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alien agenda (something I will try to explain) puts the experiencer in a particularly feeble position, leaving them telling a tale that sounds lacking in proper reference to anything. So many times I have been tempted to describe the hooded beings of my childhood as benevolent Martians who have come here to save the world, just to give my story a bit of credibility but nothing is ever that simple. Things have happened that are cryptic and point to the existence of an ethereality, involving the mystery of time and the afterlife. My slow release of memory, a programme I believe to have been installed, only adds to that peculiarity. When memories of missing time or disorientated events resurface, it completely rewrites the way you acknowledge yesterday. I found that things came to me in that very disconcerting déja vu sensation making me want to turn around and say, “Oh, that’s how it happened.” Often things were not as I remembered them and it leaves me puzzled as to how I could have ever forgotten them that way. There was a particular scene from a recent sci-fi movie that touched upon my interpretation of altered memories. In the film “Frequency”, a film about time travel, a man had his past altered so that new memories suddenly came to him leaving the old ones to appear as events that never were. (Déja vu?) “My father didn’t die in a fire-fighting incident back in 1969, he died more recently of a heart attack.” Much to the confused horror of his colleagues who were only too aware of the facts he blurted out, he was left wondering why he said it. That is how new memories come to people who have experienced missing or overlapped time. That isn’t to say that time travel is actually used, it’s more to do with how the Programmers manipulate the mind and memory. Whatever they had left me with still administers that memory. When I examine my childhood more closely I begin to see tiny leaks left by those who should not have been there. Perhaps I was never as lonely as I profess because I always suspected there were others or at least an activity of some sort that kept me occupied. It certainly explained my preoccupations with things such as magical conjuring and secret Masonic sects, all interests that had no source of influence. It was these interests and fixations that pointed to the manoeuvres of others who came into my life like scene removers of some covert play. One of those fixations was of a familiar educating system that I believed only took place at night, that I hadn’t thought about in years. 96 It brought me to a special preoccupation that people often have who