Before all of these other things happened that I have written about, there were other things that occurred right after I got off the train from Pakistan.
Events happened the way I have described them so far, just not the same sequence.
Right after I arrived in New Delhi, I remember walking through the train station.
Armed security seemed to be everywhere.
Being sick (and not knowing what it was I "had") had really affected my mind.
I felt dizzy, disoriented and paranoid.
I bought something and handed the vendor a $100 bill.
(I remember the year on that bill: 1939.)
I gave it to the man and told him to keep it.
The fact that I remember having done this very dumb thing still bothers me, but
the chemical imbalances within my body were already taking their toll.
I left the train station.
The next thing that I remember is that I was standing in front of the U.S. Embassy.
I was outside of a tall metal gate.
No other persons were coming or going.
The security guard asked me to leave my backpack, and I entered the building.
There was just one man behind a desk inside.
He was listening to country-western music.
He then asked with a Southern accent:
"How can I help you.?"
I told him that I was a Peace Corps volunteer and needed help.
He said that the main offices were closed.
I can't recall if he told me to wait or to return tomorrow.
He went somewhere.
That left me some time to walk in the lobby.
I looked inside a very large room with a long table.
I would later write a poem about this room and my visit to the embassy.
[See below.]
The man returned, and he said that everyone was sleeping.
I thanked him (for what?) and left.
Then I started walking around Embassy Row.
I wondered if another embassy would give me more assistance than the U.S. Embassy, but I didn't ever find out.
I just kept walking.
At some point, I got tired of carrying my backpack, and just left it on the front lawn of one of the embassies.
I took my jacket, my passport and money.
Events happened the way I have described them so far, just not the same sequence.
Right after I arrived in New Delhi, I remember walking through the train station.
Armed security seemed to be everywhere.
Being sick (and not knowing what it was I "had") had really affected my mind.
I felt dizzy, disoriented and paranoid.
I bought something and handed the vendor a $100 bill.
(I remember the year on that bill: 1939.)
I gave it to the man and told him to keep it.
The fact that I remember having done this very dumb thing still bothers me, but
the chemical imbalances within my body were already taking their toll.
I left the train station.
The next thing that I remember is that I was standing in front of the U.S. Embassy.
I was outside of a tall metal gate.
No other persons were coming or going.
The security guard asked me to leave my backpack, and I entered the building.
There was just one man behind a desk inside.
He was listening to country-western music.
He then asked with a Southern accent:
"How can I help you.?"
I told him that I was a Peace Corps volunteer and needed help.
He said that the main offices were closed.
I can't recall if he told me to wait or to return tomorrow.
He went somewhere.
That left me some time to walk in the lobby.
I looked inside a very large room with a long table.
I would later write a poem about this room and my visit to the embassy.
[See below.]
The man returned, and he said that everyone was sleeping.
I thanked him (for what?) and left.
Then I started walking around Embassy Row.
I wondered if another embassy would give me more assistance than the U.S. Embassy, but I didn't ever find out.
I just kept walking.
At some point, I got tired of carrying my backpack, and just left it on the front lawn of one of the embassies.
I took my jacket, my passport and money.
The Power of Yellow Lights
The big war room with yellow lights had big
empty desks that reeked of power.
The big war room was locked.
I stood inside waiting for my inquisitors.
They arrived in shiny suits of blue armor.
This was a laboratory of brain power
Computers hummed
They spoke
We know what you know and now you know.
When did you get your implants?
During one of your blackouts.
My pleasure center is sending signals to
their screens
My brain cannot hide the democracy of the
21st century
Only the Interstellar Space Agency can rescue
me.
The big war room with yellow lights had big
empty desks that reeked of power.
The big war room with yellow lights had big
empty desks that reeked of power.
The big war room was locked.
I stood inside waiting for my inquisitors.
They arrived in shiny suits of blue armor.
This was a laboratory of brain power
Computers hummed
They spoke
We know what you know and now you know.
When did you get your implants?
During one of your blackouts.
My pleasure center is sending signals to
their screens
My brain cannot hide the democracy of the
21st century
Only the Interstellar Space Agency can rescue
me.
The big war room with yellow lights had big
empty desks that reeked of power.
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