Ghost Agenda CH. 3

I was a young man leaving boyhood behind, 14 years old and already bitter. A son of a preacher, a family excommunicated from a local church... I slowly became my worst victim! I wanted revenge, I began a war with the world as my hatred towards a God I thought I knew deepened and my mistrust of everything around me grew more and more sinister.

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1. Chapter (3) The great escape

GHOST AGENDA

CHAPTER THREE:

The Great Escape


I began living an egotistical life of self indulgence. In my mind, I was already famous.

Of course I was nice enough, as most are. I kept a few morals that my parents taught me. I even wanted to save the trees, fix the ozone, help the poor, save the world, etc.

I had always believed myself to be destined to greatness. I nelieved the world revolved around me, that there was a red carpet lying out for me and my destined group of semi- mad artists who were destined to rule the world!

I believed in a god of sorts, and once in a phase, I went through some time of believing in aliens, and that I might even be one in disguise, like a secret agent on a special mission to record human history.

Aliens were fun to believe in. We were all some experiment, like test tube babies, that some higher race, far greater than ours, was able to create.

I spent a lot of time thinking about Time. The thought of Time travel was fantastic to me.
I mused over portals and star gates and out of body experiences.

For the most part, I got myself into very rebellious trouble. I stopped believing in anything concrete.

There was no real Truth. There was no real meaning.

I saw evil in the good, and the good in evil, in everything. I saw All in Nothing.

I became an Existentialist.

Nothing was real to me.

Absolute Nothingness.

Authority of any kind was something I had vowed never to succumb to.

At sixteen, I was becoming more and more isolated, living within my head. I slowly drifted away from my family as I started to dwell in my dark basement, drowning out the world, with loud, aggressive, vampire music. My parents morals didn’t mean a thing to me anymore. They only seemed like they wanted to control me, and I wasn’t about to let anyone in this stinking world tell me what was right, or what was wrong. After all, I knew everything, and my everything was Nothing and that was enough for me.

But it wasn’t enough, as I would often lie to my parents about where I was going and with whom. I would leave one way and go down the other way, just to make sure they wouldn’t find out where it was that I was headed, for I knew, that what they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them.

I found a false place to hide in alcohol. I worked in a restaurant, where a friend of mine would steal beer from the back room. We’d pack it into our nap sacks among the school books and gym shorts, then after laughing our fool heads off rolling down hills totally plastered, we would make sure we bought some bubble gum, which seemed to fool our parents for a while.


While eating at the table with my family, everything seemed relatively normal, yet I was growing impatient with my longing dreams and desires. I would now and then turn to alcohol, hash and marijuana and (embarrassingly so) I would also huff glue.

I got up from the table and excused myself. I went to my room and got my things and then told them I was going out for a walk. They probably thought I was going to see my girlgriend and were tired of asking where I was going because I had often lied.

I went up the street to a back alley of a strip of stores. There I found a staircase on the other side of a door and steps leading down. It was dark down there, but there was a hint of light at the bottom. It was the type of place you’d expect to find rats and spiders. The stairs lead me to the bottom, to a hallway. It was dark, there were a couple of doors there that might have been storage spaces. I flicked on a lighter and had a couple glances around, there weren’t any rats in sight. At the top of the stairs there was a crack of light coming from underneath the door that lead to the outside world. How I found this place I wasn’t quite sure.

I stood there at the bottom of the stairs, enjoying the almost dead silence, now and then I could hear the happy laughter of children playing far off. After I got relaxed, and felt free, feeling that no one would be coming there to disturb me, I began getting my stuff ready. I took out a little plastic bag and tube of China Weld glue, then I proceeded to squeeze some of it into the bottom of the plastic bag and placed the bag into my fist allowing some of it to fold open around my hand, I pressed it up against my mouth. I then began to take deep breaths through my mouth, causing the bag to shrink with each inhale and expand with each exhale like a balloon, causing the flumes to enter my lungs and up into my brain. I continued to huff and puff like this for about three minutes, until I became numb an had tingling sensations throughout parts of my body...

I then heard a voice that yelled at me from the left.

(What I will describe here, I wish to claim beyond my understanding, as something beyond this world. I have had horrible time experimenting with many drugs, but this was something totally different in value and separate in magnitude. I consider the following to be more real and quite different from any regular drug trip, and more closely related to the vision of a shaman, however induced. I may be scoffed at for saying so; but I declare that what takes place next was a truly Divine Intervention of my tragic state of being.)

And the voice yelled at me saying, “Look out! Get out of the way! You are standing in my path!” As I looked to my left I saw a old man running towards me. He wore nothing more than a white loin cloth, wrapped around his mid section. He had long white hair, a long white beard, he was very skinny and he had a leather carring bag around his chest, hanging from his shoulder. He ran with much agility as though he was indeed a healthy man, but he was running "Out of Time" with this world and in slow motion. I could see him clearly but all around him was darkness. I was not afraid of him.


As I stood there I was frozen, in life itself, I wasn’t able to make any fast movements. As I looked at him coming towards me, I could see slightly over his head and I noticed, that as he ran, he left a trail of his body behind him, which made up a translucent wall or tunnel. Above his head, always hovering there, was a clock, but a clock not of this world. There were many arms and dials on it, all turning rapidly, and there were also red digits. The arms, dials, and digits were changing rapidly as he came closer towards me. When he got right up to me I moved out of the way, and had a good look at the clock face and if I'm not mistaken, the clock read three different times. One I couldn’t understand, the other was Time itself always ticking since time began, ticking each mil.-second taking place and the third was the time of my birth and the date and the time this was taking place. It was confusing because there were so many dials I didn’t understand, nor could anyone fromregis world.

I got out of the mans way and stepped back and as he passed by me he was reaching out his hand towards me, in which he was holding a scroll, and as he handed it to me, he said “Here, take this...you’ll need it for where you are going.”

When I reached for the scroll, I had to drop the plastic bag, with the glue, out of my hand. I was completely embarrassed.. .but there was no place to hide and no time to waste. It was all happening so quickly. I grabbed the scroll and he passed by me. As he did so, he continually left a trail of his body that made up the translucent wall or tunnel. The wall made a vibrating hum.

As he got farther away to my right, I called out to him,“Wait...”

“I can’t” he yelled back, “I must continue running! I have been running since the beginning of the world! I have many more Destination Points to arrive at. I must keep on running... I am THE MAN OF TIME!!! If I stop...all will end! It all counts on us!”


When he got a little farther, he called out for the last time, “Cross over.. .through the wall I've made for you!”

I watched him go for as long as I could see. The translucent humming wall vibrated strongly. I looked to the left and to the right, the wall was never ending, like the horizon of time itself (Like when you are standing in between two mirrors) I took a good look in front of me, all I could see was this watery substance of a wall, about one step ahead of me. When I looked down I could see the dirty floor of the basement I was in, but as I looked through the wall I could see light. I began to do as the “MAN OF TIME” told me. I reached my hand into the wall first. Then I leaned my torso and head into the wall, it was about the width of a man, it didn’t feel like anything, not like the regular sensations one feels here on earth. In about three seconds, I was half way through the wall, with one leg on either side. With my left hand, holding the scroll, on the side beyond the wall, and my right leg and hand, on the side where the basement was. As my head came through the wall, I could hardly believe my eyes.

There was a beautiful smell in the air and right before me was a staircase made of grass. The steps and the walls on either side were made of grass and mixed with deep green vines, that scaled up the walls. I heard a voice of a man, but I didn’t look up at first to see from where it came. “Here he comes...here he comes...” he said.

I looked back to where I was coming from and I could see the darkness that had faded out a bit. I was standing in the middle of two different worlds... I decided to adhere to the voice and step into the grassy staircase completely. when I had fully entered my new world, I looked up to the top of the stairs and there was a man standing there to greet me. He was clapping his hands and smiling, happy to see me, like he had been waiting to see me for a long time. He knew who I was but I didn’t know him at all.


My thoughts began to run wild and then I began to realise that they were amplified. The man at the top of the stairs could hear all of my thoughts, whatever he was. I was ashamed. I knelt down and uttered a little cry, I thought to myself, “Oh, my parents are here...but what will they think... I've been so horrible...they all know!”

Then the man who could hear all my thoughts and who knew me completely, from the inside out, said, “Timothy.. .do not worry about those things anymore! They no longer exist!”

When he said that, I immediately stood to my feet and my mind was completely clear and all fear and anxiety flew from me. I raised my head and the tone of his voice became joyful again, as he began clapping once more. He said, with a smile, “Come up here! We’re all here waiting for you! We’ve been expecting your arrival... Come the people are waiting!”

I then took my first few steps up the grassy staircase. Each step was so soft, fresh and new. Each step felt like a plateau, like a year or moment of my life. As I walked up I ran my hand along side the grassy walls and vines. As I got closer to the top where the man stood, I could hear the murmuring of a crowd, each mumbling in great expectation.

When arrived at the top of the grassy stairs, I saw a gold plaque, tucked into the grass wall. I leaned closer to see what was written there; the plaque was engraved with my name, dates and the title of the role I played out on earth, the title of my true nature. This is what was written on the plaque: Prophet of Predestination.

The man smiled at me, shook my hand, and escorted me up three remaining grassy stairs to my immediate right.

I looked out and saw that I was standing at the mouth of a large arena. I could see five top rows of stands, that were packed with people (and beings from another world) all sitting there waiting for my arrival.

I clenched the scroll in my hand. One of the last thoughts I had before entering the arena to my podium, was that I was sure my family and friends were going to be there.. .and I also had the freightingly pleasant knowledge, that my Creator was also present.

As I took my first step into the arena, the vision ended.

I found myself at the top of the regular staircase, at the door, and was about to open it. I opened the door and the sun was so bright, it blinded me. I began to walk slowly out of the back alley, feeling nothing more than the simple wonder as to why I was there in the first place. I concluded that I had gone to knock on a friends door, but I figured that he wasn’t home.

The most bizarre fact was, that I had completely no memory of what had taken place, whatsoever, not even the fact that I had gone out to do drugs.

Nothing.

As though it all never happened.

I went home and straight to bed.

In the morning I awoke the same depressed kid as usual.
No memory of the things that had taken place. Not until one day in high school. I was falling asleep in Geography class, when all of a sudden, it all came flooding over me, like I was experiencing it all over again. I asked the teacher to allow me to go to the washroom. I didn’t return... I left with my pen and paper, and as the vision kept coming to me as I closed my eyes, I kept writing it down as I sat there in the washroom stall, about two years after the vision had first taken place. I wrote it all down, as I have done so here.


This vision changed me...and was an inspiration to me that my life had purpose, that The Divine was watching out for me.



My father and I had a special relationship.

We really loved each other immensely. We did a lot together. I would study him when he was preaching, and I really wanted to impress him, I wanted to be like him in many ways, even though he never pressured me into thinking like that at all. He wanted me to honour God with my life. I looked up to my dad. Yet after that horrible Father’s Day at fourteen, things began to change between us. I looked up to him but my eyes were blurred with jaded emotions.

I loved him through my pain for him, he loved me through his pain in general. We were both sinking in the marrow of self pity. I began rejecting almost everything he ever believed in, and taught me as true. We argued continually, and rightfully so, because after all, he was right. I was destroying myself, and he saw it coming early, but the way in which he would try to tell me so, was not the way I needed. He would yell at me, scold me, pick on me, say things to me that were out of line, and I would insist on bucking his authority, and making a mockery of all he believed in, because in my mind I wondered what our Jesus did for us any way?

Where was he when they were kicking us out of the church?

Where was he when my father wouldn’t be able to pay rent, as he sat there angry at the world?

Where was he when my mother and father would keep us up all hours of the night, fighting?


Where was Jesus in all this mess, we now found ourselves in?


My father and I both had similar problems, we were both upset at God for our present condition. Boy, did we take it out on each other.

Even though I was becoming a drug addict, I joined the Army Cadets and excelled into the rank of Sgt.Major, quite quickly; for the Army life style seemed to fit with my anger.

Nevertheless, I held a certain kind of hatred for the people I gave orders to, and more so, the people who gave me orders. Yet I must have loved power enough to submit long enough to enforce rules upon others. I hated rules, all of them, every kind, which enabled me to quit, to pursue other forms of self torture. I did take some discipline from the Army Cadets.

It was just about that time that u wanted to start developing into manhood ahead of thr pack maybe... I wanted freedom from living up to what I saw as a negative situation at home between my father and I and I didn't want to have eveyone else live in out hell. I got out.

I left home riding on my bicycle with a black garbage bag if things thrown over my shoulder like a beggar Santa. I met my friend, he said his parents would allow me to crash for a night or two.

I was sixteen.

I never moved back.

I can only be thankful that I had a mother who understood why I had left and somehow had the courage to stomach lying for me and the fortune of being raised in a wealthy country like Canada, blessed with a social worker that bought my mothers story, that I couldn't return home...which gave me my first taste of living alone on student welfare.

Yet, like most of my years of school, my short, unfinished years of high school weren’t anything to be proud of. I went to Etobicoke School of the Arts, you had to audition to get in. I majored in drama. Ever since I was a small boy of eight, I had always written poetry or short stories. I was getting seriously interested in the arts at fourteen, but I didn’t really decide anything intently until applying to the ESA, which was in all too much of a mess up, to describe in great detail.

The downward spiral was rapid. If it wasn’t theatre, music, poetry, LSD, alcohol, marijuana, girls, trouble or insanity... I wasn’t interested. If there was a teacher that I didn’t like or thought was below my genius, I’d let him know about it. If there was a class I didn’t wish to attend, I just didn’t. If there was a way I could get in trouble to allow the class a good laugh, I did what ever it took. If I wasn’t going to become famous in the next five minutes... I would become bored, then disturb the attention of the class, from whatever discussion that happened to be about math or something else that I thought to be utterly useless. I would start my own little philosophy session in the hallways or in the smoking pit...or take the day off, held up in my little apartment paid for by taxpayers, on the condition I actually did indeed attend class and I figure the principal must have taken pity on me, because the money kept coming in.


At lunch time I had a private meeting with eight of the “stoner elite club”, down the back end of the school, at the bottom of a steep hill, at the mouth of a creek. There my pals and I would smoke weed or hash in half hour sessions, almost every day. If we were too stoned to walk properly, or if our eyes were too red and someone forgot the visine, we wouldn’t go to class. Most of the time we would go, sitting next to one another, getting thrown out from laughing so hard from how surreal everything had just become.

My friends were able to do decent enough in their grades, but if the subject wasn’t to do with the Arts, not only was I not interested, with all the drugs I was doing, it was hard for me to keep up academically. At one stint, I arrived about an hour before school began, you'd think to attend a sporting practice, yet I would, quite earnestly and consecutively drop acid at 8 only to peak at the 9 o'clock bell.

All my life my teachers had told my family, that it wasn’t that I was stupid or slow...it was that I just didn’t want to do, want I didn’t want to do.

I was a non-conformist.

A middle finger in the face of authority.

In one of my extreme theatrical experiments, to prove to fellow classmates and teachers that disaproved of me, that I was one of the best actors in the ESA, I pulled a high risk prank, straight out of " one flew over the cockoos nest", that very badly back fired on me. The adventure was fun, interesting and scary.

I walked into the guidance couselors office to have an unscheduled meeting... I had prepared the attention grabbing performance by writing a few poems obviously about myself but with hints that my hatred for the counselor himself and life in general were somehow linked to my personal depression and anxiety. After reading the poetry, he told me to wait in the office for a moment. When he returned, he did so with 2 police officers, who told me that I was to be escorted by them to the hospital for psychological evaluation.

My theatrical plan was working like a charm.

After the doctor had arrived, I upgraded my performance, which included the revealing of my t-shirt, which ilustrated a hangman made from crayon. After a brief interview he said it would be best if I were assigned a room in thr Psyche ward of the hospital, where I could get away from the stress I may be under with the chance for further counseling and I had to agree of course to taking drugs.

It didn't seem that bad to me. Like an exotic excursion for the insane or for someone like myself playing at it.

Two large nurses in white lab coats escorted me to the ward and handed me over to a nice female nurse, who greeted me with a pleasant attitude and showed me my room. There weren't any windows, only a bed, table and 2 chairs. I was also told that I was permitted to watch TV with the others in the lounge, where meals were given.

There was the usual drooler and head banging wall muttering weirdos but nothing too extreme. I had a meeting or 2 with a nurse and ate my prozac but after I tried to go outside the next day for a smoke and the nurses told me that I was confined to that ward alone, then the game took a turn and I wasn't laughing anymore! I had only wanted to show off my acting skills and freak some people out but I didn't want to be imprisoned. No Sir!

I had done to good a job it seemed. Now I wanted out... I asked to make a few phone calls. I contacted my girlfriend at the time and asked her to go to my place, grab a few books off my desk and my diary of prose and short stories and to bring them imeadately to the ward.

The next day when the nurse came to my room to provide my daily portion of Prozac. I refused to take the pills. I was told that I had to... And after I refused again I also demanded to speak with my doctor, adding that I would not take another pill until he had arrived and I had a chance to speak with him. At this she left the room and within a few hours I was seen.

After our initial words I got straight to work explaining myself... Yet I had a plan, I was careful with how I acted and with what I said. First I showed him the books I was brought, Nitzche, Miller, Camus and Bukowski, I read from Plexus, then asked him what he had thought if what I had read and about the authors in general. I was trying to ilustrate that I was a thinking person and was influenced possibly by other deep thinkers.

I continued my case. I began to read to him from my journal. I selected a few well thought out bits of poetry, very sensitive pieces of writing and some essay work.

I then told him of my dreams to become a successful performer, etc.

He then asked me, what I really wanted from our visit. I apologized for my obvious prank and told him that I wanted to go home, to be discharged from the hospital. I told him that I wasn't crazy at all but had only pulled a theatrical stunt for attention and out of a personal bet with myself.

The doctor told me that he would sign off on the paper work and that I would be freely discharged from the hospital in less than five minutes. He then stood up and shook my hand saying " you had better become someone famous..." after which he smilled at me and left the room, leaving the door open.

I signed a few papers not knowing if the nurses had any knowledge of the entire senario, what mattered was that I free to continue my drama on the stage, as it were.

Walking out of there... I knew I had survived a close one.


Back at my routine at school, I was greeted with odd stares which satisfied my ego somewhat...and the guidance counselor looked ar me dufferently... But not much else changed. I acted in a few short plays, wrote a lot poems, smoked weed and dropped acid, became angry that the world didn’t notice me yet, continued in my rebellion and half way through grade 10, dropped out.

I had an apartment of my own, had the most beautiful, most desired, most talented girl of the school for my girlfriend...I was Mr. Popularity for being the fucked up kid, willing to do anything! I held parties at my scrumy flat and went to school whenever I felt like it...everything seemed under control.

Nevertheless, all the love I had
for her, and I mean all the love in my world placed in her heart, my entire existence seemed to rely in her as a friend, teacher, muse and lover... So when she told me that she was moving on without me, it was asthough I had been told by a doctor that I had developed a tumer and only had months to live.

I didn't blame her for letting me go, she had no choice really, I knew that and my love for her was mature enough to know that by letting her go I was actually doing good for her.

She went off to university in Montreal and I was never the same again. She had in many ways built me and when she left I slowly unravelled , broke-down and withdrew...

Until one day I got the desire to leave, not only school, but life as well. All the “truth” in my world I thought I understood was sifting through my fingers like sand. I wanted out, out of everything.


“and I'll remember you for the things we could not do...leave you behind.. .nah nah, nah nah nah.. .cigarettes in the ashtray.. .and blood on my mind...”, as these words she sang would pierce me like fire, when she told me that day, that she loved me.. .but that she had to go, that it was nothing that I did, that she loved me.. .but that she had to go.

(Thank you and God bless you, we were “Heroes...just for one day.”)


Darkness had assended upon me and I was disilusioned and alone.

Alone with everyone.















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