Chapter 7 – Don’t Touch My Dreams #Iam ®

Mar 12, 2021

, I also decided to call my son “Stephen”, his middle name, so I never forget not to hate another black person just because someone else puts us in a position to do so. I was tasting, in my mind, the moment when I would introduce myself to this “celebrity” and ask him for his autograph, then describe to him the event which he did not understand but participated in, in good faith.

Preview: Chapter 7

I missed reading books, the ones without images, just text. Reading used to be my favourite thing to do. After these medications, the ones I could not have avoided because I was being monitored, I was unable to get past page one. My ability to lose myself in a story and concentrate on whatever I was reading was completely gone. I would stare into spaces in between the text, while being completely lost in random thoughts. I found out that I had involuntarily joined the army of short attention span readers. The title and the first paragraph were my best bet. I was only able to listen to music and watch movies, even reality TV shows which used to annoy me before. These passive aggressive situations (I was constantly put in the middle of) gradually built an anger in me and a need to respond. Trying to go back to work as a self-employed bookkeeper was mission impossible too, due to my inability to operate in fast-paced environments without supervision. Registering the trademark “Googol” was my best retaliating move. The lawyers (allocated my case in London by the search engine I had a grievance with), after much back and forth, were not threatening enough for me to consider giving up and reconsidering filing this trademark. A van, with a news satellite dish on top, had parked in front of my building just before I successfully filed for “I am Googol”. My demeanor and lack of enthusiasm to be filmed led them to drive away, without any updates about this case. I did not look the part for their “breaking news”.

Working on a comic book was a substitute for reading my normal books. Every penny I had was used to pay for a Brazilian artist and an American comic book writer. None of them ever saw the light of a full payment for the finished comic book, despite a wild interest. They never understood so much interest and yet no financial results. I too was busy trying to comprehend why the book was being put on sale for a couple of thousand pounds, as a minimum. No one in my team put me on blast on the internet about it, to date. Not even the young artists I worked with when I organised a competition called “Draw Me A Googol”. None of those underage artists understood why a winner was being announced but no prize was delivered.
I was receiving traumatic messages on my phone, letting me know that my privacy was also for the enjoyment of “Third-Party”. Nothing in my privacy or in my phone warranted the reminder of their all-seeing interferences. Being sent a notification from “Third-Party”, for the first time, triggered me; hence I crashed in a mental institution, for a second time, where I had a full-on panic attack and started screaming at patients. I eventually “grew a pair for Zaddies” and learned to redefine my privacy, including “Third-Party’s” right to give me random feedback… They responded to two poems I had published online – and on Twitter – around Christmas 2012 (I think). It was addressed to the patients who reached out to me and to the police officers who banged on my door, as if they paid my rent alongside me. Who bangs on your door, in full police uniforms, only to ask you for help in a police investigation?

Looking back, I could have used my time better. But I do not like to be forced into whatever direction by questionable means. No proof of harassment does not mean that there was no harassment. Working with anyone, from that point onwards, was attracting all forms of “glow” and funding their ways. No allegation of their participation in “Third-Party’s” games, but I nicknamed myself the “Glow magnet”. I left behind me a trail of opportunity for others – just on the strength of me trying to work or network with them. My reputation was handled and rearranged, at will, by “Third-Party”. I never checked whether it was good or bad. You just cannot help people’s curiosity. They would always find a way to reconnect or stay in touch, dropping some passive aggressive “life lessons” that let me know they had been touched by that special “Glow” (along with access to TV shows and all sorts of upgrades not due to pure hard work or luck only). However that was arranged, could have been with or without “innocent” questions or conversations about me.

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BY: Sylvaine FRANCIS 
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