by me, Kerry Burgess, 11/08/2024 6:17 PM
So, you see, none of that existed in this real world reality until just moments ago
Those scenes never existed until just now
BECAUSE of my observations
That's anti-time
My alternative explanation has been that it exists because of time-travel
Time-travelers read what I post, travel back in time, create the content and then I observe it in the future AND on a day that matches a pattern that seems interesting me
Nope.
There is no time-travel
Time-travel does not exist
What does exist is anti-time
Now, how the hell do I break out of this anti-time reality?
From 9/22/2010 ( ) To 11/8/2024 ( Today - Friday ) is 5161 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 12/20/1979 ( premiere USA film "The Black Hole" ) is 5161 days
From 10/12/1896 ( ) To 10/26/2014 ( premiere USA film "Interstellar" ) is 43112 days
43112 = 21556 + 21556
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 11/8/2024 ( Today - Friday ) is 21556 days
https://www.nobelprize.org/prizes/literature/1975/montale/facts/
by me, Kerry Burgess - Posted by H.V.O.M at 7:50 AM Wednesday, September 22, 2010
In flight refueling
That was about the stress of flying aircraft at night. I can still visualize from the dream that the headlights cast light only about two feet, I would guess, ahead of the car on the road and that has got to be memory of my aircraft's anti-collision lights and probably before I shut them off while flying through a cloud.
Last night before falling asleep again I wondered if that dream was memory of me flying right seat in an US Navy EA-6 Prowler and that could be true because I remember there were more than two people in the car but then I decided that was not all of the reason for that dream. The reason I saw the gas station on my right side and then the two women with the coffee pot is because I was sitting in the front seat of a US Navy F-14 Tomcat and the Tomcat's refueling probe is mounted on the right side of the fuselage and then it extends out of the fuselage and out away from the fuselage in order for the pilot to connect to the refueling drogue. That must be the reason for the coffee pot. The coffee pot was the drogue from the refueling aircraft. The two women must have been the crew of the aircraft and the reason they seemed vaguely familiar is because that detail in the dream consisted of an actual memory of me visualising the crew of the refueling aircraft that I was talking to over the radio. I never did visualize those other people in the car with me in the dream and I feel confident they were the crew of other aircraft and probably my crew in the backseat of my aircraft.
I am not certain why I saw my arm extend out of the right side window and pour out the cold coffee because I wondered if that was actually me looking out the right side of my aircraft and looking at one of the wings. That is consistent the detail that I saw my arm extended out the window. More likely though is that I was again seeing the refueling probe of my US Navy F-14 Tomcat as I was refueling.
Seeing the water on either side of the road is probably about me lining up my aircraft to land at night on a US Navy aircraft carrier which can stressful at any time.
[JOURNAL ARCHIVE 22 September 2010 excerpt ends]
From 4/23/1960 ( premiere USA TV series episode "Bonanza"::"Dark Star" ) To 9/22/2010 ( ) is 18414 days
18414 = 9207 + 9207
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 1/17/1991 ( from the thoughts in my conscious mind, coinciding with United States of America Veterans Affairs hospital psychiatric doctor medical drugs: the date of record of my US Navy Medal of Honor as Kerry Wayne Burgess chief warrant officer United States Marine Corps circa 1991 officially the United States Apache attack helicopter pilot ) is 9207 days
From 10/28/1994 ( premiere USA film "Stargate" ) To 9/22/2010 ( ) is 5808 days
From 11/2/1965 ( my known birth date in Antlers, Oklahoma, USA, as Kerry Wayne Burgess ) To 9/27/1981 ( premiere USA TV series episode "Nova"::"Computers, Spies & Private Lives" ) is 5808 days
http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/231840/Geronimo
Encyclopædia Britannica
Geronimo
Geronimo, Indian name Goyathlay ("One Who Yawns") (born June 1829, No-Doyohn Canyon, Mex. - died Feb. 17, 1909, Fort Sill, Okla., U.S.), Bedonkohe Apache leader of the Chiricahua Apache, who led his people’s defense of their homeland against the military might of the United States.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 37
“Southerner, aren’t you?”
“East Texas.”
“An Easterner, my mistake.” Bateman cackled at his own wit and turned back to his picture, an indifferent watercolor of the woods across the road.
“I wouldn’t sit down on that piano stool, if I were you,” Stu said.
“Shit, no! Wouldn’t do at all, would it?” He changed course and headed toward the back of the small clearing. Stu saw there was an orange and white cooler chest in the shade back there, with what looked like a white lawn tablecloth folded on top of it. When Bateman fluffed it out, Stu saw that was just what it was.
“Used to be part of the communion set at the Grace Baptist Church in Woodsville,” Bateman said. “I liberated it. I don’t think the Baptists will miss it. They’ve all gone home to Jesus. At least all the Woodsville Baptists have. They can celebrate their communion in person now. Although I think the Baptists are going to find heaven a great letdown unless the management allows them television—or perhaps they call it heavenvision up there—on which they can watch Jerry Falwell and Jack van Impe. What we have here is an old pagan communing with nature instead. Kojak, don’t step on the tablecloth. Control, always remember that, Kojak. In all you do, make control your watchword. Shall we step across the road and have a wash, Mr. Redman?”
“Make it Stu.”
“All right, I will.”
They went down the road and washed in the cold, clear water. Stu felt happy. Meeting this particular man at this particular time seemed somehow exactly right. Downstream from them Kojak lapped at the water and then bounded off into the woods, barking happily. He flushed a wood pheasant and Stu watched it explode up from the brush and thought with some surprise that just maybe everything would be all right. Somehow all right.
He didn’t care much for the caviar—it tasted like cold fish jelly—but Bateman also had a pepperoni, a salami, two tins of sardines, some slightly mushy apples, and a large box of Keebler fig bars. Wonderful for the bowels, fig bars, Bateman said. Stu’s bowels had been giving him no grief at all since he’d gotten out of Stovington and started walking, but he liked fig bars anyway, and helped himself to half a dozen. In fact, he ate hugely of everything.
During the meal, which was eaten largely on Saltines, Bateman told Stu he had been an assistant professor of sociology at Woodsville Community College. Woodsville, he said, was a small town (“famous for its community college and its four gas stations,” he told Stu) another six miles down the road. His wife had been dead ten years. They had been childless. Most of his colleagues had not cared for him, he said, and the feeling had been heartily mutual. “They thought I was a lunatic,” he said. “The strong possibility that they were right did nothing to improve our relations.” He had accepted the superflu epidemic with equanimity, he said, because at last he would be able to retire and paint full-time, as he had always wanted to do.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 13
Deitz took two uncertain steps toward him. His fists closed, opened, then closed again. “But why? Why would you want to do something like that?”
“Sorry,” Stu said, smiling. “That’s classified.”
“You shit sonofabitch,” Deitz said with soft wonder.
“Go on. Go on out and tell them they can do their tests.”
He slept better that night than he had since they had brought him here. And he had an extremely vivid dream. He had always dreamed a great deal - his wife had complained about him thrashing and muttering in his sleep - but he had never had a dream like this.
He was standing on a country road, at the precise place where the black hottop gave up to bone-white dirt. A blazing summer sun shone down. On both sides of the road there was green corn, and it stretched away endlessly. There was a sign, but it was dusty and he couldn’t read it. There was the sound of crows, harsh and far away. Closer by, someone was playing an acoustic guitar, fingerpicking it. Vic Palfrey had been a picker, and it was a fine sound.
This is where I ought to get to, Stu thought dimly. Yeah, this is the place, all right.
What was that tune? “Beautiful Zion”? “The Fields of My Father’s Home”? “Sweet Bye and Bye”? Some hymn he remembered from his childhood, something he associated with full immersion and picnic lunches. But he couldn’t remember which one.
Then the music stopped. A cloud came over the sun. He began to be afraid. He began to feel that there was something terrible, something worse than plague, fire, or earthquake. Something was in the corn and it was watching him. Something dark was in the corn.
He looked, and saw two burning red eyes far back in the shadows, far back in the corn. Those eyes filled him with the paralyzed, hopeless horror that the hen feels for the weasel. Him, he thought. The man with no face. Oh dear God. Oh dear God no.
Then the dream was fading and he awoke with feelings of disquiet, dislocation, and relief. He went to the bathroom and then to his window. He looked out at the moon. He went back to bed but it was an hour before he got back to sleep. All that corn, he thought sleepily. Must have been Iowa or Nebraska, maybe northern Kansas. But he had never been in any of those places in his life.
Chapter 14
by me, Kerry Wayne Burgess, posted by me: 9:30 PM
Number 878: The Farthest Man From Home
I am Kerry Burgess. This is what I think.
Friday, October 18, 2024
Today is 10/18/2024, Post #4
The channel 4 KOMO tv news studio is across the street from the Space Needle in downtown Seattle
On May 9, 2006, as I watched the tv from a few miles away, the weather guy gesturing to a video image on the sidewalk below where he was standing and there was a guy standing there on the sidewalk with a canvas on an easel and he seemed to be painting a picture of the Space Needle across the street from him
The next morning, May 10, 2006, I awoke in that grungy homeless shelter on the waterfront in downtown Seattle and I knew with absolute certainty everything I remember about my past was wrong.
Originally, after that day US Senator Patty Murray had her photo-op at the USA Veterans Affairs hospital in Seattle, where I was being escorted by social-workers hurriedly out a door on a different side of the building, those same gals seemingly distressed by the presence of the senator, they dropped me off a senior-citizens home named Theodora and eventually I was allowed to stay at the Shoreline Homeless Veterans shelter a few miles away. They kicked me out of there to that less-comfortable but clean, old place in downtown Seattle because I did not want to settle in and conform with a plan they knew only to work, mostly unsuccessfully in my view, for those people too weak to be anything other than substance and alcohol abusers. I had a real problem. Other than those losers they worked with, I had a real problem and it was not a problem I created for myself. All I can guess is that my presence gave other people the authority to justifiably assess the operation of that place I was staying. And those people working there didn't like that. It's some sort of complex, multi-faceted operation and it culminates with me - finally - getting to do what I have been selected to do. And prepare to be amazed when that finally happens.
May 10, 2006.
There has not been one single since then I have not sat here at a desk and tried to understand what happened to me.
And May 10, 2006, is when it got really weird.
11/7/2006 11:18 AM
Something has been bugging me about this for a couple days. I knew it was going to have something to do with me even before I just looked it up. I just didn’t know what it would be.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Ray_Smith
Paul Ray Smith (September 24, 1969 – April 4, 2003) was a United States Army Sergeant First Class who was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for actions in Operation Iraqi Freedom while serving with B Company, 11th Engineer Battalion, 3rd Infantry Division in Baghdad, Iraq. Smith's actions in Iraq were the most recent actions for which a Medal of Honor was awarded.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/September_1969
September 1969
From Wikipedia
September 24, 1969
Tokyo's daily newspaper Asahi Shimbun announced that it would be the first to deliver an edition electronically to subscribers, to be printed on what was called at the time a "facsimile receiving set" (later called simply a "fax machine"). Using state of the art technology for 1969, the Toshiba machine could produce a 12.5 in (320 mm) wide by 18 in (460 mm) long page in only five minutes.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
Chapter 4
It was an hour past nightfall.
Starkey sat alone at a long table, sifting through sheets of yellow flimsy. Their contents dismayed him.
The Stand - complete edition, by Stephen King
(from internet transcript)
excerpts, Chapter 17
A doctor in Sipe Springs had made some good guesses, and a pair of reporters for a Houston daily had linked what was happening in Sipe Springs with what had already happened in Arnette, Verona, Commerce City, and a town called Polliston, Kansas. Those were the towns where the problem had gotten so bad so fast that the army had been sent in to quarantine. The computer had a list of twenty-five other towns in ten states where traces of Blue were beginning to show up.
The Sipe Springs situation wasn’t important because it wasn’t unique. They’d had their chance at unique in Arnette—well, maybe—and flubbed it. What was important was that the “situation” was finally going to see print on something besides yellow military flimsy; was, anyway, unless Starkey took steps. He hadn’t decided whether to do that or not. But when the tinny voice stopped talking, Starkey realized that he had made the decision after all. He had perhaps made it as long as twenty years ago.
- by me, Kerry Wayne Burgess, posted by me: 6:47 PM Pacific-timezone USA Friday 11/08/2024
