Monday, August 5, 2013

Memoirs or New Religion?

Californian Pharaoh - This is one of my Memoirs.  The appearance of this book will explain its value.  I initially wrote about 11 different autobiographies over the last decade, and each one was unfinished (due to severe Writer's Block, a medical issue or mental ailment).  So I combined them into one Collective Memoir and arranged it like something out of the New Testament with an Ancient Egyptian flair.  The events that happened in them are similar to biblical events comparatively.  In Ancient Egypt, the character known as Horus (falcon god of the sky) apparently lived identically to the later "Jesus" Christ person of the NT Bible [according to some authors like Gerald Massey.]  Though I am not certain why about this, because why would "Jesus Christ" be a reinvention of Horus -- unless he is reborn?  Rebirth means simply born into a new form or life.  This may mean Reincarnation.  For one "cannot see the Kingdom unless one is reborn."  That is, you cannot see something without experiences that allow you to view it; you need to experience life/death/rebirth if you are to find the Kingdom. 

Californian Pharaoh is about my experiences, both physical and supernatural.  I wrote the events the way they happened from my vantage point.  I do not expect anyone to read it so I set the price to $231 each (about the amount I needed for royalties per quarter).  But it is far cheaper than the price set by people selling my first memoir (Eye of the Pharaoh, c.1990) at est.$50,000 each via the Internet (as it was stolen).  

MC 2013.



 

Book Description

July 24, 2013 1491211970 978-1491211977 1.0
 
Californian Pharaoh: A collective memoir. "The memory was still present, its images fresh from the vortex of life, still brimming with static energy waiting to be extinguished by dementia. The air was stale, I inhaled deeply. I remembered the agent’s own words: “left button will signal the agent to assassinate Fidel Castro. Right button will signal our man to take you out.” All right, it’s done. “Are you sure you want to do this Mr. President?” a woman asked. “I’ll just reincarnate someplace else,” I said. ... Then the car moved by the Secret Service man, who I waved down from the aisle. My right hand gripped the remote device in my jacket pocket. I pressed the left button; it was stuck. This was typical of the CIA technology. So I pressed the right one. Of course, that one worked. It’s always the right one, I thought to myself. The car neared the clearing. A faint memory lingered: “You can’t say Texas doesn’t love you, Mr. President.” Two shots fired. One hit my neck from behind. I urged my wife, Jackie, closer; I wanted to tell her something important. Then the second one hit my head; it felt like a Stroke. Then my body became limp as I broke free from my prison of flesh and blood. . . I floated up into the air, not looking back..."
 Copyright 2013 Michael J. Costa, All rights reserved.




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