LATE INTO THE NIGHT OR EARLY IN THE MORN MY SADNESS AWAKENS MY FORLORN 2026

 

LATE INTO THE NIGHT OR EARLY IN THE MORN MY SADNESS AWAKENS MY FORLORN

My sadness has returned and is right now causing me grief.  In my head is how that creatin altar was holding the man’s head by his hair then bashing the skull with his rock.  After that mans head fell below the water’s surface, that altar would have his arms stretched out behind him as he followed the body in the stream.  Then if that head surfaced, he would grab more hair and smash again.  He repeated this process of smashing and following his prey until it stayed down below the water’s surface.  That altar would sidestep like crab as he had his face just inches above the water and seemed to have difficulty peering through to see where that head was.  (This just released tension and no idea why)

This altar gave similar attention to all the victims before he ran off.  Why is my brain focused upon this I can not decipher yet.  The mother had a hair bow or scarf that was light blue and came off in the water and I was watching that float away with a scope like focus.  However, my biopic Lense was catching the macro with the micro simultaneously.  The boy would at times hoot like the mother and his fists would be low on his bent elbow arms.  He would lean into a most muscular pose like a warrior trying to threaten away a rival.  However, he made these gestures toward the shoreline and back at the boulder.  Not once toward the offending altar.  Like his sister he was stepping and turning then hooting loudly with his arms and torso taught.  He was repeating this while his sister repeated her circle.  I wonder if this was a unique reaction to this traumatic situation or more based on some psionic attack from this altar.

Some of these altars had strong musk’s that filled the air and another could enter my dissociations.  Side by side he would stand next to me in my out of body experience.  Perhaps this one had some features that made it impressive and useful but was unable to be seen with just our usual senses.  Could this have been a shared psychotic break with similar abnormalities that had a sense of mimicry to their genesis.  Then again, this altar could have had some odd psionic based attack style that kept grouped victims from fleeing.  Much like a dolphin would use biosonar to echolocate their prey and group them into a bait ball.  I have never seen a study of the behavior in individual fish in the bait ball thus I do not know if they would manifest a shared dysfunction while panicked due to being attacked from all sides.  This family all suffered the same distinctive response to terror after seeing one of their own murdered.  A grouped cascading effect that caused modern crisis responses to become a primitive alert pattern.  Became an oversimplification of a bodily response to terror.  Then it fizzled into an incompetence that took fight and flight away as an option.  Fawn and fade may have exhibited themselves in these individual’s minds leaving the body on auto pilot to deal with the approaching slaughter. 

They could have mentally entered Freeze but unlike my pose of rigidness they experienced repeatedly looping behaviors.  Those behaviors had an audible and physical warning peacocking as an alert but no prowess as an actual defense or attack methodology.  The two males posed and preened, and the father did attack but completely ineffectively at first.  Once under the water I had no idea if that man could have defeated a regular man.  That leaves freak and that definition could have encompassed these behaviors.  However, I have never seen a family entrench themselves into a symbiosis of selected symbiotic adjustment patterns that replicated such inferiority.  United we stand and divided we fall was not implicative of this strategy of survival.  As a group they stood and as a group they fell and floated away.

That blue head scarf or bow did not belong to that family after their bodies moved from view another woman came and was standing next to me atop that boulder.  She tried talking to me and then climbed down off the side of the boulder that dropped into the stream and not the shoreline.  She had made a head scarf out of faded denim and her hair hung back like a ponytail.  She had white shorts on, that had hems and pockets but around her waist she had tied a faded denim long-sleeved shirt perhaps to guard against the sun if it had come out.  She was pulling up handfuls of soil from the stream bed and painstakingly going through her contents.  She was looking for something as she sifted through additional handfuls.  She paid no attention to me and then I could see someone in the distance approaching and it was Roberts’ body holding that rock. 

The face was smiling and it did not look like the cretin from before.  That rock was behind its back and the lady said, “Did you find something” and returned herself to sifting the soil.  Then the smiling face became that cretin and again the same ritual of grabbing hair and beating the skull until the body stayed under the water resumed.  This time the altar pulled this body by her long hair about 20 yards away to a sand bar and had stripped it clean of clothes and was humping on the body from various positions.  My brain was trying to distract me as it had long ago when Robert was shooting a different victim with his double barrel shotgun and sending the body to the bottom of a heavily wooded ravine.  Animated cartoon style characters had mounted that denim head band and were giggling and laughing as they rode it downstream.  This I believe was my dissociative defense mechanism attempting to circumvent the oncoming gluttony of mayhem as her head was opened by the crushing action of blunt force trauma.

My psyche perception visually split the dimensions, and I was watching the animated characters ride the current and the overall picture of the cretin bashing the victim at the same time.  As this woman’s body became part of the current it was easy to see that the pockets of the white shorts had bulk and when she limply resided in the stream the altar had to pull her body.  Since her waist had, no issue staying connected to the floor of the stream bed.  There must have been something in this stream that people looked for, maybe minerals or smooth stones worn by the rushing water.  I could hear more voices, and it was like I was in a delirium caused by a fever.  It felt like an echo chamber and those voices had sound and volume, but their timbre was not discernable.  Who was saying what and in which sequence eluded me and, in my head, it felt like a doppler radar was casting out its wave for a signal return, but what was returning could not be deciphered.  I was a frozen tower receiving intervals of sound, but no precision of timing nor arch was active. 

Often Robert would sneak in and park us in the woods close to a park but out of the way enough to avoid fees and being asked for his driver’s license.  This must have been what took place here at this stream, it had a special significance, and people came to wet sift for something they thought was important.  The woman in the white shorts had filled her pockets with something heavy enough to anchor her down.  Then the altar stood up way down on that sand bar and pulled the body off and into deeper water and then exited itself onto the shoreline.  I had seen his body chest deep and then climb a fallen tree up and into the surrounding green.  Those voices arrived and this was a group of teenage boys dressed in cut-off pants that clung to their skin and hung just above their knees.  They all had short hair, and their accents had been so thick that I couldn’t make out what they had been talking out.  They clambered over that boulder like otters, and some jumped off, others went to the left then some to the right and none spoke to me.  My presents didn’t seem to be registering to them.  I was a small child, and they too were children just older and my existence was connected to some adult somewhere that they hadn’t seen yet.  They were moving fast and sifting as they went and then they stood upon the same sand bar as Roberts’ body had.  I could count about 6 lanky forms jostling around the sand bar and bent over to see what the others had in their hands. 

These boys did not dilly dally they moved quickly just like the otters that I had described earlier.  They moved beyond my telescopic view and then I was alone.  No more sounds, no more visitors and I was lost in my minds eye.  Those cartoon characters appeared and played all around the boulder and at times I was amongst them and laughing and playing as we all rode in a jalopy and then fell out and got back in just like the clowns at a circus would do.  Sounds of voices disrupted this and my mind switched from internal to external feed and I could see figures moving up on the sand bar and working their way toward me.  Then as they cleared the sand bar their voices changed from excited utterances to screams of warning and then to nothing.  The cretin had fallen in behind them, and he now had that stone in one hand and a stick in the other.  He was not pursuing these boys as a joke; he was making a bee line for one until they made too great a distance and then he chased another.  These boys had their heads down and I could see their knees chugging through the water as their fists pumped into the air.  Then a few of them darted out of the water and up onto the bank opposite the side our car had been parked.  Then a few climbed past me and all I could hear was how hard they had been huffing and puffing.  Those few faces that I could see no longer smiled and they had the eyes of a person in fear reaching the exhaustion that only prolonged traumatic danger can bring to a face.

Roberts body had been making sounds like a grunting animal and then at random intervals I could hear a woo-woo sound that to me was reminiscent of when I would hear Max call out to his cows for feeding.  Then after the boys had passed me on my boulder, I could no longer see Robert, but I could hear screams in the woods.  Someone was saying, “Mr.” repeatedly but in various pitches of intensity.  Then that cretin was stooped over and dragging a boy’s body by the foot and into the stream’s edge.  It was there that he positioned it with buttocks up over a stone and became to anally rape it with his fully erect penis.  Then as I was witnessing this rape of innocence, I could hear what at first sounded like the honk of waterfowl.  Then it became the sound of many automobile horns honking from somewhere far behind me.  My body was still frozen, and, in my mind, it seemed to me that if I stayed still then Roberts’ body would forget about me and I would experience less pain.  In my head, for some reason what Robert was doing to these victims hurt them like it would have had they been burned with fire.  My mind was still concerned that at some point Robert would douse me with gasoline and light me on fire.  My brain had no fold of tissue that could rationalize what pain those individuals felt but for some reason I could empathize with the ants he burned. 

(That was it, there it was, the clincher that will allow this pain to subside and clear out my stress related hormone response.  All the tension just left my shoulders and even my teeth are hurting less.  Forgot to journal that I cracked another one.)

            When he doused an ant pile and burnt their lair, I was often close trying to figure out why he was watering these ant piles.  Then Robert would spring his trap on me and flick a match that made the ground pop with flame and heat.  Sometimes my body froze and he would just let me feel that heat and at times my bare feet and shins blistered.  I would be in so much pain, and it would be beyond my comprehension at such a young age to remedy my situation.  Thus, I had to seek comfort from the person who harmed me.  (There it is again, another release, this time as I thought about the popping sound that was associated with the ignition and how my blisters rose and popped and I couldn’t tell which sound was which.  That was my first time in my life to associate pain with death.  The ants supposedly died and I must be dying too since I was burned.  How I would lay there doped up on some concoction of Glenda’s where I couldn’t feel my body, but I did feel like a part of me was oozing. 

Continuously I was fed something mixed with honey or some awful tasting syrup and then I would be in a deep sleep. Coming to consciousness when the house was pitch black and once again, I had thought I was trapped on earth.  Since when Gabriele blows his horn only the worthy will rise to heaven, that was what my mammy believed and repeated with me in ear shot often.  I have never connected this cremation of ants this deep into my psyche before.  This event was released to me from my amnesic brain way back in the beginning of all these sagas of pain.  I thought that I had died when I was just a toddler while we lived in Pineville Louisiana.  Wow what a full circle, not in a loop of what age when, but more of a connection to what flashback now in 2026 brings me back to one from the early 2000’s.)  My immature mind could only rationalize staying still like a fawn in spring to avoid death.  That death was the pain that would be caused to me just as the people being murdered around me must have been feeling the pain of being burned.  In my child’s mind I was burned by fire and these people had been burned by a stone but all of us had died.  What I was after that burn across my feet and legs at such a young age had taken my life, I had no conclusion for.  I only knew that my dead hurt a great deal and that I didn’t get to go to heaven, and I believed that these people did since they no longer walked or talked. 

(Wow this feels good.  It’s difficult for me to believe that this is my recall release point and ants on fire became a lynch pin that opened my psyche to a portal of healing.  Not even Freud or Jung could have discovered or correlated that flashback from long ago with what dividends it would pay today.  Now the next step is letting my brain simmer in these juices while my subconscious ponders the story strings of a yet to be determined theory until facts are ascertained and surfaced for connection to the consciousness.  I am so excited about this next progression.  This may have been why the universes stranded me at home through disability so that I would have the alone time it takes to ponder and make such correlations across such vast amounts of time.)

            I am exhausted now with the pain from the time travel and the glee from the depth of the connection that I made.  I will sleep deep throughout this day and I am so excited.  My broken tooth does hurt and the sharp edges that it has left are cutting into the side of the bottom of my tongue.  I must make it through this weekend and then I can call the dentist.  Once again these are horrible sights to behold and far worse for those that died and the families that mourn them.  But I am that little boy who witnessed these events and had a subconscious that kept the memories and thus the tally of who died how and where and at times when.  I will see them all in my afterlife and I hope they know that I worked hard to bring their loved ones some firsthand accounts for the purpose of closure.  In my mind these dead have not been forgotten.