Based on true events...

[s13ep]

I am Shannon Green, philosophy extraordinaire, cubic scientist and shadow politician; as fictional as most of this work may sound, it's based on true events.

In the beginning I existed around the age of fifteen, and I found that I had an interest in art. In the years prior to this, I was social-wise, gifted and brave. I had made a name for myself in school, and my families history supported this - my enemies feared me and my friends were hopeful. Personal reasons in my late teenage years caused me to isolate myself from other people.

I always liked being associated with only a few people and I avoided groups. When I left school, I avoided social life all-together. I believed as we had grew up a fire in ourselves burned weaker; the respect for each other, the giving nature and the optimism that had seemed to victor in childhood, was scarce in adulthood.

I collected different styles of art of what I believed to be of the highest quality; these ranged from typical photographs to ancient paintings- I spent most of my time on the internet blogging or uploading images on forums.

One day I found that if I ever linked a caption to an image, it would produce good feeling, soon after I realized that it was not the caption, but that the art alone was the source of what I had felt.

I'd respond to people's imagery on their blogs, using images with expressions on my blog; it would change the course of conversation just as well as words. I took to this form of communication, forming my own sub-infinite language, that I, and others who knew me, could understand.

There was an array of different feelings ranging from tropical fruits of the body, to serene clouds of a mountain; from momentary dreams we called Tulpas, to rushing feeling in the bloodstream; there were many but they are more fluid than rigid, and can only be described not understood.

I created a primary imagery blog on Tumblr; two of the first images I posted were the Tree of Life diagram, qaballah, and an extract from Thomas Frederick Page's 'The Golden Fleece'. I had an interest in the self, and extracting Hebrew from English language {Example: Spell house and H, O you see; or, Argh, as, Ar-urgh; combining words and reforming a word completely}.

The Tree of Life diagram shows that each part of the human body attributes to the human psyche; the weaker hand often symbolizing mercy, while the stronger hand, power- the left brain, wisdom, and the right, understanding- so forth.

I found later on that the result was more like a Da Vinci painting, that the diagram gave a mere directive to something realer, but in it's default form was imperfect and inaccurate. In the early stages of my experience, it made the perfect booster to the fluid meaning I pursued.

This Tree of Life diagram can be understood from a landscape picture, sensing the femininity and masculinity, the hole and the fill or ebb and the flow. I, and some followers, spent time finding out how humans and other natures relate, or had related, through imagery and the chorus of thought that came with it. Past imagery would influence the thinking behind present imagery, as an expression cast after a string of words has a different effect than when cast after another string of words. The fluid meaning that I sought came day by day, and at this point I believed I was onto something huge- a legal, healthy high.

I tried to extend my grasp unto fame via social networking websites; creating my own Twitter profile, and sending messages with links to the art, to the most famous and powerful people, ranging from Barrack Obama, to Justin Bieber.

I was young so my mind was restless; I was easily led into believing that famous people were secretly watching my profile, and my imagery blog, so I'd post daily, hourly, in effort to keep their attention. I'd post, then look at their posts, and they would relate somehow- I thought this was them making it relate, and I still haven't confirmed if this was true or false. The feeling was really that good.

This goes on for a year, everyday I'm solitary on my computer, uploading art on my Tumblr and posting wise statements on my Twitter, all in the thought that famous people were watching and feeling a similar feeling to what I had felt. We, or I, were with the faith that, if I posted an image, in the future it would have some effect; in a picture of a water balloon; perhaps it will pop and then we'd feel wet.

For some time, the balloon would pop, and it would keep getting better, and wilder, the more images I uploaded, until this specific time where a combination of imagery produced a high that can be related to ecstasy, which lasted two days straight. After this high, things didn't happen as I dreamed.

I had set the bar too high, but was able to still produce a good feeling, just the meaning wasn't becoming true, the water balloon did not pop, but the art as a whole made me feel euphoric at times.

At one point I was posting simply to influence the following nights dream; for I thought we were all having the same dream at night. I remember using Gustave Dore's bible paintings, and posting three from the series each night - each night a dream occurred which revolved around the imagery. At some point in the dream there are parts that relate directly to the memory of the paintings.

There was a time where I was trying to find a picture without being tracked by anyone, because the pictures would more probably effect the nights dream if only I had seen it. This became quite a struggle in my mind; the people I followed on Tumblr and Twitter were guessing the picture I had, or it seemed so; every thought I had, I believed was so simple and obvious, they were tracking me by my thoughts.

When I reach the end of that year, I get bored of fame in the impure sense, for I'm getting hot-headed, shouting murderous and violent things on Twitter, especially when, who I believed to be following, didn't act civil in response; however, it was probably my absolution of their words.

I'd set a good example, for nature, for humanity and for children, and when they did or said something I thought was perverse or evil, I'd complain. It was in my mind that I was at the forefront of a revolution, an infamous saint figure, and sometimes, it seemed, they were not taking it seriously.

I relax in my infamy, and at this time I believed that I was mainly known for the ecstasy hit; "Art that feels like E", "healthy highs on art"- thoughts that made me feel extremely powerful without fame, I was a self-made man.

I don't go back to social networking for one and a half years. At the start of this break things begin to take a eerie turn.

I notice that on my left head I feel a pointless pain, like a pin being pushed into the skin slightly. I wasn't in pain, but it felt like pain. I toyed with it, and it would fade, reappear or move a little. I thought to myself, "this is an illusion; this pain is unreal". At one point another pain comes on my left head, and there are two; sometimes it felt as if they were encircling an area, but when focused on them, they were static, one above the other.

I get curious one day and focus on the pains for a long while, trying to move them with forces of the mind, but come to no avail. To my surprise however, later that night, there was symmetrical movement; one of the pains appears on the other side, and they continue to appear on either side of my head in different positions. It was a slow process that had became a much quicker one.

Whenever I sense someone, or read something, I get a pointless pain somewhere on my head.

With interest and education in qabballah, I relate pains on the right side of the head to understanding, and the left to wisdom- for a while I'm judging people through this illusion which I have taken on as a power. I acknowledge that it's telling me how the person I'm sensing is thinking, or how they're about to act.

A few days pass, and I'm in quite a psychosis by it, the more I treat them as power the more they evolve, until these pains are appearing all around my body, in different velocities and kinds ( grueling pain, pointless pain, burning pain, a feeling of an insect ) in one place at a time.

Now and again I'd get scents, visuals in my closed eyes, tastes and voices. I was hallucinating comfortably for a long time. I'd smell, ass, strawberries and more. Voices like "awww" and "urgh", or "hour" would pass over the top of my left or right head; I'd also utilize these for my own judgement.

A day comes where I discover another power, a power which let's me create petty mental powers, by drawing anything I wanted, using mind forces in the void of my closed eyes.

If I drew a tear down my eyes repeatedly, by pulling a source light I had discovered years prior, around the void using facial expression ( like a Magic Pen ), what feels like one would come, and if I kept on drawing, they would come, constantly, without the need to draw them. This light source flapped and flipped, it was a line of light that I guess came with the tiny gaps in the closed eyelids, or my sense of my eyebrows.

I drew many things, an Eye of Horus, a burning smile, a scar on my nose, and more. Each gave me a different power, seemingly. I thought that with the Eye of Horus, I could communicate to others through thought, pulling them into my mind and then speaking to them in theirs, or simply pulling them into my mind to see through my sight. My smile would cling up sometimes at the left or right, and I took this as unison of smiling or conformation of an actually funny joke; powers such as the aforementioned came in numbers and gracefully.

One morning I make the attempt to communicate to someone through imagery or dream alone, without words, and it worked! I imagine myself with a whole environment that comes effortlessly as I think of it in my peripheral. For the next few months I'm imagining awake dream-states in near space, and for a while it works flawlessly.

The tears that I once drew and that once appeared, evolved over time, into what feels like water falling down my left face- it seems like a line of sweat. If I focused on the right, another would come, but the left was constant and greater on focus, whereas I had to focus on the right to make it fall at all, as well as any other location on my head.

I could connect to all-sorts with the Eye of Horus which I confirmed by sensing an orb or essence in the closed-eyes void; from VY Canis Majoris to "The Dream" ( whenever I connected with the dream, what felt like roots would cover my right eye, and at other times a tiny crown on my head; making the connection seem realer ).

As a scientist at heart, I tried to discover what was making this happen, why I was able to dream on the spot, imagine visually, etc. I came to the conclusion that it was this line of water which I was seeping into, and seeping into it, I could do all this.

For three-months of this first episode, I believed that I was projecting my imagination to the world, and even to the universe. Firstly, I was solitary and had no outside contact; and secondly, why not? It only made me more powerful when believing this... I was pursuing power and infamy, as well as the natural revolution.

Then the time comes where I lose the power somewhat. Thinking that I'm being watched by everyone, I start to panic and I get nervous. The thoughts I want to keep to myself shoot from my head, in the form of words and images, into near space; it gets quite chaotic, I'm out of control, and I'm making lots of mistakes. I become an embarrassment to myself, but still with the people's respect because of my powers.

At the end of the day I get away with my messy behaviour; for the rest of this episode, sometimes it's chaotic, sometimes it's not.

Over the course of a few weeks I experience the greatest horizons of imagination; when I walk passed someone in the street I can imagine that very moment in imagery, using the tension of two or more factors. I'd walk near a cat, and then visualize it, dissecting it into smaller parts or forgetting it completely. If I want, rather than imagining as an imprint in space, I can visualize a hologram in the physical world. I'm in the mind where I'm sure that the world is visually imagining moments of time, and it's the 'bon appetit' of language. My state of mind keeps enhancing, changing bit by bit, until one day, it gets weaker.

The sweat line on my left head becomes wrathful, suddenly, as if it was filled with millions of insects all crammed in; swinging left to right, hooking around my cheek, and other uncomfortable things. At first it was hard to bare, but to this date, I still have the exact same chaotic line of water running down my face.

I get angry one night because of events and conversations I had imagined, and smash a friends window in the heat of things, as well as threatening people, and I end up in a mental home for the first time for three months.

The medication they put me on does not stop my psychosis, but in the hospital it does end for a period; it get's really hard to imagine visually, and the only times where I can imagine visually are when I hear good music, have a beautiful thought and other times where I'm uplifted.

In the hospital I return to the normality of which I came from; I don't forget about it, per say, but I had utilized it so much that normality felt fresh, and I was in awe in just the memory of such events. When I'm released, I live a good year without the power, only the chaotic lines of water to remind me- now and then I'll imagine myself, but nothing to the degree of thinking I was communicating with people or the world.

The lack of interest in going back to an impure sense of fame also lasts until the end of this year break, where a reunion with the art and social networking takes place; like a second beginning; again, I'm led to believe powerful people are with me.

The art would again produce good feeling, our dreams of the future were coming true again- the water balloon would pop, using the analogy from earlier. I'm talking about my visual experience on Twitter, but my words were imperfect, quite a lot lesser than their explanatory potential in the present. I'm now infamous because of the water world, the ability to think back to moments in imagery, not simply good-feeling art, something even better.

[s13ep]

This reunion only lasts for a month before I'm back to being bored and into my own little universe. I'm in the frame of mind that they are all on the first stage of imagination, whereas I'm on the end step. It has ended for me, but it's only beginning for them, and it makes me feel like God; filled with energy and excitement. I regain the thought that I can communicate through the mind, or pull people into my sights, etc.

Whenever I get angry and rage, it's like exploiting visual imagination, not utilizing it. I'd be surrounded by a red, bloody essence, in which rapid imagination spawns, such as a dancing Toad from Mario, very sprite-like, or snake-like dragons moving at high speeds.

We, I, came to the conclusion that chasing the red stuff was a bad idea for it would make the trip come to an end, or that blue could be better on occasions. The red essence was the best of what I could produce, consistently. I'd just rage all the time, and people made me rage, it was a strike of luck for both parties- the exploitation of my mind for the red, bloody essence. Here, everything I did was to improve their performances, in effort to cause a revolution; the red stuff on my end, had some effect on their own powers, or so I thought.

In the early hours of morning, I'm reassuring my grandmother that's she's going to heaven, with my power as my support, as she lays in bed. I'm raising my voice to hit those tender spots like a dictator. I imagine visually one act or scene, of a sad man who enters hell to save his grandmother, very holy looking and simple- wearing a leather jacket, a darkness coming over me as I struggle to pull up my grandmother. At the time it was so beautiful. It was as if I was using the weight against my imagination as an effect on the imagery, and it kept.

It was agreed, at this time, that to see my imagination you would have to first draw the tears in the void of closed eyes; not only was I imagining it artistically, there was science behind it for I was actually telling my grandmother to draw the tears.

Here, my imagination gets good again, but much greater and more beautiful than the first time. I'm much calmer, I had imagined so much prior that I've found a perfect style, which correlates with the world and myself; a kind of dark age imagination.

Everything I imagined was of the utmost beauty to me, it was so beautiful that this is the only story I can think about, nothing else interests me to such a degree.

Let me clear up a few things; in the first episode, it was more like a dream-state that reached a peak and fell, but in the second, it was more like an enhanced normal state, that had lots of peaks and falls. In the first episode, an environment would come with what I imagined effortlessly, in the second I had to try hard to imagine an environment, but it would appear more beautifully.

There is no real difference between the second episode and now, apart from there was another layer, I was opposed by a force of nature; whatever I imagined would stick for a longer period than the present day. What I didn't mention before was that I also had powers attributed to body parts; with my right hand I could create the hallucinations in others, or at least I believed that I could, which I confirmed by testing it on myself. Very rarely a scent I chose would come, but I didn't try it many times!

My world views affected what I conjured, I was up against names such as Kim Jong, Obama, Putin, Jinping, Assad, ISIS and more. Things just kept getting weirder, evolving, enhancing, layer by layer things would become more surreal and dreamy. It got to a stage where I could think of someone or something, and an image of them would flash up in the void of closed eyes.

I took this ability non-seriously, but a day came where I tried to find ISIS leaders, by way of thinking and focusing on the statement "ISIS Leaders" to show the political powers who could apparently see when they closed their eyes, or as some projection in their near space.

Instead, a familiar face kept popping up and making me laugh so much I couldn't keep focused; it was, randomly, Jet Li. I knew this person, but he had never entered my thoughts until this moment. I stopped trying to find these people and rested with a new rival in mind.

At this point the environment becomes stranger and it's the highlight of the psychosis; when I focus on a shadow, it would split into two, and I could imagine a more physical battle that took an element of skill or, again, focus. One gets an illusion now and again which is similar to this but during this period these illusions appeared every passing moment.

I was under my sheet as to get the perfect scene for this illusion, through my sheet I could see a lighter shadow; a pure-light self. When I focused on it, out of the corner of my eye I'd see a silhouette that was just like Jet Li. We battled, and the battle was cantered around my own focus, and the line of water running down my own and Jet Li's face. I had to keep us both in focus by keeping myself in focus, which was hard as he would distract me. Then I had to use mind forces to flick the colourful spiritual water off of his face; the greater the trickery, the harder it was for retaliation.

I'd flick up the water, then wait for it to drop down, spin around his face a couple of times before catching it on my head.

This battling lasted one day before I victor. I remember that there were some beautiful scenes of this battling, but the strange environment is too hard to describe fluently. I had stolen his water, and immediately I gained a new power. I am confronted by a new force that's completely out of the blue.

Whenever I close my eyes, there is an invisible cylindrical tunnel, that if I draw a face, the tunnel becomes realer, and truer until I'm flying through it as a pre-built animation. When I draw a sad face, I'd become a sadistic hero figure, and fly down this tunnel, ending with a trick, or psychological attack.

They seem pointless now, but at the time, the feeling associated with it, was it's kick. The more I got myself excited, the tunnel would become more lucid, and realer, before I'm flying through it, and into a half-pipe like trick.

Me and enemies battle in it for the rest of the day, until the second day where I'm taken into a mental home again, but this time by my own choice.

Me and Jet Li had become friends; he was afraid of what I had come to terms with as the "anti-christ", when two people 'psst' at each other in front of you and laugh. I taught him about this, and from that point on, he would try and calm his people, and my enemies, down. We were the champions of world peace- star-crossed.

He was always after his line of water but I was too good to let him have it back, plus the power I never wanted to lose. There were two or three tunnels; one was heavenly whilst the other was hellish; I found out about them on the second day. I had been dreaming in the tunnels for a while, battling enemies in racial and holy war. The first day, in the fresh, normal tunnel, ended in my victory. The second day, whilst I was asleep, something came over me...

When I woke up, I was electrified ( as if excitement was coming over me without me doing anything ), but it felt good at first. We played in the heavenly tunnel for a bit where victory was easy, but in the afternoon things changed. I was tired, and I was forced into the tunnel to battle against my will. A typical don't go to sleep moment, but when I did, I entered the hell-tunnel abomination thing; and it was more of evasive maneuvers this time over.

As I traveled down the hell tunnel I seen breaking fingers, flickering eyes, like something out of the Blair Witch Project, and in the heavenly one, it was more a symbol of this very power, very reminiscent of that timeline.

I managed to evade enough to victor again, and after my victory, the state reaches it's greatest state, but not the greatest peak. In this state, me, and my imaginary enemies and friends, can connect to each others minds. In the void of my closed eyes, was a movie stream of the highest quality that represented every thought that crossed my mind with expression or natures; fire for angry or raising my arm to claim victory.

I mean it was the highest quality when I say it, like a lucid movie equipped with feeling- a watery perfection. This lasted momentarily, before I was overtaken by fresh enemies who missed my suppression from the beauty I had showcased before; they came in late, missed my show, and overtook it evilly, essentially ruining the reward that comes world peace.

We revert to the first tunnel state, and it's a little weirder this time.

Obama had suddenly come back to me after losing the battles from earlier, in the form of some evil looking black glitch; he had apparently become by causing some much debt- succeeding on his part. He tries to enter my head, and as this debt, I would essentially be unable to imagine and it would produce a mental problem.

We battle for a while in the strange environment, whilst still electrified but forced out of the tunnel and movie stream state. That night, I close my eyes very tight and I see millions of tiny cartoon stars spinning around the tunnel, with a crown in the distant centre; as if it's a static tunnel, rather than one which is freely flexible.

Between the time of opening my eyes and closing them again, tight, I see hearts, with an optical illusion in the distant centre. I truly get a sense of racial nature, it's such a wonderful sight- very kaleidoscope-like. This was a battle or struggle in itself, I had to focus on the crown. The imagery and tunnels get stranger and there are many but I'm strapped for memory.

I manage to win and access the tunnel stage once again; however, I'm electrified and very tired. I had been awake all night, and the next morning I lose a battle, or am weakened somewhat.

Each flickering eye I pass in the hell tunnel causes a bump to appear on my body, and each bump has a sucking effect. I managed to suppress the disease but not for long. Noises had become louder, and I felt as if I was in the middle of a holy war, that it was just about to begin. My people looked weaker, and the enemy looked bigger, but I was still brave.

It was fireworks night after all; each time an array went off, I thought the next would be bullets.

I would lose weight in the space of seconds until I looked anorexic. I became drowsy, swaying from side to side, and ended up with no choice but to phone the mental hospital.

I lost 20lbs in one day. When in care, I was scared for my people and myself, that I may lose the power or give it away if I close my eyes and drift off; plus the thoughts about holy war remained. I was imagining violent and scary holographic imagery. However, in care, I won yet another war..

I travelled up the hallway of the mental home, the environment still strange, I looked into the line of light on the floor to see both shadows of hands and a light shadow of hands. Nurses were calling me for my meds but I was, again, trying not to lose my power, so I ignored ( usually I'm more civil so this is strange by my own mental history ). Following the light hand only, the marks strangely would pop off my body, but if I lost focus they would come back. Nurses were distracting me asking me for meds- I'm truly struggling to win this one walking back and forth down the hallway mumbling "No, I can't" and creating unintelligible signs with my hands.

I reach an end, and my struggle pays off, almost all marks are off my body. In this moment I go to my care-home room, and relax. When I close my eyes, it's as if they are still open, and I'm looking not only at the wall, but through it- not to the other side, but to a four dimensional abstraction. A metal man stood there with the three simplest shapes next to him, square, triangle and circle- behind him were graphical mountains with a purple and green grid overlay. I look around the room, ways and doorways in everything, a seer into a deeper light with whatever I look at. When I cross the small black bin that's in the shadows, I sense little shadow people retreat into the shadows. The way passed the bin here, looks scary, and scary feeling comes with it. I may have been able to travel through this passage, but I was too cowardly. When I looked outside the window, I see green dancing families where the grass was, and bulky heads where two tree stumps lay making muffled low sounds; sound, visuals, feelings, all associated with the original, blending with it as a real life form would- it's as if time had stopped.

I then go to sleep, the next day I regain the weight, and I spend two weeks getting very sexual and good feelings. The environment was strange but the strangeness was enhanced, and more rapid. I felt forced to focus on hands on TV, and with the thought everyone was watching, I chose that symbol ( hands ) as my call sign. It was like a game of jokers where the best one wins, I was hands, the beast like right hand, and many other cool symbols. After the two weeks I'm transferred to a closer mental home, and in this mental home I experience something which is quite possibly the reason I'm telling this story.

I realize the battle was not won, and that by falling asleep or failing the bin pathway challenge, or by some other means, I had not 'finished' the enemy, properly. Voices appeared in walls and near space around me, not in my head, and if I had truly won I'd be in that lucid closed eyed state as described prior.

There was no more tunnel, there was no more strange environment, just an abstracted first episode-like experience; I'd see mostly red, black and white coloured heads of my enemies in the walls and I could sometimes imagine only as dream-states in the space.

I used my powers to make them hallucinate, using Un's dirty bombs as the scent which would drive them away. It worked and for a moment that chaotic line of water that runs down my face became straight again. For a few minutes, not one word thought crosses my mind, I am at total peace, but then, like prior, an old different race friend of mine rises and obstructs peace once more but for sinful reasons like fame or self.

I was released from the mental hospital about a week after.

It has been a year and a half since then, and I'm where I'm at in the present day.