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Mar. 12, 2007 I went down and outside for break. It was overcast and night was almost there. There were a few people around, but not many. The bench was a good place. It was a bit rainy. It was only a mist though. Beyond, through some trees and up a bit, you could hear some buses. A bus actually. It stopped slowly like they do. Then it started off again. I felt light headed. I felt intense. I felt different. I had gotten a coffee. Maybe it was a pop. Probably it was a pop. I probably smoked two cigarettes. I waited. I tried to get strong-minded. I went upstairs. The workers welcomed me. I was one of them. Not exactly, but on a mini-contract. They were nice. The old black lady was the nicest. I found many of them were like that. She just took one of the many tuna sandwiches and gave it to me. She didn’t ask if I wanted it. She just gave it. Somehow she knew I would want it, would like it, and would eat it. I ate it. I sat with them for a while. I didn’t have to do much else. I didn’t have to go at that time into the holding area, but I did. I found it disturbing that I enjoyed talking to one patient. He was of the same age. He was troubled. It was easy to see. It was apparent, because of the context, and because of what he said. They had taken away his shoelaces and his belt. He said that he had lived at a retirement home because that was the place they had found for him. He said that he was talking too loudly to people, and would not stop talking, so he was brought in. He said he would not take any medication, and that is why they were holding him there. It was strange. He seemed docile and kind. He was articulate. He didn’t sleep though. He said he didn’t sleep for long periods of time. He was not currently sleeping. He started talking about Scientology. He had some sort of involvement with Scientology. He drew these pictures, circles, with words on them. They were theories he had of evolution or something. He was crazy. To anyone with some sense, he’d be seen as crazy, the way he went on. But he was kind. He wanted to go out and down for a cigarette. They wouldn’t let him. His brother came to see him. His brother was upset, but controlled. I had a funny moment. I am sitting there. I am working there, but am not in their direct employ. I have no badge. How would the brother know that I am not being held there? It wouldn’t make a difference what he thought. But what would keep him from thinking that? Soon the brother left. He sure didn’t stay too long. Then the guy kept pacing. You could see he was talking to himself. Whispering. He could stop right away and carry a conversation though. He kept bringing the conversation back to Scientology. He kept his papers there, in his hand, as if they were some kind of important document. He was trying to figure out reality. The circles. Animal, Man, maybe other things. Drawn in pencil. I went back out, on the other side of the glass. Before I did, he asked a funny question. Not right before perhaps, but at some point. He asked if I was sent to build a case against him of some sort. He wondered why I was so open and talking to him. I told him not to worry. When I went to sit down, I talked with the workers. He would knock on the glass sometimes. They would answer him. He asked if they were recording by audio. Since there was video, he wanted to know if there was audio too. Of course there was no audio. You could tell somehow. They said no. He walked away. One worker looked over in our direction and shook his head, saying how paranoid the fellow was. I understood, but I thought secretly that though it was a paranoid question it wasn’t a paranoid question completely. He was marked though. He could inform them of a real fire, and he’d not be believed. When it was time to leave, I left. A few months later, I met a nice crazy fellow who as it turned out had been good friends with the crazy Scientologist fellow. He said that the Scientologist fellow talked about death plenty. He had talked plenty about death the time I saw him. They were both troubled. One more than the next, though the second had been involved in Scientology too. He said some crazy things. He said that he had painted his room black and stayed in it for a year. He said he could not see properly when he got out. How or why those two had gotten like that, I didn’t know, but they had both come upon some load of trouble, and the trouble seemed to be mostly themselves, intentionally or unintentionally or both. ------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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