IS NOT A WORK OF SCIENCE-FICTION.
THIS NOVEL IS FOR ADULTS ONLY–
MINORS SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED
ACCESS TO THIS WORK.
IS NOT A WORK OF SCIENCE-FICTION.
THIS NOVEL IS FOR ADULTS ONLY–
MINORS SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED
ACCESS TO THIS WORK.
“My ship is sacred because it is an elemental force of universal matter, and not Russell’s math nor Einstein’s physics can pinpoint the concept better!”
Jason, Last of the Argonauts
A Star is his Friend
DEPICTION OF PSYCHOSIS
Fearless Novel: Realistic, Unexpurgated, Relevant
HYPERSPACE IS A NOVEL ALL SERIOUS READERS MUST HAVE. IF YOU LOVE READING BOOKS OF GREAT SIGNIFICANCE, YOU WANT TO READ HYPERSPACE. IF YOU LOVE READING CHARACTERIZATIONS THAT PROBE THE DEPTHS OF HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY COMBINED WITH IMPECCABLY WRITTEN LUSH, COLORFUL DESCRIPTIONS OF SCENES AND EVENTS, AN INEXPENSIVE PURCHASE OF HYPERSPACE WILL DELIVER TO YOU A STORY OF CRUCIAL HUMAN DEPTH WHOSE LANGUAGE WILL ALLOW YOU AS ACCURATELY AS POSSIBLE TO PERCEIVE EVENTS THROUGH THE PROTAGONIST’S RANGE OF PHYSICAL SENSES. SCROLL TO
AND ALLOW YOURSELF A PRE-PURCHASE EXPERIENCE. SCROLL FURTHER TO
A Day in the Asylum:
A Day on Planet Earth
AND WITNESS THE PROTAGONIST’S LIFE ALTERING EVENTS AS THE LANGUAGE OPENS YOU THE READER TO THE EXPERIENCE. A FURTHER SCROLL TO THE EXCERPTS
Meeting 1 AND Meeting 2
WILL BRING YOU IN CONTACT WITH INTIMATIONS OF JASON’S PSYCHOSIS WHICH ULTIMATELY RESULTS IN HIS TRIP THROUGH “HYPERSPACE” WITH THE INEVITABLE GUT-WRENCHING, HEARTBREAKING RESULT.
A CLICK ON AMAZON, BARNES & NOBLE, OR AUTHORHOUSE WILL BRING YOU A STORY THAT WILL HYPERDRIVE YOU TO A REALM BEYOND
THE CATCHER IN THE RYE!
[For information concerning full HYPERSPACE excerpts on this site, please scroll down to next post.]
NOTE: In this novel the symbol < means the beginning of a character’s thought and a superscript zero (0) ends the thought.
“Why are you all alone Jason? Why don’t you have some fun?” a light, pleasant female voice, breaking into his thoughts, is asking. Turning left slightly, viewing a blonde, pink female form in blue standing before him…
* * *
Beaming in his eyes is the lush shining brightness of her astonishing blonde hair warmly blending with her radiant light pinkness, her perfectly womanly shape being revealed in a manner more evocative for its subtlety than for any pretentious flamboyance…
* * *
Wheeling into a narrow side path of polished stone they are standing before a side entrance, he feeling her hand loosening its grip, pulling away, he watching for several seconds as she is groping in her hand bag until, the hand rising with a ring of keys, she pushes one of them into the lock hole. “Jason, look!” indicating with her chin that the lock should be the object of his attention, he watching her pulling the key partially out, pushing it in with quick jerking motions. Looking up at him with a broad smile… “See how easy it is?” she is rhetorically questioning, while in a second gagging is constricting his throat.
* * *
Do you know,” he is saying while she is looking at him, “I once heard a great theoretical physicist say that before the Big Bang the universe was a compressed mass of matter the size of a quark, a mere subatomic particle! Can you begin to think how small and puny we are? How insignificant? That we are mere figments of God’s imagination?” Noticing a look of perplexity on her face…
* * *
He is watching himself standing in the flatland far enough away from their house of a year and a half ago for it to hardly be visible. “That’s when I turned away from the house and began walking towards the mountain on the Edge. That was when I drew near to our Meeting, my Love for Eternity. I remember my aching during the long walk to the mountain. It was you who drew me there! Why else would I walk so far even though I was hurting so much?” Cloying his memory’s vision, colors are emblazoning land and peak. Gazing at the skyward jutting jagged-edged triangle, he is viewing a mass of rock with sides of unequal height drenched in yellow sunset orange, the waning glow thinning into the sky, melding with evening blue. Raising his eyes into the blue, thinking of outer space and of far away worlds . . . “I was thinking, my Love, of how much better things must be out there than they are here. It wasn’t an accident that we met! You guided me and knew my thoughts because it was then, while looking up and thinking of these things, that we met! For it was then that I saw your Eternal Light glimmering in my eye! First there was the darkness of the evening sky, then there was me thinking of how things had to be better up there on other worlds, and then there you were winking at me with your dear dear blueness, like a clear and bright blue diamond. That was our first Meeting my Love, my Friend, my Goodness! That was your calling of me to you!”…Continuing staring at the tiny pauselessly winking blue dot amidst the increased number of blinking dots now suspended in a darkening abyss he is aware of silence.
* * *
Tying the laces of each sneaker together in such a way as to allow him to sling them across his left shoulder; doing so, he is continuing walking where lapping ocean meets land, enjoying the sensation of cool and tingly wetness flowing around his feet, through his toes, sinking them slightly into sand converting to soft scratchy sludge, the sneakers with his motion swinging narrowly across his shoulder. A breadth of aquatic risings and fallings in gentle almost even-cadenced swells stretching out to open horizon; a blinding veil of yellow-white blazing outward from an orb of congealed seemingly endless hydrogen explosions inflaming an almost cloudless light blue sky spreading over beach and ocean is striking Jason as an inexplicable vista to the wondering eye. Breathing in deeply the sea’s intoxicating aroma as splashing sounds of waves striking land are filling his hearing, squawking sounds are now impinging and, looking up, a view of flying gulls across the oceanic expanse and over the beach is entering his vision…. Walking with care so as not to cut his feet or stub his toes, Jason is viewing a cliff beyond the pathway rising to a plateau as he is entering a wide semi-circular area. Loose rocks and pebbles covering the area, large boulders embedded in the ground, and, like the backs of large turtles, similar boulders in the dark blue bay, their tops visible above the surface, are entering his vision….Something touching is startling him, he almost tripping. Looking up…a girl about his age is standing directly before him. Seeing her in a one piece swimsuit cut away around the waist, a golden tinge in her brown hair visible, for a second he is looking into her brown eyes and then downward seeing her holding a large ball. “Do you want to play?” she is asking him in her soft voice, smiling at him. “No!” Beginning walking towards the cliff…<why did you say no0 “She offered friendship and you said no!” Drawing near the cliffside he is stopping and looking back seeing the girl standing by herself holding the beach ball, looking towards him. A sharp stabbing pain deep within traveling out until it is consuming him is being experienced. “She wanted to play with someone and now she’s alone,” he is whispering, the thought of her loneliness, of his saying no when she offered him friendship adding to her lonely suffering, causing within him a crying, a painfully consuming unquenchable fire. <couldn’t help it0 “Turn around now and go back to her and play.” <can’t0 Reaching the foot of the cliff, turning right, directing himself away from the water, fire is engulfing him as the image of the girl alone on the beach looking for the friend who never came is searing him with its inner vision, while rolling through him like earth-vibrating thunder are his feelings as he is experiencing a visceral vice-like constriction.
* * *
“I know that Plato’s methods run counter to those of the existentialists because the goal of the latter is definitely not to achieve a universal system though for many if not for most of the ancients a universal system was the primary goal and it got even worse in Nietzsche’s day culminating in Hegel’s pronouncement that his universal system was actually God!” Stopping by the footboard and placing on it his left foot he is bending tying his lace. “Yeah! The final synthesis of the Hegelian dialectic is God! How many people know that when Nietzsche wrote ‘God is dead’ he was referring in large part to Hegel’s philosophy which ultimately led to Communism!” <one of the things attracting me to existentialism0…”…isn’t it odd that I seem to be more interested in reading than in women? Existentialism! Plato!” <long ago women…always disconnected…do people think i’m strange…never see woman…0
IF YOU LOVE READING, A CLICK ON AMAZON, BARNES & NOBLE, OR AUTHORHOUSE WILL BRING YOU A STORY THAT WILL HYPERDRIVE YOU TO A REALM BEYOND
THE CATCHER IN THE RYE!
To You of Discriminating Literary Discernment,
Procure an edition of HYPERSPACE (inexpensive well-bound hard or soft cover, or economical ebook–Kindle or Nook), and you will enjoy the same high caliber of story-transformed-to-life throughout the entire novel as exists in the excerpts presented below.
Scroll past WARNING posted below to the excerpt entitled A Day in the Asylum: A Day on Planet Earth. As you read this piece you will understand its title. In this section of story you will WITNESS the Asylum’s (planet Earth’s) grasping, life-choking tentacles entwine themselves around the young protagonist seemingly in an attempt to make his life a living hell! But the origin of his hell begins during and directly after his birth, a factor which is exposed within the novel’s depths. What makes this component of the story so important, so URGENT, is that it happens to be a widespread phenomenon throughout the homo sapiens species around our planet. As Frederick Leboyer, noted French obstetrician and author of Birth Without Violence, once wrote me, “The treatment, no! mistreatment of the New-born is still, practically EVERYWHERE all over the world as criminal as ever.” Such treatment of newborns is a major explanation for the over preponderance of teenage suicides: young people lost in overwhelming negative sensations emanating from the traumatized part of the preconscious brain (the rhombencephalon or hindbrain), a profoundly negative state effectuated at or soon after birth by various types of painful experiences initiated by stressful obstetric practices and other unheeded external factors.
If you scroll down past Jason, Last of the Argonauts, and continue scrolling past purchasing information, to HYPERSPACE/An escape from hell, you have access to two more sizable excerpts: Meeting 1, in which a most beautiful, alluring young woman makes an unmistakably sexually provocative advance towards the protagonist, precipitating him onto an unexpected trajectory of confronting the Abyss, resulting in his attempt to escape from hell, including how the character’s deep involvement with music helps him “travel” to his Star Friend . . . on the Ultimate Voyage; and Meeting 2, in which the protagonist when a child meets his Star Friend, to which he looks as his life’s beneficent and loving Guide. I encourage you to also read these two alternative excerpts. They will present you with two contrasting experiences in the protagonist’s life that will truly gain your interest. These divergent experiences are intimately related by their connection to the protagonist’s traumatic post-birth experiences. To better understand the psychodynamics of this phenomenon, you may want to scroll past Meeting 2 and read the blog post that follows, entitled The Most Important Novel of the 20th and 21st Centuries, and the comments which follow this post, which are components of a dialogue between the author (me) and a skeptic who was confident that directing oneself spiritually is adequate for the dispelling of all internal problems. I am fairly certain that my psychologically sound explanations encouraged him to rethink the issue. Also, reading the excerpts Meeting 1 and Meeting 2 will supply greater story context to the excerpt entitled A Day in the Asylum: A Day on Planet Earth.
I hope you enjoy these excerpts. [A fuller, more complete version of A Day in the Asylum: A Day on Planet Earth is available for reading on page three of the HYPERSPACE site. Scroll to the bottom of page one and click Older Entries and then scroll to Older Entries again on page two. Now scroll until you reach the title of this excerpt on page three.]
Have a great read!
IS NOT A WORK OF SCIENCE-FICTION.
THIS NOVEL IS FOR ADULTS ONLY–
MINORS SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED
ACCESS TO THIS WORK.
A Day in the Asylum:
A Day on Planet Earth
NOTE 1: It should be borne in mind that though the story’s powerful pathos is always present, some of the violent scenes and expletive-laden language in the excerpt which follows (as in the novel generally), are extremely graphic, because realism is one of my major goals in fiction writing. If this is something with which you are not comfortable, you are advised to read no further.
NOTE 2: In this novel the symbol < means the beginning of a character’s thought and a superscript zero (0) ends the thought.
NOTE 3: To read two more excerpts (Meeting 1 and Meeting 2) scroll past Jason, Last of the Argonauts and Purchasing information, to HYPERSPACE/An escape from hell . . .
Deep bright purple appearing peripherally in his rightward view as he is continuing towards the park’s entrance is motivating him to turn his head rightwards so that, amidst deep green stems arising, bright purple blooms–white styles extending from their interiors outward–are dazzling his vision. Continuing walking he is seeing adjacent to the purples large flowers the whiteness of which in shining sunlight is seeming blinding with no burning blindness to be felt when staring; the large smooth snowy petals surrounding stigmata of yellow brightness like a sun’s shining radiance engulfing her planets in the clarity of light. Small yellow flower-puffs a little farther on are dancing in a light breeze while, after that, red daisy-like flowers–dark red centers popping up, light pink leaves stretching out forming sabers–are appearing. Then a large opening . . . <park entrance . . . last night0 Turning his head to the right and looking . . . “Oh . . .” <. . . different0 . . . he is viewing a flat stone flower-flanked pathway with large grapefruit sized blossoms dangling out from their green enclosures. Uneven edges give the pathway-stones the appearance of having been set in place subsequent to quarrying, their exposed surfaces smoothed and polished afterwards. At the end of the pathway a statue looking like a boy reminiscent to Jason of something Greek is entering his vision. <if i go in looking will i find beach0 In the midst of his ruminations he is startled suddenly seeing the boy-statue at the end of the path moving. <old man0 Feeling a sense of relief he is observing the man walking, wooden cane for support, dressed in white T-shirt and tan slacks, a sailor’s cap white with black brim atop his head, shaded areas of the cane’s wood from hooked handle to tip catching his eye like scattered islands in a brown wooden sea. The man is beginning walking past him . . . <old man’s pretty fast . . . younger than looks–but not young . . .0 “. . . sir?”
He is watching the old man turning towards him. <high crackling voice0 “Sir?”
“Yeah kid,” focusing his attention on Jason while speaking.
“How do I get to the beach from here?”
“No problem kid. Just walk straight down the street yer on and you’ll hit the beach in no time flat. Just make sure the beach don’t hitchya back!”
<being funny?0 Looking closely at the man’s unshaven face and squinty eyes . . . “Thanks sir.”
“Don’t mention it. Before yuh go, tell me yer address so I can bill yuh fer ten dollars fer my services!” Watching the lines at the corners of the man’s eyes crinkle in contraction while he is beginning heavy sounding laughter, smacking his good leg with the corresponding hand, Jason is hearing: “Don’t be so serious kid! I’m just jokin’, darn it!”
“Thanks mister. ’Preciate it.” Walking down the street becoming more aware of the enveloping heat, the man’s firm but crackling voice is dogging him: “WATCH OUT FER SHARKS KID! WATCH OUT FER ’EM! THEY LOVE STEAKS WITH CATSUP!” A loud high-pitched yelp is striking his ears. Turning, he is viewing the man smacking his leg in a paroxysm of laughter. <godalmighty–it’s not that funny0 Whispering and walking: “He’s kinda friendly. Why don’t I feel friendly?” Breathing . . . “Why?” <i don’t laugh0 “Not even at something good.” <why0 “The old guy could be a friend.” Startling him–in contrast to the verdurous scenes he has just viewed–is desolation in the form of a huge lot reaching out towards him making him aware that his lostness in thought is causing him to lose sight of his surroundings. Turning, looking towards the recently skirted park, a large, fenced, white-laned square area is appearing in his vision, the lanes consisting of sand, one of them a central divider, itself being horizontally bisected by another. Now being viewed, the central divider is seen winding into a wide circular lane and then another wide circular lane farther on, the one closest to him containing concentric circles of grass, a shrub planted in its center. On either side of this circular lane is a lawn, the center of each containing flat, circular low-cut shrubs, while surrounding these are complex designs of shrubs extending to the lawns’ very edges approaching the road on which is walking the observer. In the farther circular lane his vision is encompassing a pool constantly replenished in its center with six sunlit sparkling jets of water encircling the pool’s midpoint so narrowly as to cause the upward shooting streams to appear from a distance as one. Turning his head forward, continuing walking, viewing while passing the huge lot with its ugly desolation, his gaze is following the bare landscape rising to a heaping mound of dumped strewn-about junk. Hearing noises and scanning the mound . . . <kids0 Watching them throwing things about, hearing the crashing of the thrown items landing, as well as the yelling, the noise being subdued somewhat by distance; continuing walking viewing the scene, he is espying one of them, wearing a black baseball cap backwards on his head, suddenly stopping, raising his arm, pointing in his direction. <me or just this direction? . . . lotsa people on beach . . .0 Beginning jogging he is looking up . . . <two blocks–ocean0 Glancing behind him he is seeing them running onto the sidewalk, the backward baseball cap in the lead pointing at him, continuing running towards him. <jerks can’t touch me . . . pour it on0 He is beginning running full speed, the gap between him and the belligerents quickly expanding. “I’m a track athlete, jerks,” verbalizing a thought under his breath. “It equals power!” he is remarking while staring into black, star speckled night, remembering the sense of superiority he had had over those who would have harmed him, born of the knowledge that try as they would they could not touch him. <proficiency in running is like proficiency in any sport, any art, any science0 Continuing staring into the fluorescently starry New York night, he is seeing himself standing in the sand, dozens of people spread along the immediate beach area, some sitting, some lying on blankets, others walking about and, farther down, others swimming or bobbing in the glistening water . . . <safe0 Breathing a sigh of relief, looking back, seeing the belligerents standing on the street bordering the sand . . . <idiots0 Continuing walking towards the water he is looking back once more, watching the pack turn, watching them walking back in the opposite direction . . . Hissingly: “Jerks!” Feeling temptation to yell at them indicating his triumph he is continuing walking until reaching the water. <not too crowded . . . but enough . . . colorful . . .0 Glimpsing the people strewn across the sandy expanse, fleshy islands separated by golden-white sun-drenched lakes, some lying on their backs or on their bellies totally exposed to the sun; others sprawling flat on their elongated beach chairs; others seated upright reading books, newspapers, magazines, or just relaxing or snoozing; yet others seeking comfort under wide umbrellas of various bright colors stuck in the sand, Jason, continuing walking towards the water, is now viewing the bright aqua as a marvelous photographic panorama. Striding onward, blue, white, green and yellow triangles descending from umbrella apices are crossing his vision; a golden colored fancy one–the circular material’s expanse being divided by downwardly curving white lines–entering his sight as he is approaching sand lapped moist by the ocean’s constant caress. Though he has not come prepared to swim he wants as much as possible to feel the sea flowing about him. Ceasing walking, stooping down, untying a sneaker, removing it and his sock, stuffing the latter into the former, on dry sand laying the unit down, he is repeating the sequence with the other foot. Tying the laces of each sneaker together in such a way as to allow him to sling them across his left shoulder; doing so, he is continuing walking where lapping ocean meets land, enjoying the sensation of cool and tingly wetness flowing around his feet, through his toes, sinking them slightly into sand converting to soft scratchy sludge, the sneakers with his motion swinging narrowly across his shoulder. A breadth of aquatic risings and fallings in gentle almost even-cadenced swells stretching out to open horizon; a blinding veil of yellow-white blazing outward from an orb of congealed seemingly endless hydrogen explosions inflaming an almost cloudless light blue sky spreading over beach and ocean is striking Jason as an inexplicable vista to the wondering eye. Breathing in deeply the sea’s intoxicating aroma as splashing sounds of waves striking land are filling his hearing, squawking sounds are now impinging and, looking up, a view of flying gulls across the oceanic expanse and over the beach is entering his vision. <what goodness0 Whisperingly: “Why isn’t it always like this?” Continuing walking in the pleasant wetness looking straight ahead, espying rocky rises in the distance, he is turning his head leftwards viewing the awesome sea, noticing only two bobbing heads swimming in opposite directions, one closer to land, one farther out; then, turning his head rightwards, entering his vision are fleshy islands of people spreading out more sporadically than previously viewed, with fewer gaudy colored umbrellas dotting the landscape. <further from town0 Looking forward, the rocky rises which have previously seemed distant, are appearing now very close, Jason discerning their jagged scraggly shapes in greater detail. <must see them0 Whispering: “I’ll climb if I have to. I’m good at that!” Continuing walking along the eternally undefined line of water lapping land he is soon espying the beach winding around the rocky rises, themselves declining in height with their approach to the sea. <no climbing–yet0 Soon he is at the foot of the rocky rise he has been viewing for the last several minutes noting its being almost ground level where he is standing and realizing that its elongated compilation of rocks and shells is not terminating on the beach but is continuing its length well out into the watery depths while waves are seeming not to be breaking on its sharp and jagged insertion into the sea. Turningthe bend, he is stepping onto a narrow wedge of beach acting as a cliff-encircling path strewn with rocks, pebbles, shells, both whole and in sharp shattered bits, surface-loose or compressed into sand and beach-mud. Walking with care so as not to cut his feet or stub his toes, Jason is viewing a cliff beyond the pathway rising to a plateau as he is entering a wide semi-circular area. <canyon0 Loose rocks and pebbles covering the area, large boulders embedded in the ground, and, like the backs of large turtles, similar boulders in the dark blue bay, their tops visible above the surface, are entering his vision. Squawking sounds striking his ears . . . turning his head skywards . . . <gulls . . . flying into sun . . .0 Turning his head away, colors dark and bright blinding his sight, he rubbing his eyes and again opening them, looking out over sea, flat clouds appearing to him, the colored visual aberration is continuing slightly blinding his sight. <storm coming?0 “Hope not!” Looking across the semi-circular bay towards the cliff directly before him, with its light tan shade and deep crevices gouged out of rock at various intervals, his eyes are following it up to the plateau. Towards the center of the formation he is viewing a deep indent which is appearing to offer the possibility of a small canyon of its own, while the top stratum of the cliff is seeming to him darker than the rest. Wanting to get close, beginning walking across the semi-circle staying near the water, seeing no hindering rocks, he is stepping into the shoal head facing down so as to watch that he not trip or slip on something below. Something touching is startling him, he almost tripping. Looking up, entering his vision, a girl about his age is standing directly before him. Seeing her in a one piece swimsuit cut away around the waist, a golden tinge in her brown hair visible, for a second he is looking into her brown eyes and then downward seeing her holding a large ball. “Do you want to play?” she is asking him in her soft voice, smiling at him. “No!” Beginning walking towards the cliff . . . <why did you say no0 “She offered friendship and you said no!” Drawing near the cliffside he is stopping and looking back seeing the girl standing by herself holding the beach ball, looking towards him. A sharp stabbing pain deep within traveling out until it is consuming him is being experienced. “She wanted to play with someone and now she’s alone,” he is whispering, the thought of her loneliness, of his saying no when she offered him friendship adding to her lonely suffering, causing within him a crying, a painfully consuming unquenchable fire. <couldn’t help it0 “Turn around now and go back to her and play.” <can’t0 Reaching the foot of the cliff, turning right, directing himself away from the water, fire is engulfing him as the image of the girl alone on the beach looking for the friend who never came is searing him with its inner vision, while rolling through him like earth-vibrating thunder are his feelings as he is experiencing a visceral vice-like constriction. <go back to her0 Feeling no joy when seeing a traversable path winding up the cliff, he is dropping his sneakers to the ground, bending, separating them with an untying of the knot joining the respective laces, taking a sock out of one of the sneakers, leaning against the cliff, raising his left leg and pulling a sock back over his toes and foot, lowering his leg, slipping his foot partly into the sneaker, bending, inserting his fingers along the inner edges, pulling the sneaker up and on. Repeating this sequence with the right foot he is then kneeling tying the laces. Rising, beginning walking up the path . . . <why . . . why didn’t you play with her0 “I don’t know. I just couldn’t.” <but you wanted to . . . you would have had a friend0 Reaching the top after a six minute traverse, he is looking up, scanning the surroundings, viewing a barren landscape in his immediate proximity but noticing trees not too far distant. While exploring his puzzlement over his lack of an answer to his question of Why, he is walking in the trees’ direction until standing before foliage extending into the near distance, a small spread of yellow flowers brushing against him, purple blossoms at his feet with sprinklings of red; pink and orange blooms a little farther on. Beyond these are tall trees, thick and thin, luxuriously spreading green-covered branches shifting in a breeze. Stepping to the side of the flowers he is entering the thick foliage continuing wading forward until reaching one of the thicker trees. Walking past the tree an open field of low-cut grass is entering his vision. Stepping onto the field he is soon in the center of green . . . <like a ballpark0 . . . while entering his rightward vision is a disruption. Turning directly towards it he is seeing a large square formed by sandy white lanes with a similar lane running right down the square’s center itself bisected by another such lane. The lane running down the square’s center is seen winding into two large circles each consisting of the same white sand, the one closest to him having in its center a sparkling pool with a fountain of six razor-thin jets of water forming a circumference so narrow as to make it seem from a distance that they are one watery jet replenishing the pool constantly; the circular lane farthest from him containing concentric circles of grass with a shrub planted in its center. On either side of this circular lane is a lawn, the center of each containing flat, circular, low-cut shrubs, while surrounding these are complex designs of shrubs extending to the very border dividing lawn from street-road beyond the greenery. “I’ve been here before . . .” <. . . been here before . . . but . . .0 “. . . sometimes you feel you’ve been in a place but can’t quite remember . . .” <no0 “I remember!” <the park0 “Near the park!” Relief! In the midst of a strange place this is close to something familiar. <park like friend . . . girl . . . looking for friend0 “Why didn’t you play with her?” Unable to enter the area with the sandy white lanes, it being enclosed with a fence of crisscrossed hexagonal wires, he is walking towards the bushes and trees. “Has to be the park!” <almost home0 Soon amidst dense dark green bushes he is pushing forward until entering a large circular grassy area being interspersed several times with spirals of brick and stone, across from which, a short distance farther on, are appearing perfectly cut rectangular hedges, the dividing spaces of their sectioned widths flanked by cone shaped trees with immaculately shaved leaves. <similar?0 Walking across the grass towards the center, stepping onto a narrow brick lane, following it straight until it is curving him from his intended direction, stepping from the lane and continuing walking straight across the grass, he is occasionally traversing another path of brick or stone appearing along his way. Finally reaching the perfectly cut hedges flanked by their cone shaped trees with immaculately shaved leaves, a short gravel path is separating two of the cone shapes appearing before him, extending to a grassy path being spanned by a thickly leafed arch under which Jason is passing, the grassy path continuing, bordering the rectangular hedges and their flanking cone shapes. Seeing on his right a dead end of trees and brambles, he is turning left, walking a short distance, two more adjacent immaculately shaved cones appearing, a path extending between them. Continuing, he is suddenly finding himself gazing to his left at a wide lane of low-cut grass with corridor walls consisting of purple flowers and about twelve foot high thick green verdure while farther to the left slightly behind him thick dark green fronds are climbing a small stone wall somewhat beyond a hedge. Turning his head rightwards his gaze is following the grassy lane walled by purple flowers and twelve foot high thick green verdure which he is observing extending to smooth-boled flanking trees with the largest green leaves he has ever seen floating like breeze-blown pendula. Gazing groundward he is viewing bushes and variously shaded purple flowers seeming to him like tiny folk rushing out to the open from their forested enclosures. Walking rightward on the grassy lane amidst the purple flowers and green verdure towards the smooth-boled trees Jason is inhaling deeply the summer air with the soft breeze spreading its warmth around him. <different world0 “This is like that other planet I imagined about six months ago when I met my Star Friend . . .” Whisperingly: “Star Friend.” <like being on Star Friend0 “For sure!” <how can I get to him0 “I remember! We were in this spot last night! This was the park last night!” Feeling relief from the familiar setting which a second before appeared to be a beautiful but strange place . . . <this place is like my friend . . . like my Star Friend . . .0 “. . . like the girl . . . alone . . . looking for a friend. I should have played with her.” “HEY! LOOK AT THAT!” A loud booming voice is breaking into the midst of Jason’s brooding. Jason, trying to discern from which direction it is coming . . . “IT’S THE BLOND PUSSY! NOW WE CAN GET HIM!” Turning rightwards Jason is seeing coming out of the trees and bushes several boys of about his age and a little older. Instantly he is recognizing the one in the turned backward black baseball cap. Beneath the cap he is viewing a chubby, mean, angry looking face and with him are two of his friends. “Yeah,” another one of them is saying in a deeper matter-of-fact voice. “It’s the pussy blond jerkoff alright!” He is taller than the black-capped one and is thin, his mouth a twisted snarl, Jason is observing. “Hey jerkoff,” another is yelling, Jason turning his head, seeing that the new voice is coming from another kid, also thin but shorter than the previous speaker. “Let’s see you run blondy!” Ready to take off Jason is looking down the lane in the direction of the park’s entrance but is seeing a fifth kid blocking his way. This one is the same height as the last and muscular with a nasty look on his darkly tanned face, his slick black hair combed straight back. “Come on blond pussy prick!” the tan muscular one is snarling. “Let’s see you run!” The speaker crouches opening his arms as if to catch prey while Jason is looking about realizing that they have fanned around him leaving no unblocked route. “C’mon,” the chubby one in the backward baseball cap is saying. “Let’s punch the fuck outa him!” Instantly they are rushing Jason, the tan muscular one being the first to reach him and, grabbing him by the shirt, jerking him towards him with one hand, punching him in the left eye with the other clenched tightly into a fist. Seeing before him the one with the black baseball cap turned backward he is suddenly watching a rising leg, his stomach taking a powerful kick, he falling down in pain and breathlessness, the force of the kick and his dropping causing the tan muscular one to lose his grip. Jason is no longer seeing, it seeming as if all of them together are jumping him, beating him with their clenched fists on the head, all the while uninhibitedly without pause spewing at him chains of expletives. A hand grabbing his hair is pulling up his head and banging it down on the grassy lane, his head cracking with pain, he wondering if he is bleeding. Once more he is feeling his head being raised by the pulling of hair. “Listen,” he is hearing one of them saying while his head is being held by pulled hair. “Let’s drag this asshole out of here where there’s cement. Then we can watch him bleed while we’re smashing his head!”
“Great idea!” opines another. Feeling hands tightly gripping his ankles and himself being dragged along the ground, Jason is opening his eyes watching two of them dragging him while wondering where the other three are. Passing by him speedily in his vision are grass, trees, bushes, flowers as he is being dragged forward across the ground. Raising his head slightly he is viewing a wall of bushes up front and then suddenly colored stars and circles in the midst of blackness as he is feeling a forceful bang on his head. “Hey, piece of shit! Don’t raise that girly blond head again, little prick, goddamn little jerkoff, or I’ll kick it off!” the muscular tan one is saying while walking behind him with one of the others. Feeling his body being dragged over a hard surface, flat stones–visibly distinguished by dividing cracks from cementing–are whizzing past his eyes, while a statue of a young boy is passing to his left, he recognizing the park’s entrance that he had seen from the street. “Ok!” the chubby one in the black baseball cap turned backwards is yelling while dropping Jason’s left foot. The tall thin one is dropping his right foot following the other’s lead. “Now I’m going to put this little cocksucking prick out of his misery!” He is walking to a point adjacent to Jason’s head resting on a stone. Bending down he is grabbing Jason by the hair yanking his head up with sharp jerking motion. “Wait! I want to make the asshole suffer a little more,” the tan muscular one is saying, “before you crack that beautiful blond head open.” Drawing back his right leg and kicking it forward with all of the force he can muster he is kicking Jason in the right side. Repeating this action several times as if in an extreme uncontrollable fit of temper the chubby one is suddenly beginning speaking, still holding Jason’s head by his hair while jerking it slightly higher. “Ok . . .” “HEY! GET AWAY FROM THAT BOY!” A deep booming voice is vibrating in Jason’s ears. Instantly the chubby one is loosening his grip allowing Jason’s head to drop, it striking the stone. “GET AWAY FROM THAT BOY!” the roaring voice is commanding. Feeling pain in his head and in his side as he is barely glimpsing his tormentors fleeing, wondering again if he is bleeding, Jason is suddenly feeling a cool hand brushing over his forehead. Opening his eyes a large black face with full black beard sprinkled with gray hovering over him–tufts of gray-sprinkled black hair popping out from under his cap, deep black eyes staring into him with corner skin crinkles, a larger than usual neck-worn wooden cross dangling on a thick brown leather chord from his upper chest, the top three buttons of his shirt being open–is entering Jason’s vision along with an awe inspiring feeling of power and goodness permeating his being that he could not quite define. Seeming to be studying Jason, the latter is hearing the man speaking. “Here son,” the deep resonating voice that has rescued him is saying. “Let me help you up.” Wanting to thank him Jason cannot find his voice; wanting to cry he cannot or else his enemies will have won a victory over him. Jason is watching the large man bending above him supporting himself on one knee; is feeling a hand under his head slowly raising it; is watching the man’s other hand going towards his head while the first hand is withdrawing. “You’re bleeding a little, son. Here, let me help you up and take you home. Do you live far from here?” Soft and soothing are the deep sounds of the man’s kind voice. Struggling, Jason is squeezing back the urge to cry. “No sir,” he is forcing out the words. Feeling the man’s hands under his arms slowly raising him, not letting him go even when standing, it is seeming to him that they are remaining in that position for a long time. “I want to be sure you can stand without my holding you up,” the kind deep voice vibrating in his ears is saying. The hands slipping from under his arms Jason is feeling slightly wobbly. “Take one step,” his friend behind him is kindly suggesting, he then taking a step and feeling his knees shaking. “You can do it,” the sounds are resonating in his ears, the voice’s power giving him strength. “I’m telling you, you can!” the voice is commanding, the kindliness always present, always being felt; its goodness penetrating him to his deepest self. Taking another step . . . <i can do it0 “If I walk home on my own it will be a victory over my enemies!”
“Yes son. But it will be even more. It will be an overcoming within yourself.”
Walking shakily towards the park’s entrance, feeling the power of his rescuer behind him, the entrance is appearing close in his sight. <home soon safe0 “I can do this alone.” Walking up to him, stopping by his side, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, Jason is turning his head towards him and, looking up, is viewing his face with full gray sprinkled beard, shiny black eyes staring down at him smiling at him with their corner wrinkles; is feeling his concern, his love, his strength. “You have decided to take the journey home yourself”–the deep sounds soothing and supporting him– “and I respect your decision and view it with awe because I think you sense what I have learned from a long life, that each man must carry his own cross. Yet, when we see someone in need we must help.” Continuing staring into his face Jason, watching his free hand rising and descending, is feeling it smoothing his hair around his injury. “Go home son, and your folks will care for you.” Walking on, passing through the park’s opening onto the street, turning left on the way towards his house, Jason is feeling the deep concern for him of the Man, tears welling in his eyes, moistening his face. Closing his eyes as hard as he can, pushing back the tears, refusing to cry . . . <my victory0 Seeing a somewhat familiar figure a short distance away . . . <who? . . . don’t know . . .0 “Hey kid!” a rough crackly voice is saying. “What in blazes happened t’ yer?” <old man . . . way to beach . . .0 Approaching him, stopping, bending down, head with black brimmed sailor’s cap tilting leftwards; placing his right hand on Jason’s head turning it slightly to Jason’s right while holding on to his cane with his other hand, he is guiding Jason’s head back, thumb on chin, fingers along cheek. Gently pressing down his head, viewing his back-of-head wound . . . “What scum did this t’ yer, kid?” speaking threateningly.
“I don’t know them. I’m new here.” <proud . . . speak calm . . . no crying . . .0
“Goddamn scum!” Growling: “If I’da saw ’em do it I’da cracked their goddamned heads open!” Continuing holding Jason: “When yer older, look up Captain Danny. Sail with him for a year or two, that’s all. Just a year or two and no one will ever touch ya’!” Gently releasing Jason’s head his gritty voice is once more sounding. “Go home kid. Ya’ need tending. I’ll watch ya’ walkin’.” Beginning walking, thinking about the old man and Captain Danny . . . “. . . how would that help?” Wondering if the old man had sailed with Captain Danny, thinking that the captain must be a fierce character, visualizing a huge man at a ship’s wheel with a full black-bearded face grimacing, he is hearing him in his mind loudly barking commands. “Neither Captain Danny or the old man would ever cry!” he is remarking when realizing that the captain’s voice is sounding like the old man’s. <girl on beach would cry0 “She would feel hurt at my being beat up the way I felt hurt at her being alone.” Dwelling on this while walking, his house is appearing suddenly in his gaze. <ma and pa home?0 Like an electric bolt the thought is shooting through his body. <lunch break maybe . . . not two yet . . . closer to one . . . around midday0 Green hedges–flower-sprinkled yellow–are visually moving behind him as he is walking up the stone stairway approaching the door, two sets of vertical white frames decorating the wood present in his sight. Grasping the knob, turning it slowly . . . <open0 Feeling in his stomach the force of a powerful punch he is slowly pushing the door in, slowly closing it behind him, standing in the livingroom where, to his right, several feet distant, his parents are seated on the sofa in the midst of a heated argument. Walking past them, quietly approaching his bedroom door . . . “WHERE THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?” Opening his bedroom door while not responding to his father, he is walking quickly in closing the door behind him. Running to his bed, jumping onto it face down, laying there, he is feeling surprise that he has no urge to cry.
Hearing his door opening and slamming closed, his father’s harsh voice is sounding loud in his ears. “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT! DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME TALKING TO YOU? ANSWER ME! ” An urge to answer is filling Jason but there are no words within him. “YOU’RE PLAYING GAMES WITH ME?” Feeling his shirt being clutched from his back and being pulled, causing it to tighten against his chest and belly, he is suddenly being lifted into the air, his father beginning shaking him, then, opening the door, carrying him in this manner to the livingroom.
“What the hell is going on?” he is hearing his mother’s voice sounding in his ears with surprise and consternation. “Frank, we have to leave!”
“NOT UNTIL I TEACH THIS LITTLE SHIT A LESSON!” he is yelling at his wife while shaking Jason vigorously, suddenly letting him go, allowing him to fall on the floor, the muffled thud of his own body striking the hard surface entering his ears while he is landing on his injured right side, sharp pain shooting through his shoulder. “Now ANSWER my question,” his father’s growling filling his ears. “What the goddamn hell happened to you?”
“I got ganged up on,” hearing his own answer as a listless whisper.
“You mean you got beat up! And what did you do to the scumbag that beat you up?”
“There was more than one,” he is saying, still lying on his side, fearing that if he sits or stands up his father will hit him.
“You didn’t hurt any of them? You just let them beat you up? Get the hell back into your bedroom and don’t let me see your goddamn face again!”
“Wait,” his mother is saying. “Let me see your head.” He can see her approaching him and standing above him. “Get the hell on your feet so your mother can look at you,” he is hearing his father saying gruffly. Pushing up with his hands, feeling sharp pain in his right side and shoulder, Jason kneeling is now slowly rising to his feet. “Make it snappy,” his father is commanding. “We shoulda been outa here five minutes ago!” Feeling his mother’s hand descending on his head, traveling to his back, he is hearing her speaking. “You’ve got a cut. Go shower and wash off the dirt and the blood and then go to bed.” Turning around Jason is beginning walking to his room. “And make supper later! We won’t be back ’til very late!” her voice’s sound following him.
Lying in bed after showering, feeling pain and soreness in his banged up head, his puffy red left eye, in his side where he has been kicked and in his right shoulder where he has fallen due to his father dropping him, he is staring into the clear bright California sky of sunny blue through the unshaded open window. <want to cry?0 “It’s good not to cry. That’s being strong, that’s defeating my enemies, by not giving in to hurt feelings and baby crying.” <but why . . . the pain . . .0 “Not enough to make me cry!” Feeling extremely sleepy, struggling against it, his eyes are closing, he sinking into sleep. Bent fetal-like, lying sideways, staring into the blackness of his closed eyes . . . <what day . . tuesday? . . . saturday? . . . where? . . . bedroom? . . . ah . . .0 “Bedroom! Afternoon nap . . .” <dreamt . . . what? . . . can’t remember . . . ghouls in white . . . white clothing, white masks0 “Was kidnapped from Ma!” <i screamed . . . they took me further and further . . .0 “I remember being so frightened . . .” <no words to describe . . .0 “A horrible nightmare!” Opening his eyes . . . <almost dark0 Stretching his legs out and his arms downward he is yawning. Hearing no sound, he is turning resting on his back, a scintillating dot of seemingly transparent blue appearing in his vision. “Star Friend!” the words are exhaling softly. “You found me! You found me! You found me!” he is crying out the words. “I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I want to go to you and be with you forever! I don’t like it here! Take me to you my Loving Friend! Please! Let me go to you!” Speaking as the star is gleaming through his window against the backdrop of the darkening evening sky a powerful feeling of goodness and relief is surging through him, soothing him, caressing him, kissing his innermost self so that all of the badness he has been suffering and the powerful goodness he is now experiencing from his Star are blending into one overwhelming sensation. From deep within a crying is welling up over which he has no control, tears rolling down his face onto his pillow, he crying and crying and crying, seemingly endlessly. <you will choose the time . . .0
Jason, Last of the Argonauts
A Star is his Friend
[A short scroll-down past WARNING brings you to crucial excerpts from HYPERSPACE: Meeting 1 and Meeting 2. Those who read these two excerpts can judge for themselves that these two selections promise the reader a novel which contains a story of great interest and depth worthy of a reader’s full attention.]
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NOTE: In this novel the symbol < precedes a character’s thought, and a superscripts zero (0) follows that thought.
(To view an unabridged version of A Day in the Asylum: A Day on Planet Earth, scroll to the end of the blogsite page and click Older Entries, and then scroll to that title.)
An escape from hell . . .
[APPROACH THE END OF THIS BOOK AND UNDERSTAND THE MEANING OF HYPERSPACE AS NO ONE EVER HAS.]
Experiencing and visualizing simultaneously the cool, soft darkness surrounding him, engulfing him, while, from his reclining position with his head on pillow in slight elevation, staring into the night sky, bright sparks are titillating Jason with their shining and winking.
<not like out west0 “Too much big city light.”
Discerning multifarious twinkling tints amidst the sparse city view, his gaze is constantly focusing on a scintillating dot of bluish hue somewhat elevated above various fairly low residential structures. <my Love, my Friend, my Goodness0 Feeling a pang, breathing deeply, sighing, from across the void he is continuing viewing the bright bluish dot.
Grasping the tie knot hugging his neck, with his left hand pulling it down, he is opening his top collar button. “Thank god,” he is breathing while rubbing his neck, feeling the air refreshing the recently imprisoned skin. Supine, fully dressed, but for the absence of his shoes, feet hanging just over the bed’s edge, he is continuing looking at the bright point of blue blinking through his window.
<what a night0 “What a goddamn night!”
Unable to control the flood of images cramming his mind–women, men, blasting music, alcohol, food, the boss, Pat . . . <why was i there0 He is watching the people, with few exceptions informally dressed, and the big boss from Houston in his dark suit. <look at him with his cigar . . . young middle age . . . usually taciturn0 Whisperingly, under his breath: “Look at him now slapping backs and offering witticisms. A goddamn boss act!” Watching his emphatically waving hand making a point to one of the salesmen, a thin stream of white smoke curling upwards into the air from the thick cigar he is holding between the fingers of the motionless hand held at his waist . . . <was there ever before such a wide smile on that brooding black beard0
Standing in a far corner, his bright blondness distinguishing him and his self-imposed distance removing him from undesired attention, Jason is observing and mentally commenting to himself concerning surrounding occurrences, as constant feelings that he should not be there are impinging. <is it the smoke . . . i hate smoke . . . never touched the stuff . . . ya’ remember former heavy smoker at other job . . . guy was a music lover so we’d talk a lot . . . was up to three packs a day in the navy he’d said0 Watching the boss speaking to several salespeople–holding his cigar, oblivious to the emanating pollution–Jason is recalling his navy friend’s comment at the other job: <i had to quit . . . i couldn’t breathe air anymore, never mind smoke . . .0 Continuing observing the scene before him as his navy friend’s voice is trailing off into his memory’s recesses . . . <no . . . it’s not the smoke . . . just adds to it . . .0 “Why are you all alone Jason? Why don’t you have some fun?” a light, pleasant female voice, breaking into his thoughts, is asking. Turning left slightly, viewing a blonde, pink female form in blue standing before him . . . <so close . . . i can touch her0 Beyond her, in small groups throughout the rectangular room, he is observing people milling about. <what can i say0 “Are you looking off into the mysterious foggy future?” her soft pleasant voice is playfully asking.
“No! Actually, I’m looking at the big boss’ odoriferous mechanism of atmospheric toxicity.” She is breaking into a gay irrepressible laugh, he smiling. “You do have a way with words, Jason, don’t you?” Continuing smiling, her womanly appearance is confronting him with her long bright blonde hair descending, strands resting on her ninety-nine percent bare shoulders, large waves streaming in a flow behind her . . . <picks up i’m different–but respects me . . .0 . . . he viewing in her incomparable hazel eyes laughter-born moisture, a penetrating visceral warmth suddenly overwhelming him. Beaming in his eyes is the lush shining brightness of her astonishing blonde hair warmly blending with her radiant light pinkness, her perfectly womanly shape being revealed in a manner more evocative for its subtlety than for any pretentious flamboyance; in her simple light blue dress, somewhat loose so that it is flowing with her motion or, were it present, with a breeze, but far from billowing; with its two parallel rows of sewed blue and pink flowers running crosswise in waves, the lower row dancing just above the petite fullness of her braless breasts, the upper row flowing across the fabric’s edge, at various points petals or leaves virtually kissing her radiant skin; all being lifted by two thread-thin shoulder strings of blue. Viewing the mostly pink flowers above her girlish breast–the several of a turquoise hue barely contrasting with the ocean of fabric from which they grow, the lucent calyces of light green allowing her pinkness to filter through–his eyes, wandering slightly down, are not failing to note, to the left and to the right, protruding nipple points clearly defining the fabric. Nor are they failing to consider, as they are wandering farther downward, the hemline of her dress falling halfway only to her perfectly formed feminine thighs, her shapely legs descending further in his view. “Why don’t we leave here Jason? Come over to my place where we can talk without all this horrendous racket.” Ossifying the pleasant warmth currently infusing Jason is a sudden chill. “Where do you live?” his voice sounding distant to him.
“Oh, not far. In the neighborhood . . . a few blocks, actually.”
“Ok,” while feeling deeply penetrating knife stabs, his intellectual assessment that he is committing an extremely serious error dominating his thinking even while flashing through his mind is an image of office laughter that he is refusing such an offer, with ensuing questions amongst personnel as to what exactly is wrong with Jason. “C’mon!” Pat is saying, while with unexpected suddeness she is reaching out grabbing his left hand in her right; he, perceiving a flashing in her eyes, internally freezing. <act0 His viscera in turmoil he is feeling her small hand holding his, his vision centering on her perfectly proportioned slim girl’s shape as she is beginning walking, he trailing slightly behind, a tiny hand-chain of two blond links wending its way through pockets of people standing or moving about in the center of the large room. Seeing Tony and Jill in the periphery of his vision to his left, each holding a drink, they waving to him; Jason, turning slightly, mechanically raising his free hand, waving in response . . . <swimming in anticipation another would be . . . are those surprised looks? . . . especially tony the macho-man? . . .0 <. . . are they looking and wondering0 Approaching the wide passageway preceding the apartment’s entrance, Pat, releasing Jason’s hand, is walking to the coat rack against the wall on the left, he watching her slim girlish form, bare arm reaching, small hand of short-cut clear polished nails closing upon a light blue jacket. As, swirling her jacket around over her shoulders, he is viewing her petit breasts quivering with motion beneath their covering, instantaneously an internal electrical bolt is slamming him, dissipating all mental meanderings. Turning towards him, smiling, her hazel eyes gleaming in his direction . . . “Ready?” . . . her soft friendly tone sounding in his ears seemingly implying much more than mere readiness to leave . . . “Yup!” <why me . . . unbelievable0 . . . he is feeling the entire room’s eyes burning into the back of his neck while she, opening the door, is exiting, he following her into the hallway. In the hallway he is continuing following her, passing the elevator, the stairway approaching in his sight, now walking down behind her, the minuscule up and down movement of her golden hair (shining in his eyes) duplicating the rhythm of her step-by-step descent, a hypnotic effect transfixing his gaze, his mind, his viscera. Following in a trance a path being set for him which he has no desire to follow is concerning him on another level of mind while feeling a claw digging into and tightening around his intestines, he placing one foot, then the other, on consecutive steps in what is seeming to him an unending descent of one flight; reaching the mid-landing with a huge square window, top section being swung slightly open jutting into the night, then the ground floor. Seeing her ahead of him, small hand tightening around the flat steel bar running horizontally across the aluminum framed glass entranceway door, pushing it open, walking into the night, he is following, grabbing the bar and pushing, wondering at her not waiting for him . . . <inconsiderate?0 . . . stepping outside, watching her turning around, she smiling at him with a brightness matching her golden persona. “Come on,” she is saying, feigning a whine. “You don’t want to be up all night, do you?” Instantaneously transmitting through his neuronal wiring is a powerful electrical shock stunning him into a frozen, almost paralyzed state by his sudden and full awareness of the current situation into which he is stepping, as if into an escape-proof trap, he hating himself for his stupidity, gulping reflexively, the intestinal claw tightening around his viscera. Walking up to her, the tight claw relentlessly clenching within, they are descending down several concrete steps to the sidewalk. Turning left, continuing half a block to the corner, turning left again, beginning walking down a semi-lit street, a phalanx of evenly spaced oaks lining the curb paralleling their direction, Jason is feeling a light cool breeze slicing through his blazer cutting his flesh as he is viewing someone speedily approaching through the darkness, drawing near, breaking into the narrow parameter of his sight. Watching him slithering by like a shadow, seeing the shadow slowing its pace, observing it taking notice of them while continuing walking in their direction, viewing its presence adjacent to Pat, the shadow-become-substance is sweeping his eyes up and down her form whistling and, looking at Jason for less than a second, picking up his speed. “Lucky bastard,” are words ebbing into the darkening evening’s silence as Pat’s right hand is enclosing around Jason’s left. “C’mon luv. It ain’t gettin’ early!” <how happy i should be0 As they are walking down the next block, feeling her small hand in his . . . <what should i be feeling now0 . . . he is groping for an answer, feeling her girl’s flesh in his while turning left at the block’s corner. Walking past two three-family houses, turning into the entrance of the third, he is anticipating that she will lead him up the front stairway. Wheeling into a narrow side path of polished stone they are standing before a side entrance, he feeling her hand loosening its grip, pulling away, he watching for several seconds as she is groping in her hand bag until, the hand rising with a ring of keys, she pushes one of them into the lock hole. “Jason, look!” indicating with her chin that the lock should be the object of his attention, he watching her pulling the key partially out, pushing it in, pulling it out, pushing it in with quick jerking motions. Looking up at him with a broad smile . . . “See how easy it is?” she is rhetorically questioning, while in a second gagging is constricting his throat. With the door swinging open and the lights switching on at the behest of Pat’s hand waving over a switch, Jason is dumbly following her into the house.
Together again are he and his Friend for Eternity. “When did we first meet, my Love?” his child’s voice is querying in his memory. <it was before we moved . . . before we lived near the ocean0 “We lived inland, then, my Love. I remember perfectly! It was flatland with hills and mountains towards the horizon.” <one peak standing alone, close to the Edge0 “It was when I brought a report-card home with an F. It was like this, my Loving Friend . . . I told Ma ‘I got an F in math.’ ‘Pa is not gonna like that,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I don’t like that! Get to your room! Pa will go up there when he gets home.’ Yes my Loving Friend! That’s how our Meeting started!” Chirping in a high pitched child’s sound, Jason is continuing. “You know, I once heard someone say . . . was it a teacher or a minister? . . . I don’t remember . . . I once heard him say that sometimes good things come from bad but when the bad is happening you don’t know it will be the cause of the good! So when Pa came up later I didn’t know good would follow. I remember! ‘What’s this about you getting an F, huh?’ he said. He sounded like Pa sounds when he’s real mean. Honest, I don’t remember what I said back! Then Pa whupped me! He grabbed me by my shirt and pants and pulled me off the bed, threw me back down real hard so my behind faced up and then he whupped me as hard as I’ve ever been whupped! He used the flat of his hand, alright, but Pa is strong! I couldn’t sit down for a long time without hurtin’. And I cried . . . I wanna cry now, my Loving Friend, just thinking about it. But you’re here and I feel your goodness and I know I’m safe. Anyway, I remember laying in bed on my stomach after my whupping. It seemed like a real long time, my laying there. I didn’t cry too much, you know. For some reason I just stopped. And I felt a strange feeling in me . . . I don’t know what.” Continuing staring out his window . . . “Then, my Friend for Eternity, I realized it was getting darker. I could never explain what made me get up from bed, hurtin’ the way I was. But now I know. You made me get up! You did, Loving Friend! ’Cause you wanted me to leave there, wanted me to . . .” Hearing his father’s booming voice along with his mother’s shrieks he is continuing staring at the twinkling blue spark of light. “I was feeling a really awful aching in my behind, you know. But I still got up and walked! Why would I do that? Why would I want to? It was you my Love! It was you calling me to you!” He is remembering wincing in pain, slowly and quietly opening his bedroom door, walking out into the hall, quietly closing the door, walking carefully down the stairs, not wishing his parents to see him, reaching the bottom, walking straight to the front door feeling fire burning his lower behind from his father’s beating and the back of his neck from his imagining his parents’ stares who may be in the kitchen or livingroom behind him. Opening the door, stepping into the cool end-of-winter air, he is walking out into the flatland, feeling the trodding-on of stones and old plant life carcasses. Silence is infiltrating the child’s memory. <ma just crying0 “Can’t be sure . . . maybe . . .” <how long ago was our Meeting . . . we moved here when?0 “About a year ago, I think.” <july . . . like now0 “And I met you about six or so months before that . . . February or March.” He is watching himself standing in the flatland far enough away from their house of a year and a half ago for it to hardly be visible. “That’s when I turned away from the house and began walking towards the mountain on the Edge. That was when I drew near to our Meeting, my Love for Eternity. I remember my aching during the long walk to the mountain. It was you who drew me there! Why else would I walk so far even though I was hurting so much?” Cloying his memory’s vision, colors are emblazoning land and peak. Gazing at the skyward jutting jagged-edged triangle, he is viewing a mass of rock with sides of unequal height drenched in yellow sunset orange, the waning glow thinning into the sky, melding with evening blue. Raising his eyes into the blue, thinking of outer space and of far away worlds . . . “I was thinking, my Love, of how much better things must be out there than they are here. It wasn’t an accident that we met! You guided me and knew my thoughts because it was then, while looking up and thinking of these things, that we met! For it was then that I saw your Eternal Light glimmering in my eye! First there was the darkness of the evening sky, then there was me thinking of how things had to be better up there on other worlds, and then there you were winking at me with your dear dear blueness, like a clear and bright blue diamond. That was our first Meeting my Love, my Friend, my Goodness! That was your calling of me to you!” <what feeling now? . . . highness . . .0 Whispering with excitement, “. . . joy . . . goodness, beauty, love, caring . . .” Continuing staring at the tiny pauselessly winking blue dot amidst the increased number of blinking dots now suspended in a darkening abyss he is aware of silence.
An escape from hell . . .
The Most Important Novel of the 20th and 21st Centuries
HYPERSPACE is the MOST IMPORTANT novel written in the 20th and 21st centuries because it offers a valid explanation as to why planet Earth has been from time immemorial and still is a violence-ridden planet and why our species, homo sapiens, may indeed be brain-programed to self-destruct! HYPERSPACE shows in great pictorial detail the CRIMES committed against the individual AT BIRTH; how these CRIMES against the individual TWIST personality, and how this affects the person later in life. It is an indisputable FACT THAT ALMOST EVERY HOSPITAL IN THE WORLD, inadvertently or purposefully, MISTREATS NEWBORNS! In a letter sent to me by noted French obstetrician Frederick Leboyer, author of Birth Without Violence, he wrote the following:
“The treatment, no! . . . mistreatment of the New-born is still, practically EVERYWHERE all over the world, as criminal as ever.”
That is HYPERSPACE’s essential message and, given such treatment at birth, the psychophysiological ramifications later in the individual’s life must be seen as unavoidable. I think the prevalence of teen suicides no accident, these tragic events occurring just at the time of nascent sexual maturation. On a PBS documentary concerning teen suicides which I viewed, one teen who had attempted suicide said something to the effect that she didn’t attempt suicide because she desired to die, but because she could no longer bear the terribleness of what she was suffering while living! She was not speaking about suffering from an external source, for the documentary made clear that she was well treated at home. The suffering was internal! What then was the source of this internal suffering? My next question is, what happened to her at birth or soon thereafter? Because her suffering emanated from an unconscious source! I contend that her suffering was pre-conscious, i.e., that a traumatic event occurred in her life before the conscious part of her brain was functioning! I.e., during or soon after birth!
How else can the following questions be answered?
*Why has our species been and is currently, as always, prone to war, rape, pillage, irrational suicidal behavior?
*Why is there a preponderance of teen suicides?
*Why do mothers abandon newborns, in some cases throwing them in garbage cans and compactors; in other cases outright murdering them?
*Why are there religious fanatics who “know” they will go to “heaven” if they murder “infidels,” the more they murder the higher in “heaven” they believe they will go?
*Why throughout history has there been, as there is now, an overwhelming number of people with emotional problems which make them incompatible with others and unable to live sanely with themselves?
WHY IS PLANET EARTH A LUNATIC ASYLUM?
If a majority of us are mistreated at birth, then it follows that a majority of us have trauma entrenched in the lower region of the brain which will affect our behavior in a major way later in life WHEN WE BECOME SEXUAL! The electrical discharge known as orgasm OPENS THE BRAIN’S NEURONS AND RELEASES BURIED TRAUMA! This phenomenon was explicated by psychologist Arthur Janov, discoverer of Primal Therapy:
. . . how which organ systems later become affected by stress depends on prototypic events occurring very early in life, in a way associated with the maturation of the brain.
Thus the newborn is “adequate” in the areas of respiration, coronary response, and other life-sustaining processes. These are integrated by the innermost portion of the brain in the anatomic midline. Traumas at this stage of life (from in utero to the age of approximately one year) constitute what I call “first line traumas.” (Arthur Janov, Ph.D, Primal Man.)
DEFINITION: Primal = upsurging of subconscious Trauma (Primal Pain)
It is my belief that much compulsive neurotic sex is an unconscious attempt to produce a first-line discharge. It is one of the only ways a neurotic can bring on a massive compulsive release for himself. Indeed, Primal patients who are fairly advanced in treatment find that convulsive orgasm immediately plunges them into birth Primals. In short, orgasm for the neurotic may well be a discharge of unresolved convulsing Pain, and the reason for the severe convulsions during orgasm must be due to first-line pressure and not to any property of normal sex.
Compulsive sex, then, is a necessary deterrent to the possibility of seizures or of psychosis. It is when the human system becomes rigid, and riddled by internalized moral precepts which preclude free sex, that the first-line discharge moves from the sexual apparatus to the head (seizures). Hospitalized mental patients deprived of sex are also deprived of a chance to discharge tension. It would be far better to teach them the value of sex and masturbation and to help them “let go” with their bodies. It seems almost trivial: a notion that instead of lining up each morning in the hospital for their electroconvulsive shock treatment, patients should be lining up for their morning sex–a seemingly whimsical but deadly serious notion. The problem, of course, is that free sex for mentally ill persons too often brings on more anxiety, not less. (Arthur Janov, Ph.D, Primal Man.)
It is known that the 9/11 terrorists and the Ft. Hood shooter were involved in sexual activity shortly before their murderous and suicidal acts! If it became apparent that all jihadi suicide killers did not participate in neurotic sexual escapades shortly before the perpetration of their atrocities, it would surprise me. It should be borne in mind that they are looking forward to going to “heaven” where they will have unlimited sex with seventy-two beautiful virgin women (houris).
Depending on the extremity of the mistreatment one suffers at birth, one will be neurotic to that degree . . . or PSYCHOTIC! The process of creating neurosis and psychosis is the same. The degree is different! Read HYPERSPACE and WATCH THE PROCESS UNFOLD BEFORE YOUR EYES! HYPERSPACE shows ALL the events of Jason’s life covered by the story from traumatic birth and post-birth to the radical consequences later in his life! In my novels I labor to SHOW EVENTS. If the story concerns gladiators, as in another of my novels, I SHOW the butcheries of the arena! In HYPERSPACE I show everything that comprises the life of a psychotic! If a reader cannot tolerate explicit sexuality in a book, then the reader is advised to skip over such passages in HYPERSPACE but keep in mind that they are there, because they are in life and are integral to the process of neurotic and psychotic trauma release! This is my promise: there is no frivolous word, sexual or otherwise, in HYPERSPACE. Every word, every description, is there for a reason in a story comprising the most exquisite prose interlaced with poetically delineated scenes, even while steeping itself in the psychological reality of the most serious brain malfunction. Do you agree that there is something radically wrong with life on this planet? Do you agree that there is something radically wrong historically and currently with the activities of our species? Then it is in your interest to purchase and read HYPERSPACE!
Use the Amazon or Barnes and Noble links to purchase this extremely important book! Or go to the publisher’s link (AuthorHouse).
IT IS IN YOUR INTEREST TO KNOW WHY THE WORLD YOU LIVE IN IS LOST IN SPACE!
READ HYPERSPACE AND LEARN WHY HOMO SAPIENS IS NOT SANE. LEARN WHAT THE PROCESS IS THAT HAS TURNED PLANET EARTH INTO A LUNATIC ASYLUM!
4 Responses to “HYPERSPACE”
RJ Says: April 17, 2012 at 5:14 am
To better understand this violent world, you must read the New Testament in the Bible. Humans focus on the physical world, but our spirit is what we are.
We live in a fallen world consumed with spiritual warfare; Good (Love) and Bad (Hate).
The 1 to 100 years we spend on Earth is a fraction of the life of our spirit.
This World will pass away leaving our Spirit to live eternal life or doomed to slow destruction perhaps by the fire of the SUN. IMO of course.
Grace and Peace to you and your loved ones.
Stanley Brookoff (author of HYPERSPACE) Says: April 18, 2012 at 2:50 am
When a newborn person comes into the world and is grabbed by the feet, held upside down, smacked in the rear, placed on a table under blinding bright lights, is forced to suffer astringents stuck in his or her nose and rubbed about the eyes, and who may be the object of various injections, and whose hearing is constantly bombarded by loud noises heard as shocks, and who is then stuck in a glass receptacle (the Glass Cage) for hours or days with little human contact . . . when all of this occurs, as it often does in hospital environments, this new person will have had his or her brain traumatized. And this traumatization will result in a malfunctioning organ (brain) that will take a lifetime to un-traumatize, if the person doesn’t become a drug addict or commit suicide first. This person can read the Bible, Hebrew or Christian, Shakespeare, and even psychology books, but it won’t matter. The brain will continue to malfunction until long-range psychotherapy unwinds the brain’s twisted neurons.
RJ Says: April 18, 2012 at 5:17 am
I respectfully disagree.
The violence referenced is common around the world where many humans are born a natural birth; therefore the environment you referenced does NOT explain humankind’s inhumanity globally.
A child can be raised by hateful bigots, yet when able to think for itself can choose between right or wrong, love or hate.
Whether you believe in God or not, fact is we are spiritual beings; Our 1 to 100yrs of life on this Earth is but a fraction of the time our spirit will live in this universe; the flesh will soon return to the Earth leaving our spirit to soar or doomed to destruction.
There is spiritual warfare in this world as we fight to do what is right when we want to do wrong; like lie, cheat, steal, hurt others or even murder.
In addition, many can read the Bible and get nothing out of it because they live for the flesh.
Broad and wide is the road to destruction that most will travel, and narrow is the path to Spiritual life which few will find.
Try reading books of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in the Bible; it may help you understand the meaning of life.
Grace and Peace to you and your loved ones.
Stanley Brookoff Says: April 22, 2012 at 4:34 am
I respond to your last comment by first pointing out that there is, generally, no place on this planet where newborns are treated well. It’s only a question of what kind of mistreatment the new person suffers. If the newborn is in a modern hospital setting, he or she will incur the type of mistreatment described in my response to your first comment. If the newborn is in a Third World setting, the mistreatment will not be organized as a “medical” procedure, but there will be more than enough suffering for the new person to experience, beginning with starvation. Go to the following site and get a fair idea of what goes on in non-hospital third-world settings:
Though this article centers primarily on women giving birth, it should be obvious that if the new mother is treated severely, the newborn will be treated just as severely or worse.
You may also want to visit the home page of this site to review some other categories:
In a letter written to me by French obstetrician Frederick Leboyer, author of Birth Without Violence, he wrote the following: “The treatment, no! . . . mistreatment of the New-born is still, practically EVERYWHERE all over the world, as criminal as ever.”
Therefore, one very credible explanation for the fact that our species, homo sapiens sapiens, is an irrational, violence-ridden, destructive, suicidal species, is brain-twisting mistreatment of the individual at birth. When this is coupledwith the violent nature of the planet itself (life feeding on life and natural cataclysms), it is quite extraordinary that some enlightenment has prevailed at various points in history. I have a saying: “If there is no God, homo sapiens is a dead-end street.”
The existence of God is not an argument against physical reality! Physical reality is such, that if you stick a pin in your finger, bang your head, or stub your toe you will feel pain. If you get hit by a car your body will be damaged and you will suffer terrible pain. If you are cut or stabbed with a knife, you will bleed. If the body experiences a severe enough injury you can die. None of these experiences are at odds with the existence of God. So too, if a newborn is mistreated, this person’s brain will be traumatized and the individual will suffer terrible Pain later in his or her life commensurate with the birth or post-birth trauma. Such an experience is not at odds with the existence of God.
Because a pin prick, a bang in the head, a stubbed toe, a car accident, and a knife cut are things we remember consciously (they being everyday occurrences of conscious life), we accept them as normal events of flesh and blood life existence. And those among us who believe, think, or know there is a God, see no contradiction with these painful occurrences and the existence of God. But because birth and post-birth traumas occur at a time when the brain’s cortex (the seat of consciousness) is non-functional, we have no conscious memory of such events. So much is this the case, that only a very small minority among the homo sapiens population of this planet are even aware of this malady’s existence! This despite the fact that this malady is the single most inimical illness prevalent within our species. I once heard psychologist Arthur Janov say “neurosis is more common than the common cold.” I think he was understating the case. Neurosis and psychosis are rampant epidemics scourging life on this planet! As has been the case throughout history.
The point is, that when I write about birth or post-birth brain trauma you (and most others) don’t relate to it as a phenomenon as real as stubbing one’s toe. You may think I am dreaming up the idea of early brain trauma and thus the idea seems to fly in the face of your theological notion that “spirit” is above flesh, and if we all follow a particular theology the spirit will be victorious over negativity. So let me present you with these questions: Because you believe in your theology (Christianity), does not your toe still hurt when you bang it? Do you not bleed if you cut yourself? Of course the answer to these rhetorical questions is “yes.” In short, there is no contradiction between your Christianity and physical reality. Nor between Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, atheism, agnosticism, or any other ism and physical reality. And because I appreciate your willingness to have this dialogue, I will show you that birth or post-birth trauma is as much a physical reality as stubbing your toe or getting a cut:
The brain is a tripartite organ. The sections are, from top to bottom, cortex, midbrain (mesencephalon), and hindbrain (rhombencephalon). These threesections are connected by approximately 100 billion neurons. When a trauma occurs to an individual at birth or soon after birth, many of these neurons will gate. Gating is when the neuron blocks transmission of messages. Bear in mind that neurons are wires and the messages they transmit are electrical. When a birth or post-birth trauma occurs, the new brain receives that trauma as a life threat due to the frail nature of the young organism (the baby). The brain “knows” that the full impact of the trauma will kill the organism, so it stops the message of the trauma from reaching the organism outside of the brain. Thus the trauma remains in the brain. The only part of the brain fully functioning at that stage of life is the hindbrain; the midbrain only partially functioning, and the cortex being totally non-functional. Because conscious thought and memory are functions of the cortex (non-functional at birth), the person who has had a birth or post-birth trauma will have no conscious memory of that trauma. When this person gets older, various negative events in the person’s life will remind him or her, in an unconscious way, of that original, or those original, negative events. The individual in question will feel funny, will feel at odds with life, will feel negative, will feel depressed. Because this individual will have no conscious memory of the cause of these feelings (the original trauma at birth), he or she will be at a total loss as to why he or she feel so bitter, so negative, so at odds with life; will be at a total loss as to why he or she is suffering the tortures of the damned. When this person becomes pubescent, a new factor is added to the equation: sexuality. The reason for the existence of this new factor is that the orgasm is an electrical discharge. Aside from the pleasurable sensations emitted by this electrical discharge, it also serves the function of ungating (i.e. opening) the brain’s gated (closed) neurons. If a birth or post-birth trauma is buried in that brain, when the neurons’ gates are swung open by the electrical discharge of orgasm, that trauma will shoot up and out like a volcanic eruption! (Dr. Janov refers to this effect as a Primal). If the trauma at birth was severe enough, its eruption later in life can precipitate suicide. The preponderance of teen suicides is not a coincidence.
Now you have some acquaintance of the physical reality of birth and post-birth trauma. I hope you can see that it is as real as a pin prick and as devastating as a serious car accident. Just as a pin-prick or a car accident is not at odds with any theology (all religions relate events of physical injury), neither is birth or post-birth trauma suffered by the brain at odds with any theology or its lack. A long process of psychotherapy can dissipate some of the traumatic Pain buried in the brain’s lower regions. The deeper the Pain is buried (i.e. Pain ensconced in the hindbrain), the more physiological will be its affects, the more a part of the person’s flesh and blood it will be, and the more difficult it will be to eradicate from the individual’s life, and the longer it will take. The best psychotherapy for this malady is lying down and feeling the Pain when it erupts. This is Primal therapy. However, because the sensations of this procedure are extremely severe, including as it does the feeling to want to commit suicide, it is wise to enter into it with a trained psychotherapist guiding the way.
I do exhort you to scroll down on the HYPERSPACE site to the item I posted concerning Whitney Houston. You will read about why people use drugs. I also encourage you to read HYPERSPACE and watch the Primal process unfold before your eyes.