Before I begin I wanna apologize for the tirade last night. This morning, I re-read what I wrote, and I realised that I engaged in some name calling that wasn't fair, and for that I am sorry. Basically I'm sorry for the whole tirade, because I don't wanna be a guy who spews negativity or says hurtful things. It's not right for me to do that, and the thing is, that it's not the real me at all. I've said this before, that if you know me, you know I am a happy guy who likes to talk about all kinds of things, anything interesting really. I love conversation and hope that when I write, that side of me comes through, and maybe my somewhat ridiculous sense of humor does too, haha. The flip side of all of this is that I have to write about 1989. I can't ignore it because it has affected my life to a degree that I can't really describe except to say that it's monumental. In a sense, it has become my life, and I hate that. I hate it because I don't want it to be my whole life. Some might say, as "K" once famously said to me almost 25 years ago, that I should just "blow it off". But I can't, for two reasons. The first reason is that it's the biggest secret in America right now, and perhaps of all time in the history of the country. That probably sounds pretentious or grandiose, but it's neither of those things. It really IS the biggest secret; my recent letter from the CIA in response to my FOIA request indicated that it is a National Security matter mandated to classified status by a Presidential Order. I kid you not.
And nobody will talk about it, not even a peep. I have never in my life heard of any subject whatsoever that absolutely cannot be spoken of, but apparently this is it : September 1989.
So the subject of what happened here in 1989 is enormous, and because I was at the center of it - I am the center of it - it all revolves around me, and I feel the tremendous heavy weight of it, every day of my life for almost thirty years. I am also likely the one, among all the people involved, who knows the least about it. Even the bad guys like Rappaport know more about what happened than I do. And so do the people I know personally, who were there. They may not know everything about that crazy and terrifying experience, but I'll bet that they all know more than I do. They know why it happened.
And that is exactly what I don't know. And not knowing is a source of truly awful frustration for me, a frustration that never goes away. So when I say that I don't want This Thing to become my entire life story, that's exactly what I mean. I used to have the life of a Regular Person, prior to 1993 when my memories began to come back. It's possible that the Feds thought they were doing me a favor by erasing the experience from my mind, but in truth, that is the most evil thing that anyone could ever do to any victim of violent crime. What if a person was mugged and didn't remember it? What if a woman was raped, and didn't remember it because someone from a Federal agency used drug and hypnosis techniques to erase her memory of the trauma?
If you think that sounds like science-fiction, Google MKUltra and read about the research of Dr. Ewen Cameron.
At any rate, that was done to me. I went through this terrible two week experience in which I could have died or been killed at least three times, and in which others were harmed including my parents, and at the end of it, the people in charge just erased it all away, and I literally remembered nothing for four years. But then it came back in 1993, and I have been slowly overwhelmed ever since, to the point where it is always on my mind and I have got to solve it before it solves me.
Anyway, that's reason #1 why I have to write about it here at the blog : because it is huge, the biggest of the big, and because it is dificult to deal with on a daily basis.
Reason #2, of why I have to write about it, is because it is the right thing to do, and conversely because to not write about it - to not try to engage others to talk about it and to ignore it instead is profoundly the wrong thing to do. As I said last night in my tirade, this is America. And this is my life.
These are Our Lives, my fellow 1989ers, and this is our country. That much of my tirade I stand by.
And I ask you once again, "what have we got if we haven't got the truth"?
I realise that the rest of you may indeed have some of that truth, that you almost certainly have more of it than I do, and perhaps that is why you do not feel the same urgency as me; because you already do know what happened, and maybe you know why it happened as well. I believe that the late Mr. D knew what happened and why it happened, and I believe that it led, in part, to his early death, because he held that knowledge inside for so long. He kept everything a secret because he felt guilty, until finally he didn't care anymore. His role in whatever happened was probably very small, but the point is that he knew about the bigger picture (which he related to "K"), and he kept it a secret from me all through the latter years of our friendship, from 1993 through 2001, when I didn't see him anymore because he just removed himself from circulation. And then he died in 2008.
Sadly, "X" lost a best friend just a year later. "M" was right around the same age as Mr. D, right around 47. "M", I believe, was on scene at the Wilbur Wash incident. I am not 100% certain of this, but I am more than 50% certain. "M" lived in Orange County and would've been far removed from Northridge when the events began, but it is possible that "M" came to the assistance of "X" at that time, or simply drove out to the Valley when "M" became aware of what was happening.
"M" had nothing to do with 1989, as far as being directly involved, but my memory tells me that "M" was there, as a bystander at the Wilbur Wash, trying to locate "X", who was there as well.
"M" and "X" were best friends, going back to high school. Just like me and Mr. D were best friends.
And so we both lost a best friend, both "X" and myself. And both "M" and Mr. D passed away within a year of each other, at about the same way-too-young age.
So I fight the secrecy, you guys, and though I am only one person, I am fighting it as best I can with the limited free time I have. What I do is write. And I will keep writing. I encourage you all to do the same, and to not ignore it. Write about it or talk about it with someone, even with me. That's what I was trying to say last night, and I again am sorry for the tirade and for letting my frustration get the better of me.
Having said all of that, I still wanna write - and am going to write - about everyday current stuff. Right now, the available subject matter consists mostly of movie reviews or snippets about books I am reading, just because I don't get to go out on many hikes these days or to Disneyland (which I need to go to asap or I am gonna get a case of Disneylanditis!) I'd also like to write both to the SB and about the SB, just like I used to, because the SB is awesome. But I can only do that if the SB posts, and I know that she doesn't have as much free time as she used to, but the point is that I'm still here if the SB is still reading, and nothing has changed in that respect on my part. Hey Elizabeth, will you go to Disneyland with me? :)
Well anyway, that's all I know for tonight. Today I listened to the new solo album by the great Peter Hammill, called "From The Trees". I just received it in the mail from Amazon, and man.......it is simply perfect from start to finish. Hammill's vocal style is an acquired taste, half-sung half spoken, with Shakespearean inflection. To hear him at his most powerful in his younger years, Youtube anything by Van Der Graaf Generator in the 1970s. He is one of my favorite singers and he is also a great lyricist. His solo music is quite stark, just his voice (older now, almost 70) accompanied by a single guitar, usually acoustic, or a piano.......but his songs are very tightly arranged and are built like the recitals of dramatic poems set to music. "From The Trees" is a bit grim, not a lot of Happy Chords on it, but the emotional power is something to behold. On my first listen, I thought of David Bowie's final album "Blackstar", also bleak but majestic, and I thought that Peter Hammill's new album would be the perfect companion piece.
See you in the morning in church. xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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