My First 100 Days

By William Loudermilk

Following in the long line of utopian writers, from Plato's "Republic," Tomas Campanella's "City of the Sun" through Sir Francis Bacon's "New Atlantis," William "Wilbur" Dewey Loudermilk has used the plot device of placing himself in the Oval Office with power to create a paradise on earth where a new status quo will be the activation of the dormant geniuses DNA desires all of humanity to become. He doesn't just preach his vision of utopia, but includes enough autobiographical information that the reader learns of some of the most defining moments that shaped this unknown philosopher's ideas, ideals, sense of humor and love for life. Not only does the reader share in his positive exploits (and many autobiographical stories were composed in the third person, which he would recommend as a technique in consciousness expansion), but the reader will discover how he has used humor as a defense mechanism during times of medical emergency.

Also included are chapters summarizing some of the scholarly research he's conducted among some of the best libraries in the United States that, not only question the "reality" as we have been taught, but, in his quest to explain experiences he has had, he concludes with explaining his Theory of Everything (TOE), which is really just a Pythagorean interpretation of Superstring/M-theory, including a simple mathematical statement that he explains as the simplest understanding of the observable universe. He has published every word from "My First 100 Days" that is not part of the plot used to tie together the diversity of topics on his blog, www.theevolvingdoor.com under the tab with "My First 100 Days". So, feel free to read the autobiographical stories, and the research he conducted, as well as his Theory of Everything for free online. If you find you like his writing style and the ideas and researched information he is freely offering to the world, you will definitely find yourself thinking you got your money's worth when you come back and purchase "My First 100 Days".

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Loudermilk
• Release date: Dec 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311743541

William Loudermilk

I've been given 6 facts about myself to share that might not be known. 1. I am a living Rorhshach inkblot upon which people project their greatest fears, or aspirations. I've been called everything from Jesus Christ to Charles Manson, or I suppose the ZZ Top would end the alphabetical listing, and Grizzly Adams comes before Jesus, too. 2. If you perceive the world to be idyllic, then you probably perceive me as "sanely challenged". 3 If you perceive the world to be currently flawed, yet full of potential for something truly wonderful for ALL of mankind, you probably will perceive me as completely sane. 4 The more rigidly you hold onto an unquestioned dogma, the more likely you will think of me as a heretic to that dogma. 5. I am an iconoclast. 6. I can still be the most charming and quick-witted man you will probably ever encounter, traits that don't come across well on such an impersonal medium. And, for a bonus, as a drink cup I was given by some dear friends says "Sarcasm is just One of my many talents."

Book preview

My First 100 Days

An Autobiographical Manifesto of Futuristic Novelty

William Wilbur Dewey Loudermilk







Copyright 2013, William Wilbur Dewey Loudermilk

Published at Smashwords







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Chapter 1

Some memories never fade. Dining alone atop the Euromast, overlooking Rotterdam’s ten thousand lights and its bustling harbor, a young man smiles as he hears the scream of Jim Morrison echo inside his brain We want the world and we want it ... NOOOOOOWWWW!!! He could sense the hidden billions below his eyes on those cargo ships. He knew the ships cost tens of millions each, plus their cargoes. Trying to estimate the items that were in the containers was the game he played while walking along the quay on his commute from the train station before finally passing through the park to get to the Euromast. Now that he was 100 meters above the port for his dinner table with a view, he had a brief glimpse of a vision. It was a only a flashing glance, but there was enough of a blurry peep to convince him to lead his own path; let life prepare him for the day when he would fulfill the prophecy he had proclaimed as a teenager: I will either be famous, or infamous, it’s just too early to tell! But it was only a fleeting glimpse, and the moment of clarity faded.

Little did he know of his destiny then and the roads it would take for his life to traverse to bring him to this moment. A genius who had seen his vision of world peace brought to fruition. The heart of the saint that could help the people truly realize that love was the answer; a teacher who asked more questions than he had answers. The man trusted to take power because obtaining power was not his motivation. Sometimes the best candidate is the one who really doesn’t want the job, and he did not desire to be corrupted with power, let alone the threat of being absolutely corrupted with absolute power. Plato’s Republic was finally brought to the New Atlantis, but in such a radically different way than intended by those who were actively building a Philosopher’s Kingdom because they were not true philosophers. They were the product of the same families intermarrying for years; maybe their ancestors were true philosophers, but their descendants had been prone to practice in evil, selfish philosophies and practices.

It is a miracle that he was not assassinated in his ascendancy, but the dream of returning the Constitution to the law of the land was a shared vision of over 100 million Americans that voted for him. He flew under the watchful eye of the media by being a true write-in candidate. He had preached the importance of the paper trail to prove of the will of the people. His supporters had their absentee ballots photocopied by a notary who then notarized the photocopies. Barely six months ago the media was finally truly exposed as a control mechanism he called CIABCNNBCBS Fox when they tried to not show every governmental building, in every city, being surrounded by angry, armed citizens demanding that their votes be counted with PROOF of how they voted. The Internet had proven that it could still present non-corporate news in that most critical of consciousness accelerating years: 2012. Enough people were calling in to talk radio, repeatedly telling the spin-masters that they were no longer believed. They had done the impossible: break the spell of what the elections had become and rose up to commit the peaceful, ballot-driven revolution the founders of the Constitution intended for the citizenry to do continually.

It was an amazing time to be alive in these Untied States; it was a time of true unity of the people. Anyone who ever heard him knew that love was his motivation for every thought and deed, but he was a man labeled with every slander CIABCNNBCBS Fox could hurl to discredit him. The problem was, he just made too much sense and was smart enough to maintain a low pressure to create an undetected ground-swell of true change. Too many people were waking up. The right man for the right time; a catalyst was needed to educate the truth about ourselves and our destiny, and his life brought him no other choice but to ignite that catalyst. The lessons that he had been taught by his life, the exploration of his world, both inner and outer, the unyielding questions, had brought him to his destiny. It was not his choice!

As he stares out the Oval Office, he misses the anonymity that allowed him to travel the way he did in his younger days. He never really wanted to be famous; he always appreciated being another face in the crowd and feared that this day of recognition would come. But maybe he was being infamous?

He promised 100 days, and on day 99, true to his word, were held the new elections. Another one of his promises was to not hold any inaugural ball, but get right to work. He had a mission, and that was to resign on his birthday with the biggest concert of his life, his Resignation Birthday Ball on Day 103, 4 May 2013.

The elections were held, on schedule, on Tuesday, 30 April 2013, and the constitutional power of the people was returned to the people between Tuesday and his Saturday birthday. All that was left to complete of his promises was the party tonight and the swearing in of the new government on Tuesday, 7 May 2013. A week after the elections to verify, from as many audits as possible, the returns of the first election free from the stranglehold of the, so-called, two party system. The first election where the quickest guarantee to not get any votes was to be supported by any of the parasites called lobbyists. The first election in years where candidates were too honest (or scared) to take contributions from the corporate-socialist state that had been the clandestine domestic enemy of the Constitution since World War II.

For the first time in the Oval Office, the intercom on the desk lit up and these words were heard:

Mr. President, it is time for sound-check.

Chapter 2

He was born from a perfect example of opposites attracting, a beautiful blend of a musical helix and an athletic helix entwining to compose his DNA. His mother could have been a professional pianist, and his father was the superstar athlete in a small, midwestern town. It was during his youth that his father’s love for athletics was greater than his mother’s love for music, and the fact he had his father as a physical education teacher and football coach ensured that athletics would dominate his youth. He asked for a guitar once while growing up, to which his mother replied for him to learn to play the piano first. Well, he didn’t want to learn to play the piano, and being the stubborn Taurus, he refused, unlike some of his friends who had to take piano (and don’t play today).

His mother, although she was a lifelong pianist, was unable to improvise. The piano teacher she had while growing up in Farmland, USA, would smack her hands with a ruler if she dared to play any note that was not on the paper. That is a great way to make someone play Mozart perfectly, but a terrible teaching technique to produce the next Mozart. In retrospect, he was far better to be, for the most part, his own teacher of music. Especially once he learned the old jazz proverb that there is no such thing as a wrong note, just some notes are less right than others. Knowing what chords go with what key is all he still really knows, and cannot sight read a sheet of music to play in real time. Improvisation is all he knows when it comes to scales and their notes: why read music when you can feel and express it? Improvisation seemed to work for the most successful live American rock-and-roll band, the Grateful Dead, to give them the most devoted fan-base, and the longest career of touring and creating an atmosphere, a culture through the music, a synergistic connection into the collective unconscious. Like most who were able to see Jerry Garcia play live, his life was touched by that man and his guitar.

But those halcyon days were long gone. He was fortunate enough to see Jerry play three times, but following the Grateful Dead was not in his destiny. The bus he got on had its own driver and a different itinerary, but he was definitely going further as a merry prankster on a magic bus. His friends from university kept telling him in the spring semester of 1992 that he was going to miss Summer Tour, but they didn’t understand what was in store for the summer tour he had arranged for himself. Every time he was told he would miss Summer Tour, he replied that his summer was going to be spent buying hash over the counter in school in Holland. Then to complete the retort with asking them if they were sure their summer tour was going to be better than his. But sometimes even Deadheads, ironically, fail to appreciate people marching to their own drums, in their own space. He first had to go on a summer tour that would be the first steps leading to yearning for an Endless Summer. He was destined to be a trailblazer, a leader in his own life, instead of joining the a status quo of followers, but he first had to learn to lead his own life.

So the summer of his 21st year was spent running through Europe, while attending classes in Maastricht, an ancient city founded by the Romans, head deep in the Dutch coffeeshoppes. Spending his afternoons in the Coffeeshoppe de Smurf, a place he has always felt at home, picking out the day’s gram and sitting at the counter enjoying it. Maag ict ein bong, aush teblief? Was the most natural phrase he has ever learned in a foreign tongue, even if he developed a Southern Dutch accent. By the end of his summer tour, he had been in nine countries, and had spent six weeks immersed in coffeeshoppe culture. He had been bitten by the travel bug, and had no idea how much it would dictate the coming years of his life. While visiting a travel mate, he was asked to sum up this trip to Europe in five words or less, his reply was as quick as he could count five words: Time flies when you’re high! In being asked to describe Amsterdam, his standard reply is It’s the best time you’ll never remember!

He has always had a quick wit, with a very unique sense of humor. Don’t ever call him a smart-ass because he will robotically respond that his ass is just as dumb as the rest of him. More than once he has told bad jokes as a patient in hospitals! He has said to more than one x-ray technician You’re about to see a side of me that not many women have seen before!, while pretending to sniffle and sob.

While in the hospital, as a fourteen year-old, with encephalitis (a viral inflammation of the brain), his I.V. tubing had come undone, covering him in its fluid, in the middle of the night. The third shift nurses on his floor, when summoned by his call button, called in a specialist. There was a third-shift specialist nurse, whose specialty was setting I.V.s, in veins. When she arrived and began addressing the problem at hand he asked Excuse me ma’am, did you go to Harvard?

She replied No. Why?

I just wanted to know if you were from the Ivy (I.V.) League? was his punch-line, as he saw his blood dripping out the back of a tube and turned to vomit, again. It was the first, and only time, that seeing his own blood caused a reaction, but it was also the only time he has seen his blood dripping out the wrong side of a tube. However, this one episode is the one he cites as just how a sense of humor can help you through tough times. The ability to laugh at life when it is beating you down is an asset many fail to possess because most fail to be able to laugh at themselves. Encephalitis, in 1985, was still one of the top 10 killers in the third world, before E-bola and AIDS surpassed it. It is from this episode that has made him fail to care if you enjoy his witticisms, he states them for his enjoyment.

All his life people had either loved or hated him; there has not been much grey area. But, it has been many years since he has cared whether someone loves him or hates him; he will be true to himself. However, he can understand why some people chose to hate him, that is their choice! But he respects them for having the balls to make a choice, versus being undecided. This only added to his mass appeal, for even those that hated him had no other option but to respectfully disagree. He treated them with respect and love, and they either reacted foolishly and lost face to their own followers, or they hated him even more because he forced civility out of his enemies. Not to mention how many times he could fluster someone with his wit; it is hard to really hate someone that still is a smart-ass to ad hominem attacks.

And it was from that quick wit that he sources as the origin of the greatest compliment he has ever been given. Words that have helped to cement the ideas in his young head and forge his unique direction. While working aboard the M.V. Nantucket Clipper (passenger capacity 100) on her winter tour of the U.S. and British Virgin Islands, on his last cruise aboard the Nantucket, about half the ship was booked with John Hopkins alumni, the other half was filled with alumni from Harvard. It is from a Harvard alumnus that he was paid this compliment during the very last lunch service while delivering the last dish, an old man grabbed him by the wrist and started with the following compliment:

"In all the years since I met my wife, I have only seen a handful of people have a quicker wit than her. And you, young man, have left her speechless more in this past week than I have ever seen anyone leave her speechless.

"We all did what we were supposed to do. We fought in the war (WWII), came home, and took the G.I. Bill to go to school. We met our wives, raised our families, had our careers, made our money and retired only to try and spend some of it before we die.

But you, we all agree, as he points to his fellow alumnus around the table, if you keep doing it your way, you will make far more than any of us ever dreamed possible.

It was one of the few times he has ever been left speechless, with the exception of a humble thanks. But those words were etched on his soul, and so he continued to march to his own drums, in his own space. His destiny would unfold itself as he progressed through his life. He turned 27 while working aboard the M.V. Clipper Adventurer, and he openly states that if he had pursued the dream of rock and roll in his twenties, he would probably have met that 27 overdose curse.

There was more than just traveling that was needed to fulfill his destiny, but he traveled further, and further while he was young and able. By the time he was 28 not only had he been in 36 of these United States, but he had been in 36 countries: covering four continents. He had seen a plethora of islands covering the Northern Hemisphere from between 8° north and 82°11’ north. From the tropics of the Darien Isthmus of Panama to the polar ice cap north of Norway and inland across both Europe and North America by rail, auto, and air. As a child he had been bitten by the travel bug while traveling with his parents pulling a travel trailer across the US which developed into the wanderlust of a gypsy sailor in his mid-twenties. This only prepared him for the non-stop touring he did once he put together his band.

Chapter 3

Spending the fall on the road as a rock star was only one tributary of the turbulent river of his career paths. It just happened to be more recent than motor homeless campground host. He complimented this night job by spending the afternoons leading lectures and discussions and about various topics. Some days, the fans favorite, just being Ask Wilbur Days. The information discussed was some of the information that can be learned in good university libraries, but not otherwise taught in a class: the pages of history that have disappeared or been altered through the years. Cross-referencing ancient texts and modern ideas, while equally scrutinizing every source studied.

Explaining that the number one form of mind control is information control, and the control of information is always one of the occulted (hidden, secret) reasons for any war, was part of his former day job that was the perfect counterpart to the rock star at night. The perfect duality so he could be one of the catalysts required to elevate the consciousness of humanity to truly explore its potential.

To some he was Satan, and to others he was the SaveYour... (the spelling he preferred by those who professed him such). In truth, he was just someone who took the words of Jesus mixed with the Constitution and it’s Bill of Rights too seriously and refused to not be set free for his seeking of the truth, no matter how offensive the truth discovered was to the programmed, consensus reality that had been indoctrinated into the minds of, otherwise, good, patriotic Americans. For he knew the truth to the kingdom of heaven being within, and how possessing a single eye can truly fill the body with light. Basically, a heresy for today’s inquisition.

He never wanted the opportunity for the studies that he partook in 2007, but it was part of the steps of the alchemical process of changing the lead of physical trauma into a healing gold of knowledge and wisdom. One of those moments in a life where that life is forever altered. He was planning on leaving the Black Hole from whence he was from, and returning to being alive outside the event horizon, but he failed to reach escape velocity. It had been almost six years since he had been sucked back into the Black Hole, and it was not the first time he thought he was set to achieve escape velocity: only to be sucked back to the singularity. In an instant his life was altered forever, and he was cast into perpetual suffering. All he wanted to do was to return to the ocean and feel the glide of a surfboard again, but it was not in the cards at that moment. Knowing he was ten days away from returning to the coast, he was attempting to ride his bicycle to the gym to begin a regimen of swimming to prepare him for paddling back out into the lineup. However, he failed to arrive at the gym that evening.

Knowing that his lights on his bicycle were not very visible in the twilight of dusk, he had planned to arrive at the gym around ten minutes before sunset and swim until dark, when his lights were far more visible to drivers in their cars. But building his swimming endurance in the pool was not in his fortune that day, for he was rear-ended by a 75 year-old woman in her Buick. It was a surreal moment, and one he would never be able to forget. Luckily, he never saw it coming which enabled him to not relive this accident in slow motion every time he closed his eyes. He sustained three fractures to his spine before he was even ejected from the seat of his bicycle, and the two compression fractures came when he landed on his helmet in the ditch. He may not have been able to think about surfing while swimming laps in a pool, but he did instinctively remember one of the first lessons of surfing: relax during a wipe-out. This is the very action that kept him from death or a wheelchair! When wiping out in the ocean, the human’s first instinct is to fight for air, but this can easily be the last effort a novice may make. The human body is lighter than salt-water and will rise back to the surface and its gift of air. This is why the surfer must relax upon the wipe-out. When the surfer is placed in the washing machine of a breaking wave, what seems like up can easily be down and so fighting to return to the surface may only propel the surfer to the bottom. This can be a fatal mistake; relax and ride it through and you will pop back up to refresh your lungs with fresh air.

He had enough time before being ejected to, unfortunately, know what had happened. He had felt the contact come from behind, but at first all that happened was his back tire was lifted off the ground. He was still pedaling when, all of a sudden, he was just spinning his wheel. He felt this lack of friction between the pavement and his rear wheel, but was automatically in denial about why. He tried to shift gears to a lower gear while thinking I couldn’t have gotten hit because I am still on my ... This thought was never completed before gravity called his rear wheel back into its grasp, landing upon the Buick’s front bumper, which finally caused him to be ejected from his bike. The next thing he knew he was flying upside down, only to land on his helmet. This impact pushed through his neck, until finally it yielded into compression fractures in T11 and L2. Upon impact, he flipped back over, landing flat on his, now broken, back. He was able to wiggle his toes, but there was great pain emanating from his lower back. The only movement he commenced before being placed on the backboard was to bend his left knee to ease the pressure upon his lower back. Then it was a waiting game.

He laid in that ditch for what seemed half of eternity, not ready to roll over and try to crawl back to his cell phone to call for help. Surely someone had seen this accident and would stop! Eventually, a man and a woman approached him, but with much trepidation. When he thinks back to their approach, he quite bluntly admits his belief that these two witnesses had already discussed whether they were approaching a corpse. Their approach was slow and deliberate, not the rushing to the side of someone needing aid, but with the caution of someone believing they just witnessed someone’s death. Since he had not lost consciousness, he witnessed these witnesses in their slow, deliberate approach. Luckily for them, he was conscious because that saved them from having to check for a pulse. The man spoke first.

Are you okay? he asked.

If you are asking me if I can feel my toes, the answer is yes. was the injured man’s response.

Can you move? was the next question the man asked.

I’m not moving until they put me on a backboard. was the next answer the witnesses received.

Would you like for me to call 9-1-1? was the next question he was asked, which acts as confirmation, in hindsight, that the witnesses had thought he was dead before approaching him. What other rationalization could there be for not already having called for emergency help, unless they thought they were going to need a coroner instead of an ambulance and paramedics?

Please! He begged.

He also had both witnesses leave messages for his parents on both their landline and cell phone explaining the situation. As the witnesses retreated, he was approached by the elderly woman who had altered his future. It cannot be said that she ever apologized because the only words she has ever spoken to the man whose life she changed that moment were I never even saw you! Had he been a younger man, his response would have been far different. Had he not experienced the touch of divine love more than once, he could still have someone to hate. Had he not felt the peace and forgiveness to calm his heart in the heat of murderous passion, his response would have been far different. Upon hearing her ‘apology’, he took a deep breath and uttered the only words he would ever say to her: I forgive you.

Chapter 4

Sitting behind a computer in a dead-end job, trying not to go crazy being inside the Black Hole again, a letter arrives from one of his best friends. It was April of 1996, and the last time he had seen this friend was in Denmark, in January. His friend was on a ‘walk about’, and had already been to Australia and New Zealand before arriving in Frankfurt on 1 December and his letter was from Egypt. Since it had been a couple of years since he had traveled, he had made the commitment to meet his buddy at the airport that morning in Germany and traipse around Europe for a little while with his friend. The main reason that he had not traveled in the past few years was, of course, because of a woman. True, he had another year and a half of university upon his return from that first trip abroad, but he also was mistakenly intoxicated by the chemical cocktail thought of as ‘love’.

Even when he was agreeing to meet one of his oldest and best friends for this European adventure, he thought he would be returning from Amsterdam with a diamond to propose marriage to whom he thought he was supposed to spend his life. When she had asked if he would be home for Christmas, he knew he would propose on Christmas Day in her parents’ home. But, again, sometimes life sees fit to throw a bean ball when you are trying to bunt.

She had been a freshman when he was a senior in high school, but they shared one class: Foods 1. Both had made the impression upon the other that there would be something, but there was still too much of an age difference at that time. They had lost contact after his graduation the following spring, but it was only lost for his freshman year at university. He had planned on playing football for a small university, until he slipped on the ice, leaving him with a completely dislocated right shoulder. Had he had it operated on immediately, he might have still been able to pursue that dream of college football, but, again, destiny is not always what we desire. His right shoulder dislocated six times before the quack he had gone to see recommended surgery.

The first time he was exposed to why the field of medicine is called a practice, was in the Emergency Room with encephalitis. The physician who saw him then was not concerning himself with the patient’s present symptoms or complaints of extreme head pain in the middle of the night, but kept asking about a sore throat felt thirty-six hours ago. In that quack’s defense, though, encephalitis is not a common disease that permeates emergency rooms in the United States, but when a patient is repeatedly telling a doctor that their head is going to explode, why harp on about a sore throat? So he was given a shot of penicillin, a bottle of Tylenol 3 with codeine for the pain and sent back home. Upon his return to the E.R., he was not alone. The classmate whose football locker was next to his was in the emergency room with the same symptoms. His classmate had to endure the spinal tap, which his injection rendered unusable. The difference between the cases was that his classmate was properly diagnosed with encephalitis, whereas he had the mystery illness.

Now, after suffering six complete dislocations of his right shoulder, he was finally having the surgery he should have had immediately, but all good things in all good time. It was during this five day stay in the hospital after surgery that her path crossed his again. She was volunteering as a candy striper when she saw his father. His father had been her coach for track when she was a freshman, and she approached him in the hall and asked him why he was in the hospital. He informed her that he was visiting his son, and she came to visit. There was still enough of an age difference to keep the sparks from truly igniting, for she was still a couple of months away from getting her driver’s license and he was going into his second year at university. However, they had been reconnected, and she made sure that they exchanged information to keep in contact. Once she had gotten her license to drive, she would make the hour long drive a couple of times a year to his university with friends. He never knew when to expect her, but if he received her call, he would drop everything and go visit her. He would also stop by and visit her when he made the trip back home. The tension was building, however, as she aged through high school. Always careful to not risk jail with the age difference, they had not kissed since she was fourteen and he was seventeen his senior year in high school. But that did not stop them from spending a little bit of time together.

They saw each other several times in her final month of high school because he was home working for a month before heading off to Europe. He was invited, but chose to not attend her open house for graduation because he had to work. Plus, she graduated at seventeen and he had just turned twenty-one. It was in his final visit with her a couple of days before leaving for Europe that she kissed him goodbye, and that kiss was the reason for his return from Europe two weeks before she turned eighteen. His thoughts of that kiss weighed more heavily in his mind than his responsibility to be best man in his brother’s wedding within the week of his returning home. That was a big decision. He had just had his camera bag stolen in Amsterdam, which was where his return airline ticket was. He had three options: pay $1500 for a one-way ticket, file a Police report about the theft and pay $150, or use his Eurorail pass to head back to Maastricht from Amsterdam and find the man who took the picture of him jumping off the bridge into the Maas River, Danny.

He had met Danny at La Bota, one of the few coffeeshoppes in town that also had a liquor license, as well as outdoor seating. Walking home from classes everyday, this was the first stop. Sit outside drinking a beer and smoking a joint while viewing the St. Servatius Bridge, built in the 1280s, and the street between the coffeeshoppe and the river flowing under the bridge older than his country. And, if Danny was there it was a free buzz because Danny was a supplier of coffeeshoppes, and always had a big brick of hash sitting on the back of the scooter he rode and a heaping wad of cash in his fanny pack. One of the few things he has ever wondered if he should regret was deciding to follow that kiss instead of taking the train back south and asking a man for a job!

Unfortunately, by the time he had returned back to this ancient city in which he had felt at home three and a half years later, this coffeeshoppe was closed, and he could not track down Danny. However, that December night he returned home with a friend with whom he had grown up. They got a room on a paddle-boat anchored as a hotel on the Maas, and began their plan of attack to go get high. They would have passed by La Bota on the way to the hotel boat, and seeing it closed broke part of his spirit, but there was only one place his friend wanted to go: the Smurf.

They both bundled back up for the walk, crossed over the bridge he once jumped off, and walked into one of the few places he has ever truly felt at home. His friend had already experienced Amsterdam’s coffeeshoppes, so it was not an imperative to teach him how to buy pot over the counter, and as they walked in, he recognized the man working. He left his buddy at the front counter as he approached and asked the manager if he remembered him. The answer, of course, because he is unforgettable, even if you hate him, was yes. They went back to conduct business. He had kept a NL10 note since his last trip and was able to upon inspecting the varieties of grasses and hashish, he made his choice. The retail price per gram for the Citraal was listed as NL17.50; his bud weighed 1.3 and all he had to pay was the NL10 he had held onto for over three years. He sang and danced his way back to his life long friend, feeling at home once again.

Mag ict ein bong, aus tublief.

But the last time he had seen this friend was at the train station in Kobenhavn (Copenhagen) with a Dane who had been an exchange student they knew inside the Black Hole. Lars had paid him the second best compliment he had ever received. Upon arriving at his flat, his buddy goes to take his shower and he and Lars sit and talk.

Within the first minute or two, Lars says You aren’t like most Americans.

Why do you say that?

Most Americans would try and tell us how everything we do is wrong.

But your history dates back to before the vikings, you’ve forgotten more about what’s important about life than we’ll have the chance to know.

And that is what makes you different!

A couple of days later he had no more money after this six week adventure, and it was the day before he had a return airline ticket. Tomorrow he would enter the town of his birth and he wanted to be ready. Saying goodbye in the train station in Denmark he returned to the airport in Frankfurt to be sucked back inside the event horizon that was his native turf. The night before leaving they went to Christiana so that he could have a nice spliff of a gram to smoke, and in the duty free shop of the ferry crossing to Germany he bought three 100ml bottles of Jagermeister: he wanted to be ready for his flight.

Here it was April, and he found himself in a job that had him volunteering to wear a neck tourniquet and subject himself to working for a bunch of miserably sour people. The work was not that bad, although it would not register as one of his favorite jobs, but the environment was full of frowns. He would show up with a smile and lose it somewhere throughout the day, and after returning from Europe he was disinterested in entering the seller’s market in the United States for marijuana, although he longed for the buyer’s market in Holland. It was in this situation of his life that he received a letter from Egypt. This letter thanked him for the advice he had given to his friend. He had told him on a train that if he loved SCUBA diving so much then why not make a living out of it, and the letter was a thank-you letter for the advice that inspired his friend to be working as a Dive Master on the Red Sea.

Chapter 5

In the Judeo-Christian Genesis, on the Third Day of Creation, God created vegetation, all seed-bearing flowers and trees and the creator was pleased with the creation. It is difficult to find any creation mythology where the Creator of the Universe curses any of the plants just created. Having read many creation stories, none of the mythic creators have ever cursed, at any time, any of the flora. Even in Genesis, God doesn’t curse the Trees of Knowledge and Good and Evil, but warns the only fauna ever cursed, man, from consuming their fruits.

One of the attributes man has been cursed by his creator for is dishonesty and deception, including being thrown out of paradise for falling for a deception, but there was never any intent to curse the lesser kingdoms, for they were perfect in the eyes of their creator. All the trees, flowers, vines, grasses, and fungi were pleasing to the Creator, but man had the free will to either get to know the Creator through the perfect tools that were created before man, or to be deceived by other men acting as interpreters for the divine.

It seems as though the lie has won, proving John Delafield correct when he wrote Mankind love to be deceived. How many millions of Americans still believe that cannabis is the ‘Devil’s Weed’? How many of these poor, deceived fools go to church to be taught that their Creator was pleased with all his creation? How much of their money have they volunteered into the coffers of these charlatans poisoning the minds of the masses with such drivel that the Divine Creator: of all the Heavens, the Earth, the land and the sea, flora and fauna, divinely fucked up when certain flora was created by creating said flora with specific chemical keys that would eventually be replicated inside the brain of the, soon to be created, man! Chemical keys designed to aid in the human brain unlocking its mind and bring the human into close communion with his Creator. Could there be a greater deception? If the Divine Creator was pleased with all the flora, who is man to declare that God fucked up on certain plants and fungi?

This was one of the biggest deceptions mankind had chosen to collectively believe, and it was this belief that was pushing mankind to the precipice of extinction. He hoped and prayed it was not too late to return man to communing with the Creator: to break the spell cast over man’s mind about the keys to unlock the pinnacle of creation: the human brain. The evil cult that had invested countless generations into enslaving mankind had successively demonized these keys in the minds of the masses for multiple generations, but they had to deceive mankind about these keys for their designs to come to fruition. If the people were allowed to commune with the creator as they were created to do, they would never fall for these lies, but a brain that barely functions cannot critically analyze anything to discern the lies from the eternal truths. So the keys to a functional mind were distorted so perversely by this evil cult’s agents through their tentacles of media, government, churches and schools that what should have been seen as the most holy of sacraments had been vilified to the point where the most basic evidences of a Divine Creator were criminalized. The ancient keys of sacred communion were outlawed and the thought of recreational use overtook the ancient wisdom of sacramental use.

August 1989’s OMNI magazine reported that neuro-scientists had discovered how cannabis works in the brain. This discovery separated cannabis from other drugs in the simple fact that marijuana did not have any effect upon dopamine production like most other drugs. It was discovered that THC was a key to open certain receptor sites spread throughout the physical brain: the brain was hardwired for pot! This one fact should have caused a revolution in thought when it was revealed, but the Just Say No mentality was still corrupting another generation. This one fact now made the difference between creationism and evolution irrelevant! Natural law should have superseded the lie of man-made law. If, as we have been taught, we only use a fraction of our brains, why do we continue to outlaw a key to using more of our God-given brains? Either way you look at it, we were specifically and intentionally created with these THC receptor sites inside the brain, or homo sapiens spent an incalculable number of generations in close relationship with this one flower to evolve the brain to accept this foreign chemical with it’s own specific receptor site! If this information were allowed to have the impact it should, it would result in an intensified vibration in the spiritual soul of mankind. In the words of Miles Herkenham, THC receptor site scientist, as reported in the OMNI article: What really struck me was the front brain loading. It’s sort of a high brow receptor. The binding sites are numerous compared with other neurotransmitter systems, which suggests they are receptors for an important, ubiquitous transmitter. You don’t need to be a scientist to prove the front brain loading of these receptor sites. All you need to do is achieve a minor overdose level, not enough to put you to sleep for a couple of hours, but more than you could smoke. The headache from this overdose, for that is all this overdose registers as - a headache, is in the forehead. This is more of an overloading of receptor sites with THC than an overdose, and it just has to be ridden through the life of that high of a dosage, albeit it is not enjoyable.

But it is not solely cannabis that works to activate the third eye. Too often the pineal gland is considered the third eye, but this is only a part of the story. The complete story is about balancing the frequencies of the pineal gland with the pituitary body, opening up to the thalamus. These three glands, when properly attuned, bring about the experience of the opening of the third eye. It is extremely important to note that it is the female cannabis flowers that mainly produces THC. This feminine power is associated with the forehead, as we have seen, and is also associated with the pituitary body. Bringing this feminine floral energy into balance is the fact that this flower needs sunlight to thrive. This balance is symbolic, but the sun is always associated with a masculine divinity, in this case the masculine energy feeds the feminine flower, to unlock specific receptor sites inside the human brain.

The pineal gland is the