As I sit in front of my Computer I slip in and Out. I see myself being abducted from the steps of Oraca, Brussels. I wanted to go for a walk. I can tell through their gloves and mask, I'm being read,....., again. This group I suspect is from InterSpace. They would not have been told about my voluntary detour into Oraca hands. Bag over head and tossed into a van. From my keyboard, I see the identifying husk of my presence remain behind, a shed skin of my consciousness if you like.
I remove the bag, but just like before none of my abductors is talking. I'm tired and still full so comfortable I don't care and let my abductors know, I know who they are and that they know I wont fight them. They too remove masks and silently, timidly apologize with quiet eyes of misplaced concern and regret. I'm saturated and jet leaped. It's going on midnight here but the sun has just set where I came from.
I realize the faces I'm seeing are just shadows of an unformed dream. This is not a vision of the future that I want to share. So as the readers peel off from the pages of my blog, I feel the strain of loss. The traffic source likes teasing me with the promise of readers, only to shut down feed to international markets for my spirituals arts documentaries. I find this more embarrassing than the awkwardness of being shuttled like a hot potato from the oven to the plate. As the future flakes off like old paint, so does this facade of self consciousness. I may have missed the mark terribly as I wrote so many years ago.
I start hearing that flushing, whirling sound, when the world is about to change. Where will I wake this time? Will I be the Liberian mother of six with the orphan free school for abandoned children of AIDS parentage? Will I become the Russian research physicist with the tiny glasses and the taste for exotic music? Will I end up back in my own body, at my own desk, only to discover that I took an inescapable wrong turn that lost me almost all of the followers that were driving this blog on to literary acceptability. I can see you all leaving.
First to leave were the hundreds of readers from Russia, and the Ukraine. You had all accessed me through the porn brokers of what I suspect may have been Russian mafia. Then I lost the readers from Serbia, the Netherlands, Canada and France. Now even those interested readers of Indonesia and Malaysia, with their sophisticated translation software have peeled off like relatives who picked over the dishes from my spiritual buffet. Now Brunei, Puerto Rico and Viet Nam have now un followed me. I'ld take it personally but this is what I get for using a blog in an unprescribed way. And besides, Maybe Vera will be right to tell me, "Go back to your own time and stop writing about us."
I'll go back to writing my future without "Spiritual Fiction." I may have to see if I can't regenerate interests in new readers. I'm not sure I can keep writing to an imaginary audience. So many will never come back. Remember folks this is an experiment, and I still may fail at writing a best seller in the reverse biographical blog form.
I will return you now to your regular reading practices and will avoid lengthy narratives in the future unless absolutely necessary. Please forgive me if this has interfered with your desire for cohesive information. I will re evaluate my manuscripts and see if I can't upload much more interesting material. But even if I do, It'll be a very long time before this is read by more than just a hand full of loyal U. S. readers. And as for a public address, I may have to just start over.
And the InterSpace workers and their van, vanish. I may go back to see them in the future, but I'll just use one of my other blogs. I'm back at my keyboard and market research is shutting down. Don't that beat all.
