*Hello, Clicky… /pats snout… Gonna post my Underdog Anthology Christmas story. Wanna help?*
*Whoa there, easy tiger… /lights up and smokes… Just chill out and put your fins up. I’ll do it…*
Dear Reader, I couldn’t leave my Halloween story ‘What Time Do You Finish?‘ to end where it did, so I wrote a follow up for the Christmas Underdog Anthology. With only six days left until the big day, Underdog Anthology XIII: Coronamas would make an ideal stocking filler present, and in an effort to persuade you, I reproduce ‘Christmas Death Wish’ for you, below. Enjoy! ❤
Christmas Death Wish
by Roo B. Doo
Death grimaced at the receptionist, who paid scant attention to the Grim Reaper sitting patiently in the God Lobby. The cavernous reception area was named the God Lobby as that was where those that wished to lobby God congregated in the hopes of an audience. The enormous space tended to be packed out with petitioners from either of the beseecher categories – the ‘Please God’ and ‘Dear God No’ – but at that precise moment, and apart from the goose manning the reception desk, Death was the God Lobby’s only occupant.
“Quiet here today… today… oday… ay…” Death’s voice echoed across the vast expanse between himself and the reception desk. The only response was a faint sound of scritch-scratching from the nib of the receptionist’s quill pen.
How long he had been waiting, Death knew not; it could have been any amount of time between a second and eternity. The God Lobby contained no clocks or shadows to mark the passage of time, only the oblique Mists of Time and even they appeared to have gone AWOL. At best, the most anyone could rely on in this place was their own body clock, but as Death had no body to speak off, he was already at a distinct disadvantage.
Hello, Big D.
Death didn’t need to turn in the direction of the friendly voice to know that God was filling the seat next to him. “Ma’am. I was just saying, it’s very quiet in here today.”
Quite. You wanted to see me?
Death shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “No, you wanted to see me.” Death turned to look God in the face; she was wearing a serene countenance, covered by a floral print face mask.
The scratching of the receptionist’s quill ceased and was replaced by the sound of chair legs scraping against the highly polished floor, followed by slaps of webbed feet as the goose receptionist approached, clutching a piece of parchment.
Thank you, Brian.
God took the proffered page and scanned it.
Ah. Apparently there was an unauthorised Armageddon occurrence on 31st October 2020. Do you know anything about that, Death?
The pause that followed could have been pregnant with octuplets, as Death felt the weight of God’s silence and Brian’s suspicious gaze fall upon him. Death was indeed intimately acquainted with the events that transpired on the Halloween in question. He shuddered at the memory of the brutal slaying of his occasional companions Famine, Pestilence and War in the back of a London black cab, driven by Old Scratch, the Devil himself. It was an abomination, an aberration, a fluke or trick, although Death had not as yet settled on which.
“Um, yes… some,” Death replied slowly. “My understanding is that the whole event was triggered by a misaddressed Christmas wish made by a pure soul. One Molly Darling, aged 6.”
A letter to Santa?
God swung her attention towards the receptionist. Death watched in amazement as Brian’s plumage turned from snow white to an embarrassed shade of pink. A big glob of goose fat trickled down one of his legs.
Brian, I thought we’d patched the Santa/Satan glitch.
The God Lobby’s haughty receptionist replied with a mournful honk.
Oh dear. It seems we have a bit of a boo-boo on our hands.
Death jumped down from his chair and bowed deeply before God. “Surely the situation can be remedied, Ma’am?”
God waited until Death straightened from obeisance to his full height of three foot three, before gently patting him on the the shoulder.
But of course. I have every faith in you, Big D.
“Me? …Me? …me? … e?” Death waited for the reverberation of his outburst to disappear before continuing in a more measured tone. “You would like me to, um, remedy the situation?”
You are the ideal candidate.
“But I only have one method at my disposal.” With a flick of his bony wrist, Death produced a retractable scythe from the armhole of his robe. He struck the ground with its shaft causing a death knell boom to thunder around the God Lobby.
God waved her hand over the scythe blade, allowing the lightning sparks that careened from it to latch on to her fingertips. She directed their chaotic dance along its keen edge.
Don’t underestimate yourself, Big D. Short of stature you may be, but in terms of resourcefulness, you are a giant.
Death had been around; he knew flannel when he heard it. “Ma’am, there would be dire consequences for moving a soul along before its time.”
Indeed, so it would be best if that were to not happen.
God stood up and Death bowed again; his audience was over. God started moving toward the reception desk but then paused.
You might speak with dear Soda Pops. He’s jolly resourceful too and, as the intended recipient of Molly’s wish, he may care to have a say in the matter.
“An excellent suggestion, Ma’am. I shall seek out Father Christmas immediately.”
Just keep it on the down low, Big D. Things can get very tricky when one’s fallibility is called into question.
By the time Death had straightened from his bow, God had disappeared. He was alone in the cavernous reception room, save for a now somewhat chagrined Brian, who was once again safely ensconced behind his desk, furiously scratching away with a quill pen and doing his utmost to avoid unnecessary eye contact.
Death sighed; he would have to go to Lapland; he hated visiting Lapland. Not for the first time, it occurred to Death that the ‘God Lobby’ had been extremely well named.
The entrance to Lapland wasn’t obvious at first glance, set as it was in a shady alcove, next to a garishly lit 24-hour Kwiki Mart on a less than salubrious back street of London. The muted thump of drum and bass music playing loudly somewhere vibrated in the air.
Death rapped smartly on the bland and undistinguished door and waited. The flap of the letterbox, set high up the door, opened and quickly closed.
Death knocked again, this time standing back from the door to afford the lookout a better view of his personage. Again, the letterbox flap opened and a pair of beady eyes appeared to scan the street before alighting on Death.
“No children allowed,” the gruff voice behind the door barked, as the letterbox flap once more clattered shut.
Death flourished his retractable scythe and lifted the flap to the letterbox open with the tip of its crackling blade. “I am not a child. Let me in.”
The eyes, now wide with fear, reappeared through the gap. “What’s the password?”
“Ho. Ho. Ho.”
There was a clunk and a click before the door quickly opened, allowing Death admittance to Father Christmas’s main residence. Once inside, Death made his way up a short flight of stairs to what appeared to be the source of the residual music thumping in the street outside: Lapland lap dancing club – adulterating Christmas 364 days of the year.
“Hi, I’m Sally. May I take your cloak?” The beautiful elf that greeted Death was dressed in only a few strands of tinsel, strategically placed to leave everything and yet nothing to the imagination.
“No thank you, Sally. I need to speak with Soda Pops.”
“Sure, come this way.”
Sally led Death through a throng of tables that were laden with drinks, ashtrays and Christmas poinsettia, and banks of couches hosting drunken patrons enjoying all manner of attentions and gyrations from Lapland’s scantily clad hostesses. The air was so thick with smoke, sweat and noise that Death’s route through the crowd could be seen clearly, carved into the fug by the blade of his scythe. They crossed the dance floor and passed a stage set with a shiny North Pole, from which a simply stockinged elf clung, spun and straddled, throwing revealing shapes for the audience.
“He’s through here,” Sally simpered, pulling a beaded tree light curtain aside, and ushered Death into a large side room. The room was ambiently lit, and filled with a mass of sparsely clothed elven bodies, both writhing and languishing synchronously in what sounded like an ecstasy of delight. In the corner sat Soda Pops, a.k.a. Father Christmas, his face buried deep into the backside of a gently bleating reindeer, whose nose pulsed and glowed.
Death cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Soda Pops, may I have a word?”
“Bugger off!” Soda Pops bellowed, without looking up.
The reindeer appeared to catch a sudden glance of Death’s scythe and backed away nervously, hooves skittering.
“Fuck me, you’re keen!” Soda Pops pushed at the animal’s quivering hindquarters as they squashed further against his sweaty face. He caught sight of Death standing impassively in the doorway. “You! So, this is how I am to end?! Suffocated whilst pleasuring a reindeer!”
Death shook his head. “No, this is a strictly informal visit, I assure you. I need to speak with you. Alone.”
“Okay.” Soda Pops nodded and slapped the backside of the reindeer, sending the clearly terrified creature careering past Death and out through the door. “Listen up people. I need you all to get the fuck out of here. Now!”
The mangle of bodies rose up, slowly untangling itself. Death held the door’s beaded tree light curtain side, allowing the disappointed and sullen elves to troop out, until only he and Soda Pops remained.
Soda Pops pulled his vest out from his trousers and used it to wipe his face and dry his beard. “So, what can I do for you, Big D?” He patted the couch seat beside him.
Death eyed the stained couch cushion and decided to decline. “That’s okay, I’ll stand.”
“A short visit, is it?”Soda Pops gibed with a mean chuckle.
Death moved his head from side to side, taking in the whole room before replying. “One can hope.”
“Heh. What is it you want?”
Quick as a flash, Soda Pops’ massive bulk shot from his seat, grabbed Death by his cloak, and slammed his small form up against the wall. His face, barely inches from the impenetrable void of Death’s cowl, was contorted with rage. “Now let’s get something straight between us, mush. I don’t deal in kids.”
Death gulped. “I-”
“I don’t care whatever smear the bastard tabloids have cooked up. My only interaction with children is the occasional Santa mall gig if I’m short on readies. That’s it. As far as kids are concerned, I don’t fucking exist.”
“If you… could… put me… down,” Death croaked and pawed at Soda Pops’ clenched hands with his free arm. “Have… scythe… not afraid… to use… it.”
The razor-sharp point of Death’s scythe slowly hove into view of Soda Pops’ angry eyes, lighting his face with fizzing, electric blue. He blinked and slowly slid Death back down the wall, his eyes never leaving sight of the blade hovering in front of his face. “Talk.”
Death straightened out his robe and indicated to Soda Pops to take a seat. “I’m not looking for a child. I’m looking for a specific child. A pure soul. She wrote a letter to you, but you didn’t receive it.”
Soda Pops rummaged through the detritus on the table in front of him until he found the butt of a cigar. He wiped it clean and lit it. “Don’t tell me. Santa/Satan?”
Death answered with an expressive shrug.
“I thought they’d fixed that!” Soda Pops settled back into his seat and puffed on his cigar. “For fuck’s sake. What a fucking joke! What happened?”
Death ran through the events that had occurred on the night of 31st October 2020. How the Devil had connived to enact a false flag Armageddon that had resulted in the savage expulsion from existence of Famine, Pestilence and War.
Soda Pops was aghast. “What the fuck! War’s gone?”
“I’m afraid so,” Death advised solemnly. “I took the liberty of googling ‘middle east peace treaties’ and found a number of them have recently been signed. Shortly after Halloween in fact. It’s strange though that there’s not been much of a hullabaloo about them in the press.”
“And Pestilence, poor sod.” Death shuddered in horror at his memories of that evening. Poor, sweet Pesto who never had a nasty UGH! to say about anybody. “With Pesto gone, you can bet your life Covid has too. Yet they’re still locking people down. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if there’s no more Famine.” Soda Pops banged on the arm of the couch and it lifted up to reveal a refrigerated opening filled with beaded cans of liquid sugar. “Red Bull?” he offered.
“No thank you. How do lockdowns make sense if Famine is gone?”
Soda Pops cracked open a can and chugged the entire contents before answering. “People are stuck in their homes with nothing to do but watch telly, eat and get fat.”
Soda Pops belched loudly. “All people have to look forward to is a weekly food delivery from their supermarket of choice. I tell you, kids aren’t excited for a delivery from Father Christmas this year. Now it’s Amazon. As far as kids are concerned, I don’t exist.” Soda Pops suddenly wailed and broke out into noisy, wet sobs. He wiped the snot and tears that streamed from his face along the headrest of the couch.
Death waited for Soda Pops to calm down. “Can you help me find the child?”
Soda Pops wiped his face again with the front of his grimy vest. “Do you have a name?”
“Molly Darling. Old Scratch told me he received the letter from her last year, but the letter wasn’t dated; I saw it. All I know is that Molly was six when she wrote it.”
“Wait.” Soda Pops sat forward, frowning. “You know Molly’s name, her age and that she’s a pure soul. Why can’t you find her? You’re Death, you find everyone.”
“Eventually,” Death sighed and risked perching on a corner of the couch, “and that’s the problem. The Grim Reaper Service is very much run on a just in time delivery model these days. Only a handful of us are needed to service the entire world. It’s really quite efficient until a major spanner, like 2020, is thrown in the works. It’s been chaos. We’ve been inundated with lonely deaths this year and we just don’t have the resources to transition these souls properly.” Death paused and leaned in closer. “And I’ll tell you something else, the God Lobby is completely empty. I’ve just come from there.”
Death stood up primly. “Yep. Not a soul there. Something isn’t right.”
“Still, that doesn’t answer my question to you: why don’t you find Molly yourself.”
It was a good question, one that Death had thought deeply on. “Because I don’t want to.”
“Ah.” Soda Pops thumped the arm of couch once more and retrieved two cans of chilled nectar. “Ethics?”
“Ethics.” Death accepted a can from Soda Pops and tucked it into the folds of his robe. “I can only interact with souls the one time. Thank you. I’ll save this for later.”
“Good man!” Soda Pops drew in an almighty breath and released it with great gusto. “Well, there’s only one thing for it.” He reached behind him and pulled on a silver cord. The tinkle of sleigh bells had hardly stopped before a reindeer stepped through the doorway. “Don’t worry, Big D, we’ll sort you out.”
“Er, thank you no, that isn’t necessary.” Death had not had much dealings with reindeer; the only one before had just charged past him in a state of shock at the length of his scythe.
“Vixi darling, can you get me some paper and a pen?” Soda Pops asked the reindeer as it nuzzled his neck. “And tell Rudy she can come back once our guest has gone, okay?” he whispered, as he nuzzled the reindeer back. “There’s a good girl.”
After Vixen left, Soda Pops turned his attention back to Death. “You need to make a Christmas wish. Write it down. Pass it to me, which I will accept and grant. Guaranteed.”
“Now wait a moment.” Death bristled. “Wishes are dangerous. We’re in this disastrous situation precisely because of a wish.”
“True!” Soda Pops laughed. “There’s always an unintended consequence with wishes, but I don’t see that you have much of a choice, chum. Look, make it simple and on point. In English if you must, but be warned, that language has built-in wiggle room, so be careful. Also, your wish can’t be about you; it has to be for Molly.”
Death sat stock still and recalled the childish scrawl of Molly’s handwritten note. She too had made a wish not for herself. “I know.”
When Vixen returned, Death wrote down his wish for Molly on a sheet of paper, folded it and passed it over to Soda Pops. “Please Father Christmas, grant my Christmas wish,” he intoned.
“Yeah, the speech was unnecessary.” Soda Pops opened the folded page and read what Death had written. “Heh. I can see all kinds of potential, but for your purpose, that should do nicely. Wish granted.”
Rudolph re-appeared, shyly edging forward, giving Death a wide berth. “Come here my little Rudy red nose,” Soda Pops cooed. “There’s no need to be scared. Let Pop-Pop kiss it all better.”
Death decided it was high time he left Lapland; he’d had quite enough hind sight in 2020.
The Mists of Time were back and so were the beseechers. A queue of souls snaked endlessly throughout the God Lobby. Death watched its progress, inching from one side of the great expanse to the other; backwards and forwards, guided only by the barrier ropes that directed the queue’s path.
Death approached the reception desk. It was empty, which was unusual. Probably a shift change, Death thought.
No, no. I’m here. Working. Doing my bit.
The empty chair behind the reception desk suddenly spun round of its own volition.
Hello Big D. Have you come to see me?
“I have indeed, Ma’am.”
Oh goody, I’m now one for two, although, I’m afraid I’m having to go incognito. One glimpse of me could cause a stampede.
Death approved. He had seen the aftermath of many a stampede; they were to be avoided. “And you’re not wearing your mask.”
No. Well, I can hardly go unnoticed wearing one of those, dressed like this. Very uncomfortable things, but that’s fashion for you.
Death gazed once more across the great expanse of queuing souls. “I believe the Halloween 2020 situation has been suitably remedied, Ma’am.”
Excellent. What did you wish for?
Death whirled back toward the empty reception desk. “You knew I would make a wish?”
No, but I hoped.
“Yes, well the alternative was too unpalatable. I wished that Molly Darling, aged 6, had been born with the innate ability to spell correctly.” If Death had lips, they would have been tuned in to smug-mode.
So you foresee a career in witchcraft for young Molly? I see.
“Ah…” Death hadn’t thought of that.
Or maybe she’ll be an actress or a singer then. Or writer. They also cast spells. Innate ability, you say?
Well, whatever passion path you’ve cut for young Molly Darling, she’ll probably be jolly good at it. Well done, Big D. I can always rely on you.
Death felt his rib cage expand with joy at the compliment, and watched in amazement has his pinky phalanx turned from bone ivory to a delicate shade of blush.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Death delved into the depths of his robe and pulled out a still dewy can of Red Bull. He held it aloft. “Merry Christmas, Ma’am.”
The can of soda levitated out of Death’s grasp, flying smoothly through the air until landing perfectly on the surface of the the reception desk, all seemingly unaided.
Wings! No one has ever given me wings before. Thank you, Big D.
Death felt the warm blush explode out of his pulsating pinky and course throughout the rest of his being.
Merry Christmas 😀
*Oh you’re back are ya? I hope you’re in a better mood now, Clicky…*
I will be writing a further follow up story for the Spring 2021 anthology, as well as a new Harry Egg story because… Well, quite unbelievably, I have had a couple of requests for one…
*People seem to like Harry, Clicky… /shrugs and stubs butt…*
… Join us again next time, Dear Reader, and… Have a Song 😉
At last, here is Part 2 of Cade’s latest missive, Dear Reader…
*Yeah, I know you’ve constrained yourself to 5 fings to click or whatever, butt I’ve been finking…*
*Um, the pen is mightier than the sword… /thinks… Fountain pens have tanks, Clicky…*
… I know you’ve had to wait since Monday for it, so I shan’t keep you waiting. Enjoy! 😀
Dew U C Ceeds?
Do Ewe Sea Ceeds?
Doo You Cease Eads?
Do U CC’ds?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Do You See Seeds?
Do You Sow Seeds?
It’s funny how you sometimes see a something for the first time, and you just…get it. It makes sense. Stumble across the same thing a few years later, and your understanding of this something seems to deepen. All the old stuff is still applicable, but this new stuff you’re now seeing adds some layers to the existing.
^M83 – “Wait” (Official Video)^
FRIDAY IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER!!!
I look left…there’s Friday.
I look right…there’s Friday.
I look ahead…there’s Friday.
.yadirF s’ereht…kcab kool I
I look down…
well, if I look down I could prolly see my junk if I lean forward a bit.
I look up…o, hallo! Wut u doin’ up thar?!
X: Question is, what are you doing up there?
Cade: Damn good question.
Cade: I’m “down here” to me, “up there” to you.
0: Are you about to start that “an ascent from one place, is actually a descent into another” crap?
Cade: If you must know, no…I am not.
X: What are you gonna do then?
Cade: Keep going.
X: Keep going…keep going…keep going…
Cade: Wait…why did “T:” just bail on me? They made an observation, then bailed. Now I can’t remember what it is they said.
X: Losing a lot of stuff lately are we?
Cade: Sorta. Question is, will I miss it.
X: Are you asking?
Cade: No. Making an observation.
X: Any plans on how to deal with all this stuff you are losing?
Cade: I’d imagine that I’ll have my chin up and maintain my optimism right up to the very end.
Z: At which point, it all goes wrong.
Cade: It’ll all fall apart.
X: It all comes crashing down.
Cade: Or up, depending on one’s vantage point or perspective.
X: Then what will you do.
Cade: The usual. Shed a few tears, have a few beers, then regroup.
X: How many people on Twitter do you estimate have you muted?
Cade: rofl…prolly many.
Z: People who “follow you”, have you muted?
Cade: It’s possible I guess. I see people talking about it all the time.
0: You see other people on Twitter talking about their followers muting them?
Cade: Yes. It’s kinda the only reason that I even think about the topic. I see tweets quite often where people are wondering aloud as to why no one seems to respond to their tweets, and further wonder if it is because their followers are muting them.
X: Have you reached any conclusions?
Cade: Most of the stuff that I tweet out is likely very non-interesting to most people, and I just figure that my stuff is kinda boring or irrelevant to most. My interactions with others in their tweets likely come off as acerbic, non-supportive, and maybe even hostile or combative.
X: Interactions are tricky.
Cade: You’ve very little space in which to interact with others. Back on point tho, in order to have a somewhat meaningful experience on Twitter, you really have to be mindful of both those whom you follow, as well as those who follow you.
Z: Be aware.
Cade: Yeah. Many people on Twitter seem to measure the quality of their experience primarily upon the number of followers and number of interactions because it adds up to a monetary payment of some kind. Others seem to measure the quality of their experience on the number of huggles and hearts and virtual smooches they get.
X: How did we get here?
Cade: Welp, we started off talking about dimensions and perspectives, and now we’re talking about Twitter and how certain people may see the service. So yeah, we’re kinda still talking about the same crap we started off talking about.
X: Dimensions and perspectives.
Cade: Today’s treasure is tomorrow’s shitbag.
X: Maybe there’s a diamond in the rough in there.
Cade: Certainly possible, if not likely.
What will happen, is the past.
What is happening, is the future.
What did happen, is the now.
^The Nuns – Lazy^
This next song was indexed as “42” in the randomly generated YouTube playlist that I am currently listening to.
Q: Does that “42” mean something?
A: /???\ /?¿?\ /???\
Hey, don’t ask me for answers, I asked you. When it comes to synchronicity, I cannot even begin to tell you what it/they might mean. I can only tell you that they’ve occurred. And hell yes I ponder the living fuck out of them. Have learned (the hard way) tho, that assigning a value and/or some kind of meaning to these things is almost a sure-fire way to wind up disappointed. A pathway to heartbreak. Maybe even destruction or some kind of calamity. As such, I personally don’t spend a lot of time trying to find exacting and specific meaning in these events.
Will good things come?
A: Yes, absolutely.
Will bad things come?
A: Yes, absolutely.
Can you predict which will occur when?
I've notta clue. I figure if I need to know a something, I will, and I'll know it precisely when I need to.
^Blackmill Feat. Veela – Let It Be (Full Version)^
That bit in the previous missive about “slavery” as it relates to “the state” and/or the US Constitution got me to thinking about attachments. Got me to wondering if it is possible to be attached to a something, without necessarily being a slave to this something you find yourself attached to. Surrendering rights and/or freedoms in order to receive a something, and this may be a something you don’t even realize you have. You may not even know that you’re giving a something up in order to get this something you don’t realize you have.
“The things you own, end up owning you.”
Fight Club (Movie)
You may need a something at one point in your life, but then at some point, you don’t need it anymore, so do you get rid of it? Free up some space? Shed some weight? Make yourself more mentally, physically and spiritually more agile? Or do you continue to carry it around with you. After all, you might just need it down the road. Like take for example when a something in your life becomes cliché. Does that mean it’s become a burden, and it may be time to trim some branches off of your own personal tree of wisdom?
“A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit.”
Is that really a Greek proverb? Like, really, really a Greek proverb? Or is it just some reworked and repackaged something being sold with a recognizable and somewhat reliable brand name.
“A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit” – an ancient Greek proverb?
Potentially, that saying has been plagiarized, and maybe falsely attributed. The Jews appear to have a claim or two on it, the Chinese appear to have a claim on it and it was then stolen by the Romans/stolen by a Roman, another Roman may have attached it to the Greeks, on and on. Someone planted the seed, the tree grew, the tree continues to provide the fruits of its shade, and everyone on the planet is trying to claim ownershit. Ooops…I mean, ownership.
That was an actual typo. I left it.
^The National – “Sea Of Love”^
Plagiarism has been a hot topic in the “spiritual awakening” community ever since I first arrived in it. Loads of people accusing others of stealing from them, and especially in the more predictive portions of the ascension crowd; as in, those in the astrology types of realms.
- Astrologer A posts their stuff first (chronologically);
- Astrologer B posts their stuff next (chronologically);
- Astrologer A then accuses Astrologer B of stealing their stuff.
(I assume because Astrologer A posted their stuff first)
Lessee…we’re talking about very exact and very precise times, places, things. I’d think that the interpretations, predictions and forecasts would almost have to be at least similar. The foundations of Astrology are set. Certain signs always and forever mean certain things, and the clockworks of the Universe are very precise. Hence, any deviation(s) or any lack of similarities between foretellings would be more indicative of some kind of an issue rather than similarities.
You’re all spinning yarns from the same wheel(s), right? Surely your textiles are going to be very similar. Then I guess it just comes down to marketing your product better, and some of that is going to include Pepsi Challenge kinds of crap where you praise your own product, and damn everyone else’s product(s). Make your own business thrive, skin your competition alive.
^Lord Huron – Time to Run^
Another one of the things that I don’t get about Astrology is that, yes, I am a Scorpio. But ya know what? My parents weren’t. I’m the offspring of a Taurus/Leo matchup. I’m a Scorpio spliced together via a Leo and a Taurus union. Surely that has some kind of affect on the particular flavor of Scorpio that I as an individual am.
…that I as an individual am.
Does that sentence fragment make sense? “I as an individual am” /shrug
Yeah, where was I? Oh yeah, um…
Leo + Taurus = Scorpio.
How does a Leo and Taurus coupling create a plain vanilla Scorpio? Surely there’s some kind of triad type structure going on there. I have qualities of the three, and not just and only the one. Just thinking that I cannot rely upon the single “Scorpio” archetype to guide me in my travels and/or help me understand myself better. BUT! Maybe that’s the point?
Mom’s mom was a Virgo, and mom’s dad was a Libra. Dad’s mom was a Leo, and dad’s dad was a Virgo. That means if I wanna kinda understand myself, I need to understand all of these signs in order to understand how all of that can coalesce into…me. When your horoscopes make absolutely no sense, but you start to take the time to start reading the horoscopes of those who are in your life, and then combine them, maybe your own astrology stuff will start to make more sense.
Kinda thinking tho that the point of any system is to get you hooked on it. Work it until it starts making sense. Once it starts making sense, you can now believe in it. All that is left to do at this point is figure out if this stuff is really real, or if you were simply programmed to believe its real.
^Flying Lotus – Zodiac Shift (Sonnymoon Remix)^
Heh, it’s funny to think about the information one can glean about me just from my mentioning my parents and grandparents birthsigns. Data harvesters. What’s that? You were unaware of how stupid it is to reveal personal information of any kind or form on the Internet? Welp, it is. Gonna be very difficult for data harvesters to do “deep dives” on you if you’re shielded behind an e-personna. Those cute little things you see where they want you to take the first initial of your first name, last initial of your last name, day your were born, and month you were born in order to get your Jedi name or rocker name or whatever? Yeah, they now have your initials of first and last name, and your date of birth sans year. You know, all that “official” stuff that is splattered all over “official” documents and identifies you as being who you say you are.
Be safe…travel well.
^Unknown – High Society Climber (’60s GARAGE PUNK)^
A few years ago, was spending some time kinda bouncing back and forth between where I am now and this other place west of where I am now. Divorce was finally happening, new doors opening, new life on the horizon, new place(s), new people, new times…long story. Anyway, I saw something out there one day that really caught my attention. An advertisement, posted on a bollard outside of the entrance of a grocery store. I asked my compadre to take a picture of the advertisement, she did, but I have no idea where she uploaded the picture to, and she posted the picture on the now defunct Synchromysticism Forums. This means I cannot share the picture with you here and now.
The 2016 California policy to eliminate nonmedical vaccine exemptions and changes in vaccine coverage: An empirical policy analysis
Anyway, sorry I cannot provide the photo in question, but the advertisement was for a 4-in-1 flu vaccination shot, and it was outside of a Brookshire’s grocery store, slipped over one of the bollards outside the entrance. Immediately made me scratch my head. Yes, I understand the difficulty in trying to predict which virus will appear in a given season, and I also understand how frustrating it must be to whip up a batch of vaccines for on strain, yet another appears. Still, seems like a strange approach. Has a carpet bombing kind of feeling to it.
^China’s gateway to Europe – the New Silk Road | DW Documentary^
Can something “force” a mutation?
How long can you chase a something before it either capitulates, or turns and fights? You prolly want it to either capitulate or die, but this thing you are trying to tame may not see things that way. May choose its own path. Yeah…sounds completely nuts, eh? Impossible.
You’ve somehow figured out what could be billions of years of information, what can and cannot be, what is possible and impossible, and you’ve figured all this out in only a few years. Wow…you’re smart. Can I have your autograph?
^Grouplove – Colours^
BTW, the Synchromysticism Forums are still up. Kinda.
Looks like they only have 11 members, and “PearlChan” seems to be pretty much the only person posting there. I assume that’s “Peg” from the whatchacallit forums. Her FundRazr for SMF is still up and open too. Still sitting at $680. Still wonder what all that was about. Seeds? A small group of people spreading seeds?
^Of Monsters And Men – Empire (Official Lyric Video)^
If you are a someone who is just now wandering into this Synchronicity and/or Synchromysticism nonsense, and you’ve somehow found your way here, I can only imagine the path you’ve walked to get to where you now find yourself. Prolly a safe bet tho that you’ve encountered some strange stuff, this strange stuff makes little to no sense, and it’s prolly gotten you to thinking about things you never would have thought about otherwise. Thinking in strange directions, looking at things in different ways, and some of these challenges are likely foundation-shaking types of thoughts about the very things you hold dear. Also very likely that you are encountering a lot of paradoxes, and/or, you are encountering paradoxical types of thinking. Like some invisible force is trying to pry from your grasp the thing(s) to which you clutch for safety:
- God is a man;
- No, God is a woman;
- No, God has no gender;
- No, God, is;
- No, God, “is not” because God does not exist.
You may be scrambling in and through the esoteric realms of everything from spiritualism and the paranormal, to some rather mundane stuff that you’ve previously had no interest in or maybe even no knowledge of. Almost like you are being led by some mysterious hand into some continuing education program, so you can learn about a bunch of stuff that you’ve currently no clue why you’d ever need to know this stuff. And yet, there’s something inside you that is drawing you to it. It’s not at the barrel of a gun or at the end of a pitchfork either. Its more like a gentle nudge from the Universe to “hey, no pressure here, but give this a try” type of situation. Almost like the Universe knows something you don’t, and for some reason, a mysterious force (which likely shouldn’t even exist) is now providing you some guidance and insight as to how you might proceed. You’re shocked. This can’t be happening. Why now? Why me? What in the FUCK is going on here?!?!
A: The only thing more weird about a person asking the Universe for a something this person needs or wants, is getting it.
You prayed that silent prayer. You made a wish on that falling star. You tossed that coin into the fountain. You shook your fist at the heavens. You blew out those birthday cake candles.
Wait…it’s coming true? NOW?!?!? Why now? Why the fuck are my prayers being answered…now?!?
Wait...what in the fuck did I even ask for???
I remember asking for something, but I sure as shit don’t remember asking for this!!!
Seriously, why would you ask for a something via supernatural channels, and then be shocked when this something you asked for arrives via supernatural pathways? Sounds to me like you got exactly what you asked for, precisely from whom you requested it from.
^Deadmau5 – Clockwork (1080p) || HD^
Heh, just as I finished writing/editing that bit, this appeared on my Twitter feed…
Remember that quote from the movie Fight Club that I used earlier? There’s more to it.
“The things you own end up owning you. It’s only after you lose everything that you’re free to do anything.”
Movie = Fight Club
Losing things is bad. Unless of course you have a pocket full of nickels and you suddenly find yourself in deep waters. You’ll drop those nickels like a bad habit, rapidly.
^Bonobo : Linked (Official Audio)^
You’re gonna have to deal with the idea of absurdity sooner or later. Absolutely bonkers and completely ridiculous absurdities are going to surround you like a fog on the Golden Gate Bridge. Absurdity, ridiculousness, and paradox. Just a friendly suggestion that you maybe try and develop your own personal comfort levels with these ideas. 1 + 1 is many times not gonna equal 2. It’s more likely that 1 + 1 = 0.60005000023217. Or 1 + 1 = 368. Or 1 + 1 = Riboflavin. Or 1 + 1 = A Week Ago.
Abstractions where the outcomes are much greater or much less than some “more sane” or some “more fair” type of equilibrium. The most obvious place to look as to why your equations are fucking up?
Today’s crazy, is tomorrow’s sane. Or maybe, today’s imbalance = tomorrow’s equality.
^Parcels – Lightenup | A COLORS SHOW^
We do nothing to affect this planet.
Nothing…we do it…to this planet.
And I mean nothing.
It ain’t there.
You did not see it.
Of course when you do finally see it, you may shit bricks.
^Deadmau5 – Whelk Then^
Drove my poor parents crazy with questions when I was a kid. But my questions were less “where does so-and-so come from?”, and more “where does so-and-so go?”. Where does used motor oil go? Where do old clothes go? Where does that cigarette smoke go? Where does car exhaust go? Where does rainwater go? Where does trash go? I think they hated giving me answers because they knew I’d then ask “well, where does it go then?”
I saw no ends. Still see no ends. See lots of cycles, these cycles contain end-ish types of things, but they all seem to be the beginning of something else. Prolly why it occurred to me sometime back, that if you really want to find the beginning, find the end. If you find the end, you will find the beginning.
^Khruangbin – Time (You and I) (Official Video)^
I wanna go to Hinterland this coming August.
Looks like the 3-day pass is $145, and camping is $45 per-person. And I gotta get there. And since I’ll be in Iowa, I might wanna saunter up to Clear Lake/Mason City to see where the music died.
Guess I best start saving my pennies now, eh?
^Old Crow Medicine Show – Wagon Wheel [Official Music Video]^
Do you know what time it is? That’s right kats and cittens, it’s time for a…
RANDOM WIKIPEDIA ATTACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! ! … !! …
Be gentle with me, I’ve not done this in a while.
From today’s featured article…
Alister Murdoch – a senior commander in the Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF). He served as Chief of the Air Staff (CAS) from 1965 to 1969. Joining the Air Force in 1930, Murdoch trained as a seaplane pilot and participated in an Antarctic rescue mission for lost explorers in 1935. During World War II, he commanded No. 221 Squadron RAF in Europe and the Middle East, and later occupied senior positions on the staff of RAAF formations in the South West Pacific. His post-war appointments included Commandant of RAAF College from 1952 to 1953, Air Officer Commanding (AOC) Training Command from 1953 to 1955, Deputy Chief of the Air Staff from 1958 to 1959, and AOC Operational Command from 1962 to 1965.
Aberdeen Creek (Drowning Creek tributary) – is a 12.45 mi (20.04 km) long 3rd order tributary to Drowning Creek (Lumber River), in Moore County, North Carolina.
List of Queensland Lacrosse Premiers – This list is incomplete; you can help by adding missing items with reliable sources. Men’s Premiership Trophy: ? Women’s Premiership Trophy: ?
NOTE: Don’t ask me. This is the first time in the history of Random Wikipedia Attacks that I can recall running across a Wikipedia article that was this much of a trainwreck. – Cade
Alan Wilson (judge) – justice of the Supreme Court of Queensland in the Trial Division. He was appointed to the bench in 2009, after serving as a judge in the District Court since 2001. He was named a Queen’s Council in 1999.
Zip Szold – the fourth president of the Hadassah Women’s Zionist Organization of America, serving from 1928 to 1930.
twlv – a South Korean singer-songwriter and record producer.
Eunidia opima – a species of beetle in the family Cerambycidae. It was described by Holzschuh in 1986.
Oksana Khrul – a Ukrainian para-swimmer, competing in S6, SM6 and SB7 categories. With limited use of her arms, Khrul has won medals in the World Para Swimming Championships, Paralympics, and the IPC European Championships. She set a World record at the 2012 Paralympics, and World and European records at the 2016 Paralympics, all in the 50m butterfly S6 event, and has three times received national honours in her native Ukraine.
Young Lachlan – a schooner that was stolen and wrecked by convicts in 1819. Between 1812 and 1817 as the Henrietta Packet it provided passenger and cargo transport between colonial ports, and was possibly involved in exploration in the present-day Tasmania.
Holly Lodge High School – a secondary school located in Smethwick, West Midlands, England.
Blue Wall Cafe – a former dive bar and current restaurant at the University of Massachusetts Amherst. Opening inside the Murray D. Lincoln Campus Center in the 1970s, the bar made upwards of $600,000 in the late 1970s (over $2,300,000 in 2013 dollars), and went through 1,800 kegs a year. This made it one of the largest beer-consuming establishments in the Northeastern United States. Following the raising of the drinking age to 21 in the United States, the bar experienced a decline in sales, before finally going dry in the 1980s. In the early 2000s, alcohol was again served, although it proved to be unprofitable.
List of Dutch Top 40 number-one singles of 1964 – These hits topped the Dutch Top 40 in 1964.
Three Rivers Athletic Conference (Indiana) – The Three Rivers Athletic Conference was a short-lived conference based in Southern Indiana, not to be confused with the Three Rivers Conference in northern Indiana, which still exists. The five schools that made the conference were very small, far-flung schools that were unable to find a home in closer leagues for various reasons. The league folded in 1989 due to travel concerns, with all the members becoming independent.
Don Julius Caesar d’Austria – the oldest illegitimate son of Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II and his long-term mistress, Catherina Strada. A schizophrenic, d’Austria died serving a life sentence in prison following his murder of a barber’s daughter in 1608.
Thomas Anson, 2nd Earl of Lichfield – a British politician from the Anson family.
Taferne – an inn in Mandling village, which is part of Schladming, Austria. It is near the Schladming Tauern hiking area and the Ski Amadé winter sports area.
Ever get the feeling you are being piloted somewhere, but at least someone in cockpit appears to have no clue where they are taking you?
^Cymande – Dove^
I’ve been dragging my feet on this one for two days now, so I guess I should go ahead and finish it and send it over to Roob so she can work her magic on it. But I’m really glad that I didn’t send it two nights ago when I promised, because something damn interesting popped up yesterday morning…
Ya know, when the lies and the lying start to go public in a very public kind of way, welp, let’s just say that a lot of that appears to be going around currently. Damn difficult to tell who is full of shit, and who isn’t. Which…hey…have you ever thought of that? Like, humans are all kinda full of shit in that we’re kinda turd transport modules. If you had x-ray vision, and you checked out that hot dude or hot chick internally, there’s likely a turd in there somewhere.
If they’re hooked on painkillers, there might be a whole backlog of poop.
Eeeeewwww. Meh fuckit...they look hot on the outside.
Jupiter, Saturn, and although you can’t see it, Pluto is lurking way out there in the background in the same area. Mars is lurking directly overhead each and every night. Orion is laying on his side each evening. Does all that mean something?
^Khruangbin – Pelota (Official Video)^
Mystery = SOLVED! Next?
Didn’t see that coming /yawn
Mystery = WILL WORK ITSELF OUT NATURALLY! Next? Next? NEXT?!?!!?!?!???
^Black Pumas – Colors (Official Live Session)^
FOE – NET – TICKS
Sure have been seeing a lot of references to both Rabies and Leprosy lately.
‘Big Short’ investor Michael Burry reveals he’s short Tesla, tells Elon Musk to issue more stock at its ‘ridiculous price’
It doesn’t necessarily have to be the biggest, nor the most long-lasting, it just has to get you through. Get you over the hump. Position yourself in such a way as to ride out the storm, all while remaining in operation. Makes sense. Supposedly, that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. You could exit the bunker fat, happy, and well-positioned.
^Bedroom – We All Need Something (feat. Jade Lawhon) (Official Video)^
There’s one other thing I wanted to write about, but I can’t recall what it was. Oh well, it’ll come back around.
Someone will pick up on it.
Talk to you freaks later.
^deadmau5 – Some Chords^
^Of Monsters And Men – Love Love Love (Official Lyric Video)^
*What, anuvver peace one?!*
*Hmm… /stubs butt…*
Thank you for your company, Dear Reader. We hope you’ll join us at the LoL again soon. Have a Song 😀
*Oh, I dunno…*
Happy Friday, Dear Reader 😀
Hot on the heels of yesterday’s missive, we have another from the Okie Devil of Text US…
*Yeah, and it has some wavy wikiwall pools for you to explore, Clicky…*
It’s Thursday December 3rd of 2020, and…fuck! Can you give me a sec? I promise I’m not ignoring you, just receiving a call, and I really need to take this. Mind if I put you on hold for a sec? Thanks. ❤
X: You’re about to open a can of worms.
Cade: I know.
T: You really think that’s prudent?
Cade: Prudence is a strange topic when you’re in the big middle of a shit-storm.
A: How so?
Cade: It occurs to me that, during extraordinary times, “prudence” would be measured in seconds, or maybe minutes.
X: Not days, weeks, months, years, etc..
Cade: Correct. If you’re in a trench in 1916, each and every thing that you do, whether prudent or imprudent, is gonna vastly affect your continued ability to measure and mark time.
X: Living one second to the next.
Cade: Yes. Do I raise my head up, have a peek, and hope no one puts a bullet in it? Or do I keep my head down and wait for a more opportune time.
0: You ever wonder what “an opportune time” would be in those circumstances?
Cade: Welp, I would think in that situation, one would either have to rely upon one’s own gut feelings as to how best to proceed, or maybe the instincts of a commander who is putting a boot in your butt irrespective of your own internal inclinations.
X: In one set of circumstances you have a choice, and in another, the choice is not yours to make.
Cade: Yes. Just thinking that “prudence” can get lost in situations where the consequences are much more immediate and dire.
Z: Almost opens one’s self to being a scapegoat.
Cade: Or at least a tool or some kind of leverage for another purpose.
X: Care to elaborate?
Cade: Well, just thinking that one could make a thousand “good” decisions…
Z: But it’s the one bad decision that you’ll be remembered for.
Cade: Yes. You’ve been on the line and hugging that berm for ages, peeked over the edge a thousand times, but the one time you look and your brains get dislodged from your cranium?
X: You did a bad thing.
Cade: That’s what I’m thinking. Your “prudence” is suddenly measured by that one event, and not the multiple events that allowed you to arrive there in the first place.
X: And how does this relate to your thoughts on the concept of prayer in the presence of a deity?
Cade: Or deities.
0: We get the point, get on with it already.
Cade: Just occurs to me that “prayer” is an odd concept to entertain when one is in the presence of one or more deities. Seems…oddly self-serving. Fucking hell, I dunno, just a weird thought I’ve danced with for a while.
Z: Can you elaborate a bit? Even I’m lost.
Cade: Let’s say one is given an audience with God and their merry pack of miscreants and hooligans. You’re standing around chatting about the weather and fashion trends, and suddenly, it occurs to you that you have a friend back home who is sick.
X: Your first impulse is to…pray, for that someone?
Cade: Yes. I’m just that dense.
X: Standing in the presence of The Creator & Co., and you have the desire to pray for someone else because you thought of them. Interesting.
T: You think maybe instead of praying, you could…I dunno, ask?
Cade: That’s not as straightforward as it seems.
0: It isn’t?
Cade: Hell no it isn’t. I’m a human being. Being in the presence of all the Universal big-wigs doesn’t mean that I abandon who and what I am. Also doesn’t give me license to clear my own personal wish-list just because I have their ear.
Cade: I was gonna say that.
Cade: That’s…yes…I’m thinking of that.
Cade: But I’m also thinking of the fact that “prayer” in this instance could be construed as me trying to secretly communicate a something to the Almighty, even tho I’m in their presence and the fucker is right in front of me.
0: Wait. Wait, wait, wait…wait just a second here. Prayer, whilst in the presence of God, is secret communication?
Cade: Way to put words into my mouth.
X: I think they are just trying to understand.
Cade: That makes two of us.
B: May I interject?
Cade: By all means.
B: You are saying that, just because “God” can hear your prayers, the others cannot?
Cade: I have no idea if that is the case or not. But I have thought that this may be the case, yes.
B: So you are concerned about having a side-conversation on the sly, with God, whilst you are in the presence of not only God, but also all these other higher-ups.
Cade: Correct. But I also don’t want to sperg and verbalize just because a thought popped into my head, and now might be an opportune time to bring up the subject considering where I am.
B: Because you are in the presence of the gods.
Cade: One would figure at least one of the fuckers might be able to do something about it.
B: And if they don’t?
Cade: That’s the rub isn’t it. Since when is any god or deity or some other ethereal entity mine to command?
X: Sounds like a prudent course.
Cade: When I was younger, sure, “the gods” are my own personal ATM machine from which to dispense funds whenever I demand it.
Z: Do you even have an account at that bank?
Cade: Good fucking question. I have no answer for you tho. Christianity sure seems to think that you have to be a member of the guild before blessings will be dispensed.
0: And if you aren’t a member of the guild?
Cade: Luckily, there are two. You get defaulted into the shit-show, and you have to make a conscious effort to join the winning team.
X: You join a team, simply because they are the winning team?
Cade: That’s what it says in The Book. The game is rigged, the fix is in, the match outcome has already been decided, now it’s just a matter of going through the motions. If you want to be a winner, put your money on the Christians.
0: Sounds as if it is prudent to sign up.
Cade: Here on Earth/Terra, it’s very frowned upon to stack teams, simply because you have the money to do so.
Cade: Yes. The deep pockets can afford the primo players, which means they can tip the scales in their favor in order to better increase their odds of winning the big games.
Z: The house always wins.
Cade: In gambling, yes, but I see what you are saying I think.
0: “The house”, is those big-wigs.
Cade: Rumor is, they created it all, they own it all, they can do whatever in the hell they want with it. But now I’m thinking about the “houses” in Astrology, and I’ve completely lost my train of thought.
T: Maybe you should pray.
Cade: Sounds prudent.
0: Is it prudent to keep writing?
Cade: No idea. I have less than two years to get the fuck outta here, and currently, things look quite glum.
0: No, I meant all the stuff you are about to write below.
Cade: No idea, but I’m gonna do it.
X: You see what you see.
Cade: I wrangle over what to write or not write more than most prolly think.
X: You see.
Cade: I see what I see, and share it. Me actually understanding a something is an exception, not the rule.
X: Big game.
Cade: Sure seems that way. I’m not fond of that particular association tho.
X: Blood, sweat and tears.
Sorry, that call was a bit more lengthy than I expected. You now have my undivided.
^Love and Rockets – Mirror People ’88^
Anyone remember 9/11? Afghanistan? Operation Iraqi Freedom? Guantanamo Bay and all those pictures of “brown people” in orange jumpsuits?
Hey…don’t bitch at me. Its a busy planet. Lots going on.
^Butthole Surfers – “Moving to Florida”^
One of the easier ways to acquire real estate, or at least acquire an interest in certain properties, is gonna be via the/a banking system. If your country does not provide for foreign ownership, no problem…use a foreign funds to purchase said property and utilize intermediaries. You can tie up stuff in all kinds of red tape, and leverage the living shit out of it.
Debt = Power.
Sure there is risk, but the rewards are massive. Question is, how does one “foreclose” on an entire country. Especially if that country has claws.
A: Clause trumps claws.
For some it will anyway. I guess the trick is to position one’s self in a portion of the water column where you remain the apex predator. Sure, there are plenty of much more ferocious creatures in the sea, but they don’t swim in these waters.
^Nategawd, Flo Rida & Lil Jon “Take A Shot And Make A Tik Tok” (Official Video)^
All of this came of a personal sync this morning in learning that someone who I did not know, has died of a heart-attack at the ripe old age of 33. I knew of them, but I did not actually know them. Prolly played a video game with them, and may have even yelled at them a time or two on an Internet forum, but yeah, didn’t really know them.
It appears they may have worked in the mortgage industry, as did I, so we had that in common also. Would also appear that they were from Canada, and Canada has this weird kind of “ground zero” type feeling about it regarding synchromysticism. Dunno if the dude was into this tho, and they may not have been spiritual at all as far as I know.
Personal syncs are typically real easy to work out. They apply to you, and may even be specifically for you, but explaining personal syncs to others?
Dicey. Sketchy. Difficult.
Hardly anyone on this entire planet gives a flying fuck about me, and most people on this planet don’t even know I exist. So with that in mind, how do I, explain a somewhat mystical synchronistic event to a bunch of strangers? How do I explain to them that “HEY! This weird shit just happened, a bunch of tumblers fell into place, and this means something!”
Yeah, I’ve nothing specific, and I’m not gonna assign a bunch of predefined meaning(s) to this/these event(s) just so it will make sense to you, but I’m telling you…this means something.
^deadmau5 – A City In Florida (1080p) II HD^
No idea why I do this. I wrestled with the idea for quite a few years as to whether I should start writing or not. As to why I decided to give it a whirl? Simple…I wanted a return. I wanted some answers. Why is all this weird shit happening, why has it intensified now, and is there anyone out there who is experiencing anything similar? Perhaps if I open up, they will too, and maybe all of us can, together, figure out what in the fucking hell all this nonsense is.
But yeah also, I wanted to help.
Fuck it…if others are being tight-lipped because they are scared shitless, welp I understand that, but as for me, I’m going for it. Maybe someone out there needs to hear what I have to say. Poor bastard(s). If you are needing to hear anything I have to say, you must be in some deep shit, and I empathize.
^Slap Shot – I’ll be staying in Florida^
I am not a paranormal investigator. Certainly not one with any street cred as to a someone who goes out into the field looking for weird and strange shit in order to better understand it. Due to my personal situation, I’m more of a bookworm type. I sit and wait for the weird and strange shit to come to me, irrespective of the form(s) these entities may assume. And let me tell you, some of the shit that somehow worms its way into my tiny 10′ x 13′ cell can be quite diverse.
^This Is What F-22 Engine Startup Sounds Like^
This is not a challenge, nor is it a test. It’s a demonstration. Put “being right” and “being wrong” on the shelf for a moment, and maybe just be an observer/participant with no agenda for the next few minutes. Below is a video for a band called The Knife, and the song is “We Share Our Mother’s Health”.
Phase One: play the video below, but mute the sound. This time through, we are just going to watch the video and see what we see.
Phase Two: Replay the video, unmute the sound, but do not watch the video. Minimize your browser window if you need, just make sure that you do not watch the video. Listen to the video only.
Phase Three: Replay the video, listen to it, and watch it.
^The Knife – We Share Our Mothers Health^
On #HauntedHour last night, the topic/poll was what kind of paranormal experience one would like to have:
D: NOPE! Fuck this shit, I’m out!
I um…I…ay yi yi…
how do I say this without being dishonest?
Um…I do not consider myself a paranormal experiencer. Yes, I can safely say that I’ve experienced a lot of weird shit in my life, but as to whether any of it is supernatural or not? No idea. That said, those experiences involving sound tend to be the most reliable as to being accurately indicative that something is amiss. Not only can you hear sound, many times, you can feel it. Sound is also going to carry much more data as to location, distance, intensity, and you can quickly and accurately form a picture in your mind as to your own position in space proximate to the goings on. If the sound repeats, you can zero on it quickly and accurately. I would think that one of the important things, as an investigator, would be to rely on your own internal sample library as to individual sounds, what they are, what they could be, and why these sounds would exist irrespective of whether a location is “haunted” or not.
^The Tucker Zone (A 3D Sound Experience) (Wear Earphones)^
The physical stuff isn’t likely to change just because a location is haunted. There’s likely to be walls, ceilings, floors, paint, pipes, sink or bathtub/shower fixtures, maybe electrical wiring, electrical outlets, carpet, doors, door hinges, door knobs, windows, glass, stone, wood, metal(s)…
you prolly get the point.
Identify the stuff in your environment, and know the noises they can make. Maybe when first arriving at a new location, wander around banging on shit for a while just so you know how certain things may sound. You are likely in a new environment afterall, and considering the nature of construction and construction materials and how these things can vary, banging on a hotel wall may sound completely different than what it sounds like banging on one of your own walls at home. Same with the springs in a bed, or maybe the water spigot in the bathroom, or that squeaky third drawer in the nightstand.
Now that you’ve acquainted yourself a bit with your new environment, you can better know what certain things may sound like, and you’ll also know whether or not you or someone else with you here in the physical realm is the trigger for a certain sound happening. If the top door hinge on the bathroom door squeaks, its prolly better to know that in advance. Know your environment in order to better interact with it, and to better zero in on and identify stuff that is…out of place.
Phase Four: listen to the below, watch the below, and see if you notice anything different in the video. It’s the same song as above, same band.
^The Knife – We Share Our Mother’s Health (Shaken-Up Version) Live At Terminal 5^
Certain frequencies can cause nausea.
I’ve read stuff about people having disorientation or maybe becoming nauseated when having paranormal types of experiences, and I’m wondering if maybe it could be related to sound(s) being present. These sounds are inaudible, but you sure as shit can feel them/your body detects them. Another thing to consider is that maybe the presence of a visual spectre, with a lack of secondary indications such as sound or touch. This, too, may cause nausea. I know that one of the problems that “virtual reality” has is that the eyes are basically seeing things, but the inner-ear revolts because there’s nothing to substantiate what the eyes are seeing. Just thinking that maybe a visual sighting of a ghost or whatever that has no accompanying secondaries, that maybe any resulting nausea is the secondary indicator/ is indicative that a very real something has indeed been seen.
All kinds of weird shit going on all the time, but we appear to have some filters in place that more or less blind us to some of the intricacies of the Universe. Having the blinders removed is…
^Klaxons – Gravity’s Rainbow^
A final thought would be that, I assume anyway, that paranormal type stuff is gonna be busting some veils. Or at least maybe making them wobble a bit. And what happens when you wobble a piece of film or a membrane or a diaphragm or whatever?
Sometimes, horns and trumpets happen. Perhaps not always Armageddon, but certainly something noisy.
Moving air...vibrating membranes.
^Klaxons; What makes them sound like that?^
I'd never heard that sound until a coupla years ago.
You know how I know if I’m depressed? If all I want to do is sleep, I’m depressed. I fucking hate sleep. Way too full of piss and vinegar to waste time on sleeping. I wanna be on the go, moving, doing something. Past coupla months tho? Sleep.
Sleep sleep sleep.
It’s all I wanna do. No idea why I’m depressed, but I am.
Catching up on some sleep tho.
^Soulwax – Gravity’s Rainbow^
Air is gonna be a buffer between life and earth.
Water is gonna be more of a negotiator between life and earth.
Fire too will be a negotiator of sorts, but between life and air.
Buffer. Repel. Repel and/or attract.
You’ll need to contextualize with an anecdotal something in order to relate.
A bath. A swim. A flood.
A fire. A fireplace. On fire.
A breath. A breeze. A gale.
A flower. A potato. Quicksand.
^Love and Rockets – Ball Of Confusion^
I’m guessing that the polyethelene glycol is added to allow the vaccine to be frozen while still preventing it from freezing. Maybe, as an added bonus, it’ll give you a case of the shits, post-vaccination.
I’ve already got enough autoimmune issues and allergies, and my DNA is almost assuredly a trainwreck. Do I really need to be even more fucked up than I already am?
Q: Can someone who is really messed up and requires all kinds of special considerations just to survive, really be considered “alive”?
Some conspiratorial fodder for you dystopian types to chew on.
Because I cannot participate in a majority of the activities available to humans on this planet, I am…dead. Maybe not dead, but certainly not alive.
Incapable of participating in and contributing to the whole in such a way as to justify my continued existence. A burden. A drain. A waste of space that could be better occupied by a productive someone who isn’t me. Seeing as how I’m not alive, it’s kinda open season on me and my ilk, and there are no consequences. Can’t kill/murder something that isn’t alive.
Hrm…now why does this type of thinking ring a bell?
^Devo | Beautiful World | Official Video^
^Vance Joy – Riptide @Live Lollapalooza Brasil 2017^
*/squints… Clausewitz trumps clause?*
*I know ‘vaccine’ comes from ‘cow’, Clicky… /yawns… I fink I’ll go have a snooze..*