A patriot’s journey through his mother’s memory loss
[Personal log entries recovered from the phone of Buck “The Truth” Thompson, UMSDERWPFLEPI (Ultra-Mega-Super-Duper Extreme Right Wing Patriot Freedom Liberty Eagle Party of Idaho) Chief of Counter-Memory Operations]
Day 467 of the Investigation
Mom asked me who I was again today. Right in the middle of my surveillance shift at Golden Meadows Memory Care. Just walked right up to my orderly disguise and asked if I was there to fix the TV. I had to mark it in my tactical log as “Potential Deep State Recognition Scrambling Technology In Effect” but my hands were shaking so bad I could barely type.
Damn it all to hell.
The others don’t know I transferred her here. They can’t know. How could I explain that the Deputy Grand Poobah of Intelligence’s own mother is inside one of their memory extraction facilities? Some nights I lie awake wondering if they got to her first. If all those years of her telling me to take off my tinfoil hat and rejoin the real world were actually the deep state programming taking hold.
Day 468
Found Representative Granger today. She was playing chess with Mom. Mom was winning, but she thought the pieces were cookies and kept trying to dunk her bishop in her coffee. Granger seemed to think she was at a committee hearing on pudding cups.
I should report it. I should document everything. But I kept thinking about Christmas ’86, when Mom made those sugar cookies shaped like the Constitution (a perfectly patriotic activity that I NOW REALIZE was probably deep state conditioning).
Had to lock myself in the supply closet for an hour. Told the team it was a routine tactical equipment check. Couldn’t let them hear their leader sobbing into a mop bucket.
Day 471 — CRITICAL INTELLIGENCE UPDATE
Something’s happening to the facility. Reality is getting thin here, like tissue paper held up to harsh fluorescent truth. Yesterday I saw three different versions of Mom in the same day:
The one who remembers everything and keeps asking why I went down “this crazy rabbit hole”
The one who thinks I’m my father
The one who just smiles and nods while clutching her flag-patterned blanket
(TACTICAL NOTE: Need to investigate blanket for hidden transmitters)
Which one did they replace with a deep state duplicate? Which one did they program? Which one is real?
WORSE: Starting to question my own memories. Today I found my old baseball trophy in Mom’s room. She kept it all these years. But the engraving says “Most Improved Player” and I KNOW I was MVP. Unless… unless that’s what they want me to think. Unless every memory of being a champion is just deep state programming.
God help me, I’m starting to understand why some of the residents find comfort in forgetting.
Day 472 — PERSONAL NOTE (DELETE LATER)
Watched Mom and Granger having lunch together. They were sharing conspiracies about the nursing staff hiding their mail. For a moment, it felt like looking in a mirror, and I wanted to scream.
The team wants to raid the facility next week. Operation Remember the Dismember is ready to go. They don’t know their leader sits in the garden every Tuesday, holding his mother’s hand while she tells him about her childhood. Sometimes her stories change. Sometimes she remembers things that couldn’t have happened.
Sometimes I pretend not to notice when she calls me by my name.
TACTICAL REVELATION: What if the deep state isn’t stealing memories? What if they’re just watching us lose them naturally, letting time do their work for them? What’s more terrifying — a grand conspiracy or the simple fact that everything we are, everything we believe, can just… fade away?
Day 473 — OPERATION UPDATE
Postponed the raid. Told the team we needed more intelligence. Actually, it’s Bingo night and Mom gets upset if she misses it. She thinks she’s winning a war against socialism one G -7 at a time.
Sometimes she looks at me with such clarity it burns. “Bobby,” she said today, “all these monsters you’re fighting… did you ever stop to think maybe the real deep state is the stories we tell ourselves when we’re afraid of the truth?”
Had to report myself for possible deep state contamination after I caught myself considering she might be right.
Day 474 — FINAL ENTRY?
I’m sitting in Mom’s room watching her sleep. The team is waiting for my signal to begin Operation Remember the Dismember. My tactical vest feels too tight. The tinfoil under my hat is scratching.
ON HER NIGHTSTAND: A photo of me graduating high school. Was that real?Was I ever that young, that certain of anything?
Granger walked by earlier, pushing her walker like it was a battering ram against invisible enemies. For a moment, our eyes met, and I saw something there — not deep state programming, not confusion, but a kind of tired wisdom.
She winked and whispered,
"They think they’ve got me locked up in here, but I’m actually infiltrating their operation. Every bingo number is a classified vote — B-4 was Benghazi, I-19 was Iran-Contra. We can forget our names, forget what state we’re from, but they can’t make us forget what we never remembered in the first place."
Then she tapped her walker three times, clearly signaling to her sleeper cell in the crafts room that the motion to adjourn for pudding cups had passed.
Mom stirred and asked who I was. I told her I was her son. She smiled and said, “No, who are you really?”
I don’t know anymore.
[FINAL TACTICAL ASSESSMENT]
The memory care facility is not a deep state operation. It’s a mirror. And we’re all just afraid to look.
[End log. Document shows signs of water damage. Analysis suggests tears.]
[Attached: One tinfoil hat, slightly crushed, with “World’s Best Son” written on the inside in shaky handwriting]
APPENDIX Z:
If you’re reading this, you’re either a true Patriot or a deep state agent. If you can’t remember which one you are, congratulations — the system is working exactly as designed.
⛔️ RED ALERT UPDATE: We’ve just discovered that “memory care” backwards is “erac yromem” which clearly proves… something. We’ll figure out what once we sober up.
🕵🏼♀️🕵🏼♀️🕵🏼♀️
In case you think I make this shite up:
Image ©2024 Gael MacLean
Commentaires