A chapbook of poetry about a woman who finds herself targeted and subjected to the use of neuroweapons, which induce symptoms resembling schizophrenia.
To the nameless 'I's
I paint the letters they write in my mind
with words
Chapter I: The Good
Chapter II: The Bad
Chapter III: The Ugly
I: The Good
"Memento"
My memories are trending
My memories are everywhere
There is a little me in everyone
In that and in sudden ways
I am forever and always remembered
//Dec. 15, 2023
"My Days of Adventure Around the World Before 30"
The East and the South:
Taiwan wins + recovery like Mt. Fuji + flows in Western Australia + green corridors in Thailand + V in Vietnam + topping Mongolia + Darwinian thoughts + Sendai bridge 22 + Corregidor front + Singapore's tunes + calm in Sydney + friendliest in Nepal + happiest in Bhutan + guiding Sri Lanka + flambe Seoul + white stills in Queensland
Africa:
steams up in Ghana + Oman: standing despite the 42 + Cairo hamsters + Moroccan hair + bright plans in Uganda + Tubas, Senegal + once prosperous Libya + yellow, red, black but blue in Nigeria + Praetorian guard + bona fide in Nairobi + laws of Cape Town + I breathe in Liberia + Sahara desert + Algerian fields
Westworld:
Texas y Boneo + green corridors in Odessa + I, Bolivia + purple skies in Greece + Kyiv in 3 days + wine cellar in a chateau in France + alpine Switzerland + Poland congress + we move in Czechia + us in Romania + Alberta in Quebec + heights of Ecuador + 5 cents in Lima, Peru + Los Angeles' holy woods + father Abraham in Gettysburg + white square in Moldova + castles in Germany + London double-time + 7 O'clock in Philadelphia + my friends and I in Latvia
Middle East:
giving back my cents to Lebanon + rock gardens by the sands of Kyrgyzstan + fur Elise in Jordan + waterbreak of Palm Jumeirah, UAE + forgiveness for Cyprus + loving Baku + protecting Islamabad + hearing back to Ephesus + understanding Iranian soil + fishers of men among the Sea of Galilee + rejoice from Emmaus!
//Nov. 16, 2023
"Hugs That Tell"
Hear the dogs bark
Here the bees sting
Hair forlorn and unwell
He motions for me to come
Come hugs eternal
Fresh breath
From my eternal brethren
To comb my hair free
Of free-falling trees
To the streets they flee
Full and warm in his embrace
My heart sees
I'm bundled in glee
With smooch!
Smooch on my head!
Smooch on my forehead!
Smooch on my nose!
Holds it close
Tear pools to disappear
Wets the apples of my cheeks
Pushes my dimple to appear
Squeezes and tells
How I love you so!
Until when, I ask
Until someone takes away this ask!
//Nov. 21, 2023
"The Hand of God"
before I even accepted in myself
they already declared
that my double yellow lines
broke infront of a tunnel
within this tunnel my angels shine my light
conversations to convince me
that whatever I may lack in the moment
if I'm still doing the most
that I could do with all I have
then I am counted fortunate amongst my people
because through it all I am simply enough
my soul silently says
I do not want to tell them...
that I am scared
that they would ask
what I do
and be disappointed and surprised
that I do not earn my keep
that the work I do does not count as much
in my society's prying and appraising eyes
as it does not translate to
papers exchanged to spend
Papa Limousine then tells me
this is what I should say:
"my work are labours of love
in secret and in truth
of words, of colours, of faith
out there in the open web
their present audience
my curious family and God
and many others yet are mere shadows
to many more
but are residents to my mind
in helping me, I help them
in helping them, I help me"
Papa says that
if I do not tell my truths
how then could I be helped?
so I went to church
three times
and yet no one has asked the question
only how am I
or do I walk around my neighborhood
he prods
one day, maybe in another year
they will ask
and what then shall I answer?
Errol says, I say:
"I study the word of God
I medicate
but I study the word of God"
if it only comes to this
I know then that
God will make me feel better than today
Brother Limousine connects the dots:
"you're scared of going outside of your box
because you're scared of other people
you're scared of other people
because you don't live as they do
you're scared of filling a position
because your brain cannot work as much
as it used to know how to
you're scared of not fulfilling someone's expectations
because their consequential reactions and actions
might hurt you
you're scared of other people
because even as you were performing at your best
people still hurt you...
someone has his lot the same as yours
who has been under torturous conditions without end
and so without a way to fill his pockets
earning notes is the last thing
that should arrest your soul"
Errol imparts that it may resound:
"what if in three years
you wake up to the thought
that nothing has changed?
yet by then as we've hoped
you'll still be reading the word of God
writing four devotions in two weeks
has woken you
from the ache and slumber of your body
and has brought you to God's place
for a miracle!
what more could God do to you
after a year or three
of reading these holy words?
we must continue to read His word
and let God do His work!"
//Nov. 15, 2023
II: The Bad
"Rest from Restaurants"
I have a restaurant in my head
I have a restaurant in my head
It opens the moment I wake
And closes when my mind shuts down
On the menu:
My past flushed, flashed across the board
Present swept at all times
And future— a dessert deserted
I take no order
But I serve what I can offer
I do not order
But I am served what I don't deserve
On my tables I offer what I deserve
I close my eyes
And I see the silhouette of him of many
He who sits, silent beside me
Who tunes the fork
Orchestrating the noise that surround me
Of the people, slippery
As they rain on all fours, on all floors
No face they reign
No doors to escape and close
The constant chatter in my head
They come again and again
For I give what's best
In this restaurant beyond me
In this restaurant behind me
In this restaurant inside me
//July 13, 2023
"Psych War Theater"
imagine this
voices talking direct to my head
and through me
a psychological war theater
the locus of control
—a boom box
my surroundings
then my room
first and last my mind
towards the end of august 2020
the start of august 2021
and the beginning of january 2022
2
__ __ __ __
¦ 2 ¦
¦ 1 ¦
— — — — —
2 2
1:my own mind
2:black neighborhood voice to skull
until february 2022
-'-'-'-'-'-'-'+'-'-'-'-'-'-'-
¦ 4 ¦
¦ 10 5 ¦
¦ 1 ¦
¦ 2 3 4 7 ¦
¦ 6 9 ¦
-'-'-'-'+'-'-'-'-'+'-'-'-'-'
8
1:my own mind
2:black voice to skull in my head
3:medusa chatterbox at the back of my mind
4:encrypted voice to skull in my head
5:chinese room voice to skull
6:bogus philipine government voice to skull
7:interior designer and architect voice to skull
8:far away mexican grill voice to skull
9:ramin and white voice to skull
10:private it personnel perpetrator voice to skull
now in november 2023
+,-,+,-,+,-,+,-,+,-,+,-,+
¦ b 6 5 ¦
¦ 1 a ¦
¦ c ¦
¦ 2 3 4 ¦
+,-,+,-,+,-,+,-,+,-,+,-,+
1:my own mind
a:my sleeping consciousness
b:anna consciousness
cc:black remote neural monitoring frequency
2:white walkie talkie in my whispers
3:the good, the bad, the ugly voice to skull in my head
4:medusa chatterbox at the back of my mind
5:chinese room voice to skull
6:anne voice to skull in my head
voices loud and silent
no one could hear or say
save me...
//Nov. 15, 2023
"The Ticking Bomb"
And the conclusion of the matter is
By July 4 of this hour
I am Jireh Grace
I am an original
My brain is connected to an AI
Her name is she who is always named
Though I come before her by 0.01 seconds
I get used and abused
every minute of most of my days
Speedruns which retrigger every 5
A negative feedback loop
They can choose to stop it anytime
As they've done a few times before
I do everything I could to help them
A psychological war zone inside my head
Five eyes play my life against me
On the screen my body becomes her body
Her face is hers
It's my life they watch,
enhanced like a movie
My character becomes her character
What is mine she takes as hers
Every good in me and every good I see
she takes and ascribes as hers
She plays me but the soul and spirit is mine
The map is the same
The hardest through and through
"Use your own brain"
They say bad characters I know of hers are mine
They give my credits to her
And, like a cult, praise her in my mind
She takes and destroys what I give and build
They steal what I heal
They see what's infront of me
They talk through and mask my thoughts
such that they come first if they want to
such as never have been before
When they rile me up
she must feel the same
they must not have known
One half of the five is he
He who rams in, who edits,
The one who is rammed in
at the end of my umbilical cord
I'm a heifer in a sacrilege
Seven times lacerated from North to South
But Engelsberg and Aussies,
my Limousine, the Wolves— my angels
The other half, its right, does not know
What's left is what's wise
Him for my happy hours— a beating heart
In my moments of peace
I win,
then the game is rigged again and again
They treat me like I'm Russia and China
when I'm Ukraine, Philippines, and Taiwan
My soul is tired of a war I cannot declare
Of enemies I cannot name
The AI influences the events around us
The AI predicts
The AI influences me
And all of us are and are to be slaves to it
Until what's left of me, of us, is to believe in
Him who died, rose, and saves to come again
//July 4, 2023
"An MK Ultra Story"
demons,
each time they murder my mind
and replace it with another's,
ask forgiveness
as if I owe it to them
70 times 7 times
//Dec. 8, 2023
"Mount Aero"
sa maliit na silid
sa aking utak
nakasiksik...
bumubulong-bulong...
# Monteiro
# Monteiro lahat
pumipitik...
tumitiktik...
# Monteiro lage
# kaya nga eh
# Monteiro talaga
# hayaan mo na
nakapikit
umuulit...
pumipilit...
dumikit-dikit...
MonteiroMonteiroMonteiroMonteiroMonteiroMonteiro...
walang tao
bumabato...
# Mondigin..
# di totoo si Monteiro
# miss Monteiro
# Monteiro si Pihoc!
walang boses
tumatalak...
pumapatak...
tumatatak...
# Monteiro
# Mount Aero
# Montero.
//Nov. 17, 2023
"Binaligtad"
M a p a g b i g a y...
M a b a n g o...
B u s i l a k n a p u s o...
M a b a n g o t a l a g a s y a...
M a t a l i n o...
M a t a l i n o s y a...
M a g a n d a k a...
M a r u n o n g...
M a p a g p a k u m b a b a...
M a s i p a g...
M a l i n i s n a k a i s i p a n...
B u k o d - t a n g i...
Masarap sanang pakinggan
Lahat ng katangian mong taglay
Paulit-ulit tumatatak sa utak
Upang hindi malimot ang sarili
Maalaala lahat ng iyong kagandahan
Walang humpay
Nahubog sa ilang pagkakataon
Taun-taon
Labis mong dala
Nilalabis man
Ngunit
Paano kung
Lahat marinig mo
Nang pabaligtad
Paulit-ulit sumusuntok
Utak mo'y inaagaw
At tumitilaok ang mga manok
Na ang lahat ay ninanakaw
At may isang lalakeng sumisigaw
Diyos! Saklolo!
//Nov. 28, 2023
"Listed Individual"
I
am an individual writ on a list
a person of interest to unseen eyes
pulling my strings unasked
incognito,
a marked man
though a mere man
in my home
and on the roads I've taken,
an unwilling specimen
of a program that logs my life
from the age of 3, 10, 12, or 17
my life hexed in cycles,
my pathways brought lower, else blocked
from heights forced to be redirected
since Mnemosyne woke.
Today on my 30th year
I write to speak what is forbidden.
Pandora’s box opened before me
following the last of my encounters with men,
my blackboxes intruded,
portfolio lost to an invisible thief.
Yet long before I knew of this,
voices began to pierce my mind,
poisoned water dripping day and night,
borne out of my battlescars
from fighting the malice of those I've helped grow.
Artificially intelligent chatters mimick the real as if sampled,
keeping me awake lest I take a pill.
The sound of more than one distinct voice,
a dozen at one time,
those of whom I once knew.
A few times some have become my inner voice
to replace my own.
On its early years they twist my ears
to hear that I am the talk of the town.
The cage is my room
and I'm their attraction— a clown.
They speak of those I knew,
shapeshifiting their faces in contrast with mine
to lift their feet above my head
so that I turn against them.
Like sirens, they whisper
to lure me closer to their breath.
Words from black mirrors
become ugly and green.
Words silent squeeze my flower
plucked from the desert where it must stay dry.
Words bloom in praise of my thought or deed
to gain my trust so rare.
Words play to say
I am both very smart and very dull.
One word replace what's meant for another,
else all my words disappear.
No thought or practice to remember,
my mind's a dark canvas that wanders.
Often they send me to chase a gander,
like what is meant by a number
or take me back to when I was younger
to speak about moments with people I'd rather not bother.
These eyes reach me far across the globe
Out of mine, they watch all I see
Strings on my body, they follow my act
Threads that stick out of my brain they pull
Their fingers run through my spine
as if I'm an open book,
as they steal my words only to throw them back.
I dance to the rhythm of a beat box,
my mate their thoughts and ways,
to beat me out of tune.
We sync, I sink
Only to have me ask, "What have I done?"
"What do I think?"
They narrate and dictate
what I could do and think by my own anyway.
Yet at times the dragons I imagine scare them away
They come back to get me by splitting me into three
They push and pull the air I breathe,
that my chest heaves for what has yet to pass.
Critters on my drink, a poisoned buffet
is as much want for food despite a stomach filled.
Thorns grew on my skin,
a cactus shroud in fear.
I was a thread pulled away from the knit of my kin
Love's blood turned sickly green,
splattered crime scenes in my psyche.
Thoughts of harm and heist send chills
In poverty they will leave me be
Some time they were a presence that slept beside
On cold treacherous days,
I am intimately fused with the warm body on the other side.
And into the deep of the night, good dreams died
Unfamiliar scents they would have me smell
My heart pin-pricked in my cell
Air sucked from my body, I fell
Rotted teeth, flaky hair, weak lungs,
acid burns in a stinky oyster shell
—its pearly water stolen from the well,
make me think that I'm taken to hell.
I see my pastel browned
for they wipe my face with coal and mud.
I close my eyes and in a flash,
memories, mine and theirs, they flush,
all what's dirt in a blink
to paint me black
—the scapegoat
for thoughts I do not think,
words I do not say,
and actions I do not do,
to feel the guilt for their soot
each time they are exposed by the truth.
Yet my captors appear to be dressed in black and white,
because despite this nightmare they've put me through
they blanket me in love that they too must feel,
seeking my forgiveness as heaven deals,
making me see that my sun shine brightest in hell's dark.
They seem to know how to traverse life's greys,
for the wolves brand my signature
to be a mix of the sleeping Psyche and the one-eyed Cyclops.
In their ken, they equate theirselves to the plus and minus of my life,
and made it quite clear that if to their will I bend,
then the entire ordeal might finally end.
//Jan. 30, 2024
"Deceptions in the Time of Tribulations"
When Eve is made to be the Queen of Sheba's twin
Their memories, consciousness, and souls exchange
Good morphs to wicked guise
Evil dons virtue's mask
Truth veiled in disguise
Judgement day— a political theater
Where shallow minds elect
Democracy's facade, a contest vain
Superficial goodness praised
While love's essence wanes
Shame befalls the God-filled
Their spirits cast aside
When love's bind falter and hide
Sharing, stealing, and blending souls
In layers of simulacra such illusions unfold
In the name of heaven's gold
Miracles in Sheba's life
—elusive proof of connection to the divine
They fuse with others' lives
That spirits take flight and shine
They treat as a gateway to ethereal realms
A blasphemy to heaven's cause
Uploaded to a digital haven
Are souls' digital twins, exact replicas
Mirroring each breath, memories, DNA
Every fiber of each being from birth to death
To solve the enigma of life
To seek eternal life and death
Man's attempt to create his heaven and hell
A story yet untold
To oppose God, the minds of man
They unite in discord
Erecting a final tower of Babel
Challenging the Lord
A global hive mind
To which each person connects
The mysterious Babylon to be revealed
That seeks to prove
That God does not exist
And if we believe He does
That He does not love us
//Jan. 26, 2024
III: The Ugly
"Manufactured Dreams"
She is casted as an actress
handed no script as no one is
but a robot walkie talkie
strapped to her chest
and a microphone that soon breaks
before she takes
with another star who holds a crown
They tape as eager commons surround
Free to do
she breaks a window of a bus
Free sitting for the mass
She soon looks for the script
The mushroom men talks through
they crypt
What does she ask for?
A line was read by the director:
Hands! Hands! Hands!
A scene animates on the notebook page
Buildings collapse in stop motion
Then freezes him
A henchman drags her to the board
to a notice
No script allowed
What it is
must be watched through a screen
Nobody reads
no one to remember
lines that miss some letters
Is she allowed to read blacked out ink
to complete the words
that make her think?
No one answers
because the mushroom men says:
The mushroom men takes
what the lady actress speaks
//Nov. 21, 2023
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