By Clyde Lewis

"Doctor, please explain to them that something is terribly wrong! Please I'm not crazy. Listen to me before it's too late. I am noticing changes in people. I am noticing changes in our leaders. It has me questioning my own sanity. I know that I am not crazy-I know that it has started-- Some strange neurosis, evidently contagious, an epidemic mass hysteria-- please help me understand."

This could be fiction. It could be non-fiction. It certainly feels real.

Sometimes it pays to read between the lines.

Reptilian Alien Overlords, Murder, and Brainwashing, get their day in Court: The Invasion has begun.

Let me just say that I have chosen this outing to hide behind a fictional character that I have created. I haven't done it in a while but I feel that under some personal circumstances I feel the need to do so.

It is my safety blanket.

I have recently been seeing things through the eyes of a fictional character I created named Duke Lucather. Who is the Duke? Oh Duke is a gem of a guy.

An alter ego that had a date with destiny, a Deejay who has to cope with the fact that he hears voices, senses changes, and tries to connect the dots and somehow he only comes half way. He is only half right in his connections.

Duke is a radio announcer who is very much like myself.

In his hey-day he was irreverent and a lot of people enjoyed listening to him. There were a few out there who hated him as well.

He looked at life differently. He didn't see the day to day like everyone else. He was bitter after his marriage had failed and to add insult to injury went on the air and spewed out all sorts of misanthropic observances. His x-wife was listening with her lawyer.

The lawsuit was quite huge. It hit all of the papers. It was the topic of rumor mills. It was right up there with the rumor that the Duke had his x-wife killed by a biker.

It was said that it was done for a six pack of beer.

Mother Killed over Wendy's Bacon cheese burger.

It was all untrue of course, but the Duke didn't want the truth to get in the way of a good story.

People were calling him "Duke the Puke." No one knows how he got sloppy. He went off the deep end. He did a lot of drugs, ate a lot of garbage food and gained a lot of weight.

He had bad habits that would swallow up his money. What little money he had after paying enormous amounts of child support for children he had left at every stop in his trek from job to job.

One day it was Cleveland, another it was Chicago, and later it was New York City.

One day he opened his mouth a little too wide and landed himself out of a job. He told a number of his colleagues that he would return. That the whole world would one day hear his voice.

That he would make a difference.

He remained out of work for a long time. Hanging out at coffeehouses, writing poetry with the goths, and punkers. Speaking at open mike nights making cases for some anarchist opinions.

One day he was having coffee and ran into an old friend who noticed that the Duke was not doing well. So he offered him a job. Attitudes were changing and Country music was popular. Rock was dying, and talk radio was all automated. All the good jobs went to highly paid corporate clowns that would make balloon animals at the drop of the hat for some bureaucrat.

The Duke despised his new job and decided that the only way he was going to make it was to get back to what he did before.

One early morning he fell asleep between songs. The air on the radio station went quiet. He was awakened by strange sounds that he was hearing in his headphones.

They sounded like human voices repeating strange lines from old television and radio commercials. He passed it off as some sort of radio interference. It troubled him though. He then cracked open the microphone and called into the twilight.

"I heard something. There were voices."

Duke was so obsessed that he broke format and desperately asked if anyone heard the words he heard. He heard the words "Ground Zero" "Silence the Air"

There were no calls.

Duke started to doubt himself. Something was different and he couldn't put his finger on it.

Reliving Terror: Mass Post Traumatic Disorder Risks.

He started to get a little frightened.

True horror needs no blood, no demons, no lurking killers, all you need is the feeling that everything is out of control and when you speak up you realize that the majority of the people are in on the nightmare.

You are accused of being crazy. You are told to shut up. You are harassed and attacked. You want to pick fights. Sometimes you lash out in a fit of aggression.

Parents Deal With Stress: America watches Beating of a Four Year old.

When you begin you second-guess yourself and then you stop. You start, and you stop quickly afterwards.

You are constantly looking over your shoulder. You feel like a kid that has to look under his bed.

Father Uses Stun Gun on His own son as form of punishment.

You start to see things. Shapes take on new meanings, they have newly found significance.

You can't tell people that you are seeing these things. You can't tell them that you hear voices that say to "prepare." You can't tell people that you feel like the world is out of control. The reason is that there seems to be no one else out there that shares the same experiences.

Your friends look at you and you see pity in their eyes. They can't help you because they don't feel the same way you do. You haven't changed but somehow they have changed.

You ask yourself if there is anyone out there who understands your frustration. You ponder the deeper meaning of it all and you start feeling self doubt.

You feel alone.

The dark clouds gather and the rain starts to fall. You turn up your collar and walk along the wet sidewalk and you look at people who do not make eye contact.

Then one person looks you in the eye.

You pass along without speaking without looking back. Then you hear the footsteps stop.

Your blood turns to ice water.

You sprint away and you feel the needle sting of the rain hitting your raw cheeks.

Duke walked into the brownstone apartment that was situated in an affluent neighborhood. He felt that a low cost flat in a ritzy neighborhood was an ironic twist to his already quirky life. He looked in the mailbox and thumbed through the occupant mail and ended up tossing it into file thirteen. He turned on the fan to get the stale air moving around. He fumbled for his cigarettes. Lit up a Camel Wide and took a deep drag. He held it for a moment and then blew it out into the fan.

He sat down at a beaten wooden desk. He pulled open a drawer grabbed some fresh white paper and rolled it into a black antique Smith Corona. Duke always fancied himself a writer and somehow thought that his new life was interesting enough to make an autobiography. It was either "ego, or attempts at immortality," Duke wrote. He wasn't the best writer in the world but he felt that some editor somewhere would want to some day go over his poorly punctuated syntax.

He thought that when the radio gig was over, he would have plenty of material to read and look back on. Maybe someone would make a movie about it?

No matter how crazy it sounded.

"For me, it started - last Saturday, in response to a call made from a woman who worried that I was getting depressed. She detected something was wrong with me. She said that I was becoming argumentative and cruel. I stayed up all night hearing the same arguments being made by a different host. I thought, how is it that he can say the same things and no one questions his mental health?"

I awoke after my Saturday talk show pondering the meaning of what I was doing. I realized that I had become vindictive. All because of a threat I received and insulting e-mails that kept being sent to me. The week previous I was treated to a prank caller who decided to entertain me with a song that he made up about me being a buck toothed freak. I laughed at the song nervously and then went about my business.

For some reason I allowed it to get under my skin.


No one is Immune from the stress of the age.

In the past I never took anything that was said to me on the air personally. The only thing I paid attention to was death threats.

Lately I have received many of those.

I cautiously take to the air and say that what I say is no different than what a Rush Limbaugh would say only it seems that I am on the other side.

I am only there because I want so badly to have back what I feel I have lost. Things are different now. People have changed. They are not the same. Somehow I feel we have lost track of who we are and what we stand for.

"There were people who couldn't wait to call me, and then suddenly the phone bank was completely dead. You know, usually people can't talk enough about what's wrong with the country. There was an occasional listener who would talk my ear off about the New World Order.

There was always someone who didn't agree with me and we would have a good argument. Afterward he would pause and we would hear the smile in each other's voices and then we knew that we had a great conversation. It meant a lot more when a person who disagreed found a way to have common ground."


I have been recently obsessing about the war. It has gotten to the point of being unhealthy. I have been watching every possible network and feeding my brain with information that is constantly being regenerated giving real meaning to the words 'news programming."

It is becoming great sport to undermine the lies that I see being broadcast. I know I am right about most of the stories I debunk and yet I feel guilty because I am becoming a debunker of the "official story."

"I remember when those who I could count on for support were always there chiming in when I got caught up into soap box rants. It was always the cue that when the host got into the mode of being preachy he always had an old faithful listener to calm him down. Now it seems they listen and probably worry that he will either have a stroke or a heart attack."

Then a call came in.

The producer clicked the intercom and said

"This one is a real winner, he says that he is a doctor and that he believes that we have already been attacked with an biological weapon that is causing us all to go crazy."

Insanity virus -- a crazy idea?
Mainstream psychiatric outcast ponders parasitic mental illness.


I knocked back some heavily sugared coffee, and as the brown grainy goo at the bottom of the cup reached my lips the sappy station identification jingle played and I prepared myself for the phone call.

I hit the button and the flashing red light went solid.

"You're on the air," I said.

The voice sounded like a mature gentleman.

"Hello, I am a doctor at the local University and I told your producer to keep my anonymity because I am about to make you famous. You see, like you I started sensing something strange. I didn't hear a voice or anything like that. I received an urgent message from my nurse, I hurried home from a medical convention I'd been attending. At first glance, everything looked the same. It wasn't. Something evil seems to have taken possession of everyone. I believe that the evidence is overwhelming."

Immediately I had to respond. I felt like this was an answer to my prayers.

"Doctor I am so glad that you called. I have been explaining to those who can understand that I feel that an evil force is consuming the planet. I was warned a long time ago. I heard the words "Ground Zero" I heard "Silence the air." I have been obsessively searching for the meaning of these words. I think something is about to happen. "Ground Zero" is a term used to mean that something has been destroyed.

A lot of people think I am crazy-- Doctor, please explain to them that something is terribly wrong! Please I'm not crazy. Tell them to listen to me before it's too late. I am noticing changes in people. I am noticing changes in our leaders. It has me questioning my own sanity. I know that I am not crazy-I know that it has started-- Some strange neurosis, evidently contagious, an epidemic mass hysteria-- please help my audience understand."


The Doctor paused and then continued with his call:

"Well it would be disingenuous to console you by saying that you are not crazy, after all I am here to tell you that perhaps you are. Maybe I am crazy, you never would know would you? How do you tell the difference between what is crazy and what is sanity? How can we define our reality? Is it agreed upon by a group of men in a room? How can anyone police a nervous system which allows us to experience our life experience?"

I couldn't speak. My head was reeling and his words were bouncing around in my head like b-b's in a boxcar. The son of a bitch knew that I was standing there with my teeth in my mouth banking on his every word.

" If the majority accepts abnormal behavior then those who have not adapted will become the pariah. What if I were to tell you that a biological calmative was released over the United States the last week of December 1999? What if I were to provide you with proof that they actually used this calmative in Aerosol form and accidentally overdosed certain parts of the population which caused a brain abnormality?"

I attempted at making some clever comeback but it wouldn't come. I paused and then interjected:

"When you say brain abnormality, are you talking about a chemical imbalance?

There was a pause. The doctor seemed a bit careful now.

"Well, it is a way to explain many things. Think about the things you have talked about in the past. Everyone laughed at the chemtrail hysteria. They should have paid attention. It was a wake up call. However too many people were just talking and no one did anything to stop it. What could we have done? The government had good intentions but with all things that have a good purpose there is always someone who sees it as a tool for power. This calmative was cultivated from a microbial extraterrestrial source. They underestimated it's power and overdosed the populace by accident"

I was amazed this was getting really good.

"What you are saying is unbelievable. Are you insinuating that this accident has created a mass hysteria? What you are saying is that there is a possibility that an alien biological chemical dropped on this country is creating Insanity-how can this be true?"

The doctor could hear that I didn't want to believe any of his rhetoric.

"I know you are agitated because I am sure you have questioned your sanity form time to time Mr. Lucather. I believe that the term "insanity" has no neurobiological definition and, as a concept in everyday language, is extremely broad and vaguely defined.

It is an over used axiom. What I like to use is something that I call lack of volition. Lack of volition to the point of wanting so badly to be absolved of the responsibility of being a human being.

In essence you feel like an alien in this world. When you get to this point you have no other alternative but to surrender to your fragmented mind. You start to see people act upon things such as rage, vengeance, anger, and soon they lose their ability to call upon rational thinking. They are literally in a state of automatism, that is, involuntary automatic conduct over which the target has no control."


While my anonymous guest was speaking I kept asking my producer on the intercom where this guy was calling from. My producer had software that could look up the number and triangulate a zip code. We could get a rough idea where the caller was coming from.

He got a match and told me that the call was coming from somewhere in Maryland.

I thought it was curious.

"Mr. Lucather, it has been my experience that we all harden our hearts as we get older. Little by little we let a bit of our soul drain away until just before we die we say to ourselves that we have it all figured out. It all happens slowly. Like a Lifesaver candy on the tip of your tongue.

It seems to me that the biggest trick now, the biggest challenge is to see the warning signs that we may have been infected with this virulent, alien, biological agent that induces anger.

It will become vital to the survival of the world that when we feel ourselves losing our humanity, that we fight for it I need to emphasize Mr. Lucather, this is a malignant disease that is spreading over the entire country. It is a disease that was accidentally unleashed. Pay attention Mr. Lucather because you, and your audience could fall victim to it."


The music came up and under the anonymous guest and my producer was anxious "We need to dump this ass clown, I have CNN news in 10 seconds."

I waved at him and acknowledged that I knew we had to go.

"Guard your soul Mr. Lucather there are many around you who have surrendered their volition.. fight to stay human , then and only then will you realize just how precious your humanity really is.. there is where you will find freedom. That is the antidote to all of this all we have to do is….

The line went dead.

I freaked.

"Jesus Fucking Christ on my clock I saw that he had at least 4 seconds! He could have finished a Goddamn sentence! What the fuck is your problem?"

My producer clicked back

"Go bitch to the program director, you know we have news with paid sponsors Duke."

I then froze.

I just lost it with my producer. He was just a kid, getting paid shit wages and I just blew a gasket over something miniscule.

I clicked back

"Sorry."

He wouldn't look at me through the glass.


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