An Outlandish Journey

  A Losing Streak   Home   ▼ Saturday, July 27, 2019 The Vanishing School Girl I never got a chance to explain - he was just gone. I must have felt judged, abandoned, lost before I even knew what happened. Like the twirling piano stool or the record player turntable - my head was spinning. In some future world I was waking up, but in this one I was spiralling into hell. And nobody saw - it was just me in the basement which was now the whole dark universe and what did I do then? In one world, 50 years away, I woke from a dream that had turned bad and was threatening to get even worse... Then came the aftermath. There had to be an aftermath. Once Mick drove away in the rental car, the one with the broken mirror (seven years bad luck), maybe en route to the next concert in the next city, which was Ottawa on a sunny day in late April, late afternoon by the way the sun slanted in the photo and made the three Stones squint...  or maybe this happened on another day, like the Friday, April 23,

  A Losing Streak   Home   ▼ Saturday, July 27, 2019 The Last Time This is not what I remember because I remember almost nothing. But this is what I can piece together from the available facts, a video, and a dream I had about 10 years ago. I was 14 years old and living at my parents' house in the suburbs of Montreal. It could have been a Saturday afternoon. My father and brother were not around and my mother was in the kitchen at the sink looking out the window. She said, "There's someone here to see you. Go let him in." I stopped whatever I was doing and went to open the front door, and there was Mick Jagger. My first impression was that he'd recently had a haircut looked neater than when I'd last seen him, probably months earlier, probably on the T.A.M.I. show which my friends all watched on TV. I opened the outer screen door and he stepped into the entrance and stood for a moment in the hall next to the living room, looking around. He was 21, very polite a

After Mick and the sweatshirt both resurfaced on television that fateful evening of October 25, 1964, the plan went into full gear. My mother had to be in on it. Otherwise, six months later, there would not have been a visit from the now notorious lead singer of the band that vied with the Beatles for the hearts of girls around the world.  The only caveat, and the key to this psy op, was that I was not to know. I was in the dark, thanks to the doctors at McGill who owned my future. To realize this only now is like stepping back into time on an elevator heading straight down at warp speed. I feel a wave of drowsiness come over me at the prospect of trying to write about it. It's like slipping into a trance, once again, and boarding the Titanic, oblivious to what awaited out there on the ocean.   Back then I had no idea what my mother did all day, confined to a sterile suburb miles from anywhere. It never entered my head that, at 51, she had anything to occupy her other than house

My parents had a plan for me and made deals regarding my future without telling me -- involving some of the darkest people and entities you can imagine.  Even now we are just finding out what these deals were about, that derailed a generation of Baby Boomers and all who came after. We were torn out of nature and the past and sold to an alien technological empire called Aerospace. Exiled from earth and our Mother and sent into outer space to be enslaved. Ripped out of Time.  Our parents having been born in an earlier era had no idea they stood on the threshhold of a poisoned world- they trusted the future to be like the past. They believed in the lies of the medical men and trusted the science they barely grasped.  "How do you tell a boy chromosome from a girl chromosome? Look up its genes."  Soon Kennedy would be shot and the Beatles would come over to save us.  We would never have lives -- they had sold us down the river -- their disappointment was heartbreaking. We had no c

It has taken me years to realize I may have had another life that got erased. To say it was stolen from me by the doctors, is maybe an exaggeration or distortion. It was a combination of circumstances and choices that were made without anyone consulting me, which culminated in some kind of massive memory loss, similar to what was done to my father. Probably dad and I bonded over our shared amnesia. He would have known at least a part of the truth --  which had to be kept hidden from me for my own protection. So her and I almost never talked even during long hours in the country or in the car driving to school and back.  Probably it just boils down to the fact that I was too young to do what was set out for me by my elders. I was too shy and insecure and also too stubborn to play my part. Before my 14th birthday I at least had a chance at connecting with the boy of my dreams -- but by the time he showed up he was unrecognizable to the little mermaid who had known him as a young boy. T