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oh, the places I have been and people I have seen..

Wonderland? Why, yes, I have been there. It is off the coast of Never-land. A sort of between Oz and Kathmandu. However, on the Chinese side. Not the Nepal side of the Tibetan hiding place of the garden of paradise near the ocean. Few people realize that in England. The reader with the assumption that Alice was English. That small portal or wrap hole or rabbit holes lead to the tunnels that crisscross Europe, leading to many places in the world and elsewhere. Any ways, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson talk with great-great Uncle Richard Francis Burton lead to his rather oddity book. I sat listened about a place that great Uncle Burton talked about during the night tea. Uncle Burton talked about how he and a madman. That made hats for a living. Once fell through a hole following a historical piece stolen by what only he could describe was a fast moving bunny rabbit which he never caught. The hat maker in one of Uncle Burton’s many tales. They gave it the name of Gregor MacGregor after a discussion that he never was sure of his proper name, but that he was a hat maker was for sure. The title unofficial or not was part of the real tale told by Uncle Burton when he would take a shot of whiskey. There was this map. Which was the special historical piece which was stolen? The map that could take people cross time, space, and supposedly worlds. The mad hatter MacGregor had stumbled upon this map during his conquest of the republic of Poyais. Just where had the map come from? Who knows? However, uncle Burton told how titling MacGregor pirate or cacique of Poyais. Had at one time pirated a Spanish ship that had treasures coming from Europe to Venezuela. One had to ask uncle Burton was he sure that the ship was not coming from South America to Europe. Or why would Spain send treasure to South America? Whiskey tells tales, and you have to verify and wonder about them. No. Uncle Burton was sure that MacGregor had said they bound the ship to Panama City. A catholic cardinal or some prominent official carrying books, maps, and to a pirate very little useful spoils to be spent. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. The dream. Or was this the dream? Dreaming is awful sorrowful these days. Watching the end of time. The wheel has spun out of control and watching time spin backwards billions of years people forget. Pray for peace. Anyway, a twinkle in my eye, I am not there any more. Humor a map. Yes, yes, that was where this story was supposed to go. AH, yes. After some wine. Let me see. Getting back to the map of the universe, Wonderland, Sir Barton, Pirate known as MacGregor, and well the rabbit that stole the map of the universe. Where was I? ah, yes. Uncle Burton or Sir Barton the man was everywhere in the 1800s he lived a charmed life. He and Mr. MacGregor meet off the coast of India. General Pirate MacGregor had the map with him and was on an expedition to Nepal. The idea of gaining more investors for his territory in Venezuela required that he have something special. The map indicated a gold statue which MacGregor had promised one of his investors. Sir Burton was not Sir at this time. He was a young man in I believe he said he was it the 15th or 18th Bombay Native Infantry based in Gujarat and under the command of General Charles James Napie. Anyway Uncle Burton was one of the few learned white men that was interested in languages and learned oh gosh lots according to Uncle Burton.

I think a short list was a proficient speaker of Hindustani, Gujarati, Punjabi, Sindhi, Saraiki and Marathi and Persian and Arabic. Anyway, Mr. MacGregor arrived in India aboard a steamship and was lost looking for someone to help with languages in Bombay. The two meet way per Uncle Burton at a brothel. Mr. MacGregor was calling himself Cazique of Poyais. In layperson’s term, a chief of a South American country to which he was selling land, and other items to any would be an investor. The two meet over a woman. She introduced Uncle Burton to Cazique of Poyais in English. Because she had listened to Mr. MacGregor tale and thought that Uncle Burton could help. Any ways Mr. MacGregor vice general of the Venezuela army over a drink told this story. He was in a battle with some locals in Caracas. A cannon ball had bounced and hit right under him while he was reviewing an old map he had liberated as a pirate from a priest or cardinal. The cannon ball had exploded, and when he had awoke, he was in Bombay of all places. He had served her Majesty for a few years and recognized the city from stories he heard during service. Well, he had folded up his map and found that he had some loose coins. Stumbling into a local house of ill repute, he had to meet the lady which had introduced the Uncle Burton. In short order, the two had made plans to follow the map. That changed daily to a shrine where Oro in Spanish was spelled out on mountain claiming to border India and China. The weird part was that the map would change. And the outline of England with territories named Oz, Never-land and other lands unknown in the 1840s were shown. Anyway, Uncle Burton, Division general MacGregor, outfitted a small team to remove said statue of gold for financial gains. The team comprised two others, a mule, and supplies. They set out in 1945 or 1956, depending on which reality you would count the years in. They crossed the mountain range. One night while sleeping near a lake. Some bodies as Uncle Burton would described them snatched one of the two mule handlers. His description that one moment the guy was carrying firewood back to the fire. The next a hooping dead person or as the Chinese people later would call a vampire hopped out of the lake and grabbed the guy. The other three attempted to get their companion back, fighting the bodies. Uncle Burton’s eyes would stop for a moment. In disbelief, he would say that the flesh of the skulls came off most of the bodies. They tried however their mule handler had his throat ripped out and bleed to death. He shook his head. The bodies just ate their mule handler. And slurped up his blood where ever it fell on the ground. With slurping sounds that memory made Uncle Burton shiver just recollecting the happening.

Now, running away from them. Burton, MacGregor, a mule handler, and mule came to a posted sign in the middle of the mountains between India and China. They had left their tents and sleeping gear. The mule evidently had some food left on it being unpacked, while one of the mule handlers had gotten wood for the fire.

To say they were not equipped is the correct statement. However, MacGregor had his book and map, which he insisted they check before going a step more. The mule and mule handler would not listen to this and just took the left side of the posted sign and left. The slurping undead were far behind however they still could be heard so a lighted torch was made from some torn material and the map and book consulted.

Now according to the map they were close to China. However, according to the book. There was a direct route through what looked to be a store nearby to some place else. Someplace else? The title and directions were vague. Maybe that was the purpose of the book to throw people off? Now here is the thing. Being chased by the undead into China was not something either of them wanted. And allies in China were slim to none. This was close to the Boxer rebellion, and prior to that a religious cult had swiped much of China into some bizarre reality where each side killed everyone on the other side. So they decided with a coin. 

And the coin? The coin said go else where.

Taking the path to elsewhere that is mentioned in the book lead them to a store. Now this was not a normal store. The sign outside was in several languages. In English “The Magical Bookstore of the Ages” In Chinese something else. In Latin, etc.

Going in the two did not see anyone except an owl on a perch behind a counter. Now this is the interesting part of the story. Instead of worrying about where they were going or where else where was. The two browsed the bookshelves.

Within the shelves were wonderful stories. Tales of old realities, people, places, alternative histories of when humanity was among the stars, and times when humanity went crazy.

An example was an old scroll. Written I believe in Punjabi. The story roughly translated in English. 

This story holds true today. There once was a kingdom whose advisors and king discovered that the grain they were about to use contained a fungus that changed a person’s perspective and judgment calls totally. The month before their grain ran out, the decision was to be made what to do for the king and advisor. Who could afford to buy uncontaminated grain and live with their current judgment, or they could drink the said cool aid (reference for time and space of Jones Town) and forget the perspective that they lived with all their lives? That judgment call happened, and we in the USA are paying for their judgment call. I always wondered about the book of Revelations why would people being punished not turn from their evil ways and submit to Christ and the creator. I wandered into other books and discovered something strange. The history of the past is being rewritten today and changed. The whole ideal of America is being transformed, and no one is stopping that change. I out until I started seeing my sentences and ideas being change. I realize this is just my imagination. However, I believe there is a systematic change happening within the realities today. What was honest is now being replaced with something else? I wonder if it is the food and all those crazy conspiracies. I wander a bit.

Anyway, the two explorers were in a bookshop on the edge of China and to some place else. When the realization that not a single other person was in the store with them. Uncle Burton brought up a book to the counter and a loud voice asked what the price was.

Now this is the funny part of the story. Uncle Burton with bright eyes said the owl flew down from the perch and looked at the book. Now if this was not a surprise enough replied he would have to look up the price of it.

If this was not a shock of enough for the two explorers to hear a talking low. That he seemed to know who they were and had a conversation with them about their map and book. He wanted to purchase them. Which was an oddity? First, both were not shown when walking into the store. Second, he seemed to show he was willing to make a copy of them rather fastly, which was an oddity in that time and place. Printing presses and copier machines not the usual or non-existent.

In the meantime they found a poetry book which was interesting. Some poems they talked about to me that day.

Change to God acrostic

Change your way,

God watches to your ways

Change during today

God is here today.

Change what you say.

God hears what you say

Change your heart to be kind.

God’s mercy is kind

Change your heart to love

God’s mercy is love

Change your faith to belief.

God sees your actions as belief

Change the end is near

God is near


There is no life without water

honesty on water issues

every drop going to a mining company

reality is water is a resource

everyone should have water

isn’t life made with water

silly question 100 percent of life is water

no life without water

openly we need water

Life without water is not life,

I need water

For everyone should have water

Eternity comprises water

Without water there is no life

In life we need water

Time to get more water

Honesty there is water

Open your doors, Nestles

Unique, you force humanity to purchase water

Time to change who owns the water

Water should be for the people

All humanity should own water

Time for a revolt for water

Even they make an eternity of water

Reality: all life needs water

Is there life without water?

Silly no, there is no life without water

No life without water

Open your doors to water

Life is not life without water

I need water

Fortunately, the world has water

Everyone needs water


After some haggling an agreement reached that the map and book would be copied and that was the cost of their purchase of some other rather interesting books. One by Ender Talon and the collection of maps which was by someone named Claw.

Mr. Burton and Mr. MacGregor introduced themselves to the owner of the bookstore. An owl. Upon formal introduction, the owl replied, “My name is Mr. Whoo, and welcome to my bookstore.” The books excited uncle Burton. For some books were one of a kind. Journals of explorers. And if read correctly, time travelers along with space travelers that actually happened in their reality.

Upon further inspection of the bookstore called “The Magical portal of Books’’ Uncle Burton asked how much to purchase all the books in the store. This was something unexpected. Mr. Whoo lookings, how intelligent oldish said the price of the books in the shop, not the shop itself. He could have all of them if they could reach the right amount of gold or treasure.

This excited Uncle Burton to no end. Now, Mr. MacGregor was more practical and asked my uncle how in the world did he plan on transporting all the books to England? However, the answer came from Mr. Whoo. Mr. Whoo replied, “Why London, England is just outside.” And so the shop was on a corner in London, England. Going in one place in reality, the shop had mysteriously appeared in another part of the world totally. Which left both Mr. MacGregor and my uncle in a bit of a bewilderment. If talking to an owl and finding books that were supposedly burnt during the Christian destruction of old knowledge or pagan knowledge was not enough. The whole bookstore was right next to another bookstore known by both the explorers. 83 Bell St, NW1 6TB London Greater London England.  

This gave the ideal chance to collect books from antiquity that had thought to be lost forever. The problem was the prices for each book had to match some calendar and space time reality. Meaning? Evidently, Mr. Whoo priced his books to reflect the reality he picked up the books and the price he paid along with a percentage to pay for his overhead and keep. There were thousands of books. That Uncle Burton took out a second mortgage of his estate to purchase only a few thousand not the complete set of books is something I can still see sadness in his eyes telling or talking about the experience.

Uncle Burton’s favorite book he enjoyed talking about was a poetry book, of all things. Something about Homer’s Marguerites or marmites or another. “He knew many things, but all badly” My uncle would talk to me about my father who was rather good at farming, but outside of farming had a lack of understanding that astounded both of us.

What I found among the many books was several sheets or skins of what could only be the lost books of the bible. There were something like 102 sheets combining to make up something like 24 or 26 books. That I had to learn Ethiopian to read them was a bit of work. The most interesting book was called the “Book of the Battles of Yahweh’’  

After reading that book,, I had nightmares for years to come. Then I found binders. One of them seems to show lost short stories found in a suitcase or something like that.

 What inspired most about the collection of books my uncle had purchased. Were the binders that seemed to be filled with actual handwritten and typed manuscripts. Specifically, I found one written on what World War I was like by Hemingway, according to marginal notes.

It was like living a tale of an ambulance driver in Italy. The tale is about an ambulance drive in Italy went into vivid details. Serving in the American Red Cross during 1918. How the driver handed out chocolate and cigarettes to soldiers and children. That the driver wounded by mortar fire ascribed to Austrian’s “then there was a flash, as when a blast-furnace door swung open, and a roar that started white and went red,” is most surreal to read the handwritten account. The driver while wounded carried some wounded soldier to safety and injured again, trying to go back by machine gun fire. The handwritten story describes how the driver received a Medal of Valor from the Italian government.

Then the handwriting like a short story went into some detail about how hard war was on a person’s soul. Going into details of how gory and inspiring speeches seem to contradict one another in war. That inspiration should be not in war but in writing or peace or something outside the horrors of war.

The handwriting was wet. And after a moment of realization, I could smell whiskey or rumor someone had spilt some sort of liquor on the paper. It had dried now, but the words inspiring by not being a warmonger was something to understand from the short story. What got me as the reader more into it? Was the detail noting who was in charge of all the American wars of mass murder. Democrats are warmongers seemed to be the end.

Thumbing through a new arrival from the bookstore marked second-hand books, a couple of trunks full of books, and worn out leather writings and papers. I came across a mysterious half Spanish half olde English play written if I could understand the signature by one Willm Shakspere. Secretary handwritten the play seemed in a style similar to Don Quixote with players of the rule court of England taking on the characters’ tones and attitudes towards nobles.

Then I found within the trunk a journal tied to what looked to be a scroll. Translated work in the journal was Kings English. An example of the many chapters in it. Booketh of abraham and his traveleth’rs bethought the p’rtals of bethlehem. The meeting of the queen of the fairies and h’r court. Magicians of fusty babylon at which hour those gents hath lived f’r seven million years aft’r god hath left those folk to seeth what humanity wouldst becometh without a god. Those gents becameth liketh gods. Howev’r those gents did fail. The entire book seemed like fiction to me.

 I discovered something, a sort of short story by Mr. Dodgson with a key. To what the story went into some rather morbid detail. People think they know parallel realities. This short story however talked about portal stones transporting people to worlds so close to theirs that the mirror realities were the same. Or so close to the same they could not be told differently. That is when I found it. What was a spell of sorts? I read enough of magic by Crowley to know what was wrong. Whatever Mr. Dodgson did in those parallel worlds was not good.


Searching the trunk articles, I came across something strange. A copy of Memoirs of Lord Byron. The lord was more into well kinky sex than I would have realized. The memoirs detailed both sexual relationships with women of the street, ladies, and wild pirates and three lords. His memories detailed people, places, and royalty to an extent only a poet would. His erotic work of poems describing tits and boobs. To his hate of Harrow School and what happened there between him and a lord made for chilly reading. His confession: He then told some rather fond tales of a bear. 

He then detailed a tour of Ottoman empire wildly in some detail about ending up in a harem. I do not recall the 1,000 one night of Arabia however the sexual exploits described in the memoir still bring my mind to a sensual state. His description of Lady Caroline Lamb along with “a little volcano ... the cleverest and most agreeable, absurd, amiable, perplexing, dangerous, fascinating little being that lives.” Then he went into one assorted night after another. Each more detailed erotic.

Then the second memoir changed completely about who handled some plot in the mirror worlds. His attitude changed along with the demeanor talks about realities and mirror worlds and the power struggle to go on between royals and powerful people.

His last pages went into detail about a key. That would allow entry to these parallel realities. He described entering one reality where Germany was ruling the empire. Not England and another reality where Constantinople still stood and Christianity ruled the world. Lord Byron detailed out more of the power struggles. Then he talked about it well. A time traveler named Borges. A Spanish lord whose work along with another group of travelers had changed time.

In the trunk there was a journal in Spanish with an English translation attached to it in paper. The travels of Jorge Luis Borges. The book went into absurd detail about how to get into and out of a mirror of reality and the universe itself. There were charms and spells and of course a keyhole for a key in the journal. The exact location of where the journal would take someone was easy to understand. The realization I could use the key found elsewhere to go was intriguing. To be offered the adventure of a lifetime interesting. No?

So I continued to dig through the books, the journal in the trunk. I soon discovered a journal half in German and the other half in math symbols. Von Neumann. A complete last work according to date and time and space when he actually lived until May 1957.

His last work “Die mathematische Funktionalität ist der endgültige Beweis dafür, dass es kein Chaos gibt.” Or translated roughly the math functionality into a definitive proof that there is no such thing as chaos. Went into detail of Game theory and that not everything can happen and why. Meaning? The symbols were old however, what I could find in the Princeton paper published in some journal clearly stated reality is a story being told by a storyteller or film director..

The math symbolism showed that the sun or film projector actually created reality. The next part of the equation included Russell Walker poetry.

The oddity of the poem was in German and no reference to who wrote the poem. That took several ages for me to find the Secret of Light. What did the end of the poem mean? Simply put to those that watch the Matrix. That reality is a story told by a storyteller who controls everything.

Time traveler journal found written in German, Spanish, and English for a while. So, the word chaos? According to the last page in the journal, every single thing in our lives is detailed out in some book or storyline told by. Well, God or a storyteller, or film director, if you understand the meaning that all solid matter is made of light.

The argument against the story? I also found those who attempted to change the story. How? By swapping souls between realities and stories. Where one soul was supposedly going to do this or that. Instead ended up doing that or this. When the bible references popped up the realization is that Christ’s statement the first will be last and last will be first and the great wager between God and his creation and story finally fell into place. Meaning? It makes all realities for a purpose? Maybe. The story you end up in? That is something else. Some good, some bad, and some totally wicked, and you wonder about reality.

What is the conclusion of both men? That everything has a purpose, and that there is no chaos, and when God laughed in Psalms 2, he redirected realities to allow golems or soulless beings to be part of the gameplay with those who had genuine souls. Meaning? The stakes are souls. Or perceptions of reality that live many more years than one would believe.

The awkward part of the story? Which doorway did I end up walking through? Or? How evil am I? For when you discover the significance of Solomon’s statement that everything under the sun has been done and realize in parallel realities your dreams are real. 

That I am not of your world anymore is much to say. I pretend? Or is this reality the illusion Ig et after the game I played? I failed so greatly that they have vomited me out of God’s will and now to search through time and space for my actual body. That I talk with fallen angels, witches, and demons is awkward these days. That I wonder about if I still have an angel assigned to watch over me? Yes. That much I know. I hope the best for them. For in each reality it is different. And each angel has something new to teach me about reality. I listen. However, I am deaf these days, along with being slightly blind. I wander the mirror realities and I wonder what to say or do. I watch reality and realize that mirror reality is wild in the Drake’s equation of the universe the number is so many 10 to the power 193 or is it 200. Depending on where you start out, I suppose.

What is my plan on this adventure into mirror realities? To tell you that life is a game and the winning at the end gets a chicken dinner? That is the interesting part, is it not. There are winners and losers in this game of life. And I am pretty sure I am a loser.

The scariest part of an adventure is the event that kicked this off? Should I tell you I have lived through many raptures? That my reality had more people in its population 8.5 billion in 2016/2015 and I lost 2 to 1.8 billion people depending on my date in time and population growth? That my eyes twinkle at 2 to 3 AM and I find my soul transported to a unique world. Where I can not go to MacDonald’s getting a Big Mac anymore? I miss their salad dressing sauce. The one that McDonald’s here has tasted funny. Or that I watched time float backward day by day, seeing South America move backwards in time closer to Africa? Or see battles won and lost differently? Or dreams of a German timeline where something else happens completely? Which event caused me the most issue? A mountain moving or a tree walking? Both of which I have seen. And still see. The question is genuine. What is the film of life to show me? That I failed yet again. I suppose that is the story, is it not?

Failure after all is an end of a story. However, is the end just the beginning of another game to be played out by the storyteller. That I can tell you what happened to so many realities is not funny is sickness. CO2 gas freezing everyone 400 miles inland of all oceans. Or asteroids destroying realities so bad everything even bunkers fell down? Or December 2017 plus or minus time of reality shifts Hawaii being nuked? Reality after all is something to see. That I am writing this from a paper I read when according to location I was 3,000 light-years away from the center of the galaxy there, which was according to my notes in a journal some 233,000 light years across. Does this sound like fiction? Sure why not? After all, this is all in my mind. I can prove things. I have photos after all. However, this is my reality today. Tomorrow who knows what will be there for me.