At age 77, unlike anyone else of
sound mind and normal intelligence, I know almost nothing of my
own identity and my own life history. They have been concealed
from me in a nearly lifelong project of denial and mystification.
Here is a summary of as much as I am fairly confident that I do
know:
Apparently through a strange genetic accident, the entire contents of my mind are present, and have been present since my birth, in the mind of everyone everywhere. My whole history is known to everyone else, although no one will admit that this is so. Thus there exists a universal "secret" about me which everyone knows all about except me.
I can't tell whether the containment of my mind in the mind of everyone else is a phenomenon unique to me; there is scarcely anything in nature, however freakish, altogether unique; yet my impression is that no one with this attribute has ever turned up before, and that the novelty of it is the source of the world's unwelcome fascination with me, who am otherwise nobody special.
Since early in life, I have been the subject of a massive project of psychotherapy in which the world public has collaborated but which no one will admit exists. This project has proceeded by what I call "mirror treatment," where virtually everyone with whom the subject comes in contact dramatizes -- makes appear as real -- his delusions, fantasies, or other unrealistic ideation, so as to cause the subject himself to realize that the idea is unrealistic.
As an "added attraction," I am constantly invaded and manipulated, Svengali fashion, by a telepathist/trickster who claims to be my brother (whose death in 1986, he explains, was faked) and is thus, through genetic affinity, the only person who can manipulate me telepathically, so as to "mirror" my observation (certainly no delusion!) that I am under the custody and control of persons unknown -- that is to say, the psychotherapeutic group conducting the project.
I am not allowed to know the goal(s) of this project, nor the diagnosis which prompted its institution. Judging from the way I have been handled, my best guess is that I am the model patient in a program of research in paranoid schizophrenia. If that is so, its central emphasis for half a century or longer on my problems of adjustment as a homosexual would be based on the hypothesis that the schizophrenia originated (more distinctly than from any other source) in those problems. But it is also possible to view the project as an experiment in "curing" homosexuality, which in my youth was deemed a mental disease, an experiment which did not result in my suddenly turning heterosexual (!) but instead in my suffering a serious disturbance, so that the project had to be transformed into an effort to "put me back together" as a well-adjusted homosexual.
Whatever its original aim, it seems likely that the project took on its long-time elaborate, grandiose, no-holds-barred character when, as a disturbed infantry trainee in 1944, I began "thought broadcasting" -- verbalizing chaotic thinking which alarmed the populace and made me a "public welfare emergency."
Again, whatever its purpose, since therapists (and an entire public of willing collaborators) are always reading my mind, I have been a "natural" for treatment and/or research in any sort of mental disorder, a "case" irresistible to professionals in the field.
Any disorders, delusions, disturbances, or maladjustments are long since cured, and I am thoroughly adapted to my "containment" quirk. (I have had 75 years to get used to it -- and so has the world public!) Therapy is therefore obsolete. I must be released from the invisible bubble in which I am still confined. The irrational taboo of admitting to me that my fluke exists, the universal denial of reality, the mind games, the mystification, the secrets and lies, the invasions and manipulations, the eternal, maddening tinkering with me, and the paralysis and the alienation from normal life which are the consequence of all that, must end.
As a sane, rational, stable citizen inexplicably trapped in an invisible bell jar, I want to know, need to know, deserve to know, am entitled to know, all about it -- everything, everything -- in exhaustive detail. I must no longer be deprived of the merest scrap, of a single syllable, of information about my own identity, my own history, the precise nature of my telepathic fluke, the history of this project and my status in the world as its subject (or better, once released, as its former subject).
Although I am not allowed to know who's in charge, this world-famous project appears to be conducted by an entity of the U.S. government. If it is conducted by a private foundation, the federal government has heavily collaborated. Its directors, whoever they are, must demystify their operations, and release me from their control by rescinding whatever legal or judicial, legislative or executive, instrument authorizes them. Until then, I am consigned to a science- fiction-like limbo no human being yet was in. My faceless keepers must materialize, meet with me, explain and discuss all that has happened to me -- must talk to me about reality.
Since you, reader of this web page, are thoroughly familiar with this project, you can literally save my life -- for in my bubble, hamstrung by the obscene conditions of my confinement, I lead only a bizarre twilight existence -- by pleading my case for liberation with the agency or organization in charge, or, if you prefer, by identifying to me the entity in charge. I can take it from there. You can --
Write me at 8237 Panola Street,