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Saturday, 22 December 2012
Alanzo's Story PDF Print E-mail

March 6th, 1981.

My story begins in an L-shaped room on Green Street in Champaign, IL. It was an L-shaped room because it was the corner of a hallway in an old house on campus that had been cut up into student apartments. It was literally a corner with a door on it. Inside the door was a place to hang my clothes. At the corner was a desk with a little refrigerator underneath. And around the corner was my bed, with a table hanging over, and a 13 inch black and white TV on top, with foil on the antennae for improved reception.

I told my friends that I did not want to be disturbed, that I was going in alone, and that I would not be coming out for the rest of the night, so don't call and don't come over.I sat in my little room on my bed, anticipating my newest quest: I had just taken two hits of Microdot, a form of LSD, that came in little round pellets.

My mission was to take this acid and write down everything I thought. In this way, moving from one state of consciousness to another, I felt that I might catch a common denominator between the two, and thus distill a little bit of truth out of my existence.

This post is taken verbatim from my handwritten notes at the time.

"5:55pm. Walter Cronkite is just about to come back from a commercial break and say he is retiring, and I just took two hits of acid.'

"Walter said that this 'passing of the baton' is just him giving up his seat to another man. Nothing will change. Old anchormen don't fade away, they just keep coming back for more.'

"6:69pm. The back of my throat and my cheeks are beginning to feel 'anxious'. It almost feels like the roof of my mouth and the back of my neck wants to yawn and rid itself of the tension. It's not an unpleasant tension, it's almost an anticipatory tension that I don't want to be relieved. My spine seems like it's 'coming alive'. (I'm starting to note it in my sensory field)'

"7:00pm. I am getting tingles and shivers. My lips and tongue feel a little like I'm licking the top of a battery. I feel tense - but when I move, I'm reminded that I'm not. I'm farting quite a bit, too. The tension I feel can be described as the tension felt right before orgasm - without the intense pleasure sensation. (This is because of the lack of all the pleasure nerves in the other parts of the body that exist in the genitals.)'

"7:20pm. The anxiety and tension I feel is not so pleasant right now. I feel a little nauseous and I can tell my digestive system is working extensively. It is only through movements of various parts of my body that relieves this constant tension. So I'm rocking and tapping my feet a lot as I write. '

"7:28pm. I just had a bowel movement and that relieved my nausea a little bit, but I am aware that my digestive system is working. It feels out of balance.'

"Everything is in my sensory field right now. I am constantly moving around and fidgeting. It's hard to even complete a thought on this piece of paper because it takes so long to write. Yes, I'm moving around quite a bit as I sit. The TV can be very annoying at times.'

"7:39pm. I can not stop jerking or moving my legs. I can stop when I want to but I want to keep them moving. There is no doubt that this drug is working on my spine and lower brain. Same sensations as before. The sensation is like right before orgasm with no tension release. Nerve Gas!'

"7:42pm. The high inaudible scream that TVs emit is quite evident now. I also hear a reverberating tone coming from my TV. When I switch channels it goes away.'

"7:48pm. The nausea is gone now and I'm smiling a lot. The only smell I can smell is like either a skunk or a sour body odor. My spine feels quite good. The paper is breathing. Those things directly in my concentration are clear but those outside are furry and glowing and breathing. I can see flashes of color on this page.'

"7:58pm. I feel good right now though not "satisfied". Visual hallucinations. The shadows intensify in their shades and contrasts. At the borders. Where everything exists. I can immerse myself in anything I want. Tapping on a lamp or watching shadows breathe, etc. Shivers. Sensual.'

"8:34pm. I haven't noticed the the TV in quite a while. Boss Hogg is on. The Dukes of Hazzard. So many thoughts are whirling around it seems. I can't catch one and put it here. I am sweating. '

"9:10pm. Lights and shades are changing always.'

"12:49am. I'm done now, I think. I feel as if all the world was taken away, real quick, and in that void I looked around and saw how everything really was/is. Nothing matters. We are creatures of the senses. We see things of a sensual and erotic nature all around us every day. Whatever will fill up the senses is what we're looking for. Loud Rock-n-Roll. Pornography. What I have found though is that writing this down is telling another what I have experienced. All that matters is that I find someone to tell these things to. I need somebody to love. Love is the only thing that matters."

OK. That's it.

That was my first attempt at the scientific discovery of my existence.

I went in, alone, and this is what I came out with. It would not be the first time that a quest like this would come up short of what you had hoped for. But the scientific research of existence is a hit and miss kind of thing, isn't it?

My quest would take me from Champaign, IL, to Cairo, Egypt, to Jerusalem, the Sinai Desert, to Athens, to Casablanca, and back to Champaign. And then, finally to a mission, on John Street, and down into a dank basement.... with a Dianetics book in my hand.

The Champaign Mission was in the basement of a house that had been converted into businesses on the edge of downtown. Through a screen door, you descended a flight of stairs that turned into a small, dank room with a used green couch, a beat up desk, and some bookcases. I later learned that the couch was Div 6. The desk was Div 7, and the bookcase was Div 2.

Connie stood at the bottom of the stairs and greeted me. I stood there with a Dianetics book in my hand, breathing heavily. I had just ridden over on my bike, once I had gotten the courage to go in, and I'm pretty sure I had an determined, almost driven, look on my face.

I looked at her intently and said, "This is the most fascinating book I've ever read, but I'm not going to join any fucking cult."

She laughed.

This was probably the best response I could have gotten. Had she been insulted, scared, angry, or even confused, I would have turned around and walked out. But she laughed. So I stayed.

We talked for at least two hours, which was perfect. There was no one else in the mission. The phone did not ring, no one else bothered us. It was exactly what I needed: to talk to somebody about my life and my problems. We talked about my dad and how much we fought. I told her about my ex-girlfriend and even how lonely I was. I said that I believed in past lives and I asked her:

"Do Scientologists believe in God?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I believe in God. And I believe that you can have a direct connection with God without the need for Priests, or Ministers or anything else."

Having checked my answer in order to decide how to respond appropriately, Connie said, "Of Course Scientologists believe in God!" She took me over to show me the Creed of the Church of Scientology, which had GOD written all over it. She told me about the 8th Dynamic which was how Scientologists referred to God, she said. Then we talked about Ron, and what a great writer and world traveler he was. A barnstorming pilot, etc.

I told her that I was a world traveler, too - I had returned from a 14 month trip overseas, backpacking through Egypt, Israel, Greece and Morocco. Her eyes were wide, "Wow!" she said. She seemed fascinated with me and in my stories, beliefs, and experiences. She made me feel like I was one of the smartest, most interesting people in the world. Then she tried to sell me a Self Analysis book.

I said I didn't have any money and she backed off.

I left that day with a lot of hope. I was supposed to come back and listen to a tape.

I was a very depressed kid in my early 20's at the time, sick of my life and sick of all the hypocrisy and materialism I saw in the world. Martin Luther King had been assassinated when I was 8 years old. I could never figure out who could ever do such a thing, and what kind of a world did we live in if that's how we are going to act. I got the impression that some day, through Dianetics, I may be able to understand that, and everything else, too.

For some reason Connie was very interested in the kinds of drugs I had taken, and was very detailed in her questions about them. I told her everything, and that I was sick of drugs, and had read in Carlos Castenada how the shaman Don Juan had only used drugs on him in the beginning to get him to "stop the world" so that he could see what he needed to see later on.

Connie said that if I truly wanted to have a better connection with God, then I could probably have a lot better one if I was not doing drugs. That seemed to make a lot of sense to me.

I went home, did a bong, and thought about it.

I started my first course in Scientology on July 4th, 1984. My abysmal OCA results, and the conversations I had with Connie, provided the ironclad scientific proof necessary to determine that I was PTS. So I purchased the Ups and Downs in Life Course and started immediately.

I come from an upper-middle class white family. My father and I were constantly fighting, even since I was a little boy. While working on the furnace in the basement, he would always have me hold the flashlight, and I would never do it right. And so I would throw the flashlight down and storm off. Or he would come in to help me put a kite together because I wasn't doing it right, and he often broke the wooden parts of the kite. I would blow up and storm off.

And now, since I was a good-for-nothing college drop out, working as a janitor at a bank and partying like an alley cat, we were fighting pretty regularly.

In the early 1980's, the Ups and Downs in Life Course had handlings at the end of it. To graduate, a student had to apply what he had learned on the course to whoever came up on it. My handling was to go home to my parent's house for the weekend and NOT get into a fight with my dad. They had drilled me on bullbait, flattened buttons on me, etc. It was a lot of work from a lot of staff for $50 (the cost of the course back then)



 
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