Public Letter To General Nobunaga Tetramegistus 4QuaZulu? My friend, who, what are you? Are you the greatest liar to yourself? One thing is certain—you are IAM and You are not who you think you are [ Soliloquy ].

 

Open Letter to 4-Star General Nobunaga

Aluta continua, my beyond terrestrial [ Very Ancient ] Warlord.

I address you as such because that is what I strongly suspect you to be—or perhaps, like in Jupiter Ascending, you might be of a militaristic DNA design. Why do I say this? Consider the moment in 1986 in Fulham when you encountered what you initially identified as ancient Egyptian writing, only to later recognize it as more akin to cuneiform texts or the symbols allegedly seen on the craft observed by U.S. Air Force officers at Rendlesham Base in England. This suggests to me that your assessment was not erroneous, nor were you deceiving yourself.

Yes, I am aware that you are perhaps the greatest doubting Thomas on Earth. You even doubt your own experiences, despite remembering them vividly—unlike the dreams you had last night, which are already lost to you. The clarity and persistence of these encounters suggest that they should not be dismissed so readily. I could refer you to several experiences from your childhood, even your authentic original name, which was sourced through divination before your arrival on Earth. This alone suggests that your parents may have aligned with my perspective.

Now, why would an African child be shown ancient Sumerian or non-human texts, only to be telepathically reminded that humans did not invent writing—long before the internet or UFO folklore became mainstream, or even an underground fad? That is my first question.

Secondly, consider the nature of your encounters. They seem less like random events and more like interactions—educational, peer-level exchanges. The so-called third parties you allege to have met often hint that they knew you before your human existence, sometimes even laughing at the extent of your amnesia. Notice how they exude warmth and familiarity toward you, something you cannot quite explain.

You refused to get on a floating bike when invited by a bald, Asiatic-looking woman. You were initially too afraid to look at her directly, yet you caught a glimpse, and in that moment, you felt a strange and ancient familiarity. Something about her triggered a long-buried memory—thousands of years old, perhaps—and then it dissipated as quickly as it emerged. You even told her that you would not get on that "damn floating bike" because in real life, bikes do not fly, and this must be one of those so-called alien encounters.

Notice her reaction—whether she shook her head or expressed herself in another way—it was as if she was amused at your hard-headedness, as if she had known you forever. Then you tried impressing her with your scientific knowledge and made a fool of yourself by erroneously referring to gravity propulsion, something she immediately detected and laughed at. I could go on...

Now, let us address the buzzing sensation—the electrifying current that seems to decommission your body, leaving you initially with only minimal head and eye movement. Only after you calm down are you recommissioned, as if they trust you not to react violently. You have been telepathically informed that in your human stage, like all humans, you are capable of violence and could unintentionally harm them out of fear. Yet, despite your current primate human status, why do they trust you? Why do they take you to observe massive, cold-looking cigar-shaped crafts, star-shaped vessels, and enormous mother ships adorned with structures reminiscent of ancient Germanic castles or Islamic minarets? Why did they take you to India, where you vividly recalled an event so strongly that you later discovered the existence of a "cow dung festival" only after a Google search? A so-called dream precipitated a search for real-world evidence. What does this imply?

You have often felt that your presence on this planet is either a court-martial cosmic punishment or an assignment—an intuition you have carried since Omoleye Nursery School. Even as a baby, observing humans, their customs, their planet, and their physical features fascinated you. You have never felt at home anywhere—not in Africa, Europe, Asia, or the Americas.

Perhaps your suspicions are not mere delusions of grandeur.

Why do these so-called aliens seem afraid of you, even though you wield no army, no weapons, no governmental authority on Earth? Why do they obey when you demand to be returned to your bed? Why did they comply when you expressed frustration over the "shit-throwing Indians in the village" or when you told the woman you insist was the rightful Queen of Orion to "fuck off" because you were sleeping and she was not supposed to contact you on Earth? She laughed at your defiance. Even when you turned away, refusing to look at her, she granted you 360-degree vision, as if you could see from the back of your head.

Where do these words come from? Why did she smile at your resistance, overwhelming you with a love that felt almost maternal? Why did she tell you to fight back? And why, on occasion, did she blow you a kiss, telling you you are loved?

My friend, who, what  are you?

Are you truly General Tetramegistus Nobunaga 4QuaZulu? Or are you the greatest liar to yourself? One thing is certain—you are not who you think you are. That much is beyond doubt.

Perhaps you will finally agree that you are I AM, even as you remain the greatest doubter of your own firsthand, non-book, non-YouTube, non-third-party experiences—experiences that long predate even the birth of YouTube itself, back when Netscape was the norm.

If my suspicions are accurate—

Salut, mein General.