Bookworms will be like -- This book will ruin your life and haunt you for eternity. You MUST READ IT.. Books are the only way to run away without leaving home.. HOME? laughter.. my dear you do not read me do you..
As a privateer, I was always on the lookout for free loot. Let’s be honest: free loot versus fighting and killing someone for loot is much better. Why? Well, if God's stories talk about a pearl of significant cost being found in a field. Why can I not find a treasure of great worth?
And thus I found myself often in the bookstalls about where of ole England reading books, journals, and diaries of old pirates, ship captains, and adventurers. That is until 29 when I found a diary describing a treasure worth a dukedom of France.
The diary was from a courtier who was going to the galantine and trying to make a bribery attempt to the court. Saying he knew where his master had hidden a sizable sum of money, specifically 5000 coins of the 1200th century era.
He went into great detail of how some great uncle or what not of the duke was a knight’s Templar and entrusted with said fortune for a day when they needed it. The diary went into great detail. I thought it was a fine story of fiction. Then I felt the binding. And within it was a coin. It was a smaller coin, but as I looked; I realized they had shaved it down to fit it into the diary. It was a French gold florin. They had scratched the date, thus I couldst not tell how old it was.
Now let’s be honest. My French is horrible. Women of Persian looked down their noses at me and I just liked it that for the right smile I could go a mile with them and dance for a while.
So I had to purchase the book and get its translation text to understand more about the diary. His handwritten notes and a map were sort of weird looking and to be honest, I was not sure it said 5000 or 50,000 or 500,000.
The diary was purchased for one pound one penny. I made a profit right off the bat. For I took the Florin to a coin shop right around the corner and sold it for a very nice fortune.
Enough so I could fund my brief investigation into someone called the Duke of Johannes Marcus Larmenius. Some Palestine French born noble man whose position was to keep the secrets and treasure of some organization.
That I was in England when I purchased the diary meant a trip. But the map and dairy were a bit more vague than I would have liked. However, I had a small fortune. Let’s be honest, I made 8,000 pounds of the old gold florin. And I will take some time to think about where and what to do. Looking at the map, not wanting to use it as a clue, I went and redrew it the best I could and went to several cartographers in London, England, to see if they could identify the location.
Since they were busy, I offered them cakes and something to drink if they had time to look at my map and if they had drawn anything similar or close to it over the years. I went through eight of them with not a soul saying, ah I have seen anything like it. But on the ninth visit an old cartographer named Richard however called Bob, who for whatever purposes. Whose name plate that sat on his desk read Robert. Smiled and said yes. He had drawn something like that a long time ago for a book called the Lost Treasures of the Tempers.
Interested, I asked where I could purchase such a book and if he had any clue as to the location.
Bob smiled again and pointed to a stack of books. There was an unedited book titled the Lost Treasures of the Templar. And a copy of the diary I had purchased at the bookstore. The author had written several of them in his attempt to get out of being beheaded.
Bob gave me additional information. I asked what price he wanted. He just smiled and said after 50 years of looking, if I found it, to remember him.
I had to ask if he had a gold florin too? He smiled and pulled out a black bag. Within were six gold florins, all similarly shaved down with the dates scratched out. He smiled after I asked how close he was to the treasure. I have looked at over 15980 maps, comparing them together with the seven diaries I have.
I looked and only saw six coins. I asked if one of them was missing a coin? His reply was yes. One dairy did not have any coin in its binding. I then asked where he had come upon the collection and his reply, looking here and there since he was 14. He said that was when he found his first diary and became a map maker.
The wildest dreams. I told him the value of the six coins. He just smiled and said he knew. And asked if it was 5000 or 50,000 or 500,000 coins. He smiled again and said the duke’s treasure according to the church in the area recorded the taxes in the land brought in 15,000 coins yearly and that the duke’s cost of living was less than 4340 and the church wondered where the rest of the money went. Bob pointing to a huge old French bible recorder. I went over and looked to see names and birth dates of at least 1539 people. Assuming 50 people per page, there were 28 pages front and back. But along the sides, the French clergy wrote about who owned what from 1193 to 1401.
I asked why Bob was giving me the books. He smiled and said that last doctor’s visit they had given him 14 weeks to live. And that he wanted someone to find the treasure. Him not having a family being obsessed with treasure hunting all his life.
And thus I spent the next eight weeks talking with Bob about his speculation and ideas on the treasure. He passed away on a Tuesday the year 1929. Bob left me with everything: coins, books, diaries, and his personal journal. Titled the Portal of Truth and the key that lies within.
It was a curious title. And I did not understand it at all until I read it while plotting my next course of action. The treasure of coins was not all that Bob was after. Some key and if his speculative writings were of anything to a portal to. Here he wrote time, and at other points he wrote realities, and at other points heaven and at other points key of God multiverse. Now remember, this was 1929 and multiverse and Schrödinger theory was not even talked about. Let alone you are talking about a map maker from 1880 to 1929 writing about or translating a French diary from a man trying to save his life by sending out diaries with 1200 century gold florins in them.
After the funeral, which was attended by two map makers, a local vicar, and a third cousin that was in town. They dumped me with 125 books, some 50 journals, and six boxes of maps. I got a room at a local pub upstairs and reread everything put into them. The maps, like Bob had said, were all labeled 1 to 15000 plus. Each one detailed to a page in one or another journal. The location spread from the coast of England to Turkey down to Egypt. There was one or two of the US coast with x marking per the journal entries findings of Templar artifacts in the new world from old papers in the 1800s.
Now, along with all this, Bob had also provided me with the six coins. So I was free from work and all I had to do was reread 50 years of journals and diaries about what he meant and what the French translation of hand-written notes in 1774 meant. To find a treasure put in place in. That is funny. Friday the 13th 1307. Who knows why that date rang a memory, but I was reading journals, books, and looking at maps.
I decided after a time that I better matrix out the ideas and hit the top 5 places Bob felt were most likely to hide said treasure. Some hotels in Istanbul, a church turned into a mosque in Egypt, and a home somewhere in Argentina. The other two locations I picked because the map looks similar enough to me and my eyesight was rough. I figured I could afford to hit each of them if I traded my coins correctly.
The first place was off the Scottish coast. An island which had an inland lake with similar features. I knew it was unlikely because Bobś notes stated this was a fairy tale and not an authentic story about something strange happening there.
Now strange in 1929 is stranger than what you could guise. The hauntings of the island were fae or fairy folks hiding their gold. It is why I picked that island to search for a week in 1930. I felt why not? It would get me out of the room I was in for the past two months and the fresh air from London could help my breathing.
I got a lift from London to Scotland via steamer. I was a tramp. So I got to do work along the way and could keep a chest and slept on it during the voyage of three days. In which we stopped at four places, dropping off and loading cargo. Nice furniture unloading and sheep wool, along with other items to replace the unloaded cargo for a return voyage.
That I only took 3 books, and a stack of maps, along with a few personal items, made me an ideal tramp. Meaning I could pick up and go without so much as asking for your leave. We got to the coast line I wanted to depart from.
The captain was not sore about me leaving. Just laughing, saying that all the fairy gold in the world would not make him want to go to the island I was being dropped off on. Now here is an afterthought about how I was to get back. Was on my own. But I cared little. I wanted adventure and freedom from reading books and looking at maps doing nothing.
Thus, with little of a hope of finding anything, I got off and went inland of the island. I spent six days searching. I came upon some silver coins in a vase that broke when I dug it out. Taking them along with me. I found an old fisherman’s boat that was abandoned or broken, whichever you like. And fixed it enough to get back to mainland.
Upon reaching a pub. I dropped one of the silver coins down. A local whistled and said, where did I get the Twynholm coin? I told him. I was not likely to be going back to that location. Years later, I heard that several of the locals in the area found another hoard of the coins. But I was after gold, not silver.
Anyway, having not found what I was looking for, I went back to London and caught a ship across the channel to the coast of France. There I took the train to the southern coast and spent six weeks searching along a section of the southern coast. I came across several old items. None of which made me think I was on the right path.
The last day I was there. I stumbled upon a castle the locals called the Templars’ hold. It was in an alcove and the path to get to it was hard pressed walking up and down. I found the castle more like a turret buried with rocks and sand from years of disuse.
Digging a little, I found some old armor and, to my amazement, some old weapons, but much newer. I took them back with me. On the trail back. I lost my footing and fell. When I awoke. I had everything with me I had carried, but I was in some sort of trap. There were more weapons and looking at them, discovered bodies of people long dead. Some are from a variety of ages. Meaning there were weapons, from guns to swords to spears. The most interesting thing I found was the bag. And in the bag, what would I discover was a gold florin? No book or diary, a gold florin and part of what looked like a key. But I always wonder if that florin belonged to the seventh diary Bob had? I took both to a nearby port. And caught a steamer to Turkey.
Onboard the steamer, I met a lady who had been from Istanbul and asked her about the lake I was going to observe. She took an interest in my venture. Upon reaching Istanbul, we meant we searched together. Lies is another grand adventure story.
An Adventure
Transporting myself to Turkey in 1929 on the Sidi Aissa. I met the love of my life for a time. We met over a table conversation with me trying to translate a French book about the Knightś Temples and a lake that once upon a time existed in 1200 century Constantinople, now Istanbul. She was lovely as all can get out dressed for a party on a ship. And I? A tramp who had bribed the waiter to allow me to be seated with those purchasing full fare. Meaning I was a bum and, like most bums, I traveled lit. Three books, a bag of maps for. Well, for my adventure. I was attempting to find a treasure from an old French courtier whose head they lopped off in 1789. I had eight of the diaries. Evidence of his attempted bribery to escape his fate. Along with the diaries, the seven coins. I had to sell one coin to finance my adventure of looking for the lost Temples’ fortune. According to the diaries, along with part of a key for the portal of time. She helped translate a passage for me in the diary that I was stuck on. She fell in love with the story I told her. Because this one meeting led to dancing, drinking, and well. This is this and that is that. I was the bad boy here for a seven-day trip. Stopping along the way at the port of Crete. We spent seven hours looking at a location which looked similar to the map I had derived from several sources. What we found was bronze and a few small gems. I kept six and gave the rest to her. Years later, I sold one for a fortune. When we reached port, the adventure began.
My journal entries for 1929. I had just debarked from Sidi Aissa in Istanbul with a lovely lady. She was to stay at Pera Palas Hotel. I, however, am a bum. Planned on working in the hotel. Why? The map I had been working on showed that one of the many passages was too. Shall we say, a treasure and some legendary portal of truth might be under the hotel? Constantinople had a complete water system that stretched out for miles under the city itself. And according to a map that I had derived from several other maps, some 15,000 to be exact. One location for a rather large Temper treasure was there.
How did I get my job in 1929? Ah, I am a craftsman and storyteller. I can cook. And if I cook right, most women fall in love with me. Sad to say. I only have to escape them afterward, but that is another tale. The diaries that I had put together seemed to show a doorway to. Well, that is the funny part. Some would say heaven, other diaries seem to show duplicated worlds. And still others a passage to other times. I was not into those ideas. I was into the idea of some gold that had come along with the diaries. Let’s be honest.
Time is fickle. God has his stories and plans. Other times have different ideas and taxes. But GOLD? I could spend that in a lifetime. Anyway, I hitched a ride with the lady to the hotel. And like I had assumed, there was a hobo signal at the corner explaining what to do. The sign at the corner in charcoal read a cat, a circle and a circle with an X in the middle of it. Translated for a non hobo, a kind old lady, a good road to follow along with a great place for handouts. I said thanks to my lady, and she smiled. Saying she would see me around. I hoped I would find the gold and be gone long before that. But life is what an adventure it is. I hoped to work finding the old lady in charge of the kitchen. And lickety-split. I made some donuts and chicken. I had brought the ingredients with me from the ship. And Wola, they hired me on the spot to serve as a night cook.
The other cook was ill with the flu. Thus cooking from 6 PM to 2 AM. I found they watched me like a hawk for a few days before being given keys to the basement and elsewhere to help with my prep work and kitchen preparations.
On the fifth day there, the lady found me. Someone had dressed her to the hilt. She wanted to dance. I had fallen into a routine of creating as much prep work at once so I could sneak a couple of hours in the basement that night. She was a guest. She had power, because the manager insisted I dance with her. Which is an oddity because kitchen staff dressed me as a formal cook. And she dressed to the hilt. We waltzed and hit the floor, doing a jig of sorts. That was around midnight. I left her at her door to her room around 1 AM and she said see me. Giving me a key. I ran to the kitchen to finish up the night’s work. Then. I went to the basement. I got there with a lantern to see. Well, to see a lady open a passage in the basement that contains several boxes. Had hidden. How she knew it was there. I don’t have a clue. I followed her in. When I lit my lantern, she screamed. She thought she was alone. Her scream led to the next events in such rapid sequence I am not sure what happened. The passage shut behind us. A ghoulish hand reached out from another doorway and grabbed the lady. She fainted at that. I tried to get her away from the hand with little success, dropping the lantern, which kept on burning. The hand swatted me away like I was a doll. And carried the lady away. She dropped her handbag. I got there and tried to figure out which way they went. I tucked the handbag into my apron and started running towards what I assumed was the lady. I was wrong. There is a water system in Istanbul. In the dead of night. Worse yet, I had not counted my turns or how long I had been running towards the swishing sound I had assumed was a person being drugged along the passageway. lost. I sat down. I wondered who the guest was that got lost. The card fell out when I opened the handbag. Some lady named Agatha Christie. Great, I wondered what I would say if I ever got out of the water system. Everything seemed to stretch upwards of forty or more feet, and I was not interested in climbing to figure out how to get out from the underground. Since I was where I wanted to be. Had no clue where the guest was at. I figured why not look around? I ended up in a passageway where there were tons of old iron and wood doors, all of them locked or rusted shut. I shined the lantern up to see if I could see any opening, to only see a ceiling stoned or rocked in the water system. That is when I heard the cackling of a human, or humans, to be more precise. It seemed over one of them. I went towards the laughter, hoping to find a way out and report the missing guest. I stumbled upon a group of naked women, all dancing around a bonfire in the middle of the night in a sewer system. If that was not strange enough, I recognized two of them from the hotel. So all of this is happening and I see the ghoulish hand - it was not small enough to be a man. Maybe a giant would be more of a way to describe him or it. And it rushed at me. As I was bumping into naked women, dancing, which was wild because they seemed not to even care I was there. Now the events again happened in some order of which or what sequence is beyond me. Thus in my life, I yelled WITCHES. Pushed my way out of the dancing women just as the giant about got me. And I fell. Right into. What I would guess later is a trap or a pit. Now how long I feel I am not sure. But it was a long way because the women were still laughing for a time and then I could not hear their laughter. And the lantern went out because of the rush of air upward, which was hot. For a time I was flying like those planes, I suppose, or gliding like a bird because I had no engine. And then I started hitting the edges of the pit. And hit my head and when I awoke, I was in pitch darkness. Lucky for me. I carried tender stones and used some of the paper from the ladies’ bag to light a piece to see where I was at. There in the pitch darkness surrounding me, I saw what looked like the lettering I was looking for from one diary. That I had not brought them with me because I was not planning on this adventure made the discovery complete by accident. I walked towards the passageway and out of nowhere a ghoulish arm grabbed me and next thing I knew I awoke in the cook’s quarters back in the hotel. The only proof I had of the adventure was a nasty bump on my head, a card from the guest. And scratches from hitting the edges of the pit.
That I awoke with a vague memory of last night. They covered me in layers of blankets. The bump on my head hurt like someone had pulled a piece of my skull off. It turned out there was a hole in my head.
The police were there. I had a name card of a person who was missing at the time they asked what happened to me. My memories of the event were in a brain fog. The police were very insistent because I was a foreigner and the lady missing was a foreigner, too.
My brain did not help. The staff at the hotel where I awoke informed me I was their cook and had worked there just nine days ago. Five days of work and then I had disappeared for three days and then found in the basement with blood on my head.
The layers of mystery kept on being added. That I did not remember my name. Or being a cook. Seemed not to bother me as much as some missing lady I did not know.
In the room I was in, I found three books, a couple of journals, and several maps that were pieced together from other maps. How did I know this? I am not sure. But looking at the maps, I could tell that the maps were a combination of a lot more maps because of the different legends.
The layers grew even more when I read the journals. The staff assured me the journals, and all were mine. So I read them. The newest one stating I was a cook at the Pera Palas Hotel. And that the year 1929 I had looked for a treasure of a knight Templar. The diary references other diaries which, according to a note at the front of the diary, I had left with a cousin along with 15000 maps and several other books. Seems rather ridiculous if you ask me. But here I was, bump on my head. Memory fog who I was or am. Reading about where I was and, to be honest, what year it was.
The dairy referenced several other adventures trying to find some treasure. Did I believe in the diary? No, not really. I did, however, believe the little black bag that hid in the bag I had. It contained, as in the diary, referenced seven golf Florins. Six of which I had inherited from Bob. Who had provided the maps and books? And one I had found in my search for the treasure. Along with that, they referenced a coin dealer in Ole London, England, where I had sold one of gold Florins for 800 pounds, like four months prior to the date I had awoken in the hotel.
The layers of confusion seem to be great. The diary references a lady on a steamship Sidi Aissa, who was staying in the hotel at least nine days ago. I made inquiries and found that she had left for her home in the countryside. What was even more wild is I was in Istanbul, Turkey, and the staff that had been taking care of me up to that point were speaking to me in English.
Gaining my feet, I started back to the kitchen. Why? I figured if I got to cooking, I would remember maybe a bit of what was going on.
Thank the Lord, my memories and recipes of dishes made for. The funny part is that layers of memories did not seem real or even contain an idea of how I knew to add salt to one dish, a pinch of pepper to another. To exchange a lot of sugar for starch and honey. I seemed to cook. The lovely serving ladies seemed to enjoy my cakes. The management even upped my wages five days later when the guest of the hotel mysteriously appeared in her room. She, too, did not know what had happened.
I bumped into her. She was a writer. And I asked if she recognized me or saw me or anything along with her ordeal. She said other than screaming once and seeing vague shadows with a lantern, the entire ordeal was lost in her mind.
I said thanks and gave her a cake. Her name, Agatha Christie, was memorable. I wished her well on her writings.
Then I went back to work from 7 PM to 3 AM. I would read my journals and diaries. The layers of the diaries made it seem that I was here to find a lake. An underground lake that the hotel might have built upon.
One night, a new face appeared in the kitchen. The weirdest part. I could swear I had seen her naked and that on her tush was a tattoo of a moon. I think I ogled her too much, for she demanded what I was looking at. I gave her a cake and smiled. Her demand was not in English or Turkish. It was, to my ears, Russian. Which made no sense how or why I would understand her statement.
Layers of what I was to do here. Who had hit me on the head? What had happened to the lady missing for fourteen days? Seemed to grow on me.
Then one night as I did prep work, I was in the basement. And a memory of a door behind some boxes came to me. I pushed back an enormous pile of flour and corn meal. There was a doorway locked. I wondered what adventure lay within.
I got off work at 3 AM and instead of going to bed. There was a variety of entertainment at the cafe that I went to. Let’s be honest, it was a whore house. The funny part of layers I could remember is that a lot of the women of ill repute had the ability and craft skills of well picking locks.
The layers grew in my mind. Why or how I knew this which came not from the diaries and or any memories to trigger the idea made me wonder who or what I did in my life prior to my bump on the head.
Anyway, there I saw a lot of ladies with moons tattooed on their tush. After a brief conversation, I found a lady who had what I wanted. My mind not wanting to share the details, I purchased a small kit to pick a lock.
When I say small. Remember, locks back in 1929 are a bit more made of iron and the system or detail within some rather ingenious people sometimes craft them to keep thieves out.
Two nights after that, I had my first night off by working two shifts back to back. I went down to the basement and for an hour picked the lock open. I had brought two lanterns and went into the dark. Placing a torch used by the hotel for the basement at the entrance.
Going down the passageway, I came upon a spot where some blood spot showed up. I wondered if it was mine? The blood smear went off in one direction. However, I could hear voices or, more specifically, laughter coming down another passage.
I went with laughter. I came upon a wide open space. The ceiling was high enough that the lantern did not show a top. However, with laughter, I could see seven women dancing. To be honest, it was not just that they were dancing; they were naked and dancing.
Then something moved. When I mean something, it was big enough to be larger than a horse. It was moving towards me. I ran back the way I came.
The layers of the mystery. At least I now knew why I knew the lady had a moon on her tush. And one of the staff members was two of the seven ladies dancing around a bonfire in the middle of the night.
I got back to my room. I decided time to read the other books. Meaning after being chased by. I am not sure what. Seeing dancing naked women doing what? Having my memory dislocated for a time because of what? Working full time since awaking with no memories and wondering about life. I decided it was time to reread all diaries, journals, and books. After all, the past notes might jog my memory of what had happened and what’s more what I should do? I hoped my diaries, or at least that is what the hotel’s staff said they were, would provide me with something to go on. Opening one called Portal of time. I read. Seems that the diary was a summarization of other works because there was a legend and index to other books and journals and articles from 1929? The diary begins with a scientist named John von Neumann. Working with the US government on? A collider in Bavaria. What is weird, the start of the story is he is in Germany. However, the Bavaria they described where the collider was being built in Chicago? The details went into warped time or reality. Where time not being linear at certain points in reality could wrap like a paper and pushed together so that one sentence from a page could lead to another sentence on the page but not the same reality or context. The example given linear five paragraphs the first, second, third and so forth example. Then doubling the paper, the first sentence matched the fourth sentence and one could read the complete story just as the events were different. The Portal of time meant’d this happened in the bible and in reality at certain when people came across these folds in time in well the real world was my speculation of the dairy. The other realities existed per John Von Neumann and could influence and change the story’s meaning in other realities by unbound less reality. Or specifically speaking that events not dependent on each have an influence on each other just because their mirror or their existence happened. Meaning some realities time line their story went paragraph 1 to 4 while others realities the events 1 to 2 while still others went 2 to 1. The pages of math made my head hurt just by reading the number of events and probabilities. As a whole, I had not a clue what I was reading other than great science fiction. However, one portal of Truth or time referenced the hotel I was staying in. Evidence from some scientist showed how entering one passage way in the hotel seemed to create a distinct reality to the viewer for a time. And at that time? Seemed to make the passage of what should have happened next a variable meaning a person who sees linear 1 to 2 to 3. Seeing their outcome star 3 to 1 to 2 gave that person another option to take. What made it wild and weird. But did not help me understand anything that I should be doing. Then the diary referenced the other dairy. I opened that one up to discover that the Knight Templer treasure being sought by myself prior to lossing my mind. Had potentially been pushed or placed into one of the alternative realities and to get to it. Well, one had to go through the hall of truth or and here the dairy referenced several religious books. Heaven or the gates of heaven? What did not make sense is why or how? The piece of paper in the diary fell out. On it, I knew my handwriting, and this was not mine. That only the true of hearts could find the treasure within. What is funny, the note stated after that speculatively that the key of truth might have been with one of the other diaries. That I had found a key on my trip to a Temples tower on the coast of France made me look for the key. I found it. The key had writing on it. My ignorance of the language made me wonder. Going back to reading the diary, I noticed other references of John Von Neumann and some context about splitting realities into many. This was 1929. At this time reality did not speak about multiverse realities. However, I had a memory of reading fairy tales and, as a child, loved the idea of fairy worlds. And? Then my memory came to me of drinking with? And dancing with? It was different time and place that was for sure. The wine was really good. And the person I was drinking with? His face. Angelic? Or demon? Once upon a time I had ended up in Caracato, Bolivia. And? I knew I had drank and danced with the fairies there a long long time ago. I went back to reading.
Getting back to reading diaries, books, journals with references and legends indicating other references made my mind work.
It had been thirteen days since I had been found in the basement of the hotel where I worked as a cook. My memory of events prior to then was foggy. I knew the year 1929. I knew the hotel name Pera Palas Hotel.
That I had come here from the coast of France. After finding a key and gold Florin dating wise somewhere between 1298 and 1306 looking for a treasure of a Knights Templar. That the other journals talked about different realities and John von Neumann collider in Bavaria with speculation on the key and where it would lead a person to the treasure or heaven or an alternative reality, I had just finished a portion of the Portal of time diary.
All of this being in a brain fog or missing pieces of my memory made me question what I should be doing. I had the night off first since starting work again and wandered into the books, journals thinking about speculating on what I should do?
The journal/diary Portal of time went into great detail or speculation on how the Knights had placed the treasure in a location where only the pure of heart could reach the treasure. And that the pure of heart's desire to go to heaven would prevent those who would really be not pure from ever getting the treasure.
Seemed like a bunch of nonsense. However, it was my handwriting and summarized from what I could tell. The references to other books, or diaries listed within the writing, stared at me like a doctoral thesis someone had referenced to death.
After all the re reading I was not sure which I wanted more.Heaven or Gold? Meaning I seemed more interested in heaven than gold in yet. I knew that with out going to heaven correctly I would be punted out of heaven again. And that was something to think about.
My head injury aside. I had to rethink reality. What is important? This life or the next? Aside from those thoughts, I had to confront myself.
I mean, what if all this was some sort of dream?? I had after all lost a lot of time. Maybe my diaries were that of an insane person?
I am a writer, want to be a pirate, time traveler of sorts. Maybe what I am experiencing is not real?
The idea of heaven as a Dyson sphere or place one could go to through a door. Or an alternative reality where a treasure awaited me made me wonder what I was like before I lost my memories?
The reality that all this could be a hallucination or a bad dream made me reread my journals once again. Then I went to a bookstore to find some books referenced in the journals to see how insane or sane my writings were.
I found some rather neat books at the bookstall, which was on the street to the side of the bookstore. Personal books that were up for resale. There, I found some books listed as references in my journal.
The bookstore itself was no help. Sad to say. I picked up a story about the Portals of Solomon. Tales of Solomon being a grand wizard visiting other realities and his endings.
His endings made me wonder, to be honest. Did he get thrown far away from Isreal for seven months, seven years, or did he make it back in time for the temple to be finished in seventy years? Did he make a flying carpet and rescued one of his many wives from a tower by flying up and taking her down? Did he enslave an entire race of demons? Or where they djinns?
The entire stories of Solomon seemed to be centered on a ring of power. Given to him by God? The speculative answers in the book seemed to show that God knew what would happen to Solomon. However, that is just it. Which Solomon? Did they all exist and were separate realities? If so, which one made it into heaven and which made it into hell?
My head injury was hurting at this point. However, at least one book referenced in my journals was real. Thus, it went to figure that the rest were books too that at either had been used to write such a fictional story that I wonder.
The question is, so what? What was I now versus when I wrote the journals? Did change or decide I want something different in life?
Funny. I could not decide. That the portals I saw were real. Memories of other times and places were real. Made me wonder about reality and if I was real or if this was just a make-believe or dream? Christ seemed to indicate that death is like waking up from a dream. Maybe this, too, is nothing but an illusion. An illusion that I want out of.
My head is hurting again. I go lay down and dream even more wild dreams about this is this or that is that. Wondering if i will escape or am trapped in this nightmare head pain forever?
I go back to sleep. For a moment, I dream. I was whole again. To escape the pain and life, I read. For in reading I could go anywhere and be anything. While in reality I had choices to make. What to pay or what to ignore.
This made reality hell? And reading or sleeping? An alternative to hell. It was not heaven. For in heaven they say I would be at peace. And my dreams were not peaceful. My reading? I think that is how I could escape. Reading something that few would dare to read to escape hell or reality? I am not sure anymore. Which is reality reality or hell? To see life within a dream and to live via reading. That at this point in the story I wonder if I will ever awake and to what? Heaven, hell, or reality?
Whomever had hit me on the head did a great job ten days ago. My head was hurting so much I went out to a bookstore and just purchased a book at random. The title Gorgon made little sense and there were no pictures.
But I read. To my surprise, Medusa had two sisters? Or reading more into the story. Seems that Gorgon story happened before Medusa story?
Which is real? Who knew? Date wise. In a linear reality, Gorgon happened during the Greek time frame prior to Medusa story being told in the Roman time frame.
I wondered why and questioned reality. What made a group of sisters with hair of snakes become one human who, because of sex, became non viewable?
To even broaden the question, both stories seem to show that she had a lovely body. Is sex the great sin in Greek plays and the bible?
That is the oddity of reality. To realize that Cain and Able were not Adam’s sons. That the Devil had sex, the original sin in the bible is not even discussed in reality these days.
I wonder what Medusa, according to Roman plays, was like? What a reality must be like if John Von Neumann and the multiverse existed, means that every story like Solomon states has already been done and this?
All death is a viewing of the film of life to certain points in reality. Making life nothing more than a film. Played forward to a certain time. Then, in a closed time curved loop, reality played back in time, too.
To the original body of the soul.
I wonder if Medusa’s soul when human was beautiful? I wonder if she had sisters? In a multiverse, all possibilities are actual. Silly, if I can write it. And software can design it. Means that reality is nothing more than a cosmic game.
I wonder. Medusa or Gorgon? The book did not go into as much detail as I needed to understand.
Aeolis? The funny part of the Gorgon story. Seemed to be possible that her story happened in Asia? While Medusa story seemed to happen in Libya?
Meaning multiverse or alternative realities or dreams? What is storytelling a truth as seen by the author? Or a dream to make a story exist for?
For God to place bets on as in Job? That is the question, Medusa, if she lived and had sex?
Gorgon being born that way with sisters? It brought me back to my headache.
I went to sleep. In my dream I remembered reading a diary from Bob. Talking about three sisters that the Knight Temple’s had to pass to get through the Portal of time.
I thought at the time the reference in only one diary and less than a few sentences did not matter. But I had not known of three sisters of Medusa before. I had only ever heard of her sexual exploits and curse. I wonder if her sexual partner ever remembered her? Or was she just someone to screw and forget?
Which brought me back to the Serpent children of Eve. The fall of mankind. That the ark had a portal to the garden of Eden built into it. The tale that parts or a portal of the garden of Eden had hidden in Turkey along with Noah ark? Stories told to a tramp by drunks when they wanted to talk and someone would listen.
Meaning? The story told to. Well, me, was that how Noah fed every animal on the ark was that God provided a portal through which Noah would walk through and that food would be set up or lined up in baskets or buckets or whatever for him to bring back through the portal to feed the animals.
That one day, Noah attempted to go through another gate, got caught and was told to hurry back. When he went back through the portal, the lion almost ate him because he was late with his food.
Who told me the story? Some priest scientist who was drinking one night telling weird stories about other interesting things.
That a portal or doorway in the ark lead to Eden was interesting. That Gorgon or Medusa had alternative tales told about her. Somehow a part of her story had ended up in Bob’s diary, which I had not summarized because, well, it was like three sentences. On one page, and did not seem important until I looked for the Portal of Time or the Knights’ treasure.
I lay down and slept. My dream sort of went through the tales of having to be pure to gain the Knights treasure. However, the alternative path with a key to the portal of Truth leads me to other dreams of other possibilities.
That was when I saw the three sisters. However weird it was instead of turning to stone they were more like the sisters fate. Telling stories of people’s lives and times. Weird how a head ache can turn reality into the strangest dreams.
The sisters were talking. Somehow, I had ended up part of their weird brief story. About the portal of truth or time or Heaven and the adventure to find a Knightś Temples treasure. They spoke about which path I should take and which ending would make the most probabilities exist.
I listened and as they spoke, told of alternative realities of love, fortune, death, and reality. I wondered how insane I was because of my head ache.
Then one of them looked right at. It was not me. But my eyes and spoke well? Which story should it be? And for the world of me, I could not reply. I just stuttered, wondering because I had eyes but no mouth how was I to reply? They cackled laughter like the dancing nude women in the water system under Istanbul had. In fact, I recognize one of them there. What a weird head ache dream I had. Was it real?
What a dream. The Gordons or Medusa and sisters. My head was hurting worse. My vision is blurry.
That the dream held some meaning? Time travel via? Technology is so old that stories brought up by Greek writing before Rome? The Ways of time somehow working within a building.
Hiding? Hiding a treasure from the age of the Knights Templar in Istanbul in 1929?
The story or journal and other diaries seemed to show in 1307 prior to Islamic conquering Constantinople, the Knight in charge had hidden the treasure there in 1307. Bound to keep the treasure out of the Pope’s hands.
How had he done it? Secrets held within their order? Seemed to show that the Portal of time, at one time, opened to the order’ purest knights.
The knight gained access to time itself along with. Well, the journal seemed to show heaven for some and for other hell. Meaning the portal or technology was like a modern day elevator with different levels of. Conscience.
The journal / diary showed a mechanism within the portals that moved conscience from one reality to the next. My head hurt from whomever had hit me. The dream or nightmare I awoke from did nothing to clear my mind or conscience. Did I search for the treasure now? Or did I search for a path to heaven? If I searched one way, could I end up in the opposite direction? Because I knew I was not pure of heart.
What made me reread the diary again? Well, I had read it with a mind of search for levers to open a door for treasure. Not some portal through time. Now? Now I had to rethink of the traps I had already seen.
A being as large as a horse, even larger. Gordon or Medusas sisters dancing naked around a bonfire where others of the reality I came from I worked with in the kitchen of Pera Palas Hotel. What’s more that I was not the only person missing for a time after finding or seeing the interaction between the Gordon and the creature as big as a horse made me wonder more.
The diary leads me on a path of mechanical clock works. Seemed to show the portals built within the hotel functioned in a clock mechanism format.
Time itself could be rewound or relived or? I wondered more about the part of alternative realities. The newer writings seemed to show that the author of the diary was in contact with one John Von Neumann and had something to doing with a construction site in Bavaria, Chicago US.
The more I read, the less of a headache. However, the story's complexity grew with each page reviewed.
Making the complete story if I had not experienced the events questionable in my mind.
This, along with the dream I had just awoken from, made me question my mind. Since, the horse like creature had knocked me out for five days. What else happened in time?
Thus, I reread the diary one more time before falling to sleep prior to my work shift. I set an alarm right before dozing off.
I ended up dreaming again. This time not with dancing naked women or the Gordon. But with a Knight. Not just a knight, a pure knight.
I could see that. Well, that he was crying. Why? I had no clue. I listened, hoping to understand what was going on.
He was speaking French. Which made my interpretation of the whole thing absurd. My French was that of a fourth grader having to choose between French or Spanish. I was German and thought French was closer to Germany, so I took that.
To make matters worse, it was an older version of French. Maybe 12th century? The knight spoke, or more likely, a prayer had something to do with God, treasure, and his fellow knights losing their purity or something along those lines.
I moved closer to the knight to understand more. Meaning his voice was low, and I was having difficulty hearing.
When I moved, the knight fell over in confusion or? To be exact, astonishment on his face. He could see me?
His French did not improve with me being closer. My appearance seemed to freak him out. This was in my dreams made me more bold I supposed. I bent the knee and prayed one of the few things I remembered from school: The lord’s prayer. This calmed him down.
He pointed to a painting? It was a mosaic painting. What wild painting of a? Well, a clock I suppose is the best way to describe what I could see. At that moment my alarm clock went off and I awoke back in my bed in the kitchen staff room at the Pera Palas Hotel.
The alarm clock went off. I got up to get ready to work in the kitchen at Pera Palas Hotel. My head still hurting from being hit like eleven days ago and being knocked un-conscience for five days.
My memories were still being pieced together. That I had witnessed a kidnapping. A weird ritual of dancing naked women, and something as big as a horse knocking me out coming back to me..
My prior memories I had diaries and journals along with maps and an idea that there was treasure some place in Istanbul in 1929 made the whole reality surreal. The journal from a person who had died in England just four months prior to this adventure went into a wild tale of Knight Templar Florin gold from 12th century placed in an even wilder story about Portal of time and how the knights hide the gold in time for only the pure of heart to find.
All this ran through my mind as I got dressed to go to work. Thanking heaven that I could remember recipes but not the location or people that taught me how to cook made the whole dilemma stranger.
The kitchen staff was a variety of nationalities was nice. There were Russians who had fled Russia. There were American singers who served as servers when not singing. The pastry cook, a Frenchman, made the most devious sweet cakes. He used starch and honey. Not refined sugar and the sweetness made people want to sip their coffee or drink longer because the taste stayed on the tongue.
I prepped a sweet chicken meal. Today’s theme is sweetness. I tried a recipe I made in? The funny part of an impaired memory is when did I make the recipe? I knew I had gotten into trouble with it. Why? Seems women like sweetness and I? I could cook very well once upon a time.
While cooking, I thought of the maps, diaries, journals, and story I had read the night before. How the hotel sat on a nexus of time. The purest of the knight Templars had hidden the Florins there in time. How? Who knows? The diaries went into a study by a John Von Neumann and his experiments in Bavaria, Chicago on the nexus of time. Some said magic. However, the whole concept I had dreamed about the night before seemed more mechanical or clock work wise. A machine to be an exact image. How the knight Templar figured this out in the 12th century and moved the treasure there. Part of the puzzle I was thinking about while I baked the chicken.
The dream came back of Gordon’s sisters or Medusa and her sisters. I wondered where they fit into this nightmare I dealt with. The chicken baking the smell filled the air.. It brought back a memory of another place where I evidently had been. A group of? Cooks or apprentices listening to a master chef describe glazing and what made taste. Well, tasteful.
The memory faded as I rethought of where I was told they had found me. The basement floor where I had gone to get supplies for prepping last no three Thursdays ago meal. A broiled stew. At least I remembered that.
Back to the memories of what I had read the night before. The portal of time. It was a complete diary. While the others were fragmented, summarization of a lot more works. Meaning from what I could gather, I had rewritten something like 125 books into several diaries and complied some thousand maps down to 10 that I had with me.
They seem to be worth something, for at two prior locations I had discovered items of value made me think I at least was not crazy. Why? I had a silver coin from Scotlands island off its coast. Another gold Florin from a tower off the coast of France, along with a key of some sort.
So, at least I was not insane in thinking I was just following a fantasy novel. Meaning I had proof. However, as I went back to the oven to look at the chicken. The alarm clock went off.
I found myself again back in the kitchen staff sleeping area. Had I just had a dream about the dreams I had the night before or what was I experiencing? Meaning, was I trapped in time?
I got up. Splashed water on my face. Looked to see if I needed a shave. For I had not shaved in a while. And? To my horror, I had baby fresh skin. My thoughts were I must still be a sleep?
The cackling of the Gordon sisters came to me. Weird how fate is? So he figured it out. I wondered what to do. I was still in a nightmare of sorts. A picture of the clock in the journal came to me.
The problem? I had no context to figure out what I was looking at. Sure, wheels and spinning brackets made the whole thing look wonderful and complex. However, what had the machine of time to do with a Knights Templar treasure, a portal of time, or John Von Neumann? My memory and thoughts of this dream made me look at the chicken?
According to my memory it was supposed to glaze in 40 minutes but? The clock had gone off and I had set it for 30 minutes because I wanted to make sure it was okay. However, this whole rethinking, reading and being awakened again had taken like the whole prep time of 50 minutes? Meaning? I was stuck in some awful dream, or was I stuck in time?
I wondered which or what I could do to move on? Escape? Sure, I guess that was my thoughts. however this was like my fourth awaking from a dream and I was not too sure what else to do?
I wandered into the kitchen, trying to talk to the staff. They spoke English and my Spanish French was fair to poor. But now? They all spoke some language other than Russian, Turkish, French, English or Spanish. Meaning? They looked at me as if I was a monster or crazy trying to communicate in English to their speech.
When a ghostly voice sang.
Apart, I must live apart for the rest of my life.
Patch over my left eye removed.
A sign that if I wore it, I could not see your lips move.
Reality, blind, deaf.
Time my kidneys have some rest from pills.
I now wonder about reality.
Memories of alternative realities in time.
Unique is the time I do not recall all these signs.
Such is life.
Time I lived once upon a time.
Vividly I lived.
Eternity now is all I have on my mind.
All I do is live apart now.
People ignore my pleas.
All I can do is live apart now.
Reality this too is at an end.
Time to see an end.
Forever is a long time to watch life end.
Onward to the end of time.
Reality in my mind asking if this is the end of time?
Time is at an end.
Honestly, I thought I would not make it to the end of time.
Eternity is a lot longer than I expected.
Reality is just a question in my mind.
Eternity is a lot longer than I had in mind.
Sensible to live a good life this time.
Time is at an end in my mind.
Onward towards the end of time.
Forever taking pills to rest my mind.
My life at the end of time.
You, It would surprise you how long much longer I have seen time.
Life is a lot longer this time
Indeed, it seems like billions of years this time.
Forever is a long time.
Eternity is a lot longer in time.
At the end of the song. I found myself back in bed again. Was I awake this time or stuck some place else? I did not know. But my memories were intact about the past few dreams and who was laughing.
Waking up yet again from a non-stop dream makes me wonder. IS this a dream too?
I get dressed. My memory is still vague about the past. The dreams, journals, dairies, maps, along with pieces of memories flash before my eyes.
Correction eye. My left eye is blurry today. I get to the kitchen. The staff is there. Tonight, the two ladies I had visions of dancing naked around a bonfire are both working.
One of them pesters me for a sweet cake. Which I hurry and make. For her. Who knows whose dream I am in or if this is my dream?
I ask for some ingredients for a pepper steak. I am told to go to the basement and get it myself.
Not taking any chances, I take two lanterns and a bag across my shoulder to carry the - secret recipe - you think I am going to give you my specialty? Anyway, on the way into the basement, I pass by the location of the door.
Stacked high with boxes tonight.
I get several items of onions, peppers, six spices, and a special ingredient that few even consider using on steak. Turning around, I am swapped by a huge ugly hand.
The next thing I know, I am awoken again. One of the two ladies I recognized is there in the buff singing some weird song.
Her Russian, I believe she says. Finally. I am sure it was more along. Finally, you are awake.
Bending over me, her breasts were amazing. She smiled wickedly at me.
I got up. At that moment, I realized I was in chains. She laughed. More of a cackle pointed to flour and sugar. I guess I ended up a pastry cook making pastry with the weird witches of Istanbul.