-- Transcribed from the personal journal of Nemesis --

[ Genesis ]

August 30, 2007

This journal reads too much like two crammed into one, so for the benefit of any
unscrupulous readers and for my own addled mind in the coming years, so I might
more easily get into my head in the past during the years of the future, I think
it's probably best and far passed "overdue" to knit everything together, relay
my story thus far and record my current thoughts as they currently reconcile.
Yes, "current" does seem apropos. Before I can truly address what's "current" I
need to turn the clock back to 2003...

My world--indeed my Universe--fell completely apart in the spring of 2003. I
suppose this all started in the prior winter season but I will continue to cite
the spring as my season of terror and wonder. Prior to that I was quite selfish,
highly manipulative and very personable. This combination usually leads to the
type of personality I exemplified. Like most people (at least in the society in
which I live), selfish asses or not, I also had a head filled to the brim with
complete bullshit and loved to hear myself spout it.

I was sitting at lunch in the GlaxoSmithKline cafeteria and for whatever reason
was thinking about the mathematical Pi and made a misguided connection between
it and dividing a circle into three equal parts. In retrospect one has nothing
to do with the other but at the time I thought differently. I'm thrilled about
my oversight now because at the time it served the purpose of changing -every-
thing-.

I wondered how one could define a circle using an equilateral triangle spun on
its triangulated center axis--an object of three equal parts--and be unable to
divide that circle into three equal parts.

Still blind to the inapplicability of my musings to Pi, I tried bringing the
subject up with a few choice people who all looked at me like I was bonkers. I
continued to entertain myself and explore the concepts of circles. I even went
so far as to attempt drawing respectably-sized circles on high-density graph
paper with a compass, considering them to be "high-precision" in size and
placement. I discovered some interesting properties, including a complete
difference in ratio of circumference to diameter between circles of different
radii. To this day, though I should revisit it now, I do not believe the value
commonly cited as Pi holds true for all circles--I believe Pi changes with size
and as doing so should no longer be chased as a matgical, mysterious irrational
value. If it indeed changes it has no set value.

I was especially excited to realize the folly of modern geometry claiming the
center point of a circle is undefined. Considering it defines a circle as a
radius rotated about a point in one plane, how could they claim one of the two
constituant parts of what defines a circle was undefined? No center point, no
circle. Does the point magically enter a state of non-definition -after- we use
it to position the circle and serve as a rotational axis for the radius?

By then I had started to zero in on it using a circle as my metaphor. The cir-
cumference represetned the world, the center point--me, and neither intersected
with or defined the other in any way. They needed each other to still be con-
sidered a circle--complete--but could not affect one another. I had begun to
define the undefinable. I knew where the center of the circle was. I was it.

I had a blast playing with graphing systems, suspecting the Cartesean system was
not the most appropriate for real-world plotting. I wondered if 3D graphics
could be processed faster using a different coordinate system--perhaps even pro-
cessed using only whole numbers. I still think its possible but realize a model
or scene would still have to be translated into a 2-axis plane for screen plot-
ting each frame. In the end I think that, alone, would counteract the savings
gained from a specialized internal plotting system. Perhaps I am just scared of
failing and that is why I never fully revisit all this.

I had realized the cells of a graphing system should all be equidistant in cen-
ter-point from every adjacent neighbor. On a Cartesean grid, four cells' center
points were one length from their common neighbor, four others had a different
equal value. My first crack at a "better" graphig system used equilateral tri-
angles and supposed a 2-layer plane. At some point I realized hex-grid was the
way to go. Nature has shown us the most efficient way to arrange a flat arrange-
ment of cells--honeycombs. A plane--in real-world plotting--has three axes, not
two. "3D" space would require six, not three. Is this useful? Not really. But it
is, I am certain, the basis for a plotting system modeled after the real world.

All this playtime in the mathematical sandbox would have been fine had I not,
somehow--I'm really not sure how it started--been studying Mars intently. Some-
how I formed the hypothesis Mars was a reflection of Earth's future and our in-
sistent push into Iraq was somehow related to an effort to curb a catastrophe
such as a bomb going off in the Middle East--a big one. I stared at photos of
Mars thinking, "what did we do?" but not quite having become an "I", could only
wonder.

I wrote a series of admittedly insane-sounding letters and sent them to the
whole spectrum of U.S. agencies. In one I declared my intent to appear at the
United Nations. I kept my word and drove to New York only to arrive too late in
the day to expect anyone was still inside. I made the most of my trip by walking
around the U.N.'s surrounding city blocks, talked with some MPs, watched the
subtle movements of undercover agents and even spoke to one attempting to sha-
dow me from the front. I told him, "you know, this would be a lot easier if
you'd just walk beside me." He grimaced and marched off. -I- thought it was
funny; I guess he didn't. I drove home later that evening.

To further bake my noodle and start the terror cycle, Tara's mom pointed out
similarities between my words in letter and actions and the Revelations chap-
ter of the bible. I gave it a read and agreed the similarities between a dusty-
assed 2000 year old text and my life were too numerous to be coincidence. I
don't think Pam really thought that, but I did and became terrified. I cannot,
with mere words, convey a sense of the absolute fear I felt.

Was I the "rider in black" whose name meant justice, carried the scales and had
a sharp sword coming out of his mouth? Was I the lamb who went to great Baby-
lon--prostitute on the water--to speak to the kings of men? Was the apocalypse
coming? Was I causing it? Was I being manipulated? I thought of some insurance.

I decided to adopt a new name--a True name--that couldn't be hit randomly and
had not existed at any point in history, as I could verify. My True name became
a symbol--one that holds meaning for me and was verifiably unique. That way if
Pandora's Box showed up on my doorstep addressed to me, I'd know it was safe to
open, for who else could have addressed it so? Perhaps I might send myself some-
thing.

Satisfied I had cheated Fate and broken the parallels between my life and an
ancient text, I felt better and started to turn back to everything else I had
bitten onto. I couldn't get one person to even consider my Mars theory. It was,
ironically, everyone telling me I was crazy or wrong for me to realize I wasn't.
Devoid of any other points of view, I was forced to turn to the one person I
never had, and for the first time looked inward...

That's when it started. That's wehn I began to realize the faint whispers of
self-awareness. I was slow to reconcile it but I did have my mind working on
it--this indescribable, completely simple, totally alien concept. As it started
falling into place, I became more excited. Just before I put it all together,
Tara had me committed.

I came home from work one day and shortly afterward, Tara took Truman upstairs.
I was oblivious to this oddity until the knock at the door. The police had come
and informed me I was being taken for psychiatric evaluation. Semi-conscious of
the great -something- I was on to, I asked them, "what about my choice?"

"You don't have one," was the response.

While at a transitional location for initial evaluation before placement in a
mental facility, I called my mother, certain she'd help get me out of there.

"Mom!"

"Honey, this is for your own good..."

Shock. Betrayal. Rage. Judas meets Cassius meets Brutus meets my mother. I was
betrayed. I hung up on her and called Paul Black in a panic. It was the best
call I made because Paul helped me get it all into perspective.

"Well just don't argue, give them a lot of 'yes sir's and 'yes ma'am's and get
out of there quickly."

I couldn't have had a better friend than Paul Black was to me at that time. I
was sent to a facility in Rocky Mount and he drove out there that night to be
with me during in-processing. My wife and mother were conspicuously absent. I
later learned my mother had called Paul and demaned he "back off." God bless
you, Paul, for sticking to your guns and following your heart. You may never
know just how much you did for me.

Accepting my situation, I laid on my cot and looked inward most of that night. I
was starting to understand. In retrospect, the downtime did me good. I've since
learned the value of letting my mind cool down after significant use or before
acting on new information or ideas. At that time, it was an unrealized necessity
and forced benefit. Still, it gave me some quiet time during which to reconcile
my thoughts.

Somewhere along the way, just before this, or that night, I realized I knew no-
thing. I believed in nothing. I had no opinions. I had no ideas. I had a head
filled to capacity with nothing of my own. My entire thought system was bor-
rowed. Granted, I had already gone through the terror and panic of my Universe
crumbling, but had to finish the job myself. I threw out everything. So where
could I start anew? Did I know -anything-?

Yes. I knew I was. I existed. It was undeniable. From that simple truth I was
able to--over the last four-and-a-half years--reconstruct myself. I still don't
-know- anything else (I could be in The Matrix, after all), but I know one thing
I will never yield on. Everything else I just take on faith, and if I'm wrong
that's ok.

That next day I had a wonderful set of experiences. For lunch I got a chicken
breast while my neighbor got a leg and thigh. He commented on wishing he'd got-
ten a breast instead so I piped up and offered to trade him. He was very happy.
Down sat Andrew (a boy I hope never to forget) and with him, complaints about
having gotten a breast and not a leg and thigh. I just smiled and offered the
leg and thigh I just happened to have, receiving in trade exactly what I'd
started with. Almost. The difference was the two happy boys on either side of
me and the mischievous joy I felt from having taken part in a hilariously-ironic
bit of spreading good cheer.

Later we had a group session in which we were handed sheets with statements
like, "how you dress affects my feelings." We were supposed to mark those that
we had personally felt before. I was already testing the waters of my uncertain
discovery, though, and I chimed in, "I say -every- one of these things -every-
day...when I'm brushing my teeth." The group leader understood my implication
and ran with that for the discussion. I referred to it as, "seeing your own re-
flection," and used the metaphor to explain to one of the earlier-mentioned boys
why I thought he felt his family was crushing him. He was standing with them
all, looking in a mirror, but he was the only one with a reflection. This helped
him achieve some kind of new perspective--I'll never know what--and he was again
very happy. At this point he told me, "you know, you look familiar."

I just shrugged and told him I got that alot. Since then I've noticed any time
I'm in a similar role and someone becomes similarly happy I get told how famil-
iar I look. I really don't know what to make of this phenomenon.

It would not be noteworthy to say I helped two people find a moment of happiness
in a dreary place. I must have helped a dozen or more, all in what I consider
ironic, quirky or mischievous ways. That, specifically, is what made my time
there so memorable, magical and likely unforgettable.

Outside smoking that evening I suggested the boy look up. The sky was black.

"Where's all the stars?" he asked.

"Right here, smoking with you!" I replied.

We went in and one of the staff who seemed well-liked played a song of his own
design on an acoustic guitar--the lyrics spoke of every blessing from God being
a raindrop and how he wanted the Lord to send his rain down to the singer. It
was smoke-break time again when he finished and I told him to come outside and
get his rain. It fell on him about five minutes after we went out. He was happy.
I realized it didn't matter that I did not believe in the Christian God. He did,
and the rain made him happy. He went inside humming out a tune for his next
song. I asked him to send me a free CD when he went big.

Interspersed throughout that day were meetings, or "interviews," with the chief
psychiatrist and one other evaluator. I met with the psychiatrist first and on
meeting him felt he was an extremely dangerous--as in threatening to my well-
being--person. That was my first real taste of reality and I checked -every-
thing- I had been chasing and assumed the role of an oh-so-confused programmer
who had recently found God and just had a hard time coming to terms with it be-
cause it wasn't logical yet it had to be true.

This seemed to make the psychiatrist happy and prompted him to launch into a 20-
minute sermon on faith (he even told me what each letter in FAITH abbreviated)
and concluding with him giving me his phone number and promising to pray with me
if I wanted to call. He also mentioned he didn't think I needed the anti-psycho-
tics my wife had ordered for me. Rage. I later learned Tara had ordered no such
thing--nothing at all. I still feel animosity towards that asshole. He needs to
be removed.

My other meeting went even better and I was told I could go home first thing in
the morning. That night, though, after the rain incident, I left my mark (quite
literally) on the Rocky Mount mental institution. I asked for a bible and took
it to my room. It was a Gideon bible and only included the New Testament. Per-
fect. John 3:16 is commonly regarded as the cornerstone of Christianity.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever
shall believe in him shall know life everlasting."

No. People were going to have to be accountable for their own lives now. No more
golden tickets. Besides, I thought, his mother didn't agree I don't think, nor
would she if she had known how casually everyone would treat his murder, not
really grateful but relieved.

"Not. Any. More." I said as I crossed John 3:16 out of the bible. God can have
his son back, I thought.

Why oh why did I cross that verse out... (I'll have to return to this later)

I closed the bible except the front cover.

"If this bible has helped you in any way, contact the Gideons in your area."

Easy enough. I can follow that advice. After Paul picked me up and took me home
the next morning I was ready for blood. I waited until Tara got home, sneering,
"hello, dear," as she walked in and gave a start. I got nasty but nothing like
what I gave my mother over the phone. I could never recall the woman sobbing be-
fore. It didn't feel good--or bad, per se--but something else. Righteous. In
retrospect I could have been nicer and more composed but at the time I felt com-
pletely and totally justified in my behavior--she deserved no less than that
viscious tongue-lashing. It was justice. I fear the day I ever experience right-
eous fury again. I would be fine if I didn't. I'm getting off-track. I contacted
the Gideons in my area, as suggested.

I was free and clear of any threat of incarceration or committal. More than
that, I was free. I was an "I"--no longer a "me." The bomb had gone off and it
was too late to go back. Self-awareness on a level so deeply profound it shocked
me was coursing through my mind, and I was happy. I knew joy. I knew my own in-
ternal pure, simple joy.

I picked up my phone and dialed Jeremy.

"Gid! Bro! You aren't going to -believe- the story I've got for you!"

His response was so dreary I knew something was wrong. He went on to tell me
that for the first time in his life he'd contemplated suicide. I told him I was
coming to get him and had something to show him he needed to know. I did not yet
realize the impossibility of explaining "I"-ness to someone. In my enthusiasm I
somehow managed to drill the message home in only two days. Gideon is and pro-
bably ever will be my only weekend-success. His reaction was as positive as
mine. He was also able to renew his weakening faith. He spent five days with his
parents before we reunited. He summariezed the experience so well I'll never
forget his words.

"I've been walking around with a shit-eating grin all week! It's like I know
something no one else knows!"

I knew exactly how he felt.