https://twitter.com/Holbornlolz/status/1322228917407748096
*Ha! I saw your spoiler post in the week, Clicky… /lights up and smokes… You are really enjoying this US election, aren’t you…*
*Eww, that’s what that smell is… /wrinkles nose… Go and have a bath. I’ll take it from here…*
It is said that Halloween is the time of year when the veil between dimensions is worn at its thinnest. In the year 2020, when a global viral pandemic, violent rioting and supermarket socially distanced queues dominated everyday life, that boundary thickness could be considered as flimsy as paper medical face mask. Why, an errant finger could easily pierce it.
Shit!
God adjusted the mask across her visage, hoping no one would notice the ragged hole, and also that nothing too nasty had fallen through the breach on her sweet breath.
***
“How the hell am I supposed to know when we are?” Death snapped and glared up from inside the impenetrable blackness of his cowl at the three ominous figures surrounding him. They stood huddled at the junction of Great Russell and Bloomsbury Streets in London’s bustling West End. It was night, it was cold and, save for the motley quartet, the streets were completely deserted.
“Becoz yur Death,” the first figure hissed and bared vampiric fangs. Famine appeared tall and angular, dressed in a tuxedo, silk lined cape, and with a countenance so pale, it could only have been achieved by avoiding sunlight at any and all costs.
“Because you have the contraption,” the second figure added angrily. War appeared to be a smart businesswoman, confident and aggressive, in horn-rimmed glasses, sharp suit and infinitely sharper stiletto heels.
“AAAAAAAGH!” the third figure groaned as a fat, black housefly zig-zagged across a sunken cheek, before disappearing into a filth-caked nostril. Pestilence appeared to be a zombie; slack mouthed, grey decaying flesh and milk white, opaque eyes.
“No, Pesto, I don’t know what happened to the horses,” Death answered his rotting companion. He pulled himself up to his full height of three feet and three inches, retrieved a battered Psion organiser from beneath the folds of his robe, and unsheathed it with a satisfying pop. “I don’t understand it,” he cried, “transport’s always been laid on before.”
War, Famine and Pestilence stood in silence, watching over the diminutive but perfectly formed grim reaper, as he punched the keys of the electronic organiser with a gleaming phalange, and waited.
Click. Click. Click, click, click… click.
“Well?” War said impatiently. “We’re in London, that much is for sure. The British Museum is over there.”
Pestilence’s body did not move a single rotting muscle, but his head turned an unearthly 180° to follow the direction that War’s crimson painted talon was pointing in. “UGH WAAAGH AAAAAAAGH!”
“Ve don’t know if ve are zupposed to go zere.” Famine reached out and clasped either side of Pestilence’s head, twisting it back into a front facing position. “Ve don’t know vy ve are even here. Death, vot iz taking you zo long to find out?”
“Wait…” Death did not look up.
Click. Click, click. Click.
Death peered hard at the tiny screen on the Psion, before shaking it hard. “I dunno. It’s not working. Maybe the Cosmic Consciousness Neural Net is down again,” he said with a shrug.
“Argh!” War howled. She reached down and grabbed Death by the front of his robe and lifted him up to face height. Behind her glasses, War’s eyes blazed with fire. “That’s just brilliant! Ace! Fun-fucking-tastic, Death! What are we meant to do now?”
The dead weight of Pestilence’s arm slapped War on the shoulder. “WAAAGH UGH!”
“Yez, yez, yez, ve should all calm down,” Famine said smoothly, pulling Death from War’s tight grasp and setting him back on the pavement. He plucked Pestilence’s arm from War’s shoulder before she could rip it from its socket. “It does no good for uz to get agitated. Ve need to zink vot haz happened.”
“Exactly right, Famine,” Death injected in agreement. “Let’s look at what we do know.” He pushed himself free of the huddle and turned to face his companions. “We’ve got War, Famine, Pestilence and yours truly.” He began to glide, circling the trio. “The ultimate harbingers of doom and bringers of great tribulation. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse-”
“AAAAAAAGH UGH!”
“Sans horses, indeed. Most irregular. Literally dropped, without warning, in the middle of London-”
“Clos to ze British Muzeum,” Famine interrupted.
“Correct. So we know where we are but we don’t know when we are-”
“Late twentieth, early twenty first century, I’d say, from the smell of the air,” War joined in. “Plus it’s night time and it’s bloody freezing.”
“A winter’s night, yes. Probably accounts for the lack of any activity about-”
“UGH!”
Death glided to a stop. “Your right, Pesto; there should be people about, even in winter. A big city like this produces lots of traffic-”
“Yez,” Famine mused, loudly tapping on his fangs in contemplation. “No motor vehicles hav passed by since ve arrived.”
Death nodded slowly, then looked up at the sky. One by one, War, Famine and Pestilence followed Death’s gaze.
“Nope, too much cloud cover and light pollution. I can’t see any stars to work out when we are.”
“I have a very bad feeling about this,” War whispered hoarsely.
“WAAAGH AAAAAAAGH!” Pestilence groaned.
“I agree, Pestilence, my dear friend. It haz to be a mistake,” Famine said solemnly. “An accident.”
“Possibly. We’d better start walking,” Death said and glided away down Bloomsbury Street, in the direction of Covent Garden.
War, Famine and Pestilence looked at each other and muttered darkly.
“Hold it, short-arse,” War barked. “Where exactly are we walking to? I can’t go far in these heels. They’re fucking murder.”
Pestilence dropped a shoulder and lurched awkwardly after Death. “AAAAAAAGH WAAAGH AAAAAAAGH!”
“Seriously? You’re going to follow him?” War shouted after the hunched and shambling figure of Pestilence. “You’ll disintegrate before you reach the end of this street, you noxious pile of pus! ”
Famine took War’s hands between his own, bowed deeply and lightly kissed her clenched fists until they opened. “Don’t vorry, my dear lady. I vill speak to Death.” Gently, he tugged on War so that she tottered forward with unsteady steps. “Please, come. Valk slowly. I vill talk to him.” With that, Famine turned into a giant bat and flew off in the direction of Death.
War roared with frustration but continued to follow the others. “I have Birkenstocks, you know. Why couldn’t I have manifested in my fucking Birkenstocks…”
Death heard wop-wopping wing beats approach from behind, and felt the change in air pressure as Famine flew over his head. He glided slowly until he reached his suave compadre, who stood in the middle of the pavement, arms wide, cape billowing and fangs bared.
“Death, stop please,” Famine pleaded. “Vor and Pestilence are in no fit state to valk far. Look.” He gestured back to the way they’d come. Pestilence jerked along slowly in the middle distance, with War following on behind, daintily sidestepping the trail of fleshy ooze left in Pestilence’s wake.
“Death, Death,” Famine cooed, “You know ve vould valk to the ends of ze vorld vid you, but you must tell us, vere are you taking us?”
Death paused and looked up, appraising his companion – Famine: always hungry, never sated, forever empty; his vampire appearance was more than apt. Pestilence, too, in zombie form was unrelenting, poisoning everything, even the very air. War, however, was a puzzler unless she represented a battle of the sexes. Should War shatter the fabled glass ceiling, Death was certain she would then set about slitting every available throat with the deadly shards.
What about me, though? I’m exactly the same, I haven’t changed, Death wondered. The inside of his skull began to itch. He sighed and shook his head. This whole situation was wrong and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Something big. Something important.
“Death?” Famine snapped his fingers rapidly. “Vere are ve going?” he demanded.
“To the Embankment, Famine. To Cleopatra’s Needle.”
“Ov course!” Famine slapped the palm of his hand against his widow’s peaked forehead. “Ze ancient Egyptian Obelisks of Time! Ve can return to ze hintervorld by way ov Cleopatra’s Needle! Zat iz super fine zinking, Death. No vonder yur the leader.”
“I-” Death suddenly cocked his head to one side. “Can you hear that?”
There was a low rumble in the distance but it was gradually getting louder, moving nearer. Death and Famine watched as at first, War turned her head to look behind, following the direction of the sound, then Pestilence slowly shuffled round to see what was making the noise. Further back in the distance, Death could just make out a dim rectangle of orange light, floating closer through the darkness, getting brighter. War began to wave her arms and shout.
“AAAAAAAGH!” Pestilence bellowed.
Death and Famine glanced at each other before racing back towards Pestilence and War. “Taxi!” they shouted in unison, tinged of relief.
***
War, Famine and Pestilence sat in abject silence in the back of the taxi; the three separated from Death and the taxi driver in the front by a transparent sheet of plexiglass, with only a narrow slot cut into it for the exchange of money.
Excuse me while I light my spliff…
“Spliff,” the taxi driver sang along to the bassy sound of Bob Marley and the Wailers coming through the speakers.
Oh God I gotta take a lift…
“Lift.” The taxi driver turned toward Death and gave him a beaming smile.
From reality I just can’t drift…
“Drift.”
That’s why I am staying with this riff…
“Riff.” The taxi driver chuckled and tapped his hands on the top of the steering wheel, in time with the music. “Easy Skanking. Hell, I love this song.”
Death looked out of his side window. The feeling that something was wrong had only intensified as the empty London streets rushed by. He cursed the broken Psion organiser tucked inside his robes. Bloody useless technology. Give me an hourglass any day, he thought sourly.
“Good party, was it?” the taxi driver asked.
“Huh?” Death replied, perplexed by the driver’s question.
The taxi driver laughed. “The fancy dress party. Your costumes are sweet. I thought the government had cancelled Halloween because of the Rona.”
Death stiffened and the itching inside his skull increased. “Halloween’s been cancelled?”
“Yeah man, Christmas too if we’re not lucky,” the taxi driver replied.
“What year is… it?” Death asked slowly.
The taxi driver sucked his teeth contemptuously. “What you mean what year is it? It’s 2020, child. Where have you been?”
A burst of realisation exploded through Death’s train of consciousness: It’s 2020: the year anything happened! The year when pandemic waves of Coronavirus and Karenitus swept the globe, resulting in lockdowns, economic disaster and civil unrest. Things are starting to make sense now! Even so, the itch continued to irritate the inside of Death’s skull.
Cigar smoke suddenly filled the front of the taxi. Death coughed and tapped on the sign affixed to the console. “That says ‘No Smoking’.”
The taxi driver grinned at Death, a smoking cigar butt jauntily perched from the corner of his mouth. “2020, child. Donch ya know the saying? ‘A smoke a day keeps the Rona at bay’.” He laughed heartily and bounced up and down in his seat with mirth. “Besides, who’s gonna stop me? Look about you, my small friend. There’s no one around to say shit about it.”
If Death still had eyes, they would have been rolling round his ocular cavities. “Hey guys.” He shouted to the others through the slot in the plexiglass. “Problem solved: it’s 2020.”
“Tventy Tventy! Hellz Bellz!” Famine exclaimed.
Pestilence gave a guttural groan. “WAAAGH UGH AAAAAAAGH!”
“Yes, but what’s the date?” War demanded nervously.
“It’s the 31st October, sugar,” the taxi driver called back. “Happy Halloween.”
The taxi stopped at the end of Temple Place. In front lay the deserted Embankment. Along side it, the river Thames flowed swiftly past, glittering lights shimmered on its rippled surface, as above the clouds began to separate, clear, and finally reveal the celestial occupants of the night sky. The taxi driver nonchalantly flicked a switch on his dashboard, locking all the vehicle doors with a loud clunk.
“Oh no,” War murmured gravely and pressed her hands hard against her stomach. “No, no, no!”
“Vot iz it, Vor?” Famine asked with rising alarm.
A shaft of moonlight hit the taxi as it slowly pulled right out of the junction and onto the empty Embankment, illuminating its interior. The Moon was bright, it was clear and it was very full.
“It’s my monthlies,” War whined, sliding off her seat and onto all fours. Her jaw elongated and wiry tufts of fur sprang from her gnarly brow, knocking War’s horn-rimmed glasses from her face. “I don’t fucking believe this. Why nowOOOO!”
“Now this is a great song. One of the Skipper’s best,” the taxi driver exclaimed, ignoring the howling and growling, and blood-curdling shrieks of panic coming from the back of the cab, as the previously smart and professional War transformed into a ferocious and carnal beast. He turned up the volume on his stereo and began to croon along,
Until the philosophy, which hold one race superior and another. Inferior. Is finally. And permanently. Discredited. And abandoned. Everywhere is war. Me say war.
“Vot? NOOOO! Get avay! Get avay!” Famine screamed and impotently fumbled with the taxi’s doors handles. They were securely locked, however; there would be no escape.
Death sat stock still, strapped in tight and listened in horror to the sound of Famine and Pestilence being ripped apart by the slavering jaws and slashing claws of a werewolf that appeared to be War.
“How’s you seat, child?” the taxi driver asked slyly.
“I’m not a child,” Death tersely replied.
“UGH!” Pestilence’s bloody fingers abruptly thrust through the slot in the plexiglass, twitched once, then lay limp.
“I know, I know, little man. No offence intended.” The taxi driver continued. “That space you’re occupying used to be for luggage, but times are hard and last year it was converted into a child seat,” he explained. “Good thing for you, eh?”
The heavy silence that fell between the driver and his passenger was punctured by the sound of wet chomps and crunching bone emanating from the back of the cab.
The itch in Death skull stopped, but the very fabric of reality now took up its cause.
“Scratch?” Death asked tentatively.
“Yes, child.”
“Old Scratch?”
“Who else you expecting?” the Devil, who appeared to be a smirking, smoking taxi driver, replied. The vehicle slowed to a stop next to Cleopatra’s Needle. “Now hurry up and spit it out. It’s time for you to leave.”
Death paused; it felt like eternity. Finally he asked, “Why?”
“Why?” Old Scratch puffed on his cigar, the shit-eating grin never leaving his face. “Why, Armageddon, little man. What did you think this is?”
Death was flummoxed. In his long existence, he had never been flummoxed before. It was a new sensation, but not one he’d ever longed for.
Old Scratch patted him on the head, then reached up to retrieve a folded piece of paper from behind the sun visor. “I got a letter last year, see,” he explained. He unfolded the page and glanced down at the childish writing on it. “From a sweet, innocent child. A touch dyslexic, but with the purest soul ever to inhabit a human body. What could I do?” He offered the letter to Death. “My heart just melted.”
Death took the letter from Old Scratch and began to read aloud: “’Dear Satan. My name is Molly and I have everything I will ever need. Can you please help everybody else in the world by ending hunger, pollution and war. This is my Christmas wish. Thank you. Molly Darling, age 6. P.S. I hope you are well.’”
“So considerate and polite,” Old Scratch sighed, taking the letter back.
All the stars in the heavens swirled furiously inside Death’s skull. He mentally grappled with the raging storm, searching for a handhold on his sanity. “War ended Pestilence and Famine, but War isn’t dead.”
“You sure? Can’t hear no breathing back there.”
Death swiftly unlocked his seatbelt and stood up on his seat. The plexiglass was no longer transparent, but smeared red with blood and gore. He pushed the dead fingers of Pestilence back through the slot and heard a splash as the severed hand they were attached to thudded to the floor of the taxi. Death peered through the gap and saw War lying naked and smoothly pale in the bloodbath. A chunk of half chewed greenish meat fell free from her lifeless lips.
“WooEE! That Pesto sure was ripe!” Old Scratch said, opening his window and flicking out ash from his cigar. “Bad meat. Never eat it. Always, always, insist on fresh.”
Death pulled away from the sight of the abomination in the back of the taxi and sat back down in his seat. “But how can it be Armageddon if War, Famine and Pestilence are gone?”
Old Scratch punched the numbers on the keyboard of the dashboard fare display. “With no hunger, there will be obesity, so humanity will become slovenly and fat, lazy and satisfied. No war means no competition, no goals to achieve, so mankind will lose its desire to better itself. And the elimination of pollution is a sure fire way of killing any human creativity. I give the species ten years, tops.”
“But there will be death,” Death whispered softly.
“Oh indeed, you’re still needed. You have a busy time ahead of you, little man. That’ll be six six six.”
Death snapped his head back to face the Devil in the driver’s seat. “What?”
Old Scratch laughed and pointed to the fare metre. “Six pounds, sixty six.” He gave a phlegmy cough and waved Death away. “Just kidding. For you, child, no charge,” he said gleefully.
*Ah, that’s much better, Clicky… /stubs butt… Do try to keep clean…*
*/sighs…*
*”By the book”… /thinks… Who was the 37th President of America, Clicky?*
*/rolls eyes… Elementary, dear Clicky…*
*Ha! /claps hands… This month has been sumfin of an orange syncfest, Clicky… /winks…*
‘These were all periods of cynicism and bad manners, when civic authority felt weak, social disorder felt pervasive, and the culture felt exhausted.’
*Thank you for unraveling those tweets, Clicky…*
*/lights up and smokes… My, my, it’s all going Pete Tong for the Democrats…*
*True. The Dez Rez Prez is sumfin of an rake… /chortles…*
Models.
Everything seems to be based upon them.
Some perfect something, made even more perfect
by the modeling process(es).
Sometimes the modeling processes
themselves get a little...wonky.
The modeling processes themselves undergo
some modeling and become iterative until
some new standard is achieved.
Reevaluate. Remodel. Reinvigorate. Renew.
Unpack and repackage the packaging in new packaging.
Re-mystify.
Sell ideas.
Some ideas and their models are more radical than others.
Some ideas and their resulting models may be downright strange.
All this modeling as of late and the resulting “plans” seem to be predicated mostly upon worst-case scenarios. In all honesty, that might be fine if there was an intermediate step between the modeling and the planning which involved a dash of common sense and maybe a dollop of practicality to formulate the actual plan(s). There appears to be some disconnect that, at least I, cannot fully comprehend.
To relate what I mean, we are living on a planet that is said to be 4.5 billion years old, it is said to have supported life of some form or another for at least 3.8 billion of those years, and we humans appear to have been around for at least 100,000 years or so (and likely much longer). So why is it that, according to the models, everyone is now suddenly about to die? On the flip side of the equation, you’ve got others who contend that all of the efforts to stem this nCoV-2019 virus thingie, are in fact, a covert operation/conspiracy of and by rich people, powerful people, corporations and government to kill everyone that isn’t them or part of their group(s).
It occurs to me that both sides are hell-bent on selling the idea that everyone is about to die. Not only that, but the idea that “everyone is going to die” is predicated upon a qualifier…”unless something is done about it.” As to exactly what “it” is? Welp, irrespective of which perspective you choose to view this situation from, all of the models appear to be very virus-like.
Infect, sicken, weaken, and perhaps even kill.
Hell, from where I sit, watching everyone else, this nCoV-2019 is at some point just gonna shrug and give up. All these humans are already trying to kill eachother, so why fucking bother infecting people at all?
Too much work.
Much of this morning’s thoughts about modeling are based upon a recent tweet I saw.
An insult. An insult, projected from a perceived position of power, and projected upon “the little people.” I got to thinking tho…”wait, according to some models, ‘the entirety of consciousness’ was much smaller than pea sized at some point.” There’s a scalar disconnect happening here somewhere, and it’s happening for the purposes of lobbing an insult at those behaving in a way that appears to be upsetting to a lone someone, who appears to feel others should behaving in a way that is pleasing to this elevated someone. So, I asked…
The response that I got?
Sounds almost like something a Christian might retort with when questioned about a particular belief. Some dogmatic something in the script to deflect attention from the individual and point to the knowingness of how “truth” exists in this particular model.
I guess in this case, “consciousness” is always small for those who operate outside of the ascended realms. Those who have not yet begun to operate within this extra-dimensional truth are dragging those attempting to ascend, down, and remedied by insulting their intelligence.
Great plan.
Nevermind that it just creates more conflict, which creates more karma, which means you are extending your own ascension timeline/path, which means that you yourself are actually making things worse/more difficult for yourself. I was under the impression that 5D and ascension and spiritual awakening or whatever was all love, light, flowers, rainbows and starshine.
Guess I was wrong.
It appears to be the same old shit. Same old paradigm. Those who perceive themselves as bigger and/or stronger picking on those who are smaller and/or weaker, and doing so for their own benefit(s) rather than for the benefit of others. Certainly not benefiting the whole. Or “the oneness” or whatever.
Digress.
What I was really thinking about when reading that original tweet (other than the insulting bits) was the concept of singularities. Particularly that one that, at some point, was infinitely small. Everything that had come before, and everything that was, and everything that ever would be, was crammed into a single space, which means that all of consciousness was crammed into that same space.
Now, I dunno about you, but the first thing that I think of when I think of “infinitely small” is something that is WAY fucking smaller than “pea-sized”. I can sit here right now and think of energies, atoms and sub-atomic particles, which are ridiculously small in comparison to “pea-sized”, but even in thinking of these tiny particles, that doesn’t even begin to come close to how small I can envision “infinitely small” to be. Keep in mind that in this context, we are talking about a container which contains all consciousness. Not some consciousness, not part consciousness, not your gigantic consciousness compared to my tiny and insignificant consciousness…all consciousness.
A: ???¿???
Let me guess…it would say to you that you have a worthless and contextually insignificant soul. That the individual who told you this was being insulting. Was being degrading. Was belittling you.
A: FUCK YES!!! I HAVE A SOUL!!! THE SOUL DOES INDEED EXIST, AND I HAVE FUCKING HAVE ONE!!! w00t w00t!!!
The “size” is irrelevant. What is relevant, is that I have one. I just need to care for it. Maybe even assist others in caring for theirs (when and if needed/asked, of course).
In order to understand, one must first subscribe. Only then can one understand.
Hrm.
This model.
Bells.
This model is ringing some bells.
Adopt, adapt, conform, comply, comprehend, ascend.
VOILA!!! Enlightenment.
You’re in the club.
The indoctrination process very much parallels “the four C’s” in aviation when a pilot finds themselves in trouble.
Climb. Communicate. Confess. Comply.
1. CLIMB – we’re about to reach out blindly to anyone who will respond, so we need to get as high as we can, so that our radios can make the widest possible broadcast to the most amount of listening ears possible.
2. COMMUNICATE – we’re gonna broadcast a plea for help, and we’re gonna talk to the very first individual who responds to our call for assistance. We don’t care who they are. Fortunately for us, the only ones who are likely to respond are going to be those who are most likely to be in a position to actually provide us with the assistance we need.
3. CONFESS – honesty is key here. You’re gonna have to tell it all, good and bad, and hold nothing back. Whomever you are communicating with doesn’t know you from Adam, and they need to form a clear picture of you and your situation, and fast, otherwise they may not be able to assist in getting you out of the pickle you find yourself in.
4. COMPLY – listen to what they are telling you to do. Trust them, and obey. You’re likely a frazzled mess, so let them do some thinking for you in order to take the load off. Maybe even make some decisions for you (just keep in mind that you are still the pilot in command, it’s your ass on the line, and even tho you are in deep shit and in need of help, you are ultimately responsible for whatever actions you take and their outcome).
Ordering is a bit different from “the spiritual stuff” perhaps, but the result is the same.
Salvation.
Singularities do appear to actually exist. We don’t appear to understand them very well, but they do seem to exist. Once you start looking for them, and once you start finding them, you suddenly start to see them everyfuckingwhere.
To me, that kind of diversity existing, en masse, right under our noses, and the only way to “see” these singularities and their diversity is by actually taking the time to look? Dunno about you, but to me, that says something about this Universe we live in.
Please don’t feel cheated at the “size” of this “missive”.
It’s precisely the size that it should be.
The synchros are still spinning.
Everything is exactly where it should be.
Exactly when it should be there.
Exactly as it should be.
*Yeah, Cade does pen a good missive, Clicky…*
*That’s rude… /lights up and smokes… Just ‘cos I let you write a few posts, Clicky, no need to get above yourself…*
*I was just getting to that…*
No need to start the conversation with “I’m suicidal”.
You’re holding me hostage before we’ve even begun to speak.
Really makes me question your motives.
Makes me think of myself as little more than a dishrag handy for soaking up your spills.
I have to do everything perfect, and keep you satisfied, otherwise, anything that happens is now my fault and you are off the hook.
I’ll talk to you.
How about we just...talk
I mean, if you are talking to me, it’s already blatantly obvious that you are desperate.
Yep, it appears we are on the same page.
Somewhat at least.
Recently, there was a video circulating of a guy committing suicide on a livestream, and yes, I watched it. Yes, it was depressing as fuck. Got me to thinking about my own self, my own life, and my desire to understand the mechanics of what is maybe sometimes happening when some choose to take that final leap of their own volition. Didn’t particularly want to watch the video, but kinda had a need to watch it.
In my own life, I’ve been surrounded by suicides of all kinds, the act has always confused me. Why are they doing this? How do I stop them? How can I help them? How can I not wind up in a similar situation? How am I supposed to react in situations like these? How am I supposed to feel about this?
The usual stuff
And of course, there’s the flip side. Those who go on living and their own conclusions about someone killing themselves. The person was a coward. The person was selfish. The person was crazy. They took the easy way out. The person was an asshole anyway, they did the rest of us a favor and we’re lucky to be rid of them. But some will even call those who commit suicide, brave. Courageous. One who took control of their own destiny.
Sounds to me like a lotta people have this shit all figured out.
Thing is, if you are suicidal, and you don’t tell me you are suicidal, I’m now on the hook for not being more attentive. Not being more attuned to your needs.
“Did they show any signs of being suicidal or distressed in any way?”
The “after” is gonna bring those types of questions if you go through with it.
Le sigh
Where did I go so wrong in not better catering to your needs?
It’s too late tho now.
Nothing I can do.
This is depressing.
No way out.
I can see now maybe a bit now why there is an infectious nature to an act of suicide. An embedded “copycat” type of vibe. A looping type of element. Which…Hey! That reminds me. Have you ever wondered if the spinning nature of bodies has a property of capturing and smoothing out waves? Almost like running a piece of metal through a roller, except more like winding a something onto a spool.
Maybe both
Yes, I’m thinking here about waves and how the spinning nature of planets may act to facilitate the dampening of such waves. Alter their frequency, amplitude and/or maybe their wavelength. And in fact, maybe in some cases, not dampen the waves, but actually increase their power. Boost the signal. Maybe even capture a wave, alter it, then re-transmit the signal. Quite the interesting thought when one adds time and capacitors to these thoughts. A planet or maybe some other celestial body could potentially capture a signal, hold onto it for ages, then re-transmit the signal countless years later. Things get REALLY interesting when one stops to think about the nature of life and maybe why it exists when and where it does. A signal could, potentially, start life on a planet. Maybe such a signal could stop life on a planet.
‘Let there be light?’ (Genesis 1:3)
‘It is done?’ (Revelation 21:6)
Maybe that’s what these “vial” things are. Some kind of capacitor that holds a certain something that does a certain something at a certain time. A signal.
Holy fuck...I've gone off the deep end
How does one smooth the wave bourn of pain that creates more pain? Transfer? Transmission? Passing on? And is it “bourn of” or “born of”? Or “borne of”?
Bourn is like… a stream or a goal.
Born is like…hatched or deveiled or unveiled or whatever.
Borne is carried.
Noted
Speaking of rolls…lets talk toilet paper and the peculiarities of hygiene.
That 2nd wipe makes so little sense, you gotta go for a 3rd wipe just to make sure because you don’t believe the 2nd wipe result. Things get even more weird if the 3rd wipe again has poop on the paper. Now you really start to question that 2nd wipe.
Did I miss?
Coulda swore that I felt the paper in the proper position.
What in the hell type of sorcery is this?!?!?
We relive that Eden thing over and over.
It echos, and echos, and echos.
Creation.
Everything is perfect.
We wander around in this magical and mysterious place of awe and wonder.
It all goes wrong.
We spend our life trying to get back to the start.
Get back what we had.
We still have it, we just don’t seem to want to utilize it. Maybe it’s that lingering idea of “better”. As long as there is something in the world that is “better” than what we currently have, no fucking way that where we are can be Eden.
Maybe it's that lingering idea of “worse”
As long as what we currently have is “worse” than what others currently have, no fucking way that where we are can be Eden. Oh, and fuck all those people who have it worse than us. Even tho our worse is better than some, some have it better than us and we are worse off for it.
For better…or for worse. In sickness…and in health. What in the FUCK, is health? We know what sickness is (or we think we do).
So...health = not sick?
That’s seems a pretty poor measure of health.
Took me a lot of time to come to grips with the need for destruction. Come to grips with why the blessing of life needs to come with a curse of death type rider. What’s that? You wanna know how in the fuck I, a backwards and braindead Okie hick, somehow stumbled onto an answer to one of life’s biggest mysteries?
A: Because there are things that you cannot think of
You do not have experience with everything. As a result, there are things that you simply cannot think of. Things you cannot imagine. However, when you can think of these things, can imagine these things, can and do experience these things, it might be too late to unthink them. Might be too late to unimagine them. Might be too late to not experience them. You may, need an alternate out.
To relate a bit…
‘And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.’
-Revelation 6:9 (KJV)
Now, you may have given the concept of immortality a thought here and there, but its likely that you may also equate immortality with some kind of invincibility. You cannot die, therefore, you cannot be hurt. Welp, to relate what a mistake that prolly is, maybe give this thought a bit of contemplation…
A: ???
You’re still alive. You’ve got a nasty-ass pain digging in you, and you cannot shake it.
A: Death
One of the things that I’m thinking about here is that you have no way of knowing if you are immortal or not until you actually die. Another thing I’m thinking about is the horrible pains and strife that we some of us encounter in life, yet we do not die. Also thinking that we tend to equate immortality not only with invincibility, but we also equate immortality with youth. I’ve lost my train of thought.
Lemme regroup
Regroup.
Re group.
R e g r o u p .
R e g r o u p . p u o r g e R
. p u o r g e R
.puorg eR
.puorgeR
Ya know, it just occurred to me that we usually watch news programs just to see one thing. There’s one thing that interests us, we can only get the information we need from one place, but they are gonna make us sit through a bunch of other shit before allowing us to see it.
Hrm. Why does this ring a bell?
OH YEAH!!! School. You’re an individual, so you are likely to only have one main interest, but school is gonna subject you to all kinds of other bullshit before getting to the stuff you like. Work is like that too. Gotta work before you get that paycheck you want. Dinner is also like that. Unlikely that you like everything on your plate, and the plate also has to be clean before there’s any hope of dessert.
Just because my itinerary does not include you, that does not also imply that the road I’m on leads to nowhere.
On a scale of 0-10, rate how evil each of the below lifeforms is.
0 being “how dare you even suggest someone would ever think of this creature as evil”, and 10 being “how dare you even suggest someone would ever think of this creature anything but evil”.
01. Vampire bats
02. Pomeranian dog
03. ET – The Extraterrestrial
04. Photosynthetic cyanobacteria
05. Magpies
06. Demons
07. Daemons
08. Grizzly Bears
09. Rats
10. Casper The Friendly Ghost
11. Poison Ivy
12. That person at work who refuses to wear antiperspirant/deodorant.
13. Crabs
14. Butterflies
15. Antlions
16. Fruitless Mulberry trees
I expect your answers on my desk no later than a date and time to be specified at a later date and time.
Be ready
All that shit above was written on or about 11 September 2020AD/CE.
Yesterday was Monday the 12th of October 2020AD/CE.
Yes, that makes today Tuesday 13 October 2020AC/DC
I just woke. Started writing. Had a nagging feeling all day yesterday tho.
“Today seems like a holiday.”
Actually, I did not have the nagging feeling all day as much as I had a coupla points where I had “déjà vu” type moments of “today seems like a holiday, so why is it not a holiday?”
So why is everyone not ranting and raving about a holiday?
This morning, I remember my feelings from yesterday, and suddenly…there it is.
Yesterday, was Columbus Day
Ah yes, the latest parental figure to beat on…Christopher Columbus. It’s now known as “Indigenous Peoples’ Day” in some areas, but not everyone observes it. Divisions. Divisions within divisions.
Hrm
We interrupt this program for an important news flash...
Mystery = SOLVED! Next?
An actual “Mystery = SOLVED!” that has a shred of merit. Whodathunkit?
This flight had me completely perplexed. I admit that “crop dusting” or some other agricultural use crossed my mind due to the remoteness of the location, but I never in all my years of flying and being in/around aviation have I heard of a Beechcraft King Air being used for crop dusting. I focused on either some kind of pipeline or electrical lines inspection, or maybe searching for a downed something, but…at night?
So I focused on maybe a pipeline leak or spill of some kind since the patterns were in some remote areas which likely are laced with creeks and could carry a release, but again…at night?
When I looked into the flight history of the aircraft and saw that this very aircraft had done very similar flights only recently, and since the person that I was speaking with had set their mind to contacting the FAA to find out what was going on, I admit that I settled back into a “wait and see” kind of posture since none of this made much sense. The plane obviously had some kind of special clearance to be flying so low, otherwise their very first flight at these altitudes would been their last. But, I found at least three other flights that were very similar, so yeah, wait and see. But mosquitoes? Spraying for mosquitoes with a King Air?!? At 200 fucking feet?
I fucking never would have thought of that even tho’ now, yeah, it makes sense that early evening is the perfect time to spray for mosquitoes and those flight patterns make much more sense now. Here where I live, they use spraying trucks for mosquito control, and the trucks drive up and down streets spraying the stuff into the air, but again it never would have occurred to me that someone is utilizing aircraft for the same purpose. I learned something. I learned a bunch actually.
Noted
The bad part in this?
CHEMTRAILS!!!
People are obviously being sprayed, and yet, at least some of these people appear to have no prior knowledge that they are being dusted at 200 feet by an airplane spraying for mosquito control.
The last time that we here had active mass spraying was I think in either 2011 or 2012 with all that Zika panic. I seem to recall some panic that Zika and West Nile were going to cause some huge rash of illness and death, and so these giant trucks drove up and down the streets at night creating this massive weird mist cloud that hung heavy in the air. But the media had so hyped the disease prior to the spraying, that when the notices went out that spraying was gonna occur and for everyone to stay indoors during certain hours, I got the feeling that pretty much everyone got the message.
How do I know this? Welp, because I got a chair and went and sat up on my roof to observe the goings on. No cars, no people, no sound…it was completely dead outside an hour prior to the spraying, and remained dead until I heard the trucks start to rove up and down the streets. At a grumbling idle they came. I could see the mist cloud boiling up over the tops of the trees in the distance. When I saw the headlights appear on my street, I looked up and noticed that a strange halo was beginning to encircle the moon and encase the stars. I figured it was time to get down and go inside.
The good part in this?
There are still people in the world who are worried about mosquitoes and mosquito-borne diseases in the middle of this nCoV-2019 pandemic thingie.
Hrm
Mosquitoes.
Mosque Key Toes.
Musky Toes.
Muss Keet Ohs. Moss Kiitos.
Zika.
West Nile.
Malaria.
Dengue Fever.
SARS.
Swine Flu.
Coronavirus.
Bubonic Plague.
Tuberculosis.
HIV.
Lupus.
Lyme.
Leprosy?
Morgellon’s.
Pangolins.
Bats.
Rats.
Fleas.
Ticks.
Tiger King.
Exotics.
A: ???
What am I saying? Of course you would! You collar them, leash them, chip them, tattoo them, train them to behave like you think they should, and punish them when they don’t. You’d drop that doggo, kitten, hamster, rat, snake or bearded dragon like a bad habit if you were to learn that they were to blame for the world’s woes. You with fish/fish tanks can keep them.
And for you lazy fuckers…
You're welcome
What is this “tick” thing that appears by certain people’s names on Twitter? I guess it separates “the elite” from average scumbags.
Ticks are bad, mmmmmkay?
Last night was the first night in months that I’ve not had nightmares all night long. Pretty sure last night’s dreams weren’t good, but I also wouldn’t call them nightmares. Certainly not of the intensity of late. All these nightmares have been wearing my ass out. Don’t feel like reading, don’t feel like writing, don’t feel like watching anything, can’t think straight, have but one thought on my mind…what in the bloody hell is driving this non-stop onslaught of horrific dreams?
But to be fair, that thought really doesn’t pester me and I’ve really not sought any answers. Not done any soul-searching, not sought to understand it, not sought to stop it. Whatever it is, just trying to endure it. I figure if there are any answers to be had, they’ll come. This may be reckless of me.
Maybe not
Cade: Howdy!
X: ….
Cade: Hello?
Z: …
Cade: Helloooooo thar.
A: …
Cade: “A:” never speaks, so she’s not the best of indicators. Anyone there?
0: …
Cade: Anyone at all?
T: They’re ignoring you.
Cade: O HAI! So, why aren’t you ignoring me?
T: I am ignoring you.
Cade: Um, no you aren’t.
T: Yes I am. I just wanted to let you know that we are ignoring you.
Cade: Is this because I’ve been ignoring you?
T: …
Cade: I’ll take that for a no.
Z: That’s a definite yes.
Cade: Pray tell how you’d know?
Z: I checked.
Cade: Checked? Checked what? You keeping a journal or something?
Z: Maybe.
Cade: Soooo…that would mean that you may have some indication as to why I’ve been having non-stop nightmares since Spring of this year?
Z: I show it’s more like July.
Cade: HA! I already knew that. So you do actually have something there which may be indicative of why I’ve been having nightmares.
Z: …
Cade: Fuckin’ hell. I’ve painted myself into a corner. Any newbies out there wanna take this opportunity to chime in?
V: …
Cade: Well that’s one at least. Any infrequent visitors up for a chat?
G: …
Cade: Hrm. I’m quite shocked that at least “0:” doesn’t have an earful to give me.
X: Oh they’ve got an earful to give you.
Cade: GREAT! Let’s have it then.
0: …
Cade: That indeed, is quite the earful. Says a lot.
0: See ya around kiddo.
Cade: Hrm. I’ll add that to my list of things to chew on.
0: …
B: What’s all this recent business about ghosts?
Cade: Well, I’ve just been doing a lot of pondering about the notion recently.
B: You did a whole series of posts on pareidolia prior to Google/Blogger blocking you.
Cade: Correct. Six posts in total, but I only shared 5 with the class. The basic notion was of a sighted person “seeing things” as being odd concept to ponder.
X: You mean to say that, when a sighted someone sees a something, and another sighted someone disputes what has been seen because they themselves either did not see it or do not see it, that paradigm is causing you personally some measure of dismay?
Cade: Yes. I was not there/did not see “Mr. October” bang those three home runs off of those three pitchers back in 1977, but it happened.
B: Others have seen it. It was filmed.
Cade: Technically, no one, with maybe the exception of Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin, actually saw Neil Armstrong walk on the moon.
B: And your point?
Cade: Welp, I can understand the need to use one’s own experiences with things to help others with theirs.
X: But what you have a problem with, is that concept taken to excess.
Cade: Yes. If I were unsighted, it would not be a problem.
Z: But because both you and those around you are sighted, it’s a problem.
Cade: Exactly.
T: Ever stop to think that maybe you shouldn’t share so much?
Cade: Indeed I have.
Z: Shows here that you pretty much completely shut down for most of your life.
Cade: I’d concur with that.
X: So what’s the problem? Keep things to yourself, problem(s) solved.
Cade: I um…I do kinda live in a vacuum, but I also kinda don’t.
0: You’re referring to “the vacuum of space”?
Cade: Indeed.
T: I think you are thinking about the concept of “Familiars”.
Cade: You aren’t wrong. Half in, half out. Not here, not there, and kinda not anywhere…
0: And yet, there you are.
X: The slightly crooked king.
Cade: Yes. That concept too has been on my mind.
Z: But everything is…fuzzy, is that it?
Cade: Very. Like certain parts of the past no longer exist.
A: I bet that recent Astrology talk about changing the past in order to make for a better future hit you particularly hard.
Cade: Indeed it did. Any such changes would not only affect me…
0: But others.
Cade: Yes indeedy. It’s that whole stupid time-machine thing about going back in time to kill someone.
X: Rumor has it that would save a lot of pain and suffering.
Cade: Um…hasn’t all that pain and suffering already occurred?
T: I think that’s a fair assessment.
Cade: So now we’re back to rending and tears.
X: Has that too been heavy on your mind?
Cade: Yes.
X: A cloth?
Cade: Yes. But also what it means.
X: You never understood it before?
Cade: Well, the symbolism was that it was torn from top to bottom. Hence, that is interpreted as “God did it”.
X: That was some thick material.
Cade: Some stress that fact, some do not. I think some even dispute it because if the Tabernacle cloth was indeed that thick, it woulda weighed like 800 tons and there was no fucking way they could have carried that thing around whilst wandering in the desert.
X: Details, details, details.
Cade: So yeah, now we’re right back to some people see a something, others do not, which raises doubt.
0: People do sometimes take liberties with telling tales.
Cade: But we here in the now generally are not taught that history is a subjective something which is likely to be more tall-tale than fact. History is taught as being rigid, not fluid.
Z: Revisionism.
Cade: I really, REALLY fucking need to stop writing here and go get to work on…
A: You…might…want to bite your tongue right there.
Cade: Indeed. I’m in a quandary.
A: Do you edit, or do you not edit.
Cade: That’s the truth of it.
A: And what is this truth you speak of.
Cade: Typically, I’ve not a clue what truth is. But in this case, I feel that I was about to overstep some bounds.
A: And you are stuck here and now with a dilemma.
Cade: Yes. What is not mine, is not mine.
A: You gonna “mine” that concept any further?
Cade: Yes.
A: Careful.
Cade: Noted.
A: …
Don’t ask me…I don’t know. Kinda working on it tho’. And don’t ask what that means either because I don’t know.
How many people know you exist?
Yeah…I thought so…not many.
Don’t sweat it tho…nobody knows I exist either.
Library of Libraries 