osiris

I have had three osiris moments, the first in 1980 while sitting in the cafeteria at Yale's Kline Biology Tower top floor, the second in either 1989, 1990, or 1991 in my bed in my single bedroom in the graduate dorm in the residence halls at IIT, and the third in either 1991 or 1992 while lying on the floor in my sleeping bag in the bedroom of my apartment on Gunnison in Chicago.

An osiris moment is when the body is flushed with vibrations that temporarily incapacitate the senses of orientation and awareness except for the bones--thus "os"--and the color in the eyes--thus "iris".

Continuing the pattern of the Egyptian Osiris, the three females who take the part of Isis, the lover of Osiris, in these three events can be prospectively identified as Betty Wilt, my maternal grandmother, in the first instance, Laura Gilliam, a playmate of my sister Linda about eight years my junior and aged about six when the affair occurred, in the second instance, and Antoinette Marie Burchard, about 15 years my senior and a pickup at the foot of the John Hancock building in Chicago, in the third instance. The first instance was never spoken of and was only in looks. The second instance was acted on to a little extent. The third instance was a repeated liason for intercourse. The three affairs occurred in districts associated with the institutions in which the Osiris moments occurred, these being, in the first instance, various California institutions that got me into Yale graduate school, in the second instance, the elementary schools of the Chicago metropolitan area, and in the third instance the City of Chicago.

All three affairs were toward the risque side, decreasing in that progressively, just as they increased in blatant sexuality progressively.

The role of Seth, brother of Osiris, who tormented him because of the love affair with Isis, was taken in the first instance by the son of Betty, William Wilt. The second and third instances of Seth are uncertain.

The affairs took place in the years 1980 with Betty in the first Osiris instance, about 1964 with Laura in the second Osiris instance, and 1972 to 1978 with Antoinette in the third Osiris instance.

The pinion on the economy is of both Moses and Osiris.

The pinion I have on the economy, dating from the stock market crash of 2008, has inner detail resting not only in the story of Moses but also that of Osiris. The essential departure from the tale of Moses is that this is not a simple destruction of the established power, rather a replacement of the established economy with a new one centered on means I have created or assembled from my travels and investigations.

Congratulations to Egypt.

Hearty congratulations to Egypt on its attainment of freedom from dictatorship. May its stewardship of the remains of the ancient kingdoms be suitable to the modern realities, including the existence of my own Osiris-touched life.

prophet

In 1992 I saw on a building the fire that Moses saw on a bush thousands of years ago.

How am I to interpret this? There was no voice. There were no instructions.

To make the situation more difficult to interpret, I had three experiences leading up to seeing this fire in which my body was vacated by a low tone, stirring my bones and blasting through my eyes, leading me to assemble the terms os, for bones, and iris, for eyes, into the term "osiris". This makes a second Egyptian waysign.

I am not on a schedule. If I give myself a certain number of days to devote myself to a task, I can generally rely on having those days to so allot.

I have a home base--a psychiatric nursing home--paid for by social security disability and public aid. I have accounts at a bank. These are small. A detailed examination of my finances would be unwise to publish. I have two alma maters.

But my efforts at selling art have been dismal. There is no welcome for me being a success. A few old friends maybe, but nothing large. I remember a feeling of absolute uncaringness surrounding my labors at doing art in a Starbucks store. Not my uncaringness. Others' uncaringness.

I may have talent in art, but I am not perceived as such, and that is what makes success.

I am afraid it makes more sense for me to blaspheme mankind than to pretend to enjoy my situation. I am not in a profit-making place. I am able to consider myself a successor to Moses, so why not do so? If I am cut out for being a prophet, then nothing profitable will work out for me. I'm afraid it has been a waste of time to do art. I thought that the Chicago Mafia would back me up in it, but they haven't. I don't know why. It's time to try something else.

I have been poor enough that I know damn well that mankind is bound up in his profit-making and will not listen to prophetic statements. I don't believe that everything in the bible is true, and I don't assume that Moses was a success. His story might have been made up in some parts. I think he had a big effect, but I don't think I can rely on being his successor as a guarantee I will be a success at being a prophet. It is a difficult thing being a prophet. It is hard enough when God tells you what to do. It is harder still when he doesn't. You would think that me being mentally ill it would just naturally follow that I would hear God talking to me. But not so.

I could write in circles forever. I don't plan to do so.

I'm done for now. You don't participate in my discussion so why should I satisfy your hunger for meaty discourse.

allegation: Yale and Princeton admitted girls for some warped reason related to me

There is a presence in the audience resembling the frantic grasping used by Jon Astroth to pin me in less than half a minute in our finalist wrestling match in junior high school. It is disolving my creative work at a rapid rate.

Jon and I were both in the band in the seventh grade. We both played clarinet. He was ranked in the first few seats of the last row. I was in the last few seats. There were about 12 in the last row altogether. There was a challenge among everyone in the last row--a test of a piece of music in private audience by the band director. The results determined the new rankings. My father, Ken Batek, promised me 50 cents for every seat I moved up. I went to the top. I don't know where Jon went. It wasn't the top. I don't recall him being in the band in the eighth grade. I became first chair.

I don't recall what year the wrestling tournament was held--the one I recall wrestling Jon in. It was a 2-year junior high school.

My father forced me to apply to U of I for college. That's apparently where Jon went, as my investigations show he lives near there now. Maybe my father figured if I was such a hot wrestler in high school i could follow him to U of I and get a second shot at him.

Jon and I were both straight a students. He was a star athlete on the basketball team in junior high. He starred on the baseball, basketball, and football teams in high school. In football he was the starting quarterback. In football our school was in a 3-way tie for first in the conference our senior year. Jon was never in any of my honors classes, either in junior high or in high school. I don't know what his class rank was in high school. Mine was 8th of about 600 second semester junior year, 5th first semester senior year, and second semester senior year I had gotten into Yale, Princeton, and RPI and didn't bother to ask for my rank. My father had told me I would be rejected by Yale. I don't know if he was lying or not. Freshman year at Yale when I came home for break my father told me he had heard I was taking sociology and he told me he was very upset with me for doing so. I wasn't taking any sociology at Yale. Yale had determined that my father's fair share of my college costs was $2000 per year. He informed me he would only pay $1200. He wouldn't pay any more for me than he was going to for Sandy. Maybe he was trying to keep me from succeeding at Yale. In junior high my father's mother, Marie Batek, gave me a christmas gift of a math game called "wff n proof". It was over my head. One of the most famous things about Yale is the senior singing group called the Wiffnpoofs. In junior high my mother caught me cross dressing in my parent's bedroom and told me if I did it again she would tell my father. I did it again. Then one weekend the family took a trip to chicago and stayed in a hotel. They didn't invite me. I stayed at home and cross dressed. When they got back they said they saw Sammy Davis Jr. in an elevator. My father considered blacks as a racist. Yale admitted girls the year I arrived. Princeton did the same year. I wrote when I was having trouble with blacks in boston that the kkk had a general, meaning me. My father came, took me to see Al Haig's wife, and she gave me a bunch of used clothes. When my father's father died I went to the interment at Bohemia National. My father lurched in "tears" toward me, I think he was trying to see if I was grieving. When he left me at my apartment he made a comment under his breath that I would never be with a white woman again. His father was known to the family as having been in the kkk.

If Yale was induced to admit girls to manage my image with someone by making it possible I was a girl and not a cross dresser, is it any wonder I became mentally ill?

Let (Yale and Princeton admitted girls for some warped reason having to do with my father's furor over my cross dressing) = A.

If A, then B, I am the most important Yalie ever, C, someone has an investment of that scale in keeping me from distinguishing myself, D, no effort will be spared to be sure of that, and E, the active intelligence pitted against me is not my father's, but someone much more capable.

My role is not lessened by D.

Defeat for me implies I will not have a white woman.

The more damning condition is all the things I have done to distinguish myself which have been undermined because of C, D, and E. if A is proven, then the reparations will be astronomical. As Osiris, my deeds are enormous, all to no endorsement. The only sufficient terms are spotlights.

The presence resembling Jon Astroth's pin of me might be only one aspect of a larger presence that includes the power E. The pin effect would then be only my memory of it, not any part of Mr. Astroth's camp.

I never considered Jon Astroth an arch enemy. Evidently my father considered wrestling my only way to redeem myself as a man despite my cross dressing. I think of it as a side show to the real conflict, which was intelligence. My father's mother committed herself to getting me into Yale. This proved an error that she was unable to easily fix. I find it repugnant that she used coercive means to get me to select Yale. Possibly the reasoning was not to get me to select Yale, but to get ambitious about going to Yale. Either way, it's coercion. It presumes that I would forever be subservient to her will, and not able to advance without coercion. It shows a lack of what it takes to be a leader, or just to raise one. The whole plan backfired. When A is proven it will be historical damnation for my father and his mother, not because they went so far to conceal my cross dressing, but because they coerced me into going to Yale, second thought it, and watched as my ruin proceded.

Evidently, since Dave Ristau was cut in at the moment of JFK's death, the mob considered me presidential material. This made coercion desirable to them. It's still unlike a leader. Better to let the country have a lesser president than a better president except for being coerced into going down that road, unable to know his life with clarity. Such is not a great president. We have plenty of the lesser kind, and that's all I could have become, if indebted to such a plot. The cross dressing is a result of greater sex appetite. They discount that I might have a great appetite for girls, which I do, than just about anyone. This marked me for greater destiny than the presidency. When A is proven, and history makes a sharp turn, many lives will be parted from many lives.