Author: the Dictator

AI-generated and fact-checked by Todd.

July 15th and 16th, 2026, became another day that challenged the way I think about patterns, memory, and seriality.

I woke that morning with a Facebook post from the previous day already on my mind. The post mentioned Mark and Mary, and it immediately reminded me of what I personally call the “M&M” pattern. My Nigerian friend Eli has family members named Michelle, Michael, and Marvel, and those names resurfaced in my thoughts before I was fully awake.

For a brief moment, I thought Eli had walked into my room. It wasn’t him at all—it was Arlene, the nurse, making her routine hourly rounds. Later I went to the nurse’s station to speak with her, and while we were talking, another Eli—Elijah Reece—walked in. Seeing his last name, Reece, while staying on Reece Bergeron Road, caught my attention because of the similarity in names. I don’t present that as evidence of anything supernatural, only as something that stood out to me in the moment.

The day before, during a coin-out ceremony at rehab, I experienced something unusual. I noticed a taste in my mouth that reminded me of DMT, despite not having used DMT. Immediately afterward I felt profoundly empty. The closest image my mind could find was that it felt as though the Grim Reaper had walked through the room. I did not literally see the Grim Reaper; that image simply captured the emotional weight of the experience.

What made that sensation even stranger to me was how different it felt from my first few days at rehab after arriving on June 22. During those first several days, my internal experience felt almost like the opposite. I had the subjective impression that people were somehow flowing toward me rather than away from me. The only words I could find were that it felt like I was everyone and no one at the same time. Whether that reflected stress, recovery, psychology, spirituality, or something else entirely, I can’t say with certainty. I only know that’s how I experienced it.

Later our rehab group rode to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting at Back Bay Mission. On the drive I noticed a license plate reading “Doing My Best,” followed by another reading “Lucky 13.” When we arrived, I saw the same “Doing My Best” vehicle parked there. I introduced myself to the woman who owned it because I was hoping to find a sponsor. We talked briefly about recovery and hallucinogens. She had experience with several substances but wasn’t familiar with DMT. Since NA generally encourages men to work with male sponsors and women with female sponsors, our conversation ended there.

Earlier that same day I also came across discussion online about the death of Nolan Xavier Wells on Horn Island. At the time of writing, his death remains under investigation, and many of the claims circulating online have not been verified. My mind also went to the death of Demartravion “Trey” Reed at Delta State University, another case that generated widespread discussion after the official ruling. Those two stories became connected in my own thinking because the NA meeting that evening happened to be led by someone named Trey. That association existed only in my own mind; I am not suggesting the events themselves are connected.

Even the word seriality creates echoes for me. It naturally reminds me of the phrase serial killer, not because I believe the concepts are related, but because the language itself overlaps. Todd Alan Reed, known publicly as the Forest Park Serial Killer, also shares my name, making the linguistic echo impossible for me to ignore. To me, seriality is about recurring patterns, repeated names, and echoes across experience—not about crime. The similarity in wording simply illustrates how the mind can connect ideas through language.

Whether these moments represent meaningful patterns, ordinary coincidence, the brain’s tendency to organize experiences into narratives, or something beyond current understanding is a question every reader will answer differently. I don’t claim certainty. My goal is simply to document these experiences as honestly as I remember them, distinguish observation from interpretation, and invite readers to decide for themselves.

Some experiences stay with you for years, not because you understand them completely, but because they refuse to fade.

One of those experiences happened in May 2018 while I was working as a floor walker at AT&T, a company I still think of as carrying on the legacy of the American Bell System.

A coworker named Charlie transferred a customer issue that involved a gold Samsung Galaxy S7—the same model phone I happened to own at the time.

The customer had submitted the phone under warranty but was charged more than $600 after the claim was denied. The device had been returned because it was considered physically damaged.

While reviewing the documentation, I noticed something unusual. The photographs taken during the warranty inspection appeared to show what looked like a pellet hole in the shipping box. The images were timestamped April 20, 2018, at approximately 4:20 p.m.

To me, that didn’t make sense. I remember telling my manager that no one in their right mind would intentionally shoot their own phone before mailing it in for a warranty claim. I recommended that we credit the customer.

At the time, AT&T was being extremely conservative about issuing credits, and my request was denied.

I had to go back to the customer and explain that the charge would stand.

After the call ended, I walked into the restroom. When I urinated, the color was bright red. My first thought was that I was urinating blood. A little later I realized it was most likely caused by an extremely spicy Vietnamese curry I had eaten earlier that day.

Those events had nothing to do with one another. They simply happened on the same day.

Years later, while following the current court proceedings involving Charlie Kirk, those memories unexpectedly resurfaced. I also found myself noticing other coincidences: Charlie had handled the original customer interaction, I owned the same model Galaxy S7, and Charlie and I both happened to be missing the same tooth.

This morning, while in rehab, I shared the story with a nurse technician because it had been weighing on my mind. As I was leaving, I glanced at the large wall clock and became convinced it was showing around 2:20. In reality, it was approximately 4:10. I even mentioned that I thought the clock was wrong before realizing I had simply misread it.

The experience reminded me of what is sometimes informally called Todd’s syndrome, more formally known as Alice in Wonderland syndrome, a rare neurological condition associated with perceptual distortions. I am not claiming that I have this condition or that it explains what happened. Rather, the moment reminded me how easily perception can be mistaken, especially when reflecting on emotionally significant memories.

Looking back, I don’t claim these events prove anything. I don’t present them as evidence of a conspiracy or of anyone’s guilt or innocence. What they represent to me is an unusual chain of memories, coincidences, and perceptions that resurfaced as current events unfolded.

Whether those connections are meaningful or simply the way memory organizes experience is something each reader can decide for themselves.

—

Disclosure: This article was drafted with the assistance of artificial intelligence and reviewed for factual accuracy, to the best of the author’s recollection, by Todd Megee. Any interpretations or personal reflections expressed are those of Todd Megee.

This is the first time I’ve publicly shared this.

Nine months after Labor Day 2004—what I personally consider my rebirth—I became a eunuch.

Fast-forward to Christmas 2016.

My dad, Donal (without the second “d”), received a 45.8-pound brick of lead. Looking at it sparked an idea in my mind. It reminded me of the concept behind Citizens United v. FEC—that money functions like speech. My own thought became even simpler:

What if money is another form of light?

I couldn’t prove it.

So I built an experiment.

That experiment became TrumpDomains.net.

The goal was never to get rich. It was to attract goodness—and eventually prosperity—by giving away more than 100 Trump-related domain names to people who wanted to publish their own ideas. If sunlight is the best disinfectant, I wanted to help more people shine it.

I never charged for a domain.

I never made a penny.

The project is now dead.

Then came Thanksgiving 2018.

I woke up with phantom testicular pain.

Being a eunuch, that was… confusing.

By dinner, I checked my email and found someone requesting TrumpHasNoBalls.org.

I was ecstatic.

After two years, someone finally wanted one.

I replied, “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s finish the transfer tomorrow.”

About ten minutes later, he wrote back.

“Never mind. I found another domain.”

And then I started laughing.

The universe had finally explained the phantom pain.

That guy had just metaphorically kicked me in the nuts.

The project never attracted the money I thought it might.

But it did reinforce something I still think about today.

Maybe my idea wasn’t completely wrong.

Or maybe God just has an outstanding sense of humor.

Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned…

Life can still kick you in the nuts—

even after you’ve gotten rid of them.

—

Transparency

This article was drafted with AI assistance and reviewed, edited, and fact-checked for personal accuracy by Todd.

TrumpDomains.net never generated any income. The domains were given away freely as part of a personal experiment.

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