Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Yclept Jywylyd.

(Now that's a much better line than "Call me Ishmeal" I opine!)
Great Old English word that: 'yclept', from before the language was ruined subsequent to the Norman conquest - but I digress, I guess - and yes, I'll do that a lot, and therein will lie the tales.
Still, nothing untoward would have happened had not the "Company" searched for, found and lured me to Colorado, again. Yes, and nothing would have happened if I hadn't, once again, like a fool, (or a "glutton for punishment") followed. They went to a LOT of trouble to track me down, living as I was anonymously, in the Aridzona desert, COMPLETELY off the 'grid' in a 1961 International schoolbus, solar powered and converted to a Class A motorhome. Nevertheless they knew that I could be bought with the promise middle class comforts and a good job.

But in the end it wasn't the CIA and Operation M K Ultra in the '70's, the 'Little Greys' and 'Little Blue Doctors throughout my life, not the crooked DA's, nor rogue DEA agents, dirty vice cops or undercover confidential informants involved in ELF mind control experiments of the '90s that nearly brought me to my end - but instead it was the torrential rains of autumn, in the Red Rock outback beyond Sedona, Arizona that almost got me.

I mean, who was I to think that I could easily escape from the Neo-Teutonic schadenfreuden beer barons of Golden, Colorado and their "Company" assisted experiments with the controlled maintenance of a controlled substance culture anyway? "'Sprach'land" almost didn't let me go, and even now I could feel the minions of that dark 'Black-Op" infested town creeping up on me . . .