October 31, 2001

The first day of my eighteenth year, speaking within linear time constraints of course, becomes the next sequential event in my life. I walk to the local gas station to buy a pack of smokes; a pack of Camel cigarettes, unfiltered. I call them Camel Hardcores. I smoke them because I am hardcore. This is my first legal pack of cigarettes. I’ve smoked plenty of cigarettes before this, but this time it’s different. This time it has lost its excitement. I decide to wander around town for a while with a girl I know. It’s getting late. I grow tired of this senseless activity. The harsh smoke is hurting my lungs. They grow black with cancer. The meaning of life becomes transparent and elusive. The open gap where time resides has disappeared. My soul wanders.

October 31, 1983

Life has begun. I have emerged from the womb. I desperately long for the breath of life, but remnants of hardened placenta have bunged my tiny nostrils. I watch silently in awe as the gargantuan creature wielding stainless steel, surgical scissors severs my lifeline, the only umbilical cord I have ever known. I want to cry, but am only capable uttering a low and menacing whimper. The monster reaches for his next device of a torture, a small white cotton swab, and impales it into each of my nostrils. The placenta works its way up into my nasal cavity. The beast is trying to kill me. I kick my right leg in desperation, knowing that my life may soon be over. The creature chuckles a little and reaches for another weapon. This time it is a tiny blue bulb, which he again forces into my nose. I attempt to bite his arm, but all I have are gums. He squeezes the bulb gently and I feel as though my life is being sucked away inside of it. The entire room becomes grey and everything surrounding me disappears. This is when I first realize my gift, the gift of nonlinear time. This is my first moment of clarity. My soul stumbles through the corridors of nothingness and emerges upon creation. I have escaped my birth.

Preface

On one of my many journeys through time and space, I stumbled upon a captivating journal belonging to a young man named Jaqam. I do not remember when or where I found this journal, but that information is irrelevant, as time itself is irrelevant. The beautiful thing about this journal is that its entries are timeless. Jaqam wrote for the soul. He wrote for his soul. He wrote for our souls. Much time has passed since I first found this journal. Overwhelmed by the instincts of human nature, I selfishly hid Jaqam's writings from the world, but as a new light has been shed upon me, I only see it fit to reveal them to you in this blog.

Holden S. Nowell