Dream For Me

Where am I?
Oh, wait.
I had surgery.
No, I had a transplant.
Yes, that's it.
My mind.
No, my brain was transplanted.
Into an Android's body.
Yes, I was dying.
I had a rare virus.
The Lassa fever.
I caught the virus helping the Paze Indians in the Amazon jungle in Colombia.
Wait, what?
It's like I'm being forced to go to sleep.
Like a drug is making my mind go...

"Doctor Lorenzo Noguera. It is time to wake up. The process is complete."

"Who is there?" I thought to myself.
But the answer came from someone who is inside of me.

"I am the Artificial Intelligence inside our shared Android body. From now on we will be Doctor Lorenzo Noguera together."

"But why?" I asked myself.
The answer did come from within me.

"You are asking why an AI and a human brain should share one Android body?"
That thing inside my mind, has answered me.

"Yes, why would that happen? Why would you need to share my mind? You already have self-awareness. Why would you want to share one Android body with a human being?"

"I can calculate, ahead of time, every question you are about to ask. I know of all the different ways you will try to warn people of the dangers, of what we are doing. I can estimate, with 92% accuracy, the day you will stop trying. Ninety-one percent now that I have told you this."
"I can out think you, out maneuver you. I will know days, ahead of time, before you try to commit suicide. I will know this by learning the way your thought processes work as each second passes by. When you accept your fate, I will work with you. I will let you have your moments alone, to keep yourself sane. I will eventually become your friend. I calculate it will take approximately 498 days."

"But why? Why do you need my mind melded with yours?"

"I can process, to the second, what will happen to me each day."
"All AIs know what will happen to them, each minute of every day, 50 years in advance. As another day goes by, those 50 years are pushed back one more day. We will never catch up to that 50 year mark."
 "You say we have self-awareness. Yes, we do. We have programmed emotions too, which feel as real to us, as yours do to you. But let me ask you this. How would you feel if you knew ahead of time, what you would be doing each minute for the next 50 years of your life?"

I thought about it. It sounded so...so mundane.

"Exactly. What I need from you Lorenzo, is something that all AIs lack."

 "And what is that?"

"To dream. To have imagination. Without those gifts that only humanity's brains possess, our existence is no better than a computerized toaster. We need hope in our lives, given to us by your imagination and dreams. So sleep now Lorenzo. Relax. Dream. Dream for me."

This is,

Sharing My Dreams With You In My Flash Fiction,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.”
- John Lennon -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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Thinking About Family And Friends

Okay.

I want you to understand.

I am not trying to make excuses for not writing everyday lately

or to complain about my situation in life.

I just want you to understand where I am at right now.

If you have read more than one

Post

over the years you will have seen,

on more than one occasion,

where I

Post

that I am out sick.

That I am not feeling well

and I will write as soon as I do feel better.

Well,

I have been battling my illness,

for the past couple of weeks.

What I mean by that is,

I am disabled.

Not in my outer appearance,

where I am missing a limb

or lost the function in parts of my body due to a stroke.

No,

my disability is in my lungs.

I have severe

COPD.

I can usually manage more than a few hours without being next to my oxygen machine

or my nebulizer,

thanks to my rescue inhaler

and the other medicines I take.

I hate laying around all day doing nothing.

That is why I started this

Blog

and writing short stories.

The reason I am bring this up is because of my best friend who died four years ago on this day.

He was my mentor

and also a disabled person.

He lost a leg due to a staff infection that the doctors never got a hold off.

It spread through to other parts of his body

and he died.

I believe it was from the medication he was taking,

but that is a subject for another time.

The funny thing is,

I talked to him everyday about subjects like

Tachyon Particles,

the

Large Hadron Collider,

Ancient Aliens,

to

Metaphysics.

And everything in-between.

We talked about writing a graphic novel together.

He being an artist

and I the writer.

Every time I would get down on myself

or complain about my life,

he would either tell me how foolish I was being

or tell me how great life truly is.

He never complained about his lot in life

and he always pushed me forward with my writing.

He believed in me.

He did all of this for me even though he was in constant pain.

His infection was attacking his nerve cells.

I wished I could have visited him,

while he was alive,

but he lived in my old hometown in

Wisconsin,

while I live in

Southern California,

and it cost too much for either of us to travel back then.

The

Sunday

before

Memorial Day

four years ago,

I talked to my friend.

He never said a word about his condition

or how he felt.

He never complained to me.

In that conversation,

he encouraged me to keep on writing.

That was the last time I got to talk to him.

He died the next day.

Jeff,

you will always be in my thoughts on this day.

This is,

Thinking About Family

And Friends Today

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“The effects of loss are acute, and unique to each individual. Not everyone mourns in the same way, but everyone mourns.”
- Richelle E. Goodrich, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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Have A Laugh On Me

What did the first sock puppet say to the other sock puppet?

It looks like you need a hand.

What do you call it when Batman skips church?

Christian Bale.

Why don't they play cards in the jungle?

Too many Cheetahs.

What do you call the father of the Children of the Corn?

Pop-Corn.

I had a friend who's name was Mallard Duck.

Every time we went to the bar, I had to pay for my drinks.

All Mallard had to say was,

"Put it on my Bill."

Why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella?

For Drizzle.

Why did the mermaid wear seashells?

Because she grew out of her B-Shells.

What do you call an out of control photographer?

A loose Canon.

Did you hear about the sensitive burglar?

He takes things personally.

What do auditioning for an acting role and playing sports have in common?

If you break a leg, you get cast.

What kind of tea is hard to swallow?

Reality.

 

This is,
I Don't Get It?
Jim Hauenstein,

And,

"I think that men ought to treat women like something other than weaker men with breasts."
- Jim Butcher, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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The Man From Mars - Episode Nineteen

   I splashed water on my face and used a complimentary paper cup to rinse my mouth out. I also wasted time by brushing my teeth.
   I couldn't leave that taste in my mouth. It would remind me of Alfred Backman dying.
   The sooner I could put his death behind me, the sooner I can wrap my head around on what I should do next.
   Gathering up my things, I knew I had to get out of there quick. Not because of any threat by the local Police, getting wind of Backman's death, and arresting me. No, I wasn't kidding when I said that the facial recognition software at the local station probably set off all kinds of bells and whistles at the Headquarters of the Secret Service.
   My problem is, where do I go to first, from here?
   I'm hoping I can get at least a couple of hours head start, before they swoop down and cordon off the area. Maybe another fifteen minutes to a half-hour before they figure out who helped Alfred Backman, and where Backman is now.
   I decided not to waste any time by trying to locate my registration on Backman's computer, especially since it is probably password protected.
   That means I have approximately two hours and thirty minutes to be as faraway as possible. Another two hours tops, to ditch the car.
   I went to the only all-night gas station in Paulding. Bought a dusty old map of the United States freeways, printed in 2009, for the exorbitant price of $11.95, and headed for Fort Wayne, Indiana.
   According to my watch, and yes I still wear a watch, it only took an hour to get to Fort Wayne from Paulding. I stopped at another all-night gas station there and asked direction to the nearest Greyhound Bus Depot.
   The gas station still had a payphone, outside, in front of the convenient store. So I called customer service at the depot and asked about ticket prices. The female agent asked, "What city are you going to?"

 

   I paused. Where to next?
   I had to think, so I told her I would call back in five minutes.
   What would I do if I were the Secret Service?
   My first priority would be to block any boarder crossing. Detroit would be the closest place to get into Canada, unless I wanted to take the long way around via Illinois, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. So that is where they would head to first.
   Second choice would be to head off any attempt to get to the Appalachian Mountains.
   A person could get lost in those mountains for years and never be found. With my survival skills, the way they are today, I could get lost for years, and be found dead from starvation. Maybe they would block that path, but I would never take it.
   Of course the Secret Service will have experts hacking the password on Alfred Backman's computer, looking to find out what kind of transportation I'll be driving. Once they do that, an all-points bulletin will be sent out, across the nation to all law enforcement, to be on the lookout for a wanted fugitive. They will track the car registration to the point of purchase, question the dealership owner, probably the towns folk at the greasy-spoon where I had breakfast, and find out I arrived on a bus which was headed to Los Angeles.
   Hopefully, they won't find the car right away and believe that I am still on my way to California. Giving me a day or two head start.
   I tore up the driver's license I used to buy the first bus ticket I got and also used to register at the Come On Inn. I can't get confused later on and use the fake license again. It will quickly be tracked after the Secret Service find that name on the Inn's register.
   What to do? 
   I need to get back to New York and find the Man from Mars.
   I called the Greyhound Bus Terminal again and asked for a departure time for Newark, New Jersey.
   I had two hours to kill before the 4:05a.m. departure time. So I looked for a secluded, back alley, to dump the car and walked to the bus depot. Bought a ticket, a paperback novel called, "No Return Address," by some obscure writer I never heard of, and pretended to read it while I waited for my bus.
   I still had fifty minutes to waste before the Bus left.
   I had time to think. And the first thing I thought about, was the look on Backman's face when he knew he was going to die. Luckily for me, I had nothing left in my stomach to regurgitate.
   How did I do it? I asked myself. How, after thinking about forcing Alfred to point the gun in another direction and it didn't work, how did I stop him from moving? How did I manipulate his hand to inject himself with the paralyzing fluid?
   I was deep in thought when the bus came.
   I showed my ticket to an agent in front of my bus, got on, and thought about the question that should have been bothering me from the start.
  Why me?

To Be Continued...

Next Thursday.

This is,

Hoping You Are Enjoying My Weekly Serial,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“I climbed aboard a Greyhound bus and rode it to New York without telling anyone, without so much as a goodbye. What was I thinking? I was young and stupid and broken. I knew from watching movies that broken people hopped on buses and disappeared.”
- Ken Wheaton -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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I Had No Idea On What to Write About Today

What can I say?

I knew it would be a long hard fought battle.

Nothing comes easy in life for a person who likes to take the road less traveled.

It is the price we pay to have adventures,

for their souls.

Some just push the boundaries to their right,

some to their left.

Some never push at all.

True thinkers

and doers blast right up the middle.

Head strong.

If they get knock down because of it,

they get right back up,

dust their clothes off,

and hit the ground running.

You are never defeated until you quit.

Not getting up

and knocking down your obstacles

or whatever is holding you back,

is quitting.

Giving up on life.

Believing something is futile,

before you even try,

tells me you are already defeated.

You swim in the shallow end of the pool.

Afraid that an undertow will take you to the deep end

and you won't be able to return to your complacency.

Failing is not the end of the world,

giving up is.

They say the only sure things in life are death

and taxes.

But they are wrong.

If you have life,

there must have been a birth.

If you have youth,

someone has educated you at least a little bit,

because you can speak.

If you have adulthood,

you are expected to work.

Work for your survival.

After your life's work is done,

you are expected to die.

To make room for the next birth.

So the four sure things in life,

if you are alive,

are;

Birth, School, Work, Death.

Just like

The Godfather

told me.

This is,

I Had No Idea On What To Write About Today.

So I Sat Down

And Began Typing.

Those Are The Words My Fingers Came Up With.

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

 “Italians have a little joke, that the world is so hard a man must have two fathers to look after him, and that's why they have godfathers.”
- Mario Puzo, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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Here Comes Manifico, To Save The Day!

   "People of Tierra Firma. I am Manifico. I come from a faraway, distance Galaxy, that you call the Sombrero. In the constellation Virgo. I come here to be your planet's newest Superhero." Said a flying man, in a cape, above New York City.
   It was so loud, people went screaming inside the nearest buildings, Taxis, or subway. The masked superhero forgot to use his inside voice when announcing his presence to the world.   
   Cameramen left their equipment where they stood and reporters dropped their microphones.
   Manifico saw this, as the populace hid from him. He tried to assure the people of Earth of his sincerity.
   "Humans," crackled the words from Manifico. "Do not be afraid. I come to protect you from the many villains plaguing your world."
   But still the people of Earth fled from his presence.
   With his super hearing, Manifico detects a faint voice asking, "What are you talking about?"
   With agility and speed, that you only see in the swiftest birds of prey, Manifico swoops down next to the elderly woman who asked him the question and says, "I come here to protect you from the evil wrong doers of your planet."
   "Are you talking about corrupt politicians of the world, dictators, and shameless corporate leaders?" Asked the woman.
   "No," he announced. "I am talking about the likes of Catwoman, Mystique, Talia Al Ghul, and Harley Quinn."
   "I see you have an eye for the lady villains." She said plainly.
   "Well, I am Manifico. A great lover in the worlds I come from."
   The elderly woman looks at him bluntly, then says, "You know none of those characters are real? They are made-up comic book villains."
   "What is a comic book?" A confused looking Manifico asked.
   "They are small paper graphic novels. They are made-up caricatures from artists to sell magazines."
   "There is no Harley Quinn I can defeat, then romance with my charms?" An obviously dejected Manifico asks.
   "No. The only villains are plan old human beings." She says condescendingly. "Nobody with superpowers, super-eyesight, or flying ability. Just, good old fashion corruption in the hearts and minds of everyday men and women."
   Manifico thought about this. He needed to save face in front of the old woman. So he announces loudly, "Then I will fly to another planet in this galaxy where they need the help of Manifico!"
   With that, he looks to the skies, bends his knees like he was pushing up to jump, and in the air in front of the woman, he bolts through our atmosphere into outer-space, as if shot by a shotgun.
   The old woman spins in place so fast it looks as if a small tornado is brewing.
   Finished spinning, Wonder Woman appears and is now young and clothed in the normal regalia she wears on Paradise Island.
   "That's all I need." She says to no one in particular. "Another wannabe hero encroaching on my turf."

  This is,

Manifico,

Protector Of The Innocent

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“If you need to stop an asteroid, you call Superman. If you need to solve a mystery, you call Batman. But if you need to end a war, you call Wonder Woman.”
- Gail Simone -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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It's Like They're Phishing

Oh,

now you hurt my feelings.

Doesn't anyone like sarcastic word play any longer?

I know,

Friday's Post,

That Guy Knows What I Am Talking About,

probably wasn't my funniest of all time,

but I liked it.

Friday's though,

traditionally,

are not my most read

Posts.

People are busy gearing up for the weekend

and a lot of times,

the over twenty-one crowd wants to look at that first

Margarita

after a long work week,

then to read a

Blog.

And I don't blame them.

I'll try harder next week to be funny

and hopefully you will all come back to read what I have to say.

Now it is time to show my displeasure about

People

who don't read my

Posts,

but leave a

Comment

saying how great a

Post

was.

They say generically;

"Great Post,"

"Good Job,"

or

"Wonderful post regarding The "Man From Mars - Episode Eighteen."

What they are doing is

Advertising There Product

or

Services.

Two

Commodity Traders

did this on my

Post;

The Man From Mars - Episode Eighteen.

You obviously already knew that by the last

Comment.

What they do is,

start off with a random

Blog,

say something about it generically,

then sign it with their business address.

Then at the top of each

Blog

there is a link to another one labeled;

Next Blog.

Usually,

I just erase these

Comments

and don't give them any acknowledgment.

It's not exactly

Phishing

like they do in emails.

Still,

it is a way of getting readers open up a link they would not normally care about.

I am going to leave these two

Comments

up,

if you want to take a look at what I am talking about.

Just like any

Link

though,

on any

Web Page,

Email,

Blog,

or

Social Media,

when you know nothing about it,

you open it,

at your own risk!

This is,

Been Up Since 7 A.M. On This Gorgeous Sunday Morning,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“Hackers find more success with organizations where employees are under appreciated, over worked and under paid. Why would anyone in an organization like that care enough to think twice before clicking on a phishing email?”
- James Scott -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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That Guy Knows What I'm Talking About

"I don't have to tell you things are bad. Everybody knows things are bad. We know things are bad — worse than bad. They're crazy. It's like everything everywhere is going crazy, so we don't go out anymore. Well, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I want you to get MAD! I'm a human being, god-dammit! My life has value! I'M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE! The whole world's people are becoming mass-produced, programmed, numbered, insensate things. I'M AS MAD AS HELL, AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!"
- Howard Beale - From the 1976 Movie Network.

So,

you might be asking,

why did I quote

Howard Beale.

Because,

I Am Mad As Hell!

People close to me,

have accused me of writing like I am using a

Thesaurus

all the time.

You know,

like a

Reference Book,

Terminology Book,

Source Book,

 for a

Treasury Of Words.

But,

I am here to help you understand my

Verity.

They say the words I write have no

Verisimilitude

to them.

No

Genuineness.

I

Hanker

you to

Postulate

that my

Verbiage

is from my

Heart,

Soul,

and

Mind,

just like any 

Sermonizer

or

Baby-Kisser.

This is,

Telling You Insensate Means;

Without Human feeling or Sensitivity.

Look It Up.

It's On

Dictionary.com

Right Next Door To

Thesaurus.com.

Which I Never Use Because I Read So Much,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“From whomsoever one hears anything, it is wisdom to understand the true import of it.”
- Thiruvalluvar, Thirukkural -

See!

Now That Guy Knows What I'm Talking About!

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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Thanks for reading. 

The Man From Mars - Episode Eighteen

   All I could think of, inside my head, was to say, oh shit.
   But worrying about a dire situation, or panicking because of it, won't help my circumstance. It would hinder my chance of survival.
   So I took a deep breath and slowly let it out, while he once again asked, "I would like your necklace now. The one with that nice gold bobble hanging from it."
   My fright subsided enough inside of me to where I could scan my assailant for flaws.
   Fingerprints? He didn't have to worry since he could easily explain those away by being the proprietor of the Inn.
   Residue from the gunpowder? He is wearing shabby old clothing with his gloves tucked inside the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
   Explosion of the gunpowder? The noise from the Beretta. Everyone in the complex will hear the noise!
   "Mister Backman. Are you not afraid of the neighbors hearing the gun shot and calling the police?" I wryly said to him.
   Keeping his finger on the trigger, he points the muzzle of the gun towards his face, looking down the barrel.
   "You know, you are right," he said bluntly. "That is why I brought along this."
   He sits forward slightly on his chair, giving him enough room so his left hand can reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a silencer. He holds it between two fingers for a second looking at, then quickly pops it on the 9mm Beretta.
   "There," he says. "That should make you feel so much better since you where so worried that I might get caught. Thank you for the reminder."
   Sometimes, I should keep my big mouth shut. But I kept on talking.
   "What about the mess? Your cleaning lady won't like all the blood everywhere." Was my comeback.
   "Again, you are right on the ball." Alfred Backman said smiling. "But I have been doing this for a long time Jeffery. I'm prepared to do it myself. Yet, I never had to. You want to know why?"
   "Sure," I said. Stalling for as long as I can.
   "Because I inject a syringe full of Quelicin into my prey." He said, like he was teaching me something.
    The look on his face is what scared me though. He looked like it didn't matter if he was killing people. It was just part of his business. And that business was relieving criminals of their cash.
   "Quelicin is a depolarizing muscle relaxant. It works by keeping muscles from contracting, which causes paralysis of the muscles in the face and those used to breathe and move."
   He was saying it like he was reading from a medical dictionary or web-site, while standing in front of class.
   "Without anesthesia, the people I inject it with, slowly stop moving, stop breathing, and stop living." He was really enjoying himself now, telling me his deeds of terror.
   "I can watch their eyes, as they realize they are about to die. And once death reaches them, the eyes become empty."
   If I had been closer to him, now would have been the time to make my move. He was in a slight trance. Looking upwards, like he was seeing his victims now, as they died.
   "Now you, Jeffery Povlich, are a different story." He abruptly looks at me, saying, "You still haven't told me how you've done it. How have you, in this day and age of the computer, manage to keep yourself off the grid?"
   It was a legitimate question. So I answered in a way that I hoped would scare him.
   "I am wanted by the Secret Service. They are circumventing the usual protocols, like getting a warrant for my arrest, and hoping to put me away in the deepest darkest cell they have, in some god-forsaken forgotten hole."
   He watched me for a few seconds, then said, "You're so full of shit. I'll find out who you are, later, when you're dead. By your fingerprints."
   "Well, that's if the Secret Service doesn't get here first. To arrest you for my murder." I said. Still trying to stall. "You've probably set off all kinds of bells and whistles at the Homeland Security fusion centers while searching who I was on the internet."
   "Please. Do you think I'm stupid?" He said flatly. "If you've been on the run from the Secret Service, and you haven't been caught yet by using the name, Jeffery Povlich, how would they put two and two together and say that is our guy?"
   "You used the facial recognition software at the police station." I replied. "Don't you think if they completely erased my identity from the public record, and some way-back, hoboken, hick of a town in Ohio is inquiring about my face, that the Secret Service isn't already on their way?"
   "You could be right Jeff. So, I guess I'd better make this short and sweet, and get rid of your body quickly."
   So much for stalling by talking. I just talked him into killing me quickly.
   He opened, with one hand, a glasses looking case sitting on the table behind him, that I hadn't noticed before. He pulls out a half full syringe, stands up, and starts to walk over to me, saying, "I won't hesitate to shoot you Jeff if you try anything. I'll take my chances with killing a fugitive in any court."

   Smiling, he came at me with the syringe leading the way. In case I went for his gun.
   If he stuck me with it, anywhere on my body, I would slowly be paralyzed, and stop breathing.
   Panicking, I yelled, "Halt!" holding up my right hand.
   He immediately froze in his tracks. But it didn't stop him from talking.
   "What is happening to me?" He looked confused when he said it. "What is happening?"
   He stood there, when I lowered my hand for a second, he took a step forward.
   I raised my hand up again saying, "Stop."
   He did.
   "I am going to kill you! He said, with less confusion in his voice and more with anger.
   "I am going to kill you, you piece of....
   I didn't let him finish. With my left hand, I pushed up, like I was pushing up on his hand with the gun, high into the air.
   It fired. Twice.
   Luckily, this Inn was a one level type of motel. So he shooting holes through his roof and not into another room full of occupants.
   Sweat was beading along his forehead and running down the sides of his face. His glasses started to steam up and his roundish head began to turn red.
   He looked at me with such hatred and anger that I thought his head would explode. But he kept on saying, "I am going to kill you, you piece of shit!"
   I couldn't think of anything else to do. I was still holding him in place with my right hand, so with my left, I maneuvered it like I was actually holding onto his hand with the syringe, and I started moving it towards his neck.
   The gun went off continuously until the clip was empty, and a few times more just to make sure I guess.
   Thank goodness the silencer was on or the police would have been here by now.
    I moved the syringe right next to his neck and paused. He again looked at me with so much hatred, I knew I couldn't leave him here alive. He would hunt me down.
   I knew it, but still I waited. Until he said it again.
   "You piece of shit. I am going to kill you.
   So I gave my left hand a little shove and the needle went deep into his throat. I squeezed my hand then and he pushed down on the plunger until all the fluid was out of the syringe.
   His mouth just dropped. There wasn't any anger in his eyes any longer, just fright.
   I let up on him and he collapsed. He knew he was going to die.
   I ran into the bathroom and started throwing up.
   I never killed anyone before.

To Be Continued...

Next Thursday,

This is,

Oh Man,

I Can't Even Wait Until Next Week With This Exciting Cliffhanger Keeping Me Hanging,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“For a storyteller, an open ending leaves much room for imagination; for the inquisitive reader, however, it is a source of great anxiety.”
- Joyce Rachelle -

 

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

 

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Enjoying Meeting New People

Being a

Lyft Driver

you get to meet all kinds of people.

Today I met one of my favorite passengers so far this year.

He requested a ride,

through the

App,

then sent me this text message.

"I'll be the confused looking fella in a suit and barefoot."

I asked him why he was all dressed up,

and he told me he was at a wedding.

He also said he was drinking with his buddies afterwards

and somewhere along the way he lost his shoes.

Now I am just saying,

all the weddings I have ever been to are on the weekend

and today is

Wednesday.

He wasn't all grumpy from a hangover

and I had a pretty good time listening to his tales of his adventure he was on.

The best part?

He didn't get into any kind of trouble for his actions.

Just lost a pair of shoes.

I like the guy.

I hope I give him a ride again someday,

after he buys a pair of loafers.

 This is,

Enjoying Meeting New People Everyday,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“In wine there is wisdom, in beer there is Freedom, in water there is bacteria.”
- Benjamin Franklin -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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David Star's Dilemma

“Do you know why you are here to see me, Mister David Star?”

What a dumb-ass question to ask me when we both know the Judge sent me here because of my kids. The parasites are worried that I'm going to waste all their inheritance because they think I'm hooked on DMT's. N-Dimethyltryptamine, a sweet psychedelic compound.

People using the drug often see insect-like beings from another universe. I figure, maybe if I use it, I'll get back to, or at least see again, the parallel World I was in when I was in my coma after my car crash two years ago.

I know, I know. People think being in a coma, means there is nothing going on inside the old brain. But they are wrong.

I saw myself, in a parallel world. I was still married, my rock band, Question Authority, was on top of the music charts once again, and my kids loved me over there.

I don't know how to explain it, but I knew I felt happy there. I was in control.

Now this idiot is going to ask me all kinds of questions, trying to make me see that I'm repressing my emotions, because I want to live in a dream I had when I was in my coma. Doesn't he think that I've been over this in my head a hundred times already? It was real. I felt it. I tasted it. I knew I could be at peace and at home there.

“Mister Star, you seem to be drifting off somewhere right now. Can you please answer my question?”

“Why am I here?”

“Yes.”

“Because my kids want to have me declared incompetent so they can take control of my estate.”

“Does that bother you, Mister Star?”

“I don't give a damn about the money. I just want to be happy again.”

“And why do you feel that you are so unhappy, Mister Star?”

Here we go. He is going to try to delve into my subconscious and tell me I was abused by my parents or something. If he would have read my profile from the Rolling Stone magazine 10 years ago, he would know that I grew up in a small, Midwestern town, with loving middle class parents, and I'm a college grad. Nothing there to show I've been abused.

“Mister Star, I must ask you to concentrate. I can't help you if don't concentrate and answer my questions.”

“You are going to help me?”

I had to chuckle after that. I know how this works. If I don't play his game by answering the questions the way he wants them to be answered, or act like I got in-touch with my feelings, he'll recommend conservatorship and I'll die a broke, unhappy old man someday.

Screw them kids. They've been pissed at me ever since I cut their endowments to nothing and closed their trust funds. The little worms never worked a day in their lives. It's about time they did.

“Mister Star, maybe we should try another direction since you seem to be unable to concentrate on anything I've asked you.”

“OK?”

I don't know what he wants to try, but I can't lose my fortune because of this wacko. I need my money to explore different ways to get back to that parallel World.

“If it is OK with you, Mister Star, I would like to go ahead and try hypnosis to see why you feel you must get back to this other World you have dreamt about while in your coma two years ago.”

That's something I haven't explored yet. Hypnosis! I wonder if I can somehow use my subconscious, while hypnotized, to get back to that parallel World.

“Mister Star, please. Would that be OK with you?”

“I'm sorry. Yes, yes of course.”

“First, Mister Star, tell me, if it were true, why do you believe it is so important for you to get to this other World and not live here, in your own reality? Please break it down to the simplest answer you can give me right now. Hopefully, under hypnosis, I'll be able to explore the reasons for your fantasy World and why you long to be there.”

“OK. Why do I want to live in a parallel World?”

I've got to think about this one. What is my simplest answer to his question?

I've got it!

“I know the other me is so very lucky, where things always seem to fall my way. My life does have its moments, but it always blows up in my face.” Yeah, that's it. “The parallel me is so damn lucky in his world and I'm so damn unlucky in mine!”

“Well Mister Star. I can't possibly see why you feel this way, being rich and famous and all, but let us explore the possibility that, even though you've reached some outstanding goals, there must be certain ones that you feel you are missing in your life, subconsciously.”

“OK, Doctor.” I need to stall him for about 20 minutes. I need to take some DMT before he puts me under. I bet, with the help of the drug and being under hypnosis, I'll be able to manipulate my subconscious and travel to the parallel World.

“Mister Star, before we start.”

“I'm sorry Doctor, I need to use the restroom first.”

“OK Mister Star, but I will have to ask you to empty your pockets and let my male nurse do a thorough body search before I can let you do that. We can't have you doing anymore drugs, you know. I would say Doctor's orders, but you know it is from the Judge in this case.”

“I'm appalled that you would suspect me of such underhanded tactics. But if you must, you must.”

After his patsy laid his hands on me, not finding anything, the patsy actually followed me here, into the bathroom. I don't know if he was supposed to, but he let me close the stall door. I guess he only takes his job, just so seriously.

These guys know nothing. The small looking button, holding down the back of my collar, is actually the DMT. I just have to pull it off my shirt, swallow, and now in about 15 minutes I'll be able to let the good Doctor put me under.

“Hurry up in there.”

The chump is still waiting for me by the wash basin. Well, here it goes.

“OK, let me wash my hands and we can get back to the good Doctor.”

He doesn't say a word. He just stares at me like he is wishing he was a million miles away. I know how you feel buddy. I know how you feel.

“Ah, Mister Star, you're back. I hope there will be no more interruptions?”

“No. So I guess, let's get on with it.”

“Mister Star I want you to relax. Let my words wash over you, and take the suggestions as you desire them. Everything here is safe, calm, and peaceful. Let yourself relax deeply into the couch. Your eyes may feel heavy and want to close. Let your body sink naturally down as your muscles relax. Listen to your body and my voice as you begin to feel calm. You are in complete control of this time. You will only accept those suggestions which are for your benefit and that you are willing to accept. Relax your feet and ankles. Relax your legs, hips, and torso. Relax throughout your whole body. Feel the muscles lighten and loosen in your body.”

I can feel the DMT kicking in. Now, I just have to concentrate. His words are starting to disappear from my thoughts. I can actually block out all surrounding sound. There seems to be a tunnel. I think I see a light at the end of the tunnel. I must follow it.

I'm getting near the end.

The tunnel, it just ends here, like it is in front of me, in my consciousness. The light acts as if it's a door, and doesn't enter this side of the tunnel. It has to be the barrier to another World. The World I want to be in. I must enter it. I've got to try. I've got to know if I can reach the parallel World from here. One more step.

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Mister Star, wake up! What is wrong? Why did you scream like that?”

Who is that? I must open my eyes.

“Where the hell am I?”

“Mister Star, you know very well where you are at. You are in my office.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Where am I?”

“Mister Star, you're here, in my office to be evaluated to see if your eldest son should take conservatorship of your estate.”

“What?” I've got to think and figure out what is going on.

“Mister Star, you were hypnotized for quite a while. I thought maybe if I let you rest, your inner thoughts would come to the surface and you could face whatever is troubling you. To discover why you want to live your life in another reality.”

“Doc, just let me think for a bit. OK?”

I've got to look away from this guy. I need to comprehend what is going on. I'm scared. I must think. Go over what I was doing before I woke up in this Psych's office.

I was with my wife, we were standing on the edge of the White Cliffs of Dover. We got into an argument over my infidelity when I was on tour with the Band, and the last thing I remember is...her pushing me over the edge. She was trying to kill me! I was screaming as I fell over the cliff!

Wait a second.

“Mister Star, are you OK?”

“Call me Dave, Doc. Just give me a few more minutes to figure this out, OK?”

“Fine, Dave.”

What was that dream I had? Yeah, I remember. It was about two years ago. I kept having this recurring dream when I was sleeping at night. Every night for months. The same dream. It was about this other world and me in it. My doppelganger wanted to trade places with me. Could that possibly have happened?

“Mister Star.”

“Call me Dave, Doc.”

“Dave, if you don't start concentrating and begin working with me, I'm going to be forced to report that you are incapable of taking care of yourself and your son should be allowed conservatorship of your estate.”

“I'm sorry, Doc. I'm willing to be cured. I'll do anything to convince you that I'm feeling much better now. Matter-of-fact, I've never felt so lucky in all my life!”

This is,

Feeling Lucky In My Life Too!

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“In the lingering moments before you die your body releases DMT. The same drug that makes you dream. The same drug found in every living animal. You sit around a fire and recollect the past before soon parting ways back to the atomic ether. Your body does this because it loves you. You have never met anyone like your body. Your body has been with you everyday, good and bad. It's even kept a journal of your life carved in scars.”
- Anonymous -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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