A New Dream

  The night before last brought with it a new dream. Gone were the disturbing images of a beast that had one purpose; to create fear into every fiber of my being. I have come to wonder about the colonel and why he seems to be wanting to reconcile a relationship that, at a time, was a real and healthy one. I am confused by this sudden transformation and more than a little skeptic. He has, in the past, tried to make amends only to kick the chair out from under me. He seems to get bored with the terror ploy and change his tactics. My dream last night was completely unrelated to the colonel but I feel there is a message in it that intends to help me deal with the unpredictable former fighter pilot. My dream involved my wife and was not a pleasant dream, at all.
  Not to give a play by play of my dream, rather, a synopses of what it was, I can remember very clearly the lack of tact that was shown by a state trooper who informed me that my wife was killed in a car wreck. The news was given in a matter of fact way and once receiving the news that the one person I depend on more than anything else in this world was no longer a part of it hit me like a freight train. My wife woke me up from this nightmare and I have never felt more relief than I did, then. I held onto her and she stroked my hair and with such soothing words brought me back to my real world. Lorri has become very good at bringing me from the edge of hysteria on many occasions. This time was different. Instead of convincing me that the colonel was not after me and bringing me back to the here and now she, by her words and touch alone, made me realize that I had not lost her. It was the most heart ripping dream of my life. I, honestly, do not know what or where I would be without her. She accepted me with all my flaws and has been the reason I am alive. I feel like the colonel has lost his power and has gone after what is most dear, to me. I still am having difficulty deciphering the dream of him with the one question that I cannot answer. Why do I fear him? I hope that answer will be within my grasp, soon. I do not know why. I do not know why.    theblogmeister

A One Day Vacation

 That is what it amounted to. I was fortunate enough to spend one night without a dream, visit, social call, whatever the hell you want to call it, from the demon, friend, psychological scourge, whatever you want to call him. How is it possible for a person to have the ability to enter at will, it seems, into my mind? The message of his visits are taking on a different attitude. In the past the colonel has been a creature of fear, stress, overpowering to the point of terror to becoming somewhat meek and almost confused about his role. In the past he had a sublime inference about his ideas and motives. They were clear and well defined. Imposing his will through fear and intimidation. He was always making a strong statement that I had created in him what I feared most. He is now seemingly apologetic in his wanderings through mental self realities. I am confused by this almost to the point that I wish he would return to the feared demon of my sub-conscious. It was a longstanding relationship where the rules were not obscured. The recent visit that I had of him was the most realistic, the most vivid memory and the clearer image I have had of the man in over thirty years. The one question was why did I fear him? Are you kidding me? The bastard could turn me into a shaking, sobbing, almost catatonic person scaring the daylights out of my wife. The deer in the headlights look, at times. His disruption of my mental status causing me to create an alter-ego. Then he has the balls to ask why was I afraid of him. In life we forged a bond filled with mutual respect. Maybe it was not mutual, after all. I know that I respected him and had actually grown to love He and Bunny. Maybe love is the wrong word. I absolutely cared about both of them very, very, much.
  That fear that he controlled me with for all those years seems like is changing to what I felt when he were alive. The dreams are less horrific and seem to be trying to change my feelings of the way I feel instead of trying to create havoc. It is like he is morphing into a person and less a creature. Maybe I am creating this illusion and tomorrow he will be the selfish bastard I have become accustomed to. I may be reading into this past dream a conclusion that I find satisfactory and able to deal with emotionally. Maybe its another one of his head games. Maybe he did not exist, at all, and I am hallucinating this whole story. Maybe I am the one that manipulated him into killing me and I am creating this log as a homework assignment required by all members of extra-celestial flights. Then, in order to be selected as commander of the next flight, I must show my mental acuity and vision of space time continuem. Yeah, Right.         theblogmeister

A Product of The Seventies

  I was born in the last year of the Fifties and came of age in the Seventies. What a great time to be alive. The music of the seventies was the best of any generation. What my brothers and I would do was go to concerts on the weekends. I lived in Gadsden Alabama and was in the center of the music concert world. We were 2 hours from Atlanta, one hour to Birmingham, and one hour to Huntsville. So, we went to concerts every week end. That is what we all did. The price of a ticket was generally $5 dollars. I am talking about the seventies rock bands that toured and would play at a location near to us, usually in Birmingham. Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers Band, The Marshal Tucker Band. I could go on and on. It was the greatest time of my life. We would have a bag full of weed that we would smoke inside. Someone would always have some kind of chemical such as Quaaludes, Valium, MDA what is now called Ecstasy, or some thing else. It was a party every weekend getting stoned on the way to Birmingham or where ever the concert happened to be at that time. There are not many Bands that we have not seen. I can only think of two Bands we missed. It was probably on purpose. We did not see The Who, or The Rolling Stones. Those are the only bands we missed. It was a party. The best were the outdoor concerts at the Rickwood Field baseball stadium. We saw Skynyrd there and they rocked the place down. They played so long that the Birmingham Police shut the power off. You talk about some pissed off fans. Hell, Skynyrd was pissed, too. But it was an unbelievable show. We saw Wet Willie at the Pete Mathews Coliseum at the Jacksonville State University campus. My brother and I were at the stage, we fought our way to the front at every concert and hoped somebody would say something. Sometimes, they did and it was on. Fighting with fists used to be how we settled disagreements.Nowadays, people use guns and people die. It was not that way back when I was in high school. We used to go by the carloads to our school rivalry and duke it out, toe to toe. You did not have to worry about somebody pulling a gun. Times have changed, I must say. Anyway, my brother gets on the stage before the band played and got a set of morocco's and went to the mike and started shaking them. The crowed started clapping in time with my brother. I saw a guy come out from behind  the curtains and it was Jimmy Hall, of Wet Willie. He came to the mike, put his arm around my brother and started to sing. The place was going nuts. After a few minutes, Jimmy left and this big dude came and scooped mu brother up and disappeared behind the curtain. I did not see him until after the show and he told me that big dude carried him to the exit door and threw him out. He missed the show. But, he was the show for only a few minutes. I have enjoyed talking about some good times. Hell, I may even try it, again.  theblogmeister

Dreams From Beyond

Visitors from Beyond: Or Lucid Dreams?

What Do You Think?

Nannette Richford,

Put briefly, a lucid dream is a dream where you are aware that you are dreaming. This can range from simply realizing that what is happening is not physically possible in the real world; therefore, your mind accepts the

 fact that you are indeed dreaming and the events transpiring around you are not real events. Lucid dreams can, and do, take many forms. It is this basic low level lucid dream where you are aware that the events are part of a dream, but you exert no control over the course of the dream, that I wish to concentrate on.

My mother passed away when my first born was nine months old. It came as a great blow to me. I loved my mother dearly and wasn't quite ready to let her go. I am told that a day or two prior to her passing she ventured outside to view the wondrous sights of nature near her home. When she returned, she exclaimed of the beauty God had bestowed on us in the natural world and added that where she was going was even more beautiful. Within days, she had passed.

Which leads me to the episode of lucid dreaming I wish to share with you. Several months later, when her birthday arrived, I found myself in the midst of a dream that has lingered for 20 years. I was in my dining room when suddenly my mother appeared. Instantly, I realized that she could not be there, as she had passed on; yet I was so eager to see her that I joyously began a conversation with her. We talked for what appeared to be several minutes.

What we talked about escapes me. It is what happened next that has etched itself into every fiber of my being.

I knew she couldn't stay for long, I believe she told me that, but perhaps it was merely knowing that she had passed that told me this. I really don't know. I began to tell her about my son and realized she had not seen him for several months. I asked her to wait while I ran to get him out of his crib, so she could see him before she left. I ran down the hall and plucked him out of his crib only to return to an empty room. On the table was note written in my mother's hand writting. What is said has haunted me through time. "Life is so unpredictable that even death doesn't play by the rules." Did I, in a state of lucid dreams, create this reflection on life? Did my mother somehow find a loophole in the fabric of time that allowed her one more visit? Perhaps I will never know. There are those who could provide convincing arguments to support either side. I prefer to believe that my mother crossed the barrier that seperated the living from the dead leave one final message for the living; but I know that is not very realistic. It is probably far more likely that I dreamed of her because it was her birthday and the message was a reflection of my feelings concerning her life. 

The above was written by Nannete Richford.

 

              

  Every since I had the vision of colonel DeBarge I have been seeking answers from any thing I could find on the internet. There are plenty of people that believe that the dead can pass through a portal to visit the living. There seem to be a concensus of beliefs that only certain people can or have the ability to reach the living. Some say that dreams are often used as a means of communication with the living. It seems that some have the power to make many visits to this realm while others do not. I find it hard to understand why this is so. How can the colonel be alive in my dreams and visit me on many occasions and have such an impact on my life? This is the one thing that I am having a hard time with. It has been too long and it is time for my demon to go. Just leave me alone. Let me get on with my life.        theblogmeister

Was It Real?

 The following is an excerpt from the book, 'Spirits From The Afterlife' written by Sylvia Brown and Lyndsey Harrison.
 
Thousands of people, many of them currently on earth, contributed to this book. There are the spirits and ghosts around the world who've been kind enough to show up and tell me their stories for the last half a century or so. There are the 2,014 visitors to my Web site who had the courage and generosity to e-mail their experiences to me, some of which you'll find in the pages that follow-and let me make it clear right now, I read every single one of those e-mails.
Those 2,014 brave people were on the receiving end of some fascinating appearances by spirits and ghosts, some of them deeply comforting and some of them terrifying. There's a victim of an unsolved murder who told me the name of her killer, and there's a Spirit Guide who left her voice on an audiotape, repeating a single word that gave a woman the key to her husband's criminal life. There's a woman who was given strength by a visit with an ex-boyfriend on The Other Side who she didn't know had passed away, and a man who would never have found out he had a stillborn baby sister if her spirit hadn't come to introduce herself when he was four years old.
To the thousands of us collaborators on this particular book, and the many millions who don't question any more than we do that of course there's an afterlife, there are those who will always be ready with a list of handy explanations for what we "think" we're seeing, hearing, and feeling. "Grief hysteria," "oxygen deprivation," and variations on terms for both "mental illness" and "scam" are among the most popular. What these skeptics and "experts" are usually insisting on, though, is the same cynical demand, over and over and over again, which boils down to:
"Prove that there's life after death."
I'm sixty-six years old, and I've never spent one instant doubting that there's life after death. The thousands of us who contributed to this book, on earth and beyond it, don't doubt it. The millions we represent don't doubt it. God certainly doesn't doubt it, since He's the One who told us it's true in the first place, and we take His word for everything. We're not the ones who are having a problem with this. You are. So why do we keep knocking ourselves out trying to prove something we already know with absolute certainty?
Here's my suggestion to the skeptics and "experts," for a refreshing change of pace. We're done proving that there's life after death. We've proven it well past our own satisfaction. From now on, let's do it this way: You prove that there's not. Written by Sylvia Brown and Lyndsey Harrison
  The visit I had last night affected me more than any dream I have had since this post traumatic stress began. What I witnessed was real. As real as I am sitting here typing. I cannot definitely say what happened last night  was a visit, a dream, an hallucination, or a lie. Then only thing that I am absolutely sure of is that it was not a lie. I believe the colonel visited me the way he did for a reason. He was trying to tell me something that would benefit my mental health. He asked me a simple question that I was unable to answer. Why I was not able to answer his question has been bothering me since. I felt immediate anger toward him. I believe that he sensed the anger and went away. He did not look anything like the gaunt, sickly, shell of a man as I last remembered. He had a thick, snow white head of hair but he looked great. He repeated his question and waited. Before I could get a word out he faded from view. He sensed anger. A man cannot think clearly or concentrate when he is angry. Anger is an emotion that will sometimes put an end to my dreams. I thought he was a coward, instead, I believe he knows I cannot communicate with anger in my heart.This revelation has occurred to me after thinking back to my dreams of the past.This is not to say that anger stops or manipulates my dreams. I have experienced anger from him and myself. Was it really his anger? I believe he is trying to teach me of the events that started my post traumatic stress and they are no fault of my own. He seems to want to reach me with compassion but I turn it into fear or revenge. It makes sense to me, now. Why else did he leave when I became angry? The problem of hating him is not his fault. It is a question I am debating with myself. Is he the reason of my hate and my terror-filled nightmares or is it I. It is a question I am having trouble answering and I do not know if I will ever find the answer.    theblogmeister

A Conversation With The Dead

  I know I am supposed to be writing my life story but what happened last night cannot wait. I woke up in the middle of the night, as usual, and found myself being drawn to the living room. I cannot explain it. A force was pulling me to that room. I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. My eyes were transfixed to a spot on the wall. I do not know how long I stood there staring at the wall when a small light appeared. I was confused not knowing the source of the light when it started growing in diameter. Slowly it grew. first it was the size of a quarter, then it grew to the size of a baseball. The light was the whitest light I had ever seen. I looked around the room to see if I could find the source, with no luck. It was not like a flashlight or a beam that would cause the circle on the wall. I did not know where the hell it was coming from. Suddenly the light started to pulsate as it grew larger. The larger the hole grew the more white light emitted from it. There were no sound, what so ever. None. My eyes were transfixed by the illuminated hole. I could not move. After some time, I do not know how long, the hole grew to about 4 foot in diameter. In the center of the hole was a shape. It was too small for me to see what it was. Slowly, the figure grew and after a time it became clear to me that it was the shape of a human head. Finally, I recognized who it was. It was the colonel. It was not the gaunt, shallow, sickly colonel that I last remembered but it was a beautiful, healthy, bust of colonel DeBarge. His eyes were bright and full of life. He did not look at all like the man I first met. He looked younger. He still had his white hair but seemed younger than someone with that color hair. We stared at each other for the longest when he spoke.
  "Why do you fear me?" he did not sound the same. I could not take my eyes off him. I tried to find the words to speak but I could not. "Why do you fear me?" he asked, again. The more I thought about his question the madder I got. I wanted to ask him why he ruined my life but I could not speak a word. His gaze was mesmerizing. Almost hypnotic. I stood there shaking with fear and he could sense it. Suddenly the light completely disappeared along with the colonel. What the hell is wrong with me? I was like a little girl afraid of the dark. I grew some balls after he left. "Come back, here. Do not leave me like this. I want some answers." I fell to the ground and began to weep.   theblogmeister

The Darkside

    I have on many occasions told you where my fears lie and why. I lose control the minute I fall asleep and enter a parallel universe. I am alive, breathing, but my mind does not sleep. My body is getting to the point that I cannot continue these excursions into a reality that does not belong to me. My body is racked with chronic pain that consumes my waking hours. After 4 back surgeries and countless epidurals they are becoming a problem almost as taxing as my mental health. Good mental health requires me to have a healthy body, which I do not have. I have been taking morphine for the past 5 or 6 years to the point of achieving tolerance. After a rough day dealing with the pain I need a good nights sleep which is beyond my reach. I have tried numerous sleep aids with no good results. When I was using something to help me sleep it would only give my sub-conscious mind over to a reality, whether real or not, that would confuse a mind trying to rest. Rest does not exist for me. I am battling a real foe during the day and I am in a constant state of terror at night. I cannot remember the last good dream that I had. It has been that long. My dreams are dominated by the colonel. In some form or fashion he is a part of my dreams. I do not understand how my sub-conscious mind can be taken over to the point of complete dream domination. I do not have good dreams, they may start out that way, invariably ending with some warped or twisted end. This shit gets old, too. I am trying to write a story about my life and cannot keep what I want to do a possibility. That bastard, whom at one time I really loved, will not let me live my life without interference from him. All I really want to know, is it him or is it me? I do not like living like this. Afraid to sleep in my own bed or anywhere, for that matter. If I am doing this to myself then why? Can anyone answer that? Am I punishing myself for what happened over 30 years ago? That seems absolutely crazy, to me. Some people have the ability to communicate across the divide of reason. I know that when I was putting in a bathroom in the master bedroom of my Mom and Dad's house to get it ready to sell I kept hearing loud noises, bangs and crashes and never found the reason for the noises. My Mom died in that house 2 years ago and while I was alone in that house I kept hearing noises that I could not explain. I would walk through the house yelling my mom's name and she would not answer. I wanted her to answer me so much. To this day we still did not find the reason for the noises. Was my Mom trying to communicate with me? Hell, I do not know. I call myself crazy for the things that go through my mind. Am I , really? It could be possible for spirits to communicate with the living. Maybe we all have the potential to do this, we just do not know how. I have had some unexplained things happen to me over the years. I have some dreams that would push a sane person over the edge. Why am I not a slobbering, bumbling fool? Post traumatic stress disorder is what the medical professionals call it. It is more like the twilight zone, to me. Here I go rambling on about the realities of another dimension. All I know for a fact is that I am being visited, whether real or in my head, by someone who has been dead a long time. It is not every now and then, rather, on a consistent basis. I do not have answers that I want. I do not know how to find those answers. I will not shy away from the demon of my dreams until he tells me why I am being terrorized. Someday I am going to make sense of all of this. When I do, I hope it is for the right reasons. Because right  now, nothing makes any sense.  theblogmeister

Dreams I'll Never See

  The title of an old Allman Brothers song that was re-recorded by a band from LaGrange, Ga. called Molley Hatchet. One of the great southern rock bands of the 70's. Now, why am I titling this post after that song? Simple, I am not sure if I am dreaming or experiencing reality. Take yesterday, for example. It was not a dream, at least portion of the reality may have been a dream. That is why I get so confused. I do not know if what is happening to me is real or a dream. So much has happened in the past few years concerning the Col. that my dreams and realities lines have become blurred. Is there a medical diagnosis for this? I have heard voices and loud noises in this house every since I moved here in 2007. The house was built in the thirties, made of block, and looked like it could have been condemned when my Dad bought it in the mid 90's. He bought the land the house was on and had plans to tear it down. My Mom, with a knack for seeing good from bad, talked my Dad into leaving the house to re-do. Several years later, my son and I started the painstaking process of cleaning the house. The front porch, which went the length of the house, had fallen in, the side carport was caved in, the house itself was full of beer cartons stacked wall to ceiling in every room. The house was full of spiders(I hate spiders) and the brush was grown up to where you could hardly see the damn thing to begin with. We had our work cut out for us.
  The house had to wait. The noises we kept hearing were not your every day abandoned house noises. My son informed me that he remembered he had a lot to do, elsewhere. This was my first contact with the unearthly squatters. I remembered I, also, had some other things to do that did not involve working at that house. It sat vacant for a few more years.
  The big question for me is to distinguish reality from this world and reality from another world. Look, of all the dots in the sky, we cannot be the only intelligent life form out there. I know it. I have seen the Col. after he was dead. I have seen him on many different occasions. What I need to know is the catalyst for his appearances. He has to be here for a reason. I do not think God will let anyone scamper across the celestial bodies for the hell of it. Is the Col. here to reward me for carrying out his wishes? I doubt that. Is the Col. visiting me because he changed his mind and forgot to tell me? That is what it sounds like, to me. It sounds as if he is pissed at what I did on His behalf. Could it be God is pissed at the Col. and me allowing Him to fuck with me in the here and now? I do not know what the reason is that I keep having these problems with the Col. Is all this in my head? Those are answers I do not have and I have no way of knowing or if I will ever know. That is what bothers me so much about the whole deal. You all know how much I sacrificed to make an old man happy. He should be giving me the numbers to the power ball, instead of haunting me. I ask myself how much more has He got in store for me? I wish there was some way I could do something to scare the dead shit out of Him to get Him to leave me alone. Is He that bored where ever He is? I wish I knew.
  In the mean time I will keep on doing what I can to survive. I am waiting on the weather to warm up so I can start cleaning off my lot and work on the home place. I have agreed to buy this house and about 4 acres to fix up this summer. My wife and I are going to build a house and push this old scary block house down. Maybe that will get rid of the spirits that roam around here. I do not think they are involved with the Col. in any way. They were here before I got here. Ya'll probably think I am full of shit and have a few screws loose. Well, that may be, but I know that I am not the only one occupying this old house. These spirits are not as blatant as the Col. They do not cross into my sub-conscious and mess with me. They are of the kind that does not like publicity. Heard and not seen. They are not shy about making noises, either. It compounds the problem. I have to decide the origin of the spirit. Is it the Col. or the ones that were here from the thirties? It should be interesting to find out. I really would like to get them on film. I have not tried, yet. I have plenty of time and I will keep you posted.   theblogmeister
 

The Ghost of Christmas Present

  The bed was so very warm. I have a heating blanket that I put under my bottom sheet and turn my heating blanket on before I crawl into bed and the heat, besides feeling great, it helps the circulation in my back. I lay there for a while. I really do not want to get up. What for? We have no children in our house to run to see what Santa brought them as soon as they wake up. So, I just lie there. I try to remember how it used to be when I was a child. I had 4 brothers and we were all one grade in school, apart. You can understand the excitement on that one day of the year that we all celebrated. I sometimes wish I had a time machine to go back to those days. I would enjoy them even more and not wish my life away.Here it is, some 40 plus years, later. Things have changed more than I would have wished.
  I did not smell the coffee and could not feel my wife lying next to me. She had probably left to see her grand kids open their gifts. She knew not to wake me up to go with her. I just do not like kids. I would not hurt them or mistreat them in any way, I just like my peace and with small kids around you will not find peace and quiet. I feel myself trying to drift off, what the hell.
  The noise woke me up sometime, later. It was a low, drumming, monotonous noise. It sounded like a cabin of an aircraft, sorta. I sat up in bed to try to pinpoint the origin of the noise. It was everywhere. I walked into the kitchen and the noise was exactly the same as it was in my bedroom. It was almost loud enough to vibrate my windows. What the fuck is going on? I started to get concerned when my phone rang. I have an LG Ally Android and spent the last week figuring out how to work the thing. When I touched the green phone picture I lost the connection. My screen was black. I hit the button to turn it on and the screen came on, flashed, and went off, again. Something strange was going on. I have a poodle that is about 15 years old and usually barks at anything because he is blind. As I was looking at my phone I saw my dog walking towards the front of the house rather quickly. That doesn't happen. Since he lost his vision he does not go anywhere except from our bedroom to the bathroom where he can lay in front of the heater. Where in the hell could that damn dog be going and why is he not raising hell about all this humming noise? I walked towards the front of the house and the dog was standing at the front door acting like he wanted out. Well, that is something else that is strange. He never uses that door. He always goes out the side door. There is something that has got his attention at the front of the house. The noise does not seem to be bothering him. Hell, he usually barks when the ice maker dumps ice in the fridge. I had not noticed it before but it was hot as hell in this house. We have only 2 heaters, one in the bath and one in the living room. They are those gas radiant heaters and it never gets hot in the house. I starting to get a little wigged out by what was happening when the dog started to claw at the door wanting out. Hell, he was probably getting hot. I was. I started walking toward the front door when I heard the humming becoming louder. Almost deafening. I had not noticed, before, but there was a brilliant light emanating from outside. It was like my house was being bathed in flood lights. There were no lights on in the house and you could see your way around inside the house without problems. Am I about to be bum rushed by the cops? It has happened, before. This was different, though. This was something very, very, strange. I walked over to the window, opened one of the slits on the blind, and was met with a blinding light. I could not tell what was out there. Hell, I could not see a damn thing. I walked to the other side of the house to see if I could find out the reason for the light. Same thing, as soon as I separated the blind the same white light hit me like a laser. My phone started buzzing. Maybe that is my wife, calling to let me know that ET had her and wanted to trade. Keep her. Just kidding, Mr, T. I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my housecoat. Still no picture. I do not have a clue as to what is going on. The damn dog is still scratching the door, wanting out. I opened the door to let him out when a hot wind ripped the door handle out of my hand and the door crashed against the wall. The dog did not move. What the hell is happening? I am starting to get wigged out for real, now. My dog just stood there, staring out into the bright light. I grabbed the door and closed it, locked it, then bent over to pick up my dog. He was stiff as a board. It is like he is a stuffed animal. I am standing there looking at my dog wondering what the fuck was happening. I have to be dreaming. I will wake up and all of this will be a bad dream. I hear a loud bang on my door that is on the side of the house. I run towards the computer room where the door is located that was responsible for the bang. I slowly walk to the door. I noticed the door is unlocked. It starts to move. I can actually see the door knob move. I put the dog down and grab the door handle. Someone is fucking with me and I am about to turn the tables on them. I count to three. All of a sudden I snatch open the door screaming at the top of my lungs. I heard a scream almost as loud as mine. It was my wife, returning from her daughters house with her mother running back to the car, screaming. Merry Christmas.  theblogmeister

Reality Breeds Dreams Breeding Reality

  I had not slept this well in a long, long time. I cannot explain why. I have learned not to question things that may or may not be real. When I wake up in the mornings I am at a disadvantage. I have to wait and try to verify what ever happened the night before to find out if what happened was real or a dream. As I am lying in bed I start to figure out a way to confirm the reality of the night before. I say reality, singular, this time because sometimes my dreams are reality. Can you imagine starting your day that way. You cannot just get out of bed, make coffee, then plan your day. If you even have to do that. You may be what I call a robotic human. You know the kind. They have a job that consists of repetitive actions until the lunch bell, continue on until time to clock out. Things are probably done on a schedule without deviating very much from the set internal program. I am not saying that this is bad, just predictable. Some people like that style of life. I am happy for them. I even envy them, at times. The days blissfully roll on. Working hard and bring home the bacon. That what makes America great. We have millions of people that live this way. Then we have those people that are risk takers, maybe a wall street banker, or a professional athlete. They are hardwired, differently. That is what They have to have. It is in their DNA. Thank you for being like you are. Others, like myself, enjoy watching you at work. You bring a lot of people satisfaction. Then there are those that have that previously described DNA but lacking the skill to accomplish a way to make a living at whatever exciting thing that you love to do so you settle for a job that allows you to do this on a part time basis. Good for you. Then there are those that do not have a genuine grip on what is happening around you. You try to fulfill a desire to be a part of something and have no way to know how to do it. You try to have a sense of belonging, which I believe we all strive for. Yet, you fall short. It depends on how you handle it whether are not you are accepted or shunned. Then there are those that just do not give a shit. They have been studied more than any other human being. A sociopath. The worst of the worst. For whatever reason they turned out that way. I am not even gonna try and guess why they are that way. Psychiatrists that study them can only give an opinion as to why they are that way so I know I do not know. There are so many personalities that differ it makes everything exciting. It would be boring as hell if we all were alike. I have been  rambling, I know, but my point is I do not have a clear grasp on who or what I am. I mean the reason I exist. I believe I was supposed to be a doctor but someone threw a wrench in that plan. All I want to know is why was my plan thwarted. More than that, I want to know why I am being constantly punished. I am not looking for your sympathy, trust me, I do not care if someone else believes that. I have had my life transformed for a reason. To write about it? To freak my wife out, sometimes, about it. To forget about it? To overcome it? Hell if I know. I wake up and I wonder if I am awake. That is how thin the line of reality, and the line of perception, is in my mind. All I can say is hang on, I think we are about to go on a ride.     theblogmeister

Blast From The Past

  While I was in active duty of the Air Force I was extremely lucky to be stationed at the largest base in the States. Eglin A.F.B., located in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida, was the perfect home to hone my skills as a Medical Service Specialist. A medium size hospital afforded me the opportunity to work with some highly skilled medical professionals. My duties involved taking care of patients with orthopedic issues, post operative care, and the care of an occasional isolation patient, only because the unit I worked had one isolation room. I was trained in the art of orthopedic traction, believe me, it is an art. My duties also included starting IV's, insertion of naso-gastric tubes, foley catheters, and total patient care. A friend of mine that worked in the hospital's laboratory gave me the chance to learn how to start IV's. I spent 2 weeks working in the drawing room, where the tech draws blood for testing, and drew blood for 8 hours a day. Needless to say, I was very good at starting IV's. When a nurse had trouble with an IV I was called to complete the task. I became very popular among the nurses on my unit and the other unit on the second floor. A nurse hates to call a doctor at home, late in the evening to say that she could not get an ordered IV in a patient, so I was called, instead. I soaked up knowledge like a sponge. Life was good. The future looked so bright I had to wear shades. I stole that saying. While I was having so much fun I blew out a disc in my lumbar region of my spine. I was young enough to handle it without the need for the services of one of my friends in the orthopedic department. That was then, this is now.
  After I revealed my situation with the Col. and received in-patient treatment for my PTSD I made it to the point of being able to get back into the workforce. With back problems, aggravated by years of framing houses, my opportunities to work were limited. I came home one day and asked my girlfriend, who is now my wife, what she thought about seeing the country by means of an 18-wheeler. The money was very good and we could go to places that otherwise would be impossible. We started driver training in August, 2003, graduating in mid October. We signed on with a company out of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, CRST,Van Expedited. Can you imagine living with your significant other for 24/7? We did every thing together. A team operation. We loved it. It is hard to believe that we seldom argued and had a great time all while getting paid for doing it. We got paid on Tuesday and Thursday and brought home about $1400 each, twice a week. I chose truck driving because there was no heavy lifting, manual labor, and climate controlled. I did not know that I chose the worse possible occupation for someone with a bad lower back. Almost three years of driving took a great toll on my health. I had ruined my back.
  The lumbar region of the back consist of 5 lumbar vertebrae that is used more than any part of your body. My disc, the area between each vertebrae, were mush in between 4 of my 5 lumbar vertebrae. The result was that my sciatic nerve, the large nerve branching off the spinal cord to each leg, was pinched causing excruciating pain and ultimately no feeling in my left leg. My primary care physician sent me to a chiropractor who, after 12 treatments, told my doctor that I had to have surgery to repair my mush before my leg is permanently useless. Introducing a Neurosurgeon to be my new and best friend, I had it surgically repaired by removing 3 disc and using bone grafts, rods and screws to fuse 4 vertebrae together. The master surgeon completed his task and I was to recover for the next year.Then it happened.
  I was wearing a hard brace that went from my neck down to just below my waist. This suit of armor had to be worn constantly with the exception of sleep. I was 4 months post op and I bent over to pick something up and felt a stabbing pain in my lower back. This was not good. With my past medical knowledge of medicine I knew I had to see the doctor pronto. My wife and I were in the process of moving into another home when this happened. What had happened? A titanium surgical screw that was mounting the base of a titanium rod to my sacrum broke. "Hold up, a minute." I told the doctor. "How can a screw, made of a metal stronger than steel, just break?" He had no explanation. His idea about how to fix it was disconcerting. He removed 2 rods and 7 and a half screws. The screw that broke he could not get it out. He gave me another back brace and instructed me to wear it and not to work. Four months was not long enough for the bone grafts to take. I lost my job, along with my insurance, and was forced into filing for my disability. I tried to see the surgeon in his office but could not afford the office visit. I talked with several attorneys about trying to recover damages and was told that the manufacture of the screw was the largest medical supply company in the United States. I requested a copy of my surgical notes because the label of any surgical implant is affixed to the device and peeled off to put on the notes. The label tells what company made the screw, when and where the screw was made, the lot number of the screw, and the batch of screws that were made that day. I researched the screw and found out that there were no recalls pertaining to that specific screw. Hell, if I am sitting on a jury hearing a case as this, those fuckers that made the screw are about to pay, big. The only problem was no attorney had the money that it would cost to try that case. The corporation that made the screw had dozens of lawyers on retainer just for this reason. I asked my lawyer how much money would it cost to try this case. He ask me if I had $50,000 dollars to spare, with no guarantee of winning. So, I suffer on. I did, after getting my disability and medicare, get my spinal fusion done, again. I am telling you this because I have been telling these true stories of my mental problems and you were getting half the story. This half is not much better. When you think you have it rough, I promise you will find someone that has got you beat. I feel the same. I complain about the pains in my back and left leg and I see someone that has no legs. I am a fighter. I will never stop fighting, either. If there is anyone out there who may benefit from something I may know or experienced I will gladly help them out. You would do it for me.     theblogmeister

The Pain Goes On.

  I have asked myself too many times why He picked me. I still do not have an answer. I have wanted to believe that He really cared about my well being and that he would not put me in harms way for selfish reasons. I thought of Him as a good man, an honorable man, an honest man. During His life I believe he was all of those. The few months I was a part of his life he acted as such. When it came time for His decision to stop the pain He did not care who He hurt. He wanted two things, a) to end His suffering, and b) to make sure that Bunny would be taken care of after He was gone. He could not do this on His own and chose me to help Him achieve His goals. I ask God why I am being tortured for the sins of another. I know what I did was wrong and I also know that if the Col. had not talked me into doing what I did that my life would be no where near the life that I live, today. I gave up medicine because I could not trust myself to be responsible for someone else's life. I have a problem that was created by my own mind. I do blame the Col. for creating this Monster inside me. I have grown to hate this Demon. I still fear what He can do from the other side. I believe, as I said before, that this is of my own creation but I sometimes wonder if the Col. somehow can haunt me from where He is today. I watch shows about ghosts and how they can enter our realm. Maybe the Col. has that ability. I do not think my sub-conscious mind is that powerful. I have met the Col. in the middle of the night, staring Him down, smelling the rotting breath of a corpse and is my mind creating this? My mind should not choose sides. Do you think living is a primal instinct. Our bodies can do amazing things to stay alive. Then why would the mind ruin its host? There has to be more forces at work. If you bumped into me at the mall you would not sat there goes a crazy man. How can someone change so abruptly? There has to be something outside of myself at war with my self. I am not fighting me. I am fighting with an entity that I can't explain. He knows my weaknesses and exploits them. He is relentless and will not give up. I believe He is out to destroy me. He has already gotten me to fight with myself. This war is continuing every night. I cannot give in. I have a wonderful woman that wants to keep me around. She is worth fighting for, I believe. So, My journey continues. I will not talk any more of the good that was the Col. He has transformed into my enemy. He will not win this war. I am sure I will not see the last of the Col.                  theblogmeister

Reality, Once Again

  I am back to the reality of my relationship with the Col. It can't honestly be thought of as a relationship. I cannot have a relationship with a corpse. Yet, he has affected me as if he were alive. A Demon. I understand that my mind has created this monster inside me. I told a story of Col. DeBarge the way that I wished was his motivation for asking me to do what I did. I have wanted to believe that his intentions were good and honorable but I find that hard to believe. How can you ask a kid that respected you more than you will ever know. Put yourself in his shoes the way I just did. If you could tell his story and explain how it must feel to manipulate someone into taking your life and justify why. I was a kid. I thought the world of Him. I loved Him. Do you think that he believed that I would suffer no mental or legal problems? If I believed that I would not be writing about Him. Waking up in the middle of the night because of terror. I can only conclude that either a, He did not think that I would suffer any problems, or b, he just did not care. That is why I am now, and always have been, of the thinking that he did not care what happened to me. I have had this legally taken care of. When I was admitted into the Tuscaloosa VA Medical Center for treatment of post traumatic stress My therapist was the head of the program. When I started telling him my story he stopped me and asked if I was ready to take this where ever it goes, I said yes. He told me that he was legally bound to report crimes. This PTSD had ruined me. Do you think I am scared of what somebody else may or may not do? He stopped me right there. He said that he would have to get with the Hospital Attorneys, the Chief of Psychiatry, the Head of Administrations, and the Head of the Veterans Administrations. That's a lot of head. It was a little over a week and my therapist gave me the green light to tell my story. I have not stopped, yet. I held this in my mind for 29 years. Making excuses for my psychotic behavior. Taking baby steps. I know what this has done to me and I have reached out to find a way to make it stop. Hell, at least slow down. Only since 2003, I have been able to share my life with a loving woman that knows the truth and is there for me when she finds me in the closet, screaming at the top of my lungs at 2am. I am still telling my story and I communicate with many of my readers through email. If I stop talking, He wins.      theblogmeister

The Angel Of Death Has Arrived

  It took me a little over a month to get airman Riley to agree to my plan. It happens, today. He did give me a few days notice so I could say good-bye to Bunny. He does not know how much I am grateful for this decision. I do not know what I would have done had Riley turn me down. It has really affected his mood and demeanor around me. He is not the same guy, joking around and trying to bring a smile to me. His mood is somber. I think he will go through with it, too. He is a special young man and I hope what I am asking of him, in no way, changes his life. He really believes in the sanctity of life and understands that sometimes a life is not worth living. He gives value to the quality of life. I am sure he wishes there was another way to do this and he thought long and hard to find that alternate route. When he told me that he had decided to help me I began to weep. He wept with me. He has been a Godsend and I believe that God put us, together. I pray that God will take care of him after it is over. I had instructed Bunny to bring my lawyer to amend my will with her blessings and the will was changed, yesterday. Bunny and I have no children and I have made some good investments and we want to make Riley's life easier to become a physician, that is why we decided to leave him $250 thousand dollars. I also wanted him to have my golf clubs, so, when he hits one fat, he will think of me. I will miss my beautiful wife and my buddy Big Riley and will never forget the act of courage that airman Riley has shown.
  My door opens and it is Riley. We do not speak to each other. There is nothing left to say. He takes a large syringe filled with something and puts it in my IV. My vision immediately becomes blurry and can barely see when he took the other syringe and put it in. The last thing that I saw was a tear flowing down the cheek of Riley. My pain is over. I see a brilliant white light. It beckons me to come. I am home.    theblogmeister

Working on Going Home

   The pain is all consuming. I try to watch T.V. to get my mind off the pain but it doesn't work. I've got so much narcotics flowing through my veins I should not be able to feel a thing. When I drift to the days of the war when Riley and me spent over three years as prisoners to the japs my mind will take over and it feels like I am back there. After we dropped our load and Riley came up to tell me I made a b-line north, to get as far away from Japan as I could get. We ran out of gas and had to ditch in the ocean and was picked up by the Japs. They took us, a little banged up, to a prison camp. There were about 6 others from our squadron already there. We were told that the Japs had killed three of our pilots after charging them with crimes against the Emperor. Fuck the Emperor.
  I was awaken by Airman Riley just as I was getting ready to jump one of them guards and slit his throat. "What's up, Col. D? How was your night, is the pain still pretty bad?" He really cares. He is not making small talk, he means it. He would do almost anything to help. I still haven't gotten him to agree to my plan. I just need to work him a little more. "Have you thought anymore about my plan?" I quizzed.
  "Yea, Col. D, That is all I have been thinking about. I understand the pain and not wanting it to continue but to die because of it? Let me refrain that last statement, enough for me to take a chance and kill you?" He was torn between wanting to do it and being afraid to do it. If I can get him to believe that he can do it and not get caught, I think he will do it.
  "Listen, you are no dummy, I know that you can get the medicines to put me to sleep, permanently. You will not be able to tell anyone and I sure as hell can't!"
  "But Col., you are asking me to go against everything that I believe in and love about medicine. I do not know if I can. I can't sleep at night thinking about this, I think about it all day." I think I may be getting to him. "Look, Riley, you can do this, I am begging you to do this. I can't take it much longer. Please, help me, please." Our relationship seemed to change at that moment I looked into his eyes. He seemed resigned that it must be fate that we were brought together. He was not his normal chipper self. It was like he was carrying the burden of the world on his shoulders. It would be less than a week and I think he will give me the greatest gift of all: death.   theblogmeister

Planting The Seed

  I have survived another night, beeps and all. I have wasted away, almost. The cancer has ravaged my body to the point I cannot stand alone. My skin has become so thin the doctors put a catheter into my subclavian vein because my IV's kept infiltrating. I no longer have to take shots for the pain, instead, I am receiving Dilaudid IV through my new catheter. I have spoken with Bunny and told her of my plan to ask airman Riley if he would end this suffering for me. He will come to my room, as he does every day, to say good night and I have decided to ask him today. Bunny took it harder than I expected. She hates to see me like this but she is not ready to lose me. We have had a good life, together, but it is time for it to end. She was so upset that she had to leave the hospital around noon and I talked her into staying at home to get some rest. It has been really hard on her. Our two best friends, Tom and Joan Riley, were leaving this afternoon to go back to Kansas and I wanted Bunny to be with them when they left.
  Tom has been a great friend over the years. We went through hell, together,in the Tokyo raid of April, 1942. He was my bombardier on that flight with the other 'Doolittle Raiders' as we had become known. I remember Tom checking his bomb sites over and over on that three and a half our flight after we left the USS Hornet. There were 16 B-25's in that raid, a total of 80 men. We did not have the gas to make it to China because of having to take off early. We flew low and in single file and when we reached the Japan coast we went to our pre-planned route to drop our bombs then try to make it to China. We were flying so low the Japanese thought we were their planes and would wave at us. Tom yelled that the load had been dropped and I made a bee-line north knowing we would not make it. Tom touched me on the shoulder and said not to worry that we would make it out alive and back to the great United States of America. I looked back to him and smiled.
  After Tom and Joan left the hospital I knew that I would never see them, again. Tom, by the look in his eyes, knew it too. We said our goodbyes and started to weep. That was the first time I had ever seen him cry. Even through those years as a POW. He never cried. I will miss him, dearly. Now I have to convince airman Riley to end this for me. It was about time for him to come in through the door. I did not have to wait long.
  "Alright Col. D. It is my time to go. Sleep well and no dreaming of those geisha, we don't want you to have a wet dream." Then he laughed. I sure will miss this kid more than I ever  thought. I spoke up. "Sit down a minute, Riley, I want to ask you for a favor." The colonel spoke softly. "I would not ask you this but I need you to do something very important for me." Riley said just to name it and it would be mine. "I need you to put me out of my misery." He looked funny then told me not to even joke about that. "I am serious, I need you to put an end to all this. I can't take it, anymore. Bunny can't take it, anymore. Please." He looked like someone just punched him in the stomach. "I will see you, tomorrow." He looked down and slowly walked out of the room. The seed had been planted.

Facing The Truth

   After Airman Riley finished my a.m. care the doctors came to visit. You know when 3 or more docs visit you at once, it is not a good sign. I was right. They told me the cancer had metastasized and I had a few months, at best. I wonder how Bunny is going to take this.? Not good. I can't stand the pain for a few more months. Think how it feels to smash your finger with a hammer, triple that, and that is how I feel. I have some good days, though. Riley helps me get my mind off my pain. He told me yesterday that Col. Potter was to reassign him. I will have a talk with her. Riley is the only thing, next to Bunny, that I look forward to. My days are filled with tremendous lows followed by some good times with Riley. He is just a kid from Alabama that does not realize how much he means to me. When I was his age, 19, I was learning to fly B-25's. He is doing his part. I have talked it over with Bunny and made it clear that I did not want to live like this. The pain meds are beginning to have no effect on this cancer that is eating my body away. I have to find a way to end this. I just can't take it, anymore. I know Bunny will not do what needs to be done and I am not sure that I can convince Riley into helping me. I can't do it because Bunny will lose my pension and will not get my life insurance. I have to find a way to convince airman Riley to go along with this. First, I will have a talk with Col. Potter to make damn sure that Riley is my care taker. I do not want to develop, nor do I have the time, a relationship with another tech. Riley has been with me from the start. I just hope I will be able to convince him that this is the best way for Bunny and me. I often wonder what would happen, if he agrees to help me, with his future. Will he be able to handle it, mentally? Will he even agree to do it at all? We will just have to wait and see. The door opens and it is Riley.
  "Hey, Col. D. I have some food that I had flown in from Paris. I think you will enjoy it." This kid is amazing. I am really going to miss him.

Through Green Eyes

   That damn beeping. I go to bed with it and I wake up with it. That only proves that I am alive. Did you know that all hospitals smell the same? Like shit, to me. I had one hell-of-a dream last night. We were on the USS Hornet. My buddy's name was Riley, ironically. That may be why I like the kid so much. Anyway, Riley and me were in a briefing Col. Doolittle was giving. We had practiced this back at Eglin Field. We had to take out our belly gunner and replace it with gas tanks. Instead of a rear gunner, we had two broom sticks painted black sticking out the rear of our B-25's. We had extra tanks everywhere we could put them. It was 1942 and we were on our way for some paybacks. There were 16 B-25's lashed on the deck of the Hornet. At the briefing Col. Doolittle asked for anyone that changed his mind. There were no takers. It would be a one way trip. We had the fuel to take off from the deck and fly to our target, release our bombs, then fly to China to an airfield with a beacon to hone us in for a landing and fuel. This briefing was called hastily. I looked at Riley and he had that same look of excitement in his eyes as so many of us did. We are fixing to kill some Jap bastards!
   The Colonel called us all to attention. There were 80 of us and we were ready to go.
  "I have some news that is very critical." he almost yelled. ""We were spotted by a fishing vessel and we believe that he reported our position to their Headquarters. We are 600 miles from Japan and, as you all are well aware, was supposed to take-off within 425 miles." There was a lot of guys taking deep breaths. They new that there was not enough gas to make it to China if we took off now. "I am giving one more chance if anyone wants out." There was still no takers.
  I hear Riley's voice breaking through my dream.
  "Good morning Col. I hope you slept well, last night."  "Hey, there's my little buddy. Slept well, airman Riley, slept well.        This story and the next 4 posts are fiction. I had no way to know what the Colonel's motivations and feelings were. This is my interpretation of 'His Story'.     theblogmeister

Better Late Than Never

  I apologize to my readers that have informed me of their enjoyment in reading my posts. I have to be honest with you and say that I have avoided writing because of the results the writings brings me. I have a fear or phobia, whatever you want to call it, of sleep. I do not have to tell you why that is a fear for me. I have sleeping meds that do not work, so, I have tried something I heard about from some friends. You may have heard of it, it is the incense you buy at any smoke shop. They will tell you it is not for human consumption, but we all know what it is for. I bought some called cloud 10 and the only reason I tried it is because it does not show up in a drug test. Because of my prior criminal activities I am on parole, for the last 8 years, and do not want to go back to prison. That is a story I will tell at another time. I smoked this shit and it got me stoned as good as some skunk buds I used to grow years ago. It is legal, although, the man is trying to make it illegal. I must admit that the shit worked and I got some sleep without fighting off the Col. My luck is it will be banned. I will not take anything illegal for fear of losing my freedom. I have been out of prison after doing 6 years and that is enough. I do not know how long this cloud 10 will work, I will keep you posted. As for my bio, I do not know where the hell I am, at this point. I will have to go back and figure out where to pick up and continue on. There is still a lot to tell of my life that you will, indeed, want to hear. It is a miracle that I am alive, today. I do not know why. It has not been an easy life. My dreams were shattered when I took the life of the Col. I have been winging it ever since. I do not make plans for the future, I do not make any promises, I do not worry about tomorrow. I tried to control my life and all I did was end up in prison most of my younger years. I take what comes and try to deal with it. This Demon has almost broke me many times. I cannot count how many times I almost pulled the trigger. It is scary as hell, now. The one thing that has helped is getting feedback from you. Especially the 15 year old, I will not say who you are because you already know. I appreciate the comments, it makes all this, somehow, worth it. I will return writing on a regular basis when I run out of that cloud 10. I tried writing while i was under the influence but it did not work. I spent a long time staring at the keyboard wondering how to operate it. I am almost out and I think I'll take my chances with the Col. after that. Keep reading and your input is invaluable.   theblogmeister

A Pseudopersonality

  After reading my latest post I felt that I needed to clear some things up, a little. I confused myself trying to explain the part of my life that is so difficult and demanding. There was a point in my life that I liked the way things were going for me. I had a great job, lots of good friends, a life of no regrets. With the act of doing something I thought was the right thing to do, at the time, resulted in turning my life upside down. I made the decision to euthanize a patient that had no real life. The quality of life was, and still is, very precious to me. I was led to believe that an act of love and loyalty would reap rewards beyond comprehension. Instead, I was given an emotional time bomb. I had no knowledge on how to diffuse that bomb. The ticking has not stopped after over 30 years. The definition of the word reality; is the state of things as they actually exist whether or not it is observable or comprehensible. Rather interesting, don't you think? My reality before the creation of the monster inside me was that of a sterile, clean, and vibrant existence. The state I existed in at that time. After the traumatic event that altered my existence, my reality, is one of fear, horror, emotional pain, and apprehension. That is the state of my existence, now. Remember, it does not have to be observable or comprehensible to make it reality. I believe since the trauma, I have created a parallel reality. You cannot see it and sometimes I do not understand it but they are still realities according to the definition. The reality I created is my defense mechanism at work. The brain is a remarkable 6 lbs. of grey matter. When you see a person faint what is the first thing people do? They sit them up in a chair and give them a cold rag. That is not what the body is trying to do. The reason one faints is because of a lack of oxygen in the brain. The brain tells the body to fall down, thereby, making it easier for the heart to pump blood to the brain. It does not have to pump against gravity. So, if you ever witness someone fainting, lie them down and elevate their feet. You may impress the chicks.
  Back to reality. Which one? Well, it is in the daytime so my reality is writing about my alternate reality. I know the title of this post is 'false reality' but we have learned there is no such thing. Remember, whether or not it is observable or comprehensible? That is reality. Tonight, I will have a completely different reality. We will see how it turns out.    theblogmeister