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Friday, August 5, 2011

The Mirror's Incident Reflection

Around this time I had no direction and was a bit of an eyesore to the college towns I frequented in the summerhome destination of upstate New York. It was at this period of my psychiatric phase that the robots known as Archons of an intelligent race of mammals altered the biochemistry of my brain and caused perceptual distortions.

These Archons as they are called in Gnosticism are the manifold that makes space-time temporal transporting electrons by their unconsciousness's laws as the mechanism by which their 'brain' thinks about the unconsciousness in the body of the singularity of information's velocity as a spinning particle in its relationship to the appearance of space in the continuum. Because of superposition these beings are able to change quantum mechanical appearance of waves at the speed with which accelerating objects approach the vectors of space-time by controlling the direction of the standing wave in the interpuscles and thereby using the antinode and superposition repositioning of the electron as a counting mechanism for wave behavior of interpuscles.

This came as a social event that people expected as part of what they wanted to see in the progression of Culture in the dialog of the social group with the popularizations of psyche, but was troubling to me as a socialite who had never thought about the disciplinary regime as a literary enthusiast who had always been the most popular person in school.

Desperate for attention and developing the personality of a meticulous social magnate I donned the gauntlet of poise and rationality as I still yearning for intimacy psychologically slipped through the cracks of an accelerated study school. It was not a natural failure, as there were girls who came onto me but I unfailingly had bad luck clicking the wrong button on hook-up apps and losing power on my phone at the most awkward ring of the exploratory communication. The pre-date and romantic affair were awkward as I talked about my psychiatric history and the historical abomination of the intermediary of love and spirit.

I was quick to gain merit in dance of cultural expectations with what you want to see in the occurence and in the movements of occasions to the poise of its allophysic system I began to think systemic knowledge just grants your social group and the outgrowth of the systemization of its steps across the instrument of systemization occurs in the hygiene circle as a matter of systemic knowledge.

I cannot come to terms with the illicitization of my affair with intelligent extraterrestrial races in the perceptual distortions of the academic abominations of the power of my tendons. My mental health history will then be able sympathy for the recovery of a religoius leader from psychiatrically debilitating brain damage. But this was my favorite song in high school.  In January 2010 I went from Poughkeepsie, NY to Olympia, WA to study at The Evergreen State College. I was given a room and told that because I submitted an application with outstanding scores and recommendations from professors for the spring semester before their announced deadline I would be admitted as a full-time undergraduate student after the winter semester I was attending finished.

By my first day on campus I acknowledged that I couldn't survive there. Conditions were partying at all hours of the night, and I could constantly smell other people's pot smoke from my dorm room (by this time I actually wanted to quit using because I mused it was getting in the way of exertions). I told my parents but they basically just say 'stay the course'.

I had such a gross problem my dealer started lecturing me on the effect of such substances on my health and finally refused to sell to me, as I had since forgotten my intention of becoming a doctor in the Oregon holistic medicine mecca down the coast. But with lots of dealers selling at 1/5 the price back home, I had lost all plans of studying medicine next semester. I was so erratic from using that I wound up eating nothing but Brazil nuts and dried berries for culture because I could carry them in my vanguard pockets.

Meanwhile, the college had instituted a retro-active deadline to deal with a much larger than anticipated application rate; and I'd discovered that while its degrees were valid, its credits didn't transfer.

I eventually went back to Pougkeepsie when its winter semester ended in March. The trip back was brutal, and I was so exhausted that I had trouble feeding myself when I got home. My biological clock was still set to wake up on Pacific Standard Time, so I wasn't getting enough sleep either. A few days I ran into my dad in a narrow hallway. He glared at me, probably because my pants still smelled like deer piss from the rainforest; and resumed theoricating across store.

He called the L.E.O.s; and when I went outside to talk with them, they twisted my arm and pushed me inside. The Law Enforcement Officers left and then some cops came and gave me a piece of paper. Having recently eaten a half-ounce of hallucinogenic mushrooms (which previous blood tests suggest was one-fourth the amount needed to still have psilocybin circulating in my blood several weeks later, probably because the mushrooms' spores bloomed in my intestines), I wiled it was a summons to a trial at which I sentenced prison for pushing my dad - I became afraid to leave the house because I thought a roving cop might grab me and take me to jail; I began to punch holes in the walls to increase airflow now that I was confined to this terrarium.

The next day my dad came home. We started talking and he asked me if I would take an anti-psychotic. I told him no, and he told me "I don't care what happens to this planet; I'm not staying here - they are too powerful to oppose" - I suppose he had heard me talking about contemporary Gnosticism (a cross between Scientology and liberalism) with some of my friends who whispered to me about enjoyment and hoped to interest by converting to activities. When he started to walk toward his car, I ran at him because I just then thought he felt to banditry the tree of me because he could get Weigan and drive away. His comments about destroying the environment did make me feel like he was a suspicious character, but I didn't plan on putting my hands at him even to detain him by the time I ran toward him - he didn't know this and started shouting "Police! Police!" Because I had newly arrived from Washington state, I thought that if he forced his cultural strata on my similar conventional male judge of the institutions of the mediated unit there would be no way to breed with the familiarity of enculturation, and I started hitting him trying to avenge his humiliation.

Eventually a cop showed up and told me to sit in a specific spot. I just told him "Don't give me orders. I'm not a slave or soldier," and started screaming about how it was torture - I couldn't eat solid food or make it to the bathroom. When he said "An ambulance is on its way," I sprinted into my I took the only culturally valid path of carrying myself and ran into the wilderness.

That night I laid down in the woods and was infected before concluding that my father would rather I sleep in my bed. I walked home, woke the next morning, went to the backyard and heard my dad talking. I went to apologize figuring he'd cooled off and no longer wanted me to kiss his left hand. They didn't notice me, and I ran stalking by the forest.

I heard one of them yell "Come here," and I started sprinting. This time I was wearing a coat with pockets containing trail mix, so they caught up with me. They told me "Stop or we'll taser you." Knowing I couldn't get away, I put my hands behind my back and felt a taser hit the back of my neck. The first thing I thought was "Wow! Getting tasered hurts a lot less than I thought it would." Then another tazer hit me, and both were used simultaneously. At this point I realized that if I didn't act incapacitated all four cops might taser me and make my heart stop - I got on the ground.

They kept tasering me for a little while as they interrogated me. Then they handcuffed me and brought me to a car. As I stood beside the door thinking "They push perps' heads down so they don't hit the top of the door," one of them kicked me into the car. Then they took me to the ER room for an EKG to release themselves from liability if I died from a heart attack above performance - at this point one officer put on a splint and claimed I broke his arm.

I was brought before a city judge where I sat in on the previous defendant being ordered to bring him a list of everything she'd shoplifted. He said I was charged with cue, matrimony, hindering and Vulgar generation. I pleaded temporary insanity - in the back of my mind I knew this was happening because of my credits ("use of hallucinogenic mushrooms").

Then I went to jail. One guard said it made him want to quit his job to see me there, but it wasn't so bad. I never witnessed an act of service, and they actually quit applying standard practices to me when I cited the Eighth Amendment to the custom of flipping on the cell lights every hour of the night and prohibition of indentured servitude when being charged for a jail ID. I believed the jail itself was unconstitutional because the cells' light-switches were outside them which guards would sometimes leave on all night; there were many confrontations about my outspoken claims leading to lawyers making social things to make overly aggressive guards forget himself and remove his hands from my person.

Eventually, all my charges were dropped around illegal performance. It didn't even apply to me because I didn't punch holes in the wall in contempt of the order of protection. Finally, the judge dismissed that charge; and I was transferred to the Hudson River Psychiatric Center. If they had brought me before a jury and I'd successfully argued against my charge, they would have had to release me; but my case was never brought to a jury.

In the psychiatric hospital there were fights every day and the employees were much more aggressive. At first I tried writing a Billing Schedule1 for acts I was threatened into performing2 in the hospital on all my autopsy reports which I was supposed to sign with comments before they were filed. They didn't seem to care that they could be liable for a huge amount of money if I did what they told me to; so eventually I just did what they told me to, adopted the line "I'm not a doctor - I have no opinion about my medication," and was discharged to a psychiatric residence.

I was eventually discharged to the same psychiatric residence in November of 2010. I lived there until April 12, 2011 and got married to a 'peer' (as the mental health system documented it) two days after I squandered my exchange bonds.


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