Millennial Wonders, Wandering Memories

I've confirmed it. My memories of the past year are not those of this realm.

This won't be news to you, but I just discovered how common hovercrafts recently became. Real, honest-to-greatness flying cars. The stuff we all dreamed of as children is the stuff today's children take for granted.

Memories of eagerly awaiting my sixteenth birthday for the chance to finally get my driver's license. (Yes, my memories.)

Memories of my first driving test, coinciding with my realization of the existence (and ubiquity) of chupacabras. That which I had previously refused to see now flooded my vision.

One can never prepare for the trauma that occurs the first time one makes eye contact with a chupacabra. One can never recover from beholding such a hideous countenance.

Amazingly, I was able to force myself to concentrate on driving. Of course I didn't pass the test. Chupacabras, like all mammals, like to cross the road as cars approach them. If an animal dashes in front of your car, you swerve to avoid hitting it, don't you?

Naturally, my instructor refused to see the chupacabras. To him, I was swerving for no reason despite being told to stop. How could I tell him what I was doing?

I made up my mind to keep going. For the sake of earning my driver's license, I was willing to run over one chupacabra. If he's stupid enough to get in the way of an oncoming car, he deserves to be run down.

But I couldn't do it. I'll never know how I developed compassion for such a creature, but I reflexively swerved at the last minute. I failed the test.

I've never attempted to earn a driver's license since then. Public transportation may not be as convenient as owning a car, but it gets me where I need to go.

Today I learned that, as hovercars are twice as safe as regular cars, the required age of the driver has been cut in half: you can earn your hovercraft license at age eight.

And fortunately for me, they can hover. Float. Soar over a chupacabra without as much as a bump.

A new door has opened for me. Wish me luck.

Scourge, Screaming Scourge

I've made it back to Texas. Everything is wrong. Nothing most people would notice, but my whole world is unfamiliar.

The chupacabras have changed. No less hideous (even moreso, if that's possible), but larger and more abundant. The Mothmen are withering.

My few remaining family members insist I attempted contact not once. My house is still mine, and I've settled back in, but nothing is as I left it.

If a friend were to visit (ha), she wouldn't see anything different. But to me the whole house may as well have been replaced by another.

Everything looks almost as it did before, but the feeling is wrong. My appliances no longer warmly respond to my touch, but silently spurn me. They still work just fine, but they aren't very fond of me.

I go through old poems I wrote in grade school. The words are familiar, but the handwriting is wrong.

Is it?

I write out another poem. My handwriting has changed to match those on my doppelganger's imitation letters.

Lately, I just haven't been myself.

Tunnel's End

My last blog entry was exactly one year ago. What happened during that year?

I don't know. I don't remember a bit of it.

Not a bit of my part in it, anyway. I have memories of life during that time, but none of the memories are my own.

I'm not sure the memories are even of this world.

Should I relate them here? As these are not my memories, but the private memories of someone else, would I be invading that person's right to privacy to present them online?

If I have another person's memories, does she have mine? Can she tell me what I did during this lost year?

I've tried to contact this person whose memories I've stolen, but of course I've found no evidence for her existence or that her actions ever occurred. That is why I'm convinced the memories are from another world. One just as real as ours, but invisible to us as we are invisible to them.

Except for the few occasions when the branes cross over.

How many other people have had this experience? Am I the only one?

I won't stop trying to find my lost memories. In the mean time, I should contact those I know.

I'm no longer in Brussels, by the way. Nor am I back in Texas. I'm currently typing from a cyber cafe in New Jersey.

A Continent Away, Incontinent Sway

I am now in Brussels, prepared to attend this year's Bilderberg meeting at the Chateau Du Lac.

There are no chupacabras in Europe and very few Mothmen. But there are so many people.

My thoughts have been much clearer since I arrived in Belgium. Something back in Texas has been eating my thoughts and secreting strange phrases. An astral parasite?

I may remain in Belgium. Severing ties to my old life will not be that hard.

When Your Mind is Not Your Own

The words in my last post did not come from me.

I typed them out and I published the post. But they're not my words. They're not my thoughts.

Increasingly, I find the thoughts in my head are not my own. Why now, so close to the Bilderberg meeting? I need to stay focused. I need to stay alert.

Have I spent too much time among the chupacabras? Am I becoming as them?

The chupacabras, these abominations, with black hearts and unspeakable faces. I feel closer to them than I do to people.

The Mothman I talked to stopped showing up at the mall.

As It Will Be

Orange on green, the sun's rays on grass
Blue is the sky
Yellow and red devour them in a fire
Falling, falling, falling
Other colors come and go
For them, it won't end well
Fleeing, fleeing, fleeing
From the sky
From the alleys
From beneath
From our cherished beliefs
Run from that which you hold dear
Never stop running
'Til metal consumes you
Gray smoke
Gray sky
Red flashes
The color of blood, the tint of the mind
Pink, can't you see?
Even infinity isn't forever
Orange on green return to Earth
Life goes on
Never stop running

Vanishment

I have no idea where the second half of today's earlier post went. All I know is that it's gone.

Someone stole it. Who? Why? I can't say.

The really horrible thing, though, is that I tried finishing the post here. I tried typing out the rest again from memory, but the words wouldn't come. They've vanished.