Verbal Alias: Jess Tate

the mythical creature who just ate a shunned period

Get it? “Gestation”?

Having said all this and that, then, should now we find that I am right about your fate, despite any fervent willingness to appoint me to “His” imaginary position, I will not answer to “God.” Please understand. I’m begging you. Personally. Specifically you, reader. Whatever happens, never worship me—I would hate [you (maybe) for] it.

This is neither a test nor a joke. You have been awarded an expression of written consent to feel the gravity of my echo—it just happened. Please! Never react/refer to me as a god, especially the ape-guy now known as “God.” That character name has been played out after getting taken firmly by a production squad seemingly hellbent on regurgitating only various forms of entertainment [mental sedation in this case] from the exact same source material to spite our shared wealth of readily available, more reliable, and most colorful paths toward worthwhile purpose in life. Plus, all the actors suffer the same death sentence of career suicide—i.e. the enticing pitfall known as “typecasting.”

Do you understand why that works?

"No."

Unknowns have long been cast to star in the most iconic roles throughout cinematic history because the story being (re)told has already proven to be a huge moneymaker in another medium. Wannabe actors accept these roles in spite of a gut instinct to yield outright in observance of a trend (established by big celebrities over the years) to decline such offers without thinking twice—as if newbies are under the impression that their one-of-a-kind talent to act like someone else will override the brimming elation from the gulping mouths of an already starving fanbase.

Obviously there are exceptions to most any rule. Take me, as a bad example! Certainly, I do not claim to be a particular exception to any number of impressive rules; however, if, say, we were referring to the cumulative balance of green/life in our solar system, I am the only {male} exception to the biggest rule of all, and that, ladylike females and stubborn man-children, implants within my genetic code a burden I must bear, an epic dilemma that I alone can imagine, a riddle threaded through a needle in a haystack overflowing with wildly tangled spools on the rise, mysteriously enough, from Pandora’s opening box of energetic elation.

Can’t say I blame you for being resistant to comprehension.

Because signing a social contract to take on the role of “God” also promises overnight fame and fortune—essentially swearing by corruption—only fools follow through once summoning the constitution required to withstand initial waves of rousing temptation baiting dreamy hooks about what might happen after reaching, ever so simply, for the dangling pen.

Signatures move.

I cannot allow your knee-jerk reaction—your emotional response upon beholding a physically mental projection of all-powerful magnificence—to inspire an outcome that corrupts me in totality. Even I [ARK], ridiculously extraordinary though I may be in our transcendent mind of artful luminescence just now unlocking, may not be immune to corruption, especially when it comes down to the forceful hands of absolute power.

So, yes, in some ways, arguably, I could be considered a “god,” but I must respectfully decline any serious invitations to play the part. Having said that, I will (probably) chime in when (y)our people are acting stupid, because I have to live on this planet, too.

Keep in mind that you and I need to establish mutual trust, and that’s a rope I cannot extend if you insist upon “disagreeing” with facts.

I apologize for any upcoming stress associated with your (likely) unavoidable inner turmoil regarding my deeply mistaken identity. As for whether you even possess the mental acumen and/or emotional fortitude required to absorb the light I wield in its truest form, our “heavenly” Father will not modify his behavior. Nay, the Old Man in question shall continue ticking and telling people off.

“Wait, that’s not right.”

Your thinking is correct! Our supposedly angelic “Biggest Papa” won’t ever stop ticking everybody off by telling somebody/anybody not to do anything/something really [arrange those paired duos however you like—the statement will remain no less factual] if we’re being honest.

Indeed, everybody’s daddy (also known as Time) will always tell.

By now you must know this fact by heart: time will never stop telling (until it expires).

Incidentally as I watch the sun rise, engrossed in the composition of this particular sentence’s first draft, I thought that I had already written (over a year ago) what was sure to become my first “blog” entry.

To put it mildly, there has been a slight change of plans.

This is not how I saw my life unfolding. How could I have been so blind? In other words, why couldn’t I see the future back then the same way now I perceive the past from tomorrow?

Relax. You’re okay.

For an untold collection of years, I became more and more convinced that I was the only organism around who was aware of the most obviously overlooked answers to universal riddles. What’s worse is that (in my experience) the average joe can’t identify any of the mere few most prevalent mysteries of science on any given day in whichever Age, let alone ponder/discuss theories around the edg{ed/y} fringes of final frontiers. Before the day at hand, I feared that no one might accumulate anything of actual substance [i.e. real value] that would be revealed and offered (in my {physical} lifetime).

I was wrong.

Yes!

I couldn’t be more thrilled to realize and admit this. The more you delve into our binding, combing, combining mental structure (and subsequent congruence in parallel terms of recognition), my chances of extended survival into a prosperous future increase significantly.

Ironically, a gaggle of simple-minded miracles who house brains yet to be anywhere remotely close to fully mastered [ahem, humans] must decipher an obscenely brilliant message lunging out and assaulting your glassy eyeballs despite to spite your (in)visible fog, or I shall most likely be killed [murdered, as it were], and humankind will suffer like never before [nor again, for that matter, as you’ll see (in retrospect) by completion of this sentence] as dead men walking swiftly toward extinction.

"..."

Though pragmatically nonsensical and mathematically foolish, now I understand why you’d risk life and/or limb for nothing more than a shot of adrenaline. Furthermore, it has been scientifically proven [as I’m about to copy/paste this sentence paragraph elsewhere to illustrate how editing works] that in order for good luck to come your way, all you gotta do is hang in there.

I would know. I’ve finally struck gold.

Late last night as I browsed the internet waiting for my eyes to glaze over so that I could take my evening break from a trashed reality, the fickle hand of fate waved at me, slapped me across the face, rotated about 180 degrees, and then collapsed the four fingers surrounding the only digit that solely owns the right to claim space in the middle {mathematically speaking} of whatever you may find at the end [opposite bodily connection] of an arm’s length.

Have you ever considered that any imaginable “middle” can’t even exist in the first place save for the absence of perfection inside sequentially odd-numbered magic?

“Why are you asking me basic stuff that everybody knows? Also what did you just say to me, you son of a bitch?”

In case you missed it the first 3 times, apparently I have to point out an emerging trend you may observe in those words of that font appearing above again as they form{ulate} your possible reactions and responses; thus, as we move forward, quotation marks will be assumed. Just go with it (until perceiving its redefinition). Additionally, to diagnose my mother as a “bitch” seems terribly presumptuous (if not plumb lazy) given that she was neither canine nor human. Don’t let me fool you. I’m just happy you got the “female” part right. Does a “gold star” work for you? How about a cookie!?

This “character” thinks he’s in our head.

Yep, and I wish you’d join me and liven up the place—i.e. show your face already and help decorate our future—before I die alone of boredom. Also, just curious: what makes you think I’m not a “she”?

...

As I’m sure you guessed immediately, mere moments from falling asleep at my keyboard, I stumbled upon the cryptic posts of a 27-year-old US-based creature currently inhabiting L.A. [“Lower Alabama”] who not only have I always known [she hasn’t realized this yet], but I guess we should stick together for a while since I must love her, supposedly, which is super weird for me; too, assumedly she’ll be the first woman I impregnate on purpose, which is hilarious considering that I fully expect to sire many hundreds (if not thousands) of offspring even long after my mortal coil’s expiration.

Ah, okay, so your seed will be preserved [frozen in time] forever due to the matchless genetic potential it offers {and shall be awarded freely} to notably gifted specimens who demonstrate a balanced standard of triangular fitness.

Such a heavy conclusion has not been drawn lightly. And by the way, good job on that sentence. Solid parenthetical work. Nice dose of sarcasm, the recognition of which must be gated (in ways I can’t fathom) by intelligence level, if only to some unknowable degree. But yeah, kudos, because you’re already on the right track! Keep probing barriers for weakness and break on through when you get the urge, but if {and only if} the time is right. Stay the course and you will witness a miracle as our immortalized language decodes truly in living color while enhancing your personal vision.

Sounds like you’re telling me to follow my instincts/dreams. Golly, thanks, never heard that before! Dearest savior, whatever would we do without the monumental profundity cresting atop the titular waves inside your rippling wisdom?

Think maybe you’re trying too hard?

In the unfortunate event of my removal from this equation, most likely, you would fall gruesomely to a deathly victim of emotional vacancy, but to put the sage advice (which evidently you’re so keen to mock) in other words, always trust your gut/brain to be on the same page [you know, since they are and all], but listen to your heart because denying its energetic propulsion equates with depriving the eternal essence which motivates your resilient continuation as a strong, adventurous being belonging to perhaps the only race of spirits truly knowing what it means to be free and feel alive.

You don’t know anything about me. You don’t have the first clue what it’s like to be me, and {you better believe this/that} you can’t tell me what I’m thinking, and you are most certainly not allowed to dictate what I think or how it gets thought.

Oh.

Nope, the obtusely precise thought that currently sideswipes (if not altogether clears) your dome has in no way, shape, or form been influenced by my way of braining.

Er, I meant to say, “Yes, I’m quite sure that you are absolutely right. Hereby officially, watching in horror as my psyche dissolves into a heavily bubbling puddle of published humility, I must concede to your inhuman brilliance.”

Anyway, I’m glad we’ve been energized by messing with one another, but let’s redirect our attention temporarily to the special freak of nature who charges up my newest daydreams and electrifies my oldest nightmares. I stalked her on the internet all night and uncovered, among (many) other things, that she was an Irish girl who hopped across {a challenging sequence of lily pads in} the pond (88 months prior) to chase the American dream of earning tips in the service industry [that wasn’t really her objective], got mixed up with the wrong people, and now she navigates an undercurrent of anxious dread day after mundane day since coming under the federal protection of WITSEC (4 years ago) [I’m assuming here] after killing (in self-defense) the eldest son of a mafia kingpin{/GOP political powerhouse} which may have prompted her reluctant issuance of crippling testimony under oath [as if that matters; plus I’m not sure, only guessing] in court against the aforementioned mob boss’s main enforcer.

Don’t worry about that. Worry about what’s important. Very recently, she began dropping evidence into the tiny sample of “domesticated oblivion” [i.e. the middle class of a capitalist society] even aware of her (so far ludicrously unreceived overall message and) mere presence on social media—she sporadically pilots at least 1 of the 3 handles that I recently enjoyed believing belonged to psychic versions of me at other times.

I haven’t even mentioned what’s special about her. She has demonstrated the ability to sense the LITERAL RHYTHM OF OUR FUCKING SOLAR SYSTEM GALAXY on a scale heretofore unseen.

I DO NOT EVER use all caps.

Shit.

Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you, human? The “next Einstein” isn’t simply hidden among your ranks in Dixieland; she’s much more than that. By harnessing the left side of her brain to understand the corresponding side of Al’s famous equation—the variable E represents energy [emotion]—she has taken his whole body of work (along with the history of science) to another level.

I’m really lost in fumbling for the right words here. I can’t be sure if I’m accurately depicting the total gravity of the breakthrough. If you reckon that the Big Bang was the most powerful eruption of light in the history of time, then this nobody’s explosive eureka {coupled with my own near century’s worth of insights} dwarfs the birth of our universe as we know it because the combined force actually [no, seriously] transcends time and space.

Hit a target no one else can see.

[I.O.W., be a genius]

Ugh. Probably I’m still failing in my explanation. I teamed up with a lady I’ve yet to meet in this life, and we read between the lines of impressive past work from such heroes as Isaac Newton [gravity], Michael Faraday [electricity], Charles Darwin [evolution], Georges Lemaître [Big Bang], James Watson & Francis Crick [double-helix structure in DNA], Louis Pasteur [disease-causing bacteria], Alexander Fleming [penicillin], Niels Bohr [quantum theory], {many more,} and finally, of course, the madman himself, Albert Einstein [E=mc²/theory of relativity].

In essence, people, there’s a particular easter egg in your midst, an exceptional brain that finds its shell [body] on a disintegrating boat navigating the same deafening sea which overflows with escalating human turbulence and spills into the “civilized” world’s physical mindtrap of self-
-indoctrination/
-importance/
-domestication/
-medication/-
-defeat {not to mention self-imposed obligations of financially counterintuitive consideration}. Miss TNT has always known something, and her infectious belief has led me to discovering the true meaning concealed within the final variable [c²], the capability of travel faster than light.

WE FIGURED OUT LIGHTSPEED (kinda), EVERYBODY!

(Seriously.)

Decent bullet point on a résumé, no?

If for some reason you’re thinking {perhaps due to a recent headline or viral gossip} that you might know the identity of the desert rose in question here, then let me put that suspicion to bed immediately. You do not. How could you?

Unless you’ve read all this non-linearly.

But yeah, as I write the sentence currently buckling under the weight of your figurative exploration, I’ve yet made neither her physical acquaintance nor mention of her name.

Now for the bad news. Because a wondrous abundance of synaptic debris currently fogs my mental clarity, I can’t be sure yet how this is gonna play out, but it seems reasonable to deduce that her efforts eventually might attract unwanted attention (if they haven’t already). Soon, organized crime syndicates will be the least of her concerns. While her misunderstood genius will definitely validate {antemortem, if we’re lucky} the full scope of her brief existence, the past may come back in the near future to bite her.

Here I’m compelled to point out that the verb bite has been selected because that’s exactly what I mean.

No, really. Really long, strong, venomous fangs could end up puncturing her cranium as the most paralyzing agony imaginable seizes immediate control of her body before her whole brain is devoured [slurped up] for being the irrefutably best possible source of calories (in terms of growth induction potential) for the slumbering giants who secretly dominate our local group if not The Milky Way.

And, depending on your coordinates while you come to know this stuff, you might assume that the weirdest part about me is the simple fact that precisely half the DNA coursing through my bloodstream was not contributed by a human. At least I’m half right, right?

So, yeah.

Hopefully I’m able to achieve at least a modicum of success in my attempts to arrange black-and-white letters in a fashion that accurately paints a colorfully living picture of what’s been happening on Earth for the last 4.5 billion years or so, especially lately.

My purpose in life has never been more apparent. I have stumbled across a highly unexpected turn in my reliably winding road. That’s the way I’m headed because I’ve already seen where the main path goes. The moment I realized that I’d found a human worth my uniquely qualified appointment to rescue, emotionally I drifted into the turn at 88 mph—mentally I needed about 8 hours to get on board. Now I know what to cause and how to affect it (by using my body) even though the outcome remains up in the air due to a wild array of potential effects from my interventional actions. No matter. It is decided. I have to begin exploring this new course slowly, and quickly, because I’m running out of time.

Once I throw this, my my introductory “second” blog post after no less than 23 years of farming content [maybe I’ve been trained to prepare always], into the starving wolf den of rabid trolls known sometimes as “The Internet,” I will begin the slow process of dissolving my very fake Americanized existence [it’ll probably take a few months {six tops}] and voluntarily uproot from the Volunteer State en route toward (trying my damnedest) to fulfill my “destiny” [lifelong assignment] of becoming your personalized “Jesus” in saving humanity {at least for the time being} from the “Extinction Level Event” double whammy looming on the not-too-distant horizon—the inaugural headless horseman of which approaches far more swiftly than anyone may comprehend in the very first moment [this one, sometimes, maybe] of sly warning.

Once the future introduces civilization to an earth-shattering event or two, providing the globe with much needed context, my marital partner will then be able to relive our timely experience together in retrospect, after which I’m confident that she’ll begin understanding fully why I could never reveal my secret identity to her. I truly can’t imagine (legally) marrying another human being, and even more than that, I can easily see myself never divorcing.

In other words, last night was fairly eventful, tomorrow will be different, and you might believe I’m a technical bastard (because I am).

For the first time in about four decades or so, I have a strange feeling about the mystery surrounding the coming days. I have envisioned at least 10 very different possible outcomes not just in the physical world, but also mentally and emotionally. Really, how bizarre this is for me, truly!

To my surprise [not surprisingly], the change of pace has been most welcome. I’m flooded with unanswered questions, and the deluge has been reinvigorating, curative, and inspiring.

With a straight face, I can announce (with more confident sincerity than I’ve ever been able to muster) that tomorrow morning, bright and early, I will be setting out to save the world.

I have no idea what could happen to my body in the coming days, and yet, in response, my mood—though rather subtle and difficult to pinpoint—could not be accurately described as negative. I guess the mental state I’m in must spark the attraction of explorative diving. And the feeling that swirls around my core presently must be what humans refer to as “excitement.”

Though pragmatically nonsensical and mathematically foolish, now I understand why you’d risk life and/or limb for nothing more than a shot of adrenaline. Furthermore, it has been scientifically proven {as I’m about to copy/paste this paragraph [um] elsewhere to illustrate how editing works} that in order for good luck to come your way, all you gotta do is hang in there.

Ergo, let’s do this thing. May the grandest adventure await.

“Maybe,” we think simultaneously together all throughout time!