put your gun down and your fucking hands on your head!

Have I ever said that institutions suck? Strangely, after having had a good contact, I was suddenly told that they couldn’t tell me more. So I’ve got the name of a woman I’ll probably never find. I wonder why it changed so quickly. I have someone here who could maybe help me, if I had a real lead. For now it’s really too blury. I’m not Frank Black. I need material things to proceed on logic, a slow and tiring process, while it would be so easy to have visions on command, but what the hell am I think about?

Seriously, I’ve been thinking about doing very stupid things, in order to get back documents that I’m not sure would be where I’d like to come in. Of course, it should be prepared with months of advance, in terms of timing. And if get I caught, of course, it’s square jail. My mother told me the truth, a part of it, the identity of my father, or grand-father. She held books of notes, some were accounts, some were about her mediumny and visions (freaky thinged happened). I think there’s a high probability for she kept something, a letter, notes, for me, about my father,what happened. It’s unfortunately only based on my judgement and what I knew of her. Then, even if I consider such notes exist, I’ll have to find them in the middle of lots of boxes full of different stuff, disks, clothes…etc I already spent lots of time looking inside of them. So I know there were books and papers there. The good news is that if I was left to search inside, no one thought there was anything in the kind. Or maybe not these in which I searched. Or that someone has taken them already. I hope nothing was destroyed. I remember my grand-mother was very nostalgic to the point of morbidity. She certainly kept all these boxes at the millimetre short as there were when I left the house. I was well inspired, so I kept the keys. Skinflint like she was, and as she still is, as the neighborhood lets wander, I don’t think she changed the lock. Nor that she felt she had to. I’m not sure she knows I had the keys. I think it’s still the same lock. But here it’s a bet. I know she goes once a year, one month, maybe two, in holidays. Far. I could have sources to know when. Very reliable one. That would give me time. Of course I wouldn’t intend to stay a lot, only some hours to drag the papers. Then I thought it would be easier to do it by night, not to be seen. but I would need light, it’s half in a cave, and a lamp isn’t enough, and still, risky. Possible only day time. Of course, I could come early in the morning, when it’s night, hide, and wait it’s the morning to check. And then wait it’s night to go. I’ve never known of any alarm there. Anyway on that door, that would be useless. Unless there’s something more sophisticated. I don’t think so, but I must think about it.
Of course, there’s one very disavantage, distance. I would leave traces, even if not in the house. Seen accidentally in the area, a train ticket would be an annoying coincidence. It could also work. I know it’s a crazy, and very risky idea. But I do think about it as a possibiltity. I know I’m wrong, very wrong, but I do.

When you think it could be so easy to answer me by phone.

I’ve always known that my grand-mother wasn’t there when I was born. She ALWAYS had been there, for any child before, and was for all after. And that she never would. Except for me. But for me she said, it was different.Didn’t I tell anyone here that I was crossed with aliens? (and if what, then, whatever). When I asked why, she told me she was in a thermal cure, with my grand-father. I asked if she couldn’t have come before. It’s not like a due date can’t be predicted like, let me count, after you know… 8 months before the birth. Ok, 7 for these who react a bit slowly. And she made the mistake to tell me that I had come earlier. I asked my mother when I got back from holidays, without telling my grand-mother’s words to her. She said I was perfectly on time, like a Swiss clock. It’s unclear to me why, but there’s definitely something there too. I remember my grand-father saying he wasn’t there, at the thermal cure, and my grand-mother to say “of course you were there,” with eyes. “Was I?” he said. At least he had humor…

There are two memories that I’ve had in mind regularly this last week. I knew about them before, for some months now. I don’t know why I have them so much in mind now. And it goes with the migraine.
The first is my green snake memory. I was 7. The one I stopped by while I was on my bike, as the sun was setting. He had had his head cut off. I don’t like snakes, I fear them to death. And yet I felt pity for this animal. I stayed to watch him on the floor, and then I looked up ; to a reasonable distance, maybe 40-50 yards, I saw that man, standing motionless. He was watching me. I kept watching him for a little while I think, he wasn’t aggressive at all, he didn’t make any move. I couldn’t say what he looked like, too far. I rushed on my bike without turning round.
The second happened after. I was 8. I had spent xmas in my (SOB)father’s family, so certainly February’s with my mother. So or it was April’s holidays, or it was a WE. The weather wasn’t cold. I think it was between April and the summer’s holidays, so June. The SOB brought me to a playground, that unusual playground, up, and all in lenght, where there was small wooden huts, slides and sand, and it was kind of fun actually. He often brought me to parks, and stuff like these. No really, if he hadn’t beaten and drugged my mother, or built an incestuous climate with me, he would’ve been a great father.
So we were there, I saw him freak out, keeping his distance. And I turned round. There was a man, some feet from me. I know he was taller than him (who was like 5’7” I believe, and he had fair hair. He was so close, and still today I can’t remember his face. but maybe it’ll come back now. I know the man watched him, and I saw the fear in the eyes of the SOB. Then he watched me, and I didn’t know him, but I wasn’t afraid of him, certainly far less than of the SOB. I can’t see his face, but I know he didn’t smile. He looked at me deep and straight in the eye. And so did I. The SOB told me to back off, to come, and I asked why, and he said we were leaving. I asked whom it was. He didn’t answer me. he looked SO afraid. I tried again a “who was it?”. He said it was no one, not to bother him. So I said nothing, because I had learnt how to shut up since I was very little. All I know is he was very preoccupied and nervous in the car for a long while then. Who was that man? I’m pressing my memory.