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<h3> My Father, the Perfect Weapon</h3>
www.jackedthoughts.blogspot.com
My father was a great man. The best weapon ever created, his victims loved
to see it used. The history network reports his bio to me every morning
(part of his will), child star, musician, actor, philantrapist, childrens
advocate, diplomat and elder statesmen. The popular press loved him and
continue to lionize him even ten years after his death. Yes, his brain had
been sucked clean of any musical information and possibilities over fifteen
years ago, with his physical body giving out in late 2049. The man you as
the victims of his weapons have observed for the past 20 odd years is not my
father but a series of biogenetic replacements which began in the early
years of the century. My father knew his musical talent would outlast his
physical body and that there would be money making potential wasted with his
eventual death. So around the age of forty, shortly after I had been born,
my father contracted with a Swiss company to develop replacements for the
day when his musical products would be unable to have a physical icon to
tour. You can't have pop with out a tour and videos, and he wasn't the only
one to contract with the Swiss. The entire second wave of pop stars poured
thier accumulated fortunes into body mods and life extension technology.
Most would have died by 2001 from the destructive lifestyles of thier youth,
had they not gone this route. But my father was by far the most involved,
most of which I have only learned in the last few years as this was hidden
from me as a child. My father hired a couple from Baltimore to give him
thier twin sons because they had the pale hint of black that he was looking
for and the latent ability to act out his musical perversions. My father's
twin replacements were taken better care of than I was - his first born son.
Personal Swiss educators on music theory, classical art, politics and dance
classes. Physical training and steriods to provide the buff look and
physical duriability needed for the permanent concert tour. One thing I
don't envy them however was thier willingness to take age inducing hormones
and chemicals to pre-age themselves. This would make the offical transition
that much easier to hide from the ever prying cameras. But he needent worry
as the press had grown so complacent with the seasonal alterations to his
looks that he could have paraded a prize pig on stage and no one would have
cared. His replacements had it all while I was locked up by myself in my
mansion in California- back when it was only half crazy. I was handled by
body guards and singing coaches and hired friends who appeared my own age
but were actually adults with child like growth problems (I went to
kindergarten with Emmanual Lewis). This was all done to insulate me. To make
me pure by my father's standards. A pure example of heredity that could be
shaped in the same way he had molded his own face. A pop superstar dynasty
with father and son on stage singing to the stirring chorus of cash
registers logging billions to continue his quest for eternal life and
enternal superstardom. My own musical carear was nothing more than a money
making effort to further bankroll his twisted life of grasping for the other
hand. My first tour of Europe at age 9 provided a double kidney transplant.
The pay-per-view royalties for the 2012 Olympics Show allowed him for the
first time to get his brain wet-wired. The list of my accomplishments
continues: skin replacement, muscle grafts, digital vocal cords. Every album
I put out bought him a little more time, a little more freedom from the
physcial self. The hyperbolic chambers and pure oxygen environment gave him
weeks but it was my job to get him years. I rarely seen him off stage so
there was little opportunity for me to learn of my benefit to his conditions
until I was fifteen and demanded to be flown to Davos to meet with him.
After I refused to burn a song he had written espcially for the Latin
market, he relented to my demands and allowed a visit. He told me of his
empire in that quiet child-like voice, detailing the need for continued life
and continued creativity. He explained the replacements and that they would
soon take over his tour duties so he could write music without interruption.
He told me of his alterations and my role in giving them to him. He told me
of the fate of my family: grandparents, uncles and aunts all long absorbed
into his life. And when I rebelled by not burning the Latin sessions, he had
me replaced by my replacement twin. Apparently he had planned for such a day
by having a spare me who may have more fire to do the job. There is a joke
inside my father's organization that no one ever quits for a better job -
they all "retire." My father had me "retired" to a compound in tropical Asia
where he bought my silence by giving me everything I had ever wanted.


So what became of the boy exiled with billions in a hostile buyout of his
name and life? I have come to learn that my father was a major string in
many of the activities during the first years, but I wouldn�t have known
that at the time. Without the limits of stardom - being halfway sober, half
of the time - my appitites for drugs and sexual gratification prevented me
from caring. What did I care, there were billions in the bank,a full time
pharmisist who dispensed much needed medication and a hundred servants who
would get me anything or anyone I demanded. For a teenage boy, there was
little want in my prison. I lived that isolated and tranqualized lifestyle
from the time I was replaced until something changed.

File Under Notes From Childhood
Adam BOmb
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