The Wendell Berry poems being posted after his passing are slaying me. Go find them, I feel exploitive posting one here for real. You know it’s actually hard to find writers and artists that come out of actual farming culture that identify as such? Of course there’s the current mulch and dirt and mushroom movement but those people are not the same. These college one’s are trying to “do something.” Farmer’s are born to be. No choice. My father’s family lost the family farm in the Great Depression and the effort of buying it back has scarred our epigenetic nervous system probably even more than the fact of him being an OSS recruited student for med school at Yale, then being sent to Korea after his Mayo Clinic education. My Dad was an MKUltra doctor, FACT.

He always identified as being “from the farm,” despite giving drugs to Jayne Mansfield and Sigourney Weaver. Can’t say he gave them “drugs” just for the sake of it, but they were his patients and he was known as the Dr. Feelgood of Santa Barbara.

My time in T or C felt a little nuts this time, marked by Dolly’s passing and the eclipse. I didn’t just want this Stack to be about all the crazy conversations I had, and how I played Miley Cyrus on a park bench on the road median on Date and Broadway, in the middle of town past ten, for about a half hour on blast, during the eclipse, playing Miley instead of Dolly, to weed out the real ones from the crazies and the tourists, because to be honest I didn’t want to be alone, but no one came, so I went back to my $55 dollar room and texted friends.

The bed is at an angle so all the blood rushes back into your brain. If you have ever had a trailer or slept in a car, you know this will make you sick and crazy. It’s actually quite bad for your health. Again, it’S BEEN VERY HOT. Soon after I left T or C on Monday, the entire town ran out of water because of a broken main, and water was shut off, no info if it’s even back as I write this.

I went to Las Cruces for a night to get some proper air conditioning and the BOYS OF SUMMER WERE IN THE POOL OMG.

AT SOME POINT THERE’S A CERTAIN SELF AWARENESS OF THE PRIVILEGE TO BE LIVING SUCH A DECADENT AND SHALLOW LIFE.

I watched the new Minions Movie at the antique theater on mushrooms, ok? I want to see it again not on mushrooms. Seems good, this film.

I was by myself down there without my friend Beth and I went FERAL. Couldn’t handle the boundary between me and strangers, me watching them like an anthropologist ANYMORE, it’s been too long since a certain kind of night and a certain kind of moon can blur the line between stranger and friend in a place of clear holiness and music at a Club called 420, and Dolly was GONE.

Maybe certain boundaries exist for a reason.

Because I’m 57 and wise now, girl, and there’s always, always a cost.

But I forgot, again.

OR MAYBE I AM CHOOSING TO REMEMBER AND BE A BITCH.

Thank Jesus for Athena Deacon of the Episcopal Church in town. Once all dressed in leather in NYC Downtown something with her two Great Danes fighting with ART on drugs until she let ART win because she let JESUS WIN. At the 420 Club, THE DEACON DEAR AND I had a conversation about menopause and two stepping before she ripped off that weird thing they wear around their neck and we tore up the rug to KK’s tunes. We commented the TUNES sounded like they were made for four year old’s. KK and her wife came to T or C from Florida, have a band, and an actual four year old. KK makes the best bread I have ever eaten and sells it on Tuesdays. I went up and asked, I was like - this sound is for four year old’s? She was like yeah it kind of comes out of Super Mario and also The Hampsters. Do you know The Hampsters? Athena the Deacon of the Episcopal Church did not know the Hampsters. Neither did I. It’s an interesting hit to the body, this children’s music from machines. The whole thing led to what I can only describe as MIDGET WRESTLING on the dance floor between people ages 20 to 75 and a CUTIE RAVER IN WIDE PANTS throwing around what I described to KK as a PANCAKE, some textile frisbee, and an urban black guy from Albuquerque trying to cheer up his date, a black babe who really did deserve to be spared the madness, like never seen a gorgeous human so seething and pissed in a corner, genuine suffering, and not because she was a bitch. I wrangled about three hippies to pray for her without actually trying to talk to her, or look at her even, she was so miserable.

JUST SEND HER LOVE ON THE ASTRAL PLANE!!!!!!

Finally, I walked along side her, figuring she would appreciate a real adult, because I had a cowboy hat and am old, and I said - It’s a lot, isn’t it?

Yes, it’s kind of a lot, she said.

She was very dear in that moment between us. Softer than I expected.

SO THIS HAPPENED. Osiris was an extra good vibe in the room. My message to you is that those into the Tartarian conspiracy theories, the mud floods, are the good ones, the ones you want to spend some time with. Like Ashlea Stinnett. We avoid the dark ones, I mean, in a certain way.. Osiris believes that behind the Wall Mart stacks there are cages that are ready. I think it’s true. I’m just a bitch with an actual MKUltra Dad trying to find my way. But I need to remember always what it is like to see a real one like Osiris, who wants to overcome. The way his eye landed on others, his sober calm, sober or not I couldn’t tell and it didn’t matter his ethic was love.

Said his Dad turned into an alien. Said as a kid there were three aliens in his room. So I wanted to LISTEN.

I need a baby sitter to tell me not to walk around thinking I’m sane enough to listen to the music I LIKE.

I mean, I don’t even know if I even LIKE the music that has MARKED ME. I think IT CHOSE ME, because of a MYSTERY.

I’m supposed to go to Johnny Blue Skies AKA Sturgill Simpson on the 6th. He’s the hardest as it gets of country mixed with soul, even some disco now, LEON BRIDGES tried to soften the blow of what was coming on the scene with HIS Texas Sun- translating what white people were doing with a black sound, making it visible. Now I sound like an asshole, but it’s just true. All the Nashville Country dudes actually pretending to do RAP to the big sound KORN perfected, it’s just what the ears want. I’m not against it but Sturgill Simpson WHO WANTS TO LOSE HIS NAME AND JUST BE CALLED JOHNNY BLUE SKIES is the GREATEST at this time in the country genre and a part of that, I don’t know what extent, has to do with how his old old country conversation with black music, like Willie, is about how he “listens.”

Diversion - when I say I need a babysitter with country music.

1. Lucinda Williams - two days on her bus landed me so sideways I went to a psychiatrist who prescribed me klononopin in which on the prescribed dose I crashed my car and went to the local Santeria priest in LA, a sort of Nazi gay dude who sacrificed a chicken for me and when in Clarksdale dealing with my Robert Johnson Probs, and Eve Ensler’s best friend was my lover trying to convince me I was raped by my Dad, this ACTUAL Argentinian Santeria priest from the Santa Monica Blvd Strip Mall came on NPR on New Year’s Day, yeah on the radio, in the middle of our lesbian fight driving by the train tracks, sacrificing two ducks live as a part of some interview.

2. Dave Alvin - Got the message Mom was dying for real, saw an owl on the road on the way over to the concert. Lost my shit during the show invited the whole band over while meeting a blind woman backstage with a dog researching Robert Johnson for some academic paper. Bass player was like - I need to know if I’ll get to fuck you and I said prob not cuz so gay and we made a friendship bond that lasted through time. Even though he didn’t come over that night.

3. River trip with Jimmy Dale Gillmore and Butch Hancock too soon after a breakup. Tripped my kayak in the water all my Zyn pouches gone. Smoked too much borrowed tobacco, became annoyingly loud in my enthusiasm during the river show, to where I was asked to keep it down.

4. Moment of truth. I do not need to know my country western heroes personally because I act insane.

5. Truth or Consequences. Sturgill Simpson bot comes in my Twitter DM’s saying I'm beautiful. I don’t want to fuck him but I’m going to the show with some hotties who, at least one, probably do so I’m all locked in and Dolly Parton dies and over this stupid moon I realize its fake.

In Kyle, Texas, at a residency(Hi Eric Hayes) I was in paradise where they had $26 Prime Rib down the road. It was a BBQ the size of the whole block, TV Sports hung up on screens in every corner. All the wait staff was mostly trans, non-binary, basic female maybe Mexican mix chicks and it felt like they were all having major hot DRAMA with each other. This is my pornographic eye. Definitely better than porno eye of paranoid horny conspiracy theorists who think Jesus wants to rape them (a type I’ll explain soon) anyway, all the actual cattle ranchers and their families go there on a Friday Night, the healthiest handsomest, hot babe-ish babes in Texas and at some point in a night a country song will come one and they all sing in unison because they’ve had their third beer and that’s when the wait staff flirts with everyone, even me, and yeah, it’s heaven.

I explained this to Osiris. Hot tub dude. I mean, in my last post I said I went to a Super Bowl Party in this town and it was Drake and Country on BLAST Karaoke and not just white people. Osisris to be expected could see it instantly because he’s BEEN AROUND. I’m like FUCK, can we just get you a job on a CATTLE RANCH and he’s like, YES PLEASE. YES.

Night went.

So that happened.

I CAN ONLY HELP OSIRIS SO MUCH BUT THE FACT WE ACTUALLY SLEPT IN SILENCE NAKED FOR TWO AND A HALF HOURS IS SOMETHING???

WIND IN PALMS.

TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES

TIME MARKER STILL SO DEAR

Ok now I have to talk about Violetta and we have to keep it brief because too much energy can’t be wasted on evil SATANIC MERMAIDS. Her name was brought up at the CHURCH SERVICE during prayer list and I could feel the vibe. Shit, I told her at 420 we’d get together the next day for coffee but yeah, her name was on the list at CHURCH to be prayed for. Not great. Being that the church feeds the homeless and I knew I was asking a homeless person out on an afternoon jaunt. We ended up meeting where she was parked at the lake. Murder lake. Toy Box Killer Lake. Dry Lake. She had two adult dogs that kept trying to attack a third puppy badly in front of my eyes. Male dog had a pink hard on. Dreadlocks and tattoos on arms and designs on the bus I knew from my voodoo Maya Daren infatuations decades ago.

I spent four hours with her evil fake I’m actually Italian but pretending to be Haitian FAKE RACHEL DoleZAL I ATE HUMAN FLESH out of a TUBE in Atlanta, DAD MADE THE LSD, REGARDING THE HUMAN FLESH Not a BIGGIE CUS Guy deSERVED it AS HE Killed CHILDREN and she has the NERVE to be like - ATHENA THE DEACON WANTS TO RAPE me and KILL ME

what a DICK, does not deserve my attention but I did it anyway for FOUR HOURS BY THE BEAUTIFUL LAKE and I PAID ENERGETICALLY. BITCH ACTUALLY SAID I WAS GEORGE BUSH JUNIOR BECAUSE I FOUND MORE BEAUTY IN THE LAKE THAN HER, NOT KNOWING GEORGE BUSH JUNIOR DID NOT PAINT LANDSCAPES BUT FACES!!! IGNORANT BITCH.!!!!!

MISUNDERSTOOD WHEN I SAID SORRY YOU’RE NOT MY TYPE I JUST WANT A “FAT SOUND BOWL HO” SHE THOUGHT I SAID “SAMBO HO” AND WENT OFF ABOUT ME BEING A WHITE SUPREMACIST EVEN THO SHE FAKE BLACK WALKING AROUND THE CAMP SITE SPAZZING LIKE A PSYCHO CARTOON RABBIT COMPLAINING ABOUT WHITE FRIGID MENOPAUSAL LESBIANS WHO CANT EVEN PROCREATE BECAUSE THEY HAVE NO COCK AND WANT TO RAPE BLACK PEOPLE LIKE HER AND TRAFFIC THEM AND HER FAKE BLACK TRANNY WANNABE RAPED ASS!!!

DUDE, I’M HERE FOR THE LANGUAGE.

BUT THAT WAS A LIL TOO MUCH.

I FEEL HUMILIATED. GENUINELY. I SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN THERE.

Too much listening to my guy Reverend Carlos Anderson who hung out with the whores, not listening to my memory of him in an honest way, that there are good whores and bad, and the good ones actually have a WORK ETHIC. THERE’S A LOT ABOUT A BITCH WHO HAS A REAL JOB! FUCK HER that FREELOADING BURNING MAN BITCH! . RACHEL DOLEZAL TRANNY PSYCHOPATH!!!! SEES EVIL IN EVERYTHING. IS OBSESSED WITH RACE. HATES WOMEN. MORE I AM NOT EVEN TELLING YOU BUT

FUCK

I WAS LIKE BYEEE, IF YOUR DOG EATS YOUR PUPPY, YOU SHOULD HONOR HER BY MAKING A STEW.

I ACTUALLY SAID THAT.

AND I’M NOT WORRIED FOR MY SAFETY BECAUSE SHE WAS SUCH A EVIL SATANTIC NARCISSIST I DOUBT SHE EVEN REMEMBERS MY NAME.

I WAS ONLY THERE BECAUSE SHE REMINDED ME OF MY EX AND I HAD SOME REWINDING TO DO FOR MEMORY ITSELF, JUST A LITTLE BIT, BUT I’M DONE. REALLY.

AT CHURCH ATHENA SAID THAT IN THE ECCLESIASTICAL CALENDAR IT’S TIME TO GET A LITTLE MORE SERIOUS ABOUT THINGS. IT’S WHEN PETER CHALLENGED JESUS REGARDING THE “WHO DO YOU SAY I AM” QUESTION AND JESUS SAID

GET THEE BEHIND ME SATAN!!! WHICH WAS A BIT BRASH, AS THEY WERE PALS, BUT HAD TO BE DONE

SATAN IS SO FUCKING BORING. THOSE WHO INSTILL DOUBT THAT YOU ARE NOT A CHILD OF GOD ITS TIME TO TELL THEM TO FUCK OFF

THERE’S THAT TIME YOU CAN’T ENTERTAIN FOOLS ANYMORE BECAUSE IT’S ACTUALLY DANGEROUS. KINDA SWEET THAT WE ARE GIVEN THE MERCY OF ENTERTAINING THEM OVER AND OVER BECAUSE WE ARE HUMAN, MERCY IS AWESOME.

JUST THINK ABOUT IT IF GOD WAS LIKE YOU MADE A MISTAKE NOW YOU DIE!!!!!!! NOT LIKE THAT OBV.

I FEEL LIKE I SKIRTED THE LINE THIS TIME AND I NEED GOD AND YOU TO KNOW, I CANNOT AFFORD SOME THINGS ANYMORE. AT LEAST NOT TIL EASTER.

James True talks about how the Aztecs would start a fire in some guys chest when the stars arranged themselves in a very PleIADEes arrangement.

It’s so you remember.

Because it’s important to remember.

You’re like that was fucked up, there was a fire in that guys chest he prob maybe wasn’t alive.

Don’t see that every day.

This is TIME.

I am from Wendell Berry people. We can wait so much longer than you for something to remember. We weren’t fooled by American Christmas. We knew when the lights lit up for real it was maybe a once in a lifetime event, but not Christmas. That’s why we make the Holiday crap we put on the door so ugly from Hobby Lobby because we never bought it, bitch. It was cute but my people will wait forever for the time marker that we signed up for, that speaks for our souls.

Satan Get Behind Me - the Time Marker us Mystics Make Gonna be Great

But back to Sturgill, we can’t reject what we know to be true even though we fear it might kill us.

Sept 6th, with Friend Betty Benedeadly who bonded with me over Rudy Wurlitzer and her friends from Marfa and Terlingua. We hope for a morning Hooters Brunch the morning after the show.

One thing. Lance from Madrid landed at the table with Beth and I a while back and it was important that he told us that the Almann Bros were why Jimmy Carter was elected. October, 350,000 people at a concert and that’s why. And I listen to this song by Johnny Blue Skies and I cry but I don’t know why is it because of politics or because of Hunter Biden or because of what music itself can do.

Pray for me it’s just a lil too soon in my timeline to see a country guy like him for me.

Do yourself a favor, buy yourself an iridescent lightbulb or two off the internet. We ain’t gonna live forever and it’s not your fault. Trust me.

Aug 25 was always a big magic day for Miley Cyrus, Dolly’s god daughter. It’s her Dad’s birthday and the day she released two spectacles. I can’t even. I love Miley. Last time I was here in T or C couldn’t stop playing Miley at the dry lake on blast, was there this morning doing same.

Played this too, from the car.

I did some stuff to my garage. Had some thoughts about garages and the Iowa Writer’s Workshop that don’t matter now.

On Easter I always play Dolly’s version of “He’s Alive.”

Freaked out some friends.

This is the sort of thing that makes time

TIME

Influencers are continuing to implode. This one, a classic MERMAID ATTACK - a lawsuit and counter lawsuit in the millions. Gee, didn’t see that one coming.

I wrote about Satanic Mermaids in the Biblical Sense in Hobart.

“I harbor many theories about why the queen of the coast and the queen of the deep would release satanic mermaids upon the land. A remote viewer reported that there’s a mermaid chained in the basement of the Vatican. Like why would there be a mermaid in chained underneath the Vatican? Maybe she is controlled by the secret deep state to release her satanic mermaid relatives upon the land in specific demographics like the LGBTQ community, Hollywood and Mega churches to cause grandiose level suffering in otherwise happy lives, leading to votes for targeted political candidates, the seeking out of psyche meds, Ozempic and street drugs, bail bonds, lawyers, therapists, restraining orders, Tik-Tok accounts, revenge porn, relocation to smart cities like Tulsa, investments in crypto and future suicide machines - there’s trillions dollars of capital right there for the globalist blockchain banking system just from mermaid attacks.”

Mermaid Attack is performance text for an event I did with the artist Trulee Hall on a bridge in Frogtown Los Angeles designed to commemorate a fight spot for warring gang factions. I was a Christian seafarer recovering from mermaid attack. I ended with an Irish prayer for deliverance. In came Trullee’s witches, warlocks and ghosts, a snake came up from the LA River. I told the crew before the performance to boo at me, which many did as they passed. At one point the venom from a few witches was so intense I had to cross myself for real. The fire was fresh in people’s minds. This performance had been delayed because of the ICE Riots. Cops in fact, ended our night early.

.

Twitter’s saying we’re in a spiritual war. My friend’s saying the same thing but for different reasons. S was talking about dolphins and angels at El Rey and some dude accused her of being anti-semetic.

We are confused. On mushrooms in the tub in T or C, I monologued how to dismantle antisemetic threads in conspiracy theories going back to the Church of England and ending with Ford’s newspaper. I could be the Robin De Angelo of antisemitism but for some reason I don’t think I’ll be called to fill that role. We just had another MKUltra trial that came and went. First one, the Church Committee trial, happened in 1975. SPIKE, in the Peanuts gang was launched. He lived in a hollow tree with coyotes in Needles, CA.

.

What soon followed was the Satanic Panic, a Mermaid Attack coming from inside the house, basically. ANOTHER IS TO BE EXPECTED.

I was thinking about Mermaids as movement of CAPITAL in a closed system. Those three ladies in the picture above - a WHALE FALL, capital dispersing in the kill in the form of commentary, reposts, narcissistic spectacle. Eat them. I’d like to eat the one in the middle. Without getting a restraining order.

A system exhausts itself so it explodes a WHALE because there’s NOTHING LEFT TO DO. Perez exploded. Ariana Grande, too. LolCows talking about bestiality, exploding, Fuck yeah, let’s have a FAKE SPIRITUAL WAR. The psyop is scripted - Kanye and Erika Kirk will be featured, there will be FURRIES and Nephilim but as nostalgia. Let’s go fake schizophrenic. It’s because there’s NOTHING ELSE TO DO. If I LARP a spiritual war can I CLAIM TO BE PARTICIPATING? COCK BLOCK THEIR OP!!!!

All these thoughts point to me not having ANYTHING ELSE TO DO. A danger zone, I mean watch Bret Easton Ellis’ and Ryan Murphy’S The Shards, 80’s furniture could only hold the serial killer’s at bay for so long until there was NOTHING ELSE TO DO but murder.

I’m so grateful for you dear reader, that you care to read me, being that I have been so….. Only in the last week have I been able to listen to music while working and hanging around the house. Years and years, just PODCASTS. Voices talking to me. I knew I hit a kind of bottom when the last podcast I listened to recommended having your dog or cat lay down on your glass water bottle to arrange the ions of the water in the right way.

And I knew it was actually good advice.

I’m currently listening to Venice Beach Vibes on Spotify, a Hip Hop R&B Crossover mix and I wonder where such sounds have been all my life. I once bought a book around 2010 called Music and Madness for $120 and it was about how Germans think music exists as a conundrum for which the purpose is to make you MENTALLY ILL. Mental illness is like the ceremony. I mean, yeah. This hypothesis was proven to me by all the autistic Germans employed in record stores in Clarksdale MS, as well as anything John Fahey. I wish I still had the book, but I gave it to a symphony musician who became mentally ill and we lost touch. Another tip from Texas - mix the sentimental country ballads with the hip hop, like they do at the super bowl birthday party.

All these peri-menopause influencers telling you to go on HRT like suddenly in the middle of time itself it’s all an emergency needing treatment.

I am remembering in puberty I religiously listened to Rhiannon, Sisters of the Moon and Sara for an hour before leaving the house for school, so maybe the GRANDMOTHER’S are in need a certain kind of SOUND to regulate their hormones. Watch out the world we livin’ in. Remote viewing George Benson. Currently listening to we ain’t got no label, she ain’t got no table, I’m legit wondering if my generation, white people in specificity, have stopped listening to music in favor of podcasts because we think music is supposed to be about us, part of an internalized structural conversation, and we have no idea who we are anymore, and we are too elitist and snobby to have found the one good radio station in Albuquerque. Gurl, music doesn’t have to have anything to do with you, really. Music belongs to music. Even back then, I knew music was a FRACTAL GEOGRAPHIC. A topographical locator - SONGLINES, the BOOK, is cringe now, but still STANDS.

I’m going to win on the airplane and I don’t know when I’ll be back again…you gonna touch the sky baby girl

Was thinking starting a line dance troupe would be fun but anyone into memorizing the prayers of the medieval nuns and Simone Weill quotes to turn into lyrics in a Post Malone song on Karaoke night at Tiny’s???? Spiritual war, BABY LET’S GO.

I don’t think this is cynicism. It doesn’t feel like it.

See, I made some shelves in my kitchen after

using shop shelves my whole adult life and such changes are existential bitch slaps. Two friends came to visit, one who I hadn’t seen in quite a while, and we got to talking about the WOMEN’S LAND, won’t name the name, it’s a touchy subject. Let’s just call it Lesbian Howl. My friend was like, did you know about the Lesbian Howl Wars and I was like no, and she was like - a woman who is now a guy was in trouble with underground crime in Scotland and came to Lesbian Howl and buried a lot of guns there, like you do. then there was __ who was a hot biker who did the powder drugs and they didn’t get along and one day she was using a golf club, maybe it wasn’t a golf club, to break the window in. The chemically sensitive no perfume people sided with the ones who had the buried firearms. Biker hottie got hog tied. Hog tied and driven.

At my new fancy kitchen table because I sanded and refinished the one I built years ago, I said, It’s because there was nothing left to do.

Talked to the robot about it. Robot said there’s no such thing as real NOVELTY. That A LAST DITCH EFFORT IN A SATANIC MARINE ECONOMY is still going to mirror the structure of THINGS GONE BEFORE THAT SET A PATTERN, biker wars, rainbow culture violence - unless YOKO ONO throws a piano off a high-rise AND EVEN THEN, NOW YOU CAN’T EVEN SOLVE A PROBLEM by throwing a PIANO off a HIGH RISE because the territory of that THING is now COLONIZED by HER having done it BEFORE. I could hurt myself or accuse someone of a crime at this point in the conversation, or retreat completely to FOLKLORE, thank you Taylor Swift. I don’t really need to do any of these things because the RATTLESNAKE came back and that kind of TRUMPS everything in my opinion. REALITY WINNING, proving it is indeed REALITY I am committed to.

Shoving this picture into your face.

Watched the Mary Oliver movie with Beth the other night.

Heavy.

I too was born to be a lesbian writer into nature hikes and the trajectory that maps how I have strayed from the hike is a painful conversation and is probably the through line of this Substack. Mary Oliver stepped off from Walt Whitman, the doc says. Michael Ventura, my spiritual mentor, yeah I guess that’s what he is - reads Leaves of Grass on Spotify HERE. Writerly, I was raised by wolves. Ariana Reines, one of the only commentators in the doc that really nails Oliver’s essence as a writer, says Mary wasn’t shoved down your throats in school. She was always just THERE. She was a MYSTIC.

Steven Colbert can’t make it through Wild Geese without crying. Nor could I watching him. In some ways it doesn’t matter if this was the only thing she ever wrote - for the way it rose amongst us large like an angelic being having a conversation with the Bible, with all the poets ever, all the words ever spoken in antiquity, tv shows, everything. Wild Geese is not cheesy, it is pure, and will forever be, all the more for sounding like something we may have written in our rooms when we were young. Wild Geese is a thing definitely already written. Wild Geese marks time, geology, and the weaving of the human story say, in the way tearing the heart out of the chest of a sacrificial victim on a mountain in a religious ritual during a Plaedian star system return may mark a convergence, but no one had to die, it’s just WILD GEESE.

This is HOW IT’S DONE BECAUSE THIS IS HOW WE ARE DOING IT.

The sorrowful and holy truth - WE ARE HUMAN BEINGS.

Poem as PETROGLYPH.

I put new shelves in my kitchen. Beth did the cuts. Before watching the Mary Oliver movie I finished the Limewash White. Beth lived in P-town, worked at a B&B, she must have been in a room with Mary Oliver and her girlfriend, WE NEED TO KNOW IF, DESPERatre.

Feral art animal, papa legba eye, loved by the gays and employed by the Village Voice, all in with saving injured birds and being poor, Molly Malone Cook made Mary Oliver possible. Autistic enough to ride Molly Malone IN CONVERSATION for 40 years, Saints both. In the doc, Mary Oliver remembers she was molested as a kid, after Molly MaLone had died and there’s nothing else to do. She writes an ambiguous poem about it called The Journey. The writing of it coincides with her meeting Oprah, Maria Shriver and Eve Ensler and the molestation industrial complex.

Earlier in the film, John Waters says after Molly Malone died, Mary Oliver started going to CHURCH but it was just because she had a crush on one of the nuns or church managers or whatever. She was HORNY. He says a late life lover came around and no one liked her. That’s why she left P-Town. Hearts broken in half. Mermaid Attack HAPPENED. PIC ANNE TAYLOR HOBBS FLA. IS IT HER?

John Waters has always had this sort of graveyard vibe. He’s like rockabilly adjacent, which is suspect unless you are an agent of DEATH in a serious way. Birthed by the AIDS era as a person who can talk about Queer Estate. Get what I’m saying, it’s deep. He refused to even say her name, this last lover of Mary Oliver, and he insinuated everything. MERMAID ATTACK!!!!

It is possible to find the lawsuit between Anne Taylor and Mary Oliver. Anne lost, leaving the estate to her longtime literary handlers. Whale Fall averted. Sort of. There is the issue of her participation in the trifecta of the Maria Shriver, Oprah Winfrey, Eve Ensler, the molestation industrial complex coinciding upon her weakness.

She was bored and wanted to be around beautiful women. Hiking is cool but sheesh. Not many people get to be gifted actual power.

WHAT CAN I can see from here LIKE A COWBOY. MARIA SHRIVER IS OVER THERE.

LESBIANS everywhere, hell - we go hiking because we were raped by our Dad’s now thanks to this.

It’s ok, Mary. I light a candle for you.

And it is all answered in Leaves of Grass, all the complexities, my horny-ness, but CA Conrad said we should cancel Leaves of Grass completely from all syllabi, so - we are stuck in a permanent gas station love story, I don’t know, I’m fine, please be nice to me. Please someone find me

…Mary Oliver. Hello is the kindest word in the English language.

I mean it. I WAS JUST STARTING TO GET MORE COMMITTED TO HIKING

You needed John Waters to protect you, it’s that extreme what they will do to you.

My brother, the horniest guy in Santa Barbara, tennis pro, in a holy fugue state of it, he couldn’t stop listening to Tori Amos and fucking his way daily through life with tennis Moms’ and 19 year olds’ and his heart was full of so much estrogen from listening to David Gray(IF I ACT A LIL STRANGE FOR I KNOW NOT WHAT I DO) and Tori Amos, (WHAT’S SO AMAZING ABOUT REALLY DEEP THOUGHTS) - HE WAS SO IN LOVE WITH YOUR POETRY MARY HE BOUGHT A BOOK FOR MY MOM WHICH SHE NEVER MENTIONED BECAUSE SHE PROBABLY SENSED IT HAD YOUR JIZZ ON IT, SAME WAY SHE NEVER WATCHED THE L-WORD SERIES I GAVE HER, THANK GOD I GAVE HER EMILY DICKINSON AT THE END, MY GOD, HOW EMBARRASSING.

SO YOU FOUND A GIRL WHO THINKS REALLY DEEP THOUGHTS, WHAT’S SO AMAZING ABOUT REALLY DEEP THOUGHTS, BOY YOU BEST WISH THAT I BLEED REAL SOON, HOW’S THAT THOUGHT FOR YOU.

How’s it going? Haven’t even talked to you in eight years, BRO.

After I watched the Mary Oliver documentary, I went into my kitchen. Talking to you, BRO. Maybe I was trying to get A DRINK OF WATER I DON’T KNOW.

but I got stung by a SCORPION

TWICE.

Same SCORPION.

Hurt like hell to the extent I guess it’s disorienting. But then it went numb quickly. And in the bath fifteen minutes after I couldn’t even tell you where I was stung.

all sensation was gone and the only thing left was I got stung by a scorpion AND everything about it was ALREADY GONE

A STORY TOO BRIEF TO SELL

Feeling MACHO

to even tell you, bro

There’s a whole story I left out of this because it needs to be a new day like an emergency

and I am not a humiliation ritual

This Stack starts with a CONVERSATION for reasons you will see. Sarah Turner and I were talking about the documentary, Bring Me the Beauties, about Frederick Von Miers who recruited high-fashion models into a gem trade money laundering walk-in cult in 80’s New York. We had questions about New Age Cults and the global crystal trade, economies, and the overlap of Iran-Contra Era cocaine cartels. 80’s aesthetic just seemed like gay guys were going to their grandmas house and taking an ethnic first generation aspirational ceramic lamp and slapping it next to a thick glass table with inch thick aquamarine edges.

Sarah is Italian, “Yeah yeah,” she said nodding, said something about her Grandma having that furniture, I think it was her Grandma, and she went into detail about the lamps, but I sadly can’t remember the details because my excitement over my own cleverness got in the way of my precision for listening. I was already seeing a gay man at his grandma’s house sobbing over spaghetti because of yet another AIDS death. He’s an interior decorator and a lady needs a lamp, he’s been in the hospital all week, has no time so he’s like, Grandma! I need your LAMP, the one with the fat angels with bows and arrows, yeah that one. AIDS death at scale and suddenly the angel is holding a TELEPHONE and is GOLD. Crystals are coagulated cocaine. A NAGEL PRINT was an ICON in which through its two-dimensional frontality, erased memory itself, everything that came before, the 70’s ceramics, gross, the wood, fuck wood, the oranges and browns, Jesus what do you think we are ORANGUTANS. FUCK NATURE GIVE ME MY MONEY! SNORT! Excuse me LADY how many FAT ANGELS?, you have to decide QUICKLY because I have to GO TO THE HOSPITAL!!!

I was a bad listener in this conversation because of grandiose language in my head. Karma got me, in that it lived in my head for days. It made me a little bit sick.

Was going to scrap writing about this at all, but there’s something really important about 80’s furniture. It’s an INTERRUPTION. One born of gay plague and grief. While ugly, one of its functions was to hold future furniture crimes at bay. Think of retrogrades in astrology - moments of interruption that suspend the inevitability of a trajectory, allowing forces that were rushing toward one outcome to reorganize into another. What would have happened if the 70’s NATURE aesthetic was allowed to continue? It’s somewhat answered in the murder film “Play Misty for Me,” with Clint Eastwood. The rot of weed libido really needed some cocaine, and less permission from the stereo, bear rug, and fireplace, for heterosexuals to use symbolic representations of NATURE to be sex fiends. After MKUltra trials and Charles Manson, all the fingerprinted ceramics truly needed to be broken on the rocks like Anasazi. Leave the porn fucking to the gays, it’s gotten way too cringe and scary.

One morning somewhere in the 90’s, a being walked into a brightly lit room and saw the light - THIS IS SO UGLY WE ACTUALLY HAVE TO CALL A DOCTOR.

And the Dallas Texas Divorcee Interior Decorator Archetype was born to fix the PROBLEM. There were new magazines, new economies, I mean it took decades. The 70’s sexy found its way into the Austin Texas hipster aesthetic, scrubbed clean with a cocaine eye. The Cheesecake Factory kept the angels for all those grandchildren you made by the fire. Even I have a souvenir.

My AIDS LAMP

in remembrance, for those who came before.

Last month when Jennifer Finch, the bass player for L7 died, I felt the mycelial connections of all connected to her light up. I felt the love. I reminisced about exes in a loving way rather than a defensive way. I’ve been tracking when I feel real love, on a biological chemical level, as opposed to love as an idea, arrive in me. Her death occurred around the time there was an astrological “basket in the sky” and many friends were commenting that they felt a tonal difference in reality itself, time even seemed to be getting slower. I went to art openings and parties and it felt like it was the first thing I’d ever done since Covid. Friendships that really aren’t that new, maybe three years in, feel brand new.

Because it’s the first time since Covid, maybe even before, that my heart has come online. I feel like the wiring of my frontal lobe regressed for the last ten years and now is finally building new synapses and they have to do with the ACTUAL HEART. It’s a strange and energetic whiplash that collides with my brain’s constant language making faculties. I’m a total ASSHOLE in my head. Does isolation manufacture grandiosity? Is grandiosity what language does when it has no one else to collide with? Is it an element of SURVIVAL? To make of oneself a kind of flashy cartoon, a Love’s Gas Station Sign?

Pam Gregory has an amazing astrology video about this current moment heading into the solar eclipse on August 15th. She basically says narcissists are going to be called out of the brush and they, well, they might explode. Be aware. I didn’t think such an explosion could be as dramatic as what just happened with Perez Hilton, but I guess the message really needed to be drilled home - that we don’t have the calories to sustain the narcissistic frequencies the way we’ve been doing. We do have to recognize them and name them before we can move on.

It became clear to me that the 2020 INFLUENCER CULTURE, especially the women, especially the witches and the esoteric ones, the wellness peddlers and attachment/avoidant personality educators, the psychedelic chicks and the Jungian Che Guevaras in base contour and kiffah scarves, topless by the sea, were an INTERRUPTION not unlike 80’s furniture. Born of grief and loss in a Pandemic, the HORNIEST among us took to the rectangular square, channeling female libido into raw ambition and pagan versions of manifestation theology. If they weren’t narcissists to begin with, the form itself made them so if they were to succeed. And like 80’s furniture, it’s UGLY. The Tulum eco-villages weren’t ugly, but the rectangular squares were, text over SELFIE after SELFIE. They weren’t selling bad things. In a way they were just selling LOVE, but as an IDEA, not as something you could actually FEEL, because to feel requires what they ultimately couldn’t give, real relationship. The screen just never delivered no matter how much we pretended. Guru Jagat comes to mind as one of the imploded. I was so into her. She was sexy. A kind of personality I knew not to tolerate in real life, I welcomed on my feed. A hot girl’s gotta make a buck.

But one day you wake up on a bright sunny morning and look at your phone and go,

THIS IS SO UGLY I HAVE TO CALL A DOCTOR!

OR A PRIEST!

It’s a slippery slope from the Tulum Eco-Village to the Radisson Hotel Banquet Room. The economy for this slipped a while ago, but now it’s crossed into the territory of the tangibly unsustainable.

Women with high hormonal torque in the midst of what they perceive as narcissistic attack can get Biblical. Lilith and Persephone can turn into Demeter, Hera, Oya and No More Wire Hangers real quick.

Pam Gregory says we are moving away from grandiosity into an era of the HEART. It made me wonder who is the Dallas Divorcee Interior Decorator of this INTERRUPTION.

It’s art and music and our friends having conversations. The other night I went to Karla’s house and we ended up in her 70’s with 80’s flourish living room having a jam session, Austin on their computer, me on guitar, Karla on a mini Casio, and Marina presiding in her beauty and talent for therapy as she coaxed me through a particularly pornographic spoken word story about a crazy ex girlfriend situation, that thank God, had a place to go in this room, rather than it being written about HERE.

Forms that have conversations in them.

Words. Sounds. Light. Touch. The Giving of Gifts.

That’s how we are going to get there.

I was walking up and down the hall scrolling when I saw Carolyn Elliot died. All the love is causing extra autistic retreat integration in my private hours. My phone addiction’s been bad. I didn’t know who she was. She committed suicide. Author of Existential Kink, a cultural criticism academic turned 2020 Occult Influencer, definitely a Babylonian Priestess. Definitely a Satanic Mermaid.

Spun me out for days, gotta say. Up and down my hallway still reading about her I went out onto my deck.

And I saw this.

Ten seconds to stop making the snake about me.

Thirty seconds to take a pic and send it to my robot for identification.

Diamondback Rattlesnake.

Time just went.

It was hoping to go under my deck which wasn’t going to work. I ran and got a mop. Did a bold attempt to flip it in the other direction. It coiled. We watched each other.

I felt LOVE.

I called Beth put her on Facebook video. Showed her.

Just get it to turn around and go out past the fence I guess. You could try to put it in a five gallon bucket.

Uh no.

It was turning. It began going. Bye friend. It made it out past the fence so I was able to grab a handful of gravel and throw it at the snake.

I can throw gravel at you!

After that, a calm throughout my entire body that has not left me still.

There’s a lot to say but I am letting love take over the words.

Beth and I are blown away by all the love for Cricket, her Chihuahua Greyhound mix in need of emergency surgery tomorrow. It’s changing the entire landscape of our hearts, really. She has a prolapsed vagina. Long story, worth reading, and it’s in the GoFundMe. We are almost there so any donation no matter how small really matters.

HERE

Sunday marked the end of full Truth or Consequences public swimming pool hours because all the kids who work there as lifeguards go back to school. It’s 104 degrees and Beth and I are fallen lotus petals and don’t make it there til 2:30 and it’s packed with the young.

“Watch out!” Beth says, as an 8-year-old with joy and strawberry hair almost collides with me like a seal with a fever. She’s into the diving board, just figuring out the cannon ball and backwards jump. Like every kid in this pool, as well as every adult, she is capable of a very loaded, mannered eye contact I’ve never experienced anywhere else. She’s like yeah, this is our last swim for a while, it’s my favorite thing, I like your hat and check out my backwards dive and that’s my Mom, she’s so cool, right, sitting on the ledge?

We are doing the things humans remember on their death beds and I’m going to make it extra today. You can also remember me if you want.

“Can I try on your swim fins?” she asks.

The time slot we paid a dollar for ended. We decided to be extravagant and stay and pay for the next slot. The sporty blonde young woman lifeguard was joined by a lifeguard I hadn’t seen yet, a bit of a cosmopolitan brunette in prescription sunglasses for reading magazines that reminded me of Amanda Fortini, but 18. They were joined by a third young woman who corrected the problem of thin-ness with her thick suntanned thighs. The three lifeguards under the umbrella arranged themselves in a tableau of recline and attentiveness aesthetically truthful enough to make Bruce Webber jealous. Perhaps he had never lived, seen nothing, because yeah, he saw girls posing like this in the swimming pools of the rich, but to experience this tableau in the Truth or Consequences public pool is an altogether different mathematic at its core.

It has to do with money and the lack of it, obv.

I also think it has to do with the evolution of eyesight itself.

And hallucination.

Been listening to James True, my favorite evolutionary biology quack with a heart of gold. The limitations of human eyesight are pretty vast and have to do with the fact we are predators and therefore our tendrils for peripheral reality are sacrificed greatly towards seeing the rabbit in the bush in the distance.

“BUNNIES don’t see beauty,” James True says. The COBRA sees absolutely everything there is to be seen. So, he tempts us in the garden to desire what we can never have.

On top of humans still not really being able to perceive BLUE, BLUE being something we hallucinate, humans also have the capability to project all manner of concrete visual hallucinations on something he describes as a kind of inner visual screen.

I am making my own analogy here, but we had to pretend a mountain lion wasn’t a mountain lion, because we had no calories for the ordeal of a woman’s hysterical terror, so instead it was a Mormon wanting to shovel snow from your driveway, and this ability to hallucinate had rather uncanny mysterious benefits and I would argue is why we have America, the first country born solely out of an idea.

And it’s also why the Truth or Consequences public pool has more beauty occurring in the visual field than the Chateau Marmont pool could ever dream of in a million years, because beauty generated over time in the hearts of a people whose basic survival is structurally not guaranteed whatsoever is a beauty HALLUCINATED from the human physical heart to the eyeballs in a state of high stakes and great seriousness. God is the only bitch that will ultimately help you in a place like this. And God eats beauty.

Elephant Butte lake seven miles away is currently in its last days of Hospice Care. No winter runoff and rerouted tributaries due to complex negotiations with industry has the lake at less that 2% capacity. Everyone is wondering if the bodies of those killed by the serial killer will be laid bare to the sun but so far only barrels of toxic waste have appeared. I’d been swimming there every month til this visit. Without the lake, the town will have to survive on geriatric pensions alone. Bigfoot Café will likely have to close. Bigfoot exists as an archetypal symbol of impending end-times in legend and yeah, Elephant Butte has an actual Bigfoot Café.

I haven’t left Sunday’s pool, stay with me here in the 104-degree sun. We can talk about other things without leaving the pool. I think my current writing becoming an actual book depends on me not leaving the pool. I’m wearing my Nasa hat with the pearls, my NASA sunglasses. I have swim fins on and am flapping around with the foam weights and Beth is talking about building her tiny houses which she wants to call “cubes” because “tiny” sucks. You can buy one raw and not built out so it could be called a “Nude Cube!” But some will need to be rectangles so what to call those? This convo can only happen in the pool.

Our friend KK was DJ-ing the night before at the 420 Club. Just when you brace yourself for an ordinary night at this interdimentional geriatric Alibaba psychedelic kitch vortex, Truth or Consequences Brewery has a “costume night” down the block and a Madonna mix accompanies the en masse entrance of the club kids I’ve been thinking are sex workers of some kind. Someone clarifies that yes, the perfect white twink youth with pink Jeffrey Star hair dressed in a maid’s outfit wearing converse sneakers, dancing with a pharmaceutically medicated mermaid with cortisol face, is funded by his work on a cam porn site that exists, like anime,’ for the sole purpose of drilling into my head the total eclipse of my cultural literacy. Feeling old has never been so ecstatic.

On the patio, lightning bolts threaten to touch down on the telephone poles near our heads. Beth and I are talking to a sixty plus “artist” in a cheap straw hat, wearing a beaded necklace he made himself with a fist length crystal and brown shoes symbolic of the rise of Birkenstock as the only viable hippie shoe because the existence of Birkenstock was the result of the violent and necessary murder of this exact man’s shoe.

Back on the dance floor, I see him on the side couch making out and grinding on a thirty something chick in a track suit and platform sneakers, with a face so television ready pretty she could be mistaken for a 1990’s Camden Pop Star. Whatever his secret has to do with the secret of this place and I’m going to figure it out.

The goddesses on the dance floor are a Latina pirate, an African queen, some white women in summer gear tank tops. The old gay men are more low-key tonight, like maybe at a certain age you can only physically afford to snort coke once every few months on special occasions. KK the DJ is done with her set and is near the door in her canvas overall’s wearing a very terrifying vintage style clown mask. We make plans to go to the dying lake together. I ask her to please bring her mask, we should make a video.

Back inside, is a tall statuesque elder lesbian in a Stetson fedora who had been so self-contained the whole night right at the edge of the dance floor. She indicates with an exited nod she knows me. My eyes adjust and it’s friggin’ Athena from Magdalena who I spent quite a bit of time with because of an ex over fifteen years ago. She knows Beth from when we all connected at the top of a mountain, an art project having to do with horn sounds hidden in trees, a harrowing drive only to land in freezing temperatures and art boredom. Athena came and wrapped us in shawls and pointed us to the electrical transformer building that housed the hot chocolate.

Now she is telling us she is the deacon of the local Episcopal church in T or C and so, ok, the following morning we go. She is dressed in her white and green robes and her salt and pepper hair is more butch and stylish than even Nadia Bolz Webber, the Denver Lutheran Minister’s salt and pepper hair. Athena’s sermon is a metaphor for the difference in their hair. Her words are removed of the self-referential asides so tempting to any cowboy preacher with hormonal torque holding together a small mostly elderly congregation.

The sermon stuck to scripture and was about Jesus’s teachings regarding the Old Testament concept of The Law. If The Law is simply a set of rules set out by a ruler to follow, how is simply following them going to bring you salvation? If you are just following RULES then you are coming at God in the state of not being a full human being. Jesus, a very emotional man full of strong feelings is saying, be like me, be a FULLY HUMAN BEING as I chose to be, only then does any LAW have meaning.

Athena, years ago, was described by my ex as the lesbian artist record producer who would walk her two giant greyhounds through Greenwich Village wearing head to toe black leather before she moved to Magdalena because she loved Mary Magdalene so very much.

The beauty here is hallucinated beauty, I am convinced. Material, animal dreaming. Manifest Destiny was the sin and psyop that knew the REAL HUMAN BEINGS would fill out the rest with their talent for ACTUAL HALLUCINATION. I thought I was done talking about the West in such a GRIFTY way, but until the alt lit scene stops being so impressed with Baudrillard’s America, I suppose I will have to continue.

Those who make, who create from the already made, can often lose the animal ability to hallucinate in the land of scorched dirt and nothing.

I knelt at the altar with Beth at the OPEN COMMUNION, never having done this before. Athena and her assistant, who reminded me of Dodie Bellamy, went from person to person with CHALICE and WAFER, the closer they got, my heart felt like it would burst. Athena may have been laughing. I was embarrassed by my tears like when being witnessed weeping publicly during a preview of Finding Nemo.

This was supposed to be a Substack about making friends. I recently wrote an essay for Double-blind about the role of mushrooms in friendship. I went more deeply into what I will say here – that it’s possible to have friends, do stuff with them, but be completely absent and dead inside in a way that can become permanent, because human beings have a way of going completely offline when the scenery, the structures and the circumstances begin to repeat themselves over time, because it’s the scenery, the structures and circumstances repeating over time is the thing that is hijacked by our meaning-making rule-making overlords. Somewhere in the equation we die inside. It didn’t take Covid or the internet for me to become a body that couldn’t feel anything anymore, a being with advanced skills in lying to myself that I was still a fully human being. It probably would have happened anyway.

I GUESS I’M KARMICALLY ATTACHED TO THE STORY OF BEING SAVED BY LOVE.

Thank you friends who I’ve shared LIFE over the last two years who have stirred my heart alive out of matrix capture.

There’s just a basic revelation I’ve been having since I started writing this Substack – that real human emotions are biological events that involve hormones, limbic things, nerves, memory stored in organs.

IF YOU AIN’T FEELING IT, IT AIN’T HAPPENING.

SO LETS TALK ABOUT LOVE

AND WHAT YOU NEED TO DO TO ACTUALLY FEEL IT

MY MENOPAUSE ETHIC – WHEN EASY ACCESS TO FEELING FADES, TRAIN YOUR PERCEPTION TOWARDS DEEPER SENSITIVITY!!

I FELT LOVE SITTING ON THE OUTSIDE ON A BENCH AT EL REY HOTEL NEAR MIDNIGHT AS AN OLD DUDE IN BUBBA SHORTS RECITED T.S. ELLIOT TO IMPRESS THE TWO BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMEN NEAR THAT I WAS ALSO TRYING TO IMPRESS VERBALLY.

BUT EVERY T.S. ELLIOT QUOTE GOT A BIT WEAKER.

MY HEART BURST WITH FEELING FOR HIS TRY HARD NATURE, SUCH AN OLD-WORLD BARNACLE HE WAS, SUCH A DAD, LOVE YOU DAD, BUT I SLAY YOU NOW TO PUT YOU OUT OF YOUR MISERY OF TRYING. LOVE CAN BE SO GODDAMN COMPETITIVE .

I SAID –

“DID YOU KNOW MS. WORLD 1980 LIVES OFF AIRPORT ROAD? WE HAD CAR SEX IN THE 90’S SHE’S SIX FOOT THREE I’D HIT HER UP AGAIN BUT SHE KEPT SAYING THE N WORD AT THE NO KING’S DAY CREW CRAFT DAY PARTY.”

HE LEFT

THE BLOND WAS FROM VIRGINIA AND THAT’S MY MOTHERS NAME. HER DAD WAS A SECRETIVE MILITARY DOCTOR LIKE MINE. WE TALKED FIREFLIES. THE ONE WITH BROWN HAIR DESCRIBED HERSELF AS HAVING BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER AND EVEN THOUGH SHE’S COMPLETELY STRAIT, SHE HAS A HIGH ABILITY TO ALLOW HERSELF BE LOVED AND ADORED BY WOMEN

BECAUSE YOU SEE ALLOWING PEOPLE TO JUST LOVE YOU FOR NO GOOD REASON IS VERY DIFFICULT AND IS THE ROOT OF LOVE’S ABSENCE AND ITS REPLACEMENT WITH SYMBOLIC FAKERY

“SO, YOU ARE SAYING I COULD JUST LOVE YOU FOR NO REASON IF ONLY BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT AND THAT WOULD BE OK WITH YOU?”

“YES,” SHE SAID, I GAVE HER MY NUMBER, SHE TEXTED – “BLESSINGS TO YOU NEW FRIEND”

GOD IS MAKING THE NEW MODELS OF THE DSM-5 SET CLUSTER B CREW WISER AND MORE WEAPONIZED FOR THE WORK OF GOD WHICH IS TO RETURN US TO AWARENESS OF THE HUMAN CONDITION.

JESUS, HER FACE IN THE GAS FIRE LIGHT.

I WROTE BACK ON TEXT

“GOD IS MAKING WOMEN MORE BEAUTIFUL THANK YOU FOR BEING STRAIT NICE TO MEET YOU”

LIBRA’S WILL TELL YOU WE ARE SUPERFICIAL CUCKS FOR BEAUTY AND NOW YOU UNDERSTAND, BUT GEORGIO MORODER AND DONNA SUMMER WILL CLARIFY ANY LINGERING PROBLEMATICS

We’re still in the Truth or Consequences public pool, REMEMBER?

Beth says the clouds look fake and she’s right. Again, I have been caught delaying telling you about the most important thing. Maybe this is because, like the dream I had in the egg in Space Castle, and this next thing I’m about to tell you, these are both events that arose completely outside my control. And such events have allowed me to feel lucky and have given me the hubris to capture this time with you, delaying. Capturing your attention is a feeling alive in me. I’d say forgive me, but Jesus says we’re supposed to be more human, so….

It was the teen boys last summer swim. There were six or seven of them ranging from like 11 to 17. Remember our summer arrangements? Our summer friends were different from school - they included the neighbor’s kids and kids from other schools, sometimes randos we met at the beach or the pool. It was a much more natural math because the sun itself is hungry during this season and we served the sun with mischief and play, and even if we had a summer job, there seemed always time to continue the first bonds that ever really mattered.

So, like, it was their actual last swim in the pool for all of summer, before they would be forced into different social arrangement. Things needed to be said. They needed to be said with the body so no one would forget what a human being is for. Not everything is about love, but love is part of it.

I’m walking alongside the pool to go get my fins and I see a teenage head of hair with bleached stripes in it belonging to Patrick Swayze, basically, but 17.

“Hey, I like how you Alysa Liu’d your hair.”

In keeping with how all humans in this T or C pool speak to eachother like figments of a dream, he was like, “Yeah it’s Alysa Liu kind of mixed with my favorite Anime’ character.”

He pointed to another kid in the pool with some bleach in his hair, “He dyed it.”

His friend, the hair dyer, was smaller with more delicate features, a prettier Ryan Gosling. All of a sudden, as if triggered by our call and response speaking of the word ALYSA LIU

IT WAS ON

The group of boys began a group formation cheerleading toss, one kid in the middle thrown by three or four holding a kid’s feet for balance then throwing them up, and they weren’t good at it, like not at all, they were just doing it so they could do that thing. The three women lifeguards, NOTICING, tightened up the optical tableau. There were two Latino kids possessed with the serious features and burdens of future court appointed DUI lawyers. There was a weird looking white kid of scrawny stature who would be granted the genius given to those who seek beauty over power. Then this little Latino kid, maybe he was even as young as nine, who was wearing a clunky silver necklace with a prominent cross that sparkled in the sun, choir boy gangster style. Alysa Liu was an alpha like no other, and all movement and action came from him and was focused on him. He had great gentleness towards choir kid, towards them all, really. He was a himbo, much like the 6 ft 3, 48 year old hottie chick who looked like Pamela Anderson that I met in the pool in June who worked at the Chevron. Dude was perhaps most likely to work at the Chevron while the other kids in his orbit would go further than planned in their life because of this 2026 scorching summer spent in the pool with Alysa Liu Patrick Swayze. They would either go further or die an early death, thus is the serious theology of holy beauty itself but, yeah.

The cheerleading toss formation turned into wrestling holds. Alysa Liu held each one in a choke hold for not just seconds, many minutes, all optics because no one was coughing, just quiet HARD HUGGING, there was just one shriek, the future court appointed DUI defense lawyer yelling,

“I’m not going to call you Daddy!!!”

The level of fairness, of no child left behind ethics, in the orbit of Patrick Swayze/Alysa Liu was a faint worthy heart opening beauty religion hallucination for those watching, which was Beth and I, and two elderly women on floaties at the opposite end of the pool, who kept courting our eye contact while beaming in a state of total ecstatic joy at being chosen to receive such a thing into our eyeballs, a ceremony traditionally reserved for private bonding circle jerks, private adolescent transitional gods, but it was Sunday, God’s day, and Bett Williams declared the grandmothers’ shall not be bored!!! But I didn’t think we would be gifted with

THIS

I spotted a weird floating thing tied onto a railing I had never seen in the pool before that looked like some voudou magic object arrived in a suspect way for just this occasion.

“Wtf is that thing over there, Beth?” I said.

“It appears to be Mike Kitchell,” she replied.

Last time I was here in Jemez Springs I found an internal quiet on my usual hike I had never felt before. This time I drove fifteen miles past the turn off to Los Conchas Trail because I was thinking about Megyn Kelly, the biological condition of hatred, and the function and necessity of papers like The National Enquirer for the elderly. William Burroughs was an avid reader of The National Enquirer and the weirder rags on the rack at the grocery store that went further into UFO and Skinwalker territory. I was pondering the function of the form when I realized I’d driven as far as the Valle Caldera.

There is a cosmology that has developed over multiple mushroom ceremonies at my home, alone and with others, that concerns the “grandmothers.” They hang out to the right of the fireplace. They like to be fed BRANDY IN A FANCY GLASS. They go nuts when I burn COPAL. I saw them years ago on a DOUBLE RUM AND COKE IN NEW ORLEANS right after 9/11 when I broke down sobbing for hours over everything going on and ended up in a visionary state. There was a circle of them all wearing black. And they were grieving like it was their job or something. Horrific bottomless grief. I joined them in that circle. The lover I was with was worried I wouldn’t come back from it. Anyway they live to the right of the fireplace now and one of my jobs is to try to give them a break from all the crying and on a particular trip I was like DON’T BORE THE GRANDMA’S! THEY WANT TO SEE THE MEN DANCING IN THEIR FANCY SHOES! THEY WANT THE KIDS TO BE RUNNING AROUND AND EVERYBODY TO BE THERE WITH A CHICKEN COOKING IN THE OVEN! WE DON’T WANT THEM TO BE SAD! WE DON’T WANT TO BORE THEM!

It’s an ethic for sure. This leads me to what happened with Chris on Facebook years ago. He’s a serious mushroom practitioner who has studied in Huautla De Jimenez and has a tight relationship with Joan Halifax up at the Zen Center. Back before all this mushrooms stuff was all played out we connected around the old ways. I sent him rose copal oil I made. He sent me Peter Kingsley’s book about Jung’s Red Book.

Then he made a post about gossip. He said something about gossip being the most vile and truly evil toxin that exists, even more so in psychedelic space. A thing to be noticed and eradicated.

I replied that gossip is thought of rightfully as a women’s language form that serves many functions. It disseminates really important information like who is safe and unsafe, who might be a really good time, who’s full of shit. It serves a function for the one who speaks as well, because as she speaks she can feel whether what she is saying is true or untrue. Plus, eradicating something so fundamental as a woman’s need to gossip amounts to fascist censorship. I mean come on, are we supposed to wait for that grifting husband stealer to worm her way into your Herbalife crew, outsell you then show up at your Wingstop Friday Night wearing lingerie when your man is there? Nobody’s going to warn us but each other. Definitely not men or the evening news.

Anyway, he abruptly cut off all communication and blocked me. It really disturbed me, actually.

Which brings me to Megyn Kelly who I started watching during Covid because I liked her acerbic language around Covid policy and “owning the left.” She had pretty good pop culture takes as well. At the time, Megyn Kelly seemed to have a sex demon who was the ghost of a guy named Bruce, one of the wittier men in Chelsea who died of AID’s in the 90’s. It made sense as a married Republican with kids with her level of hormonal torque, that she would need a sex demon named Bruce to get wet and ready on a Tuesday date night. From where I’m sitting as a practically illiterate person, after Kevin Killian died, only Bret Easton Ellis was keeping up the tradition publicly and I guess he doesn’t identify as being on the left anymore. During Covid, the nuanced use of the negative, infused with good humor, was clearly lacking in the demographic I existed in. Seriously, Megyn Kelly’s read of the Blake Lively/Taylor Swift debacle was SOLID.

I have a point that I will get to in a minute, and it has to do with the grandmothers, because my devotion to them is not a metaphor or some archetypal thing. It literally has to do with directing compassion to the state of being elderly. We like to imagine ourselves having achieved all our self care goals, meditating thousands of hours to the point that when we are old we are mostly walking around the garden with the little tiny birds flying around our heads. Truth is your body and mind will be in a next level process of DECAY and that also means your attention. So if a person like me who is still addicted to the internet at 57 is likely to not get better but worse without serious intervention. Most people don’t have the time or bandwidth for that. Many of my friend’s with engaged and active, smart and mostly lefty parents, have reported a parent now is sitting around watching Fox News. That is what they want to do. We have to let old people do what they want to do without judgement. Curiosity here is helpful.

Anyway, there’s this thing that happens in the industry of publicity where talking shit about something actually sells more product than a positive review. This became most transparent to me when former Fox News host Megyn Kelly and Maureen Callahan had an episode on David Sedaris’s new book. Ok, Sedaris is pretty good at the old gay shit talk tradition, I will include him in the pantheon. Maybe he was the one who asked his publicist to send his book to Megyn Kelly? But the thing is Megyn’s sex demon Bruce has left her. She has done something to chase him away and her wit is gone. She was just trashing the book on stupid right wing conservative value talking points. Dr. Laura Schlessinger back in the day was funnier and more insightful. Same thing with her coverage of the Taylor Swift Wedding. You’d think she would approve of such a pro-marriage pro-natalist situation. What she was dissing isn’t even worth getting into it was so boring.

So I’m like MEGYN, YOU’RE BORING THE GRANDMAS. I CANNOT ABIDE.

What I’ll call the “negative form” materially, MOVES MORE PRODUCT. Take away any judgment on the reality of capitalism, you can say use of the dirty dozens method just MOVES better. I like to think about the reasons for this while missing my turnoff to the trail. How often have I found myself subjecting a person or a book or piece of art to “the dozens,” in private, while talking to a friend, because I agape love and am fascinated by them or it.

A definition I pulled off the internet - The dozens is a verbal game rooted in African American culture where two people trade increasingly clever, escalating insults- often aimed at each other’s family members , especially “yo mama” jokes -in front of an audience. The goal isn’t to actually wound but to display wit, quick thinking, and verbal dexterity; whoever loses their cool or runs out of clever comeback “loses.”

Sitting next to an old school gay DJ friend watching people dance recently, I commented on a guy in a skirt and said, “Does he even have any ASS at all?” Can’t remember the reply but the vibe was like, but he seems perfectly nice GEEZ. And I’m saying here that THAT’S WHAT I WAS SAYING, that he seemed perfectly nice. I think people on the left just got tired of the negativity, people’s feelings got hurt sometimes and mostly, the politics didn’t have the extra calories for that kind of language when we were so busy trying to SAY THE RIGHT THING. So yeah, I had to get my fix from Megyn Kelly, or rather, Bruce, her sex demon.

I’M HERE TO SAY THE GRANDMA’S, HOWEVER, WANT SHIT TALK AND GOSSIP. BECAUSE IT’S NOT BORING. THEY WANT THE NATIONAL ENQUIRER AND TWITTER. I AM TELLING YOU AGAIN IT’S REALLY IMPORTANT THAT THE GRANDMOTHERS NOT BE BORED!!! WHY DO WE THINK ALL GRANDMAS SHOULD BE BUDDHISTS? THEY KNOW YOU THINK THEY SHOULD BE DIFFERENT AND IT JUST MAKES THEM HATE THEMSELVES A LITTLE BIT AND WE CAN’T HAVE THAT. THEY WANT THE DIRT ON EVERY POLITICIAN, EVERY CELEBRITY AND THEY WANT THE DIRT ON YOU AND ALL YOUR FRIENDS. THEY HAVE REACHED A STATE OF MAXIMUM ENTROPY AND ARE NOW IN A STATE OF ACTIVE DECAY, THEY LIKE TO READ EMILY DICKINSON BUT SOME APPARENTLY PREFER FOX NEWS

THERE’S SOMETHING WE CAN GIVE THEM THAT’S WAY BETTER THOUGH.

When I heard the news of Lindsay Graham dying I felt an injection of energy as if the planets themselves had shifted. I didn’t think about it very much and saw the expected pre-scripted posts by friends about his sex demon Lady G and all the gay and trans sex workers he hired, and how messed up it is that he’s a Republican who supported legislation against the LGBTQ Community. Dudes, he’s the second biggest Neocon Warhawk to Dick Cheney and you’re still mad about the marriage bill? The fact his death is trailed by stories of sex workers who fucked him paints a larger tableau worthy of an OPERA that has much to teach us not just about sexuality and politics, but THE NATURE OF GOOD AND EVIL ITSELF and the role SEX plays in not only POWER, but the biological libidinal drive to survive and understand the world. This isn’t like the Epstein files. His name was Lady G for God’s Sake. Milo Yiannopoulos has spoken openly about gays in the Republican Party. He thinks Charlie Kirk was gay and JD Vance, says conventions are a gay sex fest all around that he participated in before he decided to renounce homosexuality altogether, good lord what a tool. One thing that’s true, is that Lindsay Graham had a sex demon named Lady G and she seemed pretty nice, actually. Maybe that’s a MINDFUCK for some of you so that’s great. The realm of Paradox is always the first place we should be looking. We’ve been handed a doozy, DON’T FUMBLE IT.

THE GRANDMAS NEED A BOOK AND THEY NEED A PLAY THAT YOU WILL TAKE THEM TO BY PLANE IF YOU HAVE TO.

THEY NEED THE LADY G MONOLOGUES.

AND WE NEED TO GET THOSE WHORES TO LOOSEN UP AND NOT JUST TALK ABOUT HIS MOLES. PLY THE ONES WHO DRINK WITH ALCOHOL IF YOU HAVE TO, THE GRANDMAS WANT TO HEAR

EVERY SINGLE LITTLE DETAIL.

Megyn Kelly’s sex demon Bruce leaving her is a harbinger of something very concerning, a chaotic lacunae, an opportunity for important work, like the Lady G Monologues. On the way up here, I listened to her episode on the Tyler Robinson/Charlie Kirk murder case. Her shit talk on trans people never bothered me all that much, sorry, it was to be expected. But this was different. It was like she had practiced in the mirror being aggressively and earnestly angry and indignant about the murder of Saint Charlie and Tyler’s trans-ness was specifically the thing to be held at fault. This must have been when Bruce left her, of course. He’s like fuck that. Enjoy your Tuesday date nights Megyn, you’re going to need to buy some lube.

So yeah, in the episode she goes on about the “trans cult,” it’s degeneracy and psychopathology and how it is the embodiment of the entire left wing in general and IT MUST BE STOPPED. I remote viewed to see what was happening from bird’s eye and I saw that she was playing to her over fifty right wing audience, MAGA types mostly who are now awakening to the ass rape level of Trump’s betrayal. No new factories, fixed roads, ICE was a horrifying shit show even for their flimsy moral code and have the deportations even gone down compared to Obama? The mortgage on the house is due and they’re not sure how they’re going to pay it, they’re kid wants a new name but what they’re really worried about is the kid never leaves the house and walks with a cane, they can’t afford college, and here comes Megyn literally delivering HATE on a platter through their screen.

LANGUAGE HAS BIOLOGICAL EFFECT. HORMONALLY, LIMBICLY, AND OF COURSE THERE’S THE DOPAMINE AND NERVOUS SYSTEM OR WHATEVER. THE REASON THE GRANDMAS BEING BORED IS SOMETHING WE CANNOT ABIDE BY IS BECAUSE WHILE BOREDOM CAN CATALYZE ACTION IT CAN JUST AS EASILY BREED STAGNATION AND STAGNATION IS A PETRI DISH FOR HATE.

HATE IS NOT A SPIRIT BUT A BIOLOGICAL RESPONSE TO THE ABSENCE OF SPIRIT. IT’S A PHYSICAL CONDITION.

It’s why people on both spectrums are calling out Trump Derangement Syndrome because we saw a strange thing take root in our friends. Actual HATE. It appeared visible and physically debilitating.

It’s often called BLIND HATE because the physical state will literally reduce your perception. If you’ve ever taken a martial arts class you are taught to look at the opponent with equanimity. If you harbor anger or hatred in a battle you won’t be able to perceive information from your internalized knowledge of complex structures, you lose your bird’s eye, and the ability to tune into psychology, chance and strategy turning on a dime, all the things needed to win a fight. The body goes offline, basically.

Megyn Kelly is a cosmopolitan enough of a person to know Tyler Robinson does not represent the trans community. She knows Tyler came out of weaponized Discord chat scenes swarming with agents from multiple countries. Being a militant online TransFurry alone is enough for anyone with a brain to see none of this has anything to do with mainstream conversations about gender transition but is something OTHER. If Tyler did it, it’s not a stretch at all to assume he was some kind of MKUltra’d assassin. It’s been agreed upon that Jack Ruby who shot Lee Harvey Oswald was this. Megyn’s demographic has already been primed for this very necessary nuance from the influence of QAnon. On this topic they are not dumb. They would have welcomed this take and Glen Greenwald who is often on her show would have helped clarify it. The fact she omitted it amounts to a grave moral failing on her part.

SOME GRANDMAS ARE GOING TO START TO HATE WHEN REALLY WHAT THEY NEEDED WAS JUST SOME GOOD GOSSIP

Hate is what’s inside those houses that feel dead and smell. It consumes people like the mold Tyler Robinson was growing in his creepy flophouse. I suppose the command to make sure the grandma’s don’t get bored is because the real enemy is the potentiality of the seed of hate inoculating the body. It happens more easily in the elderly because they are weaker, their bodies will invite the negative in because they remember a time when it mobilized them. They forget the difference between opposition and actual hate. Not a lot of action comes out of hate. Things tend to move slower in an atmosphere of hate because haters are strategically debilitated so that’s the only upside. The downside is big and more intimate, how that hate will land in family systems and communities, in their bodies, not to mention their souls.

TELL YOUR GRANDMAS WHO WATCH MEGYN KELLY OR FOX NEWS TO WATCH TIM DILLON INSTEAD, GET HER INTO THE JIM CARREY BODY DOUBLE CONSPIRACY, DEMI MOORE’S NEW PHYSIQUE. IT IS POSSIBLE THE PROPER USE OF NEGATIVE LANGUAGE AND GOSSIP HAS THE FUNCTION OF REPELLING HATE BY DISSOLVING THE SPORES OF IT INTO SOMETHING INNOCUOUS.

I had way too many downloads these last few days triggered by my vision of The Lady G Monologues. They involved my own stories about sex when it converged with structural power. Food for the Grandmas. This is a short one because I’m recognizing my bandwidth has some limits, surprise. But I’m hoping to share some of those stories with you soon.

This is the first and last time I’ve ever eaten cotton candy. Likely my Dad’s doing and I’m sure he caught hell from my Mom later.

I did mushrooms last week after taking about two years off, minus one night. Last year I did them to give me the ability to attend to the work necessary to attend to Sarah Turner’s incredible dolphin video art, done on the land, video projected into a pool in which I had the water delivered, which I immersed myself in topless during peak electronic and real drumming sound from Uvee’, in which my friend Ashlea who was there because of Bigfoot, said she saw a fairy near my head and I saw a very triangular wizard guy and I went to sleep in my tent that night and found myself trapped in a Tesla factory, everything was white and there was this white car, so smooth and plasticine I just had to laugh.

In Mexico, right before Covid, a mushroom shaman who studied in the African ways, Carole Dansi’, who refused me the tobacco snuff, no matter how much I asked for it, because she knew I was addicted, gave me some mid-ceremony FINALLY, but the snuff contained COBRA PARTS, and had me on the ground tongue out unable to move with the lines SOMETIMES YOUR THE WINDSHIELD SOMETIMES YOUR THE BUG running through my head SHE TOLD ME DURING THE RETREAT TO TAKE TWO YEARS OFF DOING MUSHROOMS AND I WAS LIKE YOU’RE RIGHT BUT NO.

Now I know why I took two years off. I AM A WHOLE DIFFERENT PERSON NOW.

It likely has to do with that prayer I made inviting JESUS IN MY HEART TO SAVE ME with LISA, and uncovering the mystery of my FATHER, that he was an MKULTRA DOCTOR stationed in GERMANY AND KOREA. Over the course of my life, I’ve had revelation after revelation, little mini healings. It’s truly astounding that life itself contains a NARRATIVE WITHIN IT having to do with my ultimate release from the HELL of my own BROKEN NERVOUS SYSTEM. I didn’t know. From the vantage point of Bett Williams, NARRATIVE OF ANY KIND, has always been held in suspicion as more often then not it’s been used by OTHERS, TO TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH ME and because I’m already a LESBIAN and A PERSON WHO HAS STRUGGLED WITH ADDICTION OR WHATEVER, AND THE CENTRAL STORY OF MY GROWTH AS A CHILD WAS CENTERED AROUND A FREAKY JACKED UP FATHER ON SIX DIFFERENT ROTATING MIND ALTERING SUBSTANCES AT ALL TIMES WHO’S MAIN EVENT WAS SHROUDED IN MILITARY GRADE SECRECY, IT ALL KIND OF MAKES SENSE NOW. Is this the very definition of FAITH? That while we are the same in the most basic ways, we each are composed of an infinitely different MATH and that the way through is DIFFERENT FOR EVERYONE.

There’s a line that I heard in an Al-Anon Meeting that goes - PEOPLE DO WHAT THEY NEED TO DO BECAUSE THEY NEED TO DO IT.

Swallow this sentence like a MUSHROOM and I guarantee you will get TAUGHT.

I tripped in T or C, then tripped with two new friends less than a week later in a quiet ceremony at home. One of the women was the most grounded human I have ever been around. She was a BURNER who worked on a base camp for about a decade that took four months to set up and take down. First day was like ACID, COCAINE AND BLACK SABBATH and continued on from there. I can only imagine the comedowns which she said she managed with lingerie parties. She’s likely done more drugs in one month than I have in my entire life and I’ve done a fair amount. She left the scene because so many of her friends died every year, committed suicide in the way drug addicts do. NOT EVERYONE MAKES IT. There’s something in the BIBLE about a Camel and the Eye of a Needle, and this woman was born to walk right through that needle from birth, like BABY HUEY, BUT REALLY REALLY PRETTY. There’s people who walk among us with HOLY TALENT, who are that medicine person, psychedelic sitter, or just plain friend and conversationalist, who could change your life forever. These people are marked with a right sized humility. They won’t be in the SCENE. They would never be caught dead being an INFLUENCER. They bring their wisdom to everything they touch.

I have been plagued by the company of SOBRIETY NAZI’S throughout my life, the most hierarchical and denial capitalism dependent bitches you’ve ever seen, who know how to destabilize you in a few words just to come in like TRUMP INTO VENEZUELA TO STEAL YOUR OIL. One who was living in my house for free, TOOK ME OUT by calmly walking into the living room when I’d been scrolling on FACEBOOK FOR DAYS like a CRACKHEAD after being accused of FELONY BURGLARY BY MY EX.

I CAN SEE YOU ARE REALLY SUFFERING I CAN FEEL IT FROM INSIDE MY ROOM, DUDE, THE SCROLLING THING, I CAN HELP YOU IF YOU WANT. Her juice cleanses were great but they cost $400, so I passed. Addicts are such easy MARKS. These people need desperately to feel superior to you it’s like their whole life.

There’s a line in Narcotics Anonymous - An alcoholic will steal your wallet but a heroin addict will steal it and help you find it. This sums up how I feel about this very common type of person we see everywhere these days in the ENDTIMES.

I’ve known I have healed my core trauma in these last many months. Habits and old ways of being in my body have crept up but I can so clearly see it now as JUST HOW THE BODY WORKS. Old habits die hard and I have to retrain myself like I’m a baby horse who fell off a cliff. The healing is purely physical at this point and it’s important I not interject any more stories into it, especially other people’s. So yeah, I took the mushrooms and Syrian Rue and saw the extent to which I’ve been fully healed. I noticed how I am capable of landing in my calm nervous system but still have these electrical signals that come in as commands - like “you can’t relax until you’ve taken a nap.” “ Let’s just spaz out and self massage and make it about your stiff neck to avoid just landing into how already HERE you are.” “Let’s take a TINY THOUGHT and make it really BIG and SCHITZO because it’s something to fill up the space because you are avoiding that one simple breath that will allow yourself to be HERE.” AND GIRL YOU’VE REALLY FOUGHT TO BE HERE YOU WALKED THROUGH THE EYE OF THE NEEDLE TO BE HERE SO DON’T FORGET.

Who was that lunatic who wrote The Wild Kindness, anyway?

I am the same. Seen from an outside eye, I’ve always be a bit on the edge of clinical something. But at 57 I get to say with confidence that I have the mental health of a rodeo steer. BABY HUEY WALKING THROUGH THE EYE OF THE NEEDLE AUTISTICALLY STIMMING.

I guess I hit it out of the park with my last Substack. It was a real success and I’m letting myself feel it and I’m curious about a lot of things. I was reading an interview between Dean Kissick and Angelicism01, whose writing I have liked, a kind of free form violence in the form of language that errs towards evangelical self redemption VIBES and Dean says “Your writing has been described as IRRESPONSIBLE.” Angelicism01 was like yeah, that makes sense. What I do here with intentionally throwing in trigger topics within the current politic, not to make a political point, but because this is where language has been the most alive for me, was my own COVID SHOT. It has inoculated me against the fear of retribution which is necessary for me as someone hunted and tortured in various ways on mostly an intimate level. I feel insane every time I write one of these, jacked up to the max. But apparently my courage has paid off. All writers of this era end up being called courageous and I’ve rejected that label. My MKULTRA Programming was to write about the PERSONAL, which has been called COURAGEOUS and that’s a CROCK OF SHIT. I’ve never been courageous before until this Substack.

Mike Kitchell wrote a piece here somewhat in response to my last Substack which did so many things to me all at once I will be responding to it in many ways in Substacks to come, but he simply landed upon a personal detail of his life, that he was A GAY FAT KID, and this opened up a whole treasure chest of real experiences in my past that I had kept at arms length, probably due to my suspicion of personal narrative and how it’s used. He writes….

“At the level of subjective experience, it is relatively common for men who grew up as fat kids, especially gay men that grew up as fat kids, to never really shed the “shame” of being “fat” as an identity marker, even if the body itself manages to far surpass this one gets stuck in their head permanently in this fat kid identity as a marker of shame and it makes EVERYTHING literally harder than it needs to be. A little over ten years ago I committed to shedding my FAT KID IDENTITY and my body has had it’s ups and downs since then, despite ten years of over-exercising and developing arguably just as toxic food relationships as I had when I just didn’t think about anything other than “eating whatever the fuck I wanted whenever I wanted.” I HAVE BEEN TOLD that I no longer read as “FAT KID” and that I am actually MUSCULAR AND HANDSOME and sometimes I manage to take selfies that allow me to convince myself of this but other times the objective experience of being in my body or seeing photos that I was not in control of triggers ABSOLUTE ABJECT FIGHT OR FLIGHT notion that I am a horrible piece of shit who will be stuck like this forever and will never ever not look like a fat kid. Like, obviously this is bad, and I’m a very self-aware person so I know exactly what is happening and I know it’s a trap but even when you know the trap exists it doesn’t mean that you cannot get outside of it, I mean look at capitalism.”

As we have just had another MKULTRA trial, which is obvious to anyone whose been watching closely, this means crumbs are being thrown out because the machine is taking it to a whole new level, I’ve found myself revisiting my my own relationship to memory.

I would have been a MARK for the cult leader in the TV Show BRING ME THE BEAUTIES, who convinced his followers they were WALK-INS, possessed by an alien and the biological human who they were before is now dead.

I’ve basically lived like this. My nervous system jackery has been obvious since the time I was young to any sociopath wanting to manipulate me and how that happened on the ground was multiple people IN ACTUAL CULTS AND ALSO OUT aggressively trying to convince me I’d been raped by my father, that my addictions had to do with this or that thing, maybe this is why I am a lesbian, whatever, but clearly I am subhuman - better to do away with the past completely then get it hijacked by a cult leader, the publishing industry, the queer communities’ OBAMASLOP or some wandering good looking influencer wanting to put me on an expensive juice cleanse.

I need to say here my dopamine cleanse not only failed but was a disturbing FACE PLANT. It only makes me want to succeed more. I will have to start in a place sequestered from any access to my phone. If you have any ideas please share them with me. If you are hiking in the wilderness and want someone to carry some water I am game. I’m serious. I’ve been able to pull myself back from various addictions mostly by transferring them to tinier less harmful addictions but this phone thing, FUCK. I am humbled.

Below is me, on a trip with my Mom and Dad to Baden Baden Germany where my Dad was stationed post WWII. The recent MKULTRA TRIALS revealed something I didn’t know before, that MKULTRA began in Germany post WWII, Sydney Gottlieb was stationed there during that time. This is new information. I figured Dad was involved in Project Paperclip stuff as an OSS recruited doctor educated at YALE and MAYO CLINIC, who never spoke a single word about his service, but this new detail deepens things.

I haven’t looked at these photos in over 25 years. Maybe I have taken them out to show girlfriends, but I haven’t let myself really LOOK. I came into this life, partly, as a correction to my father’s deeds he had no idea he was getting in to until it was too late. My job was to love him, nothing more. Jesus, look at my face.

Some years later I discovered GENDER EUPHORIA

I learned how changing one’s shape can be one’s own personal talisman delivering mystical powers to get through and see the world. During this time I would spend hours in the upper backyard pretending to be a MILITARY GENERAL. I deeply believed killing was wrong so I would imagine scenarios for people who did REALLY BAD THINGS LIKE KILL ANIMALS. Would I put them on an island or would they just go to JAIL? You can’t just kill them. Hours were spent figuring out the right and proper moral way to deal with such things. Did Sydney Gottlieb wonder the same things?

This was still when my nervous system was intact, before junior high. I had a photo album of pics during that time but it was stolen. I want to get to the part I found so compelling in Mike’s essay that FATNESS IS THE FIRST BIG FIGHT FOR MANY OF US - A ROOT. AND IT’S TABOO TO TALK ABOUT FOR REALLY GOOD REASONS.

Somewhere in here belongs the story of Beth and I and our MENOPAUSEDDEY, where we parked the van in front of the Santa Barbara YMCA twice, each for a month, and each dropped 35 pounds. This is LOVE.

I don’t remember much from Kindergarten other than being afraid of the LETTER K and this OUTFIT. My mother would laugh and laugh because I was so angry and upset. Angels reminded her of getting baptized and almost drowning as a kid in Lubbock.

Quick flash forward to my book reading in Santa Barbara for my first published novel “Girl Walking Backwards” published on St. Martin’s Press, a MIRACLE thanks to the STATE DEPT PUSHING LGB CONTENT AS PART OF COLD WAR POLICIES.

Where I am flanked by the two women, the one the left is my junior high school principal and on the right is the HOLY TERRY WALKER my religion teacher, who I was in love with and found Jesus through when I was 11 and 12. Dude in the leather jacket is the criminal and awesome Barry Graham who rolled into America mysteriously to fuck a lot of women, my Mom’s best friend being one of them, and to show me how to be a writer, how to write publishing houses without an agent etc., without him I would not have been published, at least as soon as I was. And there’s Dad, with Barry’s book with Richard Kern’s pic on the cover. But I’m posting this because of the STRIPED PANTS I AM WEARING BECAUSE I FELT FAT AND THIS OCCUPIED 80% OF MY MIND.

Another timeline jump back to high school when I became BULIMIC. It operated like all of my addictions, a compulsion between this or that next thing, an inability to encounter reality without my CONTROL, which took the form of eating and throwing up. It was bad. My mother was a big and sophisticated reader and I was practically illiterate. To her dis-appointment I only started reading when I came upon extremely ideological feminist texts in High School. I was already a lesbian at this point and 95% of my days were spent in sexual fantasy which I see now as an attempt to properly DRUG MYSELF. The sexual fantasies of my high school years trained me in visualization skills I use to this day. I already had SOMATIC SYNESTHESIA. Like earlier this morning I tested it out, touched my hips and I saw metal bolts with the sexiest screws silver shining strong. So take this visual sensitivity connected to my very high LIBIDINAL IMPULSE and feed it BELLA ABZUG and the result was I BECAME PUFFY AND INFLAMED AND FAT WITHIN A MATTER OF MONTHS AND MY MOM WAS DEEPLY ANOREXIC SO I DON’T KNOW WHICH TICKED HER OFF THE MOST, THE LESBIANISM, THE FEMINISM, OR THE THROWING UP IN THE TOILET DAILY OR JUST THE FACT THAT I WAS KIND OF FAT NOW. For me personally, it’s interesting to look back on the level to which ideas, especially ideological one’s, had the power to change my body, because they acted upon my system like a DRUG. A summer at the nude beach with my statutory rapist cured my bulimia.

For those beset with the addiction of feeling dysmorphic all the time, in terms of FAT, it’s the kind of fat gain within a 10-40 lb range that can secretly make you its BITCH, not becoming OBESE. In Southern California we’d probably find a way to die before becoming OBESE. But it’s the fact the range is so small relatively that lends itself to the deep neurosis of FAT’S GAIN AND LOSS. I view it as my first very concerning addiction. Leave school get a Tiger Bar which triggers a need for one of those big sugar filled carrot cake muffins, then its on and already over - nothing like the cool intimacy of barfing up ice cream at midnight to tell you something’s really wrong.

I asked JESUS about this conundrum of eating in general that has plagued me my whole life and JESUS SAID THIS - IT’S ONLY BEEN A RELATIVELY SMALL TIME ON EARTH HUMANS HAVE HAD TO DECIDE WHAT TO EAT ON AN INDIVIDUAL LEVEL. BEFORE THIS STAGE OF CAPITALIST GROWTH YOU HAD TO JUST EAT WHAT WAS GIVEN TO YOU BY YOUR COMMUNITY SYSTEM. IT’S A PICKLE.

For a traumatized person everything, including thoughts in the privacy of one’s head, IS A DRUG.

Ok so the TRAUMA thing went like this: My Mom waited until the divorce laws changed in California to spring divorce on my drug addict whore loving Dad, fair enough, I heard him sobbing in the guest house, a grief I’ve never heard come out of another human being, a sound that no matter the SIN, deserves a comfort I helplessly was not able to give.

I developed a year long stomach ache and the only way to lessen the pain was to walk around the living room in circles for hours, for many months. I was taken to a doctor by my Mom. He put on plastic gloves and de-virginized my asshole way deep in there checking for I don’t know what and considered me in the clear.

My Dad got some vulgar girlfriend, not half as pretty as my Mom, who would sit at the tennis club with her legs open showing her pubic hair to all. Joint custody was happening at this point and sometimes that lady and her adult daughters would be with us when I visited. One time Dad took us all to see Annie in LA. When I got home my Mom was like - you were with that whore were’t you and I’d lie. No Mom.

AND IT WAS ON FOR ABOUT TWO AND A HALF YEARS AND MORE BECAUSE I AM ONLY NOW REMEMBERING IN A CHECK THE DATES WAY. I’d get interrogated about whether I was LYING about something and what would result was her coming in and out of my room screaming at me, calling me a LITTLE CUNT LIAR. When my Dad stopped seeing the whoreish lady my mother still needed to OFF-GAS her rage so it developed into me LOSING A HAIRBRUSH, AND NOT KNOWING WHERE IT WENT AND I WOULD BE ACCUSED OF LYING. Days of in and out of my room with her studiously finding the exact words to completely disassemble any sense of self I had built over a lifetime, pointed insults, smart one’s, she is after all a BEAUTIFUL LUBBOCK WOMAN FULL OF LIFE FORCE.

I WOULD BANG MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL IN HOPES OF PASSING OUT FOR HER TO STOP AND FEEL SORRY FOR ME. NO DOUBT I SUFFERED SOME DAIM BAMAGE ON TOP OF THE LIFETIME NERVOUS SYSTEM WHACK.

SOMETIMES I WOULD RUN AWAY TO MY BROTHER’S HOUSE. HE WOULD BRING ME BACK AND MY MOM WOULD BE CRYING AND REMORSEFUL BUT THE CYCLE CONTINUED I WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN FOR A PUBLIC INSTITUTION OF SOME KIND TO RESCUE ME. OR FOR HER TO DIE.

AND AS MY MOTHER NEARED HER OWN DEATH SHE FORGOT ABOUT THIS TIME IN OUR LIFE COMPLETELY. I WOULD DO WHAT?!! SHE SAID. I LET HER FORGET OUT OF MERCY.

This rage extended into college I guess, it’s all a BLACKOUT, because some of my girlfriend’s experienced it. One of them was repeatedly thrown down the stairs by her mother as a child, one time resulting in the ER and she said to me - I have never seen anything close to the abuse your mother is capable of. HOW ARE YOU EVEN ALIVE.

If there really is a TRAUMA OLYMPICS like the culture says, in a derogatory way, I am now at the point in my life where maybe I should enter it. I’d like an arena where I can explain what this ACTUALLY DID TO MY NERVOUS SYSTEM, in a way people may be able to HEAR ME. Not because I want people to feel sorry for me, well maybe I do a little bit, in the same way I felt sorry for my Dad when I heard him sobbing that day. By the time I might have told my story beyond it being wrapped up and used as just another story told by a person of marginalized identity, the field was so crowded by SOB STORIES TOLD BY PEOPLE OF MARGINALIZED IDENTITIES, meant for the purpose of MKULTRA agendas, I won’t go into it now, you can get the gist if you’ve been reading me for a while, BUT YEAH I OPTED OUT OF BEING A PERSON WITH A PAST WITH ANY IDENTITY ATTACHED TO THAT PAST.

I’VE BEEN A WALK-IN!!!

I said to Mike, who I encountered on Dennis Cooper’s Blog, how long has is been, maybe two decades, I’m bad with time - Mike’s a really serious freaking artist and writer and I said - There’s a difference between someone like you or me talking about personal things than others who are just coming upon the power of language to attend to those things.

I FEEL LIKE THIS IS A NOTE THAT LEAVES EVERYTHING ENTIRELY UNDONE. WHICH IS HOW I INTENDED IT TO BE.

OK but just one final THING about Jesus because I would be omitting something central - a thing which only the medicine people and artists can probably grasp. I came into this world with a profoundly theological orientation and while I was taken by Jesus as a young person my cosmology has been largely Pagan my whole life, mainly due to it being what’s around in the social field of things. On this recent mushroom trip I saw how my orientation to Paganism was marked by being a white person of this era, there being no way to really wrap one’s whole body around the religion of another people’s from long ago, even of one’s own ethnicity, so the Paganism I was practicing was a kind of THEOLOGICAL EXAGGERATION OF ANCHOR POINTS. AND FOR SOMEONE WHO IS CAPABLE OF USING EVERY SINGLE THING IN THE WORLD AS A DRUG THIS POSED SOME PROBLEMATICS. Paganism is very transactional. You offer a part of yourself in honor of a thing to ensure you will be in continued relationship with it. A tree, a goddess etc. The importance of one thing above another is asserted in a very human collective process. The problem with a modern Paganism worldview is it’s steeped in the commerce of the marketplace and the ye ole Silk Road, so that nothing is given for FREE. For every TREE there is a book, a campfire story told by a preacher quack, a tv show or influencer who will tell you all about that TREE. Beyond my talents of LARPING SCHITZOPHRENIA, this approach kind of nixes SOVEREIGNITY. I’ve been jerked around by my ANCHOR POINTS/MY MENTAL DRUGS to a point where I can no longer ABIDE. Jesus in the HEART does not erase the power of that TREE as everything is included in GOD’S LOVE, EXACTLY AS IT IS, ALL OF HISTORY INCLUDED. Seen from here, the JUNIPER TREE itself becomes SOVEREIGN.

Me and Mom in Germany with Dad.

APHRODITE is in the water aerobics class at the Truth or Consequences Swimming Pool. There are two of them, actually, both blonde, tall and tan, moving their foam water weights gracefully through the water, emitting the vibe of graceful self -containment that 10’s in the Bo Derek sense of the word, POSSESS. I try not to stare. It’s 105 degrees on Pride Weekend and I’m over two years in to my life as a lesbian incel. My post menopausal libido crash is mending through a fine tuned, even supernatural awareness of my new hormonal terrain. This is where a woman could stop following the through line of her desire in terms of attaching it to other bodies and simply let herself go. There is a signal that comes from the pituitary gland that alerts the eggs to drop. In menopause this signal gets louder. It’s been described as a radio signal going haywire with nowhere to land. SCIENTISTS SAY THERE’S NO PURPOSE TO IT AT ALL. HRT therapy will STOP this signal, NOTHING LOST. I am raw dogging my menopause and I have a strong sense this signal is here to entrain me in very important things. There’s no self deception anymore. I don’t have the hormones for LYING to myself, at least when it comes down to desire. While dating will continue to be off the table for a while longer for many reasons, I’m too curious to find out who I have been this whole time to give up on sex completely.

I am finally the lesbian nun I wanted to be as a thirteen year old girl, my body baking in the light and electricity of true internal code. My eyes are my erogenous zone and while I convinced myself through COPE that my “TYPE” was that of the hot commodified street-touched YoungGirl femme, this turns out not to be the case. My “TYPE” is the Aphrodite Archetype, aristocratic and natural, beautiful obviously, and now two of them are in the POOL as the instructor tells us to “stir the cauldron” with our foam weights, like we are witches.

The APHRODITES look to be about SIXTY-FIVE OR SEVENTY. Yes, you heard that right. My erotic gaze is GENUINE. GOALS. They are alive in there under the skin I can almost smell it. The Aphrodite Archetype was off limits to me all my life because she’s usually STRAIGHT, she is after all, a fertility goddess, and on a trajectory towards marriage and childbirth, she’s a dignified and secretive Celtic Mushroom Shaman who lives in an Irish Forest, or living the life of a gay man in New York as she climbs some corporate ladder. Not like I didn’t try at the clubs in the 90’s. I recognize something in these elder Aphrodite’s in the pool. I see it because it is happening to me - a woman’s sexuality post-menopause can morph into something very different, nearly unrecognizable from what came before. It’s far from anything diminished, but a material hormonal arrangement not having passively arrived, but actually BUILT with an intention born from a woman’s deepest soul desires. Some old women have taken on the project, while others decide it’s not a priority.

As far as demographics go, the lesbian dating pool may be one of the smallest of all. I learned to transfer my desire for the Aphrodite Archetype through creative mental gymnastics onto APHRODITE ADJACENT TYPES that were actually available, the DIANA’S, the ARTEMIS’S, the OSHUN’S, the MEDUSA’S. Love and bonds and family and occasional disaster have occurred - A LIFE. Lesbians for the most part have never been able to afford having a “TYPE.” It’s not considered feminist or something. Hollywood Stars seem to be able to pull it off. Looking back from the vantage point of an OLD LESBIAN INCEL, acknowledging and being able to speak about “MY TYPE,” which has everything to do with BASIC MATERIAL HORMONAL CHEMISTRY AND EROTIC LONGEVITY, in my opinion, could have saved a lot of suffering both for myself and my partners. Not like I would have proceeded in my choices much differently, just perhaps with more clarity and kindness. Few of us of any gender or sexuality ever get to land our “TYPE” for any significant duration of time. It’s simply the way the old ball bounces.

THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO ARE TALKING ABOUT THIS STUFF RIGHT NOW ARE FASCIST 4CHAN MANOSPHERE INCELS AND THAT JUST ISN’T RIGHT.

There is one story that has messed me up perhaps more than any story ever told to me. It’s about a farmer and his wife who lived in Wisconsin. They married in high school. They were my girlfriend’s ex-girlfriends parents and the story goes like this - THEY HAD PASSIONATE SEX EVERY DAY OF THEIR LIFE UNTIL OLD AGE

SORRY TO SCREW YOU UP TOO BUT I COULDN’T HOLD IT ALONE.

_________________________________________________________________________

We now have names for dozens of genders, but it’s really sexual orientation that deserves one hundred names. My sexual orientation towards women has its specificity which includes SOCIAL ORIENTATION towards HETEROSEXUALS.

Leonard Schlain, a weirdo old man who has written the most profound books on menstruation I have encountered, has chapters on the role of gays and lesbians in antiquity.

He sees us as an evolutionary biological necessity for survival, a balancing alchemy - lesbians are there for the women in childbirth and in their loneliness while the men are off to war or on a long hunt for game, then remain a constant in the family system. Gay men exist among the warriors and hunters to have butt sex, blow jobs and the Greek inspiration towards male beauty that establishes the hormonally correct alchemy necessary for murderous ambition and the continuation of life. Being partnered is not off the table in these arrangements. Love can still exist. I resonate with this. I don’t want to just form bonds with lesbians, gays and queers. I was incarnated to belong as a LESBIAN NODE in a system that is centered on the mostly heterosexual family and the importance of CHILDBIRTH. WEIRD RIGHT? I’m FRINGE. I KNOW I’M PROBABLY NOT LIKE YOU. RELAX. PLEASE BE NICE TO ME.

NONE OF MY AMBITIONS HAVE MANIFESTED BY THE WAY. NOT YET.

The effort of landing a lover as a lesbian is so labor intensive and nearly impossible that you end up in queer separatist circles by default, even the women who are bougie professionals move in packs of other women, gays and queers. It’s only the art world that offers a semblance of respite. I was not able to manifest the chosen family and social world I feel I was born for, LISTEN TO MY TINY VIOLIN, really most humans don’t get to have what they REALLY want. It’s the wanting and not getting it that moves us all to the next DREAMED place in the human story of survival and adaptation. It’s called being LIBIDINALLY DRIVEN. FAILURE is the medicine NATURE seeks from MOST of us, of any sexuality.

SIGH

BUT NOT SIGH SWOON, THE WRITER WHO SAYS IN HER BOOK THAT ACHIEVING A UNION CONTAINING EROTIC LONGEVITY WITH THE PERSON WHO IS YOUR AESTHETIC IDEAL IS PERHAPS THE CLOSEST WE CAN GET TO EXPERIENCING THE IMPOSSIBLE MIRACLES THAT USUALLY ONLY COME FROM GOD.

I am paraphrasing. She appears to have gotten what she wanted so be JEALOUS. I however, AM A BETTER WRITER.

BEAUTY ITSELF IS BORN FROM THE TRANSFERENCE OF THE FAILED LIBIDINAL IMPULSE

_______________________________________________________________________

Down in T or C, Beth and I were cooped up in a Home Exchange in 106 degree weather. The only place to get ice cream after seven o’clock is the Wal-Mart. Beth showed me a video about how some not all Wal-Marts have adopted an AI system that changes the prices of goods depending on the algorithms on your phone. This system is in the local store. It also reads your facial expressions and will change the prices depending on whether you look happy, agitated or sad. One of the companies that provides this technology is called Wayvee. The machine can sense your heartbeat and tiny micro movements and change the price of your ice cream. I went to get ice cream. This was before I knew the full story of this technology. I know how to make a Wal-Mart stop a good time due to my ability to LARP states of mental illness. I go in the store and I tell myself, like all experiences of pain, that this will last forever, probably. That way I won’t endure the suffering of wishing it to end. I also can get totally SCHITZO with the color ORANGE which HELPS. So yeah, I went into this Wal-Mart to get ice cream.

I went into the store and it was LIKE OH HELL NO.

OH HELL NO IN A TOTALLY DIFFERENT WAY.

I FELT IT ELECRICALLY, OR MAYBE IT WAS THE NEW RADIO WAVES I WAS ACTUALLY ABLE TO SUBTLY FEEL. MY HEAD BECAME A BUBBLE GOING UPWARD. T OR C IS A MENTAL HOSPITAL FOR REAL AND I SAW THE OTHER CUSTOMERS IN A STATE OF HAPPY TRANCE LIKE BLISS PUTZING AROUND IN A WAY THAT WASN’T SWEET. THE NEWLY INSTALLED MACHINE WANTED TO MAKE ME HAPPY TOO BUT SURVIVING IT WAS GOING TO MAKE ME LITERALLY HAVE SOME KIND OF EPISODE. I AM NOT AN EPISODE HAVER.

I HAVE NEVER CASHED OUT SO FAST IN A WAL MART, THOUGH I DID TALK TO THE LADY WORKING THE SELF CHECK OUT. SHE DESPERATELY WANTED TO TALK ABOUT THE AI. IT MADE HER SCHEDULE. IT ADDED AN EIGHT HOUR MORNING SHIFT FOLLOWING HER NIGHT SHIFT ON HER DAY OFF OUT OF NOWHERE AND THERE WAS NOT A SINGLE PERSON SHE COULD TALK TO HELP CORRECT IT.

PEOPLE! PLEASE TALK TO YOUR GROCERY STORE EMPLOYEES WHEN YOU CHECK OUT. THEY WILL BE GOING INSANE EVEN BEFORE WE DO. THIS TECHNOLOGY IS AT KROEGER’S NOW AND WILL BE AT WHOLE FOODS AND TARGET BY THE END OF THE SUMMER, LIKELY.

Our friends Sarah, Marina and Austin broke Beth and I out of our home exchange sweaty stupor by coming down from up north for the weekend. We switched from the home exchange to the Space Castle, an ayahuasca den decorated with pornographic psychedelic art hidden behind lace curtains and maximalist wood carvings and large canvas paintings with a distinct Carlos Castaneda narrative. The only sane option in the heat that first day was to check into the two o’clock screening of BACKROOMS in THE CORTEZ, the ANTIQUE MOVIE THEATER.

BACKROOMS is apparently the second highest grossing horror film of 2026 bringing in $331 Million. It came out of the culture of 4Chan, CreepyPasta and Liminal Spaces Twitter. It was an open source phenomena that developed around this single photograph.

You get the idea. I have a lot to say about this film, like about how it doesn’t let you make apophenic schizoid connections despite its flimsy time travel plot, how it traps you in a maze where you literally can’t make meaning out of anything. It doesn’t let you aestheticize the ugliness no matter how you try.

It’s a deeply physical horror experience about Liminal Spaces and it was so SCARY, so aggressive in its endeavor to be nothing but itself, to give me nothing to feel better, that I actually PASSED OUT. Friends, I lost consciousness in the first fifteen minutes. This hasn’t happened to me since college when I hadn’t figured out how to self medicate my PTSD yet with ideas, people and substances. I would literally like clockwork fall DEAD ASLEEP in my three o’clock class EVERY DAY IN A SOBER STATE because my nervous system was BLITZED OUT. In BACKROOMS I fell asleep and woke up about six times but managed to be fully awake during the last forty minutes. I watched a bunch of the backstory videos on Youtube and fell asleep and woke up through those as well. The fact it wouldn’t let itself be “About the Times,” or “AI” is a testament to REAL ART when it sticks to a certain kind of purity. The people who are telling you to go see it really need you to see it and I am one of those people.

The sun is busy trying to KILL US ALL this time of year and the only way to repel death is to kill ourselves in little tiny ways so as to avoid car accidents, drug overdoses, alcohol relapses, domestic violence, general retarded murder and regretful shopping sprees. The best way to appease the SUN is to FUCK. Trust me, apparently it works. The Georges Bataille boys will tell you as much and they all seem like good upstanding citizens that won’t murder you in your sleep.

Every culture has its SUN CEREMONIES and they’re all about FUCKING, even the Sundance, which if you read about the symbology in actual detail you will realize it is so. In the countries along the equator there is the sun ceremony of Carnivale’ which Michael Ventura describes as the one time of year regular people get to be somebody else, the part of themselves they had to leave behind to be normal family folk, I.E. SURVIVE. They don’t necessarily FUCK like the gay priest class or the temple goddesses at Carnivale’ but through voyeuristic participation, they FUCK SYMBOLICALLY, which the SUN says is GOOD ENOUGH.

In America, during the time of the SUN’S CEREMONY OF FUCK, the streets are BOGARTED by PRIDE PARADES. People complain there’s too many STRAIT PEOPLE in attendance now and I have something to say about that.

FOR THE SAKE OF THE SUN NOT KILLING US ALL WE NEED TO EMBRACE THE STRAITS IF ONLY FOR THE SAKE OF SHEER NUMBERS.

SO THAT WE MAY APPEASE THE SUN AND NOT COME TO GRUESOME VIOLENT ENDS.

WE MUST CLEAN UP OUR ACT, PUT THE THONG BACK ON OUR JUNK SO THEY CAN BRING THE KIDS BECAUSE THEY CAN’T AFFORD A BABYSITTER.

BETH AND I ARE ALWAYS HAPPY TO BABYSIT FOR FREE BUT THEY DON’T HAVE OUR NUMBER.

WE SHOULD TRANSFORM PRIDE INTO A CARNIVALE’ PARADE FOR ALL!!!

STRAIGHTS ARE QUEERER THAN I AM THESE DAYS, ANYWAY, I MEAN, CONSIDER NORMAN MAILER.

I CAN’T GUARANTEE YOU MY VISION WILL BE IN ANY WAY “SAFE,” BUT BY THE TIME IT TAKES FOR SUCH A THING TO MANIFEST WE WILL HAVE PALANTIR AS THE POLICE, SO THERE’S THAT.

OUR LITTLE PUNY BUG LIKE SIGNALS MUST CROSS IN THE FACE OF THE SUN UNDIVIDED!!

I REALLY SHOULD RUN FOR CITY COUNCIL.

STAY WITH ME, HERE’S A PICTURE OF A DOG FOR YOUR DOPAMINE MY FRIEND JEN SENT ME

At Space Castle we all got ready to go the 420 Club Pride Dance held in a storefront coffee shop decorated with Bob Marley, Alien and Geometric Art Posters. In attendance were five or six old gay men, one old lesbian, a mixed race lesbian couple in their forties, the water aerobics instructor, and a sea of cortisol inflamed mermaids with blue hair, animal ears, mixed in with Ren-Faire Paisley Print Goddess Worshippers that may or may not have been heterosexual tantric sex massage therapists. By the way, Truth or Consequences just welcomed a Love’s Gas Station. The sign LORDS over the town like an APPARITION.

Ok, and I’m tripping on the fungi.

Some of the anime mermaid types looked like 304’s(look it up I just learned yesterday.)

“Cuz of Love’s maybe?” I said to our friend Sarah, “A new previously unwitnessed demographic here in T or C?”

All over Twitter the horrible sad people were commenting that Pride was now almost solely a feminine demographic, whatever one’s gender. I saw the pictures and yes, the 420 Club seemed to be mirroring this Pride demographic found in midwestern towns like Wisconsin.

THIS IS LIMINAL SPACE, a culture MORPHING into another CULTURE seemingly over the course of a couple years seen from my end, and like all things LIMINAL, there is the UNCANNY VALLEY EFFECT due to pressures seen and unseen pushing us towards towards ADAPTATION - the result being bodies looking not quite right, larger or smaller than they should, weird big heads, new pharmaceutical frequencies, turbo weed, candy vape and street drug SWEAT, a vibe that causes discomfort and fear simply because of it being both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

THE MONSTER MASH IS TO BE EXPECTED

I GREW UP IN THE MEDITERRANEAN OPULENCE OF SANTA BARBARA. I USED TO GO TO SPEC HOUSES IN SPRAWLING SUBDIVISIONS NEAR LA BECAUSE THEY WERE SO TERRIFYINGLY DEVOID OF WHAT I HAD COME TO KNOW AS BEAUTIFUL. I WOULD FIGURE OUT HOW TO AESTHETICIZE AND EVEN EROTICIZE THESE ENVIRONMENTS AS A WAY TO INOCULATE MYSELF FROM THE FEELING OF DANGER AND DISLOCATION THAT EMANATED.

I DO THIS WITH PEOPLE TOO. I HAVE A TALENT FOR IT.

I grew up believing it was bad to hold to certain ideals around BEAUTY. Mainstream beauty standards were the COMMODIFIED WOMAN UNDER CAPITALISM. I’m sure there’s some MATH I’m missing, but the optics of CURRENT queer culture seem the very definition of the COMMODIFIED HUMAN. On the body of ONE LIL BPD MERMAID INTO CHARLIE XCX TWO YEARS AGO, with a lolipop in their mouth, one can tag the specific hair dye product used, the trending anime t-shirt, the Alibaba/Temu Glowy Things to the point QR Code Stickers should be taped all over their bodies and the wearer should make enough money to buy a Monster energy drink just by walking around as an ADVERTISEMENT.

If I had any PRIDE in my heart, if I was to be honest, AND I CANT AFFORD TO BE DISHONEST BECAUSE IT WILL MESS WITH MY HORMONES, MY PRIDE lay in bringing a TRUE APHRODITE to the club, MY STRAIGHT FRIEND SARAH, tall, GORGEOUS and whip smart, classy in a white frill shirt with belly button showing. Such company felt very old school Pagan, like an offering to the dance floor, like something we did in the past in a long forgotten time like the 90’s. The pushing 80’s lecherous lesbian in a t-shirt and shorts got it, commented on how there were “femmes” like that back in the old days, couldn’t take her eyes off Sarah all night. She knew Sarah was straight, but man, when a woman like that is in the club it changes the frequency. For people like me. To the rest of the crowd she was an interloper and rendered invisible.

I had been dancing by myself in an overly enthusiastic way like the true autist that I am. Off too the side. I NEED to dance to figure out what’s going on. I am training my eye to perceive in an honest way any compatible erotic alchemy. A circle of people were dancing, doing that thing when one person goes in the middle and performs a signature move - Queer Socialism Choreography. My eyes landed on a Lena Dunham but Ren-Faire Paisley possibly Tantric Sex Worker possibly technically STRAIT beauty as my MARK. I reached for her and pulled her into the middle, dancing badly, sexy from the crotch, bumpy moves, until I flailed myself out of my FAILURE and went back to the bar to report my courage to Sarah, Beth and Marina who performed ambivalence at my report.

I can do better, I thought. It’s Pride, probably my only chance for a dance floor like this for a while. So I went back, tripping balls, and stood at the edge of the circle and observed how different this MATH is from the 90’s. This is a SACRED FEMININE self empowerment ceremony for 304’s. Cool. What a beautiful thing. All for it. My lesbian masculinity was not particularly welcome and that’s why the first dance didn’t work. My moves made me feel like a JOHN OR A CUSTOMER AT A STRIP CLUB.

It’s PRIDE and I’m a LESBIAN and I deserve a more LATERAL SPACE AMONGST EVERYONE HERE BUT I REALIZED THAT COULD ONLY HAPPEN IF I MADE MYSELF MORE FEMININE ON THE INSIDE BEFORE ENTERING THE DANCE.

SO I APPROACHED MY GODDESS MORE GENTLY THIS TIME PUT MY ARM AROUND HER SOFT WAIST AND HAD A VERY CONNECTED DANCE FOR A WHOLE SONG. I’M NOT SAYING IT WAS EROTIC BUT I HADN’T TOUCHED SOMEONE LIKE THAT IN YEARS SO IT WAS SOMETHING.

“You’ve really taught me a lot tonight,” I said in her ear. “I should probably get your phone number.”

She didn’t offer it, but when I started to leave with my interloper straight-ish friends and Beth, she yelled, “Noooo, don’t goooo!!!” so many times drunkenly with appropriate energetic hooks and while it’s not polite to leave a lady, or a theydee, after flirting so overtly, the sexually transactional nature of the dance floor was ultimately too complicated for me to read. With her I had a feeling that whatever could potentially happen between us was something I would have to pay for, if not with cash, then with something else. A lateral relationship with any of these queers would take something from me I have to interest in giving at this stage in my life. If anything was meant to be, I would see her at the SOUND BOWL SESSION AT THE SPA down the block. Or at LOVE’S, perhaps.

I have another friend of the Aphrodite Phenotype, a beautiful bisexual sex worker turned accomplished writer, who later married and raised children with a man, who went on a date with CAMILLE PAGLIA maybe 20 years ago. Of course PAGLIA would be into APHRODITE, and yeah, even she would have to PAY for it.

I walked around the next day resigned to the fact that instead of aiming for building my own version of WALTON GOGGIN’S BODY, I would aim to be OLD INCEL CAMILLE PAGLIA WITH SLIGHTLY RAPEY VIBES. That would be my best chance at getting any play at all with the new pack of queer APHRODITE ADJACENT 304’S. It’s funny, but the thought landed on me with a level of meanness to self and others in a way that felt like SIN. I am on my way to becoming a whole other thing I may not recognize because I’m FINALLY BEING MYSELF BECAUSE I HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE HORMONALLY AND SPIRITUALLY, and it’s uncomfortable and even ugly at times. I don’t want to date a SEX WORKER or a QUEER that will HAZE AND TORTURE ME WITH PUNITIVE COMMUNISM TO EXTRACT LOOSH, SIGH.

We got back to the Space Castle and Sarah set up her sound bowls and theremin. Marina’s partner Austin left the 420 club early on and had set up their computer and keyboard for incomprehensible and advanced music making capabilities. We made the beautiful sounds. Now this is how I like to PARTY. Maybe if I get a theramin and some sound bowls, that could be what keeps me off the internet.

After everyone else retired, Sarah and I sat in the hot tub outside looking up at the stars for many hours. She put a version of Ave Maria on BLAST. played on theramin by a 1930’s artist named Clara Rockmore. It sounded like voice but it’s not, it’s a miracle. The stars liked it more than any version a human could ever sing. This was CLEAR.

“Maybe the stars like the theramin better because they need us to be a little more cleaned up or something?” I said.

Sarah explained that it had more to do with the basic material nature of sound, light and distance. Not necessarily anything to do with God or Aliens or Trans-humanism. While these topics enter into her work, she doesn’t think about them in the schitzo way that I do. It comes across in her art, like she deliberately excludes whole bodies of discourse in order to focus on the very material basics of what sound, light, image and narrative DO, what they make you FEEL. It’s not about coming away with a critical theory IDEA of something or making connections outside the work itself. Her work lands so well on the body, fixing you up a little bit, in a not grandiose and very BEAUTIFUL WAY, likely because of what she LEAVES OUT OF THE CONVERSATION.

WHAT THE HOLY HELL I SAID LOOKING UP AT AN IRIDESCENT TRIANGLE OF SMALLER TRIANGLES FLASHING THROUGH THE SKY ABOVE US. I IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT UFO’S OR SOMETHING FROM SANDIA LABS.

“GEESE CATCHING THE LIGHT,” SHE SAID. “DYLAN AND I WENT TO SEE THEM AT THE BOSQUE NOT LONG AGO. AMAZING RIGHT?”

I learned deep things from my Aphrodite friend Sarah that night. I really hope I can be there for her when she has a BABY with her BLACKSMITH boyfriend. I learned today that Aphrodite’s HUSBAND WAS THE MASTER OF FIRE AND METALWORKING. They are each other’s “TYPES” it seems. What a rare thing and something to CELEBRATE.

Sometimes I think the Pride Flag demographic cries out victimhood when we simply don’t WIN at something we set out to do, and those who do win are seen as the Oppressors. Yes, the conditions for winning are rigged, duh, but it’s not always the government or capitalism or phobic hate or even THE NEPHILIM, but simply the Material Reality of what it is to be a human being on EARTH with a BODY and most of it is BEYOND OUR UNDERSTANDING. If one thinks about it too much how would one get to the work of living? Have I not believed I could WIN AT LOVE because I unconsciously don’t want to be seen as the OPPRESSOR? Would occupying myself as a SOVEREIGN BEING, speaking the truth about what I really want, cause me to lose the relationships I’ve worked all my life to build and then I’d be all alone and sad?

MAYBE

As the Buddhists say, NO BLAME.

FORGIVE MY ABSENCE FROM THE DATING GAME I AM INVOLVED IN A NO FAULT DIVORCE WITH MIND CONTROL

__________________________________________________________________________

How on Earth will I write what came next? Perhaps I should have put it at the beginning as its TONE lies so FAR outside all I have written here.

It’s late now, I will just have to try my best.

On the last night at Space Castle I had a DREAM.

Before bed I was eating pizza, drinking Diet Coke with Beth and watching YouTube videos about BACKROOMS.

I was taken by a YouTuber who commented the that most horrifying line in the Backrooms Cannon was when a guy was stuck in The Complex and he says…

I FORGOT WHAT THE SKY LOOKS LIKE

I FELT HAUNTED TOO, BUT FOR ME IT WASN’T ABOUT THE SKY BUT SOMETHING ELSE MORE PRIMAL LIKE WHAT IS MY BODY FOR?

I slept alone in the “EGG.” Here’s a video of the space.

Ok no pretensions, dreams are best delivered in the style of a report. I went to sleep listening to a video by Layton Elyas about the Dark Feminine. She’s the Rudolph Steiner influenced Lesbian Christian Mystic Detransitioner I ran across on Twitter. I played it not so much for the content, I knew I would fall asleep quickly, but for her testosterone damaged voice, which I find beautiful, calming and heart opening. And beyond her voice, everything about her I find beautiful, the true definition of inside meets outside beauty that’s rendered accessible to me because she’s kind of a weird bird. It’s chaste, I have no actual crush going on in the loop, plus she’s married. And we’re both Christians, ha.

She’s been tweeting about stuff like this -

So as you can imagine, this speaks to me as a post menopausal incel lesbian. I hadn’t even read this before the DREAM. Come on, Bett, get to the dream, it’s getting LATE. For some reason I don’t want our time together here to ever END because something else will need to BEGIN.

At the very end of Truman Capote’s scandalous book Unanswered Prayers, about the high society culture that he felt fucked him over, there is a final paragraph about how all the better and kind high society art ladies moved to New Mexico in their old age and became lesbians. I feel like this was the last remaining expression of his own true gay eros that he felt possible in his imagination.

There once was a time I had forgotten what the sky looks like.

Taylor Swift has written a song about my future ex-wife and her name is Rebekah and She is 68. Goodnight.

If you scroll more than a certain amount of time in the morning, that’s the world you’re going to be living in for the rest of the day - you’ve been captured.

Still the Holy Spirit showed up at Lone Butte Gas Station.

This is where I have purchased all my VICES, most recently, ZYN pouches. I really have missed seeing the lady who works there, a Hispanic grandma who used to work at Trader Joe’s. We have gotten tight through chatty banter. She goes fishing, catches a lot of fish and can’t eat all of them so she goes back to Trader Joe’s where she used to work with her cooler in tow and just gives the fish away to her friends. There’s an old man at the gas station who won the lottery, some six figure sum, who still hangs out there buying tickets. He must be nearing 90 and goes there every day and stands around. The business got a cut of his wins but that’s not the only reason they let him hang out behind the counter and lurk, holding up the line, buying more tickets. It’s just a kind thing to do. He’s really old and apparently has nothing else to do with his days.

So I go in there to buy ice and I hear L yell something about eggs. Do I want some eggs? A farmer came in and had so many extra, she bought them to be nice but doesn’t need them. Hell yeah I want some farm raised local eggs. $7. We started catching up. She saved her money and caught a country music show in Albuquerque last weekend. I asked her if she’d been able to get away and go fishing and she said no, she’s been wanting to.

I have had an image lodged in my brain since I was a little girl. I’m at a river fishing with my dog. It’s like an anchor, a goal or something. I tell her this.

“Hey you want to go fishing we can go do that. I could go after I get off at 11 here most days.”

“Really?” I said, “I would love that. Yes I would very very much like to do that.”

Internally, I’m thinking keep your shit together girl don’t let on you’re having a HolY SpiRiT moment. Remember You ARe A CRaZy BiTCH right NOW.

Part of being NORMAL is you can MAKE A PLAN FOR THE FUTURE so we did that.

Funny that we didn’t exchange phone numbers. It felt so right to have the word PHONE not be anywhere in our interaction.

I drove to Albuquerque and went to FAMILY THRIFT and bought three sports shirts, like actual sports shirts, THE CARDINALS, ONE WITH A FALCON and a BASEBALL SHIRT. I am a CRACKHEAD I WILL START DRESSING LIKE ONE.

Went to WHOLE FOODS and bought fatty food and meat because I will do KETO for 90 days which is recommended for ADDICTS and people going off PSYCHE DRUGS I’ll make a post about this sometime in the future I’m sure.

I landed in T or C and scrolled til 4 a.m I kid you not the neurosis had taken hold of me that badly. I wrote stuff on my phone and sent it to myself via text. I snuck into the hot tub I sneak into all the time when I am here and yeah I was there at three in the morning making up stories about why I was such a mess and how I was going to write about it for my Substack, something about how my Mom was mean and a couple abusive exes OMG.

I need to tell you about this place TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES. When REAGAN was in office he shut down some mental institutions and some of the PATIENTS got a one way ticket to TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES, NM. It’s a mental institution, basically. A HOSPITAL. A faith healer named MAGNOLIA ELLIS used to do laying on of hands here and cars would line up for blocks for her services.

Nick Hinton my favorite TWITTER SCHITZOID joined the ORTHODOX CHURCH and one of the basic orienting cosmologies is that the Orthodox Church is basically a hospital for your SPIRIT. Dude hit his bottom following pattern recognition occult narratives until he almost died.

We are programmed to think healing happens outside ourselves and this extends to being sold a bill off goods about a Tulum Yoga Retreat , or a big star healer, the new modality. One thing that feels really right about turning myself in to Truth or Consequences HOSPITAL, this is like my fourth or fifth week long stay here, now quitting stuff and healing, is that the ecosystem is my ecosystem. It’s only three and a half hours away. Same weather, same-ish water, same New Mexicans and same tourists, this orientation feels very right. But I also think y’all should travel and come here. This place really loves and needs tourists who come to get healed. COME HERE!!

MORNING ONE THROUGH THE GRACE OF THE HOLY SPIRIT I STUCK TO MY PROMISE AND DIDNT PICK UP MY PHONE.

HOW FUCKING DEMORALIZING IS IT THAT EVERY SINGLE MORNING I HAVE DONE WHAT I DO NOT WANT TO DO BUT DO IT ANYWAY. I CANNOT STAND FOR THIS ONE MORE FUCKING SECOND.

Stick with me here because I have a story for you at the end of this substack which will be really worth the read but firstly I gotta tell you about the Truth or Consequences Swimming Pool. It was just the first day of my fast. I had listened to some Huberman Podcasts about Dopamine and reward seeking ways our brain works.

Day ONE.

MY FAVORITE OUTDOOR POOL IN THE ENTIRE WORLD

PRISON YARD GREY CONCRETE A PROPER EXPANSE

MACHINERY IS IN A RIGHT SIZED BLUE CUBE LIKE BUILDING

THERE ARE HANDPRINTS ON THE BLUE SURFACE BUT IT’S NOT “HANDPRINTS” WITH PAINT IT’S LIKE SOME KIDS WERE JUST LIFTED UP TO TOUCH THE SURFACE YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW “HANDPRINTS” DONE WITH GOOBER PAINT ON CHILD HANDS WILL BRING THE WHOLE THING DOWN HOW DID THEY KNOW HOW TO KEEP THIS PLACE PROTECTED FROM MURALS!!!

YOU SWIM WEST AND THERES THAT BUILDING AND A CONCRETE BLOCK WALL PAINTED BROWN. ON THE BOTTOM RIGHT CORNER OF THE VISUAL FIELD ARE TWO CARDBOARD CUTOUTS OF CARTOON SHARKS STACKED AND LEANING ON THE GROUND.

THEY ARE ORANGE CARTOON SHARKS.

FUCK

WHEN YOU SWIM EAST YOU HAVE A VIEW OF THE MOUNTAINS THAT CRADLE THE RIO GRANDE RIVER.

THE POOL IS SO SO BLUE IN THE BRIGHT SUN SPARKLING DIAMONDS

A BLONDE GIRL LIFEGUARD VERY PRETTY OF ABOUT 18 YEARS OF AGE SITS ON A HIGH CHAIR LOOKING OUT. SHE GREETS YOU WITH EYE CONTACT AND HELLO BECAUSE SHE WAS TRAINED TO DO SO.

SHE YELLS IN A DIRECTION BEHIND HER, CAN YOU TURN THE MUSIC UP! SOMEONE DOES. IT’S THIS ERA’S JEWEL ADJACENT FEMALE VOCALIST WITH CAREFULLY CHOSEN PRECISE MINOR CHORDS USED SPARINGLY.

i’m swimming on the first day of my dopamine fast and the Holy Spirit says don’t look too hard today because this shit could put you into a PADDED CELL.

I got out of the water and on my way to my stuff I stopped at a rack with all the flippers. A big box was full of YELLOW BABY FLIPPERS. I make an actual choice while holding a cute flipper in my hand not to yell to the TEENAGE LIFE GUARD that this is so cute I can’t even handle it.

while swimming I wAS LIKE like hey JESUS, is this the kind of shit that makes CRAZY PEOPLE go CRAZY like this feeling that EVERYTHING IS DRUGS and mental illness is creative people needing to control everything through perception and JESUS SAID YES.

SO THERE WAS THAT

OK so I’m driving to go soak in the hot springs in the afternoon even thought it’s 101 degrees. FOCH and BROADWAY a guy is in the middle of the road on the hot concrete unable to get up. He’s wearing a red t-shirt and looks like JAMES FRANCO ON A BAD DAY.

No one is helping him, cars are driving by. I park and get out of my car and begin to approach thinking I should probably not actually touch him unless I have some help, A biker dude in a leather vest appears and we go up to him cautiously.

FUCK THE FREEMASONS! FUCK THE ILLUMINATI! HE SCREAMS

It’s clear he can’t move. We both reach under his armpit on either side and begin to lift him and try to pull him back to the curb.

FUCK YOU FAKE ELVIS DUDE! FUCK THE FREEMASONS!

Another stranger has appeared and brings him a bottle of water which he violently throws into the road with a FUCK YOU.

CopS are called, and two or three others ciVILIANS appear. I back off from the job of actually getting the dude off the hot concrete into the shade. Nobody helps but the cops arrive soon, about seven of them with soft asses in black polyester pants. An ambulance arrives. He yells at everybody but me. It’s like I’m invisible and I know why because I’m praying. Nothing big and loud because I know that’s what could set him off I’m just being a presence and because of that vibe I know he is not going to freak out on me.

A over 70’s fat guy with a long gray beard and a cross around his neck appears and goes up to him. “I love you guy,” he says and goes on his way.

A conservative nerd shows up to report the man in the street jumped on a car and the car kept going and he fell off the hood on to the concrete. What I don’t get was why I arrived on the scene and he was all alone.

I watch as he is lifted into the ambulance quite skillfully. All the cops are so chill, and ultimately so is our spiritual warrior fighting the freemasons and the illuminati. So been there. Some days you gotta scream FUCK THE ILLUMINATI and push it to the limit while at the same time you actually know the limit. His limit included breaking his hip and being driven to the hospital but yeah.

BROTHER.

This is the town where EDDINGTON was filmed and this was what I was thinking of as he was lifted into the ambulance. AGAIN TOO much beauty it could MAKE ME CRAZY. MY BROTHER. It looked like a MOVIE.

Two days ago I thought I could conjure LOVE in my heart with mere thoughts and yoga and nervous system work.

Now I know.

Only thE WORLD, only RELATIONSHIP, can conjure the LOVE I am seeking IN MY HEART. BEING available. So many ways of living and being spiritual or whatever but if it allows you to be in control of everything as the central THING then it won’t be TRUE.

It’s the summer of quitting. I’ve been indulging in Twitter and the other apps even more than usual because I’m doing a 90 day dopamine fast starting Friday. No passive scrolling, period. I can post on the apps and reply to comments but like maybe 20 mins a day at the screen including email. Ok leeway for my dumbbell training YouTube videos. And certain online essays. I’m going to maybe die of SADNESS. That’s what Grimes calls it anyway, when you go off social media and maybe screens in general because you’re addicted - a DOPAMINE FAST. Did you know they haven’t even proven the serotonin dopamine system exists in the way I’m talking about it right now? The science is flimsy and was used to justify SSRI’s. I’d look at the definition of DOPAMINE online right now but that means I would risk getting sucked into Twitter again. I’m saving that for later. This morning I watched the same two people die that I watched die yesterday. One fell into a volcano. The other was thrown off a bridge to bungee jump but they forgot to tie the rope on.

On Twitter a guy said - don’t you hate when you have ADHD and you have to push the conversation further AND FURTHER just to get your hit of DOPAMINE then you realize you said the bad things and you go home and feel terrible.

This describes my entire relationship with language of late. It’s where I get my dopamine hits. This is a bad way to think about what it means to be human but I’m getting a DOPAMINE hit thinking about how there might be some TRUTH here. My writing is that of a person who has depleted their dopamine stores to such an extent I need more and more to be satisfied. I knew I could be a writer at a young age when I saw how so many books consisted of sentences that had nothing in them, but existed simply to get from one place to another. No. A sentence has to have a thing in it. Every sentence. Maybe a bunch of things. Things that deliver a hit. A sentence can have something in it through the act of taking stuff out of it. Why would anybody want to read anything that doesn’t deliver a hit?

FOR GREAT HIGH DOPAMINE WRITING I RECOMMEND ELIZABETH ELLEN

I was going to write about Hilde Lynn Helphenstein and now I’m not. Maybe I am if I don’t think I have to. I want to go deeper on this DOPAMINE thing. I didn’t know who Hilde was when I read she was found dead in a hotel room in Brazil with a broken glass and a bottle of pills. One of the themes that is emerging in my Substack writing is what it means to be a targeted node in a geopolitical system, targeted for steering, destabilization or worse. So many of us are that but damn, her Dad worked for the State Department(CIA) and she grew up in Russia. When she came back to the States she was locked up in Baptist boarding school. She creates a persona called Jerry Gogosian on Instagram which becomes a major voice in the art world. She has a high dopamine language style which, like me, was likely maximalized by religiously listening to Red Scare during Covid. She said she really liked Red Scare on her podcast, Tim Dillon too, so I’m thinking she’s just like me, not because it’s right coded content but because of the high dopamine delivery. Rich alcoholic art ladies and gay men set the bar for this style a long time ago and it wasn’t left/right politically coded. High dopamine language is a matter of taste and perhaps taste is developed through the management of insatiable hungers/addictions as well as DANGERS. So then Hilde goes and purposefully mispronounces an ethnic name, which is a feature not a bug of becoming a libtarded Red Scare fan, and she gets cancelled. She keeps her chin up. I need to say here that her podcast is really great. Instagram too. Not only do you get a smart vantage point on specific artists and trends but she really loves art, loves objects, she’s like, I’m in Georgia and I bought a spittoon with a guys head carved into it!!!!! She leads with this love of objects and a love of the dark game of the art market. She genuinely wants to help artists know what’s going on so they can win. She was such an internet addict she actually went to rehab for it. A year before her death she barely was going on Instagram. She’s learning to play tennis. Was, I mean. Fuck.

She had a mark on her coming from like ten different directions. Maybe a CCP spy killed her for going off the internet. Brazil is basically owned by China. Maybe she knew too much about some money laundering schemes. That’s basically what the blue chip market has become. Maybe she OD’d from mixing painkillers with alcohol. When a coven of hack commie journalists of the type that write for Hyperallergic and recent Art News actually believe that maybe you should die, it’s not hard to fall into that shape when one’s guard is let down when you are psychically sensitive. Maybe she had SUDDEN ONSET SUICIDE SYNDROME from a Satanic ritual performed in Hyperallergic’s basement. A dozen more reasons and none of them exist outside of her death being the result of STRUCTURAL VIOLENCE. We don’t know if she knew who she was. It’s a tragedy.

Speaking of violence, I witnessed my first actual INCITEMENT TO VIOLENCE the other day from an Instagram influencer with over a hundred thousand followers and it came from, of all people, the delicate honey butter maryisalien. I was shocked. She basically was like, people, in the Bible and the great stories like Epic of Gilgamesh when shit went down and the women and children were raped and killed, the heroes stepped up and did what needed to be done. The government isn’t going to do it for you, so men, get to it.

Whoa.

It’s getting dangerous out HERE.

I recently read Practices in Apparition by Gabi Abrao.

I’m not sure if the oddly transgressive beauty of the book would read for people who were never addicted to TWITTER. It seems that’s what the publisher, NOT A CULT is doing - putting out books for recovering internet addicts. It’s kind of cool because one of the reasons I don’t read as much as I want to, is a lot of prose doesn’t deliver enough DOPAMINE. This book does by the simple fact it exists as a medicine, a beauty, or something within the INTERNET. Chloe Happe who went by the name bronzeageshawty on Twitter also has a book coming out with this publisher. Chloe below -

Her whole public persona is about being an internet addict and healing from it, moving to New Mexico and making BONE BROTH. She signed up to Rover not to make money, but just to walk other peoples dogs because it’s not being on the INTERNET. It’s hard not to see these books as having a lineage in the XANAX ADDY SCENE of Tao Lin’s New York, but instead of drugs and scenes, it’s just the INTERNET. The INTERNET and learning how to leave it gracefully, FOR A TIME. To be lost in an existentially dangerous level of passive scrolling, you think there’s a way to live that you aren’t living. Twitter is the hardest dopamine delivery system around - you’re just getting racism, snuff films, UFO’s and the Satanic Cabal hard and straight into the veins and there’s Gabi Abrao under the handle of SighSwoon posting a picture of her cat eating and little tiny paintings are set up near the food bowl, it’s like Tao Lin(whose still on Twitter,) and his feral pigs. SighSwoon tweeted the other day, NOBODY IS COMING TO SAVE YOU, NOBODY IS COMING TO KILL YOU. GOOD IF TRUE, but there are exceptions. Sometimes something is coming to kill you, but WHO CAN LIVE LIKE THAT? There’s a sex scene in the book where she EATS PUSSY. I had to mention that cuz DOPAMINE. I am allowing some of the sentences in this paragraph to be janky like a lazy leggo figureS because it shows what has become of my ability to concentrate and how limited my tonal register has become. ADHD now a style. The fact you like to read it says something about YOU, too. I don’t believe in ADHD. I think our brains have just adapted to the internet and it’s ugly. Now I am just reading this over and over to avoid the task of putting the text on the pics I am posting, the slightest shift from one type of brain activity another and I’m just a total pussy like Hunter Biden. HOW I SUFFER SO LIKE LIL BITCH, HUNTER BIDEN, who now, by the way, is trying to become a Twitter LINGUIST. It extracts LOVE by the way, being this level of human, this PITIFUL THING that leaves TYPOS on PURPOSE. In fact I’m just going to post this now without even my usual read through done with fucks to give.

I WILL LOVE YOU BACK CAN WE MAKE A DEAL

The internet has been my central proxy reward system ever since I signed on AOLChat in the 90’s. An unbroken line. This is ending on Friday. I’m not quitting forever I will return with a plan that allows for use but not addiction. I know what that can look like. I’m genuinely concerned I will lose my sense of humor. NOT TO MENTION I’M AFRAID WHAT AWAITS IS DEPRESSION. I know that I have succeeded because I can feel the wake of it in my body and…

I wasn’t sure I was going to write the MTG Trans Furry War thing that was born roller skating on a TENNIS COURT in T or C and has been SWIMMING around in my head for a couple weeks. I’ve done enough posts with this sort of obnoxious trope. I scrapped it then I heard Hilde on her podcast bemoaning how there’s no rebellious art anymore that she can see from where she is standing. That’s enough for me to allow it to exist today.

The mature part of me knows that maybe it’s best to not post this week but I like connecting. I go on social media and I feel like I love you in that agape way and so today I posted a map on Facebook saying which states it is legal to be naked in your own yard. Writing here serves that same impulse. There’s a lot of big ideas flying around about reality itself at a time basic survival in America is about to get way harder. Ideas are not getting me high this week. I listened to Susie Bright bitch about polyamory on the rowing machine today and that felt like sanity.

The vet thought the problem with Beth’s dog Cricket’s vagina was because she was a hermaphrodite, but she just came back from the Albuquerque vet and it turns out she is just suffering from extreme cortisol spikes.

!!!!!!!!

I’m only posting because I’m lonely and I agape love you and while writing this I got two sweet texts from friends, one who I haven’t seen in many years, he sent me this, that’s him in the video, the legendary Aaron Huey. And there’s Sondra Goodwin herself. It’s from the HBO Real Sex episode.

In my scroll hole I managed to not hire the lady with stickers on her eyelids to help me face my lower doppelgänger. I mean I would never. I really dislike the occult despite reading everything about it. I however did not come away without being parted from some of my cash. I purchased a used Bluetooth speaker that didn’t work and a new wallet. I bought Milk Thistle, L-theanine and Phosphatidylserine which is what I would prescribe for Beth’s dog Cricket if I was a vet. The results have been immediate. When I wake to go stand barefoot to watch the sunrise I have, up until now, had an upward clench in my shoulders and face, like a visible muscle contraction that I have to work to release. That hasn’t happened since this stuff. Mornings I drink whole lemon juice with ginger and Maca. I made bone broth from Ox tail I got at the Mexican grocery store. I want to take a picture in the tradition of Dodie Bellamy but it’s extra gross gelatinous meat product. Adaptation/recalibration feels like being sick sometimes but wisdom has shown me this is living. It’s a big sweat lodge ethic to not revisit the wound. It insults the spirits to worry that the blessing was not thorough and complete.

Here’s a pic of me and my CIA Doctor Actor Artist Dad….….

And my groovy Mom from Lubbock…

Me and my friend Daisy and my dog Charlie

“Do you have a will?” the stranger asked, submerged mid way in the hot springs water, her gold cross gleaming, her white sun visor bringing me back to tennis club days.

“Sort of, yeah,” I said, a bit startled by such a direct question. We had hardly shared words at all. All I knew was she was scared of dogs, so Tuli was tied up to a tree.

“You should have a trust. It’s much better.”

She began explaining the difference between a will and a trust. It wasn’t that long ago a writer I admired dropped in my dm’s to say he was writing about New Mexico for his book. He was in a hot springs and was graced with the presence of the “divine feminine” who shared a cosmic secret that is not for me to repeat.

My encounter with the divine feminine was a Mexican grandma saying I needed to write up a trust. Her companion was a dwarf who didn’t speak much English. She gave her friend some advice in Spanish.

“I’m telling her she needs to go on hormones. Are you on hormones?”

“No.”

“They saved me. I was so tired. I started taking them and, well, my husband and I separated because I was just sick of him and had no desire. Now I go over to his house every night. It’s like we’re on a second honeymoon. You need to take hormones.”

The divine feminine was telling me to take HRT. Hilarious. I’m still working on a long form essay about how I raw dogged menopause without hormones. Never against my libido getting some help, but I’m cut off from taking advice from mermaids.

Flash forward to the swimming pool in Truth or Consequences. A teenage girl floated with her eyes closed surrounded by other kids in lifejackets getting a lesson in how to save her life - every one with long black hair including the boys. They way they held her afloat made me think of the light as a feather game, and also the Jane Bowles short story where a woman holds Pacifica afloat in the shallows of the water in Morrocco, or some other exotic place, such a liminal and holy sight, a woman floating, HELD. I had my cowboy hat on and was doing a lazy breast strokes in circles since the lanes were taken down. The other adult swimming circles was a total babe in a red bathing cap.

OMG we started talking.

The “divine feminine” in the shimmering water said I should go on hormones I kid you not. She stopped her period at age 47 and started taking them and had so much more energy.

“It’s probably why I don’t have wrinkles,” she said. It was true, she had very few wrinkles. She was fifty now and looked like Pamela Anderson. I said something about how I quit Zyn nicotine pouches on my last trip down and she grilled me on what they were like. Bobbing up and down in the water, I said a little bit about how great Zyn was. She decided she would get addicted to it this summer because she was going to be starting cosmetology college in Albuquerque, the schedule would be insane, a two and a half hour drive just to get there every day. She yelled something to the lifeguard about their shift at the Chevron. 50 year old starting cosmetology school. Picks up shifts at Chevron. Big life decisions. Wants a new addiction. Maybe she didn’t know if she was straight anymore, either.

“Yeah, you should definitely try Zyn.”

“My name is Ali,” she said.

Fuck, could this be an opportunity to ask her to go bowling? I was electric with this encounter, too stunned to be talking to such a beautiful and possibly mentally ill woman to push it further. MENTALLY ILL FINE MAYBE USE A FAKE NAME. She said something about coming to the pool regularly. I will wait. I will see her again. We said farewells and she got out of the water. TOTAL BABE was like six feet tall. I’m a long ways away from any physical contact even in my mind but this is how I want it to go. ENCOUNTER WITH TOTAL STRANGER I WOULD LIKE MY PUBLIC LIFE TO TAKE PLACE IN STATE PARKS AND PUBLIC POOLS.

I WANT LIFE TO LOOK LIKE DELMAS HOWE AND DAVID HOCKNEY PAINTINGS BUT LESBIAN.

Remember when we used to just meet people in real life? Did we? The summer I moved permanently to New Mexico I met two men in the plaza who became friends. One was a retiree guy who won a women’s leg contest. The other was a veteran civil war re-enactor who kept a gun and a scalp in his van.

I need to tell you I’m experiencing the healing of a lifetime. The information about my Dad. I am able to let go of something I’ve held onto all my life. I wake and look at the sun every morning and all day long allow my eyes, my tongue and the bottom of my feet to relax into their seat. In my skull is a butterfly. I’ve been spending a lot of time visualizing the inside of my head. At first it looked like the light from my phone in there and WORDS. I’M DONE WORKING FOR THE GOVERNMENT. I asked the sunlight I take in every morning to illuminate the inside of my skull. I took up residence there. In my own head. What a novel idea. God lives here it’s quite obvious so I’ll say God by name here. I soften my brain and sit alongside. Last week I came across a medieval Christian text written by anonymous called THE CLOUD OF UNKNOWING. When it gets embarrassing to believe in God I think of the medieval Christians mystics.

I never decided to be Christian. It is. Has always been since I was little. It’s WEIRD. Me and Fanny Howe, Phillip K Dick and Maria Sabina - HALLOWED BE THY NAME. If I had chosen it the reason would be that God who is not me can sit in the firmament of the skull butterfly and by being there I am protected from anything that is NOT ME trying to come fuck with the arrow that is my soul. Focus on the ONE who was ONE with the ONE, so that I may come CLOSER.

A year ago I sat in my living room with Lisa, a former student, and I asked her to pray with me. I was in a real pickle. She’s Native American, her Dad was a big AIM guy. Got saved at some point in her crazy life and ended up in a congregation in Oregon with 4000 people. Two people she very publicly prayed for recovered from terminal illness. She was branded a Possessed Jezebel and kicked out of the church, started doing drugs for a little while again before she got back on her feet, hottest grandma in New Mexico, make-up artist for movies, still closing the honky tonks due to her ability to cause chaos with her vibe, she held my hands and prayed over me kind of like the guy from Tennessee at Akbar in LA who started a beauty salon with his mom prayed over me, not unlike how Maria Sabina prays, you say his name - Jesu Christo. It’s fine in Spanish. In English it’s a very weird thing to say.

Was looking for a church last year and Sunny, the former lesbian nun who I slept with in college, steered me away into my own practice of WANDERING RETARD.

She said garments at the Temple of Jerusalem tore in half when Jesus died, marking the END of the old sacrificial order, the church itself, the barrier between humanity and God was removed.

When I’m residing in that spot within my skull I feel nine years old in my body, I feel how my dog Tuli looks when she wrestles, I am swimming and skating and walking around. I’m not chasing ordeals right now it’s already to intense. Even the thought of going in the hot springs in the cave at dawn was too much. Maybe getting through menopause without hormones has allowed me to tune my body and perception towards THIS. Maybe it’s just the SUN.

I AM SO HERE

The CURE for loss of FEELING is TUNING yourself to become more SENSITIVE.

IT’S NOT LIKE WHEN I WAS YOUNG, NOW I CAN MAKE IT SO MUCH MORE BEAUTIFUL

PRAYER IS PARTICIPATION

HEY THE VERSABOND WORKED THIS IS THE STATE OF MY FIREPLACE IN PROCESS.

Sheila Heti wrote an essay in GRANTA called GOOD MEDICINE about reaching a certain age and struggling to find a purpose in life. Many friends are going through this and they call it Peri-Menopause.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Heti did psychedelics, healed some stuff about her Dad, but that accomplishment ends up being superfluous to a general lightness she begins to adopt. I remember that moment of - OK BITCH you’re in your Saturn return, shoot your load, PLAY YOUR HAND, dream the dream, it’s gotta be bigger than ANYTHING you’ve ever done. SO WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?

KILL MYSELF?

I’m just joking but the ambivalence was real.

I saw my former student Lisa at Whole Foods in Albuquerque on my way to Truth or Consequences. She said she still had a frozen shoulder. When we prayed that day I told her to have an orgasm and send the energy to her shoulder. I guess that didn’t work. I texted her this morning because of something I heard on a podcast - frozen shoulder is actually connected to the nerves in the armpit, maybe put some castor oil there and massage. For me, every answer lies in the fascia and the nerves. I am a kind of anatomy cultist now who suns my sphincter in the yard.

It’s time to get a GUN and build a fort on the land to store CANNED GOODS. If this is the kind of attitude you’re mustering up right now feel free to DM me I want to know what people are thinking and doing regarding the supply chain interruptions due to the closure of the STRAIT OF HORMUZ.

Pentecost is a nice word. I read what it means. I am now UNKNOWING it.

I am placing this photo of Hunter Biden here and I the reasons why are hidden from me in the CLOUD OF UNKNOWING.

Many things that happened in THE DARK AGES after the FALL OF ROME hold aspirational appeal to me - wandering through smoke, passing the crowded plague hospitals mumbling my prayers, boiling drinking water and making candles, running away from evil sorcerers, I walk to the field of sheep by the lake, say hi to my sheep friends, remove my dress and jump in the water THIS IS MY CALLING, perhaps I am being called in this life TOO and THEY of the myriad STATE PARKS and PRIVATE AND PUBLIC POOLS will speak of me thusly - she carried a light that seemed to stop time, when asked why she came she would answer - I came to enjoy myself in the water and sunlight, I am also giving away free emergency antibiotics I picked up in Mexico. She would often ask women in the pools if they wanted to go to the movies. When asked how she got inside, she wouldn’t say.

I snuck in here last week -

I’ve been rollerskating at dawn every morning on the public tennis courts here in Truth or Consequences. What began as a desire to build my own version of Walton Goggin’s body, shifted into quitting Zyn patches which resulted in a bit of a face plant. Now I’m just one of legions trying to fix my vagus nerve. I think it’s a psyop, this sudden trending focus on the nervous system. I’ve gotten up to watch the sunrise every morning for over two months now. I’ve slept through it only once. I still wake up at 3:00 AM a lot, but now I’m able to easily fall back asleep. Whole nights I have slept through for the first time in over a decade. I feel into the back of my eyes, relax my tongue, open the bottom of my bare feet to the earth, I feel my nerve and the butterfly in my skull and begin to search for artifacts of mind control so I can release them. This is a summer of extricating my body from the great American CIA Project.

AS FOR MY HEAD NOTHING GLAMOROUS IN THERE LIKE MKULTRA MONARCH CULT LEADER POTENTIALITIES NO PUSSY

ALL THAT’S LEFT NOW IS OBAMASLOP

This essay in County Highway goes into Obama’s love affair with Silicon Valley and how he single handedly manufactured a genius machine of surveillance politics that steered every marginalized group into divisive institutional orthodoxies that fractured coalitions, surgically removed living wage, fair loans, and affordable heath care from every demographic’s list of demands, to be replaced with OBAMASLOP – military grade government propaganda as word salad designed to break your brain. I’m not sure if the article said all of that, maybe just some of that. Anyway, it’s good.

In 2012, Obama amended the Smith-Mundt Act. This act was penned by President Truman in 1948. It allowed the State Department to disseminate PROPAGANDA to foreign audiences through media of all kinds. Obama’s amendment made it possible for some materials created by the US Agency for Global Media, our foreign broadcasting agency responsible for PROPAGANDA, TO BE USED DOMESTICALLY FOR THE FIRST TIME.

Bots, meme factories in Russia, China, Israel all competed with domestic PROPAGANDA to drive us INSANE any time [REDACTED], until activism itself became nothing more than a PAGAN NECROPHILIC DEATH PARADE RITUAL wherein ALL BUT THE DEAD ARE SINNERS IN OUR COMPLICITY, absolved only through the act of disseminating more government approved propaganda. Mimetic evidence must be provided, proving adherence to approved institutional orthodoxy, reflecting a politic straight out of Evergreen College Fall Semester Social Justice 101 - Marxism minus any talk about a living wage.

REMOVE LIVING WAGE, FAIR LOANS, AND AFFORDABLE HEALTH CARE FROM THE MARXIST CONVO COMPLETELY AND YOU GET OBAMASLOP.

THERE MUST BE NO PRACTICAL SOLUTIONS IN THE RICHEST COUNTRY. ONLY THE DISSEMINATION OF AN IDEOLOGY THAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS OTHER THAN IT SORT OF MEANS EVERYBODY’S FUCKED FOREVER AND WE SHOULD ALL HATE OURSELVES.

Karen Barad, in her book Meeting the Universe Halfway, merges quantum physics and feminist theory to propose “agential realism,” arguing that matter and meaning are not separate, but are mutually constituted through “Intra-actions.”

QUANTUM OBAMASLOP

OBAMASLOP is a punitive and carceral system. Every person becomes a node in a spy network, primed to seek out and expose various petty crimes, not of government officials, but of fellow citizens. In the future, we will have SOCIAL CREDIT SCORES. We will look back and wonder why we ratted on our fellow citizens for FREE when in the future you’ll get a Groupon Gift Certificate.

EVERYBODY WANTED TO FEEL LIKE THEY WERE A GOOD PERSON

OBAMA SAW THIS AS AN OPPORTUNITY TO DESTROY OUR MINDS AND FUNNEL OUR EVERY PASSION INTO A GOVERNMENT MEAT GRINDER TO BE FED TO THE ALIENS AS LOOSH LUNCH FOR THE COMING FAKE APOCALYPSE. THE MACHINE HE CREATED STILL EXISTS UNDER TRUMP AND CAN BE OBSERVED IN THE MILITARY GRADE PSY-WARFARE THAT FOLLOWED THE SHOOTING OF CHARLIE KIRK AND IS ONLY GETTING STARTED.

Whether a thing is true or untrue no longer matters. It’s what information DOES. A REAL KILLING can become the scaffolding of a manufactured FALSE FLAG. A FAKE CRIME becomes REAL for those who NEED IT TO BE. EACH DAILY FUCKERY REQUIRES US TO MEET IT WITH THE ANALYTICAL RIGOR ONCE RESERVED FOR TORTURED GRAD STUDENTS AND CONSPIRACY THEORISTS.

ITS MORE PAINFUL TO ANALYZE A DUMB THING THAN A SMART THING

IT’S MORE PAINFUL TO ANALYZE A FAKE THING THAN A REAL THING

THE PRIMARY RITUAL REMAINS. THAT OF SCAPEGOATING.

IT’S VERY ANCIENT, VERY OCCULT, THIS OBAMASLOP

OBAMASLOP PROVES THAT EARTH IS A LOOSH FARM FOR ALIENS

OBAMASLOP FORCES CITIZENS INTO ANALYTICAL THINKING WITHOUT THEIR CONSENT. IT INFERS BY ITS VERY NATURE THAT YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT. IT DOES THIS BY NOT MAKING SENSE ON A FUNDAMENTAL LEVEL SO YOU THINK YOU’RE PROBABLY JUST DUMB. YOU SPEND YOUR DAYS BUILDING AN ARGUMENT IN YOUR HEAD TO COUNTER THAT OF THE OBAMASLOP THAT HAS NOW TAKEN UP PERMANENT REAL ESTATE IN YOUR SKULL. WHO ARE YOU EVEN ARGUING WITH? WHY ARE YOU THINKING SO MUCH ABOUT THINGS ONLINE? YOU TALK TO YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT OBAMASLOP. IT’S ALL YOU TALK ABOUT WITH SOME OF THEM. WHAT DID WE USED TO TALK ABOUT?

Someone recently said on Twitter that DEPRESSION is caused by an overly ANALYTICAL mind that can’t REST. As I spend my days relaxing my tongue into its seat, becoming aware of the spacious topography behind my EYEBALLS, noticing the analytical monologue begin to fade as I finally BREATH normally – I COMPLETELY AGREE. Regular people are not supposed to use our brains like this, solving WORD SALAD math problems all day long. IT’S FUCKING UP OUR NERVOUS SYSTEMS.

BUT BACK TO THE CENTRAL RITUAL

SCAPEGOATING

If you read my book The Wild Kindness or know me personally, you will know that sometime around 2016, I was accused by an ex- girlfriend who I hadn’t spoken with for a year and a half, of a felony burglary. I apparently stole two televisions, two computers, a jar of change, jumping over a wall with all of it and letting the dog out. The house was apparently in disarray with personal objects placed in ways that inferred meaning so it was clear I was the only one who could have done it. Cops came and read me my rights. I described the MIRANDA CEREMONY in my book as a very bad ceremony, it made me cry. It’s like your girlfriend and your parents call saying they're coming over to bring you a chicken and then they set you on fire. I said it felt like drinking lsd and gasoline. I considered taking that part out of my book because I shouldn’t complain about the police because it would have been way worse had I not been white. I wrote to Solace, the local domestic violence center where my friend J Clark worked. That’s what places like that are for right? To get help when you are being abused? J Clark sent my emails over to the police.

What followed was a years long gag order and a series of court cases that cost me over $30,000 because the accusation of felony burglary was so serious I had to hire a lawyer even though it was just a restraining order case.

[REDACTED]

[REDACTED]

[YEARS OF PAIN AND SUFFERING]

[BETH TOO]

[REDACTED]

[SEE, YOU HAVE TO STOP PRETENDING THEY ARE CAPABLE OF EMPATHY]

A kind friend recently invited me to a Marxist political organization type event in Santa Fe. I was totally triggered just by the word PRAXIS on the invitation. My ex and her whole milieu were steeped in just this sort of imported globalist radical politic. The amendment to the Smith-Mundt Act was a suss optic for sure, but likely not the primary driver of government propaganda. OBAMASLOP in Santa Fe rode in on Instagram, NGO’s and grants from the Ford and Rockefeller Foundations, Council on Foreign Relations, Knight Foundation, Open Society Foundation, deep state intelligence money funneled through private fronts. It arrived as something resembling culture. Santa Fe is a LAB.

New Mexico has an old tradition of being a BLUE STATE mainly due to it being over 50 percent Hispanic, but we are losing a lot of the Hispanic voters to the RIGHT now because white people keep bringing in more OBAMASLOP and the Hispanics hate that shit. They’re not anti-capitalist. Why OBAMASLOP wants the only discourse to be all Che Guevara t-shirt with the occasional human sacrifice SCAPEGOAT ritual followed by another PAGAN NECROPHILIC DEATH PARADE, is another conversation, but yeah, this was the scene that royally fucked me over.

[REDACTED]

I would wake up multiple times a night perusing false accusation support groups online which were usually populated by MGTOW(Men Going Their Own Way.) Apparently a crow bar was found at the scene that was at a lab. I knew my ex had access to personal items with my DNA on them like toothbrushes. If she was capable of falsely accusing me of burglary what else would she do? I lost any sense of baseline. I’ve been kind of fucked up ever since. Any social situation is STILL tinged with knowing this or that good person would throw me under the bus in a heartbeat.

She also sent crazy letters to most of the people in my writing community. Some came and stayed at my house for days who thought I was maybe a felony burglar. My closer friends didn’t bother to tell me this, didn’t bother to tell the others that I had proof in a drawer in the form of cell phone records. I was on a 45 minute conversation with Pirrah Malouf, personal assistant to Ravi Shankar, during the time frame of the burglary which was clearly typed on the police report. The sheer size of the two televisions I was supposed to have dragged over a stucco wall should have been absurd enough of an image to absolve me.

THEY SAID NOBODY THINKS YOU’RE A BURGLAR

THIS WASN’T TRUE

MANY DID

MANY STILL DO

BETH SAYS SHE RAN INTO YET ANOTHER SLUTTY BLEACH BLONDE BREATHWORK PRACTITIONER AT WHOLE FOODS WITH KOI TATOOS, SAGGY ARMS AND A MILLION FRIENDS WHO STILL THINKS I’M A FELONY BURGLAR.

I’ve been swimming in Elephant Butte lake every day. Yes, the lake where the serial killer dumped the bodies. What’s not in the photo below is the smell of multiple barbecues as I swam along the shoreline. Also not in the photo is Africa by Toto, Billie Jean by Michael Jackson, and a Third Thing on loop that I can’t remember blasting from a trailer at water’s edge.

Things have been noticeably not very sexy for a while around here. Were it not for the blooming Yucca all over this town, it would be dire. I was treading water with my swim fins on when two jet skis loaded down and kissed the water. Two large older women with long flowing hair. Big assed women on big assed jet skis, bobbing and getting ready. Based Hispanic big assed women on big assed jet skis with big hair, big arms, big legs on machines that could crack my skull if I got in the way. Africa, Billie Jean, the Third Thing - meat smoke low on the water. They revved and in five seconds went from shore to the middle of the lake with the force of a Mongolian Northeastern Wind, hair flying, sun kissed fat arms in total control.

It was the sexiest thing I’ve seen

Since some random Miley Cyrus months ago

on my phone

a rush that caught me off guard

I am the scapegoat but I’m not a GOAT, I am a RODEO STEER, like my father the farmer and the doctor sent to school by the OSS who lived til 91 on Diet Pepsi, Raisin Bran, gin and pills. Now that I’m mad it means I’m just getting started. I have a whole soul that lives apart from this story. I belong to God. Resurrected from symbolic death, I AM THE SAME.

This is a video of the sculpture fountain I made called “Frog Rides Egregore. ” It’s a self portrait. The essay I posted below sheds light on these two types of frogs.

The Factory Reset contains many of my special interests - the rise of the intellectual dark web during Covid, think tanks and the New Age, Nick Land + Peter Thiel futurisms, transhumanism in general as it relates to the Epstein Networks and Santa Fe Research Institute, it’s all here and focused on a singular through line.

LINK TO READ IT HERE

Arriving to this essay is like coming to the end of a path I’ve been walking on for more than a decade. Allison McDowell, Dani Katz and Emily Moyer have mapped this territory well. I’m not going to try to summarize it because doing so hurts my brain. I’m not that kind of writer. I must remain retarded for spiritual reasons. She’s basically saying we are deep in a system now that is intending to ENGINEER A DIFFERENT KIND OF HUMAN. She tracks this project to a post WWII document called The Changing Image of Man. She says we’ve been in a philosophical battle between the human being of the Imago Dei tradition and the human being as Process.

Being vs. Becoming.

I am in the Being lineage for sure and according to Turner, that’s why I can’t write a proper essay about this essay.

A human being configured to be always in the state of BECOMING can be engineered more easily by forces within a hierarchy than a human who thinks they have a sovereign soul that exists beyond the realm of material influence. Something like that. When you consider this in light of the consciousness peddlers like Michael Pollan, who want us to think even our consciousness lives outside our bodies, this framework is great for figuring out where you land in the conversation. My guess is some of my friend’s favorite philosophers, Deleuze perhaps, may take this binary on in interesting ways.

I just found out a Substack robot will read essays out loud to you. The button is on the top right of the screen. This essay is long so I recommend listening to it if you don’t have the time or patience. There are both Being and Becoming lineages in every religious tradition and every philosophy.

Pirrah Malouf, friend and personal assistant to Ravi Shankar during the Beatles tour, and I, have only revered one GURU, because we are human BEINGS not BECOMINGS and that GURU is Anandamayi Ma.

“Father, there is little to tell. My consciousness has never associated itself with this temporary body. Before I came to this earth, Father, I was the same. I grew into womanhood, but still, I was the same. When the family in which I had been born made arrangements to have this body married, I was the same. And, Father, in front of you now, I am the same. Even afterwards, though the dance of creation changes around me in the hall of eternity, I shall be the same.” - Anandamayi Ma

Phillip K Dick was likely in the BEING tradition. That’s probably why he became a churchgoing Christian later in life after the FISH LADY came.

Chan Marshall’s voice is in the BEING tradition of SOUL music. She announced she had one day sober a few weeks ago. Her situation has always been really public. Beth and I sat with her on the grass at the La Posada Hotel in Winslow AZ years ago, all of us on Doug Aikin’s Station to Station Train. I guess she wasn’t doing well then, said the Rolling Stone, but she seemed fine. She was open, present and so lovely as we shared the sun together there on the grass. People have so many opinions about addiction as if all people who get addicted to things are the same. I don’t like using the word ADDICT as a noun. Addiction is a thing the SOUL will choose. When it comes to artists, people say oh they’re just so SENSITIVE, it’s hard to FEEL so much. I don’t think that’s what’s going on. I don’t think it’s about SENSITIVITY. It’s about CAPACITY.

People who get addicted to things have a lot of theories about addiction but they won’t ever tell you because the theories are dangerous metaphysics. Truth about it lives in Chan Marshall’s voice, though. It can’t be anything other than what it is, and that’s why when she sings covers, she remakes the resonance of a song completely. It’s why she freezes up sometimes before performing, because there’s only one right way, and if she’s a little bit beside herself, it will be impossible to phone in.

Chan Marshall’s voice contains Imago Dei - BEING

I drove to Jemez Springs and spent four days with Tuli hiking and sitting in the waters. I only listened to Cat Power. Church of Chan Marshall. Felt who I AM. Maybe if I get all the way beyond this jacked nervous system I can feel myself for real again. I don’t need anymore information. I know what happened. I’ve been healed already. I’m only in need of physical repair. Let the tongue rest lightly as if in a float at the top of the pallet. Let the tip of the tongue stop trying to escape the mouth like a mouse at the first sight of a cracked door. Let it sit in its seat. Let the tongue BE. The tongue need not answer to the threat, need not respond to the myriad humm of the project’s embedded robot hunger for a SOPHIA type person, like me, to give soul to the machine, by answering back, JUST BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON.

RELATIVES WILL KNOW HOW TO FIND US BY LISTENING

IT WILL BE A SOUND THAT LET’S THEM KNOW WE ARE STILL HERE

THEY WILL COME THEY CANT HELP IT

LIKE ANY SIMPLE BONFIRE

I AM TOO VALUABLE AN ASSET TO BE WRITING CONTENT FOR THE COMMUNAL CARE PROJECT WHICH IS A MOUSE TRAP

MEDITATING IN THE WATER I’VE BEEN FOCUSING ON THE INSIDE OF MY SKULL BEHIND MY EYES, THE PINEAL, THE PITUITARY GLAND ALL OF IT IS HELD BY THE SPHENOID BONE WHICH LOOKS LIKE A BUTTERFLY.

THIS MAKES ME THINK OF MKULTRA MONARCH MIND CONTROL BECAUSE IF YOU WANTED TO CONTROL SOMEONE IN SUCH A WAY, YOU’D ATTACK THEIR HYPOTHALAMIC-PITUITARY-PINEAL AXIS WHICH ALL SITS PROTECTED BY THIS BUTTERFLY. YOU WOULD ATTACK THE BUTTERFLY WITH DRUGS, LANGUAGE OR SEXUAL SEDUCTION.

FILL THE OPTIC CHIASM WITH IMAGINED SUNLIGHT

TAKE UP A THRONE HERE YOU CAN SIT HERE ANYTIME YOU WANT

BANISH

THE UNINVITED

MIND CONTROL ARTIFACTS

THAT HAVE COME TO YOUR BUTTERFLY HERE

JUST SAY BYE

YOU YOURSELF HAVE BEEN GONE TOO LONG

NOW YOU ARE BACK

ALL GREAT STORIES ARE ABOUT LEAVING

AND COMING BACK

LEAVING

AND COMING BACK

I AM THE SAME

I worked on my fireplace last year and was thrilled with the tile but not the surface work. I used joint compound mixed with paint and the color seemed off so I sanded down to get to the colors underneath. The result looks like an 80’s Italian restaurant that’s a money laundering operation for cocaine traffic. I was able to convince myself I liked it because I didn’t have the time or energy to work on it further. This lie I find really funny because it’s a thing we do in life all over the place. This is the fireplace as of now.

I was pleased with some concrete work I did on some walls outside and wanted to do that on the fireplace. My stupid robot said Quickrete with acrylic bonding agent would work as well as Versabond which was what I used outside. Robot was wrong. It’s astounding how bad building advice on the internet is in general, YouTube especially.

There’s a possibility my whole idea won’t work and that resurfacing was a bad idea from the get go. I’m in a pickle, really. I try to avoid situations like this, things undone, unknown, in a process that no matter what decision I’m going to make is going to take rigor, money and many days of work and the result might be humiliation. It is in this moment I think of On Painting and the Nature of Work, by Amy Ellingson.

It’s coming out very soon! I wrote an intro for it which goes into how her writing becomes a kind of angel for just such moments like my fireplace pickle. It’s wrong right now. I will make it right and I have no idea how. It will probably be better than it would have been if it had not been wrong in the first place because I will have solved a problem rather than simply expressed my fabulous aesthetic sensibilities.

This Substack has been living in my head in the same situation, wrong and undone but still there. It’s just an idea, and a wrong and undone one, so I suppose I could let it go. I need to get back to my pathological ambition of achieving my version of Walton Goggins’ body. My readers do not need to know how much the news of what went down with the investigation into Southern Poverty Law Center affected me. How they were funding white supremacist groups as part of a strategy. Maybe the board took complexity theory classes at Santa Fe Institute? Why do my readers need to know I could tell right away those marching guys in the videos around the time of Charlottesville were paid actors of some kind? Do my readers need to know how painful it is for me, mentally, to have the Trump Administration be the thing that outs these COINTELPRO tactics I’ve touched upon in more than one of my Substacks? There’s a tonal quality to my thought process when it’s influenced by my MKUltra Programming, a heaviness like - YOU HAVE TO WRITE THIS, and that happened with this and I felt sick, and I’m not doing this anymore, so I was like, find a way to make it funny, satire or whatever, because the Britney piece I did was so good, so ask the friendly alien in my head that is giving me directives for those funny pieces what they would do.

The ALIEN said - The Southern Sodomy Law Center had a secret Black Ops budget beneath what is already known. One of the operations was “HERITAGE PULSE” which used the Gloria Naylor Protocol wave brain technology on Sydney Sweeney during the filming of the American Eagle Jeans ads. Whereas Gloria Naylor under attack woke with the thought, “I hate Jews,” running through her head like a freight train when she was zapped with the tek, Sydney Sweeney was barraged without a break with one word. It begins with an N. The purpose of the project was to get Sydney Sweeney to crack up in some way, thus releasing even more racism into the Noosphere.

If you haven’t read my previous post this will sound XTRA CRAY.

On the topic of Sydney Sweeney, does she get the shit beaten out of her in every movie and TV show she does? She’s great in Christie where she plays a lesbian boxer. Then there’s The Housemaid, Immaculate and of course Euphoria. Her performances of the violently physical I could get all brainy about but I really just hope she’s having good sex.

All of this is wrong and undone but I feel instantly better getting it out of my head. They should have a paid tier for Substack writers who allow readers to look at their work in process, kind of like a Google Doc. It would be for the most PAIN PIG writers around who want to build immunity. I’d do it for the money.

After I did my last post about wave to brain mind control tek, I noticed people talking about it everywhere. An Instagram influencer named @maryisalien even posted the same screenshot from twitter I used. She has the same phenotype of someone who think might be a spy. It’s possible my last post was a directive from Central Office in which case, ooops, it happens. As I’ve said before, this stuff usually is only allowed to saturate the infosphere if something even more sinister is perched for arrival. While I can’t say I’ve experienced wave to brain technology personally in the way Gloria Naylor did, I’ve got my phone, and I do think something happened this week that made people crazier. You know how when you’re talking about bat shit and then you see an ad for bat shit on your phone? Walter Kirn suggested there’s nothing stopping that tek from being used in your social media algorythms. Not ads, but people and bots. I think this is happening on my Twitter now in a kind of specificity that would def make someone prone to schitzophrenia lose it.

I bought this hat at a design your own hat stand a few hours before the recent “assassination” attempt. Cole Thomas Allen had a NASA Fellowship. The weave weaves.

I dream of the land south of my house all the time. I have for decades. It started as a dream about an excavation with a massive tunnel system leading to a site where incredible artifacts from antiquity were found, gold and statues, altars, things like that. Over time the dream has turned into road building and excavation for what purpose I am not privy too, other than that it’s bad. It gets closer to my house every time I have the dream, which is a lot lately, almost every night I remember I have dreamed.

It came to me that this dream is about the new technology. It’s felt in my body as a change in the geology itself. Artifact is a computer term that often means glitch or anomaly. Interesting the dream started out with artifacts. Now the technology seeks to simply MINE EVERY SINGLE THING. I once saw wifi enveloping my house on 25 grams of psilocybin and Syrian Rue. Just because it’s invisible doesn’t mean it’s not part of the physical architecture of life.

It’s impossible to digest nearly every dumpster fire coming into my field of perception because every tool I once used to think smartly about things is now archaic. Not only are things not what I thought they were, the Southern Poverty Law Center is an example, but things will never be the same things they pretended to be - on a drastically shocking mass scale that can’t be processed without the peasants thinking we are all in a HOLY WAR. Making PEACE with reality is not condoning or being complicit in the actions of others. I’m 57 and getting ready to die, hopefully after my 100th birthday, but it’s going to take a long time for me to get my head right before I go. What this looks like is stepping back from it all and contemplating things from a very different place.

LET’S TALK ABOUT BLUE AGAIN. Some people believe we didn’t see the color BLUE until a certain time in our evolution. There was no word for BLUE in the Iliad or Odyssey. In ancient Hebrew, Chinese and Sanskrit texts it’s the last color to develop. It appears we evolved to BLUE, and whether the WORD made us SEE it or SEEING it made the WORD, BLUE is an example of the evolution of our perception and language.

Have you ever stubbed your toe badly and seen colors? I have.

These colors are caused by PHOSPHENES. It’s generated by a nervous system under extreme pressure and oxygen deprivation. PAIN BASICALLY.

ONE TIME I GOT A TREATMENT FROM A RADICAL ROLPHER WHO WORKED ON ME FOR THREE DAYS IN A HOUSE IN ECHO PARK AT ALL HOURS OF THE DAY AND NIGHT EXTREMELY PAINFUL BODYWORK I WAS SCREAMING I CANT BELIEVE THE NEIGHBORS DIDN’T CALL THE COPS ANYWAY I SAW ONE OF THE BLUE HINDU DIETIES WITH MANY ARMS WHEN I WAS SCREAMING I SAW STARS SWIRLING AROUND MY HEAD LIKE IN THOSE CARTOONS!

I SAW BLUE AT THE HEIGHT OF PAIN.

So this made me wonder what happened before BLUE appeared on the scene. The absence of blue in Homer happens around 800 BCE. The Bronze Age collapse around 1200 BC led to the Greek Dark Ages. Entire civilizations vanished. Long distance trade networks, mass migrations all faced a BRUTAL RE-ORGANIZATION.

DID BLUE EMERGE FROM THIS PAIN?

BLUE CAME THEN ARCHAIC THEN CLASSICAL GREECE.

BLUE CAME FROM PAIN AND THATS WHY THEY CALL IT THE BLUES BADA BUM CAN WE BECOME A DREAMED THING WITHOUT PAIN THAT’S PROBABLY A NO. I’M THAT PEASANT WHO WAS LIKE FUCK BLUE WHY DO YOU HAVE TO MURDER MY VILLAGE JUST TO HAVE BLUE BUT BLUE IS PRETTY GREAT HERE’S TO THE ANCESTORS WHO SUFFERED FOR BLUE.

SYDNEY SWEENEY KNOWS SOMETHING ABOUT BLUE BECAUSE SOME OF THAT STUFF SHE DOES YOU KNOW HAS GOT TO HURT BLUE JEAN BABY

I am currently dog sitting a beloved who is depressed and tapering off Prozac and only seems to perk up when I play Taylor Swift’s song White Horse, I am not joking.

Over on Twitter, many are suffering the MKUltra death rays.

Seeing Tao Lin stand up for this guy is big. The death rays are real and his bringing up Gloria Naylor is right on point. I thought I was getting hit with the death rays this week myself but it was juniper allergies. People in the comments ridiculed Taylor Sterling and accused Tao Lin of enabling paranoid psychosis and as much as I’ve been pissed that Tao Lin has not acknowledged my existence despite the uncanny parallels we share content and style wise, namely our love for Joy Williams, I gotta say his standing up for Taylor via a nod to Gloria Naylor is smart and brave. Just when you’re like Tao Lin is a AI Robot, he does something really kind.

FYI the David Wilcock guy is tied in with UAP research, considered one among many who have been targeted and suicided themselves or disappeared.

Direct energy weapons are a thing. Havana Syndrome has been proven to be caused by such a device.

I wish I could actually write at this moment, sitting next to this sweet dog I am caring for. I need to play more Taylor Swift because she is getting sadder. In a essay about Gloria Naylor’s book on Hobart, the writer says

I’ve practiced that exercise and it leaves me sad as this is not a game, this is not a metaphor. Many of us have been actually attacked COINTELPRO style, myself included and I haven’t even gotten into the thick of it at all with you because yes, people won’t believe you, and that’s the whole point.

Gloria Naylor participated in the very controversial Million man March, led by Louis Farrakhan, and was branded an anti-semite because of it. In her book, she says she was attacked by relentless sounds and would wake up in the morning with the phrase - “I Hate Jews,” ringing in her head and knew it was a direct energy weapon. I’ve read Naylor’s work and really liked it. Didn’t know about this book.

This 2026 essay about surveillance and direct energy weapons, specifically grounded in Gloria Naylor’s work is huge. Read the essay here.

I believe Gloria was not having a psychotic episode but was attacked by government technology.

The Hobart Essay, Classified Insanity - Inducing Weapons: Gloria Naylor’s 1996 by Katie Frank is HERE. I cannot abide by her nudging because the stakes are too high for me to entertain my thoughts being influenced by direct energy weapons unless they ACTUALLY TOTALLY ARE. But I get it. No nicotine. Major juniper allergies, it sure is tempting, especially because this shit’s real.

I feel totally insane making this post I have other things I want to get to namely what recently happened with the Southern Poverty Law Center but it will have to wait. My sweet guest dog is twitching and I have to play her more Taylor Swift.

I just sat down in the Truth or Consequences Public Library. Last time I was here was way over five years ago. I came to retrieve some high level hash wrapped in tin foil left in a book named Lives of the Goyim, hash left by a friend passing through who knew it wasn’t wise to drive it through Texas. It had been tucked inside the book for nearly two years before Beth and I came to retrieve it. Spectacular hash. I remember smoking it at the end of a mushroom trip and being transported to lands where buildings are made of sand.

NOW I’M IN MY BLUE PERIOD

Almost three weeks now of no Zin Nicotine Pouches. Not doing weed edibles at night, either. I am full of HATE. I was comforted that the Los Angeles Review of Books was celebrating a certain kind of literary hate in this review titled The Fascism of the Heart of William H. Gass’s newly released classic called The Tunnel. I’m practically illiterate at this point in my life, this may change, I don’t really care, I’d rather have MUSCLES and a tan than a re-ignited literacy right now but yeah. FUCK.

“And yet, as obvious as his love for the written word was, he famously said, in a 1977 interview, “I write because I hate.” How does someone who writes out of hate write so beautifully? He makes you wonder what hate really means and begin to appreciate the profound creative power, and beauty, of that emotion we consider so ugly.”

I did manage to read Will Self’s essay on the end of satire in Harper’s this morning while I was sunbathing. Sunbathing may be the only thing to save my literacy as reading in the sun is blissful. I forgot to bring the Harper’s with me to the library to give it a proper quote but he says something along the lines that satire is dead because literacy is dead and satire has something to do with fighting for those who experience injustice by making the comfortable very uncomfortable, or whatever. He still wants to be good. I’m not sure I care about being good anymore. Morally, that is. With words, I MEAN. I’ve been a good citizen, a decent human in relationships and my citizenry and been falsely accused of the most INSANE SHIT. Like, REALLY BAD!!!!

GOD BLESS IT. Trust no MAN or WOMAN or OTHER.

OK THAT MADE ME FEEL BETTER.

I LOVE SPENDING TIME WITH YOU HERE AND DON’T WANT YOU TO TAKE MY HATE PERSONAL

I don’t want to resolve any of my emotions through a thinking process with a wrapped up beginning and ending.

I AM PRO-ADDICTION

I MEAN IT’S THERE SO WHY ARGUE?

But seriously, I’ve never met a person I can trust that hasn’t had a bad habit.

Delmas Howe is still alive here in Truth or Consequences.

Digressing…..Is this SATIRE, below?

Back to BLUE because I’m really in a MOOD. BLUE GIVES when the DOPAMINE is all gone. I don’t really know what dopamine is. I’ve listened to podcasts that say the whole science of dopamine and serotonin is based on some pretty unproven stuff. I’m PRO-SCIENCE BITCHES AND FULL OF HATE.

One thing about quitting is yeah, I guess this may take three months for my brain to fully adapt to a new baseline. But MAN, I had a good run on Zin and Weed. Lena Dunham just posted she went to the convenience store for a five pack of 3mg. Proud as I am a big fan of Lena. It’s a bitch to quit but not as much as SSRI’s. Let me give you a rundown of how long it takes to taper off SSRI’s.

Prozac - The easiest. Only about 3-6 months.

Lexapro - 6 months- 2 years.

Effexor - This one’s the worst because of brain zaps. Missing one dose will really suck. And yeah, 1 to 3 years to taper is the story.

So HAHAHAHA SUCKA’S, I got it EASY.

I should have more compassion I know but I don’t because people still never LISTEN TO ME when I say SSRI’s will take you to an EARLY DEATH. They don’t listen they don’t CARE and after COVID and SHIT, I’m DONE WITH Y’ALL. SSRI’s mess with WHAT REGULATES EVERY SYSTEM OF YOUR BODY NOT JUST YOUR MOOD. GOOD LUCK I LOVE YOU. IF ANY OF YOU DECIDE TO QUIT AND TAPER YOU HAVE MY WHOLE HEART I WILL BLEED TEARS FOR YOU I CARE THAT MUCH. I MEAN THAT.

These are substances you actually have to TAPER off of when quitting or you can’t function. Tapering anything has always sucked for me, I’d rather go cold turkey. Walking around with a diminished dose of a chemical or compound is HELL. It’s maybe like having to be in a thrupple with someone you’re deeply in love with.

LAURA DELANO IS ONE OF THE ONLY PEOPLE WRITING AND SPEAKING ABOUT THIS AND SHE IS SHADOW-BANNED BECAUSE THE PHARM INDUSTRY IS BIGGER THAN ……….(CAN’T SAY TOO SCARY RIGHT NOW)

I met a bartender here in T or C, a healthy elder who said that when she quit smoking and drinking she got Bell’s Palsey, it was so hard on her system to quit. She didn’t even consider herself an addict, she just had a habit. I get it. If I was 70, it might be too hard on me to quit Zin and Weed, seriously.

LOVE ME I AM BLUE

Courtney Love admitted to listening to a Trump speech to try to figure out wtf he’s doing with language. Harper’s Magazine recently published an essay on Trump’s talent for “the weave.” I’m better at it. Courtney was on Billy Corgan’s podcast. She said Waterloo by Abba gave her a mind orgasm and Cheap Trick was free on the radio and they had the best lyrics. Her saying this caused me to flash on the metallic bike shorts I wore at age 11. R.E.M. was great but you had to buy their stuff at the store and things could get expensive. Billy Corgan said the Riot Grrrls in Evergreen were hateful and obsessed with Courtney because she was a class traitor. The interview awakened my ears to the point I will listen again and take notes for a playlist. The Kim Gordon gossip is beyond. They speak of her role as mean brainy hipster gatekeeper as a real hazard. Billy and Courtney both agree there’s no way they weren’t MKUltra’d, and after being given LSD at three, sex trafficked in Japan, it’s the scars from Kim Gordon that you will take to your grave. And then a rocket launched to fly around the moon.

Below are some pics of recent work I’ve done in my front yard.

“What’s going on with your face?” Beth said.

We were back at Truth or Consequences, in the hot springs again. My Saturn return began with getting lost in the Galisteo Basin in the rain til ten at night, rescued by Gabriel, then one rescue after another ever since.

“Look at yourself on your phone or something, I’ve never seen anything like what’s going on with your face.”

There were red blotches everywhere save for where I would have a mutton chop beard on both sides. The skin there was a creepy white yellow diagonal line. I took the Zin pouch out of my cheek and set it on the side of the tub. Rubbed my skin. The color returned.

“Holy shit, it’s the Zin. Oh no!”

I got out of the tub, drank some water, and flushed all my Zin down the toilet. I’d been using 3mg pouches for over two years, about a pack a day. I knew they worked but didn’t know to what extent until I quit. I vomited, had diarrhea, cold hot sweats, couldn’t speak or think for about 48 hours. Zin had been very nicely running all my systems, apparently. I was pretty happy with the job it was doing. It’s a great ADD med and nicotine, even when fake, has certain aura protection properties and people been scary.

I’m still cringing over my last Substack. Don’t read it just to see why, I may take it down. I shouldn’t let anything about Santa Fe get to me. It’s just a LAB swarming with spies and boutique NGO culture experiments that seek total ideological saturation. The actual art world in Santa Fe does seem to transcend. All was made better when Beth and I wandered into a disco housed in a coffee shop in Truth or Consequences. The DJ had bleached hair, five dollar sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt and threw down superior house to a room of over 65 year old gays etc. in black light with Bob Marley and Alien posters on the wall. Local babes came in wearing pleather jackets and pajama pants, a rough-trade townie on mushrooms did an improvisational dance with his wool scarf. In dancer lingo, many were participating in “floor work.” It took me two years or more to get to a dance floor that alive. Ride the white pony! The woman who runs the place is a burlesque performer from Cleveland who came to T or C after her Dad passed away.

Ok so I quit Zin. Didn’t see that coming.

I want to say something about consciousness because too many people like Michael Pollan and the Telepathy Tapes crew and all the woo occultists making boutique LLM’s will be talking your ear off about consciousness at this time, when the systems they are part of are literally attacking our soul substance so yeah, they want to try to sell consciousness back to us. I feel it is urgent we don’t let them.

I was lying in bed in the Space Castle, the ayahuasca Toltec mushroom art gallery rental. I was in an ecstatic state from the big healing. My eyes were closed and I was drifting off. The “movies” behind my eyelids were extra. I was seeing a stage show of some kind, a cross between a 1950’s Cuban seashell Diva extravaganza and the Donny and Marie show, but the creatures were animated, a little bit alien and the colors were not cliche’, not opalescent or psychedelically bright, just so so pretty and unexpected. The faces of the beings were very adorable.

I allowed the “movie” to flood through my body.

A voice within me that felt like it was coming from the outside said, THEY TRY TO GET BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR MIND.

I had some anxiety about the “movie.” Was it a message from the spirit world? Was I paying enough attention to it? Any moment it could morph into a demon, right?

A voice within me that felt like it was coming from the outside said, IT’S JUST YOU. IT’S YOUR IMAGINATION.

Wait, what? My mind is my own? Those images come from ME? I have been living all this time as the passive subject of whatever my mind tosses up to observe? I’ve treated my own mind like a potential punishing spirit or mystical oracle when all this time it was just my own imagination? Dude.

I’ve been working with an intuitive feeling that there’s a part of the brain I will call THE INTERCESSOR. It’s the language center, it’s the Papa Legba principle, a crossroads between above and below, personal and public, it’s the thing that does the work of translation and creation, it’s where our education lives and where we absorb societal influence. Kim Gordon could take up real estate there. I imagine it as a small thing like the Hyoid bone beneath the tongue. But in my brain.

I will not be reading the books or listening to the podcasts of these consciousness peddlers but one of the things I am aware they are talking a lot about, is the idea that consciousness is a thing outside the body.

CONSCIOUSNESS IS A THING OUTSIDE THE BODY.

I had to write it again. I hear it over and over. What an apropos cosmology for a species being turned into robots than to place consciousness outside the body.

I WAS TOLD IN THE SPACE CASTLE THAT MY MIND IS MY OWN.

I really resonate with the way David Lynch speaks of the mind in relation to his meditation practice. The mind is incomprehensibly vast. The whole universe is there. And yes, we primarily exist in very small part of our brains most of the time.

But why would that mean CONSCIOUSNESS IS OUTSIDE THE BODY? THE INTERCESSOR is a tiny thing, right? So what does the rest of the brain do? My guess is that it’s engaging in maintaining complex systems of the body, systems that run on light, electricity, water and the stuff stars are made of. It’s in constant relation with the outside world. ELEMENTS ARE SINGULAR. Light belongs to Light and is in constant changing relation with Light. Water belongs to Water and is in constant changing relation with all Water. Magnetite belongs to Magnetite, etc.. The Light in me belongs to all Light in that it will never not be Light existing under the laws of Light. I can never change light, or water, electricity etc. no matter how I might try. My mind is made of and has awareness of - everything, literally. Can this even be labeled the UNCONSCIOUS? Maybe it’s not unconscious at all, but just beyond language.

JUST BECAUSE 50% OF THE NITROGEN IN MY BODY PASSED THROUGH AN INDUSTRIAL FACTORY AT SOME POINT DOES NOT MEAN THE NITROGEN IN MY BODY ISN’T MINE. THE WATER IN MY BRAIN CAME FROM SOMEWHERE ELSE TOO, I DIDN’T MAKE IT, I DRANK IT. THE WATER IN MY BRAIN IS MINE. CONSCIOUSNESS EXISTS AS A MYRIAD OF RELATIONS BUT WHEN IT’S PERCEIVED BY THE MIND OF BETT WILLIAMS - IT’S MINE.

ALL THINGS THAT PASS THROUGH THE JURISDICTION OF MY SOVEREIGN BODY ARE MINE. MY CONSCIOUSNESS IS MINE.

MUST DO PSYCHIC SURGERY ON SMOL BEAN INTERCESSOR. MIND CONTROL PROGRAMMING SAYS SMOL BEAN INTERCESSOR IS THE ONLY MIND. IT’S NOT. IT’S JUST THE ONLY MIND THAT CAN BE CONTROLLED. MIND CONTROL PROGRAMMING SAYS IF THEY FIND LAND BEYOND SMOL BEAN INTERCESSOR IN THEIR OWN BRAIN, TELL THEM IT DOESN’T BELONG TO THEM, THAT IT COMES FROM THE OUTSIDE.

IF THEY CAN GET YOU TO BELIEVE IT DOESN’T REALLY BELONG TO YOU, THEY CAN BETTER CONTROL HOW YOU PERCEIVE WHAT IT IS.

MKUltra came out of the closet during the 1975 Church Committee Trials. You likely were told in an MKUltra debunking piece, that the MKUltra files don’t exist. This is actually true. Richard Helms, head of the CIA and Sydney Gottlieb, head of MKUltra, watched the vast majority of documents burn. They did it like Hollywood in those days - an actual fire. What is called the MKUltra files were about 20,000 documents found comprised of logistical detritus, financial records, invoices, travel and administrative paperwork. What amounted to an old receipt jar in your kitchen revealed mass drugging of citizens, including children, in hospitals and prisons for the purpose of mind control and the development of interrogation techniques and mass crowd control psychedelics. It was a disclosure no intelligent person could take in without it changing something fundamental about what the relationship is between a person and their government.

Conspiracy theory culture of a certain type was born after this. One node was The Realist, a magazine started by Paul Krassner. With a lot of grounding in the JFK Assassination, The Realist featured articles about Cold War tactics used on marginalized groups, culture ops and general intelligence infiltration. Mae Brussel, a radio personality was a figurehead. John Lennon was a big fan. She hit the airwaves in Northern California with the deadpan autistic style of someone who has 12 newspapers delivered to her door every day, which she did - the result was hours and hours of well researched government corruption insider baseball. Good morning, the government wants to kill us all, here’s what happened in Pennsylvania today.

Mae Brussel

I didn’t know about The Realist until yesterday. By design, I suppose. Even agents like me aren’t privy to the basic facts unless it’s decided it’s of benefit to the project. Popular consensus is that the Church Committee Trials served as a government DISCLOSURE MOMENT. Share SOME of the really bad things and the people will believe those were the ONLY BAD THINGS. This is good because we did the REALLY REALLY BAD THINGS so just use the BLACK Kentucky PRISON INMATES we injected with LSD for FIFTY DAYS AT A TIME as one of the BIG BAD THINGS, because it’s truly really BAD, we don’t like people knowing that either, but use that one because we can spin the RACE ANGLE on FUTURE INTERESTS, see we actually want to get our shit together, so that and drugging the PROSTITUTES in San Francisco and SPYING ON THEM HAVING SEX ON LSD WE DOSED THEM WITH through one way windows we cut into the motel rooms is RILLY GREAT.

Those who saw the tactic plain as day and therefore became rightfully totally paranoid about what else was being kept secret from the American people, did not go unpunished. The FBI fabricated leaflets and distributed them in black neighborhoods with photos of The Realist dissidents and adjacent Yippies Paul Krasner, Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, with a headline reading “Lampshades! Lampshades! Lampshades!” - “The Only Solution to Negro Problems in America Would be the Elimination of the Jews!” Swastika!

Good Times. It’s always in the hangover where a drunk does his stupidest shit. That’s how George Patton died. It was an FBI agent who made this art below as part of COINTELPRO - Let’s call him Joey.

Richard Helms: You’re actually a pretty talented artist. I wouldn’t know how to draw an AFRO. How’d you do that?

Joey: I watched Melvin Van Peebles Sweet Sweetback’s Badasssss Song.

Richard Helms: Well I think you should pursue your dream of being an artist. Because you’re fired. We’re going to just let regular artists do the work for us now, we have the studied strategy, it’s been developed since Sumeria. Cleaned up by a cadre of Praying Mantis in Philadelphia. It’s failsafe.

Joey: Shit, I don’t want to be a real artist, what a nightmare. We make better art than they do in my opinion. Because we don’t care.

Richard Helms: It’s true. Not caring does at times result in the best work, and I will have to go to my grave knowing the artists of the future will now CARE even more, because we will only let artists who CARE a lot to exist, because they will show Americans that the most important thing is to CARE a lot about what we want them to CARE about.

Joey: No more spies?

Richard Helms: No, there will be more spies.

Joey: But they don’t make art or write propaganda books?

Richard Helms: No, we will send them through State Department Projects and NGO’s. Ford Foundation, Rockefeller Foundation and Kellogg are on board to funnel our interests through grants and institutional funds. The agents will feel like they’re just completing graduate studies in art and anthropology, doing good for the world.

Joey: Same project?

Richard Helms: Yes, we still want to break up nuclear family bonds and make sure real activist causes appear always as lunatic fringe unless we can hijack their moves for the purpose of fracturing solidarity into silo’d special interest groups who all hate each other so the only hope of collective action comes from the playbook we have written that will make Israel greater, again. That’s not really what we’re doing but we can still blame Israel.

Joey: What are we doing?

Richard Helms: It’s a secret. Even to myself. I don’t even know who I am.

Joey: Do we still get to do the Red Heifer?

Richard Helms: I promised Billy Graham we’d keep the Red Heifer.

Joey: So same MKUltra, same Project CHAOS, same COINTELPRO?

Richard Helms: But we must not mention those names again. Instead of agents, we use the people. They won’t even know. This is the GOLDEN AGE of secret intelligence being the primary driver of empire building and we don’t even need to drug anyone. We just make artists, writers and a whole academic managerial class! I mean, a lot more people will be drugged, but they will think they are doing it to themselves. I’m sorry you’re going to miss it. I’m going to quit my job now right now and move to Iran to go help out the Shah.

________________________________________________________________________

They could afford to Disclose MKUltra because they had a whole different much bigger plan waiting in the wings. I stepped into that plan as a kid in the 70’s and took to it like water. Groomed by the Bionic Woman, I became an MKUltra mind controlled MONARCH - LESBIAN WRITER OPS. It’s too much to go into here but long story short, my mission is almost OVER. My talents were clearly saved for this specific moment, this SECOND MASS DISCLOSURE. I am just one among many, mostly GATE students, and we all seem to have arrived on Substack from Twitter at around the same time to unpack conspiracy theories together right alongside the mask wearing AWP set, respected journalists, poets, wellness geeks and Lena Dunham. We are hitting right when those on the left have finally been driven insane enough to actually read us. I AM THE DISCLOSURE OP. You really do have the opportunity and the tools to examine where it all went wrong IF YOU SO WISH. A little too late but HERE WE ARE.

Epstein Files is only part of it. EPSTEIN IS OVER. THAT’S WHY THEY RELEASED THE FILES. A bigger thing is happening now. It’s already built and you are inside of it. It’s made from COMPLEXITY THEORY and it’s a machine made of many machines and I do have some idea of what it is and how it runs, but I’m NOT GOING TO TELL YOU. I’m sick of working for you. IT’S BEEN HELL. After I provide you over the course of this project, with some basic history on COLD WAR SECRET OPS and how they delivered SUFFERING AND BROKEN DREAMS, and destroyed the DEMOCRATIC PARTY, I am RETIRING. I will spend my days LOOKS-MAXXING. I’M ONLY GOING TO WRITE WHAT I WANT TO. I WILL STOP TRYING TO FIX YOUR PROBLEMS. EVERY TIME WE TRIED IT JUST MADE EVERYTHING WORSE. FUCK THE SYSTEM. I EXPECT STEAKS N HOE’S.

COMPLEXITY THEORY WAS INVENTED AT SANTA FE INSTITUTE BECAUSE THE PEOPLE WHO FIGURE OUT DEEP STATE CONSPIRACIES ARE STONERS, SO IF YOU MAKE EVERYTHING A MORE COMPLICATED MATH PROBLEM TO FIGURE OUT, THE STONERS GET BORED. THAT’S MY TAKE, ANYWAY.

AMANDA FORTINI

I came out the other side of Covid un-vaxxed and believing it’s a domestic bioweapon. Central Office sent a Satanic Mermaid to check on me, because my algorithms were unique in my demographic. Nearly killed me, that FISH. Central Office wasn’t giving me ideas anymore through the frequency waves, but they’ll never tell you when you’re actually off the hook. I never met my handlers but I feel them. I’ve wanted them gone for a long time. My brain is designed to take directives from the handlers. What will I do without them? I was clever and adopted the elegant and delightful human and writer Amanda Fortini as a FAKE HANDLER. In this transition, she serves as an almost physiological placeholder in my brain where the handlers have installed their technology. She’s an expert in flower essences which makes sense that I chose her to sit in the seat of my psyche where the poisons are, in order to correct the poison. She is bossy and literally tells me what I should write. The Bionic Woman was her idea.

She saw my tweets yesterday and dropped in. She’s not a fan of Michael Pollan, either.

“I really just had a bad time at this new dance club I was really looking forward to finally getting to go to. It was so bad that I decided to LARP on my previous brand and just take it out on Michael Pollan,” I wrote in an Insta DM. I told Amanda what happened and she said I should write about it because I’m so good at writing about music.

I’ll start by saying Santa Fe was a hub between coasts for a major House Music scene in the 90’s and early 2000’s. Our clubs hosted Frankie Knuckles and Little Louie Vega. I spent Thanksgiving with Joey Arias who came out to do a show. The clubs back then were marketed as gay bars but the whole town always came, the Hispanic bank tellers in their Ross Dress for Less black boots, the students at the small colleges, all the shopkeepers in scarves. Geezer gays crowded the back rooms in Christmas sweaters drinking martini’s and doing bumps. The drag queens were mostly Native and Hispanic and after the clubs closed they’d go to Lincoln avenue to turn tricks to pay for the Long Island Iced Tea’s they had to buy for themselves, a crime, but maybe a German tourist will show up. Germans spend a lot of money to get pissed on and they bring their own plastic sheets. I ringed in Y2K 1999 high on coke and in a threesome kiss with my drag queen friend Damien and my friend Tasha’s Mom, who was over 80 at that point in black leather pants with her great fake boobs. My girlfriend was a DJ and my world was in her sound.

It took me decades to finally get to the scene I went to the other night. They’re the make an annual rave on the Taos Mesa crowd, the cool kids, community oriented and ecologically minded who I was told had made a kind of family amongst themselves with their scene. People met each other there and married, had kids. That’s what it’s all about right?

So I get to the new warehouse off Siler road that’s hosting the party for this crew. They scan my $29 ticket. I stop at the outside fire for a bit before going inside. It’s packed. Everybody’s facing the dj. It’s not as hetero-queer heavy as the other new scene dances I’ve been to. This mostly straight crowd thinks a dancing night means wearing skin tight striped shorts if you have a fabulous fat ass and slightly Wicca black cocktail dresses. It’s an over 40 scene. These are the self appointed white people who CARE in Santa Fe and this is signified by the men in the room shamelessly wearing brown t-shirts. I was, I think, the only homosexual in the room that didn’t identify as trans or non binary. The few queers there were warm to me in this configuration and I was desperate for their kindness so Thank God.

I danced a little. Took a walk and came back and danced a little more. It wasn’t working. Didn’t land. I seriously aura-maxxed for this night and all that happened was I got my ear talked off by a long time acquaintance pushing 70 about the trials and tribulations of a mutual friend’s slow death from cancer. Seriously. Sitting next to this person was L, a trans-woman who I had met at some party about a year ago - the only cute person in the club. She too practices the circadian light regiment, looking at the sunrise every morning. Her style is very Eddie Sedgewick WASP and it doesn’t come from the internet, she is actually from Connecticut I believe. I found her persona extremely ASMR for my nervous system because any culture marker at that point was a balm because what I would later unpack, was that I had arrived nowhere. I had arrived at the end of my culture in real time, on the map.

The headlining DJ has the word “feather” in his name and I’d listened to his mixes a long time online over the years. He used to put native flute and amazon rainforest sounds in the music until he was called out by the Native Cat Mafia for cultural appropriation so he stopped doing that. I don't know if the DJ I was dancing to before I had to leave was him or not. It’s clear this insular scene chooses opening DJ’s based on how copacetic they are with the general project. I gave the club three hours. I believe this amount of time gives me license to be honest about what I heard.

It was a house music beat with the base blasted out so high it might as well have been Nu Metal in the 90’s. The beat never broke for that interim of reorganization found in house music, the place where maybe an anthem might come in, or maybe the DJ withholds the anthem and instead does something weird and new. Vocals on all the tracks were racially ambiguous probably white or asian voices doing nothing. Gone was the piano. Gone was the black lady screaming in your ear, gone the latin beats and hip hop flairs, all the primary ingredients of classic house music. Maybe they’re not here because that’s considered cultural appropriation now? But it’s what makes the whole sound and yes it’s possible to remove all that but you have to replace it with something else, like try to figure out what’s next. Grimes put architectural black cubes in the sound in one of her albums. A lot can be done. House Music has always been about including all the music from everyone into the room to have a conversation, fuck with it, and magically make a whole new sound from the mix in real time. Its social function is pure goodwill.

This music removed the music from the music entirely. Nothing left but an adolescent attachment to a loud base as a form of rebellion. Each song would get louder but the beat never changed. It was hard to even reconcile with what I was hearing. I just had to go home.

There’s sounds that are bad because they are telling a lie. Other sounds are bad because there’s a crime embedded within. Sounds can be bad because every music genre has to get retarded for a period of time before music itself figures out the next move.

This music was extra bad. The reason it was extra bad was because it was the truth. When you erase music from the music you are erasing place, the people who made it, and what the music did over time in real life. It was so true I couldn’t un-hear it.

The black lady is gone and she’s never coming back.

In the effort to decenter themselves as white people per deep state orders they had effectively created a genre of music that was utterly white but in a way that isn’t even trying. Creating a new sound, which is just what you do, is no longer required. Not even trying is virtue signaling now.

You killed house music, you dicks.

WTF.

The piano is gone and it’s never coming back.

I don’t get to hang out with the Cuban drum track guys in shiny pants, ever, anymore.

And nothing will be made to take its place, not by these people in my town, who were the ones crowned with the task - these type of people who are manufacturing the dominant aesthetic in liberal mid size cities everywhere. They won’t step aside. If you wanted to decenter yourself as a white person you should have not made this bad music in the first place because it’s very popular because it’s Globohomo-coded and can be played in Dubai! Don’t pretend you’re not trying to colonize! That’s what music is! Music is equal opportunity colonization! There’s great DJ’s out here and the best ones in New Mexico happen to be cholos, dykes and trans chicks, that’s just a fact, you could have least payed enough attention to what they were doing musically and integrate it into your sound to show you were even listening to a form that holds the entire history of music, but no, you’re old and have been making music for three decades and all you come up with is boom boom in the fog machine until the end of the world?

This is the sound of a violence that won. I had to listen and try to dance to the sound of my own erasure, not as a dyke, but as an American, as a person of place.

I know I’ve been running from the heartbreak my whole life. This night marked the end of all that. Something’s really over, isn’t it?

I never meant to be part of the machine that killed it, but I was. I know how I participated. I never said anything when language itself was calling to be spoken. I betrayed that god. I never said anything because you were my friends and I love you, even though I don’t recognize any of you save for five people. I didn’t say anything because you people are dangerous. When I was accused of felony burglary by a psycho ex who ran the diversity dept. at the community college, nobody in the entire town showed up to help me. I literally helped build the system that made Esperanza Domestic Violence Center be a thing that could exist and when I went to you for help you turned my emails over to the POLICE. But I knew never to speak badly of you because we are all the Mafia now and those are Mafia rules. I know a lot about music and I could have said being a good white person doesn’t mean you have to take the black lady out of the sound. It will mess up the trajectory. Deal with the complexities as they arise. I could have said ten years ago to my community how important it was to open another gay dance club. That this was the only way to keep human life i.e politics clean and moving, un-steered by invisible forces now coming through our phones.

Maybe if I had said something we would all still be together?

I am FOUNTAIN OF SORROW, I am lonely, and up the road where I used to go to find myself EVERYTHING IS GONE.

Maybe it’s better in Albuquerque.

Shout out to Dani Katz who has a great podcast you should listen to. I wouldn’t know a lot of things had it not been for her.

Michael Ventura, author of one of the seminal essays on voodoo and American music, played a song for me called Angel Baby in a Motel Room on Hwy 40 many years ago. He gave me that look of you’re getting taught right now lady a metaphysical truth, and that is that Angel Baby exists outside the law, as an outside thing with it’s own law, and must be revered as The Truly Great Thing.

Angel Baby is sung by a fifteen year old Latina girl named Rosie Hamlin.

Michael said nothing about her being a teenage girl.

“It’s in the lightness,” he said, “It hovers above and is soft.”

The float.

John Lennon and Robert Plant also saw Angel Baby for what it was. It’s the correction to a sin embedded in all rock and roll, the sin being the domination of the masculine in the sound. Angel Baby does not try to dominate but transcends. Angel Baby is the keeper of all love. She is the truly great thing by simply existing.

Mark Sten describes the instrumentals as “generating a robot mantra devoid of embellishment or variation, the perfect underpinning for Rosie’s piercing disembodied siren vocals.”

A sound is a being. Angel Baby is the principle of teenage girl. Robotic rhythm, voice as unchained float that never untethers from the beat.

When a musician in their genre becomes the first to play it lighter, softer, letting the melodies float just slightly above in the space where there’s more room, they usually hit gold. This is Willie Nelson, The Cure, Sade, Chet Baker, Marvin Gaye, inviting the teenage girl into the music. But when the teenage girl becomes the whole sound it’s almost too much mojo to handle. Ventura seemed to be insinuating Angel Baby principle was rare because it is so powerful it must be taken in small doses. I will add for it to be true Angel Baby, it must be sung by a young woman in possession of her own intact heart.

Ariana Reines Preliminary Materials for a Theory of the Young Girl is an Animal Planet study on the self generated persona of the young woman as capitalist object - basically every female pop star. Taylor Swift is Angel Baby not Young Girl. Angel Baby is eros as innocence.

When the left hates on Taylor it’s because they mistake innocence for conservatism.

The first time I heard White Horse around 2010, I must have played it at least twelve times.

Country music with a high production sound had been working out its kinks but mostly sucking, think Shania Twain. Lucinda Williams being exactly not that thing was part of why she succeeded in larger markets. Educated liberal ears only liked country if it was “real country.” Patsy Cline and Dolly Parton. Old Dolly Parton of course. I cleared a room once by blasting Dolly Parton’s He’s Alive on Easter. High production country music landed on the ears of my people like the announcement that Roe vs. Wade had been overturned. Taylor Swift came fresh out of gate with pure Nashville Orthodoxy. She recorded her first album at 16 and her breakthrough album Fearless came out when she was 18. Country music is a conservative form in that no one is rewarded just for doing something different. You must obey the laws of the music firstly, and if something different emerges from that naturally, you have become the ambassador of a new sound - think Willie Nelson’s signature guitar style. Most people think Taylor was commercially successful from the start because she was a teen prodigy. There are a lot of teen prodigies. But Taylor Swift was Angel Baby, a rare and precious jewel. The kid had rhythm. Her vocals always float above the rhythmic stanzas and land back on the beat in a way that becomes little magic synchronicities the whole way through. You’re either Angel Baby or you’re not. It can’t be faked. When the swell of a Taylor Swift melody echoes through a Costco, I stop as if in the presence of an angel. It’s truly a signature not felt before on the frequency plane.

I cannot drive while listening to Taylor Swift. In fact I can barely listen to her at all. I have had two mishaps while switching one Taylor Swift song to another while driving. I hit a rock and it totaled my car. Second time I got pulled over by a cop for swerving. The positioning of her entire catalogue as Eras on that tour is because the music itself is in constant conversation with its own evolution. Listen to one song and you have to listen to another from a different album as if solving a puzzle for which the rules are pure feeling. This is the Angel Baby metaphysic.

It should have ended with White Horse, with the loss of innocence. This would be where Taylor starts smoking and gets an Only Fan account and butt implants but Angel Baby doesn’t stop, she keeps going. Stays innocent. Taylor’s entire catalogue is Angel Baby and what Angel Baby can do. Nobody had any idea it could do so much. It’s actually scary.

I forgot about Taylor for a while until Ryan Adams did his cover of her album 1989. It took me a while to allow myself to take Angel Baby straight without translation. It was Covid times when I started listening to her again. Just a small dose made me instantly insane. As revealed in the No Cures, Only Alchemy Podcast by myself and Beth Hill, I found myself “Googling Taylor Swift and bugs.”

Taylor Swift is a Praying Mantis, I insisted. I had no idea why. It was simply a thing that felt true. At the time I had no meaning attached to Praying Mantis. Taylor was just one. I left the whole idea behind me and continued on.

Despite the fact conspiracy theorists think that Taylor Swift might be the daughter of Anton LaVey, and the right is always trying to find something Satanic about her, they’re really wasting her time. The music industry does have it’s dumb Satanic coded rituals and Taylor was going to have to pass through that gate if she was going to go from megastar to a pop star with the GDP of an entire small country.

There was the VMA sitch with Kanye West and Taylor in 2009. 2016 was the Kanye/Kim Kardashian debacle. West calls Taylor to discuss a line in a song he called “Famous” that goes, “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex.” He didn’t inform her there was also a line that went, “I made that bitch famous.” Something about editing, I don’t know. Kim Kardashian went online and claimed Taylor totally knew about that line, which Taylor objected to when the song came out. Taylor was framed for lying about her objection to Kanye’s line “I made that bitch famous’ which was the setup for her busting out with snake emoji’s and a snake dress that made her look like a German sausage. It was enough to get a certain demographic to think she was Satanic which I guess is what it takes to turn a pop star into major geopolitical property. In terms of optic deals with the Devil, this one was relatively simple and clean. Satanism has always been the most fruitful marketing Larp. She came out with Reputation, a hip hop influenced sound. She allowed the projections to land upon her, that she was a certain kind of white woman villain, and her innocent country girl thing was just an act, and she was really just a power hungry monster the whole time. She did the whole charade with the snake emoji’s without ever betraying Angel Baby. You can tell she’s still Angel Baby by the way she wears that snake dress so awkwardly. And she can’t dance for shit. Thank God.

These music publicists really know what they are doing. It’s military grade propaganda.

I have Maggie Nelson to thank for revisiting why I think Taylor is a Praying Mantis. By the way, the Praying Mantis only eats their prey about 25 percent of the time, because she’s hungry. I’ve learned over time that in psychedelic space the Praying Mantis shows up a lot in DMT space and Mushroom space as something profoundly not of the human realm. Perhaps even AI.

Taylor Swifts album Folklore isn’t really human. It’s one Angel Baby song after another, each one different from the next delivered in mathematically precise ways, retaining her signature melodic riffs without repeating itself redundantly, different every time, evolving fractals as if by math. This is where I like to compare her music not to poets but female architects because her sound begins to build light and space itself.

Angel Baby took this - Elsie De Wolfe

and took it to this - E. Fay Jones

Because that’s what Angel Baby can do.

But back to Taylor being a Praying Mantis. Let’s fast forward to Eras Tour Taylor. She was bringing roughly 150 to 300 million dollars to the local economy in whatever town she played in. The tour in general brought in four to six billion dollars. In 2023 in Brazil there was a major bomb threat which upped the already military grade security at her shows. The Taylor Swift machine was a place to try out new military grade surveillance systems. A kiosk was built outside shows where people could take selfies, but it really was a facial recognition apparatus that ran your info through a computer to see if you were a potential threat. The sound of her music itself was no doubt integrated into developing AI systems as a way to map heart frequency and crowd response. The Eras Tour was building the AI. In 2024, a refugee psychopath stabbed a bunch of children in a Taylor Swift dance class in Southport, England. This was fuel and mobilization for European nationalist movements. Every move she makes money gets mobilized into the geopolitical machine.

We are not talking Taylor Swift as mere girl boss at this point. She’s someone moving within the geopolitical system as a tool and she’s not dying. This is something previously considered impossible. She didn’t go schitzo like Kanye, she didn’t become a drug addict. She didn’t get a butt implant. She knows the system she is in and she doesn’t seek to subvert it because the job of Angel Baby is beyond all systems. She went as far as she did into the machine because she knows her music has a metaphysic beyond it. And she is above it. Not her but Angel Baby. Angel Baby has her own mission.

Pause here because this is where writing can easily fail. But I have to try. You need to know I mean this from the bottom of my heart.

The innocence of a teenage girl’s dream of love is the most important treasure in all the world. It’s worthy of building an entire civilization around. Do you understand that in undeveloped nations it’s pretty understood that teenage girls will be relegated to nothing more than commerce and chattel, that they have no choice in their lives at all, that their hearts are broken before they are even allowed to develop to the frequency of longing and love for a dream of love that is theirs, that comes from their soul. I never even got to have that privilege of dreaming before my heart was ripped out by a predator connected to State Systems. And I live in the United States. I am talking about love in the state of innocence. Enough about sexual freedom, that was the booby prize. The soul of a nation should be judged upon whether Angel Baby gets to live.

This is where the conservatism vibe comes in that people judge regarding Taylor Swift. How do we protect the frequency of the heart of a teenage girl? How do we protect Angel Baby? There will need to be police and definitely a high level security team. Also the parents need to keep Jared Leto away which is a whole thing. What happens when society is elevated high enough to not just protect our daughters from rape, but from a broken heart. I am talking about the possibility of love here in the most basic sense. What if our society wasn’t fueled on the broken hearts of all the Angel Babies? What if the Heart of Angel Baby got to live and be whole? What world would support such a thing? One thing that’s true is that world would need a lot of money and a lot of safety. Which requires a politic neither side of the government has ever addressed because they are still stuck in Rock and Roll.

Angel Baby needs Grace. Also Empire.

When Taylor Swift sings “Fearless,” and holds her hands up and makes the heart symbol right as the song lands on the word “Fearless,” to tends of thousands of people in a stadium and everybody loses their entire shit and raises their hands and makes the heart symbol back to her, and starts crying, dissolving in light, emotion and sound, they are responding emotionally to the heart of the dreaming teenage girl situated in a machine of massive geopolitical power. It’s freaking all too much. They are responding to the message that the heart of Angel Baby is the principle under which we must live. The Truly Great Thing. We cry because we never got the chance, because it’s still just a dream. Love, that is.