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We Update!

*much of the text is incorporated dialogue from Dave Chappelle’s 12 NOV 2022 SNL monologue, and Kanye West’s 24 OCT 2022 interview with Lex Fridman*

We still alive. We still out here. Thank-you, Mario but our princess is in another castle.
I love her because she lets me put a lunger in her ass—She’s definitely my favorite of all-time. She’s a mix of Rob & Kris—“Damn, I like this DNA!”

My DNA is on point. Me and my dad have a water purification plant in the DR.
(My dad got girls too!)
I found my dad’s Playboy when I was five.—That’s how people are made.
I want girl’s to like me like they like Pharrell.

I’m drawing these new living cells that we exist in….. This is a drawing.
Restore the tower of ‘Basil’.

What’s the motivation?

The promised land is family—that is heaven on Earth.
Say I smite the rock and God doesn’t let me into paradise.
My mission is still to promote families.

You’re actually gonna make more money by making better food.
In America we are making people sick.
Is SUGAR bad? Sugar Ray. Sugar Shane. Sugarman. Candyman. Sweet like FIRE!!
—We don’t care what people say!

Don’t be afraid to state your facts because the world is running a fear program.
—Fear doesn’t run the world—God does!

If you have a truth, shout it out like Tourette’s. Say it non-violently, but say it right away!
“THEY” gets the blame for anything/everything.

I to WE and THEY to US
—let’s all be accountabili-buddies

I am open-sourcing this idea so anointed beings can collectively contribute to this.

Constant flow, no water wasting. Toilet close to wave pool (not a wave pool, but the water isn’t still).
People lean in to what they are used to seeing—same old buildings

Everyone wants to be attractive to the attractive.

It’s difficult to make me unhappy.

You really need to scream at yourself when you allow people to be in your lives who you know shouldn’t be there and who act and behave how you knew they would.

Ye hates robots. Robots have feelings too. <—-both statements are jokes.
—DO IT FOR THE HUMAN RACE!!
Robots can be good as long as the people making the robots are good.
—In Nazi Germany, technology was used for evil.

Planned Parenthood is the black Holocaust Museum?
—The most dangerous place for a black person in America is in their mother’s stomach.

Kyrie’ Irving’s black ass was nowhere near the holocaust—in fact, he’s not even certain it existed.
—a fair punishment would be he post a link to Schindler’s List and y’all write your own captions.

Soros would use black trauma economy (BTE) to win election.
What is the BTE?
-Bambi’s mom dying at the end
-Jews have holocaust movies and blacks have slavery movies

Rappers talk about “we were kings” which is INCORRECT if WE (black people) are Jew (as opposed to Jew-ish)
-WE are the people that Moses freed.
There’s so much wisdom to draw from history—but we should forget it
Do we need to remember history? I hope so because I have a history degree

Should I release that pain and separate it? Then you release yours and separate it.
-He’s off his shit/meds/rocker—It’s a scarlet letter

They put me as the prophet, not the leader
Islam is prophet—the only person that would say this
Christianity is messiah
Judaism is covenant

The ‘black man’/Moor represents Islam/Ishmael
-“Father, I love you. Still, you’re out of line.”

Get on your knees AND KISS MY DICK!!
-Where’s our apology? We ca’t get there because theres no right way to word it?
Friends who never learned to make shoes with a German company tryna tell me not to wear this hat or shirt

I’m back here as a being with engineering opportunities before me

I’m not asking for anyone to sympathize with someone who can make $11B, make money appear out of thin air in five different industries, married to Kim Karadashian….like noone’s gonna feel my pain.

What’s the apology you’re looking for as a Jewish engineer LEX

I walked away from that situation; I went to Japan like the samurai that I am.

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“What Obama Started”

*Written over three or four days*

“It all started with Obama” Jox thought to himself. “Obama, Trump, and Biden

Gay immigrants have infiltrated congress

*Asking questions vs Making judgments*

Sauntering staunchily

Normative like Norman Bates with the formative traits of premature birth that was four minutes late

If you walk around with a glow on your skin these people will hate you. They’re demons. They’ll claw at you.
-(He’s still talking)

Obama was a combo breaker with regard to skin color and ancestry. Some claimed illegitimacy based on birthplace..
—Legitimacy of presidency diminished among some groups

Trump was so polarizing that half the country voiced support of his ouster
—Legitimacy of presidency diminished among effectively half of population

Biden seems mentally compromised; Biden ‘supporters’ are ‘never Trump again’ de facto supporters, and the cynical Machiavellians who have no problem with a warm body being kept ambulant/speaking via chemistry so long as their agenda is pushed
—Legitimacy of presidency diminished among large swathes of the population totalling perhaps more than half

A prism refracts reality into observable fragments of which each, if pursued, into roads unto themselves. Each fragment of reality is a fractal of reality and the fractals are like in kind and different in degree. In this was they are the same—as fractals need to be as reflection of each order of magnitude in both directions—but also different, as each fractal, mulitversal, fragment is actually a petrie dish with a culture on a spiralling ascent or descent.

STOP!!

Wild elephants on HWheel (sic) of Fortune

I felt big sad today. And lonely. Missed my wife.

Angry when she home; Sad when she gone type thing.

How am I going to survive the winter? Well, I think. I’m going to shop responsibly and cook a lot, but fat will have to be trimmed as well. I am going to have subscriptions to gym and maybe coworking space DT. Life can be good, but I’ll have to be bold.

GO!!

We click out of reality twice every oscillation. In those clicks we actually move to a fragment, or rather the next moment in the fragment we were looking at. However, the fragment we are looking at is determined moment to moment, limited by the speed of one’s perception and cognition.

The frequency of snakes en route to our goal, as well as the severity of snakes makes them dangerous.

The ladders make us feel so good and so always feel well deserved.

-Dre

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I’m Still Designer

…and SHIT!

I’ve been watching Cesar Milan: Better Humans Better Doggos the lqst few days. I have never watched his previous hsows but the TSST episode of South Park is one of my favourite and I always thought the principles used to correct Cartman’s behaviour were sound with regard to my incompletre knoweldge of fields like social dynamocs, psychology and anthropology.

This show is great. Everything is our fault as dog owners. Lately my pit Diesel has been barking when I return home. He loves me and eagerly charges into our adventures together, but I think I might have scared him a little bit over the last few months of knowing him (two week long visits before moving here full time this month). I took his mom and he’s seen some violence in a past life.

Arguments with Vallerie have undermined corrective moments, but I think she’s starting to see that letting me go will to will with the dog for certain small things up front will mitigate the need for drastic interventions later. She’s seeing that and that’s good. I think I believe that we can survive any hell so long as we can see improvement over time.

My home here in the desert of Phoenix is a lush and verdant oasis—it’s adjacent to a lush and verdant oasis at least. The city is so inhospitable that shaded greenspaces/parks are so much more appreciated.

Guitar playing is going well. I get out a lot in the heat and play. I stick to the shade but I see myself getting very comfortable playing in the sun. I think I gotta start dressing like an Arab—light, blowy linens.

Cesar just finished helping a family of women who had survived domestic abuse and who had no control over the many dogs. They learned courage and that trickles down to the dogs.

This is my pitbull, Diesel camoflaged on the couch with his puppy dog eyes

Trickle-down sounds good. I like it phonetically. I picture a crisp clear mountain stream that I can drink plentifully from. And maybe that’s why trickle down economics didnt’ work like ppeople might have been led to think it would: if there is a stream you still have to get up, and get out and get after it. Entertain rich people. Dance for them. Debase and humiliate yourself for them and you access that stream.

Psych

Everybody’s fucking dying, but I can live. I can make it if I try. I can get through the wire like Jor-el launching Kanye in a pod from Krypton (“Farewell, my son…”)

“Here’s your one chance Fancy don’t let me down”

My wife is having adult career frerustrations and I feel woefully inept to help. It doesn’t help that I’ve been using cannabis products because I tend to look to expansively ad holistically at acute problems. Not that I’m wrong, but not necessarily what someone want to hear when they are venting; not simply a solution, byt a solution which would also require them to look in ward—especially from their musician/blogger husband.

This is me showing an example of how unqualified I am to give advice.

Stay thirsty,

-Dre

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Reagan was a space astronaut

19 June 2022

We peein our pants yet?

How many times I been fired? Lots.
How much am I enjoying my life? Lots.

She got so low she sucked a earthworm’s dick

Ain’t found a way to kill me yet. So sleepy.
Only in America. Wonderful. An epiphanous experience of pure religiosity.
If respect is not given freely, it must be exacted.

Just gonna leave they got plenty of other girls. GO FILL THE BRITA, TONY!!

Travis Bickle is an incel who hates on Sport because Sport is a pimp. Square men hate pimps. FACTS!

Come to the commune with me. I lived in a commune once…twice maybe.
I don’t like hippies. I AM a hippie. What does this mean?

I feel disgust and shame when Ithink about the old days. The formative days. Most Iproved motherfuckers in any domain must look back on their beginnings with disdain.

Must…musthe. Like bull elephants.

Lighthouses used to use Fresnel lenses

Tight lens, bro

Ambergris comes from whale guts. And it smells tasty.
Incidentally, Moby Dick is not a British whaling novel but an American whaling novel. If you are curious about out-of-date marine zoological information then you should read it.

There are some things you find on wikipedia that surprise you. Take a deep dive. But don’t worry: if you get lost all roads lead back to Hitler.

18 June 2022

Nancy Reagan in fancy pantsuit.
El Contador. They call me ‘mujeres’ in Nicaragua

Space Cowboy Bebop & Rocksteady on the right

17 June 2022

Nancy ReAGAN IS THE THROAT GOAT . I HAVE HEARD THIS NOW MORE THAN NOCE. I HAVE SUGGESTED IT TO PEOPLE EVEN . Coversationally

J\gga jigga that nigga jigg

THE idea of the yuuzhon vong scares me more than the idea of the galactic empire because its symbolic to me of there always being a greater evil to vanquich even after yopu ‘ve vanquished the ultimate evil.And he will fuck you up in ways you cant even imagine.

Head hing in regret and.

regret and?…

crrrrtivity

I named this chipmunk

Chip$$y Hußel

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The Dervish: Overlay Lore 26 DEC 2020

Salta opened his eyelids after a deep slumber and surveyed the expanse of water before him and all around him.

He stared into the distance, seeing infinitely far with no especial effort, but then allowed his focus to relax and settle on the immediate -albeit, vast- expanse of water he stood in.

He saw ships all ‘around’ him -ragged things mostly; junkers, pirate vessels, smugglers and derelict cargo ships waiting to be commandeered and plundered. Spatially, they ranged from a dozen to several hundred kilometres away from him, but that mattered little because he didn’t exactly live in the spatial realm. Good thing too, because with his immense proportions he would certainly collapse under his own 3D spatial weight.

3D was a term he’d picked up over time from intercepting and processing every electro-magnetic (another term he’d picked up) transmission made by the 3D species on this planet (yet another term). He didn’t know what ‘D’ the humans would classify him as -if they could even conceive of a being such as he- but he was sure it was some D level that was supra-ordinate to their 3D.

So why did he envy them?

Because they hadn’t matured? Maybe.

Had he matured? He suspected he had.

In fact, he had a feeling that he had once been one of these little 3D creatures -one of these humans- but at some point the cone narrowed into a quickening spiral like a whirlpool only to an infinitesimally small threshold before beginning to grow and expand outward toward infinity in a widening spiral like a… like a….

“…reverse whirlpo-” he muttered low and slowly before catching and silencing himself. It was too late: the echo of his whispered words had caused violent upheaval in the waters before him and a large cascading impulse of water cascaded forward. He knew better than to try and stop it -if he but could with both hands meaningfully and eternally occupied. No, the best he could do would be to try and upset the wave by kicking it but that “remedy” would only cause more upset to the waters and perhaps an extinction-level-event.

So he watched the wave -the tsunami– go forth toward the central portion of the Lemurian archipelago some thousand kilometres away before turning his attention to his breath; keeping it regular but not too violent.

How long had he been here? 

For all of time by the chronology of the 3Ds. For him it had been a moment and an eternity. He remembered the quickening of the whirlpool that had abruptly ended the thing that came before this eternal existence. Had that previous thing also been an eternity? Was such a thing possible?

The memory of that previous eternity was dark, which was a stark contrast to his clear recall of everything that had happened, ever in this eternity.

No, it wasn’t ‘dark’; it was light. Thinking back as best he could to that last eternity, his only memories where vague and implicit: accelerating upward, pain, ostracism, and then a bright, all-white consuming light before he woke up here with one purpose. That purpose, holding two things together. He knew this; and his muscles felt the strain of it every day, but he didn’t exactly know what those two things were.

Still he felt it was important enough to keep doing.

He looked east to the rising sun over the seemingly endless expanse of water, and realized that it was the beginning of the human ‘day’ in this part of the world. He had a little game he played which he felt helped him understand the humans better: He would stare at the sun and meditate on it as it moved around the Earth over 24 of their ‘hours’. The 24 hour period was important to their physiology and understanding of the world, and so he reckoned that he might gain some perspective about them -and mayhaps his own previous eternity- if he could really hone in on that 24 hour period and experience every instant of it.

Easing into his silent, still meditation, he made an-ever so careful adjustment of his arm so as not to disturb the planet more than he had to, and during this gentle application of effort his eyes closed for but a moment. 

When they opened the sun was setting on this day. Or perhaps the next one. Or perhaps one further down their chronologically linear 3D road in a distant future time. Salta didn’t know, but all he could do was remain silent, keep breathing gently and resume paying attention.

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The Dervish: Chapter 2

Joe landed with a thud against the asphalt of the damp alley. His outstretched palms and right knee had taken most of the impact but his left cheek had still hit the with ground with enough force to later bruise and abrase it. He slowly relaxed his clenched eyes and allowed them to open into ‘squints’. For a moment there was quiet. Then he became gradually re-aware of the commotion behind him. There were voices yelling angrily -two were much louder than the others and seemed to be in direct communication with each other, voluminously and aggressively. The twin logos thundered back and forth and over top of each other. Within the interminably long half a second of regaining clarity, Joe noticed that at times the voices were more clear and sometimes less clear -muffled as if by exertion.
There were other voices too -probably 2- but in that instant Joe couldn’t be sure because they blended together into a consistent, supplementary whine of pathetic indignance. Still, even in that brief instant of recovering from near-semi-consciousness, Joe was certain that these were the voices of enemies.

Alertness fully restored by the sound of bells ringing internally, Joe pressed up off the ground with his hands, only slightly fumbling the attempt to hop right to his feet from a prone position. Steadying himself for only the briefest of moments and satisfied that his motor function was at least commensurate with his technically functional mental clarity, Joe whirled around with what he reckoned to be a sufficient amount of coordination and aggression to convince any adversaries present and watching that he was still a force to be reckoned with.

Casting eyes on the situation that he had been cast from like a chick being pushed from a domestically-abusive nest by sociopathic cuckoos, Joe quickly confirmed that which he’d never actually forgot; He and Elijah were in a scrape with the bar owner and two of his employees.

“I DON”T GIVE A FUCK WHERE YOU”RE FROM! YOU DON”T SAY THOSE WORDS IN MY PLACE!” screamed the bartender, grappling with Elijah, his hands hooked around the shoulder straps of Elijah’s patrol rig.

“DON’T PRESUME YOU CAN”T ‘GET GOT’ FOR SPEAKING TO YOUR BETTERS IN SUCH A MANNER!” Elijah responded, indignant and surprised that this ‘peasant’ would imply ending his life.

The two employees, who were feebly trying to wrest Elijah’s hands from the bartender’s blazer (seemingly unaware that their boss was still very much holding onto their quarry), looked at each other shocked at Elijah’s words (and then at their boss) before giggling nervously.

For his part, the bartender froze, eyes widening into an incredulous stare. The stare intensified and the faintest glimmer of a condescending smirk began to appear near-imperceptibly at the corner of his mouth

“My betters?… Are you fucking joking me, old man? Elijah looked at him for several seconds and then wearily began to feel admonished. Respect-lacking assholes like this barkeep used to never have the audacity to vent their resentments to such as him. For years and years after the beginning of the armistice, Elijah and his buddies would have gone to dumps like this and been treated like royalty.

But that was just it, he didn’t have buddies anymore -not really; every other contemporary of his he knew of -survivors of ‘the Rad-lands’, had raptured.  Any damn fool who hadn’t was dead. Except him.

Your ‘great war’ was a long time ago,” the barkeep continued, tauntingly, menacingly. You had a chance to go up in the world, so WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE?!”

Elijah’s eyes widened in anger, and his indignance remembered, he screamed at the barkeep, “You SONOVABITCH! I MADE my chance!”

With his exclamation, Elijah threw his left hand from the barkeep’s chest, out laterally in the direction of the approaching Joe, and bent at the elbow to reach to the back of his belt, where he carried a concealable -though still needlessly large- combat knife. 

Fuuuuuck…. here we go again…” thought Elijah as he lunged in the direction of the fray, reaching around behind Elijah to grab and stay his forearm, and placing himself between the two quarrelling men. At his return to thick of things, the two employees of the barkeep (who had been the ones to bum-rush Joe pout onto his face in the first place) turned some of their attention toward him but remained mostly devoted to holding back the much larger (and seemingly more unreasonable…also drunker) Elijah. 

The stalemated human knot lingered in stasis for an instant and Elijah allowed Joe to pull his knife-less hand back out to his side just under the notice of the three adversaries, who were none-the-wiser about nearly needing to increase their weekly dry-cleaning budget. Satisfied for the moment that the situation was effectively de-escalated, Joe slowly turned about to face the barkeep. 

“Senor Gravacci.” he intoned with deliberate respectfulness. “I apologize the this misunderstanding…” the barkeeps eye’s narrowed but before he could protest this appraisal, Joe continued: “…that we caused. I pray you: allow us to leave. My man is unwell, but has not not had an outburst in some time. If you allow us to leave I swear we won’t return.”

Gravacci looked from Joe to Eli and back to Joe.

“You know if I kill him he wont come back either…” As Gravacci said this he pulled a stiletto dagger with a mother of pearl handle out of a forearm sheath hidden under his sleeve.

“Sir!” Joe continued, his calm tinged with urgency, “Death comes at every moment…”

At this utterance, one of Gravacci’s flunkies nodded in assent unconsciously. Joe Continued:

I just saved the life of at least one of us here. I pray thee to give me the benefit of the doubt, and assume it was you or one of yours.

At this point, Elijah and Gravacci, locked in a tense stare-down, both allowed their eyes to move in the direction of the Joe. Their faces stayed tense, teeth clenched in alert malice. Gravacci, with a view of Joe’s anterior aspect let his gaze fall from the boy’s eyes, down past his chin and to his neck. There, just barely peeking above the top button of a collared floral shirt, Gravacci could see the top of a tattoo; cursive script. Slowly he moved his dagger, pointed over Joe’s left shoulder at the face of Elijah down in front of Joe’s face, dragging the tip across his left cheek. Joe didn’t flinch, and after resting the dagger a moment near the corner of Joe’s mouth, Gravacci brought it slowly and deliberately down to his neck, and brought the length of the blade laterally across his throat.

Joe was aware of the precariousness of his position but he wasn’t afraid. Gravacci pulled the top of his collar down with the blade revealing the word truth tattooed across Joe’s neck. 

“I don’t like speakers in my bar. They’re trouble. I don’t deal in spells; I deal in potions.”

” I don’t deal in spells either, sir.” Joe responded.

“You better fuckin’ not; not anywhere around here, because next time, I won’t give a shit what God it offends…”

Joe steeled himself to maintain equanimity during the imminent blaspheme.

 “…I’ll kill you … both.” 

Gravacci watched Joe’s face as he said the words slowly and even his perceptive eye didn’t catch anything approximating a flinch. Satisfied, he quickly FLICKED the blade away from Joe’s throat, prompting Elijah to resume gazing at him, and popped it back into his sleeve with an elegant flourish. His left hand released Elijah’s shoulder-strap.

“You two are free to go.” Gravacci said with a sweet, ambiguous familiarity. 

Joe maintained his gaze at Gravacci and spoke: “Eli. Take your hands from Senor Gravacci.” Eli complied and Gravacci looked to his men. They abruptly shoved Eli and Joe out into the alley, causing them both to stumble, but neither fell. 

Gravacci moved between his two flunkies who stood at something approximating goombah attention, and took up an imperious and regal posture. He spoke:

“Good sirs! I thank you for your patronage this evening. Until there is not, there is always tomorrow.” As he spoke, Gravacci took a an exaggerated bow, and Joe, who had quickly recovered after being ‘rushed’ once more into the alley, had also taken up a regal posture and returned his bow, except Joe’s bow was deeper. He replied to Gravacci:

“The Gods and your ancestors doubtless smile upon the hospitality you have shown two weary travelers, this eve.”

At this, Gravaccinodded, whirled about and re-entered the bar followed by his jabronis. Elijah, who had recovered from the shove and turned his body away from the assembled three adversaries to face down the alley, looked at the closing door they had just passed through and spit. Joe whirled on him. 

“Don’t!” he commanded.

Elijah scowled. “Now you presume to command me? YOU are not my better!”

“No…” Joe responded, stepping more into Elijah’s personal space and piercing his soul a gaze whose intensity belied his youthfulness. “…but I will be.”

He gazed at the arrogant, foolish, troubled old warrior for a few moments longer, and Eli, for his part, looked down.At this, Joe began to slowly turn his body away but kept his eyes stuck to his companion. As he began to walk down the alley away from the scene of the conflict he gradually pulled his gaze forward, and when he did so Eli let out s sigh.

Joe neared the end of the alley and turned right. Elijah watched him disappear and contemplated going a separate way for a moment before continuing after him.

THE END

 

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I’m Never Gonna Treat You Like I Should

“You know that I’m no good/
I’m never gonna treat you like I should…
…I’m  a part-time lover.”

Friends,

Em is upstairs in my bed. I am in the living room on the couch. Neither of us could sleep. I would be lying if I said that my insomnia wasn’t partly due to her presence in my bed, but I could also blame the late afternoon coffees I had and of course all of the thoughts swirling around in my head.

The main thought swirling around in the mental morass right now is that I need to be away from my family. All of them. There’s noone I want to see right now. It’s not about them being bad, but rather that I feel bad around them. I feel inadequate, and when I’m around them all the ways I have been deficient as a member of the family are thrown in sharp relief.

Of course I recognize the flawed logic: I have been gone and so to make it better I will stay gone? –That hardly makes sense, right? Well no, not if I want to make things better with them. That’s a big ‘if’ though. I want to make things better for me.

I am so anchored by this feeling of owing something to my family. I am consciously aware of it on some level with my grandparents and ancestors, and the last few years I have been putting undue pressure on myself to have a family. Still in the last few months since my failed engagement and year in Germany which were followed by decompression in Latin America and a few other adventures, I feel like I need to prove something to my more immediate family; father, step-father and siblings. These feelings don’t serve me and I find myself full of insecurities when I’m around them. I don’t wanna feel that way anymore. I get resentful even when my sister messages me saying she is with my grandparents and asking if I can come out. She wanted to put me in touch with a second cousin whom I haven’t seen in years today and I said ‘yes’ but I was inwardly annoyed.

I had it out with my brother today. Lately every time I see him its a problem. Every time I go to his house I feel I am walking on eggshells. I don’t want to feel that anymore. En route back home after parting ways with him I was angry and resolute not to be put in that situation again. And that anger brings me to Em -hopefully now sleeping soundly now that the noise of my thoughts is away from her.

I messaged Em on the bus back home alluding to her recently-single status and in short order made it clear that I was looking to fuck. There has been some flirting and attraction since we met a few weeks back, but she had a boyfriend and I wasn’t trying to bring any drama into my life. On a more fundamental level, I know how much power I have both to hurt people emotionally and to get love-distracted from my own aspirations, and so I am very careful, cautious and even afraid to get involved with someone. However, in my state of indignant anger after having it out with my brother I wasn’t trying to be careful, cautious or fearful -I wanted to fuck.

Long story short, Em eventually did come over but she had to finish work and in the 4.5 hours that elapsed from when I first messaged her, my righteous indignation boner had mostly subsided. Plus, she had her own shit going on which wasn’t really conducive to the fuck-making I had been quite clear about wanting to do –ladies, y u do dis? We frolicked a little and sex could have happened if I had taken one of several opportunities to kiss her, but I didn’t/don’t want to kiss her. I wanted to fuck, nothing intimate. So we ended up just hanging out from like 6:30 onward and it wasn’t unpleasant but all I could think about was the work I wasn’t getting done.

I’m annoyed at her for taking up my time….and my bed, but I’m more annoyed at myself for letting it happen. I should know better than to think that I can be nice to a girl and a pleasure to be around and that she will, as a result, do anything less than take up more of my time.

I’m annoyed with my brother. Annoyed because I unquestioningly took the weekend to help him move some furniture because he has a bad back while he gave me a hard time about giving me a ride to a bus station when he knows I don’t have a vehicle and that to drive anywhere from his middle of nowhere country home is a mission. But again, I am more annoyed with myself for allowing him the opportunity to have power over me.

My family is like women in that both are time-pits. They are to time what cars are to money. I need to be hustling, grinding and saving my time and that means not only not spending time with them, but not spending time thinking about them.

Time to be ruthless 😐

Best,
-Dre

 

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An Almost Complete Picture…

Friends,

A thing occurred to me.

It’s one of those incredibly circumstantial things with multiple avenues pointing in the same direction, but where the final (key) piece still eludes me. In a word, Moscow.

Moscow is the political capital of the Russian Federation.
Moscow is the home of St. Basil’s Cathedral (The Cathedral of Vasily the Blessed)

St. Basil’s towers resemble (to me) mushrooms, like Amanita Muscaria.

The active ingredient in A. Muscaria is Muscimol.
Something of Moscow is Muscovite.
There is more than one St. Basil.
The St. Basil who lent his name to the aforementioned cathedral was a holy fool.
I suspect there is a yet-to-be-discovered connection between mushrooms and holy fools.
(I myself have considered devoting myself to the mushrooms and forsaking all else…like heroin, I’m waiting ’til I’m in my 70s)
There is a connection between A. Muscaria and Santa Claus. Said connection is also HERE.

This is what a connection looks like.

The second St. Basil I mentioned is considered an inspiration for Santa Claus (#mushroomsanta).
St. Nicholas, the name often ascribed to Santa Claus, is the patron saint of (drug-haven) Amsterdam and (gasp!) Moscow!!
**********Secondary Connections************
The mineral, Muscovite is named after Moscow (duh!)
Muscovite is the most common mica (tenuous, I know)
Muscovite was first mentioned as a name for the mineral in letters to Ivan the Terrible in 1568.
Ivan the terrible was a contemporary and pallbearer for **dum dum dum* drumroll please!)….. ST. BASIL!?!

Conclusion

BASIL AGAIN!!

Short answer: I don’t know what it all means but I do have a hunch which I trust that there was oodles of mushroom fuckery in Imperial Russia. Furthermore, I’m just crazy and smart enough to believe that my noticing these connections means there is something to them.

Still, there is a key-piece missing, isn’t there? It seems like there is heaps of peripheral information but that something central to tie it up still eludes us. I’m going to keep researching this with priority placed on shedding light on the St. Basil’s cathedral mushroom connection as there is a work project I wish to write based on that.

In the meantime, can anyone help me get to the bottom of this and find the missing piece that ties it all together?

Best,
-Dre

P.S. There is only one other person aside from myself whom I know that has managed to trip off of A. Muscaria. If anyone else has managed to trip on it I would love to hear about it. My trip can be found HERE.

 

 

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Children of Mandalorians

Friends,

I just finished Chapter 3 of Prince Oberyn in Space and (SPOILERS!) something occurred to me as I watched its Mandalorian protagonist eavesdrop on Werner Herzog’s “Client” character before rescuing baby Yoda: The Client, it seems, wants something extracted from the infant and he doesn’t seem particularly concerned with the its survival. Right off the bat this reminded me of harvesting ADAM from little sisters in the Bioshock series…

this is four panels show how a little sister is harvested in bioshock

…and ADAM was essentially stem cells.

Chapter 4 of The Mandalorian has not dropped yet, but I would hazard a guess that the Client wanted Midi-chlorians. MCs are not stem cells per se, but they do some pretty incredible things and I think it’s significant that the client wants to extract them from an infant, as it makes the stem cell comparisons inescapable.

So now we have two assumptions:
1) The Client wants Midi-chlorians from baby Yoda, and…
2) Midi-chlorians are an allegory for fetal stem cells
Let’s run with these assumptions, taking them all the way to their ultimate conclusion and see what Disney is trying to tell us about stem cells through coded messaging.

Harvesting Stem Cells From Babies is Bad

If you listened to Alex Jones’ most recent appearance on The Joe Rogan Experience (and you definitely should), and if you furthermore believed even half of what he talked about, you would know that harvesting terminated pregnancies is very lucrative in the United States, and agencies like Planned Parenthood are bravely leading the charge. In our little allegory, the Client (a German eugenicist who employs a mad scientist) and his Imperial Remnant faction could be said to be Planned Parenthood insofar as they intend to profit from what they harvest from Yoda.

“You could harvest these nuts, nukka!”

In the scene where the Mandalorian rescues Yoda we even see him dispatch one of those floating “abortion orbs” which extracted something from Leia (information, but still…) in Episode IV.

In retrospect, this makes me wonder about how many abortion references I missed in the original trilogy. Probably millions…

Yoda for his part seems drugged up and oblivious to the fact that they are about to steal his mojo…

….and this only reinforces his lamb-like innocence.

Man(dalorian) the Fuck Up!

I know the word Mandalorian has been around in Star Wars lore forever, but it’s nonetheless fitting that this male character with such a manly appellation (he’s even called, ‘Mando’ by no less a man than Apollo Creed himself aka Carl Weathers aka Greef) would be the one to rescue the helpless child from the abortionists. After all, protecting the family -born and unborn alike- is a father’s job, and Mando is very heavy-handedly established as a surrogate father.

the mandalorian and yoda imprinting pn each other and establishing a father child dynamic

However there is more than one Mando, and collectively they, the Mandalorians, have been forced underground since the abortionists (a term herein being used interchangeably with ‘the empire’) did away with them in The Great Purge. In their exile they have retained their warrior ways, their honour, and (a few personal flourishes on their armour notwithstanding) a high-standard of uniformity in dress and deportment.

this image shows that all of the mandalorians have unique flourished to their armor but there is nonetheless a consistent them

In fact, The Mandalorian’s rebuilding of his armour is a fairly prominent plot point of the first three episodes, and the other, non-Mandalorian bounty hunters seem to resent his highly-visible self-improvement when he walks into a bar in his new threads (more on that in a moment).

“I’m here to rescue fetuses and chew bubblegum…”

But before you reductively think that Disney is making a statement that men are based and all women are abortionists, it bears mention that the Mandalorians are led by a matriarch, and she, as well as being their blacksmith and authority, also seems to be their keeper of traditions, stories and children -or foundlings at least.

Wretched Hives and the Scum & Villainy Therein

Remember how I said that the other bounty hunters all looked like bums compared to Mando in his new dipped threads? A large part of it has to do with their individual deportment; nobody looks particularly well-armoured or strong.

More importantly, they all seem very ragtag -there is no uniformity, just a bunch of poorly-dressed, self-interested individuals about as organized as atheist, godless protestors who have no higher principle to organize behind than a desire to tear down what is good –fashion slaves protestin’ to get in a fuckin’ lookbook as it were (word to Killer Mike!).

Contrast that to the Mandalorians, a tightly-knit, albeit quarrelsome, family who have a higher ethos than self-interest; a higher calling than mere bounty hunting. Specifically, the Mandalorians have a religion referred to as “The Way,” and for better or worse, it keeps them cohesive while underground, it places priority on continuity through the sponsoring of foundlings, and it leads the tribe to come to Mando’s rescue when he is ambushed by the (pro-choice?) bounty hunters attempting to steal the baby away from its newfound father for a reward. And all of this while comporting themselves with a high-degree of uniformity.

So what does it mean? Well I think how we put ourselves out in the world matters. Guy Richie talked about how a man’s suit is his suit of armour -it’s how he openly and honourably shows how he’s part of the game, it shows which game he’s playing, and it furthermore shows how he invites all challenges. Mando does no less, making no apologies for what he is all about, walking into Greef’s hangout, wholly unafraid of making a statement.

That Statement?: “I’m better than you.”

And that is how the righteous must always be -nay, that is the only way they can be.

the path of the righteous man“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.”

Don’t be virtuous unless you are well comfortable with being hated and schemed on by others.

B A S E D Favreau?

So is the show’s writer and EP, Jon Favreau consciously trying to make an anti-abortion statement? I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was his sub-conscious feelings peeking through; as a father, this is his story. Still, it’s important to remember that we’re operating on two assumptions: The unconfirmed assumption that the Client wants Midi-chlorians from Yoda; and the poetically licentious assumption that Midi-chlorians are allegorical for stem cells. However, even if both of these assumptions are incorrect, the fact remains that the Client wishes to harvest something from Yoda and cares little if he survives. This dynamic has real world parallels and I find it difficult to believe that Favreau was not cognizant of those parallels.

On it’s own, I don’t find this story outrageous in light of said parallels -on the contrary, fathers protecting children is about as old and traditional as stories get. That said, I was nonetheless surprised to notice such an allegory in a Star Wars program, as the Star Wars franchise since the Disney takeover seems to have prioritized progressivism and female empowerment. Meanwhile The Mandalorian is at the very least a celebration of older values, and at most, a condemnation of the progressive values which have led the franchise astray.

Still, maybe I’m seeing something that’s not there, but I studied English literature so can you really blame me?

Looking forward to Episode 4: The Abortionists Strike Back!

Best,
-Dre

 

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Cold Servings

Friends,

I got betrayed by someone whom I offered to help. Helping this person would have helped me too. Helping this person would have required solidarity, ruthlessness, and a long memory for how we had both been transgressed against by a third party.

Her memory wasn’t adequately long and she took pity on the third party, breaking solidarity with me.

I saw it coming, and should not have put my faith in her.

Still, I’m having trouble not hating her in this moment. I wanted to win. I should have won. But winning in this case hinged upon the weakness, the inadequacy of another.

That weakness / inadequacy in question?: Her compassion and forgiveness in this misplaced context.

Her weakness is going tp cost me time and money, and it’s hard for me in this moment to wish the best for her; to hope that the third party doesn’t continue to transgress against her once I’m gone. Part of me wants things to degenerate further once I’m gone so she’ll realize that virtue misplaced is tantamount to sin. So that she’ll realize that she messed up.

The only thing which softens my current feelings toward her is thinking that perhaps things played out like this for a reason; perhaps this is a part of some larger-order plan -everything is after all.

For now I will simply be patient and take things as they come, making the appropriate adjustments as necessary and acting accordingly.

I don’t intend to forgive her precisely, but in time I will come to be grateful to her.

The wheel keeps on turning. Let us never be so prideful as to think we know where it should stop or that it should stop.

-Dre

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