*Whoa, Clicky, this is a missive post knot of CLICK5 post… /lights up and smokes…You already posted that on Bastille Day…*
*Oh dear… /plumes smokes… I guess storms are racist now…*
*Those kicks and blows raining down definitely seem racist to me…*
Hello there, Dear Reader. We are most fortunate peeps, in that Cade Fon Apollyon has sent through a second missive this week. I, for one, am very happy about that indeed…
*Oh, do behave. You can write a post tomorrow, Clicky…*
¿Yawl Redi Fo Dis?
show yoo wiz
— ó¿ó —
∞ = -1 + 0 + 1 = ∞
∞ = 1 + 0 + -1 = ∞
cull lime eight
∞ = 0 + -1 + 1 = ∞
∞ = 1 + -1 + 0 = ∞
∞ = -1 + 0 + 1 = ∞
— ó¿ó —
peace sez und purts
Was directed towards a comment over at the Merovee blog the other day, but I didn’t respond to it. The comment appeared to be regarding something I wrote in the previous whatever, but it didn’t appear to be actually directed at me, so yeah, I didn’t respond.
Did give it some thought tho.
Next day, went back, there were some followup comments, and have thought about those too, but I’ve not been back since. Virtually everything that I’ve encountered over the past 14 years has been troubling in one way or another. Hence, it’s no surprise to me that something I say/write might be troubling to someone else who reads what I’ve written. Everything I know has been called into question. Everything that I believed in has been challenged. And what was the absolute worst about all of this, is that it all seemed to materialize out of thin air. I wasn’t reading a bunch of crazy shit that “triggered” me, I wasn’t even reading “normal” shit that triggered me. Some really weird shit started to happen, it seemed to happen of its own accord or volition, and I chose to blunder around completely in the dark, unaided, and seeking no outside assistance for what turned out to be almost 5 years.
When I finally did start to dip my toe into the water(s), it would be another 3 years of not being too committal about it before I finally said “aight, that’s it, come hell or high water…time for me to dive in, and do so in pure and honest Cade style”.
Not sure if I’m actually trying to make a point here other than maybe to say that there is no goal line. There are milestones, but there is no milestone. There are clocks, but there is no clock. There are respites, but there is no respite. There are answers, but there is no answer. All of these things will be true until you personally find out otherwise. And if you feel that you have found out otherwise, and decide to share your findings and spread your good news?
You’ve effectively walked out onto the lawn of that perfect destination you’ve finally reached after all of that searching, dropped your pants, and taken a big shit right in the middle of it. Assuming you were wearing pants. We’re talking about Shambala/Shangri-La after all. Or Eden. Or Heaven. Or whatever. Nudity is usually associated with those kinds of locations and the freedom(s) they provide, and pants may not be requisite.
You might be able to skip a step.
Sharing and describing your “awakening” or “enlightenment” or whatthefuckever is the equivalent of telling all your female friends about the someone you shagged last night and how great the sex was. Or if you are male, bragging to all your buddies about the someone you banged last night and how awesome you were. Yes, your friends may be interested in your tales of tail, but it’s going to be kinda superficial.
They weren’t actually there, they didn’t actually experience exactly what you experienced, so at best they can only imagine in trying to relate. Maybe they themselves have some comparative types of thoughts based upon their own experiences, but these are likely to be just imaginings that are questioning in nature and perhaps even confusing thoughts. These thoughts may even be so confusing that they decide that in order to fully understand this life-changing experience you just had, they themselves need to bang your new fuck buddy. Or even, they may think you’re full of shit because they already have had sex with your new fuck buddy and it was a terrible experience. And what’s worse, the next time you have sex with this person, the sex may not compare to that first experience, but your friends are still going want to know all the details.
How are you supposed to explain to them that…yeesh…the sex wasn’t that great this time, and certainly not as good as that one time. You may be put into a position where you feel compelled to fudge the facts a bit. Maybe even straight up lie. There are afterall appearances to maintain. You placed yourself up on that throne, and you may just decide that you will do anything and everything to stay there. And that’s the problem with thrones. They are designed to be unchanging and immovable, but the chair itself really doesn’t give a fuck who is sitting in it, it doesn’t care the means, modes or methods it took for one to become stationed upon it, and it’s likely to accommodate any old ass.
Anyway, the whole nature of relating “spiritual” experiences is very gossipy. Very likely to stir up all kinds of emotions in others even if you and your tales and the way you relate them are Zen as fuck. Prolly why you hear so many in “the spiritual community” rambling on endlessly about the ego. Eventually, all that energy you’ve expended in you relating your stories is going to cause your ego to want a food pellet. It’s gonna be hitting that feeder bar faster than Buddy Rich banging on his drums during a drum solo, and if it doesn’t get some kind of reward, it may just get downright savage in meeting what it perceives as its own needs.
But, that’s a path for you to walk. No fucking way I’m willingly wandering into the mire of trying to instruct you as to how to keep a lid on your own ego. Nor will I even suggest that you should keep a lid on it. I only know that others bang on endlessly about the ego, and you will certainly experience your own ego toying with you as you walk your path.
It's your fucking ego, you figure it out.
None of this is meant to suggest that I personally have reached Enlightenment or attained Samadhi or that I have Ascended or reached Ascension or become an Ascended Master or whatever nomenclature you wanna tack onto these experiences that everyone and their dog has been blabbing about and scrambling for. I have no idea if I’m on the path to Ascension, or even if I’m on a path to Ascension. However I can safely say that some weird shit has most certainly transpired in my life, and both my trying to talk about it, and in my listening to others try and talk their own experiences…fucking lolz…
what a bunch of absolute losers.
It’s most of the time like listening to a 1 year old child from the year 52021 BC try and describe the inner workings of a really fine and complex pocket watch that they somehow miraculously know of and absolutely understand, but they simply do not yet possess the vocabulary to describe it. And even when that child eventually does have the vocabulary to describe this pocket watch, its function(s) and its meaning(s), it is highly unlikely those around them possess the vocabulary to understand it. Sounds haughty as fuck, yeah? You somehow came into possession of some miraculous something, you’ve finally reached the point where you finally can describe this miraculous something…and you’re surrounded by a bunch of mouth-breathing dolts who just flat don’t understand you nor what you’re blathering about. You’re special. So very special. You’re fuckin’ special. You’re a creep. You’re a weirdo. What the hell are you doin’ here? You don’t belong here.
(creds to Radiohead for that last bit)
Let’s face it…a lot of this crap about “Fake News” is just propaganda created by “mainstream media” or anyone involved with it in order to save their own industry and/or their own asses. The “legitimate press” has their own guild, and they figure that if you want to play in the information game, you have to join their guild and pay them homage. Hence, all these rogues creating their own news streams appear to have so terrified news publishers, that the big players have began to push back. Label everything that is not them or not from them as “Fake News”. And of course, they have a lot of help from public figures of all kinds, because they too are in this guild, even if unofficially. I guess at its core, they don’t like the idea that information is floating around out in public without someone having paid for that information.
And more specifically, payed them.
Information proliferation is how they make their money, and I’d imagine it drives “the press” absolutely bonkers that information is being given away for free. I’d imagine that, to them, it’s like watching someone dig an oil well or a gold mine, “strike it rich”, then give everything the well or mine produces away for nothing. They can only lament how much cash they would have made were those resources in their hands/under their control.
The other thing that strikes me is that they can no longer control what information is released, when, nor can they control the editorial processes that spin a certain something in the direction they want it to go. They can no longer get the jump on demonizing someone or something. They can no longer get the jump on deifying someone or something. They can no longer plant seeds of doubt. They can no longer hype the hell out of nothingburgers. They can no longer just make shit up when it is in their interest(s) to do so. They can no longer use their position to protect their friends, their own interests or anyone else they are in bed with. They can no longer use their position to smite their enemies. All that power and promise they once had is much diminished, if not gone forever. They no longer hold the reins of The Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse, and now those reins are in the hands of rank amateurs. Or worse, the riders themselves now have control of their own mounts. The news and information guilds are fallen, and their unions will fall with them.
With a mighty voice he shouted: “‘Fallen! Fallen is Babylon the Great!’ She has become a dwelling for demons and a haunt for every impure spirit, a haunt for every unclean bird, a haunt for every unclean and detestable animal. For all the nations have drunk the maddening wine of her adulteries. The kings of the earth committed adultery with her, and the merchants of the earth grew rich from her excessive luxuries.”
Would imagine that many of these big publishers are still kicking themselves for not jumping on the e-bandwagon(s) sooner. Had they done so, they would have had a much better jump on protecting themselves and their interests from these “free press” ideas that they despise so much.
This type of stuff appears to be happening in virtually every industry and in every infrastructure too. Weird shit transpiring in the periphery that gives an establishment credibility. Hell, for the past 5/6 years, politicians everywhere have been acting weird as fuck, and much of it appears to be because these seemingly tiny groups and/or obscure ideas are irritating the living fuck out of people within government. It’s not like these tiny groups are significant or anything, so why are they being given so much attention?
Governments typically couldn’t give two shits about “the negligible” because their numbers are on the wrong side of the decimal point. Perhaps it’s that large portions of the masses have for the most part so abandoned politicians and politics, that the negligible and insignificant have suddenly become important. But even if that is so, it doesn’t really jibe with this latest move to once again move the negligible into the “insignificant” category with all these SARS-CoV2/nCoV-2019 vaccines and the vaccination process(es). It doesn’t matter if a few people get all fucked up from a vaccine nor even if they die. What matters, is “the many”.
(and “the much”...there are many profits to think about here)
Anyway, there are many institutions who appear to be engaging themselves via some really obscure means. Including memes. Turns out that a little self-deprecation can go a long way in winning hearts and minds. Shows you’re human and not just some dead stack of papers. Look around you. See if you’re seeing what I’m seeing. Hell, could just be that I’m seeing things.
Hey, I can relate. No one wants to take the time to legitimately join the guild, only to have your position much diminished because average plebs are doing your job for you. Them becoming self-sufficient. You, are supposed to be determining what is adequate/inadequate, not them. You, have the degree. You, have the knowledge. That knowledge is yours. That power is yours. Who the fuck do these people think they are anyway?
What’s most sad about the power-plays is that it diminishes the efforts of those who are actually within the infrastructures and trying to utilize them as best they can whilst maintaining some degree or moral integrity. And by that, I simply mean that they are not trying to leverage the institution(s) for their own personal benefit in a way or ways that is detrimental to the institution(s). They went to school, they studied hard, then they actually got into the system and found out that it was nothing like they were told. They likely have seen shit that would make one’s hair stand on end, but they likely have also seen that there are many within their field who are chugging along and not participating in the shenanigans. Hence, they sally forth figuring that others can keep their integrity in this shit-show, perhaps they themselves can as well.
So, they do just that.
Whether they realize it or not, they too become beacons within a dark and roiling sea, helping even more lone ships to avoid the rocks. But, even tho there are good people in the systems, there are those who are trying to destroy these systems who simply don’t give a shit if there are good people working hard to make a difference in them or not. The infrastructures themselves and all they represent are the enemies, and much like what happened on September 11th, anyone within them is going to perish. Jesus Christ, Abraham, Muhammad, Buddha and every other big wig throughout history could have been meeting in those buildings that day to discuss how to finally bring peace and prosperity to the entire planet, and it would have not made one bit of difference to whomever orchestrated that shit.
Those buildings were coming down.
Kinda weird to think of an institution of being representative of only one thing. I can go to Walmart one day and have an encounter with what appears to be the crankiest and most bitter employee in the entire history of commerce, and the next day, I encounter another employee who is friendly and helpful to the extreme.
Q: Are both of these individuals somehow representative of the Walmart Corporation?
Or is it more likely that they are representative of what they themselves are doing with the Walmart Corporation’s infrastructure at those particular points in time. Walmart has afforded these individuals with some power, and they are either using that power well, or not. It’s the same shit on the global stage and I admit that I am sometimes floored by the ironies of people utilizing the very tools created by an certain infrastructure in order to destroy that same infrastructure.
“We hate you, and we hate everything about you, but, we'll utilize your toys and play in your game just the same.”
Being that I am an American, I am likely to be biased a bit as it pertains to certain events. You likely think that I am thinking filthy terrorists hijack Western technology planes they can barely operate, and use them to destroy Western shit. But I’m not. What is really floating around in the back of my mind as I write this is a documentary that I recently watched called…FIN. I watched that movie, and I puzzled and puzzled about what was going on in my own mind whilst watching the movie. Mainly because the movie FIN is damn near an exact echo of the movie Sharkwater.
The movie FIN is not bad, nor is the movie a ripoff of Sharkwater, it just seemed so much like an almost mirror image of the movie Sharkwater that I had trouble figuring out what exactly I was looking at. Made a few initial thoughts, but after sleeping on it, I think that if anything, the movie FIN more stirred up the same old thoughts I had about hypocrisy that Sharkwater did. Here, you have two different interests fighting over the control of a resource…sharks. One wants to kill them, the other wants to “save” them. Ultimately, the control over sharks is actually a fight for control of the oceans themselves. This means that the fight for control of the oceans is also a fight for control of everything in oceans, everything above oceans, everything around oceans, and everything below oceans.
This is MINE! No, it's MINE! This is MINE! No, it's MINE! Etc., Etc.
And now that we have that out of the way, we can now focus on some of the minutiae of the hypocrisies of this fight. In order for Rob Stewart to make his film, he is going to have to utilize astronomical amounts of material that likely had its origins in the ocean. Maybe even came from harvesting sharks. I remember thinking exactly this upon my first viewing of Sharkwater years ago. The ironies of using the ocean(s) and things taken from it/them, as vehicles to “save” the ocean(s). FIN does this exact same thing, although the ironies and hypocrisies are perhaps a tad more glaring in FIN.
Here you have a guy who is more or less in the mainstream movie making industry, relies heavily upon the cosmetics and/or chemical industry to ply their trade, and yet here they are damning the shark trade for providing the very materials needed for the manufacture of cosmetics. Excuse me…they are damning “the illegal shark trade”. Meaning, they are damning those who are not part of the guild and/or not operating according to its charter. We humans seem to so want and desire to get it right, but we’re so nested in doing it wrong and still coming out on top, that all we can do is dream and aspire to doing it right.
Ever notice what happens in nature when something sends out a distress call? It usually ain’t pretty.
Just about everyone in the whole fucking jungle shows up…EXCEPT…for anyone who might actually can help you. Oh sure, they can help put you out of your misery, but that’s about it. That’s the only remedy on the agenda. Something cried out for help, and they wound up on the menu instead of getting the help they wanted. Gotta wonder if this is one of nature’s ways of reducing suffering. You cry for help, and SOMETHING is likely gonna show up. Might be help, more likely to be harm, but you will be seen to.
Any possibility, that a lesson, might actually devour you? That in order for you to advance, the perception may be that you are actually going backwards? Maybe even that you are gaining nothing, and losing everything? Well, if you’ve not thought of it before, maybe you can think about it now. Food for thought.
Medicine is all about taking some thing’s or someone else’s power. That’s actually where this “missive” started. Thinking about the idea of medicine being a power which someone else possesses, that you can take away. Or maybe even a something you can receive if it is given.
But as you can likely tell, some time has passed and I decided to interject some of “the older stuff” and some of “the newer stuff” at the top of the writing instead of the bottom. Or, perhaps you did not notice that. Perhaps you read top to bottom and think that it is chronological. Welp, most of the time that is true, but not always, and not in this case. Sometimes I sit down and write some shiz, but when I come back to add to it, it seems more pertinent to put the new shiz at the top. Or maybe even inject it somewhere in the middle. Not that I spend a lot of time editing this stuff, because I don’t…
that's Roob's job.
These thing are written for her, and me editing them diminishes the point of this little enterprise. I write, she edits. It could be argued that the more difficult I make things for her, the more of her medicine or power I am taking. But what I was really thinking about was this scene in the movie Dances With Wolves when the locals are having this sit down discussing the stranger, and the character Kicking Bird pipes up about this loner at the fort…
“…when I see one white man alone and without fear in our country, I do not think he is lost. I think he may have medicine.”
OK, so, say that he does indeed “have medicine”…now what? Someone has some something, are your intentions to borrow some? Get them to teach you how to make it? Steal it from them? Take them in and just bask in it? I guess when we establish that someone has a something we desire, only time will tell what actions we take and why we take them.
I wrote that several days ago, but cannot recall exactly where I was going with it.
Musta been going somewhere with it, but the thought is gone.
The idea that a more or less typical response is actually tied to an atypical feeling.
Sympathy generates anger.
Fear generates happiness.
Joy generates revulsion.
Why are they supposedly so straightforward and clear-cut.
Surely these things can sometimes mix and match.
Perhaps even some times a seemingly confused something is actually the proper response.
Perhaps I'm just confused.
In any case, I forgot what I was originally gonna write.
Guess this will just have to do.
*Fun fact: there used to be nightclubs in Southend at different times called ‘Rain’ and ‘Storm’… /stubs butt… There’s only one nightclub left now though, called Mojo…*
*That is a fucking big syringe, Clicky, sucking out life force…*
Have a great we kenned, Dear Reader… And have a Song…
Well, hello there, Dear Reader. ‘Tis I, Roobeedoo…
*Hot stuff… /smirks…*
… As you may know, I’ve been taking a backseat recently on writing posts and letting Clicky do the heavy lifting here at the LoL…
*You’ve been fucking stalwart, Clicky… /pats snout… The besterest assistant ever…*
… Butt! Lovely Cade Fon Apollyon, the Okie Text US Devil, has sent through a new missive…
*That’s surprisingly accurate, Clicky…*
… His missives are always full of wonder, and I take great delight in being able to share them with you, Dear Reader. Enjoy!
STRANGE THINGS ARE AFOOT
AFOOT ARE THINGS STRANGE
So fucking syncy, that something is stinky.
WAY too syncy…to…be…real?
That’s the weird thing about syncs tho.
Real or manufactured, they’re just syncs.
Kinda up to you to figure out the details and meaning(s) and whathaveyou.
All the syncy stuff I’ve been seeing is prolly just my imagination running wild.
I’m sure everything is fine.
Just a bunch of crazy shit lining up for some unknown reason(s).
Nothing to see here…not yet anyway.
Move along citizen.
We’ll keep you posted of any developments.
Had a dream a coupla nights ago where some angels took me to some place. When we got there, they explained to me that this was the place where I would die. Wasn’t really shocked, I wasn’t scared, was more confused. I didn’t recognize the place nor any of the surroundings, and the only thing that was really weird was I’m actually standing in this unknown place where I was supposedly going to die, surrounded by angels, and I was like “OK…um…now what?”
The angels just stood around looking at me, and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe I was supposed to just lay down and wait to die. Or maybe start scanning the horizon for some incoming something that was going to kill me. Or maybe the angels are under the impression that I would have some inner intuition about what is about to unfold. I had nothing. I honestly felt completely blank inside. No desire to flee, no desire to fight, not even really a desire to understand. After all, it was the angels who brought me here and told me this is where I would die, so if they know where I’m going to die, shouldn’t they already have all the particulars? Should I query the angels and ask them for instructions?
There was really nothing for me to do but stand there, so that’s what I did…just stood there.
As dreams do, things only got more strange from there as the angels wandered off, and I returned to my job as a mine shaft inspector. Lolz, yes, I guess such a thing exists as I’ve dreamed this bit many times over the last coupla years…I’m inspecting these really huge and deep mine shafts and reporting on any and all problems. Not like the real ones which are usually narrow and cramped, these are more Hollywood style mine shafts that are massive and almost always go straight down. In this instance, I had to climb down several thousand feet of ladder in this massive tube leading down into the Earth in order to check the water levels at the bottom. It would appear that this particular shaft always needed to have a certain amount of water in it, but for some reason the water level was several hundred feet short, and I was quite panicked about that fact. Relayed the information to my superiors, and then my mind wandered off into some more crazy dreaming that I won’t relay here because you’re prolly already bored out of your skull.
The place where the angels took me was high up in some mountains in a remote area where there was no infrastructure at all except for those provided by nature. I didn’t recognize the mountains as they looked like a cross between the Appalachian and Rocky Mountains, but to confuse me even further it was Fall and all of the leaves were turning a yellow and yellow-ish brown that I’d associate with neither the Rockies nor the Appalachian. They took me to an outcropping near an alcove on the side of a rather tall mountain, and I could see down into a valley on my left with a smaller mountain to my far left. I could not see to my right.
Thinking now that this may not be the best information to relay since it appears my blind spot was on my right.
Lolz...someone might take advantage of such information down the road 😉
Anyway, it was not cold, the temperature was normal-ish, the sun was setting to my left and the entire valley burned with the colors of those yellow and yellowish leaves. There were some scattered rocks near my feet, but it almost appeared as if this small area where I was standing was purposely cleared by someone. It resembled a camp site, but I don’t recall seeing any evidence of a camp fire site, and I recall that in my dream upon seeing the rocks scattered around, my first inclination was to start picking them up and examining them. Maybe something in my psyche knows that I love looking at rocks. Let’s move on since you like do not care if I like looking at rocks.
After reflecting on the dream a bit, I’ve got to thinking about the concept of “being told”. Being directed. Being made aware of things and particularly being made aware of certain specific events. There was an irony raging inside of me during the dream thinking to myself…”Well this is just fucking great. I’m in some place that I’ve never seen before/didn’t even know existed, this is supposedly where I’m going to die, and these angels have brought me straight fucking to it.” Thanks a lot.
This is probably why I did nothing in the dream except stand there and just kinda survey the area. There was nothing else for me to do.
In my own life, I’ll sometimes dream things (whether sleeping or lucid), then I’ll encounter that same place in time somewhere down the road. But in these instances, it’s never just a place, it’s a time. Sometimes the place will be right but the time wrong. Others the time is right but the place wrong. I’ll always get this feeling of “I know this”, and it’s kinda like a deja vu, but not really. I gotta be honest in saying that it feels more like operating in several dimensions at the same time, but doing so from a single dimension in a single place at a single time. Like there’s a convergence of multiple dimensions, but things aren’t lining up exactly like they should. Or perhaps that things aren’t lining up as they previously did. Some change has occurred and the dimensions are no longer operating as they would have and/or did previously.
(if any of that makes any sense)
Some permanence in time and space has been altered.
I know this place in my mind now, so sometime down the road if I encounter it or anything similar in real life, I’ll know it. I’ll have that “holy shit” type of moment, and absolutely nothing will matter regarding any particulars except “I know this”. It won’t matter what is going to happen, nor what was supposed to happen, nor what should have happened, nor what actually happens…what matters is that it is happening-ish, and it happened before-ish. Learning how to step through these moments in time where everything is supposedly all planned out and you know exactly what is supposed to happen, but you ditch all that bullshit and live in the moment irrespective of all that. Deal with it in the moment as if you had no clue what is supposed to happen, because the reality is that you don’t. It will be different. Much will be the same, much will be similar, and some points will be so jarringly identical that it’s tough to keep your wits about you as you move through the moment(s), but many points will be so radically different that you cannot help but dismiss any “greater meaning” and you stand firmly in reality knowing that this is you, being yourself, living in the moment, doing things as you as an individual would do, and no amount of foreseeing or prophecy or fate is going to change that. Be…you. Deal with it as it comes, not as it was predicted.
What I also have been thinking about is the notion of being led. Or even being diverted. Sidetracked. Also the choices that we make and how they lead to certain eventualities. How our lives can change radically based upon certain decisions or events, and whatever was, is no longer. Whatever was going to be, will not be.
Right now, in this world, and at this time, virtually everyone on the planet is being led to make decisions that are going to radically alter their lives. Doesn’t matter which path you choose either. For some it will lead to the grand life the Covid-19 vaccine promises, for others it will lead to calamity. Doesn’t matter whether you do or do not get the nCoV-2019 vaccine either. Both pathways lead to the same places. Some will regret getting the vaccine, others will regret not getting the vaccine. Some will get the vaccine and go on to live happy and normal lives, some will not get the vaccine and go on to live happy and normal lives. The only question is will you or won’t you. Everything beyond that is some vague place out in space and time that you may or may not get to.
Be yourself. That’s what I get out of these experiences. Be yourself, in the moment, and use the tools that you already have to remain yourself. Don’t put on a show, don’t try and be what you think the Universe wants you to be, don’t try and earn a bunch of brownie points by doing what you think everyone else wants you to do, don’t try and be some idealized version of yourself, don’t try and be some stylized version of yourself…be yourself. Be your actual self. Live in the moment, as yourself. Use the opportunity to be who you really are. Use the opportunity to learn who you really are. Learn what you are made of. Learn what you can be. To know, who you are.
Typically, if you are a male and watching some war movie or some movie where there’s all kinds of fighting and/or conflict, at least one of your pals is going to pipe up and say “OH! IF THAT WOULDA BEEN ME, I WOULDA TOTALLY KICKED THEIR ASS!!!!” or “I WOULDA MARCHED RIGHT UP THAT BEACH AND KILLED THE SHIT OUT OF EVERY ENEMY SOLDIER MYSELF!!!” or some similar nonsense. They have an idealized version of how things should be or how things should be done, and they’ve also convinced themselves that they are capable of actually doing things this way.
Kindof a confusing mindset to take considering that all evidence points to exactly the contrary. Meaning, how is this person getting an idea that they could do things differently and/or better, when everything you are seeing is providing you with evidence that, no, you probably couldn’t. If you are pinned down on a beach with hundreds of enemy soldiers firing at you, you’d likely do exactly what the people on-screen are doing…keeping your fucking head down and stay put.
It occurs to me that people like this have no clue who they are…they only know who they want to be.
Sure eventually you might actually become what you want to be, but then what.
But…who the fuck were you all this time up until now?
I’m guessing that the “global warming” and/or “climate change” agendas aren’t working out as planned.
Gotta cook up some new ideas to explain why a something is going to happen.
Hey, if human predictive abilities are really that great, then why the hell hasn’t everyone won the lottery by now? Or hit it big on the stock market? Or drained every casino dry? Or seen every single hiccup or disaster coming from miles away?
What’s worst about this new moon thing is that at one point the moon was getting closer, and then suddenly “no it’s not, it’s getting further away”, and then it was the moon’s gravitation is eventually going to effect the tides less and less, and now suddenly this “wobble” in the moon is gonna fuck us royally.
The only thing that I can figure is someone plugged in some new variable into their modeling software, they got some weird results, and decided panic was the best course. I can’t read the article because you have to register to read it, so I guess I too will just have to make shit up.
Q: What the fuck ever happened to cycles?
Science (or at least certain interests) seem so preoccupied with finding some permanent and forever something, they don’t appear to be using cyclical data in their models. Or cyclical models in their models. Or just flat not looking for cyclical patterns. They wanna find something absolute. Which is pretty fucking weird considering that virtually everything we know is…cyclical. I guess maybe some individuals don’t like the fact that apparently the only concrete something is that everything is cyclical. I’m not suggesting that there are scientists who are out there who really would like to see the moon do something funky and it really fuck our planet up…but yeah…there are probably some. I mean, be honest…you like to see a good car crash, right? A trainwreck? A tornado? A flood?
Sure ya do.
You can watch tragedy from the safety of your own home and sit around feeling all superior about your own life choices.
One thing is certain tho, it doesn’t appear that those in the “green” realms give two shits about how they sell their agenda, as long as they sell it. Which, makes sense. Lotta people have a lot of cash riding on these agendas. They’re shorting. They’ve bet against the house. They’re expecting a big payoff and are going to lose everything if it doesn’t.
Wow…how paradoxical, eh? Betting everything, on the idea that some are gonna lose everything.
The way that “green ideas” are being trashed sucks because there really is some fucking horrible shit being done to our environment, and a lot of really good ideas can come out of conservation movements or even just individuals learning how to be good stewards of our planet on their own, then sharing their findings with others. Color me a conspiracy theorist if you want, but I have to wonder if a lot of these ideas are being shit on, because someone up there in the hierarchy wants them shit on. “Green ideas” are counter to their interests, therefore they are playing along in order to destroy these ideas from the inside. Just a theory I have as to why so many companies are so quick to jump on the green bandwagons, and today you’d be hard pressed to find one that does not tout themselves as being part of it or at least doing something “green”.
Embrace the rebellion.
Embrace the rebellion, in order to destroy it.
It's an old story.
How many psychology students do you think there are in the world? Right now, at this moment, across the globe, how many students are there who are studying psychology or psychiatry or anthropology or some social science of some sort that is concerned with humans and/or their behavior. How many hundreds of thousands of people are studying to study people?
Heh...see where this is going yet?
No? Well, maybe think of it like this…how do these students conduct their research, and upon whom are they researching. Can you think of any place that might be available for such students to conduct all manner of tests and testing upon a huge swath of unsuspecting people? Oh sure, there are standards for conducting research, and especially if one is going to submit this work to their teachers and peers or whatever.
There are even ethics to consider.
But with all of the corporations and advertisers and governments and God only knows who else doing all manner of research on individuals via online activities, who’s to say that students cannot more or less slip through the cracks of the system and do all kinds of crazy “research” on others as they blunder around the Internet.
And you thought all those cutesy Twitter tweets and Facebook posts were heartfelt or maybe just innocent fun.
You might be wrong about that.
Things must be pretty good if the only crusade one has to lead is the crusade to save yourself.
Wait...lemme back up.
I was thinking about scruples, and that got me to thinking about individuals who are in positions where they have no other choice but to lead some crazy crusade in order to extract both themselves and others from whatever predicament they find themselves in. Historical precedents where history reflects that so-and-so really didn’t want to go into the medical field, but some pestilence arose, and they felt compelled to do something. Or perhaps so-and-so didn’t really want to go into the agricultural field (hehe…agricultural field), but some famine erupted, and they felt compelled to do something. Or maybe so-and-so really didn’t want to go into the military, but some war arose, and they felt compelled to do something. Necessity dictated behavior. Or at least, some more tangible and easily relatable necessity.
I’ve been listening to some talks by Wes Cecil, and he’s mentioned that the biggest problem facing students today is that none of them seem to know what the hell they want to do. Probably all want to make stacks of cash, but that’s about it, hence they aren’t sure what they need to study in order to achieve this goal of being financially stable and/or wealthy. Which makes sense that they want to make the bucks, because who the hell wants to work some low-paying job and live in some trailer park or in a shitty apartment in a bad part of town? Who wants to struggle to pay bills? Who wants to have a need, but cannot afford it? No one. Hence, you need to take care of yourself, and maybe your family if you desire to have one, and you achieve this by choosing a vocation that can provide lots of money.
Things must be pretty good if the only crusade one has to lead is the crusade to save yourself.
AH! Now we’re back to where we started…things are so good, that there’s really nothing to do but care for yourself.
At it’s core, not exactly a bad problem to have. If more people focused on taking care of themselves, not nearly as much effort would have to be expended taking care of others. But that’s the rub.
Q: How do people wind up in positions where others are required to look after them?
A: Bad vocational choices might be at least one answer.
So now we come back to making money, and scruples. Can one, make scrupulous decisions with respect to choosing a vocation to learn, when there’s not really anything on the agenda other than making cash so you have a nice home and nice clothes and a nice car and can eat well and good have health insurance and can travel, etc., etc.? Quite self-serving sounding on the surface. But again, if you are self-sufficient, that means you’re contributing via other less obvious ways, and more than that you are not a burden on any systems. In fact you and your ilk are a blessing because you are shouldering the lion’s share of fiscal responsibilities in your society. You aren’t going to win any Nobel Peace Prize for this, no songs are likely to be written about your fantastic exploits, and no stories will be told about you to regale and amaze the masses.
This is not what most people want tho, is it?
They don’t want a Ford Escort, they want an Audi or a Mercedes-Benz or maybe a Lexus or Tesla. They don’t want to live in the burbs, they want to live somewhere upscale, posh and flashy. In order to do this, they might have to evaluate their own personal scruples.
Maybe give them a bend.
I’m sure that there are plenty of school counselors who will be more than happy to lend an assist.
Ya know, there’s something about all this “the light” bullshit that should really be sending up some red flags for people, but I get the feeling they miss this entirely. If I say anything “negative” or express some kind of displeasure or if I ever have a frown on my face or anything that is displeasing to these “light workers” because it doesn’t fit their happy and shiny mold? Welp…who else does this. Who else is displeased when I am not bright and chipper and well groomed and have a perma-smile splashed across my face?
Can you think of anyone who behaves in this manner because they are crafting a happy and perfect world, and they want this reflected in their children.
Oops! I think I just gave a spoiler there.
Yeah…parents. Some parents anyway.
They always want you putting forth some shiny and happy looking image so that the whole world knows what a great person you are because your parents are great people and you have a happy and healthy family.
Hey, nothing wrong with looking clean and happy, but there’s definitely something wrong when it’s militaristic. Smile, or else.
Meh…a lot of “starseed” stuff comes across my Twitter feed, and for the most part I like it because it’s inspirational, but I admit I get a bit skeptical when these tweets start ragging on you if you aren’t meeting some standard.
WHY AREN’T YOU SMILING GOD DAMNIT?!?!?!?
WHY AREN’T YOU HAPPY?!?!?!?
Your denigrating me doesn’t help matters, but if you must know, I broke two toes last night, my dog died and my job doesn’t pay me enough to help me get my ailing mother into a care home.
Thanks for hopping on the “kick me” bandwagon.
The fact that one can remember they knew something, but cannot recall the specifics about what it was, is interesting something to ponder. How is it that these holes exist, yet whatever once filled them is gone. Now, I personally started off this thought wondering about the possibility of, and any potential mechanics of…the hive mind. Stay with me.
There are some who submit that there is indeed a human hive-mind type thing going on, and that our brains and/or beings are utilized by some unseen web of consciousness which spans the entire planet Earth/Terra. This would mean to me that it is likely that, either consciously or unconsciously, we all of us work together to solve certain problems. Like an array of computers crunching away at problems both actively and passively. Which, if this is so, raises the question…
Q: Can someone grab one of my own ideas?
I have an idea, but by the time I make it to the computer to write it down, the idea is gone. I remember that I had an idea, but the space where it sat is void. Is it possible that someone snatched it? Or maybe it’s just a matter that I worked something out, but someone needed it more than I, so this global consciousness array decided to give it to someone else, leaving me with only a hole. We are talking about connected systems, so interrupts and/or prioritization is likely a thing.
All that crazy groupthink nonsense aside, I do have to wonder how it is possible that I can remember that I created a node in my own mind, I can still sense the node, but whatever occupied it is irretrievable. Since most of my “ideas” are usually the result of thinking about a lot of different things, maybe this individual idea has been assimilated in totality into some other/larger concept, and only the node from whence this idea sprang remains. Or, maybe it’s somehow encrypted. It’s still there, I just cannot access it for whatever reason.
We want people to like us, yet we seem to do everything in our power to do the very things that will make people not like us. I’ll have to save the details of what I mean for another missive. You can chew on the idea for a bit tho if you want.
Have a great weekend.
Go get laid or something.
That’s what I plan on doing.
Go to dinner, get drunk, get laid.
But, only 1 of those 3 things is likely to happen…can you guess which one?
*Very satisfying, Clicky. Can’t wait for the follow up missive…*
Have a Song, Dear Reader… 😉
*Ugh, the man’s a fool… /grimaces…*
*/rolls eyes… Enough, I don’t need to see it again..*
*I said enough, Clicky…Wait… /flicks ash… Hmm, purple is my colour…*
Today is my birthday, Dear Reader, and I am now 54…
*Years old. Too fast, Clicky… /puffs contentedly… Xenon and xenophobia share the same root…*
I don’t have an awful lot to say on the subject of my birthday, so here is Cade Fon Apollyon, the Okie Devil from Text US, with a brand new missive…
What if…Eden happened…because time ran backwards.
Supposedly, when a species goes extinct, the population is whittled down until only a few remain, and ultimately, there’s only one left. Or maybe two, then one, then… two… then…
Might indicate there is some creepy fucker lurking in the shadows.
There’s a lot to think about there. What is primary on your mind tho is probably what I meant by “some creepy fucker lurking in the shadows”. Well…why don’t you yourself give it a think. We are supposedly smart, sentient beings, and even tho our planet will likely someday end, our universe is supposedly infinite, so why don’t you think for a moment as to what it would be like if time ran not only forwards, but backwards. Or at least, downwards? Then maybe backwards.
I’m not being fatalistic here. What I’m thinking about is more the birth of the Universe than the end. There are those that believe that not only have we been here before, but we shall be here again. I’m…not exactly on-board with that theory, but I understand it a bit. And the mechanics behind this theory is kinda where I started this post with respect to Eden happening because time ran backwards.
Question is, does anything ever change through the iterations?
Singularity, Big Bang, Expansion, Contraction, Big Crunch, Singularity, Big Bang, etc., etc.. Does such a loop really imply some sort of precise exactness in the iterations?
Welp, I’d say no. Especially if decay is a thing, or even if change of any kind is a thing, or even if…addition is a thing. Any sort of change or annexation of matter from the previous iteration would, I’d think anyway, result in some change or changes. And of course if the exact same amount of mass was arranged differently in an iteration, I’d think that too would result in some changes between the previous iteration and the current. Might also affect future iterations unless of course there was some “master” something that kept track of the iterations. That’s a mind-bender in and of itself.
Where would such information be stored?
I dunno if I’m looking for a master here, but there sure as shit seems to exist some mastery.
!!!HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROOBEEDOO!!!
Yep, Roob is 101 or so years old today
(give or take)
Many happy returns to her.
I dunno how to add a song here without getting too mushy, but she’s almost certainly a lady, and I’ll just go with the first song that popped into my head.
This rather short something was started back on April 27th of this year, and as you can tell, I didn’t get very far. Life sometimes intrudes, the now has arrived, and I think I’ll keep this one simple and just stop here. Sorry for appearing lazy, but I don’t want to burden Roob with some massive rambling something for her to have to format on her birthday. You’re just have to pick up the slack for me by leaving a load of comments and possibly engaging in discussion.
Have a lovely Towel Day, Dear Reader and… Have a Song… ❤
Dear Reader, I have been reading Animal Farm by George Orwell, as part of the newly formed Gloom Dog Book club…
*Oh, it’s a great book choice to start with considering current political climes, Clicky…*
There’s a paragraph early on in the story that grabbed my attention because it synced with a conversation that I had with Cade Fon Apollyon on Friday evening, regarding: the 1966 movie Arabesque starring Gregory Peck and Sophia Loren; some randomly posted bible verse in the comments of a YouTube video of disco song that was a hit in Japan in 1977; and an unexpected stream of swan, monkey, lion and elephant appearances to cross my path that day…
*Yeah I know. It’s a bit whacky, butt bear with me and I’ll try to explain…*
First things first, here is the paragraph from Animal Farm that grabbed my attention:
‘Napoleon took no interest in Snowball’s committees. He said that the education of the young was more important than anything that could be done for those who were already grown up. It happened that Jessie and Bluebell had both whelped soon after the hay harvest, giving birth between them to nine sturdy puppies. As soon as they were weaned, Napoleon took them away from their mothers, saying that he would make himself responsible for their education. He took them up into a loft which could only be reached by a ladder from the harness-room, and there kept them in such seclusion that the rest of the farm soon forgot their existence.’
*Okay I’m getting to it… /drags… Get arabesque to show, Dear Reader, Clicky…*
*No, the movie… /rolls eyes…*
*An outbreak of flu is used as an excuse in the opening scene and the missing cipher hidden in a sweetie wrapper, labelled 9…*
*The title of Wes’ talk is meant to be sarcastic. Actually a ‘pollock’ is also a fish… /thinks… Wait, this is syncing with the ‘lost joke’ in your recent post, Clicky…*
*Vans with ‘Cubitts’ on the side were very prominent in the movie… /drags…*
*Weird fucking movie, Clicky. Enjoyable but weird… /streams smoke… To think, we only watched it ‘cos of a Twitter convo Cade had with @monkeynutshell shortly beforehand…*
*/flicks ash… A trio from Frankfurt…*
*Some elephant tweets had crossed my twitterfeed that day…*
*Menemosyne is an aspect of the Planetary Animal Mother, Sophia, according to Gnostic teacher John Lamb Lash… /final drag… Goddess of Memory and mother of the 9 Muses…*
*An elephant would be an excellent witness to a crime, Clicky… /stubs butt…*
*Wes’ latest vid… /grins… Talk about the elephant in the room…*
Okay, I’m gonna have to assume, Dear Reader, that you followed the conversation above and employed your Clicky when cued, to perceive the synchronicities that I experienced…
… So, let’s go back to the paragraph from Animal Farm that grabbed my attention…
‘Nose of a Lion took no interest in Snowball’s committees. He said that the education of the young was more important than anything that could be done for those who were already grown up. It happened that Jessie and Bluebell had both whelped soon after the hay harvest, giving birth between them to nine sturdy puppies. As soon as they were weaned, Napoleon took them away from their mothers, saying that he would make himself responsible for their education. He took them up into a loft which could only be reached by a ladder from the harness-room, and there kept them in such seclusion that the rest of the farm soon forgot their existence.’
*Sorry for the spoiler, Clicky, butt those 9 puppies became Napoleon’s attack dogs, enforcing his rule over Animal Farm…*
*Yeah, it’s a lot to take in, Clicky…*
I’ve nearly finished reading Animal Farm, Dear Reader. It’s funny, George Orwell prefaced the story with ‘A Fairy-tale’, a pejorative term used to describe myths…
… Have a Song, Dear Reader… 😉
At last! Dear Reader, Underdog Anthology XIV: The Dark Ides of March has finally been published and is now available for purchase…
*Wrong book, Clicky, although finking about it… /lights up and smokes… I did write my anthology story over the Easter weekend…*
After writing ‘What Time Do You Finish?’ and following that up with ‘Christmas Death Wish’, I’d decided I would write a third installment in what is turning out to be a ‘Ronageddon’ series. If you haven’t read those stories yet, Dear Reader, please avail yourself of the links, below…
Synchronicity provided me with the title of the story you are about to read. That and Cade Fon Apollyon: I’d been mulling over story ideas for weeks, wracking my brains for an angle, when I hit upon an idea. I was very excited and headed straight to Twitter DMs to tell my best bud, but what I saw when I arrived was a poem, waiting. One that Cade had just written for me…
*/flicks ash… And on mum’s birthday too…*
Anyway, Dear Reader, I hope you enjoy ‘Walk I, With You’. See you at the bottom of the post for a Song 😉
Walk I, With You
By Roo B. Doo
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking umpteen…
God paused at the end of the first sentence on the first page of the battered book in her hand.
Disconcerted yet curious, God checked the cover of the book to make sure that the title and author’s name were correct before continuing to read on.
The Grim Reaper, skull nuzzled deep within the cowl of his robe, silently glided up to the bench closest to the duck pond in Victory Park. The ‘Do Not Use’ warning tape adorning it had deterred everyone from sitting there, but not Death. The Grim Reaper climbed up onto the bench and waited.
On a tree nearby, a coloured poster, too large for the display, had been tacked up. It simply depicted an enormous face, more than a metre wide: the face of a middle-aged man, with tousled, blond hair, baggy eyes and jowly jawline. It was one of those pictures which are designed so that the eyes follow you about when you move. BIG BRO IS WATCHING YOU, the caption beneath it ran.
God snapped the book shut and sighed.
I knew it! Somebody is monkeying about with Nineteen-Eighty-Four. Again!
She called for the fat, smug goose who administered the comings and going in the vast area known as the God Lobby.
Come with me, Brian. We need to make a site visit.
Spring was in the air and Victory Park was packed with people exercising in the pale April sunshine. Despite the brightness, the air remained frosty cool from both the transition of the seasons and the earliness of the hour. Death sat on a bench close to the duck pond and watched the hordes walking, running and star jumping in socially distanced formation. All their faces were dutifully masked.
Why are they torturing themselves? Death wondered as he watched a stream of hot breath pour through the sweaty face-mask of a passing jogger. They may as well be carrying a bundle of posies in front of their faces for all the protection those things give. Ah, the Black Death. Now that was a proper pandemic.
Death pulled a slim, black rectangle from the depths of his robe and flipped open the cover to reveal a bright, smooth screen decorated with coloured icons. Following the disastrous crash of the Cosmic Consciousness Neural Net (CCNN) that occurred on Halloween in 2020, God had resolved that an upgrade in tech was very much required, and the PsiPad was born. The Psion organiser, which had been gainfully employed by the Grim Reaper Service up until that point, was finally relegated to the Scrapheap of Obsolescence. There it languished alone; the hourglass having escaped the same fate by presciently forging a long-standing relationship with eggs.
Tapping the screen of the PsiPad with a bony digit, Death opened the PsiCalendar and studied his schedule for the day. He had arrived a little early for his next appointment but didn’t mind waiting. Having existed throughout all of time, Death was not opposed to occasionally killing the bastard.
A message flashed up on the screen which simply read ‘Molly’, and although the Grim Reaper shouldn’t be able to feel anything, Death experienced a sense of apprehension and anticipation prickle his bones.
Molly Darling was the pure soul child, whose poorly spelled letter to Santa had inadvertently instigated Armageddon and had caused Death nothing but trouble. Her letter, and her sincere Christmas wish contained within it, to end war, famine and pollution for the benefit of mankind, had fallen into the hands of Satan, and Old Scratch never wasted an opportunity for some devilment. Whether or not he’d had a hand in the CCNN crash that occurred at the same time was as yet unknown. Investigations into the matter were said to be ongoing.
On the whole, Death was against the making and granting of wishes of any kind; however, he’d been manoeuvred into making a wish of his own, with Molly as the beneficiary. He’d been presented with a choice; God always provides a choice: the removal of Molly Darling from life before she could send her letter, thus averting the end of the world, or rectify the matter in some other way. Death’s ethics forbade him from taking the first course of action, so he had plumped for some other way. Death’s wish had been granted by Father Christmas and subsequently Molly Darling had been born with the innate ability to correctly spell.
And that should have been the end of the matter, but for the unintended consequence rider that accompanies every wish granted, one that practically no one considers when making one. In this case, the very act of wishing had inextricably linked Molly to Death and attracted deaths to Molly.
Death scrolled back through the years on the PsiCalendar, counting the number of ‘Molly alerts’ that littered them. By definition, Death was only concerned with the dead, paying scant attention to the living around them. Now, courtesy of the newly issued bit of tremendous tech under his distal phalanges, Death was aware of just how many times his path and Molly’s had crossed during her short life so far. It was sporadic but not inconsiderable.
He found the date of the first Molly alert: 1st January 2013; the day Molly Darling was born. She had arrived in the early hours of the morning as Death was transitioning the soul of one Barry Munroe, a poor unfortunate struck by a speeding taxi, following a night of heavy drinking in celebration of the birth of the new year. The speeding taxi had been delivering a screaming woman to hospital, who was making a rapid delivery of her own on the back seat of the cab.
Death had given no consideration to the wailing bundle of new life at the time – why should he? – but in hindsight, the significance of Molly’s place of birth was not lost on Death, as it was in the back of a taxi on Halloween in 2020 that the savage deletion from existence of his good friends, War, Famine and Pestilence had occurred and Armageddon began. Death had changed Molly’s past to affect mankind’s future, yet he still retained the memory of that terrible night. For Death, Halloween 2020, both with and without that fateful taxi ride, existed at the same time, and within the same space.
It’s like Schrödinger’s Cab, Death mused deeply.
The PsiPad had also revealed to Death what lay behind a strange incident that coincided with one of the Molly Alerts, an incident that had baffled him until now. On 16th July 2016, Death had sat on this same bench, watching swaths of people roam across Victory Park. The insufferably hot weather had done little to deter the excited crowd from hunting virtual monsters augmented with their reality; it was the latest fashion. Instead of face-masks, mobile phones and electronic devices of all kinds covered peoples’ faces, which now caused Death to ponder upon the origin of the phrase ‘Track and Trace’.
On that day, Death had been awaiting the arrival of one Davy Keith, an otherwise healthy lad of 14, except for the undiagnosed hole in his heart and an all-consuming passion for collecting simulated Japanese monsters. Death watched passively as a pudgy toddler rushed along the path toward the bench upon which he sat, a tired looking woman pushing a stroller followed in the child’s wake. The little girl had all the grace of a drunken sailor and Death had assumed her wide milk-tooth grin and incoherent babble was aimed at the sun blazing high in the sky above Death’s head. That was until she tried to hug him.
A thought which had occurred to Death in that moment, on that day had haunted him ever since. Am I a monster?
Now Death knew that child had been Molly Darling and she had seen him. Following the aborted hug, and before her mother had whisked her away, Molly’s hand gestures had been her attempt to communicate with him: ‘Hello. My name is M-O-L-L-Y. I am deaf.’
It’s augmented reality, alright, Death decided with a sigh. He closed the cover on the PsiPad and returned it to the folds of his robe. Not long to wait now.
“Keep it up squad. Pump those arms,” the long-legged woman barked, as she strode purposefully among the regimented lines of exercisers performing push-ups beneath her gaze. She was a colossus of female physical perfection: full, round breasts, a washboard stomach and thighs so muscular they looked capable of pulverizing anyone’s head fortunate enough to be caught between them.
Lockdown had been very good for Wanda Warren. Before the arrival of the Rona and the restrictions that ensued, she’d struggled to attract many clients to her fledgling business: Fighting Fit. Whilst it was true that the small number of clients she did have were dedicated to not only her tough methods but also to Wanda herself, she was only a one woman band and the indoor gym in town, with its flashy machines, coffee shop and showers, had attracted many more members.
Now the gym was closed due to the Rona and the only place to exercise was outside. Competitive advantage had shifted firmly in Wanda’s favour, and Fighting Fit scooped up a substantial amount of new devotees. All males desperate to retain their fitness, blow off the excess energy built up from their now enforced sedentary lifestyle, and the outside possibility of being crushed between Wanda Warren’s dangerous thighs.
She caught sight of a familiar figure across the park. “And once you reach a hundred, give me one full circuit of the park. Now move it!” she ordered, before sprinting off in the direction of the duck pond.
“War,” the Grim Reaper replied.
Wanda pulled down her face-mask and sprawled on the bench next to Death. The difference in stature between the two cardinal colleagues was stark: whereas War was long and rangy, the diminutive Grim Reaper was small enough to reach into all the nooks and crannies.
War smiled radiantly. “I thought it was you.”
“I see you’re building up quite an army, dear lady.”
“Pfft. Early days yet.” War punched Death on the arm. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since…” Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall the last time they’d met.
Death turned to his beautiful colleague: in ancient Troy her face had launched a thousand ships; today it could launch a thousand more, all armed to the teeth with nuclear weapons. The last time he’d seen War, however, she’d been ripping Famine and Pestilence apart with carnal ferocity in the back of a London black taxi being driven by Old Scratch. “I am here waiting.”
“Oh, right. Not for any of my lot, I hope,” War inquired hesitantly.
“Possibly.” Death produced the PsiPad from his robes.
“Ooh nice kit. You got an upgrade?” War snatched the PsiPad from Death, opened the PsiCalendar and read the name of Death’s next appointment. “Really? No way!”
Death pulled the PsiPad from War’s grasp. “Yes and very much way.”
War stretched her arms out along the back of the bench and flicked at a stray end of warning tape. “Pesto’s played a fucking blinder with this Rona business, eh? It’s done my little enterprise no end of good.”
Death remained silent; he was far from convinced that Pestilence had any involvement in the disease that had swept the world in the last year. He’d certainly had to deal with a rise in suicidees and murder victims, but pretty much all the usual causes of death had remained relatively stable. Certainly all the deaths solely attributed to the Rona were vanishingly small. “Have you seen Pesto recently?”
“Not since…” Once again War’s furrowed her brow.
“How about Famine?” Death asked.
“AWOL,” War snorted. “Fuck knows where he is. Have you seen how fat these cunts are?”
“Good for business.”
“Indeed, business is booming.”
War stood up and pulled her face-mask back up over the cruel smirk that marred her lips; the first of the Fighting Fit squad would be coming through soon, and as their leader, it was imperative that Wanda uphold standards for the group. “I tell ya, the buggers love being told what to do. And the harsher you are, the more they fucking love it.”
“Until pushed too far.”
“I know! Brilliant, isn’t it? A win-win,” War laughed, briefly lowering her mask to suck air noisily up her quivering nostrils. “Can you smell the resentment and aggression simmering, Death? Itsa gonna be a spicy meat ball!”
“Lacking an olfactory system, War, I am unable to concur with your assessment,” Death replied drily. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
“Ha ha. You do that, short arse,” she smirked, affixing her mask back into place.
Wanda turned her attention to the first of her squad to appear, smacking his backside as he ran by. “Attaboy, Malc. Only a mile to go.” As each member passed they received the same backside slap from Wanda, but her words of encouragement changed with her assessment of their individual performance.
The last straggler stopped and stooped over with hands on knees, gasping for breath.
“What’s up, Jimbo? Don’t you have the heart for it today?” Wanda stood over the bent back of James ‘Jimbo’ Collins and gave Death a double thumbs up sign. “Here, have a sit down, old fella. Take five and then catch up with us once you get your breath back.”
She steered Jimbo toward the bench. Despite his apparent distress, he still managed to give her righteous backside a firm squeeze. Wanda rolled her eyes at Death and saluted before sprinting away to catch up with the rest of her Fighting Fit squad and finish the circuit of Victory Park.
Death ignored Jimbo’s ragged breathing and continued to wait.
Jocasta Darling luxuriated in the bright spring sunshine that came as a welcome relief after the unmitigated gloom of winter and lockdown. Not that Jocasta thought lockdown would be ending any time soon, not if the government’s broken promises over the past year were anything to go by. Still it was nice to get out for a walk, and despite the cold, the sunshine was glorious and lifted Jocasta’s spirits for the first time since the start of the year.
Her daughter Molly skipped alongside, occasionally pausing to smell the newly budding flowers or point out the birds traversing the powder blue sky. The pair made their way toward the pond at the heart of Victory Park, where Molly liked to serve breakfast to the ducks each morning. Jocasta just liked to see her daughter happy. Molly had been in and out of hospital since birth with one thing or another, and it broke Jocasta’s heart at what Molly had had to endure. And now her schooling had been disrupted, all because of the Rona, which appeared to ignore kids like a bad parent. Jocasta often wondered just exactly where the blessed government’s priorities actually lay.
Although the park was busy with exercisers, the pond area looked to be empty to Jocasta, except for a jogger sitting slumped over on a bench. As they drew closer, Molly eagerly grabbed the plastic bag from her mother’s hands and pulled out a crust of bread.
“Okay be careful. Don’t fall in,” Jocasta instructed her daughter.
Molly beamed at her mother, flashing an ‘OK’ sign, and made her way to the shady side of the pond where the ducks and swans were congregated, all the while ripping the crust into smaller, bite-sized pieces.
Jocasta wasn’t sure what the government’s guidelines were this week on the usefulness of benches, but this one was still clearly marked as out of bounds. She wondered if she should go and say something to the jogger: it really didn’t pay to attract the attentions of the Rona marshals that now patrolled the park. Even the slightest infraction was pounced upon, and she herself had been lectured several times on the essential need to wear a face-mask, despite both she and Molly holding medical exemptions due to her daughter’s deafness. At her age, Jocasta was finding it hard enough to master a new language, without being hampered by half of it being obscured by face coverings; sign language was so much more than just hand signs. But try telling that to the oiks in uniforms with quotas to fill. At least Jocasta assumed the marshals had quotas to fill; everything today appeared to be run on targets, quotas and guidelines.
Jocasta approached the bench. “Excuse me. Do you know if it’s okay to sit here?”
The jogger looked up at her, giving Jocasta a fixed stare whilst the fabric of his face-mask ballooned in and out with every whooping breath. “What?”
He thinks I’m a Karen, Jocasta thought, shocked at the aggression in his eyes. “No, I’m asking if you know whether we’re permitted to sit on the bench yet. It’s still taped off,” Jocasta explained. “I’d love a sit down too if it’s allowed.”
“Oh… I see,” the jogger replied, as he attempted to control his breathing. “Yes… yes, I think so… since the start of the week… I’m sure of it.”
Jocasta smiled at the jogger; her smile was as bright as the morning but much warmer. “That is good news. I wonder why the council haven’t removed the tape yet.”
“They’ll get… around to it… eventually.”
Still, the forbidding tape unnerved Jocasta and she hesitated to sit down. “I’m with my daughter Molly. She’s over there feeding the ducks.”
The jogger nodded without removing his gaze from the floor, as he focused on this laboured breathing.
“Are you feeling alright?” Jocasta asked anxiously.
“Fine… thank you,” the jogger replied. “Over-exertion… I’ll be okay…”
Jocasta didn’t think the man looked okay at all. Apart from his breathing, he was sweating profusely and massaging his left arm. From what she could see of his face and neck, the jogger was coloured puce, and Jocasta was certain that wasn’t a good sign for a man his age. “You know it might help if you remove your mask,” she tentatively suggested.
The jogger gave Jocasta another fixed stare, but the aggression had gone from his eyes. He reached up with his right hand and unhooked the mask from his ears. “Yes, you’re probably right,” he said, sucking in a great gulp of air.
Jocasta recognised her local MP immediately but didn’t acknowledge that she knew who James Collins was. Although she had never once voted for him, he’d been her representative in Parliament for what seemed like forever. He’d also been very vocal on the importance of lockdowns, mask-wearing and, now, mandatory vaccinations. That was something else Jocasta disagreed with him over, but if James Collins was using the bench, then she felt sure it was okay for her to use it too.
Jocasta felt an icy blast at her back as she lowered herself onto the bench seat, at the farthest end from where her Member of Parliament sat. “Gosh, that feels very cold,” she said with a shiver. She felt the cold settle into her but, strangely, it did not feel unpleasant.
Fishing into her handbag, she pulled out a covered ashtray, which she placed on the arm rest of the bench, before lighting a cigarette. She dragged deeply and let out a satisfying whoosh of smoke, blowing it in the direction away from the bench. Jocasta had really missed not being able to sit down and smoke outside, and felt particularly aggrieved at the ban on sitting in public. For the longest time, outside had been the only place the public were allowed to smoke, and now she was expected to stand up to do it.
“I say… Could you put that out?” James Collins asked gruffly and gripped his left arm tighter. “Having trouble breathing… here.”
The sudden icy blast Jocasta had felt at sitting down now migrated to her eyes. She turned both barrels on her MP.
“No,” she stated, flatly.
“That’s… not very courteous…”
Jocasta took another puff of her cigarette and tapped the loose ash into the the ashtray. Again, she blew the smoke away from the bench. “We are appropriately socially distanced, are we not? I am not blowing smoke in your direction and there is no law against smoking outside.”
James Collins started coughing and waving his hand limply in front of his nose. Fat droplets of sweat poured from his grimacing face. “Can’t you see I’m… in trouble?”
“Yes you are.” Jocasta wasn’t sure what had come over her, but she felt very certain that the words coming out of her mouth were being said with the confidence of another’s voice. “You, James Collins MP, are a sell out. Not only are you a liar, a lecher and a rubber-stamp for oppression, but you’ve caused dis-ease, and I am sorry to tell you, but you will be going to hell.”
Jocasta looked over at Molly busily feeding the noisy ducks and waved. Molly waved back, tilting her head to one side with a curious look on her face. ‘Having fun?’ Jocasta signed to her daughter.
Molly nodded vigorously and signed back, ‘There’s a goose and he’s eating all the bread. Come and see.’
Jocasta chipped the end of her cigarette off in the ashtray and returned both to her handbag. She stood up, squared her shoulders, giving her MP a final withering stare. “Good-bye.”
She walked away, back along to the path to join Molly, leaving James Collins with a look of abject terror on this face.
“Hello, Jimbo,” Death said, pulling the PsiPad from the folds of his robe.
“So this is Hell?” Jimbo Collins asked, as Death guided him into the vaulted expanse of the God Lobby and placed him at the end of a queue of souls. Like Jimbo, they were all dressed in white and wore face-masks. “Looks like Heaven to me.”
“For some it is both,” Death replied. “Just follow the white line. You’ll get there eventually.”
The queue shuffled forwards, taking Jimbo along with it.
Death took the express elevator up to the Office. From there he could look across the vastness of the God Lobby, and see just how long the queue he’d placed Jimbo Collins in was. It snaked back and forth, up and down and crossed itself in numerous places.
Looks like a commercial for toilet paper, does it not, Big D? All that’s missing is a great, big, playful puppy.
Death turned to the voice of God whispering over his shoulder and bowed. “It’s certainly the most appropriate place to deposit little shits, Ma’am.”
God tittered; she did appreciate Death’s sense of humour.
“I take it you were there,” Death said.
How did you know?
“Molly’s ‘Come and see’ was a dead giveaway. That and Brian’s disguise. He put no effort into it at all.”
On the reception desk Brian, who was forever eavesdropping, ruffled his feathers and hissed.
Yes, we were there. The situation looks grim.
“Indeed it does.”
God moved away from the balcony overlooking the God Lobby. Death glided along behind at a respectful distance.
“Ma’am, I’m worried about the disappearance of Famine and Pestilence. I can’t find any trace of them since…”
Halloween? Yes, it is concerning.
“War’s nose is never wrong. Without Famine and Pesto to provide balance, I fear for the future of humanity.”
Then you must find them, Big D.
“Me?” Death felt a sense of déjà vu; he’d been in this position before.
Of course. You find everyone. Eventually.
God smiled at Death and her smile was a bright as an April morning.
*You fink I should feature Famine in the next one, Clicky? …/stubs butt… Maybe…*
So, please do consider buying a copy of Underdog Anthology XIV. It has 13 top notch stories and 2 poems to delight and terrify you…
Have a Song, Dear Reader… ❤
*I don’t see a dog either, Clicky…*
Howdy, Dear Reader! It’s missive time again at the LoL K Corral…
*/sniffs… Suit yourself…*
… Cade has kindly sent through a new one, packed with questions and observations on science, religion, politics and the end times…
*Or if Chauvin’s found guilty and not hung, drawn and quartered, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… We are in a fourth turning, after all…*
*Ha. I see what you did there…*
… So, not to be missed 😉
…Well, what are you waiting for?
… CAN … YOU … READ …
oah ↄ\/c hao
¿LLEW, NAC UOY?
Question is, who do they belong to?
The immediate thought is likely “her” because she is an adult and they appear to be on the adult-size type scalar plane. But there’s a disconnect there, for obvious reasons. Doesn’t make sense that they belong to either, but perhaps one makes more sense than the other.
No, that doesn't make sense either.
After that it kinda more becomes…what, are they. Then it kinda sinks in. So…where is your head? Or better yet, where was your head upon first encounter.
Now that we’ve got everything in both a chronological and logical order, where is your head now? I’d bet, you’re now wondering if Cade, the meek and timid Okie from Texas, is messing with your head.
As usual, just encountered a certain something completely by chance on my travels. I’ve actually already encountered quite a few certain somethings on my travels this Friday morning. Stuff that made me think.
Wanna come along for a bit and see what else I’ve seen?
What I have not seen, is scientists. That’s right, all through this lockdown and pandemic or whatever, I have not seen scientists rattling off about how great the actions taken by government(s) are, and now that we are into the vaccination stage, I’ve not seen popular and well known scientists all over the media blabbing about what you the uneducated and unwashed masses should do.
I see Anthony Fauci, and I see Neil deGrasse Tyson, but that's about it.
Are they holding the rest in reserve in case the front lines get shot down and they need an alternate? Probably. Anyway, lets go search Google for some of the more well knows scientific mouthpieces and see what they are up to. I’m just gonna go by names as they pop into my own head, starting with Lawrence Krauss.
Rut roh. Old news, but I guess that kinda explains that one. But wait…what’s this? Krauss’ name gets a mention here…
You ever notice that in horror movies, and especially supernatural horror and/or monster movies, no one ever believes in the entity in question, be it a ghost or god or monster or creature or alien or whatever weird entity…that is, they don’t believe, until the fucker shows up. Yeah they’ve heard this thing exists, they figure its legend, so they get the bright idea to go looking for it, and yep, sure as shit it or they or whatever…
Just wondering if all these acts of creating disbelief could in fact be engines driving a helluva lot of people right onto the pathways that will firmly put them in believers category. Getting them in line for some face-time with the Almighty, or at a minimum maybe one of their agents or some other flunky. And the best part is, that only a few lambs need to be sacrificed so that the rest of the population is kept informed that this mystical something is indeed still around, and not a good idea to fuck with it nor seek it.
I've gotten off topic.
Church numbers falling during a global pandemic and global lockdown? NO WAI!!! Let’s take a peek at Richard Dawkins and see where he comes up in the headlines.
Well fuck…that ain’t nCoV-2019 related…is it?
On a related note, and whilst we are thinking weapons and weaponization, lemme pass this along…
Yeah, doesn’t matter what it is nor what it does, everything from Tide-Pods to telekinesis can and will be weaponized. Let’s move on to someone out on the fringe, Seth Shostak.
Nothing much recent from Seth based upon a Google News search for his name. Perhaps I should add “covid” to the mix and see what that gives me.
Oh yeah, I forgot about that bit. Another distraction in the hunt for scientists who are being mouthpieces for the establishment. Lets try Michio Kaku.
Physicist Michio Kaku Believes We Will Soon Find Alien Life, But Contacting Them Would be A “Terrible Idea”
Meh. Looks like he’s got too much going on with his TV show and new book to be worried about COVID. Let’s check out Brian Cox and see what he might be saying about COVID.
Hrm…I guess maybe the core is indeed holding up the status quo whilst others are pushed forward to talk about this current pandemic. Not too smart to put all your eggs in one basket. Let us check one last dude whilst you sit there all befuddled as to why I’ve not singled out any female scientists that you’ve likely never heard of. The last dude we shall check is Jim Al-Khalili.
The week in radio and podcasts: The Life Scientific; The Listening Service; Witness History: CulturePlanB
At the bottom of that last article, The Guardian informs me that I’ve read 6 articles in the last year.
I'm being watched.
Question now is, sometime in the future, am I gonna be tested on how well I absorbed the information from those 6 Guardian articles that I (according to them) allegedly read?
Here’s the real question, cupcake…
Q: Why should I give one single shred of a fuck what some cosmologist, astronomer or physicist thinks about coronavirus/COVID-19/nCoV-2019?
A: Where are all the rock-star physicians at?
Where are all the rock star medical doctors, virologists, chemists, botanists, biologists, anthropologists, historians? Wear dey at, huh? My guess is gonna be that those who likely could be (or should be) speaking out have signed so goddamn many NDAs with so goddamn many interests that they can’t even comment on the weather without getting fired, sued and/or suicided, let alone comment on this SARS-CoV-2 virus thingie. Hundreds of trillions of dollars hang in the balance here. Don’t need some poison pill fucking up the works.
Here’s an interesting one for you to chew on…
…or at least, it’s an interesting thought to me. Wanna hear why?
OK, fine...you've talked me into it.
Supposedly, the only unforgivable sin (according to The Bible) is rejection of the Holy Spirit. One would think this means that when the Holy Spirit shows up, you do what it instructs you to do…no questions asked. Thing is tho, there appear to be all kinds of entities floating around out there in the realms of what I call “Else”. The ether or the spiritual realms or whatever. Anything that isn’t some tangible and understandable something, is “Else”, and it is supposedly brimming with entities and interests of all kinds.
But here, in our time and times, is where things get even more slippery. We, live in times when “psychic communication is almost commonplace. Satellite, radio, telephone, television, microwave/cellular, cable, Internet, cinemas, books, newspapers, magazines, flyers, mail, signs, billboards, bumper stickers, t-shirts, product packaging, not to mention all kinds of crazy stuff being worked on, in secret, by interests of all kinds, that you/I haven’t a clue about and likely never will. Hell, even things as “simple” as electricity, running water, gas and availability of products/supplies at local markets and retailers can be considered communication pathways because you are transmitted information when a something that was previously available is no longer available. All kinds of ways for ideas and information to get into your head, all kinds of ways for ideas to get into you, and ultimately these things will effect your spirit. They will affect your thinking and your feeling.
A question that I personally have wrestled with is “how would you know?” Meaning…if some spirit or entity whatever, showed up (in…person?*), and started communicating directly with me, how in the hell am I to know that they are who they say they are? How am I in any way equipped to deal with what is happening and why? I can tell you what society would say…
Society: Dude, you’re fucking crazy!
Simple. You’ve had a psychotic break, your brain is malfunctioning, and it’s just making things up.
Now, I mention this because, were I to encounter some less-than-standard type of entity, I am pretty much on my own. I cannot rely on anyone but myself. I cannot lean on anyone. I cannot tell anyone, and I mean NO ONE…because if I do, I’m instantly gonna be branded a loon, and things in my life are about to get even more complex because I’m likely gonna be thrown into “the system”. And we all know both how great that system is, and what we think of those that wind up in it. You are now branded a crazy, for life…marked. Everything you knew, is gone. And we don’t want that now do we?
Yep, yer on yer own.
Might wanna hit the public library and/or book stores and be discrete about seeking help. Just, keep in mind that agencies of all kinds from all nations are watching those publications and making note of who is reading what. Heh, heh, heh…we live in interesting times in that all kinds of folks are having all kinds of vague encounters with those seeking information, eh?
So now, we’ve decided that maybe its best to go dry. We’ll work with what we have in our own personal databanks.
Q: Who do predators seek?
A: Rut roh...
If you’ve any education of any kind, you likely know that predators seek the weak and the sick. The vulnerable and the clueless. Those who aren’t paying attention or have made some kind of mistake.
OH THE HUMANITY!!! I am completely and totally fucked!!! I’m under some kind of psychic and/or spiritual attack because I’m weak or sick or stupid or just plain ol’ wasn’t paying attention! Maybe all that!!! Wait…sanctuary. That’s what I need…I need some kind of sanctuary!!!
CHURCH!!! Get your ass to church!!! But wait…which one?!?!!?? Churches are made up of warring factions who all think that they, and only they, have all the answers!!! And what about religions?!?? Holy shit are there a shitton of them. Which one actually does have the answers I seek?!?!?!?
I’m desperate here. I don’t have time for all that. Some kind of creature from another dimension is pestering the fuck out of me and putting all kinds of weird ideas into my head, and I need help RIGHT FUCKING NOW!!!!
W: What are you on about?
Cade: Just taking another trip down the evaluation highway.
W: Don’t you mean, reevaluation highway?
Cade: Same thing. Same roadway. Just because I’ve been down the same road before, doesn’t mean the road itself is the same.
W: Trying to be clever?
Cade: No. Just pointing out that each and every pass down “the same road” isn’t the same. No telling what you might see.
W: Like re-watching a movie or rereading a book.
Cade: Or similar.
W: Similar, not same.
Cade: Or maybe even same but not similar.
W: Or maybe not similar, not same.
Cade: Could be. Books get revised, movies get edited, and same roadways change.
W: In effect making them neither similar nor same.
Cade: Correct, I too have likely changed. My environment has potentially changed.
W: New 65 inch ultra high definition television, new Blu-ray player, new ultimate-supreme collectors edition of the movie on Blu-ray Disc, 7.2 wireless surround sound audio system, new couch…
Cade: New girlfriend. New start. New, new, new. So, yeah, not similar not same.
W: Your roadway has changed. But it’s still the same movie.
Cade: Sorta. And yet not at all the same.
Kinda weird to think about the concept of “a slow poisoning of the mind”, and especially as it relates to learning and growing. In this instance, someone is putting forward that to consume anything non-scriptural is to poison oneself. In effect, one could argue that this someone is making the case for there to be but a single publication in existence…The Holy Bible. I already have a question regarding that…
Q: Which one?
I dunno how many versions of The Holy Bible there are, but there are a bunch. Getting the wrong one, or listening to someone teach from the wrong one, could doom your soul to eternal damnation. I wonder if pastors get kickbacks from the publisher for recommending their version.
Here’s a really weird kink in that paradigm from above.
Quite a few published works there, and I didn’t have to go very far at all to find some stuff that wanders off into conjecture and opinion.
What I’m wondering about here is when one makes a distinction between that which is church policy, and that which is “scriptural”, and even that which is personal opinion. What about that which is social and those things that are financial? “Pilgrim’s Progress” features heavily in that writing, and I dunno if I personally would consider anything in either of these works as “scriptural” just because a Bible verse is quoted here and there. But here’s where things get really funky. The Bible contains stories of all kinds. Historical events, tales, parables, all kinds of adventures and weird happenings.
Q: Are my own stories and adventures worthless because they are not documented in The Bible, and what exactly may have God had in mind when they stopped writing and shut the book, yet life continued?
A: I missed the show.
I was born at the wrong time. I did not walk with the prophets, hence, I guess I gotta just do my best to relive their bullshit in my own time(s) instead of living my own life and finding my own way in my own times as they did. Gotta establish my own walk with God. Find my own feet.
I'm stumbling like crazy here. This is fucking nuts to think about.
They, did not have a Bible. How in the fuck did they make it through living their lives “according to scripture” in those times when there was no scripture? Certainly not the scripture we have today.
Ah yes…reliance upon the priests. If you want your scripture, and you wanna know what is/is not scriptural, gotta go to the priests. They’re the ones with the books and the backing of the church(es).
…is that a volcano in the background I see? And is that tea, and doesn’t tea contain caffeine? I bet that photographer went through hell setting up that shot. Gotta be at the right spot, at the right time of day, and everything in your life has to run smoothly in order for that to happen. Gotta have the correct permissions to be there, gotta have the right weather, and you gotta have the right staff, gotta have the right equipment. You did remember to bring everything, right? Did I? I can’t remember.
Coffee...you need coffee. Strong coffee and lots of it.
So yeah…calm. That calm. Calm like the calm depicted in the photo. Fuck yes my mind can be that motherfucking calm! What the hell are you on about regarding calm minds looking like a caffeine factory next to a goddamn volcano?!?!?!?
btw…i 4 got to mentions
HAPPY FRIDAY EVERYONE!!!
…we interrupt this previously joyous occasion for the M-F/9-5 working public with a special news bulletin.
Please stand by….
I wonder what the percentage of people who work Monday thru Friday and 9 AM to 5 PM actually is. Like, compared to those who work other shifts/other days. Hell, some of us are on the clock 24 hours a day, 365/366 days a year. And to think even further on the subject, the phrase “9 to 5” implies permanent, full-time employment. No afternoon shifts, no swing shifts, no graveyard shifts, is not part-time work, is not temporary work, is not seasonal work, is not occasional nor as/when needed work, no weekends, no overtime, no split days nor split days off, no rotating days, no rotating hours, off work on all holidays, just straight up 40-hour work week, 8 hours per day Monday thru Friday from 9 AM to 5 PM with likely a paid lunch and possibly two paid breaks of 1 morning and 1 afternoon, off work on Saturdays and Sundays, and a minimum of two weeks of paid vacation every year. What percentage of people in the US of A have a job like that anymore? Ya think anyone else in the world is thinking about stuff like this? If so, ya think maybe Google might could point us to some information?
Less than 2%? Answer #2 says they’ve run some numbers based upon US Census data and come up with 1.9% of Americans work 9 to 5 based upon a start-time window between 8:45 AM and 9:09 AM? Jesus that’s fucking horrifying sounding. Tell me we aren’t living in a time when the unions are dead.
Answer #5 says that 31% of Americans work a 40 hour work week, but that’s not really indicative as to when they are working those 40 hours. Working 9-5 is a helluva long way from working from 3 PM to 11 PM or working 10 PM one day to 6 AM the next day. Shifts like that don’t provide an individual with much time for doing much of anything except either preparing for, or recovering from, work. No telling what days you might have off either, and for those poor folks working the graveyard shifts, having off on a certain day doesn’t always mean you’ll actually be off on that day because YOUR days start at night.
I found that out the hard way when I worked a midnight shift for 4 months. I was off on Fridays and Saturdays, sure…but my Sunday started at 11 PM on Saturday night. In effect, I wasn’t off on Saturdays at all because I had to be rested and ready for work by 11 PM Saturday night. I basically got 1 day off per week…Friday. The rest of the time was preparing for and coping with the rigors of working all night, trying like hell to sleep during the day, and also trying to stay well, healthy and not die in the process.
(and keep my fucking job/do it well)
…no coincidence, they say. Lemme do a little copy/paste for anyone too lazy to go read the article.
Research shows the timing of these incidents isn’t likely a coincidence, Slutkin said, since the more people see violence and take it in as “normal” the more likely they are to commit violence themselves. “We know historically there is a strong copycat phenomenon with high-profile mass shootings,” Dr. Jonathan M. Metzl, Director of the Center for Medicine, Health, and Society at Vanderbilt University, Nashville, told Insider. “And so when there’s one in the news it tends to spur a number of copycat events, so people feel a contagion effect. One leads to another, leads to another.” “This is a lot of people who are on edge having the means to do something and seeing that other people are doing it,” he added.
Kinda like rushing to get “vaccines”. Or wearing masks. Or shaming others for not being part of the herd and going with the flow. Or joining TikTok or some other social media something. Or starting your own podcast. Or buying a hot stock. Or getting some hot new merch. Or watching some hot new show. Or going to a rally or protest for some hip new activist something. Or jumping on any and every new trend that may just lead to you gaining some notoriety or standing out in some way so one can feel good about themselves. Hell, is there anything at all on this planet, in our time(s), that is not driven by some kind of copycat mentality? Speaking of copycats…
I’m being a copycat right now by commenting on this. Being trendy. Being current. Being hip.
Caw Pee Cat
Cop Peek At
Cop E Cat
Cats coping with...the unknown?
Making the unknown known is…tricky. There’s a permanence to everything we do. Everything goes on your permanent record. Gotta make each and every decision count, and most importantly, we need feedback. So considering that familial, friends and work/professional peers type of support is gonna be difficult and perhaps even impossible in obtaining, how does one obtain feedback regarding the decisions that we make? Is it possible that sometimes you just gotta go public? Lemme relate a bit here for those who might be a shade lost as to what I mean.
Speaking of feedback, you know that “customer satisfaction” card that is in the packaging when you buy some new something? But the thing is, they usually want you to fill the survey out and return it within 15 to 30 days of purchase. You just bought the fucking thing, it probably works out of the box, so of course those who take the time to fill it out are likely gonna give the product some high marks.
Q: Why do companies not ask you to fill it out and send it one or two or even five or more years after you bought it?
A: Heh. Heh heh. Heh heh heh ha hee haw har har har and a tee hee hee too.
They want feedback that is gonna give them ways to get new suckers to make initial purchases, not information that is gonna create loyal customers who come back again and again because your products are great. The market(s) for most products are as such that customers don’t have much of a choice in the first place, and retailers are gonna make those choices even more thin. If you want a certain item, and the company can stay in business, they’re likely to get you again and again even if they are pumping out complete shit.
When you have a problem, to whom do you turn?
When you have a problem, why do you have to turn to anyone?
Who the fuck told you that, when you have a problem, you must turn to others?
If a carnivorous insect takes a shit on my tomato, my tomato is no longer considered vegan. Wait…what in the hell am I even talking about…insects are now vegan. It’s all about the protein…
who gives a fuck where it comes from.
I guess someone got the message that any, and I man ANY, processed food, is likely to contain insect matter of some kind. Pretty sure there are even regulations which specifically allow for a certain percentage of processed foods to contain insect and other unexpected/unintended matter. Sure, you can try and be super-accurate screening out the beetle poop, dead ants, moth eggs, mouse whiskers and pheasant feathers, but you cannot get it all. Exceptions must be made, otherwise, commerce suffers. If commerce suffers, nothing is produced, money does not change hands, people go hungry, illnesses crop up, and wars of all kinds loom large in the wings.
Are you really gonna tell me that there are people in the world who do not know what civil defense sirens going off in non-stormy conditions means? Cause if it ain’t stormy, and the sirens are going off, it means only 1 of 2 things.
1: The system is being tested;
That’s it. Civil Defense sirens only sound during storms where a funnel cloud or tornado has been sighted, when the system is being tested, or when the nukes and/or bombers are inbound.
Funny that, upon hearing the siren, they direct me to check my local media. I don’t even own a fucking television.
And so endeth another. More time wasted…another day or two or three or so, gone. Nothing learned. Nothing gained. Nothing to show for our time. Nothing at all. Although…it’s now Monday, and humans are launching UFOs on Mars.
My entire life, Martians have been slinging UFOs our way. I’ve lived long enough to see the tides turn. 19 April, 2021…humans launched a flying object on Mars. My divorce was final 4 years ago today.