The End of Day 3

Now I tasted from the fountain of youth.

Something that conquistadors bled for, that alchemist stole for, I tasted at the end of three days of fasting.

I had felt my blood from so long ago. Pumping hot, full of rage, full of knowledge.

As sped forward in time I felt the rapid progressions of the particles of nature like shivers in my spine. Flash forward, reliving my life in rapid succession, harnessing all the molecules of my mind to focus on the grail that I had travelled time to capture. The rage of youth, what precious promethean fire.

I had discovered super powers, made myself beautiful at will, and travelled time only to force myself into a state of midlife crisis. Yet it is this state of midlife crisis which is necessary to do anything of consequence. The rage of youth is the stuff of arrogance, and arrogance is the stuff of kings.

When I was once again in the presence it was 72 hours to the microsecond from when the trance had begun. I was thin. I was beautiful. I had the fire of my youth.

My clothes had all fallen off, as it was clothes for a man 3 times my size, and I needed quickly to adapt.

I walked down the street to find a young man, handsome and stylish in the present chic. He was perfect for what I required of him. His clothes, his money, his life.

He was trying not to look at me. Nude in public, not so strange in my metropolis. We have drug addicts and mad men just like everyone else.

I could read his microexpressions, little super-fast clenches of his facial muscles, telling me what his neurons tried to keep secret inside his skull. My prey thought I was a drug addict. He was in a hurry, trying to avoid whatever nonsense I would bring.

I grabbed his arm.

"Let the fuck go of me you junkie!" he hollered. A true native.

I allowed my grip to connect, using my meta-awareness of my molecular structure to read his muscles. My body was a weapon now, far more than the average person. I read his skin cells like the blind reading braille. Thousands of little twitches, sweat, the movement of hair follicles, all telling me where to strike, where my victim was weak. All in a time spanning less than five seconds.

As marvellous as my ability to control my body was, my ability to see the second for what it truly is was far greater. Each second is an eternity.

I struck him with my leg on the hindpart of his knee. Bringing down this genetic masterpiece to the ground.

The look of terror on his face as he fell powerless was accentuated by my ability to see all the expressions his face found in the moments.

I fell upon him with a perfect grasp of gravity, my forearm on his throat.

I watched his eyes bulge as his gasps could not find breath.

I smiled. It was like watching a fish on dry land. A failure of evolution, just like this amazing specimen.

Briefly I contemplated not killing him.

What nonsense, I had to kill him. It was the necessary fuel for my fire I had fought so hard to bring. My fire of youthful rebellion. My ancient rage.

If I walked away from him without taking his life, without completing my purification, I would just be some freak. Some phenomena of the new age. What impotence!

I looked into his eyes, carefully watching the artful struggle of the pupil as the brain loses its grip.

My victim was as beautiful in the moment as he was alive.

His clothes fit my new body perfectly.

Day 3:2

Oh adolescence. My beautiful adolescence.

I remember it well.

My rage against the esteemed Dr. Chronos, my father, was unquenchable.

I did everything I could to inspire disappointment. Concern. Confusion.

Why did I do this to my own father. Because he did this to me by separating me from my mother in Chile. My holy and sacred mother, permanently the image of the glorious Madonna in my mind.

My father had brought me to the U.S., from my mother's arms because this is where our future stood. This was a land not choked by the dictatorship of Pinochet, where an intellectual could still advance. My father's hiring by the U.S. CDC was an act of espionage. Political exile gained by one leftist scientist for another, but the U.S. immigration law was not kind to a man who could not marry the mother of his child due to the fact he was in hiding.

My mother was abandoned. He married an american.

Fuck him!

At least thats how I felt at the time. I was relieving this through my time travel ability, given to me by the meditation diet. I felt adrift in the deterministic sea. Molecules colliding with molecules and harmonizing each step which the ones recalled by my memory.

It is only through the meditation diet that we attain free will. Without it we are just the victim of molecular billiards.

If Dr. Chronos wanted america I would become America. It was in this state of mind that I found the punk subculture.

I rode the frenzy. I felt like a god on his path to valhalla.

Now, 16 years later, I know that I was right.

I had recently been molested by neighbor, this only fed my rage. But the target of all my rage was my father.

When I started self mutilating and snorting cocaine in the house, he got me a therapist. My step-mother and he pretending to understand the maelstrom in my mind, with a therapist who's IQ. was an abyss beneath my own. I had just discovered GG Allin, I knew what to do: I began to masturbate throughout the therapy sessions. I claimed to have been adbucted by UFOs.

It was glorious.

When this situation escalated my father threatened to kick me out of the house and entered a strange silence. I threatened to kill him with a knife, he remained purely stoic.

I began to sell drugs, started a gang. We called ourselves traditional skinheads. Non racist skinheads who live for the violence and madness of skinhead culture without even racism as a cause.

I was pure muscle in those days. For one reason only, to feel the carnal matter of my opponent crushed beneath my boot.

My crew was strong, though the insane were attracted to it. Compulsive liars, people who live in a perpetual fantasy world. Rapists, a truly disgusting sort, for all of my hatred I tried to police this crime among my men. We mostly needed only to threaten to wield our power, so we would fight one another, like Spartans in training.

Yet I never had the courage to follow through with all this. When one of our burglaries turned into my arrest I became cowardly.

It was at this moment that the softness came upon me.

I had forgotten what I once was.

The diet was showing me this. The diet by uniting my mind and body with the disgust of one for the other, the diet which is pure hyper-awareness, had somehow given me the gift to travel back in time.

To regress, not just in a vision, but literally.

It was then that my families greek name shone with irony. I was Chronos, the god of time.