Rudy Keitt

So interesting, andaffirming! Remember, sometimes God puts a timelock on some information, till the time is right. Looks like that might have happened here. For someone with short-term memory loss, finding the answer to any question is a task in itself. When the question is "what is reality? ", things get far worse. This is a short story I wrote for r/WritingPrompts Birthday Contest where the first part of the story required a Investigator type character and the second part, a scavenger character. I hope you enjoy it! Yes, it is the Turing test that says if you are human or robot. This didn’t worry me so much. I knew I wasn’t a robot. But was I real? I wanted to know if this was real?if I was. Is it? Are you? I intended to find out. My fascination didn’t begin with a simple question. It began with an accident. It was December 17th, 2015 when a competent driver lost control on a patch of black ice, sending their Toyota Camry off the road and onto the neighbouring sidewalk. I happened to be walking on that sidewalk and I discovered later that I was not built to halt the advance of a 2500-pound vehicle. I found that out 8 months later. In that 8 months, I saw many things. I saw my diploma jump out of my mother’s living room window only to devour the mailman; then regain its paper qualities and float to the ground. I felt the wind of a fatal fall fly past me, opening to a wide patch of grass below. When I reached the bottom, I simply stood and walked away. And I knew things weren’t so. You can only see so many otters enjoying an afternoon espresso before you start realizing this world isn’t right. I am dreaming or I am dead. If I’m dead, when will I stop teleporting between sunny beaches and snowy mountains? If I’m dreaming, why can’t I wake up? These questions passed through my mind along with the wavy abstraction that accompanies such a deep dream state. Perhaps that is why I remember them. Still, you can imagine the relief when I awoke to a fluorescent light bulb overhead and a call on the PA system for a “code white”. It turned out the “code white” should not have been as relieving as I felt at that time for it hijacked my doctor and nurses for 20 minutes, leaving me entirely alone. In that time, I managed to twist my ankle getting out of bed. So bad in fact, that “[I] may not walk straight for the next 8 months. ” My doctor was exaggerating, of course, it would only be 2. The real blessing was, I wouldn’t remember this. I wouldn’t remember any of it if not for my mother’s obsessive recording. You see, my mother was not so well-versed in English. When she realized she could record conversations instead of re-enacting them later, she began her grand campaign to archive more content than the CIA. As I said, this was the blessing. My memory only extended a day or two at best. Her videos are the only link I have left to the past. They move against my new ambition, telling me, “that’s you. You are real, even if you can’t remember. ” When my mother died, it was a difficult day?the next one wasn’t so bad. Often, I choose not to watch the video from that day. I’ve labeled the recording as, “eternal sadness of a lost mind. ” Not the most appealing name for someone that needs to read a letter in the morning just to remember who they are. So most days, I do not know where she is. Out with friends, maybe? I like to think that I think that. As you can imagine, keeping friends was not something I did very well after my accident. “Hey, you remember that problem I told you about a month ago? You know, that one with so-and-so? The one that did that thing? ” “No, ” I would say, “I don’t remember so-and-so or the thing they did. ” The only thing I remembered was who this ‘friend’ was. Memories like a poorly run sitcom with a main character who had my eyes, nose, and hair. He played with these people, joked with them, and when they realized I would never change again, they began to leave. So what finally sparked this dancing monkey to question the very nature of existence? Was it the gigabytes of recording on my computer, which could have been easily planted without my knowledge? Was it the accident that conveniently took away the only tool I had to wake up and realize that time had passed? Did I watch Inception and believe I was stuck somewhere in Limbo? It wasn’t any of this. It was an experiment that alarmed me. A repeat, not in my head but on paper. For reasons I never bothered to record, I began writing down the times of the bus arrivals outside my apartment window. There is a westbound and eastbound bus scheduled to arrive at 6:10 am for eastbound and 6:14 for westbound. Then, every half hour this would repeat. I usually missed the morning with all the “figuring out what's going on. ” But usually, before lunch, I would begin. The result was this: January 16th, 2018 Eastbound: 10:11:43 am, 10:40:35 am, 11:10:44 am, 11:56:12 am, 12:24:16 pm… Westbound: 10:14:40 am, 10:47:23 am, 11:22:01 am, 11:51:22 am, 12:50:11 pm (car accident up road)... Do you see it? Did you notice it while you read? If you did, you should see a doctor because there’s nothing in there that’s special. What was special happened on April 26th when the numbers repeated. Yes, even the car accident. The realization did not come quick. I had no memory of January 16th, 2018, other than a video file stating “nothing unusual”. Which, after my realization became very unusual. It was the car accident that tipped my curiousity. “How often did cars hit things? ” I said on the video on April 26th. “Wasn’t I in one of those? ” It turns out, it takes one hundred days. One hundred days for someone to drive their vehicle into another up James Street. Just bad enough to cause a 36 minute and 11 second delay. Coincidence or a flaw in the final product? If there was going to be any more evidence of this particular anomaly, I was sure it wouldn’t be in plain sight. It would be hidden, behind layers of other uneventful events, playing repeat in the background of our lives. This is when my obsession began. On Tuesdays, I lost an average of four hairs for every one minute of showering. This number increased when I shampooed. If I shampooed, this number grew to 12 but only on Wednesdays, on Tuesdays, it averaged to 11. The rest of the week was a mess. I decided to forgo counting any other days. It would drive me insane. In the end, the numbers were too erratic, like trying to find a secret pattern in a mosaic. A few other particularities included: a single strand of spaghetti that would inevitably fly out onto the floor when I cut a bunch above a boiling pot of water; there was always daylight on Fridays between the hours of 11 am and 12 pm; when the neighbour walked her dog, it would pee on the light post outside our apartment building. I ruled out the last one, though, when I remembered the territorial habits of the canine species. It really wasn’t peculiar at all. If I continued at that pace, I would have recorded of every raindrop, clipped toenail, growth enhancement commercial, muscle spasm, times my alphagetti soup spelled “ooo”, and if the news had any sort of story that wasn’t a bleak reflection of life. Luckily, I had the sense to stop. When the papers began to resemble a pile of 1’s and 0’s and I wasn’t granted unlimited power like Neo, I ditched it all. Time was precious. If I didn’t work on the right problem, I could wake up after twenty years with nothing but a hard drive worth of memories I never remembered. Now, what else could help? What started me on physics was the basic nature of science. Here, there were people constantly prodding at the edges of reality. Here, they talked in spacetime and hammered at the slabs of all creation. If I saw the colour purple and someone saw grey, was there another fatal flaw in the system? Since bees see differently, could they see past the veil I was trying to breach? Did they fly about their business watching my overlord tug the strings that helped me scuff at the man with the loud music? With so much out there, what was really happening? These questions found themselves on my nightstand, fridge and bathroom mirror. I searched for answers. I was doomed from the start. If, in a day, I could not summarize my findings, if I couldn’t put my thoughts into words, there was no chance. They would leave and I would never know I thought them. I could stick, “time is relative, here’s Einstein saying why, ” in my notebook or “in the beginning, there was nothing, which exploded. ” These just didn’t work. They didn’t tell me what I needed to know. They were thoughts and thoughts ran away from me like the girls in elementary school?when I was young, sicko. So, the only advice I gave myself that was actually useful was simple: “talk to people about reality. ” I posted an ad seeking, “an individual looking for the ultimate answer. Is life real? ” Among the slew of stoners and philosophers, the one that caught my attention responded simply with, “that’s me. ” This brought me to Brodney Luo, a homeopath of all people. She lived on the border of Chinatown and Koreatown in an apartment, home to herself and a nest of cockroaches. “The rent is cheap and the food is great, ” she would say, “if we’re really here. ” She was a small thing, Asian descent with a mix of European somewhere down the line. Her hair was always shoulder-length, black and shimmering. In every recording, her scleras were red and she seemed to always be biting her nails. I asked her once if I made her nervous and she assured me it wasn’t me. Unlike me, her fascination began in 1999 with the release of The Matrix. The second blow came that same year with Fight Club. It didn’t help that 1999 was the precursor to Y2K, the apocalypse of the 20th century. What better time to instill a teenager that life was but a passing wind smooching with a brick wall. We frequented coffee on Mondays and Fridays and I learne
Thank you so very much Tim. all your findings are confirmation of my understandings. but it has been hard over my 80 years to find those who would both believe and study the timelines. Thank you. Patterns of evidence the red sea miracle showtimes. Patterns of evidence the red sea miracle. I'd have to hear the interview for myself before taking this interview seriously. Patterns of evidence: the red sea miracle game. Patterns of evidence 3a the red sea miracle solved. In any field of science, when you hit the vein of Truth, many Seemingly Divergent and Different things Fall into Place. Thats when you know you are on the correct Path. Very Interesting stuff. When will it be on digital download.

The pharaoh's whiteness is killing me. Patterns of evidence: the red sea miracle plant. Patterns of Evidence: The Red Sea miracle de la grossesse. Patterns of Evidence: The Red Sea miracle contre. VERY INTERESTING. I just learned of two studies that date the Exodus to 1650 BC ! The most impressive is from Persia. The Persians were expert Astronomers and Documented events in the sky, like lunar eclipses that permit archeoastronomers to date these events with extreme accuracy. Their language was the Lingua franca of the diplomatic world as well ! So they documented diplomatic exchanges between empires like Persia and Egypt ! We can read these exchanges on their cruciform tablets ! Utilizing these two sets of data they can precisely document when various kings or pharaohs ruled ! They date the Exodus to 1650 BC. In a separate but very similar series of experiments using Astrological events from Egypt, these scientists also document that the Exodus to 1650 BC. Remember, scientists of today and in ancient times could predict lunar eclipses 1000s of years in the future. It is an extremely accurate clock, much more so than C14 or dendrochronology.

Columnist: Jennifer Ward
Biography: 52 year old vessel of dust and vapor. Prayer Warrior. Gladly Music's Fool! Serious love for GOD, HIS Beauty, HIS Ways. Waiting for this ride to stop.

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