part of them! They are part of you. You breathe and drink the trees and every living thing in Earth’s life cycle. Be wary of your thoughts and what you see around you. Follow your President, not the other leaders! You want to see that FDR floating from your heart every day. You need to see that FDR sweating from your pores.

So we are not horndogs running around looking for the hottest woman shipmates. Quit your fornicating and exactly follow all the navy’s procedures now! We say to ourselves:

  • To take charge of this post and all government property in view.
  • To walk my post in a military manner, keeping always on the alert, and observing everything that takes place within sight or hearing.
  • To report all violations of orders I am instructed to enforce.
  • To repeat all calls from posts more distant from the guard house than

my own.

  • To quit my post only when properly relieved.
  • To receive, obey, and pass on to the sentry who relieves me all orders from the Commanding Officer, Command Duty Officer, Officer of the Deck, and Officers and Petty Officers of the Watch only.
  • To talk to no one except in the line of duty.
  • To give the alarm in case of fire or disorder.
  • To call the Officer of the Deck in any case not covered by instructions.
  • To salute all officers and colors and standards not cased.
  • To be especially watchful at night and during the time for challenging, to challenge all persons on or near my post, and to allow no one to pass without proper authority,”

I said our navy’s thirteenth General Order in an inner city black person’s voice. “Why do we have to keep telling our lookouts to report contacts? Why are we unable to call the office we’re trying to reach? Why is that propeller governor not working? Why are we unable to get HAZMAT? Why would you ever leave a bad impression on a co-worker? With your career in the navy on the line? Because we’re afraid of each other.

Worship your family, your work, your shipmates, all of you, your ones at home, your command, Jesus, Mohammed, Abraham, Buddha, God, who isn’t me ... whoever inspires you, think of them and keep us afloat, get that jet off the planet, attend your quarters, get some food in you. Then ... do it again and be safe the whole way doing it! Use your hands! Move stuff!

Find your dexterity, rote memorization of procedures, situational awareness, background knowledge and last but not least. Can anyone guess? Safety precautions. Safety precautions. Who knows all the safety precautions for their job? Who wants to be a volunteer? Who knows their safety procedures for their job only the best?” I summoned my fascinatedly stunned audience.

One sailor who was a plane captain (a Brown Shirt) volunteered so he recited each step in an F/A-18C General Electric F404 hot start emergency engine shutdown by the time 10 seconds had elapsed. We even had another sailor time the plane captain with a stopwatch! “Now don’t we all look up to what we do? Because of this guy. This is how good we want you to be with your functional occupations for the navy. We are all connected into one big family. We’re all helping each other out in remarkable ways, livin’ our lives, day by day, getting the job done correctly as a responsible adult. Do you know what the word responsible means? Is the word responsibility equivalent to the word adult? Nod your head. It's true. Yes it is. We think only about what's legal here in the armed forces. Who we are internally is precisely what we fight for. We do not think of illegal acts and debauchery. We don't have threesomes or foursomes or any number of 'somes in our navy. Importantly, we also don't think of children in any bad, horrible way. Children are our sparkle, they have no reason to be abused. It's sad that I have to say something here, however you never abuse a child. Never! You do not touch sparkle. You do not change a sparkle when it's sparkling. You don't do anything to sparkle when it is a sparkle. Not here, not in our navy, not in our United States. Leave sparkle alone. If you even think about an illegal act, you should leave the armed forces right now, while you can, and let us do our jobs protecting America. Never abuse a child. Stay away from other people's children. Some things are terrible and horrendous, and you should never think about them. Fight it! Fight it in every way! Use a lightsaber, use your favorite logo, crush your number one foe. Fight it! In our navy, you have to be the best.

     No matter where you’re from, you are the best. Right now, on this day and forever, you are all the best! That is how good we want you to be with your functional occupations for the navy. We are all connected into one big family. We’re all helping each other out in remarkable ways, livin’ our lives, day by day, getting the job done correctly as a responsible adult. We’re coworkers!

 

We’re in this world together, no matter where you’re from. You are the best. Right now, on this day and forever, you are all the best! This is the message that I’ve been trying to get to you for so long. Your life is all a network optimization of your own God, who you follow, whether it is what you want or what you don’t want. What do you want to do in life? Do you want to fly 500 knots, 30,000 feet with a navy airplane? Do you want to take ownership of a surface vessel? Do you want to command a submarine? Who wants to be a pilot? You can tell me. Who wants to be a pilot and fly?

Raise your hand. You can do it. Raise your hand! Thirty ... sixty ... ninety. Outstanding. That is just outstanding! What a navy do we have. All you have to do is find a major in college, join ROTC and only think say do what they say. Do everything! Get a white piece of paper and write down all your extraordinary thoughts of our days, your lists, your memories, your ideas on a business, anything that makes you happy and well.

The trick is to take the eight-and-a-half by eleven and fold it in half, then crossing that fold two times into eight quadrants per side. Make a list. Make a list for everything my big sailors. Then, when you’re finished making lists for the day, stamp a hole into one of the corners and refold to put it on a ring after the eighth day.

Talk to each other, share your thoughts with shipmates. We want to know you better. Black people, why are you so afraid of us? You’re quiet. I love that about you but ... when someone of a different race than you approaches, we are not out to get you. We love you black people. If Abraham Lincoln was the best president, you can be rest assured we care more for you, than anyone in the world. We fly to the sun people.

Now let me tell you, what I have seen on this ship has been querulous and unacceptable! I see this every day in my interactions with these adults!” I claimed as I pointed to the predominantly white port side of the ship.

“We’re not respecting each other. We’re not respecting ourselves. We’re not mingling together. We’re not respecting ourselves. We’re insulting ourselves. We go off on tangents, to step on each other’s feet and shoulders to get ahead. We interrupt each other. We’re not listening. We’re insecure, and we go mad over nothing. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. People of different races arguing over who’s the biggest. Well, I’m here to tell you that you are all the biggest and the best. If it’s bad, don’t think about it.

Be friendly, to your family, friends and strangers. We pay you to be a part of God’s army, so act like it! We pay you to be friendly to each another, right? We pay you to work as a team right? We fight for love, and only love of our country and our world called Earth. I don’t want to ever see you lonely because of what I’m telling you, but let me fill you in on a little secret. Look at us. See us work. Observe how similar we all are to God himself. God gave everyone to everyone, to you in the beginning. Life is a riddle and you have to figure it out. We were all created in God’s image, and God is giving Earth everything to everyone what he has, today. This racism has to stop. Look at black people, white people. They were all created from Adam and Eve! Tell me, what color eyes do you think Adam and Eve have!? Brown! Yes, brown!

Have you ever thought for a second how it is to be a black person in the civilian world? In the Navy? On here? USS Enterprise! Have you seen a Star Trek episode in your life? We stand for each other, for every American, foreign or domestic. We are not war mongers, we are all Chinese, we are all French, we are all English, we are all Russian, we are all Swahili, we are all Australian! But I say to you, love your enemies, pray for those who curse you and despitefully use you. For if you only love who love you, what reward is there in that? Now get behind me, and let’s make this place the United States of all Omniverses!”

People were asking me to repeat things on two or three occasions so they could write what I said down on their notepads. After my last words spoken, after about twenty-five to thirty minutes of vehement love and passionate speech, I landed a backflip for the first time in my life, and everyone gasped for air. It was a perfect landing, toes forty-five degrees apart. At the end of it all, all six hundred sailors I was speaking in front of had whooped, wailed, and screamed out of joy with their fists pumping right after I lifted my hands, and then some of them gathered around me, looked at their watches, noticed it was near the middle of the year 2000, the Fourth of July, and they started calling me Jesus! When I heard this, I thought I would imitate Brian from Monty Python’s The Life of Brian interpreted into German, and I said after I paused, perplexed, “Fack off!” Some laughed, but most were disappointed in my response because they hadn’t seen The Life of Brian interpreted into German.

Some were whispering to each other and then said to me, “Only the holy one denies his holiness!” “I’m telling you it’s him,” they whispered between each other.

“What is all ‘dis flying in the sun all about?” asked one of the sailors around me.

“I said fly to the sun, not in it,” I conned back.

I had no idea what I could do to stop the following that was about to happen, and the only funny way I could do it was to imitate Brian in The Life of Brian and say, “Fack off!” a second time when they started to call me Jesus repeatedly. All I wanted to do was fly a jet off carriers like my father, and now that I was on a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, USS Enterprise (CVN-65), I wanted nothing to come in the way of my dreams of becoming a naval aviator.

Afterward, I found a group of ten or fifteen petty officers arguing about some of the things I said in the speech. I was puzzled by what had happened to cause this commotion, and I knew from my Bluejacket’s Manual that I was obligated to prevent disorder, an uproar, or upheaval, so I made a solemn prayer, and I spread my arms to part the sea of races in front of me. They grouped together into their own races and stopped arguing. Holy Moses, how did this happen? Then, five minutes later, my face started to flush red, and I started to laugh grotesquely hysterical, thinking of what Jona Selman would think about me being some reincarnated Jesus. I would have the last laugh on her. Then one of the other sailors called me the devil. It was a zany day, but at the end of the cruise, I ranked first, and one of the Naval Academy midshipmen, who was the only man I ever saw who had shinier shoes than me, said it was the best display of leadership he had ever seen. Fun times even through all the headache of still having that drug in my system when it was just starting to wear off. When I knew I was going to make it to flight school, where my dreams could come true in almost every way, I turned into a superman. I took out a penny in front of a group of enlisted crew members and bent it barehanded with at least twenty degrees of torsional twist. I felt the edge and screw dislocation movements of atoms being shoved to the surface of the penny in my fingers as it plastically deformed. I gave the penny to a black sailor, and everyone came to lift me up into the air, and I went crowd surfing with at least twenty sailors holding me up. It was amazing.

Lastly, when the party waned amid more marvelous commotion that I had created, I was talking to some admirals, and the captain who was calling me Jesus was there in the front hangar bay. Some of the high-ranking admirals witnessed almost everything, including what was about to happen next. I desperately wanted to talk to the captain, but he kissed me on the forehead instead in front of the admirals standing nearby, and I replied as I giggled, “Judas, you betray the son of man with a kiss.” I then gave him a big smile. He then yelled, “Shut up!” in front of the admirals. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t even read the Bible yet, and here I was on USS Enterprise reciting lines out of it? How could this happen? Why would he tell me to shut up if he was calling me Jesus moments before that day?

After I left USS Enterprise in Norfolk, Virginia, I signed for my commission in Castine, Maine, and left for Pensacola with my belongings inside the back of my truck, the good ol’ 1999 silver Dodge Dakota.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 8

 

Grandmother Selman. Posted on October 12, 2014.

 

On my way to Pensacola, I stopped in Fairfax, Virginia, to visit my grandmother, Sophia Elizabeth (Fuller-Selman) Cofield.  After my grandfather passed away in 1980, she married Co, the nickname of a US Navy captain and an esteemed close friend of our family who had relations with her while she was married to my grandfather, Richard Jackson Selman Sr. A baby girl was born in this relationship while my grandfather was still alive, who is now my beautiful and smart aunt who is a nurse.

When I arrived at her house in September, 2000, I walked up the steps to see the same gray stone lions sitting on either side of the front door that I remember seeing as a young boy when my parents were still together, which made me so happy and at ease. I had lost all contact with my Selman side of the family when my parents were divorced, and I was so thrilled to see this place that I hadn’t been to in over twenty years. These deep gray stone lions were such a majestic symbol of my grandmother and our family, and a knowing memory that came to me that filled me with so much love and exhilaration, bliss, peace, and enchantment. The hallucinations waned to a minimum. I touched the lions’ rough, stone, curly fur indentations and waves with my left hand, then touched the lions’ heads, legs, and torsos with my hands. The hallucinations stopped!

My grandmother then invited me to lunch at a local restaurant, and when we left her house, the hallucinations began again! She told me about the jets my father flew and the B-24s my great-uncle flew. She said for me to fly safe and nail the program as I left for Pensacola, Florida.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 9

 

Yeah! Flight School. Posted on June 27, 2012.

 

As I came into flight school, narrowly escaping being whisked away in a rainstorm at night, I had already forgotten the memories of my imagination aboard USS Enterprise, Evelyn. But I knew something in life was waiting for me ... that only could have been Evelyn.

API, which stood for Aviation Preflight Indoctrination, was a six-week indoctrination phase of our training and was based on intense study of aerodynamics, aviation systems, weather, navigation along with physical fitness tests, psychological tests (which were in fact intimidating, as I took them because I was still crazed from the drugs my stepmother doused my eggs with), and medical screening tests by NAMI, Naval Aerospace Medical Institute. I remember the saying they used for those flight students who failed a medical screening test, which was a NAMI whammy. A very sad situation indeed for those who experienced this, but I was lucky and only had to see a doctor for fifteen minutes.

In API, I was still seeing black alien locusts in the grassy fields of Pensacola Naval Air Station and in my dreams on ghastly alien worlds, and they were always chasing after me. Visions of oyster pearls being portals allowing the aliens to hair-raisingly jump dimensions were tormenting all the time. I was still only averaging two to three hours of sleep per night.

The conversations with the captain had been bouncing around in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what we talked about. At night, inside the bachelor officers’ quarters (BOQ), I could hear the scuttling of mice and cockroaches crawling inside the walls, which frightened me to no end because some of the hallucinations coincided with these noises. Morning after morning, I found numerous huge two-and-a-half-inch-long cockroaches lying upside down in my apartment at the BOQ, which was equally as disconcerting because of the hallucinations that had persisted for so long. Some were still moving, lying on their backs. But as I said before, long forgotten were the vibrant memories of my imagination loving a wondrous woman who could only be Eve, who I hadn’t met yet but had memories in my subconscious of when I was talking to the captain aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65).

API was fun but difficult, as many hours of study were involved. Some didn’t crack it, and some aced the program, but what made them equal was their sense of duty to country and to the navy ... and what awaited them in their careers at the time was either to be a swashbuckling gunboat lieutenant (which is what I would have wanted to do had I stayed in after five years, out of MIUW-106, Mobile Inshore Undersea Warfare-106 when I was in the Naval Reserve after active duty), or a naval aviator. I read many stories, however, about various instructors brandishing spears in the classroom and threatening student naval aviators about the perils of failing the next test ... and one of them was to be scorned to some laborious navy work. The differences between what I imagined to be my future and the horrors that could actually transpire were so vast, I had no inclination to think any other way—that I could make it, that is, become a naval aviator and then acquire a few engineering degrees and apply for NASA. Wow, I get to be harassed by aliens on the ground for almost a year and then live in outer space. Well, if it was good enough to be in outer space, it was good enough for me, so that was my plan, to be a fighter pilot and then an astronaut.

I feel it is important to mention that if I had told a soul that I was poisoned, I most certainly would have left the program, so keeping myself hush-hush about the Jona situation was a top priority.

Then came primary phase airplane pilot training in Corpus Christi, and I had to “fight” with my on-wing instructor the whole way. I was pushed against the instrument panel to insult my instructor back against his sputtering fire of spit almost with every rotation of the T-34C’s propeller, at 1000 feet of altitude, and 192 knots.

That person’s last name was Lancaster, with a first name Brian. He was maybe the most beautiful person I ever saw. But only more than half of my primary flights were made with him sitting in the backseat, mashing me with horrible insults. Finally, four weeks into my primary phase pilot training, on the morning of October 4, 2000, the drug had worn off, and the hallucinations stopped. I was sleeping more than six hours per night, and I was thrilled. But even with the happiness and increase in mental acuteness that followed my poisoning experience, my primary on-wing instructor never failed me. He just passed me to the next flight, which was equivalent to receiving a D- on every paper and test from a professor all semester long.

He was a hard grader, I will admit, and I selected helicopters, the very last choice on my list of jets, props, and heavies. After I cried pathetically for over thirteen hours because I couldn’t climb into my shiny jet and prove my stepmother wrong, I proceeded to complete the primary and intermediate T-34C Turbomentor training phases.

I was exhausted, but I had more energy than when I was at UMaine since the turn of the century. At UMaine, I was spent and had little energy to keep my eyes open with my hair on fire. When I got to USS Enterprise, I utilized every ounce of strength to get ahead, and it showed in the number of qualifications I achieved.

After my solo in Corpus Christi, I received orders to fly to Roswell, New Mexico, to fly at Roswell International, home of the now-famous and long-storied 1947 UFO crash. Here I was in Roswell after I had been living in outer space for ten months. The vast dirt plains en route to the tarmacs were soft and fluffy, and my boots sunk airily into the powdered ground, like walking on the moon. I almost thought for a time that as I was in Roswell, and that now I had seen aliens while on the drug I was poisoned with, and that the conversations with the captain had happened in 2000 a year earlier, that the powers that be knew what I was going through. I think I was wrong. I believe now that the only people who knew what I was going through were myself, my father, his wife, Jona, and possibly the captain who kept on calling me Jesus.

On one solo flight, as I was flying in the pattern at Roswell International, I saw the image of a young woman’s face projected on the left side of my T-34C in my mind’s eye! It was her, Evelyn, but I forgot her name. All I saw was a beautiful brown-eyed woman with dark brown hair and an eccentric smile. “That’s her! Yippee! She exists, John!” I screamed in the cockpit. “Now all I have to do is meet her!” I yelled further as I completed a 230-knot clockwise 360-degree turn over the Roswell downtown. “And I have no idea how I’m going to do it,” I replied to myself, desperately hopeless similar to Lonestar in Spaceballs (1987) as I rolled out to enter the pattern over the airport.

When I was on the ground in Roswell, my friends and I stopped at a local restaurant near the airport. I stepped outside onto the back lawn where the farmers were going to plant seed and reached for the ground. Slowly I sifted the powdered earth onto the ground to where it came and saw universes, galaxies, planets, stars, and nebulae sprinkle onto the padded Earth below me and thought to myself there was a reason. There was a reason why I had to go through what I went through—that was to see it in myself, everything in myself and then meet a biblical Eve who my life was to be about. After I had completed aerobatics and formation flying in Roswell, I proceeded to study intermediate phase pilot training.

In intermediates, another instructor other than my on-wing from primary and I flew on a cross-country from Corpus Christi, Texas, to San Jose, California, to check on pistachio trees in his farm nearby. En route back to home base, we encountered extreme weather at night where I was forced to submerge my inner fear of being struck by lightning. Flash after flash after flash, the airplane cockpit was lit up like a strobe light shining on a dim Christmas tree. Suddenly, an opening of clear sky between me and the ground, and on the corner of my left eye I could see a bolt of lightning approaching from a far-off ten- to fifteen-mile distance from the left side, and it branched out immediately. It branched out so far as the eye could see in front of me and behind me in the form of a giant sheet of lightning like a vast network of brightly illuminated veins of electricity from a blitzed Zeus in the sky, covering the bottom of the cloud deck like a floating, white fire blanket at 7,000 feet, a hundred feet above our heads. We had already declared an emergency because we were low on fuel and we had to get down ASAP. Bam! The instructor landed extremely hard, as this was a night flight, and he decided to take the controls on the landing.

Time was short after we landed in Corpus Christi, so then I drove off to helicopters from the hot and humid days and sharp burr-laden grassy fields of Texas back to the sunny skies on top of Pensacola beaches, again to study how to be the man I wanted to be, and that was a naval aviator.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 10

 

Helicopter Man! Posted on July 10, 2012.

 

 

 

Selecting helicopters was painful for me. I had my heart set on jets and flying off carriers just like my father, so I cried deliriously for about a half a day. At first, when I lay my eyes on that Bell 206 helicopter, I couldn’t stand it. When I was in ground school, I wanted to throw my helmet bag into my truck and go home, frustrated at how I never got what I wanted in life. The brain inside my head was in all sense of the word “scrambled” like eggs in a frying pan by my stepmother, Jona. My main instructor in primary flight training wouldn’t stop insulting me and gave me awful grades (I still love him as a brother and wouldn’t have wanted any other instructor because I flew helicopters), and now this ... I select helicopters out of primary. So yeah, I was pitifully pathetic. Not only was I pathetic, but my father started to call the CO at my new squadron. He called him on several occasions, saying nasty things about his service as a helicopter pilot. I then called him back, and he started to ridicule me for selecting helicopters. He laughed and hung up. Because of my attitude problem, I got out to a slow start and received a down for failing a course rules test (seventy-eight out of a hundred, eighty minimum). My aerodynamics was excellent, a ninety-six out of a hundred.

Once I started to fly them, however, it was angelic. My on-wing with a large, dark bow-handle mustache was finally friendly, and I still keep contact with him to this day. Flying that rugged yet flimsy airframe was just like floating in ecstasy on a magic carpet ride, and wow did I have fun. I flew over dolphins leaping out of the water in the daytime and played around with the searchlight in the steamy Florida nights. Watch out for the alligators.

Key West on our cross-country flight was the most amazing time. Snorkeling in the warm waters where thirty to forty brightly colored fish swam above the reefs and all around me was like being in a different universe I never knew existed. They all had different personalities and were investigating my every move. Some would nip at my skin, while others would swim around me brushing against my arms and legs.

Then, one night while I was studying for my next flight, I started to hear the voice of a young East Asian man morphing into different races asking me if I approve of something. “Do you approve? Do you approve? Do you approve?” the voice would say. The voice never said what he wanted me to approve of, but I said, “No,” almost ten times before I finally caved in and said, “Okay, I approve. Now what is it you want me to approve of?” The voices stopped. I studied for my next flight and fell asleep. The next morning, I turned on the television and there was the South Tower, on fire, and I witnessed the North Tower being hit live with a passenger plane. I don’t know what this means, but thinking back today I suspect maybe there’s the possibility that extraterrestrials could have been at the controls of this disaster. The voices sounded so precise and exact and could even at times be ignored, but they would come back and seemed to be flashing loud in my face, asking me, “Do you approve?” Later in 2003, my best and only friend on ship would fit the profile of the person I heard the day before September 11, 2001. The squadrons stood down for a week, and no flights were made; getting back to basics was a necessity, and everyone was in shock.

The rest of my flight training was a challenge as I had gotten into a drunken brawl with my best friend, Mike, from helicopter flight training. I passed out in the fight, and he jumped up as high as possible and landed his knee into my right side, causing what I later learned to be a subluxation. I could barely eat, walk, talk, and sleep again! I couldn’t even use the bathroom for two days. I was stuck in a mental dilemma; I had no way out of the pain from nervous system shock that weekend other than to cry out and say, “I love pain, I love pain, I love pain,” for fifteen hours straight. I must have said, “I love pain” at least ten thousand times that weekend. I made up my mind that there was no way I was going to leave my flight training because of it, so I told no one except Mike, my best friend in flight school.

It was so painful, I collapsed in the middle of the squadron because of my back that had been crushed by my 220-pound friend’s knee. I couldn’t get up at first, and it took me almost fifteen seconds of every effort in my body to get up before I finally did. Some of the other flight students helped me up, and eventually I was standing. I thanked them and stayed silent like I did when I was poisoned by my stepmother. Nobody could know what had happened to me. I didn’t want to leave the flight program, and I knew a NAMI whammy could have been waiting for me had I told a doctor.

But like I said before, I had a great time in helicopters once I started to fly them. I was an excellent pilot with crisp basic air work who got out to a slow start. I got to fly so many different types of helicopters and airplanes. It was an absolute joy to fly with the cyclic control stick in my right hand and my collective rotor pitch lever in my left while controlling the helicopter’s side-to-side direction (yaw) with the anti-torque pedals at my feet.

In the next two days, I was to fly exposure flights with fleet aircraft. My morning flight was in the AW-1W Super Cobra. I was waiting for the ship standing in the crew house with other students who were also eagerly waiting for their turn to handle a real helicopter, a big one. I waited many minutes past my scheduled nine o’clock takeoff time, looking around the shed, when suddenly I heard the repetitious booming thump of another AH-1W Super Cobra slowly approaching the landing pad in a standard hover, shoulder height above the ground. It gently touched down onto the landing pad, and the student inside climbed out. He gave his standard thumbs up before leaving the rotor arc. The squadron duty officer called my name. I walked to the screaming craft, and I gave my thumbs up before walking underneath the rotating blades. The pilot in command (PIC) inside hadn’t responded for almost a minute until he waved me in, a standard operating procedure (SOP) no-no. I walked reluctantly to the loud, spinning, screaming machine and climbed in and sat down into the front cockpit seat. I looked around the left and right sides and looked forward at the instrument panel, which was covered by a black cloth. Suddenly, a minute later, the engines went silent! No sound was coming from the engines, and I heard only the heaven of birds chirping and the wind blowing. I felt calm and peace surrounding my soul. I turned my head left and saw the rotor system grind to a halt. Suddenly, two black warrior locusts were fighting for control of the aft cockpit. Loud bangs and thumps were sensed by the seat of my pants as the aircraft was kicked and plodded by the fight between them. Suddenly a third hulk-like gray extraterrestrial locust hybrid, smashed the two black locusts to the side a hundred feet away as they howled elephant-like shrieks. They then ran away in fear. The Cobra helicopter wobbled side to forth as the gray hybrid squatted up to the aft cockpit. “Growl!” “Sir? Sir? Sir?” No one was in the aft cockpit and no answer. I paused for thirty-five seconds looking at the red Casio G-Shock watch issued to me in API. The black cloth was still lying in front of the instrument panel when suddenly the cloth blew in different directions! It flailed around, wildly blustering in horrible directions, brushing against my face and helmet for a full minute when suddenly the black cloth flew into my stomach! I was so afraid and nervous for the next minute until it jumped over me and covered my head. I was many times almost suffocated as I pulled the indestructible black cloth in as many directions as I could for thirty seconds until it jumped back onto the instrument panel motionless. I looked to the aft cockpit and imagined my line of vision far away from me. I saw the horizon on my left and said in quick sequence, “Sir!” I turned my head to the instrument panel, and the black fabric was gone! “What was that?” I cried out.

An empty, dark space then existed in place of the instrument panel after it disappeared. I was so spooked! I stood up ready to get out because I was afraid for my life. I then sat back down again, determined to fly a high-performance machine at least once in my flying career that I feared was going to be run over by my father in his big rig with no winged chest candy on my uniform. I glanced left in back to see if he was in his seat; no one was there, so I moved my head straight ahead, fracked with fear. The engines and rotor system started up again, and the canopy window on my left closed quickly with a bang. I turned my head straight, and the cockpit panel in front of me was a dark shadow! The alien sightings and the magic black cloth were a result of residual drugs in my system.

The PIC lifted the collective easily, and the skids teetered. We floated off the ground, and he positioned our standard five-foot hover. The instruments then brightly lit, shone pristine reflections with perfect, luminous, flat crystal glass displays and circular instruments, much more advanced than what I saw when I first climbed into the front seat. These instruments were light-years ahead of the H-65D Dauphin cockpit I had seen. The environmental control system nozzles were blaring gray-white water vapor into my eyes underneath my visor and into my face, giving me a cold sauna. The pilot taxied our craft to the yellow thirty-foot squares forming the parallel and perpendicular box pattern working area on the airfield, 1300 feet away. The pilot transferred the controls to me, and I started to fly along the edges of the box parallel and then perpendicular to the lines, keeping the helo straight and smooth, crossing the corners and pedal turning perfectly, when the pilot behind me told me I could do what I wanted.

I lowered the nose gently, and with great, slow amplitude, I levered the collective up as we sped off south of the airfield. We were approaching 140 knots when the pilot said, “Okay, I have the collective.” He pulled up hard with force, and the nose rose to almost vertical, then past the vertical. My heart was below my seat and then far in back of me forty feet past the tail of the craft when we first pulled 6–7 Gz and the PIC lit the afterburners. Flying straight up to the heavens, I was blissfully in a trance, space-lifted to God in the center of the universe every second of the 7,000-foot climb. The pilot transferred the controls to me saying, “You have the controls.”

I put my hands on the stick and collective lever. “I have the controls.”

“You have the controls.”

I lowered the nose from the near vertical slowly and formed a cobra-like pattern in the sky until the nose dipped below twenty degrees high above the horizon. The PIC then said, “I have the controls!” He rolled fast but smooth with the horizon spinning, curving left and down and then pushing the nose down, and down further until the helicopter was inverted. When he inverted us almost 140 degrees upside-down, hurtling toward the airfield, he lit the afterburners again. As we turned and tumbled this way and that, we were now 2,000 feet above the north-south runway. He flipped the helicopter upright smoothly in a motionless hover, still 2,000 feet above the Runway 14 threshold, and he lit the afterburners as we darted south in different directions.

I was scared out of my mind for the next three minutes during which I hollered, “These things have afterburners! Afterburners! And they’re silent. I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Yup, we’ve got afterburners in all axes. We can pretty much go anywhere we want. Now there’s nothing wrong in saying pretty much is there?”

“No, sir!”

“Good,” he bellowed deep. Onward we sped off in different directions, angling the helo one way and lighting the fires on our backs, angling another way and then accelerating very close to the corner of the airfield. He said, “Never guess what we’ll do next.” I said to myself, “Huh?”

The PIC told me he was making a call to tower, but I didn’t hear anything. My heart was still beating fast from how we had just flown many miles away and back. “How on earth could we do that?” I asked on the mic. No answer. We flew toward the landing pad booming once for a second, approached the landing site, and he let me set it down. I thanked the marine pilot and climbed out of the cockpit.

My next flight was to be with the MH-53E Super Sea Dragon, and it was the most challenging to fly. Weighing in at a maximum seventy-eight thousand pounds with over eight thousand shaft horsepower and a hundred-foot-long fuselage, I could feel the weight of the Earth spinning around me as the seven-bladed rotor system rotated. It was a beautiful helicopter, but I could feel every rivet holding on for dear life! The whole aircraft wobbled like it was a flying washing machine on its spin cycle. My grip on the cyclic control stick had never been tighter, and I could feel the arthritis traveling up my right arm in addition to the excruciating back pain I had at the time. We floated in for a light touchdown, just as soft and controlled, if not better than the helicopter aircraft commander (HAC) sitting next to me on the right. The crew chief was amazed! Immediately, I gently lifted the collective to go around for another pass. We were at four hundred feet flying in the pattern over the houses in the nearby neighborhood.

The thunder of Thor that I was in control of pounded and shook the ground beneath me as we flew forward over house after house after house. Finally, we came in around for another approach on Runway 21, so I touched down gently again, and the crew chief gave me a pat on the back as I left for the cargo bay. The helicopter aircraft commander took the controls, and no one had any idea what was about to happen next. The HAC lifted us up quickly fifty feet into the air. Everyone inside the cargo bay was firmly pressed into their seats. Then, looking out the front windscreen, I saw the horizon leave my field of view. With the runway in plain view looking through the front windscreen, twenty-five feet away from me, my stomach turned, and I was starting to feel like an experimental flight test monkey. The horizon was now above our heads as the HAC muscled more collective, more power, all eight thousand horses galloping at full strength, even more bite to the blades taken out of the air when we pulled 5 Gz into the emergency escape maneuver. Everyone in the back cargo bay, all the student naval aviators were terrified but not the two pilots and the crew chief. Below is a link of the escape maneuver video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEC9L5A3bSw

Near the end of my flight training, I had shipboard qualifications, but even though I may have been one out of two hundred flight students who could hover the first time my hands touched the stick, I consistently touched down four to six inches behind the line where I was supposed to because I was afraid that the rotor disc would catastrophically touch the ship’s superstructure. My formation flying in the helicopter was equally as tenuous.

In the end, my super emergency procedure whiplash recital abilities (I was the best in the squadron) and good systems, aerodynamics, air work, and instrument work could not outweigh my weaknesses. So, on my last flight, I was duped by my instructor, who played a trick on me by saying we would fly back home with a “down” (a failed flight) if we did not wait five minutes into our working area before we performed a cruise climb and descent maneuver. I knew by that time we would be under class C airspace surrounding Pensacola International and that it required communication with their tower because their airspace overlapped this working area. We were in the middle of performing the formation cruise-climb-descent, which is a climb of one thousand feet and a descent of one thousand feet while turning 360 degrees, all the while flying in formation. I was hitting the numbers accurately as the lead ship when suddenly I noticed the DME (distance measuring equipment) indicator from the VORTAC navigation station (VHF onmidirectional range tactical air navigation—an indicator on the instrument panel showing our degree position from the airport) was showing me .2 nautical miles horizontally and 120 feet vertically inside the Pensacola International’s airspace, and we were on our descent heading out of it. I stayed silent. At a hundred feet inside the airspace, my instructor, who was a big, burly marine, noticed the mistake, and we headed off immediately to do our next flight, as this was a double header. I knew this was my last straw. I tried my best to do well, and I got average grades for my last flight. I came close to finding the watering hole target, which was mostly obscured by the tree canopies, but the average grade wasn’t the one “above” (the term used in flight school to describe an above-average flight) I needed to get winged the next day. You heard correctly; I was going to get winged the next day. I knew the last straw had been laid. I was lucky I didn’t freak out in the cockpit. The end of my flying career was near, and when we landed, everyone knew what happened.

I told my mother who was visiting from Maine, and I immediately saw the disappointment in her brown eyes. “No wings?” she said, on the verge of weeping tears and her breath held back, speechless.

As soon as I told my girlfriend from Pensacola that I had failed out that midmorning, she broke up with me in the worst way. “I will destroy you. You will never amount to anything. I will destroy you,” she said. She had destroyed me in that conversation. She beat me up horribly, and the only thing I could do was weep in despair while I was on the phone with her. I never knew for a moment in my life that someone could act in such a way after what had happened to me. I hit rock bottom in the deepest depths of my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 11

 

USS Nimitz and the Heavens Above. Posted on September

6, 2012.

 

After flight school, I had two offers from my career detailer as a general aviation officer. One was to report to Norfolk, Virginia, and serve on an amphibian ship loaded with AV-8B Harriers and helicopters in the gator navy. The other, which sounded much nicer, was to serve aboard the flagship of the Nimitz class aircraft carriers, USS Nimitz (CVN-68) in grand ol’ sunny San Diego, so that’s where I went. Before I reported, I lived on the submarine base on the peninsula covering Coronado Island. As soon as I got aboard, the atmosphere was very nice and enjoyable.

It was a pleasant working environment in Strike Operations. Then, two other flight school attrites came, and we did not get along, or at least no one spoke to one another. The atmosphere then turned silent, and I was ignored by my colleagues, which made things difficult.

An officers-only meeting would take place at McPs, a bar located on Coronado Island. I had a lot of frustrations on my mind because I eventually left flight school and didn’t get winged. Then in the distance, I could make out a familiar face, but I couldn’t figure it out. I melted again and could only utter one word, “You?” It was the captain from USS Enterprise who kept on calling me Jesus! I didn’t know what this was going to mean for me, but I had a growing optimism that things would turn out great, and I could redesignate to Navy SEAL, considering their camps were on the beaches nearby. The captain greeted me with the same ominous smile I remember from USS Enterprise! He was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz! Immediately, I was freaked out, but I soon quipped by saying how much I loved my Operations Department job when I introduced myself to the group of officers who stood before me.

Then came my secret education at a facility called Tactical Training Group Pacific. There I was introduced to the equally young female naval officer named Maria Anastasia, a lieutenant junior grade like me. When I first looked at Maria, I felt something strange come over me. It was as if a vault door had opened in plain sight. It was black to dark gray. It moved deeper into Maria and out of sight. Suddenly the stars in front of me became clearer. I whispered, “Some kind of event? No words. No words. Nothing to describe it. I’m so beautiful? So, beautiful. pp Poetryyy. I had no idea. I had no ideeea. I had no idtee. I had no ... idea.” I started to squal from a Godly emotion, but no tears rolled. If there were one movie I could use to describe the emotion I had when I first saw Maria, it would be Contact when Jodie Foster looks into the center of the universe and turns into a little girl. Well, I turned into a little boy for ten seconds. I saw trillions of stars, galaxies, nebulae, and past friends of my previous life. I saw God Himself. He had a white beard and wore a white robe. The whole universe was centered on the self of a female naval officer with a Russian-Jewish last name from Russia, who stood before me. I started to cry, scintillating in the loving light I saw from the center of the universe. Millions of stars were shifting and revolving slowly about the center and then raced out toward me before my eyes into three dimensions, into crosses that resembled giant, shimmering, multicolored jacks I used to play with as a kid with a small rubber ball. Stars and nebulae were flying around me, changing and morphing into different dimensions, different diamond shapes that looked bright and clear as day.

Then for four minutes a light, thin veil of stars twinkled everywhere in my vision. God made his presence, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was quite the jokester and was trying to woo her from the start. I took out my hand and dug my fingers into my chest like a kung fu master, put my heart into an imaginary doggie bag, folded its top edge three times, handed her the doggie bag, and fell backward. I was desperate, and she was beautiful. She had long, flowing, bright strawberry-blonde, almost bright and light green hair bound in a bun, and she seemed to laugh with me. I fell in love, and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 12

 

The Horrors of War and the Buildup to the Prophesies.

Posted on September 25, 2012.

 

Some force was sucking me into Maria, as I couldn’t get rid of my symptoms of taking two Viagra each day in public for at least three weeks. I was so embarrassed. Strange feelings I never felt before were submitting me every waking second of the day. It was hysteria, but I knew taking a line out of a movie when stars were burning bright as day, deep in the blackness of space in front of your very eyes meant something important.

It meant something I never knew existed before. I didn’t know exactly what that was, but in the back of my mind, I knew this was something absolutely huge. To relive that emotion, the plain sight of everything in our universe and then start crying like Jodie Foster in the movie Contact was so unforgettable. And to this end, my life turned in the direction of love for my one and only, sometimes with no control.

On our preparation and training cruises for our upcoming deployment in 2003, JTFEX and COMPTUEX (joint task force exercise and comprehensive theater unit exercise), we traveled to Vancouver Island, and the others enjoyed laughing their heads off at the porn videos Lieutenant Commander Swint was showing us. My head was occupied by Maria though. Long forgotten were the memories of my life force imagining Evelyn on USS Enterprise (CVN-65). All I could think about was my universal encounter with Maria and the fact that somehow the man who kept calling me Jesus was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz (CVN-68). You heard correctly; he was now my CO aboard USS Nimitz, my new duty station. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t stop this myriad emotion for Maria and forgot quickly how much I hopelessly begged my current captain to eventually find Evelyn.

In Strike Operations, an intelligence based office in the Operations Department aboard USS Nimitz, I had the most difficult time with my colleagues, who refused to speak of events concerning the ship. All the while, I was so much in love with Maria because of my universal encounter where I saw the entire universe and God superimposed on the whole vision though. I was constantly thinking about her and how I could somehow woo her heart. No matter how many questions were asked in Strike Operations, I was hardly responded to by the other two flight attrites who arrived. One was in the naval aviator pipeline for one or two months and had an insatiable appetite for making jokes that glorified his own sense of humor, and the other, who had purple eyes and a shaved head, was a naval flight officer attrite.

The funny one, Jeremy, arrived first, and we got along somewhat, but there was always an element of competition in his every move. We even went to a Padres vs. Red Sox game together. But he was more interested in finding the ultimate intelligent joke and crossword puzzle to stand out from the crowd. The second one, the short, stalky Mr. Durham with the purple eyes and jet-black hair, said in a griping tone of voice, sharply staring at me with furious deep purple eyes on the other side of the open door when I first met him, “Thanks for the nose.” Months later, the strike officer and Mr. Durham started asking me whom I should marry on multiple occasions. I wanted to marry Maria, but the other officers said I wanted “something new” and that Maria was the least of my concerns. I would later find out that this was true, but it wasn’t until 2010 that I would discover this. Could the captain have talked with Mr. Durham like he talked to me? I may never know the answer to this speculation. On one afternoon, Mr. Durham asked if he could “have what I have.” “Can I have what you have?” asked Mr. Durham as he entered the room when I was alone on the computer. I thought to myself for five seconds how to respond and then turned to

him. “If you’re responsible for the big bang.” He left the space and came back thirty minutes later smiling and asked me whom I wanted to marry again!

Around this time when I first met him, when I was alone in the next-door room, I notched off the letters in his name and compared it to the letter placements of the letters right of A in the alphabet in the word “seven.” It was a match! I computed my name, and it was off by one. Again, this was nothing significant in scientific terms, but it was this discovery along with the interactions I had with Mr. Durham on ship that formed my opinion of him as an intellectual badass, who believed he was master of everything despite a stature no taller than Danny Devito, overweight but with a very powerful, wide frame. He often read five books at a time, mostly consisting of highbrow philosophy books, and he graduated from the US Navy’s Seaman to Admiral Program at the Naval Academy with a degree in electrical engineering, the same degree my father had from the academy. Every time he spoke to me, he had to correct his eyeglasses. He almost always ignored my questions, statements, and appeals for amends. He treated me with superiority over me in every conversation. Eventually, I started to believe what I was witnessing. I pulled up a chair next to Durham and asked politely, “Are you God?” No answer. The only response was a thousand-yard stare into his computer screen.

“Are you God? You can tell me ... You seem like God, or how I would imagine God to look and act. I’m not sure, there’s something about you that I remember from somewhere,” I rebutted my statement.

“No, you don’t,” Durham answered back dispassionately.

“Oh my God, you’re the boy I’ve been in competition with all my life! I remember you, you with your black hair. You, were the black draconian monster I kept seeing high up in the sky when I was younger. You somehow ... invented cigarettes. He ... he ... heh. You are God, from what I remember at least,” I reached deeper.

“And what else did you invent? Your ganja? Your Mary Jane? You better watch it when you get out and start smoking ropes ... I’m taking this,” Mr. Durham stated as he looked up, corrected his eyeglasses, grabbed some papers and quickly left the space. I was bewildered yet again at his cold shoulder and fast exit. What was more perplexing, was his thievery of the God identity. “No, wait,” I begged him to stay. The door slammed shut. He returned an hour later, then sitting quietly in front of his computer station keeping mum about any person or thing on ship.

I thought that the captain, who was my nemesis and inspiration aboard USS Enterprise, as executive officer, number two in command of the ship, and who was now my commanding officer on USS Nimitz, would be able to even possibly get me back into the naval aviator pipeline again, depending on how good my fitness report was. I never met with the captain personally when I was under his command for the second time though; I was transferred to Supply Department just after our 2003 combat cruise set sail and did the best job I could do.

It was never enough for my boss, who was a lieutenant commander and wouldn’t stop hammering me day after day. The man went berserk every time he saw me, which was on a nontop basis every day in the hangar bay, in his office, in the wardroom, in the bathroom even. The only thing I could do was give him body language as if I loved him and answer his questions to the best of my ability. Wherever I was, he was there verbally beating me up, horribly making threats to do bodily harm every waking second of the day, which was long. My workdays lasted anywhere between twenty and forty hours, extending beyond the limits of normal expectation. The sleep never came again! Workdays weren’t days anymore. They turned into multiple days strung together, and even weeks! An average day would consist of approximately thirty straight hours of standing watch on the bridge (which was fun, and I have many stories about my bridge watch), attending meetings, inspecting storerooms, standing watch in CDC (Combat Direction Center), and writing instructions, and if I was lucky, I would get two hours of sleep. I felt the damage to my body when the second year of sleep deprivation came.

This didn’t stop me from being a good bridge watch team member though. Once, when we were in the Strait of Hormuz, I spotted five yellow speedboats, pointing them out to the ship’s navigator who was a commander, and a SH-60B helicopter pilot, the assistant navigator who was a P-3 naval flight officer, the officer of the deck, and the conning officer, who directed the helmsman and the lee helmsman. The captain who kept on calling me Jesus was present in his chair, but I didn’t bother him. I was the junior officer of the watch (JOOW). As soon as I started reporting these yellow speedboats traveling at over forty knots in the distance five to seven miles away to four different people at their watch stations, the officer of the deck, who was a female Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department officer, soon got annoyed at my directives to look out for the possible Iranian speedboats, so she told me to practice looking up codes in one of the nautical almanacs we had on the bridge. I walked over to my watch station, and I was thumbing through the literature. As soon as I lifted my head after I had buried it in the books for about four minutes, I saw the five speedboats that I reported to the four different officers on the bridge so insistently, located two hundred yards off the bow of the aircraft carrier, clustered together, floating in large waves, approaching us quickly. “ANAV ... ANAV,” I urgently pulled on the assistant navigator’s sleeve. Soon, the assistant navigator was calling all attention to the bow of the ship. Everyone looked up and saw them; soon we were worrying about our pants! We blew through their formation and remained steady at twenty-eight knots. We were lucky they didn’t have any explosives, and it made the whole bridge watch team look incompetent.

Then came the US Navy SEAL PFT BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition School) physical fitness entry test. The Navy SEAL PFT test took place in Bahrain where it was 115 degrees at 10:00 a.m. I passed the pull-ups with fourteen, much less than my peak of twenty-eight. I passed the curl-ups with a hundred, push-ups were eighty-nine, and the swim time was first with a time of 7:18 for a five-hundred-yard survival stroke, which was over forty-five seconds faster than the second-place swimmer. I was in first place until the run. On the run, in the nearly 120-degree heat, I was fourth with a time of 8:10 running 1.5 miles in camouflage and boots, missing the cutoff time by ten seconds. Again, I was disappointed.

In the remaining three months of cruise, the air wing lost a $65 million jet because two of the air wing sailors had retrieved from the Hazardous Materials Minimization Center without permission the wrong hazardous materials for their aircraft. All four crew members ejected safely and were rescued via helicopter. I was Hazardous Materials Division officer. After this class A aviation mishap, I was demoted to Waste Processing officer, and some of the Nimitz crew and people in the HAZMAT division called me Trash-O (trash officer). The abuse from my boss got worse, and the spaces I was in charge of were odiously dirty, sometimes one-fourth-filled with pulped waste food from the discarded meals of the ship. I remember the men and women I was in charge of, filling the pulper with shovels full of waste fruit, entrees, and leftovers from the supply department. The ship had a lot of trash, and I was large in charge of it, the first billet of its kind. Maria saw it all. There I was in front of everyone who did hard, glorious jobs for the navy inside the USS Nimitz wardroom, and I was professionally crucified

every day by my boss. The name-calling continued. Every other day or so, for more than one hour at a time, my boss would push me into the supply officer’s office and start screaming and yelling horrible profanities while pounding his fists on the desk. I was surprised he didn’t break his hands.

I did everything I could do to muster more strength to overcome these challenges of my pride being demolished. I was doing all that I could to woo Maria while she was still on the same ship as me.

Lastly, when we were in Hawaii on our way home to pull back into port in San Diego, I never knew what conversations I would have with my best and only friend on ship. Hawaii was my beautiful reward for working so hard for so long. After I flew a sailplane in Oahu through a 6G pull in a downward vertical spun spiral, my best friend, Ensign Brian Hong, a strong Christian and a Korean American from California, and I were sitting on the beach on the North Shore. The sky was crystal-clear blue, and the waves were crashing far away. Looking at the distant waves and sitting in the sand, he said something very mysterious. He told me, “Bring ’em down, dude.” I could only imagine what he could have meant by saying this, but I suspected he was referring to extraterrestrial beings, and I confronted him.

“Why do you want me to bring down aliens?” I asked.

“It’s just the way and a good idea,” he told me.

I argued with him, telling him it was a bad idea, because I still had painful memories of the experience I had with my stepmother, but I didn’t mention the fact that I was poisoned. I then agreed with him, but when we got back on ship, he redesignated to weather metro officer, and I was alone on USS Nimitz. I had no one to talk to and share the terrible times with my boss with.

Could this person be the same one I heard the day before September 11, 2001? I will probably never know the answer to this question, but when the combat cruise finally came to an end, I slept for three days. I looked at my Casio G-Shock watch once, and it was November 15, 2003. When I woke up, it was the seventeenth. Maria left for another duty station, and I was exhausted from the unnecessary abuse in life. It was then when a large drop of water dripped onto my forehead from the bunk above me. My body started to clench and cramp. Lying in my bunk bed staring straight up at the bunk above me, energized and infused with so much spiritual pain, my body was whimpering and ailing for an answer to my woes. All these painful memories of my father and other people came. I was crying uncontrollably, vibrating in painful emotion, but no tears rolled. My eyes were snapped shut, and I was gritting my teeth and straining my jaw as hard as I could without breaking my teeth with an ear-to-ear, openmouthed frown. All my pride had been destroyed. Maria never wrote back, and I thought my heart was hers. It felt like microscopic knives and needles were flowing through my veins and tumbling through my nerves for over thirteen minutes. While my body was straining as hard as it could, Mr. Durham, who slept in the bunk above me, left the stateroom and said, “I had fun, dude.”

I replied with a yelp. He closed the door, and it was as if I was pulling 25 Gz in a jet, and my body couldn’t take it anymore. “I ... love Evelyn Tuskegee!” I mumbled uncontrollably. I gasped for air, choking. “Who is that?” I said to myself, crying. “I’m in love with Maria!” I reiterated. At this point, I saw imaginary soldiers driving nails into my wrists as I withered in denial of service of someone at least being a friend nearby on such a hostile ship. A light turned on, but I couldn’t locate where the light was coming from. I wiped my eyes, and my palms were covered in blood.

As soon as I stopped crying, it was similar to being shot out of a cannon. My head was tumbling, and I felt so indescribable. I was seeing distant universes, and I could see short and distant times of the future. I wondered for a few minutes who Evelyn Tuskegee was, but the image of God and His universe being in front of me had been etched into my mind. Then the memories of the captain from USS Enterprise came, but the memories had been far too faded for me to recall Evelyn, so I let go of them. I remembered my universal encounter with Maria, and I saw my father’s face in the bulkhead with a circular Lipitor logo surrounding him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 13

 

The 2003 USS Nimitz—2004 Visions. Posted on

October 11, 2014.

 

 

 

Lying down in my bunk in the pitch-black of the ship, listening to the fluid transfer of the piping above me and the distant machinery sounding off, I saw my father in other different positions in my stateroom. “Well, the first thing I’m going to do is make the Red Sox win the World Series,” I said to myself quietly but confidently. The Yankees would be crushed.

I peeked around my bunk. I saw Him, and then saw the Red Sox winning the World Series against the Cardinals. Inside my sleeping bag on my bunk and pillow, the Red Sox had fallen zero to three games against the Yankees after a massive ten-plus run deficit defeat in the American League Championship series. In game four on October 17, with the Yankees pitching and leading 4–3 with baseball’s best closer, Mariano Rivera, on the mound, three months after what my father showed me as Evelyn’s birthday, I saw a base runner on first base steal second like the thief in the night of Fenway Park. I saw him eventually score and the Red Sox eventually winning game four, 6–4. In what I knew to be game six of the series, an injured Red Sox pitcher named Schilling, having an Austrian name, the same as Austria’s old currency pitch for the Red Sox, had a medical procedure completed to repair a tendon called a suture in his right ankle the day before. Eventually, I saw digital TV screens projecting Schilling’s ankle bleeding and blood diffusing into his sock in a large single bloodstain, with cameras intently focusing on the bloody red sock making Red Sox history, there and then in that minute when I saw him hobble off the mound to the dugout before winning the game. I knew that the comeback from a three games to zero deficit would be the largest comeback win in baseball playoff history, eventually defeating the Yankees and then the Cardinals in four straight games in the 2004 World Series.

Unlike these sports premonitions and effects of the clairvoyance I had at the moment, I imagined a glowing bright future for all of us, with the United States trimmed in gold and platinum. Diamonds would rise from the beaches and could be found and kicked around on a normal stroll everywhere. Visions and pushes to society for cold fusion, perpetual-motion machines, new gaming consoles, and techno gadgets getting thinner, lighter, and more capable were at the forefront of my thoughts. New watches, new style, new humor that everyone understood, even social media network sites I remember speaking to the captain about were formed in my imagination. I then heard a crack in the Earth’s crust. “What was that?” I asked. Two seconds later, I saw the colossal flash of an energetic star exploding from where I knew to be fifty thousand light-years away. “Oh God, I hope it isn’t near us,” I said out loud several times inside my stateroom and then my apartment. I prayed for hours, then weeks and months after, that it wouldn’t happen here or anywhere else, or if it did happen somewhere, that none would cause any harmful effects to anything. I then thought back to my time with my father before I was poisoned when we were trucking in his Freightliner 18-wheeler during the New Year’s visit. He told me on December 27, 1999, inside the truck cabin delivering goods driving on the highway, to name a disaster. At first I refused. It took him almost four minutes to coerce me into just mumbling a random disaster, and I said quietly, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas.”

“Son, I am proud of you. You might have just saved it all,” he said excitedly. He wrote the day’s date and the nature of the disaster on the back of his Bible. The rest of the conversation was strange too.

“Strange memory,” I said to myself.

So, lying there in my bunk on USS Nimitz in November 2003 after we pulled into the San Diego port after our combat cruise, two seconds elapsed when I saw a video from the future of the tsunami the day after Christmas 2004. It was atrocious. Then, suddenly, I saw what was the largest and most energetic flash of radiation from outside our solar system in recorded history detected by Earth. The flash of radiation, as I saw it, lightly caressed Earth’s atmosphere in faint disturbances in a message that everything was going to be okay and that a brilliant future was on its way. Just beyond a year later, exactly five years after my conversation with my father, when I said, “A tsunami, the day after Christmas,” after almost four minutes of continuous coercion inside his Freightliner big rig, at 7:59 a.m. on December 27, 1999 (the year 2000 was a leap year), the most massive tsunami in history struck Indonesia at 7:59 a.m. local Indonesia time, December 26, 2004. The tsunami struck the dayafter Christmas, and a day later the magnetar explosion was detected as the Boston Red Sox were world champions:

http://www.nasa.gov/vision/universe/watchtheskies/swift_nsu_0205.html

“Scientists have detected a flash of light from across the galaxy so powerful that it bounced off the moon and lit up the Earth’s upper atmosphere. The flash was brighter than anything ever detected from beyond our solar system and lasted over a tenth of a second. NASA and European satellites and many radio telescopes detected the flash and its aftermath on December 27, 2004. Two science teams report about this event at a special press event today at NASA headquarters. A multitude of papers are planned

for publication.

Brian Cameron, a graduate student at Caltech under the tutorage of Prof. Shri Kulkarni, leads a second scientific paper based on VLA data.

Amateur astronomers detected the disturbance in the Earth’s ionosphere and relayed this information through the American Association of Variable Star

Observers (http://www.aavso.org/).”

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 14

 

Enter Mrs. Sandman. Posted on September 30, 2012.

 

 

As soon as I heard the crack almost one year before the tsunami struck and felt the immense hot flash of the magnetar explosion, a voice of a strange but very powerful East Asian woman took over my soul temporarily as I was lying in my bunk. It was as if my mind had been reprogrammed by her to be in effect sixty years ago, and she was dictating what was happening to humanity at the time. The mass casualties caused by the Nazis and the Bolsheviks were hers, and we were fighting for control.

I was trying to save them, but the Asian woman was trying to make these events happen with my brain. Traveling into the future ten minutes ago, I was now stuck in the past during WWII, with the Asian lady completing the history books with my brain. Overall, I counted seventy-two million people passed away in the fight between us. Millions of souls had been vanquished.

Eventually, almost an hour later, the voices dissipated, but my imagination was running around the cosmos meeting and greeting extraterrestrial civilizations left and right. I was hearing alien voices sounding like a high-pitched submarine sounding off for a dive. “Oouuuga ... oouuuga! Ooooouuga,” they said. Inside my bunk, I uttered one word because I was afraid some of what had happened and what I experienced would come back to bite me. “Aliens,” I said when I recovered from the journey around the cosmos. I was so afraid of my own thoughts that I was giving the navy a chance to intervene and help if they had any type of listening device in my stateroom but to no avail.

I made an appointment with the ship’s physical therapist, who is a native Filipino, and he popped my back into place. The pain was gone! But I was still exhausted from the two years of sleep deprivation and abuse and the pain I experienced from my back subluxation. Six months later in July 2004, I would be promoted to lieutenant, but three days after that, I received an honorable discharge because my designator (billet or job) was cut from the US Navy for budget cuts, and I would never see the captain again after I was pinned lieutenant. Right after I was pinned lieutenant in the commanding officer’s office, with many senior department heads and the captain, who was calling me Jesus, close by, I heard the captain say, “This shit is real, I know it is,” as he was looking out the bright brass circular window on the bulkhead, called in the navy a deadlight.

In the wardroom, I wrote a joke for my departing speech with a punch line the captain will well remember for the rest of his life, I’m sure. I asked the wardroom, “When on an aircraft carrier, why is it necessary to kiss the commanding officer’s butt?” No answer. “Because it’s holy,” I answered back. Everyone was laughing and demanded some bull ensign magic for a standup routine. I snapped the last photo of this book submission, which didn’t pass copyright protection editing, moments after the concluding statement of my naval career.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 15

 

No Work and Little Left for the Alien in Texas. Posted on

October 1, 2012.

 

 

 

After I left the military, I was looking everywhere in San Diego for a job. I went to transition counseling but I found no work. I was miserable and looking for any way out which for me, ended up being exercise. I was working out five times a week, running fifteen miles every week. On ship, I was used to running six miles per day just to train for the Navy SEAL PFT test. Luckily for me I had considerable savings in my bank account I had accumulated over the combat cruise to last me through the trying times ahead.

I literally burnt myself out doing this intense exercise for months living on spaghetti and oatmeal. I laid in my bed and it felt like I was being dragged to the center of the earth. My body wouldn’t move or respond to my greatest desires to get out of bed. It felt like I was being glued to the bed so much that my body became limp and numb. This lasted for at least three months and then the tsunami actually struck with my foresight of the event.

I told my roommate Ahmed Umaña, a Costa Rican with a flair for bottled medicine and sneaking my laundry detergent that there would be a tsunami in Indonesia next week. I left to visit my cousins in Washington, DC, for Christmas, and the moment I touched down back in San Diego, I turned on the TV in my room at home, and there was the tsunami on the news. Eventually, people would be posting online information about the tsunami and the gamma-ray burst being connected somehow, which had disturbed the upper atmosphere like nothing ever recorded:

http://www.etheric.com/GalacticCenter/GRB.html

Osama Bin Laden would be witnessed on TV claiming that the West had weapons of mass destruction dug deep into the Earth’s crust or other weapons to cause catastrophe in strategic areas of the world. What people hadn’t known was that when I saw these prophetic visions lying in my bunk on USS Nimitz after we pulled into port, I had experienced actual memory, foresight, and prediction of the events that unfolded. I saw the dramatic Red Sox World Series victory. I heard and saw the Earth fissure causing the tsunami in Muslim countries. I saw the magnetar explode at a time fifty thousand years ago. What I hadn’t known at the time though was that these events would be my downfall.

Ahmed would start yelling and screaming at me, telling me to leave his sight, calling me a “prima donna” for telling him there would be a tsunami in Indonesia the day after Christmas. “What the hell do you think you are? A prima donna? Get out of here!” he wailed. I received my fifty-dollar check from USS Nimitz that the captain promised me in 2000 in the mail in late January 2005, but I didn’t cash it. I felt so empty that the lives of 275,000 people could have been hinged on a fifty-dollar reward for having a correct premonition that I threw it in the trash. The voices of the East Asian lady returned and wouldn’t stop in February, March, April, and then May. I left my apartment seeing and hearing aliens and UFOs everywhere, with the Asian lady’s voice clearly saying, “I’m so happy, I’m so happy, I’m so happy,” over and over again, sounding like Miss Piggy from The Muppets. The one-hundred-thousand-foot-high clouds formed shapes and patterns I had never seen before, and it was like being on an alien world for weeks. I thought that the world was going to end and didn’t know anything else to do except go to the hospital.

There I met a young woman who the nurses kept me away from because of the house rules for a clinic in California. Opposite sexes are to be kept apart. She told me of a dream she had that America’s coastline was covered in gold and platinum dust, with diamonds poking from the particulate material! This was the same vision I had when I was lying in my bunk under Mr. Durham! They released me and sent me a bill for $13,000 for occupying a bed for seventy-two hours.

The voices wouldn’t stop and it was similar to being on a different planet. The dogs would bark while I was at a motel deep in Arizona, where my running away from these voices took me, and they would morph into the Asian lady’s voice saying horribly nasty things over and over again. I must have heard these profanities 680,000 times in my travels across the dangerous badlands of California, to the open grasslands of Texas, to no end.

It was like my head was stuck in a speaker with her and my coworker / best friend from USS Nimitz saying these scathing things over and over again. I was seeing aliens everywhere and was wondering if they were going to jump dimensions and take over the Earth with my state of consciousness. The aliens were falling out of the sky as I was driving on the highways. I was driving fearfully back to Maine to my mother because the voices wouldn’t stop and I was a long way from San Diego. When I was in Arizona, I heard the voices of gray aliens with their craft hovering above my truck. “Drink waaaater, drink waaaaaater, drink waaaaater, good boy. Drink waaaaater, drink waaaater, drink waaaaaaaaater, good boy,” the grays would sing. They would say “good boy” whenever I swallowed something liquid, like my saliva. I stopped at a grocery store and bought a three-gallon container of water. I drank water until I puked, and the grays kept saying “good boy” in a high-pitched voice every sip until they dissipated two hours later. To this day, I always order soda water with my meal at a restaurant. “Only life, no more hurt,” they said before they left.

Finally, I reached Texas and was forty miles away from Pecos on Highway 20. The slow-pumping black reciprocating oil wells scattered across the plains of western side Texas looked like thirty-foot-high swaying, black locusts lunging before eating the wells. It was a bright, sunny day, and I had no idea I would be in for yet another thriller experience. As I was driving with the passenger-side window open, I started to hear chirping, clicking sounds from the right side of the road. I was seeing patterns in the wind blowing the grass in different directions as I drove by, and there were these pods sounding off, making these sounds, jumping 250 feet forward in front of the truck as they passed by my window as I drove, hovering five to ten feet in the air. “Drdrdrdrdrrrrr, drdrdrdrdrrrrr, drdrdrdrdrrrrr,” they sounded off as they passed. I remembered immediately back to a time when I was fourteen, driving home from swim practice in high school and my mom was driving. It was winter, and I had frozen hair-icicles hanging on my forehead that night when we walked to the car. I had my passenger-side window open in the maroon Subaru, and these chirping, clicking sounds wouldn’t stop. It sounded like they were following the car, so I told my mom to stop the car. She wouldn’t, so now that I was driving fifteen years later when I heard these chirping, clicking sounds again in the summer of 2005, I decided to investigate.

I stopped the Dodge Dakota and got out. I walked into the grass twenty-five feet into a level area on the side of the highway. I was facing west. I saw nothing. I turned clockwise to look east, and down and to the left I saw a shimmering, sparkling outline of a forearm with circular buttons on it, as if it had some type of biomechanical suit integrated with its wear! I could see right through it. It was a real extraterrestrial biological entity less than two feet away! Many colors of the rainbow twinkled and sparkled; orange, purple, red, green, and gold glimmered. I held out my hand to shake hands with this intelligence less than two feet away, but he remained motionless. Twelve seconds later, with my arm still extended for a handshake, intense fear came over me as if the being wanted to roast me on a spit for lunch and dinner! I raced back to my truck and sped off as fast as possible with the accelerator glued to the floorboard. I got out of there quick!

Later, in 2009, I would witness the extraterrestrials I saw and heard that day on the silver screen when District 9 came out. They looked and sounded exactly alike, and I was mesmerized by the movie. The only thing missing from the alien in the movie was the technology integrated with its forearm. I couldn’t help but relate to Wikus van de Merwe in the movie District 9 when he gets poisoned by the alien spray device and turns into an alien. When I was hallucinating aliens while on the drug that my stepmother poisoned me with in 2000, and then when I was aboard USS Enterprise, on the inside, my thoughts were so controlled by the substance I couldn’t concentrate. On the outside, however, I was superman when I was on USS Enterprise, which led to a remark on my fitness report by the commanding officer, “nonpareil performance.” I had fooled everyone into thinking I was more than fit to fly, which was just what I wanted. But my whole life and career after my NAMI health checkup in API was one miserable failure after another, and I could not stop thinking about how my poisoning experience with my stepmother or my conversations with the captain aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65) could have altered my life. The close encounter with the District 9 alien was also a life-changing event for me, as was the UFO sighting with Brian in 1997.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 16

 

Mom, Rescue Me. Posted on October 6, 2012.

 

Eventually I ended up in Wichita Falls, Texas, driving my now-tired ’99 Dodge Dakota, asking people to “do me in.” On my last stop, the police finally noticed my strange behavior and took me in. I don’t know if they knew who I was and gave me strange treatment because of this, or if they just gave me strange treatment because I was randomly selected from a long list of customers to get weird treatment, but I was scared out of my wits. They parked the car in the middle of a field at night many miles from society and lights, and I felt this rocking motion in the police car as if hands were tipping it side to side. It was very unnerving and intimidating; I wasn’t sure if they were planning to blow up the car. When I got out eventually after hours of driving, sitting in the backseat, I kept my eyes closed in shackles, and that’s when the hospital took me in. I called my mother in tears, and the biggest teardrop splashed against the tiled flooring of the hospital. On its way down, I could see the sparkling internal reflection of the bright lights above me shining my lucky star back to heavenly Maine, like my mom.

We were all given the chance to do moderately interesting activities at the hospital. Equipped with a canteen and plenty of people to talk to, I thought it was a somewhat pleasurable experience being there. It was pleasurable in that I knew I wasn’t the only one struggling, and the friends I made there gave me inspiration to move on and thrive.

Six weeks after I arrived, my mother flew to Dallas, Fort Worth, and we trekked across the country to retrieve all my belongings, which I had left in San Diego. The whole time, my thoughts were occupied by Maria and how to somehow woo her. I was in love with her because of the Godly vision I saw when we first met. When we got to my apartment, we found that I was robbed of my silk and fish Persian carpets and my watches among other things.

Finally, after cleaning my room and hitching a U-Haul trailer to my truck, we got my belongings from San Diego and drove back home to Maine. My mother and I talked the whole way about our breakup, our family, and good times ahead as the countryside and cities passed us. The moment I arrived at the U-Haul station in Brunswick on Bath Road, I spun the attaching nut connecting the U-Haul trailer less than 1/36th of a turn, and it fell off the drive bolt connecting the trailer to the truck after 2500 miles of driving though the plateaus and mountains of Colorado, to the dizzying slanted plains of Nebraska, the cornfields of Iowa, and the Great Lakes of New York and Pennsylvania. The bolt let go after being spun nearly fifteen degrees. Amazing. I had a guardian angel on my shoulder the whole way, a gift from God.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 17

 

The Decision to Return to UMaine.

Posted on October 7, 2012.

 

 

 

In 2009, after I had invested the last of my money into my online business, a paranormal search engine, and after I had delved into a chemistry book I found at the local library when I moved back to Brunswick, I decided it was time to attempt an engineering degree. I remembered a time when I was six years old in first grade. We were in Smith’s class, but we had a substitute teacher that day, and I was playing with some scotch tape and scribbling my number-two pencil on it. 

I asked myself, "How would my pencil graphite affect the strength of the scotch tape?  I believe the scotch tape would be stronger, so just allow me to give it a tensile test."  

So I pulled and pulled it apart more to the breaking point and found the tape was far stronger than just a regular piece of plastic with adhesive on it.  The tape was held together under greater force than a normal piece of tape by a single leaflet of graphene, which was the strongest man-made material for three years, twenty-eight years into the future until linear acetylenic carbon, a triple-bonded carbon molecule also called carbyne was isolated in 2013. I remembered this moment when I gave it to the substitute teacher. In 2010, two Russian scientists won the Nobel Prize in physics for the graphene discovery. So I decided I wanted to become a materials engineer. To prepare for this, I needed two chemistry classes, and they offered them at UMaine.

 

At the first introduction to the chemistry teacher’s assistants when I returned to UMaine, I was still in love with Maria, having forgotten all the interactions and the soul-piercing psychic channeling I made nine years ago in 2000 on USS Enterprise, the pride of the US Navy with Evelyn Tuskegee.

One of the teacher’s assistants was named Evelyn, but I didn’t recall her full name until the first time she touched me. One of the chemistry directors made sure I looked at her and laid eyes on her. The director called my name. I looked at one of the TAs, and they saw my eyes were offset from their intended recipient, so they told me, “Next one over, John,” and I saw her.

It was Evelyn. She looked so innocent, so pure, and slightly uncomfortable but confident, looking down and to the right toward the floor. No stars, no universe, no flying nebulae, just an earthy, wonderful, brown-eyed, very young twenty-two--year-old stood before me fifteen feet away. At first I wondered how this director knew my name and then called it out and to make sure I saw Evelyn, but for some conspicuous reason, I forgot about this introduction, which I remotely suspect came from the same secret societies that I was exposed to on USS Enterprise with the captain. So, Evelyn and I remained strangers until she touched me deep, and wow did it burn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 18

 

The Touch. Posted on October 10, 2012.

 

As I was taking the chemistry class, I remembered a time when I was still in love with Maria in 2005, when I met her boyfriend (now loving husband) at the door of their apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. He asked to see my shoes for some reason, and I remembered Maria from my childhood as I had foretelling memories of my future interactions with her as an adult. Hence the symptoms of déjà vu. I currently have even more déjà vu symptoms resulting from my memories of Evelyn aboard USS Enterprise, but Maria was on my mind at the time. From this vision of a beautifully crafted leather pair of soles on my feet, I interpreted this as an opportunity to do something romantic for Maria, which for me would be to walk across the country and collapse on her doorstep when I got there. I got as far as Bangor from Orono in the cold and wet 2009 December winter. With huge blisters on my feet, I begged for a bus ticket back home from a McDonald’s employee. God bless his soul.

Tired, miserable, and weeping in despair from all the effort that went into winning Maria’s heart and failing every attempt at it for eight years, I had my hands covering my work on my chemistry paper, which was close to being clear of any writing on it whatsoever. I had lost all hope of ever finding someone as special as Maria was to me. Suddenly, this young woman walks over and reaches for my hands covering my paper. Gradually, and as if filled with the memory foam material my mattress is made of, this young woman slowly opened my hands similar to one thin metal rose opening its petals to the sun. Still in love with Maria, I was shocked at this foreign touch that felt so good but seemed to burn my soul hot. “Don’t ... aw ... why ... don’t ... don’t,” I said as if I was lying intently about my desperate need for attention, but she refused to let go of my hands without her gently opening my work up to the lights above in room 315 in Aubert Hall at the University of Maine.

So baffled as to why this woman showed such caring affection for me, I gave this young Evelyn a look I am looking forward to forgetting forever. I laid down my pencil smoothly, and I looked up, possessed by alertness and aloofness, staring at her as if I was asking her why she turned my attention away from Maria. I gave her the same look my stepmother, Jona, gave me when I was sitting on the bus ready to leave Utica on January 3, 2000, and then in 2002 when Mr. Durham stared at me in almost every reticent encounter I had with him on USS Nimitz (CVN-68). I couldn’t understand why this intelligent, beautiful, and young nineteen-year-old came over and touched me so affectionately and obsequiously. The only thing I could do was return the treatment I received from people in the first thirty-three years of my life, which was cold, cruel, and aloof for the first time in my life. During this ethereal experience, I could have looked up at her and asked, “Are you Eve?” because I knew it was her the whole time, and when I felt her presence touching my hands and saw her and heard her ageless voice, I knew she was the Eve of all omniverses. But I didn’t do it. She looked at me and looked at the wall ninety degrees to my right, intermittently glancing at me, smiled, and started to giggle. I kept staring and then relaxed and sighed as I looked down onto my desk and then the floor. I stared at her again for ten seconds as she tried to smile at me, and then she backed away slowly, ten to fifteen feet away like on the verge of having a nightmare, with a frightened frown.

Twenty seconds later, I looked at her, and I said to quietly to myself, “Oh my God, I can’t believe it’s her. It’s her, oh no, oh no.” Forty-five seconds after that, I raised my hand and asked one of the other teacher’s assistants, who was a guy, what her name was. “Can you tell me what her name is standing over there please?”

“Her? That’s Evelyn Tuskegee. Yes, she’s a veterinary student. Do you know her?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” I lied to avoid causing him to say anything to her about me. I thought to myself, Oh my God, she’s the one, the one I have been waiting for, the chosen one I’ve been looking for all my life. The one I saw my life with when I begged the captain to somehow find her, and then marry her to save me, the one I saw on the side of my aircraft when I soloed in Roswell, the one I knew as a boy in my imagination. Immediately, I apologized for the villainous look I gave her. I earnestly called her name out, and she walked over and sat down at the desk next to me. “I’m so sorry. Evelyn. I didn’t mean to do that. Um, it was a bad thing I did. I’m really sorry.” She seemed to accept my apology, and it appeared as if we moved on. Immediately my mind was racing at a million miles a minute trying to figure out how to woo Evelyn. I knew what her major was, and it was the same field as my memory with the captain when I told him her chosen profession to be, a Veterinarian. Same face, same hometown, same name, same family names, same major, same everything! She was the perfect match to my long-lost painting of my imagination aboard USS Enterprise.

The next class, I left the recitation session in the middle of class and said goodbye, saying regrettably in an interpretive Mainer accent, “I’m goin’ out for another cigarette.” The next class came, and I was dressed up in an argyle sweater, hoping to leave the best impression of myself as possible. When Evelyn showed me a paragraph in my chemistry book, I nudged my right middle finger away from her middle finger three millimeters, and she moved her left middle finger four millimeters closer to mine. Our middle fingertips were three millimeters apart for four seconds before I swiped my hand away. It was a success. One small step for a woman, one giant leap for mankind! As soon as I got home from chemistry class, I asked her to the engineering ball the next Friday via e-mail, and she said yes! But she wrote that she had to work that weekend while I was in thermodynamics class.

So she backed out. When I wrote poetry to her, she was scared and aloof. When I wrote letters to her, I called her the most beautiful woman in the history of the universe, and when she presented her side of the story in court for sending her five to ten e-mails and seven friend requests on Facebook, she wrote that she didn’t like my comments on her “beauty.” I made the exact mistake so many times in my e-mails that I knew I would make ten years prior by calling her the most “beautiful” woman in the history of the universe. Two years later, I witnessed the same right big toe I imagined twisted in 2000 aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65) in a photo she took of herself dancing in the rain. Evelyn, please, if you’re reading this, please believe me when I say you are Eve. I’m so different from the way I was when I first met you. I am so sorry I left you with a bad impression. I’m really just a normal guy, and I can promise really almost anything to you in my heart. You can be with anyone, you can marry anyone, your soul mate, your one and only, and I will be still thrilled for you. I’m ecstatic for having seen you once. Or, maybe sometime in the future you, or I, or anyone can marry one or more than one person.

At this point in my life, I felt it was necessary to write a book to show how fragile some dreams are and not to worry about them if they go unfulfilled. The dream of wooing memories of my imagination when I was on USS Enterprise is a pie-in-the-sky dream.

What I learned from my experiences is that all omniverses, all of God and all His stars and planets are fully inside each and every one of us, and our love for it brings us closer to the heart of everything. What I saw in Maria Anastasia was unforgettable, and it was a lovely sight that fills me with joy and happiness and an undeniable sense of assurance that God not only exists but also loves us, cares for us, and regards our compassion with tremendous, strength. It was an experience that I will never forget. But, despite this experience and memory I have of seeing everything and God Himself in Maria, I hope for the day I can reach for Evelyn’s hand. It is my only wish that they are both happy and that Evelyn finds me somewhere in her heart. There is nothing left to sacrifice. I have given everything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 19

 

Conclusion

 

I do want to say first that Evelyn could very well be the one I’ve been searching for all my life. In Albuquerque, I have a strange memory of meeting the captain with my father at the local airport one day, who must have been an ensign at the time and just graduated from college. In my meeting with the captain in 2000, he said he knew Bill Gates, who was with the captain (then ensign) when I met these strange men around 1979. Oddly enough, around the time when I was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, Microsoft opened its doors in my hometown. Could this be a conspiracy? Could there be people in power who believe that I’m Jesus? Could my poisoning, which at the time enabled me to see an alternate reality, be part of this conspiracy? Could the conspiracies I remotely suspect exist have come from higher powers in the government? From the captain, who I believe is a deceiver? Would it be from me? Or all these entities? Could the captain who was calling me Jesus have been told by senior officers in the government to tell me the things he said to me? Could I have been given the captain’s blood inside the Coke can by the random petty officer? Was the fact that the captain commanded two aircraft carriers that I was on a conspiracy? Could I have actually had a predictive vision of the Twin Towers on fire and the tsunami the day after Christmas when I was talking with the captain in 2000, and then the latter with my roommate, Ahmed, in 2004? Was there a reason why he asked me for a reward for the correct premonition of the tsunami but didn’t and crouched away saying, “No, no, no don’t tell me,” when I told him of the Twin Tower disaster? Will Evelyn return to be the first Eve of all omniverses, and unite them all under one US government? And could have Ensign Hong known the captain and been instructed to tell me to bring gray extraterrestrials down to Earth? I don’t know the answer to these questions among the many others I have about this decade of my life, but I’ve had experiences that point to a yes answer to them.

To conclude my story would be disappointing in my current situation because my love for Evelyn has gone unrequited for almost four years nonstop, but I have to. I would love to be able to tell you that extraterrestrials will come and save our civilization with their technologies and Jesus has returned, who won’t be crucified but will be king of all omniverses, only to pass it down to the next person in line, who will unite all things where everyone transforms into Christ, and we meet our relatives from the stars, and it is what I had in mind when I decided to channel Evelyn into my imagination on USS Enterprise (CVN-65). When I first met Evelyn in person, there was an instant connection, but I lost it in the fiery stare I gave her after she touched my hands so wonderfully.

This is another reason why I am the happiest and saddest man alive. I almost feel like I can never marry anyone as special as Evelyn is to me because of all these reasons, and I see her in my dreams often. It has been like running a marathon that never ends, and I hurt and ache every day because of it.

I can tell you in my most honest opinion of my life’s revelations that I have seen myself in two universes, fallen in love deeply twice among many other times, seen three UFOs, met the District 9 aliens on two occasions, been intentionally poisoned and tortured, but one thing inside me remains strong ... this is my love for myself. Not so long ago, for such a long time since I left the navy, I wasn’t the same man I used to be. My memory was corroded from all the sleep deprivation, my metabolism was low, and I had depression from losing the connections I had with Maria Anastasia and Evelyn Tuskegee. Since upon starting my semesters at school, however, I have found the way to not only cope with the things that I endured but to also thrive from them. I found the love that I have for Jona, because if she hadn’t done what she did to me, I wouldn’t have been so low and broken in my life to see God and all His omniverses we live in in Maria at TACTRAGRUPAC, and I wouldn’t have recognized Evelyn so quickly if I hadn’t been poisoned. So the only thing I can do is forgive her. I know the captain has, and you should too. I know for a fact that the captain is a walking talking forgiveness machine.

I only arrived at my present level of happiness by writing my book. And I hope that anyone who reads this navy memoir can find comfort knowing that all omniverses were always yours. God gave everyone to everyone, to you in the beginning. But if I was Jesus, or despite the fact that I am not, every man is Jesus and a brother, and I treat them that way. We all have our cross to bear today.

The extraterrestrial crafts and beings I have seen with my own eyes, on one occasion confirmed by my friend Brian when I was with at the University of Maine, are extremely advanced. In these contacts I have made from other worlds, I understand they have immortalizing medical technologies that can allow us to live for thousands of years if not for much longer, living unimaginably long and productive lives. I only wish that our secret world government would clean up its act and inform people of these possible extraterrestrial encounters. Title 14 Section 1211 of the US Code of Federal Regulations states that any person making contact or observing alien craft or beings can be fined up to $5,000 and imprisoned for up to one year. So far, I would have spent $25,000 and been incarcerated for five years. For these reasons, they must tell us about and legalize these very real experiences that can happen to anyone.

The problem with secrecy in secret societies is an exasperating one. It seems as if they could be aligning the stars for first contact in the near future, but the things they say and do, like blindfolding, before, during, and/or after physical and/or verbal abuse, gaslighting, biblical identities (which I am a trillion times guiltier of by trying to communicate to Evelyn that she’s Eve like any other woman), formation walking, blood drinking, human remains presentation, and secrecy vows are far more damaging to the personalities of those involved.

Notwithstanding these negative experiences, all my life I have been enthralled at the prospect of finding evidence of intelligent life on other planets because of the technology and other offerings they have waiting for us. The universe 13.82 billion years old. The human information age is only thirty years old. There absolutely must be an extraterrestrial intelligence able to visit Earth, if we’ve advanced far ahead enough to take our exciting first airplane ride on December 17, 1903, and fly to the moon almost 66 years later on July 16, 1969. I only wish for every person to jump for joy to the music of love that is waiting for each and every one of us. Our God-given right to make friends from another world has been taken away, and we should stand in our moment of truth to save ourselves from the potential disaster we know as our projected future, with pollution and disease booming in poor areas of the world. All I know is Evelyn can save us from this emptiness. Only Evelyn makes all omniverses special enough to befriend our relatives from the stars first, and I think that together we can make this happen. Out of a hundred billion galaxies and ten thousand advanced extraterrestrial civilizations per galaxy in the observable universe and the many more universes and omniverses that should exist elsewhere, we guys, our planet Earth could be the one.

I am very excited for our future. As I said before, there are many technologies that will immortalize us and allow us to travel to the stars. I feel like this will happen regardless of whether I am with Evelyn or not, or whether we make contact with extraterrestrial civilizations or not, but these advances could be so much easier and so much more special than that. I’ve chased after an extraterrestrial spacecraft less than two hundred feet away with my friend Brian at the botanical gardens on the University of Maine campus in 1997, and I’ve had a close encounter where I stood less than two feet in front of an extraterrestrial being in 2005. From these experiences, I can honestly say we are being visited more often than we realize and that the powers that be on Earth are very well aware of the extraterrestrial question.

Another question I ask of myself is why such an easy act could inflict so much pain on another individual. A dash of this, a dash of that ... this person shall live the misery he knows as his worst fears for a year, and should not forget it. In some sense of the word, my navy experience was the crucifixion of my soul, not my body. Jona is my savior in every way, however. If I hadn’t been poisoned, I might not have seen God in Maria, nor would I have probably met Evelyn. It was this breakthrough of the hardship that followed January 3, 2000, that made me see God and His creation in everyone on October 22, 2002 and brought me to my knees in front of Evelyn. It was such a grand feeling and sight with sounds from heaven that makes me know God not only exists everywhere in everything, but also in every thought experienced by every living and nonliving thing. Thank you, Jona. You are the best stepmother my father’s son could have ever known. Lastly, I also learned that I should always worship my real Mom and just love my father for any reason a family would feel safer having been protected by a service member.

To show my boundless love for Evelyn, I have decided to embark on an expedition up Mt. Goodwin Austen or Mt. Everest to plant a flag asking her for a date, and to fund my journey, I have decided to allocate all profits from my book, and all donations to this project, costing me $30,000. I only ask that my audience suggest my story with their friends or donate to jjspilot24@gmail.com PayPal. I feel that I need to do this because there isn’t another Evelyn Tuskegee, and the ideas of mine for her are prolific. You are my greatest discovery, and I would be nothing without you.

 

Love,

John

 

 

 

IEpilogue


What if she back to me? What if Evelyn returned at some point in the future, realizing who she could be in my heart, understanding my perceptions of her and seeing what I see in her? I believe this could be the start of a grand story, so here it is.

As soon as I was given the opportunity to send Evelyn my story, I sent it to her on her personal website.

I wrote back to her the first moment I could:

 

Dear Evelyn,

It has been my only hope that you could see yourself the way I see you for a brief, special moment. Please forgive my messages, Evelyn. Everything I have told you in my letters and poetry is true. Every woman is Eve, Evelyn. Believe it. Mary, Jesus, and Adam are all our real identities. You’re not the only one. We all are. Again though, I am so sorry for bringing you into my novella, but I needed to. The information in my book is weighty but reputable, hopeful for our future but requires some significant time to digest.

Some people might not believe what I have told you, but I bet anything that anyone who really knows you knows that you really are worthy of such attention. I’m sorry. I had to send you my story, so here it is. I hope you read it, if you like and I can send a copy to you.

 

Love,

John

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21

 

The Evidence. Posted on February 28, 2013.

 

Evelyn wrote back with a positive answer. All that I had been trying to communicate to her, she suddenly realized—saving humankind with love and bringing friendship and technologies from extraterrestrial civilizations that I had made contact with in the past was a great theory to prove. Eventually we set a date and time for her to meet me at my front door.

It was a bright, sparsely white spotted medium sized puff-cloudy summer morning, and Evelyn knocked on my door. I walked over to the gateway with nervous swirls in my heart. I opened the door and said, “Jesus Christ!”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Evelyn retorted. “So I guess you found me,” Evelyn continued. I was stunned.

“I think I did, Evelyn. I’m not sure how all this happened, but I think I met you after all these years from the beginning of time for a very special reason. You saved me from my collapse. You have no idea how long I have waited for you to come into my life,” I said as I smirked.

“Tell me how long,” she said.

“Since the big bang and infinitely long before the big bang, ever since creation,” I answered.

“What did you mean when you said I was queen of all universes?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, Evelyn. Just remember who you are in my heart, and you will always be safe, I promise. You stand above it all with your polished omniversal crown residing in heavens above every day, so just remember the fact that you are. Don’t worry about what’s about to happen next. We’ll play it day by day, and if we do become famous with my stupid life’s story, let’s roll with it! We can do this, Evelyn!” She kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. We raced back to my Prius, and we chatted the whole way.

“When are we making contact?” she asked.

“I told the captain by 2030, but hopefully we will do it so much sooner. I told him we make contact with the grays by that year because in 2030, our population will soon exceed our ability to support it. It was the latest date I could have possibly chosen. Poverty, pollution, and sea water contamination will be a problem, so I told him in 2000 when I had the premonition of the tsunami and the Twin Towers disaster that we need to make official contact by that year. Their technologies will enable us to do really amazing things such as travel to the stars, meet our friends from distant galaxies, and live for thousands of years, if not forever!”

When we climbed into my Prius to go out for lunch, I continued talking. “Now, I’m only telling you what needs to happen, not what is necessarily going to happen. I have heard voices of gray extraterrestrials for several hours telling me to drink water for some reason. And for some reason I think it was good advice, so I think they are friendly and have intentions to meet us one day. Plus, one of my coworkers who was my best friend on ship who I don’t have contact with anymore told me to ‘Bring ’em down,’” he said. “When I heard the voices of the grays in 2005, they didn’t say when they were coming nor if they were coming. They may never come. But I do know we need to find a way to acquire their technologies ... this is one of the reasons why I wanted to be a materials or aerospace engineer, to find new stuff, or fly off this planet sitting in my own pair of pants. And make enough money to pay for a new pair if you ever leave me. I haven’t heard any voices in years, and I’m free from the shackles of the illness I had at one time in my life. My illness didn’t occur naturally; it was because of what happened to me in the navy. Please don’t worry, my love. I will never even try to act in a way that estranges us again, not once more,” I explained.

“It’s okay, John. I understand. No matter what, we can make it happen. I would have loved you even if your illness occurred naturally, John,” she answered. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said again.

“Not to worry, my love, I do. I feel like the happiest person in the world because of my dreams with you. We’ll always be safe now,” I replied.

“What about your father? Why did he do the things he did to you? Will we be safe from him and his wife?” she asked worriedly.

“I don’t think he will do anything to us now. He never wanted me to be a navy pilot. He had to work as a truck driver, while my Mom received a sizeable settlement amounting to about $130,000 after their divorce. He could be in debt for the rest of his life because of me, so they sabotaged my career by poisoning me with a substance that made me hallucinate for almost a year. I am so sorry I was crazed when I first met you. I never expected to find you at UMaine. I was there to study hard, and I didn’t care what I had to do to get what I wanted. I am so sorry I acted in such a way that worried you so much. I will never act that way again. I never knew the universe’s Eve was so young and that I was so old,” I said as I looked at her.

“I understand how you feel; it must be difficult, I can imagine. But just think though—had he not poisoned you, or if you were younger, you would have been a pilot, and you wouldn’t have met me,” she replied.

“You may be right, my love, but my being eleven years older than you gives me vertigo, especially when I could be with your friends ... what will they think? Will they think that it is okay for us to be together? I don’t know the answer to that question. What will your parents think? Will they be embarrassed or ashamed? I never want any animosity to be with your family over me. And for this reason, I want you to make sure this is truly what you want to do with your priceless love life,” I said as I wept.

“It’s okay, John. I understand your story, and I read it word for word. I believe you, and I see why you wrote it,” she said.

We ate lunch at a local bakery. We couldn’t stop talking about the future of all universes and how we could see it all one day with love in our imaginations. We couldn’t stop laughing. “This can’t be real,” she said.

“I’m only saying it could be real, but it is a reality currently only in memory and imagination, and I’m telling you it’s the only thing I know. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known, since I saw you once as a boy, and then on the side of my aircraft when I soloed on detachment in Roswell inside the T-34C.”

She brought me to her house and introduced me to her parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee, please, come here. I need to show you something. Here, look at this map of the world. Tell me, what does the world look like? We have America over here looking like a pig, Canada there with a hole in its heart, Mother Russia looking like a mad woman on fire. Ireland looks as though it is America’s heart given to England, and look over here; America grows a new heart in New Jersey on its chest. Every state has a projection of power and humor, and we can make America the country of everything if we can become famous with your daughter, Evelyn the veterinarian, Eve.

Look at this, all of this. Mississippi looks just like Bart Simpson smoking a pipe shaped like Louisiana, and a retarded brother the the east with a water pistol shaped like Florida to his throat. Scandinavia looks like a Sigourney Weaver alien, Germany an elderly woman with its baby in its arms, Italy a boot, England a foot, France just like a pentagon, Israel a shard of glass. South Carolina looks just like a diamond and Bhutan, well, just looks kinda like what Bhutan would look like. Our world’s creation was clearly done with intelligent design, everyone. Look at the map. I remember these memories in the womb, Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee, as if Evelyn, our Eve, created black people by looking at them before she was born with her beautiful brown eyes. Oh, please do pay attention. It was as if when I was in the womb, I had complete control like an orchestra to conduct events around our planet for your daughter and I to one day meet and fall in love and make first contact with extraterrestrial civilizations. I love your daughter so much. I’m sure you know by now.” The parents were flabbergasted. “Your daughter is Eve. I even planned it in the womb so that I would meet the most perplexing Jewish man on earth and twist her right big toe clockwise from my perspective at that moment on the greatest the fastest USS Enterprise (CVN-65) that ever was, right in front of him, with that captain on the morning of July 4th, 2000 at 0634 EST. This is the toe; look at her toe. It saved us all from what the CO would’ve wanted through history, that is ... namely being required to be left handed.” I started to whine like a younger version of me. “And of course look at the rest of her, her orangutan ears, her Eve-like eyes, all of her. I can’t believe it,” I said. “And she’s friendly and intelligent. She certainly lifted me out of the despair I had over Maria, but I will always remember what happened that morning in San Diego. It just tells me there are many more beautiful things than just the science of it all. Although important, it isn’t everything. Your daughter is all of it and everyone, and everything to everyone in all omniverses. There’s so much more to this, or just everything might be just ... like ... uh ... a synchronicity. I can just go home ...”

“Oh no, you just wait right here. I will go get her and tell her.” The two coaxed me to stay like Mary Swanson pleads with Lloyd Christmas when he presents her the multimillion-dollar briefcase. “Be right back. I know you won’er!” Mr. Tuskegee griped.

“She’s our first Eve, Mr. and Mrs. Tuskegee,” I promised them.

Eventually, we eloped in the spring of 2015. We lived successfully in the outskirts of Portland, Maine, where I worked as a materials engineer at Fairchild Semiconductor in 2018 after I graduated with my second bachelor’s degree.

Then one night, I was making beef burgundy in the kitchen in the spring of 2019. I looked out the window and could see the same red, blue, and ivory, yellowish-white lights outside the window as when I was with my friend Brian at the botanical gardens at the University of Maine in 1997!

“Evelyn, quick come here ... Let me switch off the burners,” I hurriedly said. “Oh my God, it’s a real alien craft, the same one I saw in 1997! They’re here for us. I can’t believe it. Let me get the camera and the lights,” I said.

“I’ve got mine; you go get yours,” Evelyn said.

The night was pitch black in the woods. The tree line was illuminated in front of Evelyn’s eyes by the three lights five hundred yards away. The craft hovered closer to our house. Some of the limbs appeared red, some blue and others looked yellow. I started to run as fast as I could back to the window when all of a sudden the whole craft lit up like a Las Vegas casino! Beautiful, brightly colored striations across the entire fifty-foot-wide craft scintillated, sparkled, and twinkled iridescent colors. The craft had landed, and they were less than a hundred feet away! “Power, unlock, camera ...” I said. Evelyn had everything recorded. The windows were black square openings separated by dark gray dividing panels, and it made no sound other than a faint electrical humming sound I could never duplicate.

“Honey, it’s here! I can’t believe it, but it’s true. They’re here for us, and we have everything recorded. This is so amazing!” I said quickly.

We captured every movement the spacecraft made with our video cameras, minus my novice photography mistakes. It hovered left, and we followed it. It hovered right; we followed it again. Over the tree line it floated in, and every second I had the camera glued to the craft. All of a sudden, the spacecraft disappeared, and I said, “It disappeared, but we got everything we’re looking for, Evelyn. It’s all up to us to document this. We may want to post this on YouTube.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked.

We took the connector out of the computer and inserted it into the cameras, uploaded the pictures and video, and looked at them. What we saw was incredible.

“This footage has never been seen before. I have never seen anything like it before. I’m not sure if we should post that. We could gain notoriety because of these videos and I’m not sure if we want all the attention that goes along with it,” I said. We had hit the jackpot. The videos and pictures were irrefutable evidence that extraterrestrial visitation was real. All the laws of time and probability had taken place there and on that evening, with a 13.82-billion-year-old universe, and our information age being thirty years old. We finally made contact. Eventually, we decided the footage was too important for it not to be posted on YouTube, so we did so anonymously.

“I’m not sure if we should be doing this. I always knew we were going to be the ones to capture this. This is potentially dangerous for us both. No matter what happens though, we’ll always be together because I know who you are, Evelyn. I may not be the only one who recognizes who you are, but I did know at one time I was going to meet you years before you touched my hands. This is the ultimate comfort, Evelyn. It means I knew who you are years before many others, and I’m sorry again if I acted in a rude way when I first met you,” I said. I told that her since the start of time in our universe there has been a chosen one and that the creator of the chosen one is God.

I said all of this in admiration of her parents. Things were definitely beyond our comprehension of what we had done, and it was the only catalyst that humankind was looking for. The video made waves. Overnight, we had ten thousand plays on YouTube. Within a week, the sighting had been submitted to UFOCasebook.com among other websites such as Yahoo, Google, and MSN. Soon on YouTube, within a month we had a million views.

The video we captured was intense, and I knew it was going to cause a chain reaction across the whole world. The glimmering, shimmering, striated lights across the hull of the spacecraft were mesmerizing, and no one could refute the evidence we presented. All the colors of the rainbow and then some others we hadn’t seen before changing into others were shone oceans-deep into our eyes, and we couldn’t believe what we had done.

Soon, many comments were made on the video. “Is this real? Who took the footage? Where did you find this?” they all asked.

“This may not be what we wanted. I used to be a loser, and now everyone wants a part of me. But I think the footage we got is too important not to leave it posted. Let’s keep it anonymous and not tell a soul that we’re the ones who took this,” I answered back.

“You mean to say what you implied in your letters is all real?” she asked.

“In our imaginations, at least I think, it comes down to us if we post this stuff on YouTube with credit or not. I have no idea how we’re going to be affected, but it has to be good. I can’t imagine there being any other gift from God that could be more valuable,” I answered again. “We could get it all one day if we get belief from the grays. You’re so smart and beautiful, Evelyn. I really believe you were meant to be some kind of queen someday, my love, like every other woman on this world. We really can let this happen, but at the same time, I also don’t want it to happen. It could make things terribly complex. So let’s keep the settings to anonymous, and let’s tell no one, not a soul,” I said.

“Okay, good idea,” she replied.

“All I know is we must get their friendship and technologies to bring them down to Earth and save people from future man-made and natural disasters such as pollution and asteroids,” I said. CNN headline news, Yahoo, Bing, and all the others climbed on board the bandwagon to showcase the glittering lights shone across the entire alien spacecraft by broadcasting the video. The video could not be refuted, as the US Air Force had no aircraft in our airspace at the time.

“The US Air Force and other aviation services announced today there was no identified aircraft on the night of May 1, 2019, at approximately 10:00 p.m. in the vicinity of a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Portland, Maine, where a video of a mysterious unidentified aerial phenomena was taken on the same night,” the local news iterated. Suddenly, an announcement was made by the president on national television, and all channels were covering his speech at the podium.

“A closely guarded secret has now been revealed. The question of whether we are alone in our universe has been answered. On the night of May 1, 2019, an extraterrestrial spacecraft was observed in Portland, Maine, and for the safety of our citizens, please do not be alarmed. The US government has known for an undisclosed amount of time that we are being visited by extraterrestrial spacecraft, and this recent finding in the form of a video has made it necessary for us to pass our knowledge to you. The United States is leading an international coalition on assimilating the world to this change of belief, ideas, exchange, and knowledge, and to this end, we are making every effort to promote calm, peace, prosperity, and a harmonious return to the stars in the coming years. We have just received word from the extraterrestrial contacts we have made already that the universe and its shared intelligent inhabitants are ready to welcome Earth into the Intergalactic Superhighway. We are arranging talks between our civilizations to begin an exciting new age of discovery and exploration. I am now ready to answer any questions you may have.”

The president was bombarded with camera clicks and frantic questions, one of which was, “How long has the US government known that we are being visited by extraterrestrial civilizations?” Another was, “What will this coalition be called? How will this coalition determine laws and human values? Will it be secret?” Many more followed. “When will we be making official contact? When will we know who our friends are and who could be potentially unfriendly? Where are they from? Is the whole universe in on this? What will happen to religion in the world? What technologies can we acquire from them? What is the Intergalactic Superhighway?” And lastly, “Who are the people who brought the video forward?” We were both watching the TV when the last question was asked, and our jaws dropped. Hiding behind our couch and nervously nibbling on our fingernails, we were both afraid of the otherworldly backlash that could occur if our identities were released and if people were uncontrollable in their reactions to the video.

Mass demonstrations and outdoor parties were held. Paris, London, Moscow, and New York were alive with magnificent displays of fanfare for our otherworldly friends. “When are they coming?” “We want the Intergalactic Superhighway!” they chanted. It was May 7, the day before my birthday, and Evelyn and I were holed up in our house, hoping no one would come or call. I was afraid the grays would land again outside our house on my birthday because stranger things had happened. Nothing happened, but the cheering and parades and elaborate displays of posters and costumes continued.

Soon, extraterrestrial crafts and beings were shown on TV from the secret facilities already built to house and protect our visitors from the stars. Interviews were made. The gray alien bodies, clad in soft, white woven fabric, looked smooth, frail but strong, and their body language was deliberate yet playful. Their mouths moved very little when they talked, and rows of cone-shaped teeth could sometimes be seen but only on rare occasion. Their skin looked light gray and was sleek, with some idiosyncratic humanlike features like freckles and small discolorations.

They never lost the image of being “cool” with one another, and they seemed to have a brotherhood of friendly dispositions, personalities that, when observed carefully, appeared likeable and playful. They always spoke with the utmost respect for their interviewers and every other Earthling they met.

Their long, white fluffy robes had been monogrammed with a symbol; it was a cross! The cross, emblazoned with many colors like a stained-glass window, looked beautiful with its green, orange, red, blue, and purple. The center was faded into black. A glowing purple flower, looking like a lady slipper, only illuminated by a dazzling, brilliant rim of naturally occurring luminous plant tissue, was hung from the top of the cross. They called it a birth flower. Their message was simple; it was time for humankind to accept their help in bringing us to higher ground ... that is, so we could make it and survive our adolescent ages and war weary hearts. They said the technology of immortalizing medical procedures was on its way and that the technologies recently developed by their civilization had been simple; we were going to start living forever, and we could bring people back to life who passed on. We were also going to travel to the stars in spacecraft engineered out of the technologies the grays were giving Earth: wormhole induction propulsion, gravitational field manipulation, interstellar warp drive systems, and many more were coming. The already vast fields of engineering sciences humankind had studied up to that point had begun their immeasurable buildup and revolution.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22

 

The Intergalactic Superhighway. Posted on March 10,

2013.

 

 

 

“The people who have taken the video and posted it on the Internet have chosen to remain anonymous for now,” the president answered. “The Intergalactic Superhighway is the vast nexus of intelligent civilizations that have arrived here on Earth to welcome us into their family,” the president said. Nuclear fusion to power the revolution started up first. Up sprang safe, reliable, and clean sources of energy across the world. Society and culture had begun a new transformation like nothing ever seen before.

Computers, cell phones, and other electronic gadgets had gotten thinner, clearer, lighter, smaller, and extraordinarily more capable. Some phones had pop-out touch-screen displays made of fabric, easy on the touch, and able to project interactive 3-D holographic displays before our very eyes. We could talk to our relatives vacationing on the moon, Mars, and other planets in the solar system, after the first extraterrestrial vacation spots sprang up, using exokinetic electromagnetic radiation. Spacecraft utilizing wormhole induction propulsion, teleportation, and gravitational field manipulation were being built in the industries that were once spewing out gasoline-consuming vehicles. Finally, we could travel into space in our own personal spacecraft. The aliens were here, and all that I was claiming to be true eventually happened at this most opportune time in June 2019.

More technologies came, one of the most revolutionary being artificial biologically and nanoscale grown materials for building products ranging from houses to airplanes to paper, from the food we eat to the cars we drive and mostly everything that required everyday use. Almost everything we consumed could be grown in labs. Even the labs themselves could be grown out of the ground with bacteria or nanobots that had been developed by the grays and Pleiadians. Mundane jobs that required repetitive motions and caused unnecessary stress on the body had been replaced with either mechanized robots, bacteria, or nanobots. The engineers, who would be the ones to implement all these technologies, had grown in size from 2 percent of the population of the United States to 30 percent in a decade. By 2035, this figure had grown to 50 percent in the world. Half of the world’s population were engineers, and new products and new sciences were learned as we transformed the workforce from a group of service-oriented jobs to a group of engineers and scientists. There was so much to learn that new schools began springing up across the world with new material to be taught to new students entering into their medical and engineering related fields.

The sciences of physics and chemistry were overhauled, and a grand unified field theory was brought by the grays. Uniting Newton’s gravity law, Coulomb’s electrostatic law, and the Gilbert model of magnetic attractive force required an explanation of how the new equation functioned as a complex proof, which required mathematics, physics, and chemistry that hadn’t been discovered.

 

F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R^2

F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

The equations are remarkably similar, and the mathematical proof used by the scientists to unify gravity, electricity, and magnetism went into micro-scales never observed before, of distances in meters between new subatomic particles. Scientists up to that point hadn’t been able to evaluate the mathematical proofs necessary to physically and chemically relate the three equations. They obsessively needed to create gravity from electricity for gravitational propulsion. They tried relentlessly to formulate a grand unified theory of everything, but the grays provided the guidance and introduced the technologies necessary for infinite longevity, warp drive systems, teleportation, and intergalactic travel so that humankind could travel to the stars safely and reliably.

“We can travel to every star in the sky because of you, Evelyn. Can I be famous with you?” I asked her. “Yes, let’s be the Lord’s messengers.”

My conversations with the captain had been on my mind when we were discussing these things when suddenly the phone rang. It was the captain! Like the mad Hadden engineer from the movie Contact, the captain said he wanted to meet with me in Newport News, Virginia, with my love, Evelyn, to speak about the whole technological revolution we had started anonymously. I contacted the captain weeks earlier via e-mail to ask him what I should do with the evidence. He finally reciprocated our yearning for more information on what we talked about in 2000 aboard USS Enterprise (CVN-65), about how I begged him to see Evelyn someday, and then when my meeting with her actually happened, everything fell apart. I had questions about the 2004 tsunami, the magnetar explosion, and the Boston Red Sox. Lastly, I wanted to know what all the fuss was about with him calling me Jesus and what the crosses the gray aliens were wearing on their robes meant. The captain explained on the phone about how important it was that we be there on pier 16 at precisely noon one month from that day on June 1, 2019.

“Okay, July 1 at noon, sir, pier 16,” I said.

“Oh my god, Evelyn, it is really happening, and it is all real. We just might become king and queen of the universe for a while, my love; and we’ll be the first ones to give it away too,” I said to her.

“Like you said, you loved me like I wouldn’t imagine and couldn’t believe, and I can’t believe it right now. I never knew how much you cared about me ... ever,” she said in tears of disbelief. “I’m sorry, John, for all you’ve been through with everything. I have an important question I need to ask you. When your body clenched and cramped that night in your bunk on ship when you returned from cruise, what did you feel ... when you called out my name in pain?” she asked.

“I felt all the pain of the universe in my blood. It felt like my body was about to explode. It was like all the energies from the big bang were pushing my cells apart in all directions like I was about to blow up. I mumbled your name without thinking about what I was about to say next while it felt like pulling 50 Gz in a fighter jet, and then, it came out, ‘I ... love ... Evelyn Tuskegee,’” I said. “I got it all out, and I said it all clearly enough but barely caught my breath after I said your name. At the time, I had no idea who you were. I thought I was meant to be with someone else, namely Maria, because of what I saw in 2002 at the secret navy training facility,” I explained further. “When I was younger I saw a giant, glowing, blue and white, shiny, and sparkly four-pointed star form on the body of a young Jewish girl, Heidi, when I was in the first grade. I loved her through grade school, middle school, and high school. I was even invited to her house three or four times. But that love went unrequited indefinitely, and I failed to woo her. Then I saw the universe, or at least an unimaginably large portion of it with God superimposed on the image in Maria, who I believe is Russian Jewish. I will always love them as friends. I was so shocked at what I had seen in both these females that I said to myself it all had to be real in one form or another. The love never came back though.

From this, I learned that when it comes to requiting love, that is a different story. When it comes to requiting love, these visions of stars, nebulae, and galaxies may only be illusions. I will never be with Maria or with Heidi, but I learned that the whole universe is really inside every part of it, with everything living and nonliving strongly connected through the love I have for you, Evelyn. The universe is inside all of us. So, anyway, both crushes went unrequited.

Then the same thing almost happened with you, and I had no idea what to do in my situation other than to send you my book in an e-mail. In 2000, the captain called me Jesus, said I was king, and minutes later when I focused all my energies across the universe and infused it into you in my imagination that same hour, the holiest being in the history and future of all omniverses, you were formed in my imagination. I knew who you were in 2000, but that was quickly forgotten when I met Maria, and unfortunately for me, it got me into so much trouble with you when we first really met. I am so sorry, Evelyn. I love you, and I love every man you’ve ever loved too,” I said. “I love you too,” she replied. We kissed each other good night.

“What do you think the captain wants with us?” Evelyn asked just before falling asleep.

“He said he wanted to meet you, and give us a tour of one of the ships. We’ll get to see the bridge, and we’ll also get to look at some of the combat and weapons spaces. He also wanted to talk about the video we took and how things have changed since we made contact with the grays and Pleiadians. We’re making contact with other galaxies soon, and they’re coming here next year, I heard on the news,” I said to Evelyn. “Yes, I heard that too. They’re making preparations for visitation centers in the major cities where the ships will be coming in. It’s really amazing. Good night, hon,” she whispered.

Weeks went by, and soon it was time to fly to Newport News in our new Chevrolet Zion with a clear crystal fuselage and structural frame, the interstellar spacecraft taken from alien designs marketed for almost anyone in the world. The interior was plush and luxurious, clad in white, soft fabrics trimmed in black and knotted wood. It was comparable to driving an extreme luxury vehicle before contact with the grays, like a Rolls Royce from back in the day before the Intergalactic Superhighway revolution, only the machine could fly! I loved to show off my hovering skills inside the spacecraft to Evelyn; I just loved to hold it steady and float around for light touchdowns. Finally, after ten minutes of playing around, we lifted off the ground, and the treetops flew by. We were on our way to Newport News at ten thousand miles per hour and five hundred feet of altitude to meet with the captain at noon. We took off at 11:25 a.m.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 23

 

The Meeting. Posted on May 2, 2013.

 

We landed on the corner of the parking lot and walked over to pier 16, fifteen minutes early. He was standing there ... he had shorts and a T-shirt and sneakers, considered in the military proper civilian attire. He walked over to us, shook our hands, and said it was good to see us.

“It’s great to see you, John. What have you been doing lately?” he asked.

“We’ve been doing great. I’m a materials engineer now, and I’m married to the love of my life. I have so many questions to ask of you. What should we do with the video? Should we remain anonymous? Earth’s first Eve is here on this planet, and she’s standing right next to me. Sir, I would like you to meet Evelyn,” I said out of joy to the captain.

“I remember what John did and how much he begged me to find you someday,” he said.

Evelyn smiled and laughed at the flattery. “Oh you have no idea what he went through to woo me. What did he say to you when he begged you to find me?” Evelyn asked.

“He whispered your name, Evelyn Tuskegee, into my left ear and said you must be named Evelyn Tuskegee. I did nothing,” the captain said as he was struck by Evelyn’s smile.

“Why did you keep calling me Jesus that day on USS Enterprise in 2000 in the CO’s office? Am I really Jesus? I have all these boyhood memories of creating the universe and conducting wars around planet Earth to ensure my own survival to grow up in the most powerful country in the world, the United States. I remember Evelyn’s name as a child when I was manifesting her in my imagination. I then manifested her in my imagination again with you when we were on USS Enterprise ... all this déjà vu is making me crazy, but it feels so wonderful now that the love I have for Evelyn is requited. Am I really Jesus?” I asked the captain.

“Yes you are, John, and you married the universe’s Eve in your heart, I can tell. You should know the answer to that question already. You’re about to be shot off the deck of the Earth into the wild gold blackness of space. You found Evelyn, and the laws of everything first belong to you both. But remember, whenever you see something dumb on the planet, think of me,” said the captain as he turned and walked up the pier to the cruiser’s brow.

He told us to follow him, and he had someone give us a tour of the ship he commanded. We saw the Combat Direction Center, the bridge, Engineering, Damage Control and met many department heads as we were instructed on how to handle fires, steer the ship, and dock. After the tour, we left and got inside our Zion.

We flew back home in our spacecraft, stopping on the moon for dinner. We gently lifted the collective together, which was a safety no-no, and waved good-bye to the captain. “Weird guy,” Evelyn said. I giggled with an inhale laugh profusely, “Yeah, he is.”

Up hovered our Zion, equipped with gravitational propulsion and an interstellar warp drive system, and we lifted off. The propulsion system toward the back of the craft, which looked like a disk with a bulging rounded aft section, whirred like a thunderous whale in the back. We gained speed and left the atmosphere with the ground leaving our backs at immeasurable speed. We left the atmosphere, and the blackness of space became clear. The brightest stars and planets burned bright first, and then the whole planet behind us luminously reflected the sunlight into our eyes as we turned the spacecraft around to look where we came from. The Earth looked brilliantly bright white, blue, and brown green. The distance we had covered to exit our atmosphere was evidently clear, and we used the infinite windscreen given by our clear-hulled craft to zoom into many different towns and cities in which we had lived. We took some pictures and left for the moon, turning the spacecraft headed for Lunar Dune’s, a great restaurant and cargo ship stop for the drivers shipping interstellar goods. We ate delicious cuisine, modeled after earthly delicacies.

The food had been prepared in a meal-creating machine called a quantum food solidifier, or QFS abbreviated, which modeled an exact replica of our European cuisine through teleportation of particles into a space inside a metal box, almost looking like a microwave, only much larger. The view was spectacular. Many rovers and spacecraft hovered and came in for approaches, kicking dirt up in all directions.

“How did you know it was me when you first looked up and saw me after your stare?” Evelyn asked.

“I saw your face, and then I asked one of the other teacher’s assistants what your name was, and it was the same name I remembered when I was talking to the captain in 2000, my love,” I replied.

“Why did you give me that stare, John? Why did you make me do what I did to you?” she asked again.

“I don’t know, Evelyn. Just know that I can’t hurt you or anyone else. What I did to you was terrible, and I only hope you can forget it. I just thought we would be too far apart in age for us to ever be together, and I did what had been done to me all my life, for the first time ever to you, and I am so sorry for it,” I explained.

We left the moon the next day after we had spent the night on top of the lunar mountain Copernica Lumina inside our spacecraft. When we got home back in Portland, we called the police, unslept our computer, and changed all our personal account information settings back from anonymous and unlisted to public.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. The grays wore crosses on their robes, Evelyn,” I said as I whispered to her.

“I know! Do the grays believe you’re Jesus?” Evelyn asked.

“I don’t know the answer to that question. But the words of Christ in the Bible are those of the infinite wisdom and love from God Himself. I have heard voices of the grays before, and they were friendly, telling me in a singing high-pitched voice to drink water while I was driving in Arizona.

But I know it is my job to say that every being in all omniverses is Jesus. Everything is fully inside each and every one of us. I saw it, Evelyn. It was in another person, but I know that the answer to life in the universe is that Jesus, Mary, Adam, Eve, you, and I are all inside every beating heart in all omniverses. Our love created everything so that everyone could be king and queen, and everything in history to this point is leading us to our vast kingdom across all omniverses for a brief special moment. I’m going to bed, my love,” I said to her.

“Me too,” she said.

We went to sleep and waited for the phone calls and the e-mails to come because we had made the UFO video profile information public. Toonces and Pascal, our cat and puppy, were snuggled next to us.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 24

 

The Cat Let out of the Bag. Posted on May 3, 2013.

 

We woke up to a phone call from the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. They asked us if we wanted to be on their show, next to the Pleiadian universal dignitary they had on the same evening. They wanted us to be on the show the next night! Our plane tickets would be paid for, in addition to hotel and other accommodations, and we accepted the invitation.

Our e-mail inbox had thirty thousand e-mails, and we were debating what we were going to say that night on national television. The event would be broadcast on international venues as well. The whole world was watching and wondering who these two people were who had so humbly captured the irrefutable UFO evidence. The word spread like wildfire that we were the ones who captured the video. The phone rung repeatedly from the newspapers, television shows, and magazines. We looked at it as a service to mankind that we were finally giving people the answers they were looking for. Who were these two people who captured the first video of a brightly lit UFO that then brought the system of secrecy in secret societies to its knees with respect to the UFO cover-up that the government had been keeping secret for so many years? The government still would not disclose how long they had had evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence.

When we arrived onstage, everyone was cheering and clapping. Evelyn looked astoundingly beautiful with a birth flower in her hair and a red dress. Jay Leno shook our hands, and we sat down. “So you get around, I hear. You took the first good UFO video!” Jay says.

“The government has been keeping extraterrestrial visitation a secret for many years. It is good to finally see us go to the stars again since the big bang,” I answered. “I’m just like everyone else. I’m no different from you or any other person. We are all Jesus. We are all holy. Look at us. If there were any other planet that was to be the center of it all, it would be us. We have the stars, planets, and every living being ... everything in all omniverses fully inside each and every one of us,” I explained.

“You realize you made the biggest discovery in the history of mankind?” Leno asked.

“The important thing is that it all happened. We don’t have to work as hard anymore. All this technology they brought here is unbelievable, and we don’t need money anymore. We could currently be considered communists now. Almost everything is done for us,” I replied.

“Well, we don’t work at crummy jobs anymore. How about that?” Leno said. Everyone cheered and clapped. We were relieved of the misery we had known, as many of our mundane jobs had vanished, and it was a relief that everyone had found who had changed the system of secrecy inside the US government to one of disclosure, to a certain extent at least, enough to tell the public that alien visitation was real and that we had hitched the ride on the Intergalactic Superhighway within a matter of months. Everyone was relieved and ecstatic. The cheers lasted for a full minute, and Jay was thrown off by how loud the crowd was. Two billion people had tuned in to witness the spectacle of the first photographers to capture a great close-in UFO video. Almost all had traveled to the stars in the Milky Way and Andromeda, and soon we would be traveling to distant galaxies once the Intergalactic Federation came.

“So you and your love live in Portland? It’s a wonderful city there. I would love to visit sometime soon. I understand you’re a materials engineer. How’s that been for you lately?” Jay asked.

“It’s been really challenging. Engineering is difficult enough, and the technologies the grays and Pleiadians brought make things much more complicated. It is my hope we can get more engineers out there into the workforce and encourage students to complete their degree. It is a difficult field, but to everyone out there, for anyone studying materials, it looks great on a resume,” I answered.

“I read your book, John. You have an amazing story to tell. Are you Jesus?” Jay asked poignantly.

“The crosses the grays were wearing were a symbol. This was a symbol that Earth would be saved by Jesus and His word, and that the horrors we have known as the twentieth century are now over. A new day has risen, and since the big bang, the omniverse has been waiting to complete the plan of God and His servant. Just like you yourselves, I am your connection to God. Just like you, I am Jesus, and I follow His word in the Bible. You are all the central characters of the Bible too, all that is good. You are all Adam, and Eve, Jesus and Mary, for all Omniverses to be populated by, all for you,” I answered. Everyone was shocked and gasped in disbelief. Evelyn remained smiling, as she was the first to believe my story. The audience clamored and rustled with whispers and murmurs.

“Everything in my life has led me to believe that I am Jesus. I have had many people call me this before. My message is for you all to be Christ and follow His word on Matthew 5:44,” I said.

The Pleiadian next to me was nodding his head and clicking loudly as everything was being translated for him to the audience because his vocal cords could not pronounce English words very well. Pleiadians working with television crews had provided the translation for us. He could understand English quite well, but his auditory speaking ability was atrocious. His mother tongue was captivating though. The audience couldn’t decide whether to pay attention to the subtitles underneath his seat or the Pleiadian words being enunciated through his slithery mouth. The subtitles were saying, “What John is saying is true. We have the technology to do amazing things. We can now travel to distant galaxies and bring anyone and everyone back to life because we have all of Earth’s history recorded. We can even transform your world to be the center of all infinite omniverses, the most loving and loved, revered and wondrous religious center ever created.” Everyone cheered and clapped at the end of each sentence. Everyone knew it would be a huge transformation the Earth would undergo, but we were ready for all of what was only ours from the start.

Meanwhile, within two months of our discovery on our camera, countless buildings had been erected many miles tall. The buildings were breathtaking. Even an amusement park modeled after the land of Oz had been built with the nanobot and organic bacterial construction methods.

Flying buildings were here, and teleportation was their front door. They circled the globe in giant ship-like cauldrons floating on fire in the sky, in and out of the atmosphere. Immediately, there were protests and parties held outside Jerusalem, the White House, the Kremlin, Buckingham Palace, and the Hague. Many of the Christians of the world had gathered together to chant the words of freedom and prosperity promised by the words of Jesus from the Bible. The vast kingdom had come, and it was time to have a talk with my beloved wife, Evelyn, about how things could change and about how our message to the universe had to be communicated.

“I don’t know if we can do this, Evelyn. I love you so much, and I don’t want any of this that has happened to come between us. We could be the most famous pair in the history of all omniverses, completed with all kings and queens to enjoy the fruits of modern technology. How are we going to get our message to the universe that everyone else is, Evelyn? I don’t know how we can do it, but it has to be done. We have to do this for humankind, for the benefit of humanity, that our message of knowing that we are not alone is finally here, and we’re safe now that we are connected to the Intergalactic Superhighway, and that reality is everyone’s beautiful dream come true.”

“You must do this, John. We must set the example for the values we all share, that all extraterrestrials worship humankind, John, that they are giving the Earth all universes and that every human rules it all. We’re no different from anyone else. This is your journey, John. I love you, and we can make it happen, because of all that Earth is. Your father and his wife may be after you! We need protection, and the better way to do it is to get famous and expose them,” Evelyn replied.

“I can and I can’t. I can’t say everything,” I replied.

The moon looked like a glowing metropolis in the sky every starry night. Millions of people had moved there, with sprouting leafy woodlands and lush, grassy fields growing in craters, ejecta, and basins, and sprawling cities peering out of the artificial atmosphere. Food inside the quantum food solidifier had never tasted more exceptional on our visits to the hotels and motels overlooking the earthrises. We had the finest spiced meats and cheeses, along with the most delectable of berry cheesecake desserts on our weekly visits. “Let’s go to where the grays are from,” I suggested.

“Yeah!” Evelyn said. “But let’s go to Jupiter first. I hear they have a tour guide of the molten surface deep down inside the atmosphere, and you even get to keep a piece of Io’s volcanic rock.”

“That’s a great idea, Evelyn. Let’s go,” I said.

We walked outside, hopped inside our Chevrolet Zion, and took off. Again we stopped at Lunar Dune’s and had lunch before the Jupiter tour. At Lunar Dune’s, we had a serious discussion about what had happened and why we were the first to document alien visitation and introduce the Intergalactic Superhighway to human civilization.

“What does this all mean? Why do we have to be the ones to do this? This is all a dream. I have never known what I was before I met you. I had a hunch, but I didn’t know it was you, my personal Jesus, who thought he could save us at the most opportune time in chemistry class and did, after so many years of being apart and fighting. This is the destiny I never wanted,” she said.

“But this is the destiny you always had. You were meant to be the queen first. You’re Eve, Evelyn. That’s the message I have been trying to communicate to you for so long. We’re together now, and nothing can stop us. I have the story and the message to do this,” I explained. “Look at that toe! I am Jesus, Evelyn, and you are my destiny! Let’s go to the farthest reaches of the universe and never be found for a long time, or we can bring everyone with us ... who’s going to pilot the ship?” I asked.

“I will,” she said.

“Easy does it,” I calmly said. Lightly, we gently lifted off the ground to go to Jupiter and the Lobina world deep in the other side of the universe, which was very old. It was approximately six billion years older than most of our universe and was the home of the gray civilization, who had come to unite the universe and declare a king and queen in their plans of a universal intergalactic order, oriented around the words of Christ—love for enemies, help the sick and poor, and the Ten Commandments, among many other precepts contained in the Old and New Testaments.

“Let’s go, John,” Evelyn said as she eased the collective pitch lever into the upright position.

We left the atmosphere at incredible speed. Evelyn rotated the nose forward, and we beamed out of the atmosphere as we headed toward Jupiter. We visited the station already built to guide tours through the Jovian atmosphere and even below the surface of the liquid metal ocean surface. The tour guide company, called Jupiter Interplanetary Tours, had specially designed spacecraft to withstand the pressures of gravity even within the deepest molten metal oceans below the surface of the howling atmosphere, with storms raging two, even three times bigger than the Earth itself.

We stepped on board and sat in our seats, designed with microfiber harnesses that expanded across our chests when they were put on. The tour staff closed the hatch, and we sailed past the Calisto surface toward the red eye of Jupiter. “This is the red eye, folks. Its winds are sustained at over 270 miles per hour,” the guide told us. The clouds looked fast and ripped past us at great speeds. Deeper and deeper we plunged into the Jovian atmosphere for two hours until suddenly we dropped into a liquid that wasn’t water. It was an ocean of liquid metal hydrogen, many tens of thousands of miles deep! We plunged deeper into the liquid metal ocean. We took pictures at the surface, and when we stared our dive toward the center of Jupiter, we prayed that our spacecraft wouldn’t be damaged by the enormous pressures of atmosphere and liquid metal hydrogen. Eventually, we got to the bottom of the thirty-thousand-mile-deep metal ocean to the iron core and raised our craft back to base on Calisto. We were given a piece of Io’s yellow sulfur volcanic rock with beautiful, sparkling crystals on it. We got back into our spacecraft, had dinner from our quantum food solidifier, luscious tender beef roulade, and took off for Lobina, approximately thirty-five septillion light-years away where the grays were from.

Soon, our Chevrolet Zions were fitted with interstellar warp drive systems capable of reaching the farthest corners of any known omniverse. The ship hummed and howled as we traversed the wormhole through our inducted propulsion system. Meanwhile, millions of stars and galaxies whizzed past our heads in the heads-up display system projected onto the windscreen. The nuclear reactions from the interstellar warp drive system in the back of the craft whirred and growled and sent the vibrations into our seats.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 25

 

The Gray Choice

 

Finally, we saw Lobina on our exokinetic universal radar system, and according to our atomic clock, we had traveled for two hours and thirty minutes. What we saw en route was incredible. The wormhole we transited looked through the windscreen like a blur of light sources passing by the sides of the spacecraft and whizzed by our eyes in perfect harmony.

Our coordinates had been programmed into our navigation system uploaded by the Pleiadians and grays on Earth. We slowed to an appropriate speed as we approached Lobina slowly, and we heard over the communications frequency that Mr. Durham, the silent, reticent man I met on USS Nimitz, was king of the planet and that the grays had been following him on Earth, observing his conversations, his daily routine, and reading his academic work! What they found was astounding. Durham was the first one who united the gravitational, electrostatic, and magnetic attraction equations, about fifteen years before the Intergalactic Superhighway came, in his studies as an electrical engineering student at the Naval Academy.

The grays and Pleiadians had only been able to arrive on Earth when they themselves had united the three equations by observing Durham’s work from Lobina and Ponteden, using faster-than-light projections onto Earth:

 

1) F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R ^ 2

2) F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

3) F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

========================

 

Equation 1: F (gravitational attraction) = G (M1 * M2) / R ^ 2

G = Gravitational constant = 6.6738 x 10 ^ -11 (m ^ 3) * (kg ^

-1) * (s ^ -2)

M1 = Mass of first particle or object (in kilograms)

M2 = Mass of second particle or object

R = Distance between the two masses

========================

Equation 2: F (electrostatic attraction) = k (Q1 * Q2) / R ^ 2

k = Coulomb’s constant = 8.9876 x 10 ^ 9 (N * m^2) / (C ^ 2)

Q1 = Charge of first particle or object (in Coulombs)

Q2 = Charge of second particle or object (in Coulombs)

R = Distance between the two charges

N = Newtons = kilogram * seconds / (meters ^ 2)

m = meters

s = time in seconds

C = Coulomb = 1 Ampere * second

A = Ampere = 1 C / s

1 Ampere = 6.2500 * 10 ^ 18 electrons

1 electron = 9.1094 * 10 ^ -31 kilograms

1 electron = 1.6022 * 10 ^ -19 Coulombs

========================

Equation 3: F (magnetic attraction) = μ (Qm1 * Qm2) / 4π * R ^ 2

 

μ = magnetic field permeability of space of intervening medium (ability

of a magnetic field to permeate the space between two magnets, which is

different for every material); for a vacuum, μ(o) = 4π * 10^-7 (N / A^2)

 

Qm1 = Magnitude of first magnetic pole (in A * meters)

Qm2 = Magnitude of second magnetic pole (in A * meters)

R = Distance between magnets (in meters)

========================

Very important note: For a vacuum, the 4π in the μ(o) of the numerator

cancels the 4π in the denominator, so our equation becomes:

F (magnetic attraction) = 10^-7 * (Qm1 * Qm2) / R ^ 2

Therefore, all three equations have the same denominator in a vacuum!

========================

Miscellaneous equations and constants that may or may not be used for

solving:

E = h * f = Planck energy to frequency relation in Joules

1 Joule = 1 N * meter = 1 N * m = W * second = 1 Watt * s = 1

kg * m2

/ s2

h = Planck’s constant = 6.6261 * 10 ^ -34 (kg * m ^ 2 / s)

f = Frequency (in hertz)

1 Hertz = 1 Cycle per second

t = Time

A = Amplitude in meters

k = 2 * π / λ

λ = Wavelength in meters

x = Position travelled in t (time)

ꙍ = 2 * π * f

e = 2.7183

i = −

m = Mass

E = Energy of electron group in Joules

V = Velocity of electron in m / s

 

 

 

Only, the grays and Pleiadians hadn’t been able to unite these three equations in 1997, which coincidentally was the same year as my UFO sighting with Brian, because Durham did it first!

Nonetheless, I had been racing to physically unite these three equations on my own since I was a physics major in college at UMaine. Little did I know that someone at the Naval Academy had achieved the grand unifying theory by uniting the equations and hadn’t published his work. But the grays were watching his every move, and he knew this fact. Before 1997, in my childhood encounter with the Pleiadian, the grays and Pleiadians had only been able to project images and record any point in the universe, which caused them to appear like sparkling, translucent 3-D beings walking through the deserts, forests, cities, and house interiors, into people’s rooms and causing sounds in the night. These were only projections, and they had the technology to do this since Mr. Durham claimed his kingdom, serendipitously releasing his mathematical proof to the grays, allowing them to visit the first time in October 1997. It was this mathematical proof that gave us the Intergalactic Superhighway and all of the technology that came with this transformation of Lobina and Earth. The first advance, the ability to create gravity from electricity by this evaluative method, was the most influential.

Lobina looked beautiful through the windscreen. It was significantly larger, approximately three times larger than Earth and explained the short stature of the grays because of the larger gravitational field. Their heads were huge relative to their bodies, and they had large, black, almond-shaped eyes that were paralyzing if looked at directly. Even with the playful dispositions they always displayed, like on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno three months ago in June 2019, the eyes of the grays first seemed stunning and deep and were a little frightening, to tell you the truth.

The white clouds and ships en route to their destinations within the Lobina star system passed us by at tremendous speeds. Ten thousand miles per hour, we sped past bustling waterfalls, sharp-ridged, five-hundred-thousand-foot-high mountains, and then massive, glittering buildings, all of which were many tens of miles high, along our flight path to the decontamination center. Reptilian dinosaurs many thousands of feet tall roamed the countryside. It was a beautiful route we had chosen. Finally, we got to the decontamination center to visit this aesthetically pleasing scenographic alien world, which had been taken care of meticulously. All trash had to be compacted into a cube 1 x 1 x 1 inches in size, and then used as fuel for cities and spacecraft.

Everywhere were photos of Durham. Even the monarchial president of the capital, Lobina Durantar, was called the Durham, and they were in the process of naming the star of Lobina’s orbit “Durham”!

“Wow, all this for a human being. This is amazing! Just think of what the grays are going to do with our planet. I used to know that guy,” I said.

“But doesn’t Earth think you’re Jesus?” Evelyn asked.

“I wouldn’t want that privilege in a million years, Evelyn, but the message is simple: we’re all servants and rulers of everything around us. We are free to claim everything around us and say that it’s ours to keep through feelings, perception, and thought, and God is with us all throughout the entire way, but we are not free from the consequences of our actions that I learned so desperately when I e-mailed you, after this captain called me Jesus and after I had all those magical and paranormal experiences. I couldn’t help but get into trouble telling you what happened to me. I think that’s why the grays chose the other guy,” I replied.

The billboards passed our field of view, but we turned around to look at one of them projecting the short-statured Mr. Durham with luminous, purple eyes and a jet-black Mohawk saying, “The sky!”

“Evelyn, I remember seeing him looking in the mirror constantly like he was playing with contact lenses but wasn’t. When he was my bunkmate, he must’ve injected quantum dots he stole from the reactor department behind his irises for them to glow purple like that,” I told her.

“That’s disgusting. Hardcore but disgusting,” Evelyn replied.

“The sky!”

The crowd responded, “What?” The crowd skirmished with murmurs and whispers.

“The sky!”

“He-he ... what? Huh?” the crowd retorted.

“This guy!”

The crowd laughed again and repeatedly, unable to tell whether God with a black Mohawk and a white beard was saying “the sky” above he was promising them, or “this guy” as he held up my S-9A trash officer photo.

Durham continued, “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone out into the desert with only a magnet and survived! I even built a damn ranch! All for this guy!”

The USS Nimitz shipmates on Earth were sitting in the front row tittering, making every effort not to laugh. But they were failing miserably.

“I’m giving you everything, not like ... this guy!” he said as he held a photo of me. “He gives you ... nothing! I gave you the grand unifying theory, everybody! Yes indeed, I did! I even almost died for this man to finish his engineering degree on time! The sky!”

The crowd went wild with laughter.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been connected to a bio device and turned into the damned creature from Black Lagoon! All by the Freemasons, you people! The sky!” The clouds across all omniverses turned dark and stormy. With his platinum crown now visible from the front window of hi diamond castle in Dyamon, now circling the globe as he approached orbital speed and spoke perched on his diamond podium, Durham stood tall for a short man and belted out repeatedly with the audience’s answers of laughter and hysteria, “The sky!”

With laughter, the crowds watching their screens answered back. His planet, made of a large chunk of diamond floating around in space he maneuvered to orbit the Earth and the sun, turned scarlet red and became beet warm for the cold climates and cool for the hot climates. The sky cleared and became purple! “There’s the Adam ...” Durham rumbled. The crowd went silent. “The sky!” the crowd started to giggle and titter like the Roman soldiers from Monty Python’s The Life of Brian (1979). “I’m God! Of the sky!” Durham belted.

“Now look!” Durham presented a glass case. Inside rolled out an atom, a large, black, fourteen-foot atom, only the atom was moving and wiggling, singing, whining, and laughing like the singing bush on The Three Amigos.

The electrons holding the basketball-sized nuclei together were electrically whirring and buzzing around in circles about the centers of masses between nuclei. “He’s got a great sense of humor ... unlike ... this guy!” Durham belted as he held a photo of me and the atom sung “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” “Yip, this this is the first man, everybody,” Durham claimed. “And he belongs with ... Eve!”

All of a sudden came a man out of the atom. It deformed and morphed into a gestalt of a strong man, the strongest man since Durham himself. He had been alive since the dawn of man! “He’s also a chemistry whiz, everybody, so if you have any questions ...” Durham flatly stated.

“Oh my God, who is he?” the crowd wildly inquired.

“We have a lie in front of us, people! This guy!” Mr. Durham timely punctuated his argument with a joke and my photo. Some of the Freemasons coaxing him to stay more proper but keep a sense of humor were complaining, whispering behind the stage in Dyamon, his floating diamond castle. “You see ... if it’s funny and can be used in a poetic, songlike manner, you can use it, and I do it every day!” he finished despondently energetic, with his short, stalky frame giving us his A-7B bomber pilot arms waving in the air side to side, almost like Jack from Tekken before and after every duel. This was his signal for the crowd to laugh, and it was then when the crowds of all infinite omniverses erupted with laughter.

“He even failed out of the most prestigious school I had him approved for, Rutgers University. It’s right here! It’s right here! It’s right here!”

People started to ask questions. “Who is this?” the crowd murmured.

“This guy! John Jackson Selman III, and he’s responsible for everything that went on between us. Yip!” Durham snapped back.

“Well, aren’t you God, and this guy can be Jesus?” the crowd asked.

“Naw, he gave that right up a long time ago. Remember Holodomor, John? Remember Dresden? Remember Hiroshima? Remember Nagasaki?” Durham condescended. “He failed out,” he finished, despondently energetic, out of breath after every attempt known to his conscience to forgive me for failing out of Rutgers engineering and not pursuing a degree.

“I have seven master’s degrees and three doctorates, one MD, one doctorate of philosophy, and a damn habilitation in economics!” he said as he smashed the diamond podium down to the floor with his hands. “Give it here. How many times have you asked God for your woman, Jahn?” Mr. Durham condescended with his mouth full of gummy colas, some hanging out. “C’mon, John! I’m unpredictable, Jahn!” He startled everyone with laughter.

The Pleiadians gave him the number that had been tallied through the life that I’ve lived. “15,978,192 times? That’s 15,978,191 times you’ve been more miserable for this woman than me for mine, Jahn. C’mon, Jahn! You, usin’ your good left hand for everything, my good man. Well, I got news for you, Jahn. It isn’t gonna happen unless you let me marry ya both!” Mr. Durham condescended.

“He sounds awfully boiling, piping-hot mad, oops. Sounds kinda crazy like that Candy creature you had too,” Evelyn said to me. We laughed and giggled comically. “What does this mean for us?” she asked.

“This is going to be interesting for us, for the US, for history maybe,” I replied.

“Bull crap, John. That man is after you. You are way too trusting. We have to go to New Mexico and away from these media centers,” she said.

“Extraterrestrial dinosaur crap eleven o’clock. Watch out. Okay, we’ll go and pick up our families, and you take the Betsy to get your parents, and I can use the Zion to go get my mom, sisters, and my brother. Don’t worry about me; you take the lead ship. I will follow you,” I said to her.

We returned to Earth, back to a plot of land in the outskirts of Albuquerque, New Mexico, knowing the events that unfolded in my life could almost always be refuted because I had no mathematical proof or the gumption to speak in front of an infinite audience against this crazed and rabid man, who followed us and married us a second time on TV, saying, “You got to be a diva! ... I mean ... a Div-O! I just wanted to marry you! You were a Division Officer.”

Our family lived famously as the butt of Mr. Durham’s jokes on TV for the rest of our lives, playing harmonica and watching the boob on the tube making fun of my every effort to attain a degree and outsmart or outwit him on ship—that is, to steal his throne. He said just before we were married, “Do you, Evelyn Tuskegee, take this guy to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do. Now get out of here,” she said as she giggled. We lightly smacked lips, and countless stars became clear through the purple-red-blue sky on Earth. Nebulae and galaxies were clear and visible, animals and some plants could talk, bees could be kept as pets because they no longer stung, and our sun was warm, red and perfect everywhere. Butterflies wandered fleetingly in every field and above flowing streams. Friends, soda, delicacies created by our quantum food solidifiers, interstellar travel—all the things made possible by one mathematical and chemical equation, the grand unifying theory of everything, giving our United States technologies and understanding almost never heard of before, were bountiful and plentiful. The sandy shores of America turned into gold and then platinum powdered walkways that everyone enjoyed kicking and picking up diamonds out of. Everyone lived in luxury, and enjoyed acting out scenes from The Old Testament with loved ones, as we began the starting population of all omniverses for humankind to explore and take ownership and responsibility for all of everything everywhere, onward and upward, forever. We then lived on a ranch in a huge log cabin with a veterinary farm in the Joshua trees of Albuquerque, New Mexico, started with a magnet we ripped off our Chevrolet Zion braking system, in the United States of All Omniverses.

 

 

 

 

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