froM randoM Schizo BloG

MANIFESTO or Grey Crinkled Paper #2

First, personal business: the voices are back, music especially, but also the old password voice running along, like a TV show's "audio crawler." This is very distracting, even the music, yet at times, as commentary, it seems much more truthful than what is said by those whose voices are "real" or at least non-hallucinatory. I know I saw some show with my friend Joe that illustrated what these voices are like, within other contexts and in other times, but we’ve both forgotten which show it was (perhaps Star Trek Voyager?). As I wrote in my entry on "Voices," the movie, LULU ON THE BRIDGE, gives a brief but helpful example of the more muted, confused babbling form they sometimes take, as when, for example, Harvey Keitel is walking along that wall at night...

In any event, the password voice is my one-word short-hand for the way the voices sometimes sound to me: 1) monotone 2) stage-whispered 3) secretive yet as if imparting a truth others should not hear.


That said, let me explain what they talk about:

Grey Crinkled Paper, first of all, which must be spelled grEy not grAy, though the reason for this particular spelling is unknown to me. How it came to be part of my life was, as I belive I wrote in the first Grey Crinkled Paper entry, at age 16 or 17 when my body inflated like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade balloon and my hands turned blue, which was the most important thing about the experience before the vision, revelation -- what have you, something that cannot be truly verbalized -- came to me in the words: Grey Crinkled Paper. It was what I understood to be a kind of holy trinity, very much like Father, Son, Holy Ghost, or Newtonís 3 laws of thermodynamics, or Einsteinís three: 1) the special theory of relativity, 2) the general theory and 3) the (never discovered) unified field theory.

Now, there are complications to this, because once I can get the problem of GCP solved at least in this world, I will be freed from the Supermetal Canister into which I was placed as punishment for some higher dimensional crime. Meanwhile, onto the walls of this canister are projected in All-Sensurround the reality of this 3-D earth-world, while electrodes, implanted in my skull, impart knowledge of cosmic history as well as of a personal life, consisting of "memories" as well as their significance.

(The other way to free myself, apart from solving the problem of Grey Crinkled Paper, would be to surgically remove these electrodes, which would be painful, but which would prove my worthiness to be welcomed back to those higher dimensions...)

To continue from previous paragraph:

which means that people here are actually no more than the equivalent of movie projections, only apparently real. When I am liberated, all of them will, along with the world and the rest of the canister’s projections, end, pfft!--with no more suffering than Humphrey Bogart "feels" when Casablanca finishes for the umpteenth time.

The Canister is made of Supermetal which has always been explained to me as Titanium/Uranium. Whether this is a feasible earthly metal alloy or simply the English equivalent for something there we have no concept for I don’t know.

Involved with this are the Five People. They 1) are not in themselves stable as persons, that is in their appearances; they will take on a body when convenient and leave it when it is no longer useful, without the real person ever being aware of it, 2) these bodies are disguises, ever-fluid and changeable at will. For example, there was one security guard when I lived in supervised housing at the old nurses' dorm at the hospital that I knew was one of the Five People, and he knew I knew, which led him to torment me openly: bugging my room, video-monitoring me, giving me non-verbal messages whenever I passed him. I recognized him, and his face stayed the same that entire year, but as soon as I moved out, he left that body and now I no longer know where he is or in which body he is hiding.

I have had for some time now a vague suspicion that the part-time social worker in this building may be one of the Five People, if not the very same one but the same one or anther it scarcely matters... 3) what I know of these Five People is little except that they used to be controlled by my father and were utilized to monitor me, and therefore theoretically they could be used to eliminate me at any time. However, my being the messenger of Grey Crinkled Paper might attentuate this power, making it impossible for someone-- whoever is behind them, whoever is controlling and sending them --to actually kill me.

Who or what these Five People are, why they are, where they come from, these non-human beings (emphatically not aliens) is not very clear to me right now beyond this. One thing I understand is that like most things in this context, they too must have some connection to the higher dimensions and Grey Crinkled Paper.

Grey Crinkled Paper BTW is a concept and is neither grey-colored nor paper-y nor crinkled. No single word of it can be taken separately to signify anything without the other two.

However, Grey Crinkled Paper doesn’t mean anything either, not even to me. It is only a message of supreme importance. It just is the vehicle, the memo given to the messenger who happens to be me, and until it is understood by all, can be understood by none and cannot be utilized as it should be to achieve world peace. The problem is that in order for anyone to get the true meaning, it must be translated 22 times by 22 native speakers of 22 different languages or dialects, two of which *must* be Arabic and Farsi (I don’t actually know if this last is a written or spoken language, moreover, I didn’t know what the word meant at all when I was first given the information and assignment at age 16).

This part is critical: The translation of Grey Crinkled Paper must be sequential in time and space and must be done without reference to or help from the original transfer-er of the message (ie me). You can think of the translation process like this: it's as if someone were to say the quay of Normandy and another person heard it as key of Norman Dee and then translated this into his or her native language. Such a misunderstanding is inevitable and it is not a error but is the entire point. Like the telephone game that kids play in which a phrase, whispered from child to child, comes out transformed at the end, so too will GCP be transformed. While the child's game’s message may be nonsense, in the 22-link chain of the Grey Crinkled Paper translation, the end result will make a sense that everyone will instantly understand and appreciate. In short it will reveal the true meaning of the phrase rather than obscuring it.

Can you understand this? The one necessary part of this process is the final translator in the chain, who must be a non-native speaker of English, who therefore would have no inherent drive to make "sense" of what he or she hears. She would only innocently convert what she is given into the English words she knows, which would turn out to be the final message, the Truth.

This is all so far focused in the Middle East, but not all the languages or dialects (so far as I can determine) need to come from that area. I know only that Farsi and Arabic *must* be among them.

DetaiL oF YaRD asSembLaGe

LalaLAhAHahA

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¶
'theY' saY iT brinGs iN/oN a HeaVeNly sTaTe -->buT iT~~aLonG wiTh a LiTTLe/loTs oF L S D~~ broughT mE tO ∞HeLL's veRy ThreshoLd,,,,,
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==
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TheN:

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2 fOr 2

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¬¬¬beLoW¬¬¬


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NaRRaTiVe:
mE =in thE MiddLe oF thE CrosswaLk-->TaKeS thE PicTuRe
SHe- afteR i reach heR siDe oF thE streeT==>:"You tooK mY PicTuRe"
mE: YeS, i waS goiNg to aSk yoU iF iT waS o.K.
SHe: YoU shouLd haVe aSkeD mE firsT.....
mE: WeLL, iS iT o.K.?
SHe: YoU shouLd haVe asKeD me beFoRe yoU tooK iT...
mE: WeLL, i caN deLeTe iT..
SHe: YoU shouLd haVe asKeD mE firsT..
mE: CaN i giVe yoU MoNeY , oR doNaTe to yoUr cauSe oR soMethinG..
SHe: You shouLd haVe asKed mE befoRe yoU tooK mY PictuRe..
SHe: I doN'T coLLecT MoNeY..
mE: WeLL, i saW yoUR sigN aNd i LiKed whaT iT saiD---
mE: i saY the saMe thinG aLL the TiMe..
~ ~ ~
&& BacK & forth foR a couPle oF moRe exchangeS...
& TheN =I saiD: o.K. theN, GooD-bYe.
GOD BLeSS YoU....
∞∞∞
GOD BLeSS uS =EvERyoNe
† † †

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†

VersioN #2 (& FiNaL eDiTioN)

i knOW---i KnOw

=saMe aS oN "SELF"
[aLmoSt/noT quiTe--?WheRe's WaLLy?"

HAPPY SONDAY!

PeaCe

PhoToShoP WoRShiP

Two frOM tHe GarDeN

One PS FiLteR

CloSe-uP

PEACE ouT=======

DeaTh bE GoNe===To LiFe!

ThrouGh ThE PRECIOUS HOLY BLOOD oF
JESUS CHRIST†††††††††††††

GOD iS In CoNTroL!==

=Farrah Fawcett R I P=
(February 2, 1947 – June 25, 2009)
{{{{ouT oF heR MiSeRY ToDaY))))){{{ i PRaY)))
+++
CoMe QuicKLy 4 mE, LORD JESUS,
PLeaSe?

TrY aNd tRy aGaiN TheN

aPPariTion |ˌapəˈri sh ən|
__________________________/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
aBerraTion |ˌabəˈrā sh ən|

consecration |ˌkänsiˈkrā sh ən|
`````````````````````````i kNoW iT aiN'T (sic) _'PerFecT'_
&&&&
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PURE LOVE

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