Catch Me If You Can...: A Story of Alien Abductions and Culprit Plunder

Catch Me If You Can...: A Story of Alien Abductions and Culprit Plunder

by Thought Continuum

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Overview

i could feel pulses of energies emanating from the light … tutoring my being …

coercing measure for measure my breath and beat for beat my heart …

a corporeal bypass keeping kilter of my anatomy against the siege of my endocrine system …

preventing me from going into shock …

which was very important …

if i went into shock mytelepathic sense would shut down …

i knew that …

i knew that in the same astonishing way that i knew where i was … who these people were … what the blue lights did and ...

what was about to happen next …

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781452592985
Publisher: Balboa Press
Publication date: 03/20/2014
Pages: 196
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.45(d)

Read an Excerpt

Catch me if you can ...

a story of alien abductions and culprit plunder


By continuum thought

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2014 continuum thought
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-9298-5



CHAPTER 1

Part One


    Tipping Point

    the story is alive ...

    the dance is intimate.

    thought continuum
    circa 2012

    the big guy they call "chief"
    killed mcmurphy... suffocating him
    with a pillow, pressing his massive bulk into
    the job until mcmurphy's thrashing limbs became still.

    lifeless ...

    nothing left except
    his lobotomized carcass ...

    the eyes rolled upward
    as though staring at the still-raw
    incisions distended from his endgame struggles ...

    in a movement
    that was as gentle
    as a prayer, chief leaned
    over and closed mcmurphy's eyes ...

    they had been friends ...

    the trust between them ... impeccable ...

    it was the right thing to do ...

    the boy-man they call billy,
    whose voice was a stutter ...

    killed himself ...

    the chasm between what is normal
    and what is natural ... between himself
    and the man in the mirror ... became sow wide
    it broke his mind, his reasoning, and his understanding ...

    he used the shards
    to cut his own throat ...

    it was an insufferable epilogue to a pained life
    in a world where conformity is driven by compulsion ...

    and ...

    it was a sin ...

    whose particular sin it was ...

    i was uncertain ...

    the year was 1976 ...

    it was early spring and there
    were warm currents of air billowing
    into the great basin of utah, bringing with
    them restitution from the frigid winter months ...

    the parking lot, as we were leaving
    the theater, was mostly empty, with a smattering
    of cars spread out in a haphazard constellation of headlights ...

    taylor and i both stood quietly under the marquee,
    inhaling the fresh night air, rinsing the smell of popcorn
    from our palates and the taint of tyrannical power from our thoughts ...

    meeting mcmurphy and chief and billy
    at the late-late-night big-screen premiere
    of one flew over the cuckoo's nest was ... disturbing ...

    i glanced over toward taylor,
    who is usually all dimples and curly hair,
    only to find the same dark glimmer of comprehension ...

    he was older than i was, although i had
    never given that fact much thought before ...

    he had served a tour of duty in the military
    right out of high school and had probably already
    begun indoctrination into these vague, gray-colored worlds ...

    where murder and suicide made sense ...

    he began scuffing the soles
    of his shoes against the pavement
    as though scraping some existential muck
    he had accidently stepped in off the bottom of his feet ...

    i turned my gaze to the parking lot ...

    i could hear the engine of the last car grind
    a few times before sputtering to life, lurching forward
    as the clutch popped and gravel skittered underneath the tread ...

    the star had become a comet
    fishtailing its departure into the night ...

    i was left staring
    into the empty blacktop
    with its mysterious gravitational pull ...

    falling headlong
    into my own contemplations ...

    i knew whose sin it was ...

    it was mine ...

    in some strange and insoluble
    way, i was as accountable for this world
    and her stories as anyone else and everyone else ...

    i found myself standing inside
    a moment usually much more covert ...

    the moment when one moves
    from being a child to becoming a participant ...

    i seemed to be rushing headlong
    into an epiphany i did naught want to grasp
    and refusing to molt into a world i did naught want to own ...

    i was at a standstill ...

    stunned by a momentary lucidity ...

    held fast by
    the sheer implications ...

    questions that had never
    occurred to me before were naught
    only arising but multiplying at an alarming rate ...

    my old viewpoint of a very safe ...
    very structured ... very orderly world
    where right was right and wrong was wrong
    and frontal lobes were made for keeping was mutating ...

    in a most uncomfortable way ...

    time was becoming an imminent sensation
    where belief systems collide, giving rise to new ideas ...

    and cold harsh realities.

    i am certain, by and large,
    that this movement from childhood
    to becoming a participant is more long-suffering ...

    glimpses that are dealt in increments
    buffered with complacency and preintegrated
    with indifference. a stoic resilience to a maniacal world ...

    where reason is contrived
    and god is punitive ...

    a sort of built-in
    shock absorber for the soul ...

    for me.

    it was all about tonight ...

    even at eighteen—well,
    perhaps even especially at eighteen—
    the world and her stories were already suspect.

    what i had naught realized before
    is that these stories are naught sow easily dismissed ...

    once donned,
    they created a matrix ...

    a mold ... a grid ... a model for life ...

    a collective frame for the mind, if you will ...

    at the moment,
    i was off the grid ...

    and thinking outside the box ...

    oh, i was still around,
    falling in step with taylor
    as we headed to our car parked
    around the side of the theater with its
    outdated registration stickers safely hidden from view ...

    but i was definitely off the grid ...

    i know i was
    because i could see
    this matrix ... this grid of
    consciousness clearly from where i was ...

    which was ... stepped back ...

    it is a particular
    and peculiar habit i have ...

    i can step back ... step away ...
    step aside ... step back and step away ...

    step inside ...

    or any variation of the above,
    depending on what angle i want to
    see from or what depths i desire to explore ...

    step ...

    and i am naught
    talking about footfalls here ...

    i am talking more
    the blink ... blink ... of an eye ...

    more a calisthenics of consciousness
    than any literal stomping or treading of the feet ...

    the motion and the maneuvering of
    each step delivered by varying dilations
    of the pupils of my eyes, the darkling bringing
    with it a plethora of information both formal and informal ...

    both by sight
    and by intuition ...

    much like the aperture
    of a camera can be enlarged
    or contracted to admit more light or less ...

    bringing into sharper focus whatever
    depth in the image its attention is directed ...

    i am able to click through the lenses
    of my perception, adding depth and songs
    and colors to an otherwise homogenous world ...

    it is hard naught to do ...

    downright tantamount
    to my existence—

    or at least ...

    my understanding of it ...

    perhaps i am just
    loosely woven together ...

    or perhaps it is simply
    a proclivity of preponderance ...

    either way ...

    fueled by an urgency
    i could naught quite comprehend ...

    i was definitely stepping back ...

    the show was naught
    the comedy i was expecting ...

    in fact, it was sow unexpected
    and sow in my face. sow immediate,
    and sow intimate, and i was taken sow off
    guard by it, that my first reaction was to step back ...

    as far back as i could possibly go
    and still know what i know ...

    i had a bird's-eye view
    of something explicit and inexplicable ...

    i could see the entire world
    bathed in this matrix ... this grid of
    consciousness ... this story we tell ourselves ...

    from meridian to meridian
    and all points between i could see
    lights ... layer upon layer ... winking in and out ...

    a synaptic symphony
    of knowing and experience ...

    i could see this matrix being
    both the story and the source of the story ...

    there appearing to be no
    discernable difference between ...

    one and the other ...

    i could see it was a
    consensus reality of some sort ...

    a collaborative effort
    that had somehow gone awry ...

    and this consensus reality
    seemed to be the only realty in town ...

    recognized ... sanctioned ...

    legitimate ...

    i could also see that i was as much a part
    of this matrix as this matrix was a part of me ...

    yet ... its rationalization was sow far from
    my soul that i could barely recognize myself within it ...

    let alone be willing
    to realize myself within it ...

    now i know this sounds like a lot
    to garner from watching just one movie ...

    but ...

    as i said before ... the world
    and her stories were already suspect ...

    the movie simply connected the dots
    of my suspicions in a way that was unexpected ...

    oh ... i know i could probably tell you,
    i had myself a case of the enlightenments ...

    however ...

    that would naught be true ...

    nor would it be appropriate ...

    what i was experiencing was
    definitely more a stupor than a grace ...

    a recognition
    without a familiarity ...

    a stumbled upon awareness
    that lacked legitimacy
    simply because
    it existed
    outside
    the
    box ...

    in fact ...

    i was feeling rather huge
    and conspicuous at the moment,
    walking around outside of a frame of mind ...

    no longer an
    adolescent child ...

    naught quite yet
    a full fledged participant ...

    somewhere in between and obvious ...

    i could naught escape the feeling that
    naught only was i stepping back ... i was standing out ...

    i was distinguishing myself ...

    and ...

    naught in a good way ...

    i was born a culprit, sow
    the sensation was nothing new to me ...

    there was subterfuge in the air ...

    i could smell the nitty-gritty ozone
    of culpability descending like a quiet storm ...

    i was stepping somewhere
    i was naught supposed to be ...

    seeing something
    i was naught supposed to see ...

    i was censurable and liable.
    standing outside the matrix

    was trouble times triple ...

    taboo ...

    which i have discovered
    is naught always kryptonite ...

    perhaps ...

    whatever i was looking at was more
    than a mere reflection of my introspection ...

    there was an inescapable
    totality present, naught common
    to my usual meanderings and musings ...

    i was becoming more
    intrigued by the moment ...

    i smiled at taylor as he glanced up
    from unlocking the passenger door of the
    alpine-green Volkswagen rabbit that was our ride home ...

    it was hard naught to smile at him
    no matter what one was doing ... or thinking ...

    or imagining ...

    the twinkle in his eye was contagious ...

    obviously he had already thrown off
    the damper of the movie and had moved on
    to the more happy-go-lucky side of his manic nature ...

    or perhaps ...

    it was just the lucky part he was after ...

    naught likely since
    i had to work in the morning ...

    but ... worth the
    promenade nonetheless ...

    for all i knew the greater
    mysteries still lay between my legs ...

    and ...

    that mystery
    was here and now ...

    naught stepped back ...

    stepped aside ...

    nor away ...

    in the mere flicker of a pheromone
    the weight of the world and her insights
    gave way to the siren song of the tempest inside ...

    the pulsing of the darkling
    of my eyes stepping to a new rhythm ...

    easily swayed
    by its very nature
    and chemical outpourings ...

    i had yet to learn that to look
    at the world too closely for too long
    can leave one in a perpetual state of arousal ...

    after a small tease ... a small invite ...
    and a hardening rsvp ... i loaded my smiling
    and huge and conspicuous and obvious and slightly
    thrumming self into the front seat of the unregistered rabbit ...

    by the time taylor had climbed
    into the driver's seat and rearranged
    the lewdness in his pants sow he could sit
    proper, my arousal was already shifting curiosities ...

    i was far and away yet again ...

    chasing my own musings
    into my earlier gist ...

    i could hear the distant sigh
    of unrequited lust in an even more
    exaggerated breath, as taylor realized that
    even the promise of naught sex was losing its viability ...

    he knew the movie
    had bothered me, and his
    attempts at cheering me up were
    stop and go and stop and go ... and stop ...

    being a musician and a songwriter,
    he was respectful and well acquainted
    with the tendencies of the absent-minded lot ...

    finding it easy to let it be ...

    i smiled at his alacrity
    as he turned his attention
    to starting the car and finding
    some music for the journey homeward ...

    leaving me one step closer to ...

    the matrix ...

    and ... something else ...

    something i could naught quite
    put my finger on ... something important ...

    something extraordinary ...

    something useful ...

    from the far and away
    place where i was contemplating,
    i could see that this matrix ... that this
    story appeared to be comprised entirely of language ...

    a vernacular relic of some
    long-forgotten lexicon of light ...

    though ...

    naught a relic in the sense
    of something decayed and dusty
    and solemn and restrained and dutiful ...

    but a relic in the sense
    of something ancient and unadulterated ...

    an artifact that
    was still somehow animated ...

    still delicate
    and supple and flowing ...

    neither compromised or contaminated
    by time and space. by mind or by imagination ...

    as though all these things existed
    inside of it. like a child inside a womb ...

    sequestered only
    by its unobservable state ...

    and ...

    it was singing ...

    it was singing the song
    of every word ever written ...

    and ...

    it was magnificent ...

    the most magnificent idea
    ever to find its way inside my pretty head ...

    even if it had gone awry
    and was slightly out of tune
    and i disagreed with most every tenet ...

    and ...

    the fact ...

    that it was the very
    story i was running away from ...

    i was still irrevocably
    drawn by its sheer ingenuity ...

    and beauty ...

    and intelligence ...

    it was dawning on me that
    the serenade was indeed sentient ...

    and that this matrix was as aware
    of me as i was of it ... a symbiotic truce
    was underway ... a dual curiosity was being awakened ...

    awakened and acknowledged ...

    imprinting upon my senses ...

    its touch as
    soft as a dream ...

    in the lapse
    of a second split
    i knew what i was looking at ...

    i was looking at a dream
    from the outside in ...

    naught only could i see
    this matrix ... this grid ... this model
    for life ... i could see its inception: the dream
    holding it in place ... i could feel it stir and ripple inside me ...

    a creatrix ...

    a conceptual field
    that shimmered and sparkled ...

    clear as a bubble,
    defined only by its prisms ...

    a golden thread, whisper
    thin ... gilded the edges ...

    it was the size of creation
    and as big as any present moment ...

    and ...

    it was alive ...

    the story was alive!

    the dream was alive!!

    the story dream was alive!!!

    i was awed and stunned
    beyond my wildest imaginings ...

    i was stepping into uncharted
    territory here ... stepping somewhere
    beyond where i still knew what i knew ... and know ...

    i had never even thought
    to imagine that the stories were alive ...

    i had always suspected
    that the stories were naught real ...

    especially the creation stories ...

    the beginning and the end stories,
    because they are the beginning and the
    end stories of every other story in existence ...

    or at least i had hoped,
    prayed, begged, and bartered
    for their nonexistence and destruction ...

    stupid ... petty gods ...

    did you hear the one
    where abraham was told to take
    his son to a mountaintop and sacrifice him
    to prove his love and loyalty to his one and only god?

    and then ...

    just when abraham
    had a knife poised above
    his son's heart ... god shows up ...

    and says ...

    "just kidding!"

    "just wanted to see if you would do it!"

    are you kidding me?

    seriously. are you kidding me!?!

    at twelve years old i think
    i had a ministroke over that story ...

    i also think that was
    when i burned my first bible ...

    naught that i am an
    atheist or an arsonist;

    i was just mad ...


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Catch me if you can ... by continuum thought. Copyright © 2014 continuum thought. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Introduction, xv,
Part One, 1,
Tipping Point, 3,
Part Two, 29,
Encounter, 31,
Part Three, 79,
Fringe, 81,
Post Script, 117,
Part Four, 119,
Peyote Dream, 121,
Pawn from D2 to D4, 167,

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