Justice's Boomerang

The official Dunlap Pig Industries website has responded to my accusations by attempting to discredit me and, of course, Dr. Qualified.

Just as they did before.

Regardless of my sanity or the sanity of Dr. Qualified, how does Dunlap explain the presence of the company's proprietery DNA in the pigdoughblob? They don't even bother.

It's easy to ignore what I've said because I've talked about chupacabras and Mothmen, and I understand that Dr. Qualified is not the most respected scientist in his community.

But facts should be judged on their own, not for their messengers.

In fact, I have concrete proof. Absolute, irrefutable proof that Dunlap Pig Industries is responsible for the pigdoughblob. Not purposefully or directly, but they're still guilty of purposeful coverup.

I won't reveal my proof just yet, though. I want to give Dunlap Pig Industries the chance to redeem themselves by admitting their actions while they still have a choice.

If they haven't responded in one week, I'll post my proof.

Determining Determination

I've made a decision. I shall not waver.

The Truth is dangerous to myself and untold others. But it is The Truth.

They won't stop me from my purpose.

Cold fusion exists. Chemtrails are put out by every aircraft in existence. Echelon records everything, including this. Are these not dangerous and unjust? Whatever the cost, keeping these facts hidden must be worse.

I await retaliation.

At the Edge of Oblivion

No sooner do I declare my intent to resume revealing The Truth than is Fort Ellen ravaged by more aberrant organisms. Yes, these man-eating plants that descended from the skies and wrought such chaos and anguish. No matter where you live, you must have seen or read the news by now.

I fear they may have been sent to stop me.

I find myself in a moral conundrum I never once considered. I always knew the risk to myself, but if my intent to make The Truth known to others is endangering the lives of those who've never even read my blog, am I really doing the right thing?

They're too insidious. Too insidious.

No, I'm getting too far ahead of myself. I have no evidence the plants were targeting me.

No more for tonight. I'll return after assessing my dilemma.

It Consumed the Town, Building by Building

The Fort Ellen Blob Incident. If you or someone you know lives in Texas, you've certainly heard about it.

The pink blob that consumed downtown Fort Ellen in a single night. The residue that smelt of bacon.

Such a destructive event always receives worldwide news coverage, yet this incident is rather unique in that the cause was never reported. What is the origin of this aberrant form, this porcine amoeba?

It is the result of one large company, the largest supplier of domesticated pigs in the United States. Yes, Dunlap Pig Industries.

Shortly after the incident, Dr. Bob Qualified issued a press release stating that the genome of the "pigdoughblob", as he called it, contained proprietary "junk DNA" sequences unique to pigs produced from Dunlap Pig Industries' instant pig spray.

The company was quick to discredit Dr. Qualified, bringing up his "psychotic tendencies". Due to Dunlap's influence, you'll hardly find mention anywhere of Dr. Qualified's discovery. But crazy as he may be, Dr. Qualified's statements hold up to scrutiny. Dunlap Pig Industries didn't even bother denying that the blob contained their proprietary DNA.

Dunlap works with cutting edge science they admit they barely understand themselves. Will something go wrong? Did something go wrong? History tells us time and time again chaos is inevitable.

Rebirth

I've wandered. My purpose has become lost.

Since I found myself once again myself back in May, these entries have been concerned more with reclaiming my personal truths than sharing important universal ones. I suspect this is the reason my branedrift occurred: someone didn't want me talking to you about the important things.

I am now moderately reacquainted with my life, and I've found that it's nothing special. I shall not waste anymore time with selfish banalities.

Of course I'll still strive to hunt down the remaining Pieces of My Past, but the only missing piece I'll probably concern you with is what occurred at this year's Bilderberg meeting. I've yet to even determine where and when it took place, but I must have attended.

With that out of the way, I shall commence my return to form.

At Last, Conquest

I earned my hoverdriver's license today. I don't have nearly enough money to afford a hovercraft yet, of course, but it's a start.

Another start: I made contact with my high school friend Marvin.

I have fond memories of the time we spent together. Memories I know in my heart are mine.

In high school we were strongly encouraged to join a school club. It wasn't required by the curriculum, but it was expected of us and I knew I'd be seen as lesser if I didn't. I had no interest in the clubs the school provided, but I briefly joined the drama club so as to prove my adequacy.

We rehearsed a 1673 play by Molière called "The Giant Claw". The plot concerned a giant antimatter space buzzard attacking France. I didn't have much enthusiasm to give to my part, but I ended up getting the role of Sally Caldois, the mathematician girlfriend of the protagonist. This was a big part in the play and it utterly wiped me out. I immediately dropped out of the drama club. Being clubless was barely an option, of course, so I decided to start my own.

The school's first paranormal investigation club was born.

At first Mark and I were the only members, but we were eventually joined by a third student named Nathan. He was a pale boy with brown cheeks and rosy eyes.

I don't have the heart to go into what became of poor Nathan, but for the last few weeks of our final year, Mark and I were once again the club's only members. The bond I formed with him may be the strongest I've shared with another person.

Mark, I'm so glad I've found you again. You are my anchor to this world I increasingly find myself drifting away from.

Reclaiming My Me

Today I found an old letter I wrote among my various writings. I'm certain it wasn't there before, and I don't remember writing it.

But the words are mine. They're in my handwriting. Not my current handrwiting. My old handwriting. My real handwriting. I've sent myself a message.

Here it is.

I'm scared to start writing. I write to forget.
But what will I become when all is forgotten?
What will I be when I am reborn?
Truth vanishes before memories.