JOURNAL ENTRY: THAT MAN IN BLACK IS BACK 2026
THAT
MAN IN BLACK IS BACK
This week I had two teeth pulled I
believe that makes a total of 6 that have cracked thus far. I believe that was on Tuesday and then I was in
deep sleep and exhausted on Wednesday.
My pain was very high and all the dentists pulling and yanking along
with a great deal of injections wore my body out. The Dentist Obafemi Adenuga who immigrated
from Nigeria was an absolute delight and I enjoyed my time with him, and he
gave me a name of a Nigerian dish that he thought I would enjoy. It was during that Wednesday that the man in
black began to show up again and began to wake me from my deep sleep. I have written about this apparition before,
and this persona has been around since my early childhood.
When I was young this entity would
wake me from a deep sleep when my bedroom was on the right side of the
stairs. Its intrusion would startle me
awake from a deep sleep and then as I jolted into reality, I often would be simultaneously
recoiled from the edge of the mattress and sitting defensively with my back
against the wall. Then through this
figure I could see Glenda standing and waiting to pounce upon me or she was in
a dead run from the top of the stairs and diving at me with whatever weapon she
had brought with her. Thus, this figure
became an early alarm system that allowed me a moments awareness before being attacked
by my mother. He was an omen that
preceded ill-will but then he also allowed a preemptive strategy to be instinctively
placed into action. Allowing me a chance
to prepare for the onslaught from a drug induced tirade based on spousal
revenge by planning filicide. My mother believed
that my father loved me more than he loved her and thus I was the bane of her
existence and must pay for my insolence or be murdered to exact her
revenge.
This specter of chaos never saved me
from my mother but allowed the percentage of damage that I would be receiving
to drop. I grew up with this entity in
my dreams and at various times during my encumbered sleep he would appear at
the edge of my bed during other moments of difficulty. He was an omen of despair and strife, but he
did not cause that intrigue. He
preempted such events with his presence.
Either I would envision him at the foot of my bed while I was having a momentary
arousal during the night, or he would burst through my R.E.M. sleep and wake me
up. Always his actions led to a tactical
awareness that allowed me to be prepared for whatever onslaught would be headed
my way. Even in his most recent intrusions
he causes me to be leery when I see him at the foot of my bed. Then horrified when he woke me from a deep
sleep. That is where I have found myself
with his interruptions this week. Twice
on Wednesday and once on Thursday his presence invaded my depth of sleep.
My intention in journaling today is
to be preemptive in determining what foreboding will be released from my
amnesic brain. I find it best to get
ahead of such things versus being taken down by the psychosomatic pain when I
am unprepared. This psychological projection
began as a black humanoid figure, but it progressed into the dark man at the
foot of the bed and now it appears to have a sharp-edged hat and a long trench
coat. There are no describable features
other than that. Later on Thursday while
waiting at lunch for the kiddos to arrive that familiar bottomless sadness
arrived and caused me to feel as if I was once again falling into the abyss of
emptiness. These are the usual signs that
prelude one of my deeply repressed dissociative traumatic memories and their projected
arrival based upon their trajectory of surfacing. It could be today that I must deal with my
memories or a few more days out from this date.
If possible, I choose to trigger these events now and put the hours in
and suffer into the night and release all that tension and then have a deep and
restful sleep.
In my mind I am beginning to see
various dead bodies laying in places that I have never seen them before. This phenomenon first occurred at scale when
I was in graduate school and walking back from my morning weightlifting routine
in Arlington Texas on cooper street. I
lived in the apartment complex next door.
Someone had knocked out some planks from the wooden fence, and I was
passing through them from the gym’s parking lot onto the apartment’s
property. Then as suddenly as a breeze
will take your mind from one thought to another. There I saw the naked body of a white girl
about age 20. Then I continued my walk
through the apartment complex and around each turn in a spot that I could not
view unless I turned a corner and then there would be another apparition. At that time, I lived at the bottom of the
hill that this complex span over. Even
when there were no corners to turn, I saw dead bodies in various spots. Examples would include witnessing bodies between
parked cars and spots further back from the sidewalk and more into a covey of confinement. Characteristic themes that would best
describe these manifested haunts included spots that offered sudden and
unexpected viewing angles hidden from common gazing. This could appear at an approximation of a
few feet or several yards if the prior criteria were met. During that walk all the bodies where of
young white women but never the same person or figure outline appeared.
I am recalling now how since a young
age I often would view people falling apart.
I would glance at them and then their bodies would fall apart
dismembered and laying in a pool of blood.
This disembodiment could happen to a teacher at school or a woman at
sears trying to shop for clothes just as Glenda and I where doing. Then just as suddenly their bodies would be
back together, and they continued with their activity. These manual apparitions had been occurring
so frequently and from such a young age that I believed that everyone saw such
things. I attempted to talk to Glenda
about this phenomenon while at the house of hate and I was maybe age 5. I was not confessing to her about something
that bothered me. My mind just expelled
an utterance, and I said something like ‘that sure was a lot of blood’. Then she looked at me, shocked, and asked me
what blood and I pointed to the floor in front of the couch that she and I had
both been sitting on. My exhaustion was pertinent
and I was framing an exasperation of what I believed would have been a shared
sight. In my child’s mind what I was
witnessing at that moment was apparent and a moment of ogling that we both
shared.
Then she leaned forward so that she
could make eye contact with me as I was leaning back against the couch cushion
and my mind was too simple to deem her expression as a threat. Her question was blunt “where else did I see
blood” then I pointed over toward the floor in front of the sliding glass door. Then her expression changed and I was
suddenly aware of her shift in composure as a bead of sweat emitted from her
scalp and then ran down her face and next to her nose exiting at the tip of her
chin. Her skin now appeared to be flushing
with a greenish shimmer of sickness. At
that moment I thought she was about to throw up on me, and I attempted to dart
away from her toward the other end of the couch. I had only a pair of shorts on and I believe
they may have been swimsuit trunks. I
had been in the backyard playing with the water hose I believe and now it was becoming
twilight and I arrived inside after many hours of perhaps playing outside and
washing the dogs. I had stepped over
what I believed to be a pool of blood at the entry way of the sliding glass
door and then leapt to the couch to avoid the pool of blood I had seen there. None of this was odd to me, in the house of
hate as well as other places in the community and at Max and Ediths house these
mirages of liquid blood commonly appeared.
Before I could leave the couch,
Glenda had me by the back of the neck and she was panicked and her mouth was in
my ear as she asked, “where else do you see blood”. To me this was an odd question since that
blood was right there in front of us and over by the back glass door. I pointed over toward the back door and then
she gripped my arm while maintaining that grip on my neck. Forcibly she led me over to that door and
made me get down on my knees and draw with my finger the outline of what I saw
appearing on the carpet. Then Robert
came walking up toward us from behind he must have been in the master
bedroom. Glenda had my nose hovering just
inches from the carpet and with my knees so tightly tucked under me breathing
was an effort. With Roberts’ arrival I
was somewhat comforted since he usually would stop her from beating me but then
that moment changed. Glenda let go of me
and from her kneeled position beside me she turned her torso to look up at
Robert and said, “He knows” in an ominous tone.
That change in her tone and the feeling that I was subjected to as the
tension in the room became thick and heated had my heart pounding and I felt a mixture
of adrenaline that wanted me to flee and the strong desire to fall asleep right
there at that spot.
My inhalations changed, it was
difficult to breathe since my heart was racing, and my lungs were attempting to
make rapid intakes of oxygen while my face was trying to contort into a
yawn. While still in that knelt position,
I couldn’t decide if I should bolt or lay flat.
I was too close to the back door and Robert was behind me and if I attempted
a physical escape I had nowhere to go. Then
my nausea began to rise, and I could smell the odor of the blood waffling up
toward me. This position now had become
more reminiscent of the times I had extended my head over an open sewer hole
and caught the odor from below and felt the strong desire to retch or dry
heave. Then I opened my eyes again and my
view was from the floor I had passed out and was laying on my side. Glenda was still knelt there, and I could
hear Robert’s voice booming behind me.
Though now I was confused and had no recollection as to why I was laying
here.
(It’s
now 9:27 PM and I am returning to my entry.
After that last sentence my body heaved a deep sign, and I was suddenly
under gastral intestinal stress. I went
from little pain in my gums which are still healing. To a magnified fire in my mouth and such
bloating in my belly that I was dashing to the bathroom. That pain was so intense that I couldn’t go
back to journaling until now. I even had
to take a small nap to push out the suffering and wait for it to exercise
itself from my body. It felt like a
gremlin holding on to my insides and resisting the bodies’ intention to purge
it out. The grandbabies wanted to
face-time and I had to turn that down too.
I feared that I would have appeared anguished and that they would become
upset.)
As I lay there
confused Glenda kept touching my face and saying, ‘poor boy’ and my body felt
like I was paralyzed to the floor. Then
in her sweetly sarcastic tone that she reserves only for me she said, “We had
to take her we just had to”. Then I was
even more confused than I was before, but a heat was beginning to build in my
belly. I wanted to rage and leap up from
this floor and attack her, but I didn’t know why and then I was dry heaving and
my chest was spasming and I found that I couldn’t breathe and I became nauseously
dizzy. Then I could feel pressure on my
buttocks and Robert said, “you better watch him he is about to go off”. Then Glenda began stroking my face even
harder with the back of her hand and then the front and she added her fingernails
as she dragged them across my cheek. She
was taunting me and Robert had me pinned with his foot to the ground. Then Glenda was peering down at me, and I had
my eyes tilted as far as I could to see her face and she was smiling when she
said, “did you love your little girlfriend”?
I could feel the volcano inside me build and the heat escape through my
throat and nostrils as I was still fighting to breathe. My small body and immature mind couldn’t unbraid
all these intertwining emotions and intentions while still being confused about
what she was talking about.
(Right
now, my gums are aching with heat, and I am ready to bolt to the bathroom again
if my stomach even so much as tickles with despair. It’s like I am standing atop a ledge and waiting
to jump if I am in danger but wanting to turn around and finish my hieroglyphic
etching on the face of the cliff. I want
to get this content out and if it’s on the side of a cliff before I jump then
so be it.)
Robert was starting to apply more
pressure as I heard him tell Glenda “See his chest, he’s gonna getcha, ya
better move” then he laughed and I was feeling his full weight upon my pelvis. My breathing was not improving, and I felt
like I was hyperventilating due to the oxygen my body was trying to pull into
my body but was failing miserably at achieving.
My torso felt like it was trying to fuel my limbs but couldn’t. Then my limbs and especially my hands felt
like they were awaiting a countdown that couldn’t occur since they had no fuel
to initiate that sequence with. My rage
had passed the zero mark and wanted to burst upward and out at Glenda, but all
the systems were malfunctioning, and this launch had become an implosion versus
an explosion of purposely driven intensity.
My
chest was burning and my hips had joined in with their screams of suffering, since
all Roberts weight was upon my pelvis. All
these clusters causing physical and psychic inflammation had increased my body temperature
to where it felt like I was in the days after receiving a sun burn. My rage had ignited, sparks flew, but my body
wouldn’t move. Robert was prepared for
an explosion, but I couldn’t move my muscles.
I was caught in a ‘fury freeze’ a feeling so far outside of my known genetic
character traits that I didn’t have a blueprint to build from or a procedure to
follow. My prepubescent coping mechanism
lay sputtering on the floor as I smelled another’s blood and failed to initiate
my attempt at fight or flight.
Perhaps
I was internally wrestling with homicidal intent and some part of me wouldn’t
allow me that response. Then again, a
self-preservation mechanism may have intervened believing that I wouldn’t have
survived such an intention and a ‘fury freeze’ was more of a cooperative way for
my psyche to nullify two opposing extremes while finding the boy a way to
survive. Part of my system warned Glenda
to stay away, and the other element kept the situation from escalating into a
‘no holds barred’ fight fest with Glenda which would have eventually sealed my
fate as she would have assassinated me in my sleep days or months after I had
forgotten about that melee. She would
have raged about something else and finished me then at her leisure. My response makes logical sense to the
situation I was in at that moment with Robert and Glenda both physically in
contact with me. The dimension of my
subconscious strategy in relation to its future endeavors of prolonging my life
now seems to have been a masterful play.
I had every reason to attack Glenda, but my primal need had to be
quelled to increase my likelihood of surviving these two.
I
recall now that a dark-haired girl who was about my age had been in the
house. A burly man had brought her over
and he was standing behind her as she sobbed.
She was standing between the open door and this man when I first laid
eyes upon her. She was wearing a white
and red dress with matching stockings and had a hair bow that was made by
intertwining these two styles of colored fabric. Someone had dressed her up for a special occasion,
perhaps Valentine’s Day. She was a
beautiful child, and her dark hair had wavy curls that made it look as if it
had been professionally done and then her eyelashes were long and glimmered in
the sun. Her cheek bones were high and followed
a narrowing of her face down to a perfectly symmetrical chin that had a slight
cleft in the center. Her skin tone was a
tan looking brown and her complexion was glossy and radiated a healthy
glow. This man had no similarities to this
child. He was portly, gruff, and had
feeble looking skin like a long-term alcoholic.
In his appearance he cast a shadow of depression and offered a presence
of being so forlorned that his soul could lure you in out of sympathy and trap
you in an inescapable void. Robert shook
this man’s hand that man grumbled something and walked off the porch and toward
an old pickup truck that had seen far better days. In his wake he left a lingering scent of secondhand
cigar smoke and whiskey breath. Then
Robert used his hand to push the girl into the house and shut the door. Then he walked away and told me to take her upstairs
to play. I was so gentle with her as she
still was sobbing that I walked by her side as her and I ascended the stairs
one step at a time.
Once
upstairs I showed her my toys, and I was kneeling on the floor as I continued
to pull this or that out from under the bed.
All I had was boy toys, but I was willing to share and tried to make
each item seem interesting. Then she
walked through my clump of accumulated trucks and cars and sat down next to me
and leaned upon me and allowed all her weight to contour with mine and closed
her eyes. As I wrapped my arms around
her it seemed that I now had a baby of my own just like all my friends who were
girls had but this one had a heartbeat, and I had to do more than pretend to
care for her. It was that moment that we
bonded and in my young mind I was now the Sheriff, and she was the damsel in
distress. Just like in all the television
shows and movies that I had watched up to this point in my life.
(It’s now April 26th, 2026, at 5:23am and I am just
now able to return to this work. That
image of her falling upon me because I was the only safe place she knew. Really affected me and I had to take one of
my panic pills. Once I take one of those
then it either has no effect or it knocks me out. Not sure why this pill only has two outcomes
that exist at either end of a spectrum. Thus,
I fell asleep and I am now attempting to return to my work. That image of her is haunting me and experience
has taught me that things go horribly wrong for girls who are suddenly dropped
off at the ‘House of Hate’. Hence my
reluctance has been intense and even now I am not sure if I am ready to proceed. I am approaching this work one step at a
time. First, I opened my laptop and
positioned my work desk atop my recliner.
Then I researched ambidextrousness, memory, and child development. In my head I am creating another child
rearing platform that would allow all children, especially those in foster
care. To have a regimented format for
brain development so that no matter where they go, they can be plugged back
into a progressive curriculum that will advance their primary skills. I am not focused on content as much as I am attempting
to build a foundation for intellectual retention. My ability to maintain present moment recall
and learn in a rote memory form was severely damaged. Perhaps I could build a structure for a schema
that would allow these children to work past their deficits and stay with their
class academically or perhaps advance them beyond their peers.)
This state of mind that I was in must have
been evident to Glenda since she was spending so much time relishing the fact
that she had something to taunt me about.
I recall now how heavy that girls body was it had become dead
weight. She must have been from a highly
nurturing environment where the people around her rocked her to sleep or held
her when she fell asleep. It was so reminiscent
of my exhaustion levels when I just couldn’t take it anymore and I passed out
in places. I slept through entire school
days since home was so dangerous and literally, I had to try and keep one eye
open to avoid being attacked. In elementary
school I at times would find a sleeping corner in the shade close to the detached
classrooms at recess time and if I could I would crawl under one of them and
just not return to class. At Sam Houston
Junior High I would mix in among the library carts and pull them all around me
and sleep until way after school was out and then walk home in the dark. In high school before I had a truck to drive,
I was in football and our lockers were huge and absent of traffic during the
day. All I did was lay my top half into
the locker and extend my legs out over the bench and then I could sleep. Since I was in special education
modifications most teachers deduced that I must be in any one of many other
places that the special education children go to. From special groups in various classrooms for
tutoring or retaking some test that I failed or once again in trouble and being
dealt with by someone else. Throughout
my public education being a special education student made me a ghost that no
one really wanted to find, and I was happy that they never really looked.
I was able to pull and lift enough of this
girl’s body to get her to bed and then I laid her out as best I could and
covered her up and shut my bedroom door.
In my mind I was her protector now and I needed to mask a fortified
position. First alert would be they had
to open my door. Then I laid my toys out
on the second bed to where I could grab them quickly so that I could throw
them. That wood and metal arsenal in my
mind should keep them at bay for a while.
Then I pilled up the pillows and stuffed animals, and my intention was
to use them as shields. I was well
versed in defending myself from my younger brother when he was trying to take
my things. I would hold a stuff animal
or pillow in my left hand and use it to block his incoming rounds. Then with my right hand I would send my own
artillery or use a bat to whack him until I could drive him away. Then it dawned on me that all my hand-held weapons
had been taken away after my last defense of my room. However, I knew that some other options would
be down the hall and found in my older brother’s shrine room.
I was hesitant to leave her alone, but I
needed more weaponry to defend her, and I had to make it down to his shrine and
into one of his two closets to locate a possible tool. I crept slowly and was trying not to creak
the floor and then once I opened his door, I left it open so I could dart back
faster if I heard them coming up the stairs.
The first closet had nothing just boxes and then I moved to the second
closet. This was a dangerous thing to do
since if Glenda caught me, I knew she would attack me with her fist and hair grip
technique for having entered this shrine she had created. In that closet I had found an assortment of items
I could use but I couldn’t carry them all.
While I was digging it was necessary for me to move these winter coats
that hung from hangers. A large tan one fell,
and it had been made from some sheep skin.
My plan at that moment was that I could use this coat as armor, the
pillow as a shield and this tennis racket I had found as my sword. True excitement filled my young heart in my mind
these items would make it possible to defend that girl and keep her from
harm.
As I attempted to exit this closet it became
apparent that I would have to put this thick jacket on and then carry this
tennis racket and a Louisville slugger bat that I had acquired. I tried to push the clothes back to where
they had been and then shut the closet door.
My next challenge would be to exit this shrine room and make it back to
my room without making the floor creak.
Then just as I turned from having successfully shut the bedroom door, I
heard the stairs creak. So many things
made me panic at once. First would
Glenda catch me coming out of the shrine room.
Then what would happen to me if they saw me with all these items. Then I saw Robert step onto the second floor
and begin to open my bedroom door. Every
thought in my mind left and my only focus was on how to stop him. I dropped the bat and put both hands on the
tennis racket and halfway down the hall my ears filled with my own battle
cry. Then as I was passing by the middle
bedroom door Glenda stepped up off the stairs and was between me and
Robert. My head had been down as I
charged toward Robert and then when Glenda stepped out my head went back and my
eyes opened and I was full of fear. Then
in a continuous movement as my head reached its zenith, down it came with even
more determination to make it through Glenda on my way to stop Robert from
hurting the girl.
In my body, about age 7 while wearing a
winter sheep furred coat with a tennis racket in my hands and an old football
helmet that I must have acquired in that shrine as well. I had every intention of bursting through and
saving that girl. My heart was beating,
my convictions pure, and my plan was in action as I drove that tennis racket
into the belly of my mother. I did knock
her down and had taken a step upon her body in my mission to reach Robert who
was now holding the sleeping girl in his arms and looking right at me. Then the tentacles of the creature below grabbed
me and as my head smashed upon the floor that over sized helmet that had no
inner pads slammed against my noggin and seared my skull with pain. My eyes had closed due to the multiple
piercing effects of numerous metal pegs inside the helmet smashing with
momentum into my cranium. My thought
process was kabobbed and yet I could feel my body being tossed and slammed
while my throat had its circumference reduced.
Then all went dark and I was peering down from the ceiling as Glenda
raged upon my body. So small was I that
I couldn’t see it due to how she had it pinned.
My body was tossed into the hall closet and
she shut the door. As my out of body
experience hovered above her in the hallway I watched as she continued to stamp
on the floor and threw her fists at the closet door. She was still raging but attempting to work
her emotions out in some other fashion.
Then she collected herself and walked down the hall and took the stairs
down. In my physical body I could feel
tremendous heat she had thrown that winter sheep skin upon me while I lay atop that
tennis racket. Then I heard shouting
downstairs and my dissociative eye had transcended the floor and now rested
upon the ceiling below. A man was there that
I had never seen. He was tall with dark
black hair that went down to his shoulders.
He was wearing a long black trench coat and had a black hat on and was pointing
a silver snub nosed revolver at Robert.
Both of Robert’s hands were up and the girl who was next to him had passed
out on the cushion. This was an odd ensemble
since I could see that this man was wearing a blue muscle shirt that had a
colorful graphic on it and blue shorts with a white strip and on his feet, he
had single toed flip flops. He was
speaking to Robert, but it was with such a slur and stumbly manner that I
couldn’t make out his words.
Glenda must have screamed when she rounded
the stairwell and as my altered mind took all of this in, she was the last
element to have my intense vividness cast upon them. The man had his back turned to her and he had
his eyes glued on Robert. So, either he
thought Glenda was not a threat or believed that he could control the room by
pointing his gun at Robert. Then Glenda leapt
upon this mans back and Robert had the mans gun hand up in the air as now
Robert was standing up and then a tussle ensued and the gun was lost from my
sight. This man went down to the floor
and while he was falling the gun went off.
My altered perception could smell the gun smoke and that same heightened
perception became deafened by Glenda’s screams.
She was like a banshee atop that man with two clenched grips of hair and
yanking with all her strength. In such a
forceful way that his head was moving in the same arch as mine had been when I
tilted my head in fear and then doubled down to try and save that girl. The man was on the bottom, and Robert now had
the gun. Glenda would not stop violently
thrusting and yanking the man’s head but now his face was expressionless, and
his head made no resistance. Robert was
attempting to pull Glenda off, and he was standing and not touching the man’s
body as Glenda wailed upon his head now with her fists and continued to scream
with her mouth wide open and slobber emitting to such an extreme one would
consider it a foaming at the mouth situation.
I had seen that action before and I had felt her power and just like
this man I too went unconscious.
Then as my invisible eye was watching this
scene unfold. A loud voice said, “Hey” and
Robert’s head tilted up and was looking past my hovering experience and Glenda
pushed both her hands down upon the man in the trench coat and was standing
while looking past my presence. Then
before my astral soul could turn Robert shot that pistol from a low
position. His arm didn’t raise and he didn’t
even present himself as aiming that handgun, he gave no sign of his intentions. Then as the other person came into view they
had already been shot in the stomach and had bent over and that body was
wearing a long black trench coat too.
His hat had fallen off, and his hair was just as black and long as the
other mans. Then he crumbled to the floor
and made no movement, but I could hear a large amount of air being released. It was like a huge woosh sound that emitted
from his body. It could have been air
caught in that coat, or it could have been a combination of the trapped air in
his trench coat and the air leaving his lungs.
This man was smaller than the other and I couldn’t see his clothes underneath,
but he too had that same style of flip-flops.
Then I would see his ankles and on up to his calves so more than likely
he too was wearing shorts. Then as
movements slowed and Robert and Glenda seemed shocked but aware as they stood
still. I could see all these floating
hairs in the air and now the unmistakable odor of horse and hay was lofting
about the room. These men had not shown
up in trench coats but rain slickers for riding horses in bad weather.
The weather outside was sunny when the first
man showed up with the girl. It was dark
outside now, but I didn’t smell rain.
Both men who had been shot had hats, and they had sharp ridges too them
but still odd in their form. Thus, I am
guessing that they may have been cowboy hats with form fitting rain slickers on
them. My only guess as to the clothing
style involves their desire to use a disguise.
The first man by the couch did have his rain collar up but then failed
to close the slicker. He may have been
hot just as my body was as I sweated under that winter coat shut away in a
closet with no ventilation. Thus, he had
it pulled tight on his way walking toward the house and then let it open while
in the house. I also didn’t see a belt
dangling from his slicker and he may not have been able to keep it closed without
using his hand. With the information I
have now this event is a puzzle. Sometimes
I eventually develop enough facts to conclude an outcome and others I do
not. Then as I have learned in my chosen
career and in my flashbacks criminals do so many things that either made sense to
them at the time or none, due to their inebriated thought process.
My dissociative self-continued to hover as
Robert and Glenda began to move these two bodies through the kitchen and into
the garage. My ocular reel watched this
movement through my peripheral view, but it stayed focused on the two pools of
blood. Our carpet was cheap and nasty it
had debris tucked away in its fibers and if you walked barefooted on that
carpet your feet would pick up passengers.
Once I had a toothpick jammed into my foot from that carpet and Glenda
held me down while Robert attempted to remove it with his pocketknife. It was tremendously painful especially after
he had whittled away some of my dermis and continued to flake his knife across
those exposed nerves. He didn’t get it
all and an infection took hold and then we had to go to the hospital, and I brought
the other half of that toothpick home in a plastic jar. That summarizes how filthy our house was and added
to this was the fact that we rarely had a working vacuum. A pharmaceutical addict and an alcoholic both
of whom refuse to clean and each leaves their garbage strewn about the
house. Then add in two boys and many
dogs who have accidents of various types on that carpet. The inside of that house will become a perfect
contamination zone to have spilled human blood and eventually for it to blend
in with all the other mishaps. One final
note, our carpet at that time was off orange.
Purchased due to its ability to hide stains and I would bet it was on a
clearance rack. That blood blended with
that carpet like a chameleon blends in with its surroundings. That must have been why Glenda was so
intense with me about pointing out where I had seen that blood and wanted me to
trace it with my finger.
(What just now came through my amnesic haze and made it to this
paper. Has released a great deal of my
tension. I have been agonizing about
this entry since before I began writing it and building out its flashes of
recall as my pain guides me through. It’s
similar to a compass needle that tracks north but mine is magnetically synched
with my aura LOL. I have no idea I just
feel really good right now after that release.
Me and my endorphins are trying to explain a cosmic reality of trauma
retrieval while I am smiling and dancing in my heart LOL. It’s 12:36 PM and I took a break to send out
texts and enjoy this moment. My processing
is so different now after 25 years I can take breaks and allow myself to
rest. Whereas before I was transported
to that spot in my life when that trauma occurred. I reported before in my journal that to me it
felt like I was on a roller coaster where I was locked in and had to finish the
ride before I could stop journaling. Now
my abilities have grown as everyone’s will when faced with the same task repeatedly
over time. I feel so good, but the image
is open and I am now able at this stage to reengage my mind to that amnesic
memory and continue to progress forward.)
The bodies are out of my zone, and my mind
still rotates between the two blood pools.
Now Glenda has allowed the dogs in, and they are licking that blood up. To tell the truth that’s not a remedy I have
seen before when it comes to cleaning up a crime scene. I hear about pigs being used by some of
Roberts crimies and in Movies, but I can see how effective a dog would be. Robert has not come back from the
garage. Prior flashbacks have taught me
that he is either trying to dismember these bodies or has retrieved their keys
and now is in the process of moving their vehicle. He had a routine for the relocation of vehicles. He would park them in the apartment complex
behind our house and keep them there until he knew the coast was clear and then
he would drive away with them. I was
never with him during this phase thus I do not know what he did with them. He did something similar with the vehicles
from the family he massacred behind the Irving Golf Driving Range. I still wonder if they found those cars. Uncle Joe did an amazing job educating Robert
as to how to disconnect a crime scene and make the links impossible to
connect. Right now, I am just allowing
my brain to drift through this crime scene to allow it to reconnect to the
flow. There are times after such an
endorphin rush that all the flashback is gone, and I then need to sleep for 12
hours to get rested enough for the next saga to open. Well, at least I dream that I am rested
enough. I have documented many times
that my amnesic mind has opened, and I cannot stay ahead of the traumatic
memories and my own exhaustion causes me to have to stop prematurely.
(I am just going to ponder this moment. It is difficult for me to imagine that since
1997 I have been flashing this consistently.
One would believe that by now I had run out of all my traumatic memories
and moved on with life. None of my
episodes repeat it’s true that they use too, but I move on and feel free. I do reference some of my previous flashbacks
as I have here with the Irving Golf Range family massacre. Then the manner in which Robert hid cars
after a murder and relocated them somewhere else. I lost count how many times that played
out. He disappeared people and vehicles
in rural settings and suburban areas. Whole
families and extended relatives gone in one attack. Their souls and then their bodies just ceased
to exist and in Irving no one would look because they had been paid to ignore
the plight of their community. Once you
pay off law enforcement just imagine the damage you can do to a community, a
state, and even neighboring countries.
Yes, Robert even crossed the Mexican border to hunt slaves and kill for
profit. The power of a dollar is a
staggering equalizer of life. The more
someone pays an agreed amount of dollars to the right person, then the less
your life and that of your family matters.
My parents never became rich and neither did any of those crimies that
they paid. They and everyone else they
paid just wanted to pretend that they had become important when in reality, all
they wanted to do was harm others for their own enjoyment. My parents fed their addictions, grew their
hobbies, and attempted to remaster their traumas in the only way they knew
how. Just think of the therapy they
could have purchased or the lives they could have saved had they just stayed
home. My life would have ended much sooner
but that’s a price I would have been willing to pay. Their pain caused the world pain and became
my pain. While my pain fuels my
dedication to the ‘love of others’.)
(Right now, its April 24th, 2026 @ 7:29pm I have
returned to this journal entry after a deep sleep. I lost the imagery due to that wonderful
release and then took a break and slept all day Sunday it seems. The images have begun to be downloaded again,
and I will start with them next. On a
side note, I am so tired of soup LOL. My
gums are still tender, and I am doing my best but drinking my meals is a boring
existence and something similar too culinary purgatory.)
Robert is still gone and my dissociative
essence still hovers in the ceiling. Glenda
is on her knees trying to clean the bloody spot in front of the couch and the
girl is still unconscious on the cushions.
At this stage with so much commotion and gunfire she must be beyond a
natural sleep and into the dissociative realm.
In this memory I have not seen her move since this sequence of events
began to play out and she still occupies the same place on the couch as she did
before. I am watching Glenda as she
places folded towels under her knees to absorb the moisture from where the
blood had soaked into the carpet. She had
just pushed the body of the girl and rotated her knees from the front of the
cushion to the back of the seat. Then
she had the wrist of the girl’s arm and was turning her shoulders and face away
from the room and toward the back of the couch.
When a huge man walked in the front door. He filled that area by the door with his mass
and had to duck his head to enter. He
must have been 6 foot 5 inches tall, and he had a large gut, but his legs were
thin. He had long black hair like the
other two and wore single toed flipflops.
He was in shorts and had a similar looking muscle shirt but over his
shoulders he wore some type of shawl. This
man was older looking that the one face that I saw and he easily could have
been the father of the other two since he looked to be in his 50’s and had
wrinkles around his eyes. His whole
persona looked sunbaked as if he worked outside his whole life. His skin was tan but appeared weatherbeaten
and dry.
Then that silver snub-nosed entered in
through the door before Roberts body did.
That man looked down at the child while his hands were held high and
from his face, I could tell that he had recognition of her. Then with a worried face he asked about the
girl. All I heard was “Is she” then Glenda
slapped his face and leaned in to try and knee him in the groin. Robert had not left the foyer area, and the
man had stepped down into the living room and has his legs inches from the
couch. Then the man moved toward the
other side of the room and turned to look at Robert. The man said “Should I sit” his voice was
deep and held an authority in it. He
didn’t seem to be trying to project his presence into this room. His tone seemed to have been conditioned over
time to fill a space with leadership.
Robert motioned the gun and the man sat toward the front of the loveseat
cushion and had his hands upon his knees and his back straight. Then Robert said, “further back and cross
your legs” the man repositioned himself and then Glenda stepped forward and I
could see that she was already breathing heavily and that her rage was being
poorly contained. Then she said, “put
your hands behind your back” the man did as instructed and then Glenda glanced
at Robert and said, “you checked him”.
Robert replied with, “yea” and then as Glenda turned her full attention
toward that man again she brough her right hand across his face in the most
vicious backhand that I had ever seen her land.
That man almost fell over to the side and had to use his hand to push
himself back into his upright position.
I could tell from the man’s expression that
he felt a full impact from Glenda and then for just a moment as this man
adjusted his jaw and grit his teeth a flash of rage crossed his face. To me that was evidence that this man knew
rage and used rage just like my parents.
He was so quick to have that emotion surface and then quailed. That to me he was just as criminal as these
two and was complying only since he was at gun point. This man was a predator just like my parents
and he was coiled on that loveseat and awaiting an opportunity. This man smelled like a barn and must have
worked with horses in some manner. That shawl
he wore was ceremonial with its various patterns, but it was not clean and
added to the stench in the room. When he
opened that shawl and it draped down on his shoulders, I could see that he was
wearing a silver and topaz necklace.
This too looked ceremonial and was shiny with a glisten, reflecting from
the light in the room. Maybe these where
native American men???
Glenda was standing just inches from the edge
of the couch cushion, and I could see that man was summarizing his
options. Then Glenda put one foot back
and left a leg where it had been originally and looked at the man with her arms
crossed across her chest. “Thinking
about grabbing me, take a chance, I’ll kill you myself”. Then the man stopped with his look of
innocence and the real beast came out.
His face had contoured into a sinister-looking pouchy manifesto of treachery. I imagine that many of his victims saw that
expression once it was too late to escape his trap. Then Glenda said, “Pull your hands out of the
couch” and it was true he was digging for something he could use. Robert walked up behind Glenda, and he had
this large carpet-looking bag with wide and tall handles. In his grip that bag hung just an inch from
the ground. Glenda stepped away and took
the bag and was seated on the same couch as the girl as she dug through its
contents. She pulled out another pistol,
this one also had a cylinder, but its barrel was long and black. Both the silver and black handgun looked
polished and cared for totally unlike these men’s clothes or shoes. I am guessing that this bag was a tool kit
given to them by a benefactor.
Then Glenda began to pull out stacks of money
that had official bands around them for their currency and count. She sat aside three stacks just behind the girl’s
body on the couch. Then she said, “So
someone was going to pay but y’all thought you would steal and claim the money
and the girl”. The big man said nothing
but now his ominous nature began to fill the room. Either it was due to being spoken to in such
a manner by a woman or having his plan sprawled out and used as evidence for
his incompetence. Robert took note of
this and pulled back from the proximity he had and now held both handguns on
the man after pulling back their hammers.
The room was intense and the big man was shifting his eyes back and
forth from one to the other. Then he
looked right up at the ceiling like he could see my ocular point of view. Then in a voice that he had not used before he
asked, “where’s your boy”. Then Glenda
countered with, “You think he matters I’ve been trying to kill him since he was
born but this one keeps stopping me”.
Then that man leaned his massive frame forward over his legs that had
moved from being crossed at his knees and now had become crossed at his
ankles.
In that new voice that carried a low rumble
and had an almost deep rhythmic chant to it the man said, “I’ve heard about
you” they call you the Wolf of children”.
Then he leaned back and chuckled and placed his arms across the back of
the love seat as his head swiveled across the room like a he was strategizing a
plan. The he said, “Wolf you have been
living well for someone who feeds on children”.
Glenda bolted up from the couch and replied through gritted teeth, “It
takes one to know one”. Then she pointed
a finger at him and said, “we know what you sell”. The man laughed and his voice continued to
drop in octaves, and it was like he was trying to either find a pitch that
would intimidate these two or his voice was finding its normal resonance.
I know this man I have seen him before, but
he was behind a table at a flea market where he sold trinkets and potions. Glenda had taken me this was some type of
first Monday marketplace. I cannot
recall the name at this moment but the kids from the apartment complex talked
about it often and would show me what they had bought there. This was back when big belt-buckles and belts
with your name on the back were something cool to have. Then your next goal was to be able to afford
matching boots that had your initials on the shaft, and the toe would mimic the
design of your belt. This man was in the
slave trade too he boasted about potions and bones made from children that could
be used to treat venereal disease and erectile dysfunction. This is the man that Glenda sold her silver
and topaz jewelry to after she had stolen it.
I am sure he was a rounder and capable of any crime that looked
profitable.
(I am experiencing a huge release right now but it’s a mix of
various things.)
When
we would go to this flea market there where many native Americans and inside a
large tent, they congregated and did festive dances, and almost all the tables
and open trunks had been native American related ceremonial items and memorabilia. The center was that large tent and then as
the tables went further out, they changed from native Americans to white people
and then even further out in the parking lot where the Mexicans selling tamales
and then sometimes a black guy who made and sold ornamental canes from his
trunk. This was a rough place and most
of the sellers left by noon. Then the
population became all native American and the spirit salesman filled the parking
lot and would fill your mason jar for a charge.
That’s when gun fire was common and assaults began. Mrs. Alford would accompany us to this place
and stay with the goods in the car where she had one of Sgt. Jim Alfords pistols. You had to pay for parking, and Glenda would
park our station wagon next to that entry box since it was attended by a
security guard. It was about 200 yards
before you made it to the actual grounds but as we walked you had to pass truckloads
of native American men who sat on their tail gates and leered at you. Often there where so many native American men
on both sides of the aisle that we walked down the center of the row. Even though there would be a car or truck
behind us Glenda wouldn’t move and she held my hand as if it gave her some
clemency to do what she wanted. This was
not a paved parking area, but a large gravel area mixed with dirt patches. All these Native Americans had come from
Oklahoma Glenda explained and then used their earnings to buy liquor and take
it back to their reservations.
We had learned not to bring Robert or any man
with us since these parking lot loiters would challenge any man you brought and
Robert would end up in fights. A few
times Glenda ran with me while holding my hand as we had to go back to the car never
having made it into the event area. I
knew where to run and that it had become a do or die situation and that
reaching our car would be the only safe place.
Glenda was not helping me, but she refused to let my hand go. She was gambling perhaps rightly so, that if
she was escorting me then they wouldn’t chase her down and assault her. There was some rule about how these natives
had sovereign rights and you could arrest them but then their trial was at
their reservation and then a council would decide their punishment. Basically, meaning that they never would see
prison and could escape most any charge if it was not complicated by
murder. Mrs. Alford was the authority on
this subject and had shared that she had Native American blood in her history. Then always seemed to have an update from her
husband Sgt. Jim Alford about a new crime spree that had happened in his
jurisdiction pertaining to these ruffians.
When a deal had been struck with this big man
or someone else at this market then they would walk with us out to our car and
Mrs. Alford would brandish the handgun and explain that her husband was a cop
and that she knew that she could shoot them.
Then the bargaining would begin on the hood of the station wagon while
Mrs. Alford stood at the back of the car with her purse in one hand and that
handgun in another hidden inside the purse.
She always brought two purses, so I figured that the one she held the
pistol in was perhaps her least favorite purse.
After a transaction took place then we would scurry back into the car
and drive away. Mrs. Alford received a
cut of the profits and most of the time we would eat and that was my favorite
part. Many times, on the drive home, Glenda
would stop to use her newly found cash to pay a bill or both she and Mrs.
Alford would leave me in the car and go grocery shopping. Going to this market was an awfully long
drive and being there could be scary and as a white person the insults would
just rain down upon us in another language and boys my age would try and slam
their shoulders into me or kick me when we walked by. Part of the negotiation at the various tables
included shooing those boys away so business could be conducted.
This big man also was a seller of children in
the Gibson’s parking lot. He dealt in small
children who I suspect were from the reservation. He often joked with Robert that it was easy
to acquire these children since all you had to do was wait for their mothers to
pass out. Also, as the story went the
children belonged to the whole tribe and thus kidnapping was not a crime on the
reservation. He would drive a large farm
truck with high wooden sides and park it in the back of the parking lot. Way out where there was even less light and
he always had several men with him. The
back of the truck was full of these wire-bound crates. The ones toward the back of the truck had
produce and the ones toward the front cab of the truck had small children. When we would stand there behind this truck
the big man would talk business with Robert.
At times it was about slaves and other times it had to do with other
merchandise that either one of them was trying to move. I had to accompany Robert for two
reasons. The first was that Glenda was
threatening to kill me since my older brother was not allowed to come home. The second had to do with being a beard. Just like a gay man from the 1800’s needed a
wife to avoid a conspiracy. My father
used me to avoid scrutiny from law enforcement that may have been watching and had
to appear as a father and not a pervert.
When we would stand their white men would
pull up and pop open their trunk and a box or two would be placed inside. Then they would drive away no bargaining was
taking place, so I am guessing that this was a pre-order situation. This man was much larger than Robert and
there had always been numerous other men around that truck that helped move the
cargo. This was the man who made the canvas
sacks that held all the body parts. Yes,
this man dealt in body parts for rituals and would kill a child for a particular
piece of their anatomy and then attempt to sell off the rest. He kept these parts in various canvas bags
that he had sewn together. You could buy
a bag of heads or torsos from his truck.
He made powders from the organs of these children that he sold at that
flea market to I guess the perverts masquerading as witch doctors or medicine
men. Yes, it’s all opening now, the
reason he parked so far back was due to the children crying and those bags had
a tremendous stench. I feared this man
because he often threatened to put me in one of those bags with the body
parts. He once pulled out a small arm
and waved it at me. I thought it
belonged to a doll and then he touched my arms and decomposition was streaked
across my forearm, and I gagged at the smell and held my arm out to the side in
an attempt to stop retching. I was in
and out of dissociation and stumbled around like I was drunk as my mind didn’t
know what to do. Either it could make me
pass out or it wanted me to stay alert so I could run and make distance.
(This is a huge release and wow an entire encyclopedia just
opened in my head and this big native American man filled its pages. This guy was around so often and traumatized
me so frequently that I remember when Glenda would take me to Gibsons during
the day to buy pants I would be spacing out and once again acting drunk as if I
was caught in the dissociative stupor of Faint or Flee. Glenda knew what was occurring she would grab
my arm and whisper in my ear that it was just her and I and nobody else was
there. That information from her made
this situation even worse since I had no recollection of what she was talking
about and feared that I had forgotten something again and she would get mad and
beat me. Which you could do in Gibsons,
and I witnessed many children getting beat down in the aisles with belts that
hadn’t been purchased or shoes that were not for them. I FEEL AMAZING!!!!! I believe that this man’s
treachery and constant involvement in Robert’s world and consequently mine
became a cornerstone of my depression as a child. Glenda and Robert of course occupied two of
those corners and then this man and all he brought to my trauma occupied a
third. He may not have been the whole
third block of granite, but he owned a large percentage of that creation. To me right now it feels like I had found a
Unicorn hidden away in my psyche. Perhaps
this was that blockade that keeps the victim’s names away from my
consciousness. This is the only man in
my amnesic recalling’s that was close to Robert’s level of sadisticness. My healing has just advanced in a quantum leap
so extensively that I cannot even measure its accumulation of goodness in this
moment. To add a note here: the entry I
entitled ‘the master of masters’ was equal to this big man in his life span of
cruelty and the level of his sadisticness.)
That man stayed put on the love seat and he was
becoming more ominous by the moment and to me it appeared that he was cycling
through various personas that he had used at different times to accomplish his
criminal activities. He had moved away
from attempting to act persuasive and coy and now seemed to be oscillating
through various forms of his intimidation portfolio. He was an obvious man of many criminal talents,
and he knew that these two where just as skilled as he was and that limited his
options. He again was attempting to
engage Robert and Glenda with conversation and began with a tale about the
special specificness of this girl. She
was born from a special bloodline and was a certain number in a legacy of birth
order and her astrological stars somehow aligned with some profound means of
measure that made her contents worth more than a usual child. This was all reported in a verbal methodology
that seemed an attempt at a hypnotic state.
His flow of volume and choice of words sounded like all the preachers I
had heard giving sermons on a stage behind a pulpit as they build up to the
passing of the hat to collect donations.
This man must have led Native American Pow
Wows and worked this angle to sell his potions.
He had to supply real artifacts from these children’s bodies to demand
the prices he was achieving. Then add in
the power that he carried with his people as a magic man who could carry out
spells and ceremonies that most likely had benefits and curses as part of their
selections just like a Voodoo partitioner would offer. This man was a hybrid of Robert and Glenda he
worked in the world of the spiritual confidence game and could carry out mass
murders all the while defending himself from revenge and retributions from
their loved ones. Robert had to pay law
enforcement for this level of protection, and this man just kept his possible
enemies drunk and frightened of his dark magic retributions. This man constituted an indigenousness Jesus
who was also a Devil in disguise and used both these ideological manifestations
to infiltrate his people with his self-serving will while profiting from the enticement
he offered to fulfill their dreams both positive and negative. He was the equivalent of an antichrist within
his culture of people who had limited contact with the modern world by
choice. His fish in a barrel chose to be
in that barrel and resisted any form of removal by the outside society due to
intergenerational trauma. He didn’t have
to round-up and herd his sheepal he was born into the flock and grew as a wolf from
within.
(I cannot find the words to express how excited I am that this
man surfaced and now I can begin to rid my soul and psyche of his
perversions. My Unicorn has wings and is
far more than a Pegasus. Right now, it’s
a Windigo spreading pestilence by using the wind created by this big man’s
manipulative mouth. A kaleidoscopic
hydra swinging all its heads in a hypnotic dance hoping to mesmerize two
sadistic serial killers into failing at a game they too have been participating
in since childhood. This doppelganger capable
of taking the form of multiple dysfunctional entities now sits amongst his trauma-induced
personality structured brethren engaged in a mental mind game of mortal
consequences. Upon each of their
roulette wheels of life an invisible string of destiny has brought these souls
mates into homicidal proximity. All
three of these identities and the game of power and awe they are attempting to use
against the other once caused me dissociations so profoundly deep that I lost huge
swarths of my memories. Today I found what
I lost. I am more whole than when I
began this written work and I will sleep deeply. Knowing that the steps of my journey have progressed
beyond the mere mortal pace of a human man and today constituted a leap so
profound in its length that I feel more accomplished in my healing task than I
have ever felt before. I found the third
cornerstone of my psyche.)
It is now April 28th, 2026, at 6:02am and I am
beginning again. That full blown moment
of an epiphany really took a toll on me, and I thought that I was done for the
time being and that I would sleep. The
imagery had ceased and nothing was floating up so I just intended to pick this
up much later after I had slept. However,
my mind will not stop racing from one story to another. These stories have just been my minds active
way to keep my brain fed with productive structure versus worry. Then the flashback I have been working on
began to trickle through just ruminations in the beginning and as I expected the
next sequence in the misshapen adventure of life. Now I begin with what’s been downloading and hope
that my psyche empties and I can sleep.
Something I would like to add here is a revelation that has occurred to
me just now. If my life can feel as good
as the release I most recently experienced here in this journal entry. Then I would appreciate the opportunity to
live a long life. As long as I remain
cognizant and sound of mind enough to continue to write and share my
progression with others. This is really something
for me to admit and agree to adhere to.
For over a decade now I have been more than ready to cross over into the
next realm and cease existing in this one.
The progression that I made in this writing has moved my psyche toward
so much more joy than I have felt in a long time. It has been as if I am reaching the deepest levels
and rectifying the damage and rebuilding that which had been raped from me at
such a young age. I am using the word
rape since both parents took my innocence for their needs with no remorse just
as their parents had done to them. If I
can continue to produce work at this level, then I would like to volunteer myself
for a long life of sharing with those who suffer like me the struggles and then
eminent joys of what a life like mine could lead to if you put in the work.
This big man is asking about his men but it’s
in a haphazard way. He is not really interested,
it seems to me, this is a ploy to open conversation and see what pieces he can
move around on the chess board. It’s odd
to me but becoming more apparent with this saga existing for such a long
time. My dissociative apparition is
clairsentience, its through this extended part of my unconscious state that I
can readily interpret the layered effects of tension in this room. My young mind is taking in these details and
storing them in the amnesic box. However,
it is this interpretation of effects that has heightened the sensations and cataloged
these references with more complexity than my mind could have ascertained at
that age. I am now reciting through
these pages the complex density of a triangulated emergence of a desperation strategy. Not one of these players knows how this
situation will move next, but each is palpitating the tension in the air in
hopes of being a step ahead of their assailant.
That question that the big man filled the air
with as his ploy to gain interaction and consequently acquire more of a volume
of intelligence in which to make an assumption and spread his tentacles of deception
for his favor. Lingered in the air like
a rhetorical invitation until Glenda picked it up and saw virtue in its
possibilities. She inquired or proposed
a suggestion to the big man by stating, “do you want to see them”. Her emphasis on the word ‘want’ with a strong
‘t’ sound at the end seemed to be her attempt at being hypnotically suggestive and
returning his ploy to act coy. That big
man brought his arms from the couch cushions to his knees and leaned forward. This made Robert reemphasize his position by
raising both handguns and showing a reinitiated tension in his poise. The big man caught himself acting too excited
about this opportunity as it hung in the air and corrected himself in such a
manner that to me his layers of criminal craft became exposed. He had opened his encyclopedic knowledge
attempting to find that one entry that would allow him to manipulate his quarry,
gain an edge, and maximize his lethality in his retort. What I glimpsed was a manual of covert espionage
so thick that my readings of his threat level and capability of malice had been
greatly underestimated. For the blink of
an eye this predator of the innocent had flashed his fangs of intention, and I
witnessed his tomes of malignancy.
(I am once again having a side venture into another
flashback. Those canvas bags that this
man used to carry the odds and ends of his corpses for sale to what I guess
would have been necrophiliacs who must have practiced some type of necromancy
since they were buying parts and not an entire corpse. Robert had me sew such bags while we lived at
the house of hate. It was at a time that
he lived upstairs in the middle bedroom on a cot I was in junior high and witnessed
him sitting on his cot using this needle and string. My fascination was with the needle because it
was curved like the letter ‘C’ and I was perplexed as to why it needed to be
that way. He was very kind to me at that
moment and offered me a spot next to him on his cot. He had placed two pieces of canvas together
and was sewing them together down their edges.
These were obviously second hand or discarded remnants of fabric from
another work. One edge of fabric ended
where the other had many additional inches to spare.
Then he was teaching me how to start another irregular piece of
canvas when he laid the work across my legs, and I began to try and use that
curved needle. Some of these edges had
been hemmed and with them Robert used this thick straight needle that had a gap
just above the point and he taught me how to push the string through and loop
it with another piercing of the fabric to create a stitch. I was fascinated with his tools and how this
item was coming together. I had tried to
sign up for home making in junior high and later high school since I wanted to
learn skills like this. In junior high
they only allowed girls to enroll and in high school it was all about cooking
and baking we never sewed and then I tried again to enroll and that class was
on its last semester of funding and the teacher was actively being vindictive
and told us that she wouldn’t lead a class and then that period just became a
study hall. In fact, that teacher would
call role and have someone take the attendance sheet to the office and upon
that person’s return she would exit the classroom shut the door and disappear. We literally did whatever we wanted in that
room.
It was while I was engaged in this manual labor and caught up in
my creation while excitement reigned in my heart because I could see my
progression not only in length of canvas sewn but the skill in which I was
applying these stitches. That I became
uneasy and lifted my eyes to see my father rubbing his penis through his underwear. He had an erection and I bolted up and attempted
to leave that room. Then he had leaped
upon me from behind and I was on the floor with his forearm around my neck and
then blackness. He had me engaging in building
his own mortuary bags for his dead. I
had been lured into becoming his necrophiliac apprentice in the creation of his
post-mortem paraphernalia. This fabric
and these style seams matched exactly the canvas balls filled with the potpourri
of Frankensteinish ‘body of bodies’ balls.
I remember how I had to get on my knees to roll them into the woods for
burial and how their juices intertwined with my sweat. Then my trauma-induced psychosis led to me conversing
with these dead parts as I could see facial contours pushed against the moistened
canvas due to pressure build up from the other remains settling as I rolled
this mobile sphere of resurrective prevention toward its grave of mix matched extremities.
Where innocent strangers will intermingle
their remains for eternity. My psychosis
was so thick in its hallucinations and delusional rhetoric that I spent time
speaking aloud to ghostly entities that wanted to be placed in certain positions
when they reached the bottom of the hole and others that didn’t want to be
buried next to specific bags. I actually
spent time digging in the nighttime rain a separate hole for one bag that
informed me that they needed more space.
I pulled hundreds of pounds of dead weight out of one six-foot-deep hole
and dug another hole just for the occupants of that bag so no one would be
sad. Even after they were buried, which
took till dawn I could still hear their voices.
This is part of why I refer to myself as the foster father of the dead. The mass graves of the catholic orphans are
another aspect of that self-imposed title.)
That big man sat in a leaning position ready
to stand and enter another phase of this standoff. He was looking back and forth between my two
parents and then Robert signaled with his pistols as he said, “head to the
kitchen”. The big man was about to stand,
and Glenda shouted “wait” and began to tuck the dining room chairs up under the
table. I could see her flustering about
in the area around the entry point to the kitchen and closing drawers and
cabinets. It made no sense that she
would be tidying up for this mans walk through to the garage. Then she reentered the living room and took
the large black gun from Robert’s hand.
She positioned herself into the hallway that enters her master
bedroom. Perhaps it was a way to shield
herself from attack or remove herself from this man’s path and Robert who would
be following him. Her eyes glistened as
they did when she was being deceitful and delightfully anticipating watching
her maliciousness play out to some other person’s demise, usually mine.
The big man walked ahead of Robert and toward
the kitchen and then motioned with one of is hands toward the kitchen and said,
“Down here?” this was his attempt to size up the distance between Robert and
himself. Robert knew what he was doing
and he was beyond arm’s length and was curt when he instructed the big man to,
“keep moving”. The big man was almost to
the kitchen entrance and Robert said, “hands on your head”. Then the big man paused and seemed to have
many thoughts as he slowly placed his hands on his head. He was standing there at the crest of the
kitchen tile and asked, “Is that good?” This was another attempt to gain
information and size up the situation.
The big man was sending out radar waves with each hesitation and
question trying to have a workable signal rebound and allow him an edge. I could see the big man enter the kitchen
which was a narrow area and difficult to use as an ambush point. My perception changed and like a helium
balloon it began to lower just enough to watch from the edge of the kitchen
entrance. Glenda had approached from behind
Robert as he was about to enter that narrow area and from the back of her pants,
she pulled a large knife and handed it to Robert who had his free hand behind
him and expecting it.
(Huge release just occurred, wow it’s amazing to have so many moments
of buoyancy that allows you to just pop up from the depths and feel this good. This has been the most productive flashback
sequence and has reaped more benefits than any entry before. I even texted out to some others about
reading this work since I am humbled by the way my mind is healing today. It’s been like a reverse vortex instead of sucking
memories down to the depths of amnesia this time that force of nature is
pushing the purposefully forgotten back up to the surface and navigating it for
discovery. I am so appreciative of how
my subconscious has protected me throughout my life and how it now has chosen
to allow me to heal. The amount of
depression that is being pulled off me would best be expressed as winning my
own personal lottery.)
Glenda has moved over toward the wall next to
the sliding glass door and has her handgun pointed in the direction toward the
big man. Then as the man enters the
utility room Robert tells him to stop and starts to explain to him how he wants
him to move slow and open the door that leads to the garage. This man is enormous in this confined space
and continually ducks his head to enter doorways. The big man lowers his arms and places his
left hand on the wall as he reaches over with his right to open the door. Then as that door creaks Robert so smoothly
jabs that blade from the knife into the bottom of the man’s neck but atop his
shoulder. The blade disappeared as
cleanly as when he killed that farming couple within the garage. Blood ran down the man’s shirt while his
shawl became soaked and some headed out toward his shoulder but there was no
artery spurt. The knife stayed in as I
could see Robert standing behind the big man as he sunk to one knee. Then Robert placed his handgun on the cabinet
and was behind the big man and reaching over toward the door. I could hear the door open even further and I
watched Robert reposition himself and put his hands under the big man’s
shoulders and lift. I could tell by the man’s
legs that he was prone now and that part of him had landed through the door due
to the amount of leg length that I could see.
Then Robert disappeared around the corner,
and I watched the big man’s legs work their way out of my view one inch at a
time until they disappeared. Then I
heard many percussion sounds like someone being hit which may have been
additional stabbing. A deafening silence
occurred while Glenda stayed in her position and then the door began to creak
and Robert reappeared. These two stood
just below my amnesic twin as they talked in low tones to one another. Which seemed odd since the threats had been
extinguished and the house was empty except for the girl. The tension that attracted my floating
presence as part of my body’s survival strategy. No longer had that beacon of static trauma to
adhere to and my out-of-body expedition ended.
I once again had my whole psyche in my own head as I lay unconscious in
the upstairs hallway closet under that winter sheep skin coat.
As the images begin to close, the last I
recall of the little girl is that she was still unconscious and laid out on
that couch dressed in the same outfit that she had arrived in. I have been working on this flashback puzzle
since the 24th and it’s now the 28th at 3:27pm. The life I am living right now has been such
a fortunate outcome for me. Yes, I am
physically disabled and experiencing more body pain than I have ever before in
my life not counting the days of my childhood.
My finances are limited and I feed myself through food stamps. I am at such a fall risk that I am homebound,
and my kiddos take care of me and this house while also preparing my
meals. However, it is within this
structure that I have found the time to slow down my life enough to experience
my past in its full effects and heal from it.
This paper exemplifies my growth in the development of my reflective practice. So many decades ago, Dr. Seastrunk instructed
me to write a dream journal and that simple exercise of keeping track of my
emotions for future exploration adapted my mind to embrace this entire course
of treatment. When my flashbacks began
in 1997, I was ready with a proven modality that allowed me to process out my
traumas. I hope one day the world can
benefit from my efforts. Then they can
proactively save that future child from trauma and if necessary ‘send the dead
home’.
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