When the first plane flew through the World Trade Center at 8:46 am on September 11, 2001, I was in a hardware store in Monticello, NY. Without knowing the reason, I felt a break in reality as if the very air changed into different particles.
"Did you hear? A plane crashed into the World Trade Center," a girl informed me at the cash register, pointing to the radio.
I mumbled, "It could be an accident," and stumbled out.
Instead of going into NYC as originally intended, I turned around and drove towards home. Using one hand on the steering wheel, I used the other to press the speed button on my cell to ring my best friend, Lucy who worked at AON on the 101st Floor in 1 WTC. She didn't respond. Instead, I got her voicemail. I arrived home at 9:03 am when the second plane dove into the second tower.
Perhaps it was the obscene nature of the combined terrorist activities that horrible day, but I feel somehow reality derailed. Since then, we're spinning in this alternate universe that doesn't make sense.
In this parallel universe where we exist, up is down, down is up. We're told in the US that our economy's improving with a shrinking workforce and sky-high unemployment. We're told of the basic freedoms we have in this country, yet any dissenting voice to the mass media is silenced, quelled by threats and subtle innuendos.
I, among millions of Americans, have never been arrested, never broke the law, paid my taxes and pretty much live with a strong sense of right and wrong. Yet, my political representatives have criminal records including extortion, money laundering, rape, scandal. And I have to trust them to repair this country?
It's all Alice in Wonderland to me. A few years ago, my brother sent an article describing how 3/4 of the world's leading scientists believe our reality is not reality; who we are are virtual reality in some kind of overall game. It makes sense to me subsequent to 911; there was a glitch in the system so the planes hit the Towers, the Pentagon and the cornfield. All I'm waiting for is when they press re-set. Could that be at the end of the Mayan calendar?
Lucy was murdered on 911. I call it murder; saying she was killed sounds like an accident. Realizing how I lived within the illusion of a future, my best friend's murder showed me the sudden and unpredictable nature of the future. Keeping that in mind, I then dedicated myself to writing my first manuscript, something I knew deep in my bones was a gem. Repeatedly, I informed Laslo (who double times as my friend and graphic artist) that my book was sheer genius. He didn't dare contradict me: I was unflappable in the unshakable faith of my baby, Five-Star FLEECING. With follow-up corroborative evidence from top literary critics, celebrities, best-selling authors as well as winning awards.
This would never have occurred in the pre-911 reality where you don't get acclaim, esp. a self-published author in three months. But, post-911, all my dreams and nightmares come true. I believed I would go broke; I went broke. I believed I'd meet a hot guy living far away from people, I met a hot guy. And so on...
There came a time last year, though, when I hit rock bottom. First, I went neurologically deaf and the sound of unfiltered noise overwhelmed me. Sick as well from medication, I was bedridden. Then, my brother died after saying, "I love you," on the phone. I didn't think I could go on living a life bereft of my kid brother, the last vestige of a family, alone, deaf and deafened by non-stop noise that I feared would soon render me mad.
I contemplated suicide when suddenly, clear as a bell, I heard a man's voice stating from over my head where I lay supine in bed, "Your first three books are masterpieces that'll redefine American literature." It scared the shit out of me. That voice was either from the game master of this virtual reality, or a time traveler. Either way, it did the trick; I didn't kill myself. Instead, I got the first of many tattoos.
Now that I'm aware I exist in a parallel universe where words are my reality, I'm becoming more focused to create the life I want. It's a tricky thing, creating this reality. It's a mixture of words, desires, actions and intentionality. All mixed in with sincerity. Or sometimes it happens so fast due to the repetitive nature of a phrase.
Last week, I decided to take down my blog. I thought that in its 40 days of existence and 32 post entries, I experienced a modicum of success in that I had hundreds of readers. My frustration stemmed in that none of those readers purchased any of my books, according to my links statistics. What I told people is that "thousands of readers have hit my blog, yet no sales occurred." I said that at least three or eighty times.
At any rate, I took down the blog. After reconsideration, I put it back up in a few hours, but didn't add any new posts. Last evening, I checked the blog statistics and nearly fell off my chair. For the post about my deafness, over 73,000 google + hits! Three other posts had over 37,000 google + hits. I said thousands of readers, yet what I got overnight was over a hundred thousand hits!
Once again, I have to focus on what comes out of my mouth. So, out of these hundreds of thousands going into millions of hits, 99% of these people will use the links and PURCHASE my books.
Let's see how effective this reality is shaping up.
# # #
This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.