Reality is the state or quality of having existence or substance.
I live in reality.
My sight shows me what lies behind the walls of reality.
What lies behind it, is a dimension of lost souls. Ones not ready to move on.
They fight the warmth of moving on,
To try to hold on,
To what can never be again.
At least that’s my belief.
It’s not like it is in books and movies, where they reach out to the living to solve the wrongdoings of their death.
They don’t push pennies up the wall to prove they exist.
They don’t haunt or say BOO.
They don’t have conversations about good and evil with “psychics” or anyone else for that matter.
They move in and out of our reality to steal energy to keep their “reality” in existence.
I’m Dave……just Dave.
I can see them.
It started when I was about 12. I was in the backyard playing with my soccer ball when I felt a cold chill up my back.
I shivered and turned…..and that was the first time I saw one.
It was just a blur.
A blur of motion in the stillness of reality.
That is the best way I can describe it.
And then it was gone.
I didn’t tell anyone. Who would believe me? I was already labeled as a freak and a weirdo by my so called peers. Why make it worse?
So I just waited and watched for breaks in the stillness.
The more I saw, the less I could determine what was real and what was not.
I told my parents….who were looking for a reason to get rid of me….I gave them one and was promptly committed to a mental hospital for evaluation.
I was kept awake for the first 36 hours I was there.
I kept quiet about what I saw until my mind gave in. Sleep deprivation does that to a kid.
I blurted out what my truth was.
Then by chance, I witnessed a motion shift from behind the Doctor. He shrugged off a sudden chill and kept writing. I told him what just happened and he ordered me a 90 day stay at his facility and a steady dose of Thorazine for my mental incapacities.
Strange thing about Thorazine….it slows the mind and everything else for that matter, but it allowed my sight to be clearer.
The blurs became clearer.
The blurs took shape.
Transparency becoming solid.
That scared me.
The man strapped to the chair with the helmet on, saw my fear and called me over to him.
“You can see them, can’t you…” He said.
“Y-y-yea…but I don’t want to anymore.” I replied.
“The drugs bring them out. It’s easier for them to take what they need when our brains are muddled….I will show you how to fake taking your pills. It will keep them at bay.”
I listened to him and followed his plan.
I was released after my 90 days and then I ran away from the only reality of home that I knew.
In search of finding a balance between the blur and the real.
It has been 18 years since the Jansen’s have seen their son, Michael.
The last they saw of him, was 2 days after his release from the mental hospital at age 12.
They were good parents who had no where else to turn. Their once bright and loving child changed seemingly overnight, and became someone they didn’t even recognize.
For one, he insisted his name was Dave…just Dave.
When they would call for him, he would throw a fit and say,
“WHO IS THIS MICHAEL YOU SPEAK OF? I AM DAVE…JUST DAVE!!”
From there he began to say he saw things…the dead in spirit form, that stole energy from the living.
He would sit in the park and watch people….for hours. He wouldn’t speak…he wouldn’t eat.
He would watch….just watch.
Until he saw someone twitch or swat at a flying insect.
He would then rush over to them and assault them by trying to shake them by the shoulders and say-
“SPIRITS BE GONE. LEAVE THIS SOUL ALONE!!”
The Jansen’s were not well off, but they were not poor either. Just a working class family trying to get by.
In order to avoid charges from the assaulted, they agreed to have him psychologically evaluated at the state run mental health hospital and have him committed for 90 days.
He ran away shortly after his release.
Their 12 year old boy. No money, no identification, no idea what the world was like.
It has been 18 years since then. The Jansen’s never gave up hope.
Their hope was answered by a knock at the door.
The mailman handed them a certified letter addressed to them.
The sender info was in the top left corner. It read-
They closed the door and returned to the sofa.
They looked at each other with concerned eyes.
Before opening the letter, Mr. Jansen took his wife’s hands in his and said,
“Whatever is that is in this letter….just know that we know he is not dead. I love you.”
The wife wiped tears from her eyes, took a deep breathe, exhaled and opened the letter.
The letter was written in meticulous cursive writing-
Dear Parental Figures,
The calendar has changed many times since I last saw you in person, but know that I have seen you many times. I am far from sight but not far enough away to where I can not watch over you. I have kept you safe from the motion blurs. It has taken me years to learn their purpose. It was through this learning that I am able to use them to watch your progression in life without me.
I am a marked man. The keepers of the blur are continually after me. I came to this realization after many encounters with the state run mental providers. They work for the blurs. They try to keep me from learning their ways.
This world is bugged.
Clouds of vapor are sent through the vents of those places to read my mind. They have radio antenna threaded into the bed sheets to listen to me dream.
This world is not real.
I have tried to return to the place that was once home. Each time I am stopped by the aura dome that surrounds the block.
I continue to circle the perimeter in wide expanses.
It has taken me far and earned me many labels.
The people of this world call me-
I long for a place where I can be Dave.
This letter was scanned and void of all measures of tracking.
Mrs. Jansen looked at her husband and broke out into tears.
Mr. Jansen just held her and rocked her and tears of his own ran down his cheek.
Just Dave sits on the curb across the street from the big blue box that holds the statement he wrote to his parents. He know the oddly shaped cubed vehicle will be by to empty it’s contents and take them to the evaluation station. There the keepers of the information will decide if his memorandum should be sent as is or returned for disinformation purposes.
He made quite sure that the letter would be sent, as is, by using pen and paper that were blessed with holy water and by wearing powder less latex gloves while he wrote it.
He left off the symbols and hieroglyphs that ward off the blur sensors in hopes it would pass through the aura dome without setting off any sensors.
He sat and waited. Eyes darting back and forth checking both sides of the street for the cube with wheels.
Just Dave and the suitcase that never left his side.
The phone was not used for calls. The mobile mechanisms underneath the receiver were replaced by an AM transistor radio. The radio was not set to any station because that was how the keepers tracked the movements of the citizens. Instead it was set to the white noise in between the stations. Not only did the noise calm him but it kept the blurs from stealing his energy.
In precise 10 minute intervals he would open the case and press in the required code to turn on
He would place the phone receiver to his left ear, always his left ear, and listen for the noise.
If by chance a station would come in, he would reverse the code,
open the box, and dial in pure white noise.
Always two 6’s….never, ever a 5.
He would listen for precisely 33 seconds then hang up the receiver and close the box.
This ritual continued for :40 minutes.
As the cube with wheels pulled up and man in blue shorts got out to empty the contents of the big blue box, Just Dave stood up from the curb, took 2 steps back onto the sidewalk, clenched his fists and held his breathe.
After the man in blue shorts completed his task and returned to his cube to continue on his journey, Just Dave relaxed his fists and let out his breathe. He reached down and picked up the suitcase with his left hand, always his left hand, made a 45 degree turn and began to count and walk the 471 paces back to his apartment where he planned to continue his work.
His current task at hand….
Attempting to close the divide between the world of the living and the prism of the blurs.
471, 470, 469, 468, 467, 466……..
Step, 464, 463, 462, 461, 460….
Step 1, 2, 3, 4, step, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10…
As Just Dave counted the reverse steps back to his apartment, all except for the 5’s…never…ever the 5’s, his mind wandered to his not so distant past.
On May 5, 2005, he experienced the bottom.
His plan of closing the divide between the world of the living and the prism of the blurs began years earlier.
He had been told during his first institutionalization. that the use of narcotics gave the blurs a tunnel into the mind to steal ones energy, therefore he abstained from drug use…prescribed or not.
In his attempt to gain information and data on the complexities and variances of the blurred dimension, he dismissed that warning and began to experiment in his mid to late teens.
It started out safe enough. A little booze, a few joints….
(324, 323, 322, 321…..)
The ingestion lowered his mental guards.
He even smiled every now and then.
The locks that protected his mind and kept him on guard were left unattended.
A part of his brain that was dormant became alive and craved the openness that the chemicals provided.
It NEEDED more.
Soon, the safety of booze and weed were abandoned for riskier and more potent substances.
Days high, turned to years.
His initial plan of closing the divide, went awry.
He became a man with a extreme mental divide. Chasing shadows.
(249, 248, 247….)
He could no longer distinguish between here and there.
His entire reality became….
His use, misuse, and abuse came to a head on 5-5-05.
Following secret messages his mind saw written on concrete walls, he was led to a couple (that only he could see), sitting on a park bench.
They beckoned him over and spoke to him.
“We have been waiting for you, Just Dave….if you agree to come with us, we will lead you to the answers you so desperately seek.”
All Just Dave could do was nod.
(111, 110, 109, 108….)
He was led up a flight of stairs and into an open door. Some sort of party was going on.
He glanced at the symbol on the center of the door. One large number was nailed there.
He followed them in and watched them take a seat on the sofa. They smiled giddily and wide at him.
He took a second to glance around the room and then back at the sofa.
Only a few seconds had passed.
The couple had disappeared.
He heard their voices in his head-
“The tools you need to close the divide are here…..seek them. Find them. Take them.”
He wandered the inside of number 5, randomly picking up shiny items and placing them in his pockets.
When he felt satisfied, he turned to leave, and came face to face with a few large men.
Apparently, they did not appreciate his stealing from them. After beating him with many times with many closed 5 finger fists, the cops were called and Just Dave was arrested and charged with felony theft and drug charges.
After a few months in jail, Just Dave was released, placed on probation for a period of 5 years, and ordered to obtain residency at the state operated and maintained mental health apartment complex, which was located one block from the mental hospital.
As long as he stayed clean, sober and other peoples stuff free, he could live there as long as he wanted.
(3, 2, 1)
Those provisions of his freedom started almost 7 years ago.
He took the door key out of his pocket with his right hand and placed it into the lock.
He twisted the handle to the right, opened the door to his apartment and crossed the threshold.
He then closed the door behind him and engaged the lock and left his past outside.
He left the “mistakes” of his past outside.
Inside was where his present and future unfolded.
Inside, was his sanctuary.
The information and data gathered over the years was all inside.
So was the prism in the glass box.
Just Dave turns around and faces the inside of his apartment.
He stands in the entryway, which is 4 feet long and 4 feet wide. White linoleum tile lines the floor in perfect bright squares. The entryway is completely enclosed in thick clear plastic from ceiling to ground. There is a closet door to the left.
This is what he refers to as the decontamination chamber. Before entering the clean room environment, that is his apartment, he must be completely sure his body is bacteria free.
To complete this task he uses the aid of 3 simple items.
The first is a ladies hair straightener….but to him it is not what it seems. He utilizes it as a bacteria wand. He turns it on and waves it around his head and body to neutralize the bacteria and demagnetize its charge.
The second is a dust buster…..but to him it is not what it seems. He utilizes it as a bacteria storage container. He turns it on and sucks the bacteria off his head and clothes.
When this task is completed. He strips off all his clothes and places them into the third item. It is a large yellow storage container….but, once again, to him it is not what it seems. He opens the lid, and places his clothes into the decontamination bin. He closes the lid tight, making sure it clicks on all sides.
He then repeats the process of the first two items on his naked body.
Once he is sure he is clean, he turns to the closet and opens the door. He walks in and closes the door behind him.
The closet has been converted into a wait room. Before entering the apartment, the empty closet, which is void of light and shelves, must be waited in. Once closed into the small space, he waits for a period of 15 seconds. He then reaches for the handle on the opposite wall and enters the apartment, and quickly closes the door behind him.
He enters what would be the dining area. It holds no dining furniture. Just the same brilliant white tile on the floor and white paint on the walls.
He turns a 45 degree turn, takes four paces and turns another 45 degree turn and he is in the main living space. In this space there is a mattress raised up on milk cartons. A small 13 inch black and white tv raised up on 2 milk cartons. And nothing else.
The tv is on and is set to station 1. No reception, just white noise. The volume is high enough to hear but low enough to not disturb the other occupants of the complex. It is always on….always.
He walks six paces to the door at the back of the room. The bedroom. But to him, it is not what it seems.
It is the vault.
The vault is where the prism in the glass box is held.
He looks at the door, places his palm upon the center of it, and feels the hum from inside. It feels like an running electric razor.
He retracts his hand slowly and makes a fist, then releases it and thinks back to how the prism came into his possession……
It’s quite simple, really. He didn’t know he had it in his possession.
Upon being released from jail, he was given back the clothes he had when he entered incarceration 4 months earlier.
-a t shirt
-a faded green army jacket.
He was never in the army. The thick jacket provided warmth.
While en route to his new living assignment at the mental health apartment complex, he began to hear the low buzz.
He heard it all through the orientation and rules and procedures processes that were required for being a resident.
After the paperwork was done and he was brought to his apartment and was left to get situated. The buzz became louder and more distinct.
The sound was coming from the lining of the jacket.
The left inside breast pocket had a hole in the lining. The hole went to the bottom seam of the jacket.
He reached down, inside the lining and grasped the buzzing object. He hum lessened to a whisper and his hand began to warm.
He pulled his hand out of the pocket slowly, opened his palm and there it was.
A brilliant perfect crystal prism.
Being exposed to light, the prism became aglow with activity,
Blurs of colored light began to escape from the object.
Just Dave quickly closed his palm and shoved the prism back into his pocket before the prism break could finalize.
He thought back to his arrest and his time spent in apartment 5, and remembered being in the bedroom closet looking for something. In a shoebox in a corner, was a box made of oak….that hummed. Inside the box was the prism. He remembers taking it and placing it inside his left breast pocket of the army jacket.
Shortly after is when the large men came…….
Just Dave shakes himself back into the now and smiles a victorious smile.
Above the oversized doorknob, is a keypad, which allows entry into the vault.
He punches the code.
Always 2 sixes, never..ever a 5.
The lock disengages.
He opens the door, enters and quickly closes the door.
After 10 seconds, the lock reengages.
He stands in a pitch black room. The only light comes from a table lamp equipped with a 20 watt bulb that has a grey pillow case over it. The prism in the glass box sits on top of the lampshade, which sits in the center of the 13 x 13 foot room. The walls are painted black. The window is covered in tin foil and draped with thick black curtains.
The 20 watt bulb allows the blurs trapped in the prism to move freely around in the encasement of glass but not enough to escape.
Just Dave circles the perimeter of the room and watches as the dancing light follows him as he goes.
He then began to engage in his learned ritual to attempt to close the divide between the real and the blur.
During his 7 year tenure at the apartment complex, he was encouraged to attend meditation classes. He was initially against it, until he learned that meditation aids in being at 1 with the energies of the earth and the energies of the body and mind.
To learn how the blurs steal the energy of the mind he must first learn to master his own energy and gain strength from the power of Mother Earth.
He sat cross legged on the cool tile floor and places his hands, palms up on his knees.
He closed his eyes and began to take slow deep breaths through his nose and exhale slowly through his mouth.
Relax and take in positive energy….release negative.
Focus on what you want to accomplish and nothing else.
The blurs in the prism dance inside the glass and the hum grows louder.
Listen to the noise around you and be at peace with it.
Focus on the brilliant white light that begins to calm you from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes.
Inhale positive energy…..
Exhale negative energy….
Feel your shoulders relax….
Your pelvic region….
The light will encompass your body and bring you into harmony with the energies from the center of the earth…..
The hum abruptly stops, and there is a rumble from the floor. A sound like a piece of notebook paper being slowly ripped from the coiled spine.
Just Dave keeps breathing slowly…in and out…
Unaware that the blurs in the glass box were swimming around the prism like sharks at feeding time.
The rip got louder and the single lamp began to wobble….
Breathe in the positive….
Breathe out the negative…
A crack in the floor began to emerge….
Sending brilliant white light in shards through the seams of the tile.
His heart has slowed to the perfect meditative state. He is at one with all.
The crack begins to widen. The lamp topples over. The glass box crashes to the ground setting the prism and the blurs free.
Just Dave is shaken from his trance by the sound of the shattered glass box.
He opens his eyes to see a circus of blurs hovering like vultures atop the white light.
He looks down and sees a cylindrical hole widen from the center of the room.
The white light blazing up to the ceiling like a train rampaging through a dark tunnel.
Just Dave gets up and starts backing up to avoid the widening white hole.
The buzz has reached deafening proportions.
As Just Dave backs himself into the corner of the side walls, the hovering blurs stop their circling and bum rush him and attack.
He can’t move. He can’t scream. His eyes get wider as the onslaught begins.
They enter from all angles of his being. Like a swarm of wasps they sting at his aura and begin to drain him.
The hum gets louder. The light gets brighter. The hole gets bigger.
Just Dave gets dimmer.
Before he fades into a blur, the sinkhole undertakes the room. Just Dave falls into the abyss of Mother Earth….circus of blurs in tow.
As he falls, the hum gets calmer, the light fades, the hole stops….holing.
And the world gets quiet.
Ehow.com says this about sinkholes-
According to the U.S. Geological Survey, human activity that alters ground water can play a major role in sinkhole development. Sub-surface water helps keep surface soil in place, so any artificial alteration of ground water drainage can create problems, as can changes in the land surface such as creation of runoff-storage ponds. The weight of man-made construction can also cause a collapse. Human constructions can also provide clues to the development of sinkholes before they occur. Some of these signs are uneven floors or pavement, cracks in pool decks, a stairstep pattern of cracks in the wall of a building and depressions in an open area such as a yard or park.
In the case of the mental health apartment complex-
Since it opened in 1955, it had needed to be improved and expanded 5 times. The last time being in 2005. The every growing mental diagnosis in our society requires larger faculties for housing.
The redistribution of the water lines, adding new lines and adding new buildings aided in the collapse.
Natural corrosion and the fact that the rock below the surface of the foundation was limestone was also found to be a possible source of the collapse.
Are blurs real? Is our society losing its energy to some other dimension?
The conclusion to that question will be left up to you.
The next time you feel a chill up your spine…..or the hairs on your arms stand up for no reason….or you walk through an unexplained cold spot in your home or community…..
Don’t pay any mind to it….
It’s probably Just Dave.