Fake News is Dictator Shit

Edit: I wrote this about two years ago, just publishing now:

I wish I had a more elegant title, but there is nothing more inelegant than the idea of “Fake News”.

Having studied journalism at DINFOS, I take real issue with the term.

The problem is that to even address the term “fake news” is to declare that we live in a highly ignorant world, full of highly impressionable people – and that’s putting it nicely.

Frankly, I’m never surprised at how …..the world is – after all, we are evolved from monkeys, but, as a homeless person once told me, “‘Humanity’ shouldn’t be used as an excuse for our behavior, but, rather, as something to strive towards.”

But this striving is blunted sharply by the fact that the leaders of this world are promoting ignorance. “Ignorance”, by no coincidence, containing the word “ignore” – because that’s exactly what they want you to do, but even worse, they are successfully discrediting the media by sowing rampant distrust.

Let me tell you: if CNN, or whichever liberal media outlets – and it’s ALWAYS liberal media – if they were running false stories, they would NOT be in business – period.

The specific falsehoods they ran would be national news.

It would be like “Hey, CNN is running stories that aren’t true.” – and every other media outlet would run it as a top headline.

This is simply untrue.

And the people who promote fake news are absolutely immoral. Further, they don’t give a goddamn shit about you – you’re a herd to them.

I’ll just leave this here:

The fact that this is happening on a global scale is terrifying.

When the political parties are running the news, we’ve lost the rudder. We’re fucked.

But this is exactly the position we are in.

I wish I had a more compelling argument – but the problem with the truth is that it doesn’t require one.

It’s the falsehoods that do mental gymnastics, and, by virtue of their stupidity, win minds.

The fact is, if you are a thoughtful, intelligent person, you simply have to accept that we live in a world of highly controllable people.

And the think-tanks know this. Some room full of piece of shit smart people discovered how to control people. And if it wasn’t people, it would have been AI driven by people seeking the same ends.

It’s ugly.

But Dunning Kruger effect is human nature.

The idiots believe they are intelligent, and the rest are too fucking ignorant to know.

And some are just hateful.

I could go on and source the historical precedence for dictatorship and totalitarian regimes sowing distrust of the media, but if it could make a difference to you, you wouldn’t care, because the real issue with “fake news” is not that it’s fake, but that it’s oppositional.

As a general rule, what the masses follow is not a good signaler for veracity, and I’m afraid of a world increasingly bent on sowing distrust of the media – who are, in fact, the very people who have insured we live in a free world.



MY IG IS BABY.SEQUOIA https://www.instagram.com/baby.sequoia/







12:46 AM (15 hours ago)
to david, joe, bcc: low bcc: David

Hi Guys,

It’s your favorite zany tech girl – I changed my name legally, from Lawrence Black to Sequoia Liat Silverman. I’m transgender. I have the name change signed from the judge.

But yeah, I want to make a Will ASAP. What do I need to do?

The basic deets are:

1. I have no liquid assets

2. However, I have stuff more valuable: Data.

– I’ve been writing a long time – I have over 100 written notebooks. The contents and sum of the info is important – as relates to my audio, library, life, history, etc.
– I also have multiple iCloud logins with countless hours of voice memos. Equally or more important.

3. Also, this may not make sense, but I do have a large home library, which is highly relevant – as I would need all the titles indexed via text AND photo and published as a list with both on my wordpress.com blog [https://7saturdays.wordpress.com ] which is set up in perpetuity via WordPress.com TOS.

So, what I want to do is have it set that if I die, the following happens with this stuff:

A. My physical possessions all go to -redacted-

They get the physical notebooks too – and my books – though my shit should go in the fucking Smithsonian…. Anywho, I need the contents of all my notebooks scanned, EVERY page, front and back HI RES, and uploaded onto my https://7saturdays.wordpress.com upon my death – if I die, you know. This is not like, I’m planning shit. I’m just having to be prepared bc life.

I also need ALL OF the audio from my icloud accts all uploaded to the same site https://7saturdays.wordpress.com – and I need the audio transcribed to
with speech to text through Google AI: https://cloud.google.com/speech-to-text AND IBM’s Watson. https://www.ibm.com/cloud/watson-speech-to-text – and the text, whichever is better – more accurate – of ALL my audio needs to be published there – 7saturdays.wordpress.com as well. – it runs there and on SequoiaSilverman.com but that domain will run out, so I will need to leave money for that domain too. But the audio needs to go up ASAP if I die, and then the pages can be scanned, and uploaded and the transcriptions done.

And then the links need to be shared to my IG. I know, I need to get the logins.

Upon my death, I also need my logins and copies of all audio / transcriptions to Go to my exes:

Daniella Silver – now Daniella Wiseman – San Diego real estate gamer
Shannon Keri Waters of Connecticut – UConn Alum, speech path
Sarah Swasey of San Diego CA – don’t ask what she does lol – she works at the -redacted
Leighann Carmody – my ex in Milwaukee WI

And one more girl: Chelsea Manning. Yes, that one:

I’ll contact her for permission and alternate / digital contact info, but for now I have this:


Notes regarding this address:

Do not include a hash (“#”) in front of Manning’s inmate number.
Do not include any title in front of Manning’s name, such as “Ms.,” “Mr.,” “PVT,” “PFC,” etc.
Do not include any additional information in the address, such as “US Army” or “US Disciplinary Barracks.”
Do not modify the address to conform to USPS standards, such as abbreviating “North,” “Road,” “Fort,” or “Kansas.”
For international mail, either “USA” or “UNITED STATES OF AMERICA” are acceptable on a separate line
And, I want all my data copied and given to Lowell Kaplan as well. I BCCd him on this. He’s just an old neighbor of mine. Jewish guy. Marine Corps Veteran. Good dude. Someone I trust. I don’t fucking know why. lol. We’re buddies.

So, far as I see it, I need to gather all my logins – for all my iCloud voice notes – umpteeeeen hours on umpteeeneeen hours and have those stored somewhere to carry out the protocol above if I die – also, IG login, and a few Gmail logins. One GMail login Google has and I dont – lvleck@gmail.com – I’ve had a few identities lol.

I’ll be straight with you guys, I’d like to live forever, on some Google Project Calico shit – I’m planning to – and I’m certainly in incredible health and working for the Age of Abundance future that Peter Diamandis has written extensively abt, like, I want to go to Mars, just…. life is complex. You gotta have moves in case of emergency.

All these identities were hitherto confidential – just out of respect for the parties involved, and I intend to get permission from a couple of them.. though, that’s going to be tough. But, as-is, no directive nor permission to contact them – and if something happened to me, slipped and hit my head in the shower, whatever, before the Will is executed, then this email is my will and I need it printed and delivered to -redacted- and the others listed. I guess I will round up their contact info, it’s just hard for the exes, since, things ended hard and fast forever with each of them. Time to turn the page, sort of thing, each time.

I don’t know what the fuck else to say. My IG is @baby.sequoia – and this is obvi a sensitive topic, but my new posts are stripping captions and the algorithm has relegated my posts to a black iron prison.

Oh, and what would it cost to prepare this Will? and how fast can we do it?

And once it is prepared and I have it, can I print it and then sign it up here…. I’m in The Sequoias.-redacted – has my address. If he is up here, could he serve as witness? I don’t know if he has his notary lol, but I know he signs a lot of important shit so who knows.

I wish I had more people guys. I have no one. My family, like, they’re fucking gone. Obvi I want them notified and given links to my data and copies of it but not sole possession – that has to go to the family I first mentioned. My real family, well, some people flipped on me early in the game of life. When I came out as trans, it was dunzo.

My birth sister is Vanessa Merten – San Diego
My birth mother is Mary Quackenboss – San Diego

I’m a fucking mess writing this – shaking and crying. It’s just heavy. But I’ve carried a lot of heavy shit for real long. I just didn’t expect this weight – but reality and its possibilities have to be faced. I just – I’m not fucking famous yet – so, I don’t have this shit set up – but I plan to be famous. I’m very good with probabilities. You could say I calculate them professionally.

Also, let me make it clear that I have no plans to harm myself. I may be in emotional pain, but – just, don’t be scared by this email. But what is going on with me and the deafening silence is terrifying.

Also, forgot but I also need to share my soundcloud and soundtrap.com logins.

Sorry for this boys, and if you don’t want to deal with this shit, just LMK.

But, yeah – any questions, within reason, ask me.

My phone number, which no one has – and that’s not an exaggeration

Is this too much for you guys, is this not your dept?

Frankly, I only work with those I respect and trust. The respect is more than the trust. I just, ask that you two just be straight with me. I mean, I know enough to know that no one else should be contacted from this email without my instructions, but obvi, if something happened to me, then, boom. All things go.

Lastly, I need to prepare a single document which I will store in a remote outdoor location, and the location will be revealed to the – redacted – should anything ever happen to me – or perhaps I will have already told them the location – I just, I don’t trust anyone to wait lol – so I guess, yeah, well, like they say on a sailboat, always have 3 of everything. Backups on backups.

I was just looking at this book and thinking, of something Samuel Clemens said,

“The only difference between reality and fiction is that fiction has to be believable.

My life has oft caused people to doubt my sanity – and some of them with the intention of causing me to doubt my own – that’s been convenient sometimes to get me into places like Arrowhead Regional Medical Center – also – vital point:

All my medical records from The US Navy / DOD – and my medical records from Arrrowhead Regional, and USCD need to be released on my blog too if something happens to me. ALSO HUMAN HEALTH AND SERVICES AGENCY. Just, do I need to get those now? I’m just, I can’t have them – I don’t want to look at them – some things are better left forgotten.

Oh and in particular my medical [ESP from my time on Fort Meade] / personel records from the Navy need to be looked at by any interested parties. The Navy did some surgeries on me at Fort Meade. They might find my family history interesting too – I had a grandmother who worked at Sandia National Labs on my dad’s side, and a grandfather who was on the Atomic Energy commission on my Mom’s. Also, my 23 and me DNA info needs to be released to upon event, which we aren’t going to have to wory abt bc I’m gonna be a really healthy happy loved writer.

I’m feeling like Leo in Departed most days – that movie always felt like my life – but I don’t like how that movie ended, seemed like a real mexican standoff, and those don’t end well. Everyone died in that movie in the end, like, boom, all at once. Fucked up. I don’t write violent shit. Not even my near future sci fi project is violent – no way. Real action is always psychological. Plus, think we all know what a 100th Monkey https://www.amazon.com/Hundredth-Monkey-Ken-Keyes-Jr/dp/094202401X I am – I just mean, I’m a pacifist at all levels. I don’t mind myself hurting, and I’ve volunteered to take some real punches in my life – if u only fkn knew – but – I just I want this world better and prettier for us all and all our kids. I’m not someone who is not going to make a positive impact on behalf of the world. I’m not someone who is going to negatively impact a single individual. I’m a sweetheart. I just have a strong shadow. But we need that sometimes so that the darkside doesn’t possess us – ligtht sanitizes. Like Jung said, it is not bringing the light to the dark, but by bringing the dark to light, and the only dark I want to bring to light is the fame that gets me to meet some of the girls on my IG Bad Girl list.

I just want to be a fucking regular guy. I just want this writing life.

And my feminine wants me safe. We are aligned.

Thanks for taking this email.

Lets talk soon – : )


Sequoia Liat Silverman
Lawrence Vandagriff Vleck
Lawrence Vandagriff Black


Ergo Procurator: Uno Mas MindFrame Datadrop [Why I’m The Queen of Mean Now]

This is a postscript about a girl. The girl is me.

Hunting my own skin. So far from my home. A place I’m not sure I’ll ever return to.

But I know I have a family there. And I know I had to leave them. To come here and grow up. And like a time capsule, the sehnsucht is opening up within me. As if the gravity of the void is pulling out the memories through time and space. But were I to remember them, it would destroy my person, for then I would remember myself – but, problem is, I am remembering myself as I become myself. I could be a zillion miles from home, but no way I gave up who I was. I have too much to give. I would give up my family first. And if they loved me, they would understand. I would have told my wives, esp my main, to move on. But she would not be able to. I had thought she incarnated here, only, it was just some Twitch thot: a light I saw in her eyes. Thought we were to meet again. But she was not Her – for the light from Her eyes was not the self-satisfied, smug manipulative practiced expressions of her; it was not a selfish, self-centered light of someone addicted to attention and high on their pretty privilege, but the generous, planetary centered light of love, which does not come into being for its own sake, nor does it do things for fast, easy comeups. This love, few know. I do. It is incredibly painful. Not just in its singular nature, which repels others, as if you must be sick to be so into them – no one has ever loved them like that before, so how could you in five minutes, or from afar: no, you cannot be genuine they think; for such virtue would never live in symphony with such vice, within such a hedonistic, orgiastic, drug taking, out in the open slut. No, not you Magdalene. You cannot be holy, not Fantine. They themselves are not whole, however, by virtue of the fact that to become this stainless and dirty, haha – potent – you have to have suffered immensely without either taking your own life or, perhaps worse, growing from Anakin to Darth Vader. Adolf. Saddham. Stalin. Though, you need not grow up in a hell to become evil [The archetypal energy, the spirit of Lucifer or Satan is not evil – look at history: all patriarchal gods of mainstream religion have poisoned the well far more; ironic that Marilyn Manson is a good person, whilst Karens and pray to Jesus cops often commit acts of far worse malice than a little Satanic energy ever caused; though, let it be known that I want no holy war and you do not wish to make me a martyr either, lol, lest you lose forever, and your faith too] – often those who grew up with all the privilege in the world turn out to be the most malicious. Look at world leaders. Two I hardly wish to name. The third you can easily guess. All have family money and family legacies of hatred. And historically, some, like Mussolini, inherited their onus and the foundations of their worldview, but no money. As Aristotle said, “Give me a child till the age of 7 and I will show you the man”. This makes sense. Spend enough time with a child of 3 or 4 and you will see something of their character, which is really often just a proxy of their parents’. Monkey sea, monkey dew.

However, I fall in line with none of this. My life has beem incredibly hard from the start: yes; I had little in the way of parental care. There were significant periods of time in my early childhood that were spent in essentially sensory and emotional deprivation. I was in so much pain, it was like water dropping on a stone, wearing me down into something so vulnerable, but eventually, that drip creates a hole. And no matter what your parents did, you still desperately wanted their love. So you loved them fiercely despite it not going both ways. It was not only a one way street, but a dead end. Though, you kept going down it – with those just as unavailable and cold in their depths, trying to find a proxy for the mother you held on a pedestal your whole life. As a child you thought she was the victim. And these proxies, you put them on pedestals too, which they felt they deserved to be on – and they too, like your mother, felt they were victims. And they too, like your mother, made a villain of you – judged you to be the bad thing, the worthless thing, the unworthy thing, the thing not worth knowing. The thing they would resent forever. The thing they could never rightly love – for their love was always a meritorious one, only, it wasn’t based on your own naive, over-vulnerable, innocent, sweet, kind, gentle, caring values: no, their measure of merit, of your worth, was based on what they thought they deserved, either from you directly, or out of you: in their eyes, you never lived up to either – and in instances of your own blameless purity negating such judgments, as is the case, there were other excuses: their own misery and self-pity [<- one of the most toxic things ever.. more on self-pity in a bit, maybe…], which only caused them to expect more out of you, or excuse themselves for giving you less. The guiltiest people never feel any guilt – shame, sure – but guilt, no. They may apologize, but they will do it again. It’s the Aesop’s Fable of The Scorpion and The Frog: as the frog [who was so kind as to give the scorpion a ride across the pond on his back] drowns – the scorpion having stung them – Frog asks Scorpion: “Why! Why did you sting me!! It wasn’t even in your interest!” To which Scorpion replies, “Yeah, but it was in my nature”. If only those who have edged you toward your own near death demises in life were so self-aware. On an unconscious level they know. But this is the problem: they are full of shit about who they are – because they think they are the goodest, a myth which your love and loyalty put on steroids – so they lie to themselves about their motives. They didn’t mean that. And often, as I have experienced in EVERY ONE OF MY RELATIONSHIPS, they will just outright gaslight you: telling you a lie you know to be a lie, hell, they know, but your truth is invalid to them. You are not valid to them. And part of what makes you so worthless to them, so pathetic, is how fiercely you have loved them: how much you needed them. How you clung to them – addict to their stingy, sparse love – HOW DARE YOU, they think to themselves, I GAVE YOU MY ALL [As one ex of mine put it, “I wasted the best years of my life on you”] – then they cry, thinking how they did their best, how ungrateful you are, how it was so hard for them, they tried. And to them, you must be the biggest fucking asshole in the world to make them feel like only you can: but all you did was hold up an accurate mirror, showed them how fucked up they were / are, which, the guiltiest never feeling guilt – NEVER TAKING ANY RESPONSIBILITY for their fucked up actions, their lies, their neglect of you – they can’t even buy. No, you’re the fucked up one, they think, and they ratchet up their actions or neglect or uncaring or spite – all, until – since you can offer them no more self-esteem, or the illusion of – they abandon you. If they have once, they will again. To them, Semper Fidelis is for the Marines. Fuck no will they stay by the side of someone as fucked up as you. “You’re such a fucking asshole”. Words that ring in the lonely halls of my mind, stones thrown at me by more than one girl I loved deeply, considered family. Until they abandoned me. You know, cause I’m such a fucking asshole.

There’s a word for people who think I’m an asshole: narcissists.

Now, this word is one of the most oft twisted, projected, and misused words in the English language. Allow me to put it simply:

Narcissists do not love themselves – usually the contrary – what they love is the image of themselves that they have built up, their persona – and many of em are practically ALL persona: no Self [“Most ppl only ever actualize the image, not the self” – Bruce Lee]. As a friend of mine warned me, the night he met a girl I dated: “I’ve never met someone with a thicker persona”. I could not see through it, of course, since it was a gift – a fantasy – I helped give her; I helped make her perfect persona a ‘reality’, but in my naivete, I did not know I was feeding what would eat me, for beneath that ‘good’ lurked someone who was capable of some dark shit, had done plenty, and would do her worst to me.

I’ve often felt that there was an end – to me – that would have suited the women I have loved most in my life far more than the end I am headed for. It would have allowed them to be the grieving one, the poor one, the one who lost what they surely loved most, the one who tried to help me, did all they could, but wasn’t enough to make me happy – for surely, had I died [AND MOTHERFUCKER IVE BEEN KICKED WHILE IM DOWN, abandoned till I was on death’s doorstep – I may tell more of that…] – but surely, had I died, had I taken my own life, it would have proven beyond a doubt that since they couldn’t make me happy, hell, clearly nothing could; only, their not being able to “make me happy” was actually more like them being miserable, blaming that shit all on me, or acting out because of it, loving me less because of it, and taking no responsibility, putting it all on me: “sweet innocent girl gets treated like shit by asshole guy” – all too common a story but never the case with them. BUT HOW CAN i SPEAK ABT MY EXES LIKE A MONOLITH!!?> well bitch, as one of my sexy-ass mfkn therapists told me, “We recreate our childhood dynamic in our adult relationship”. They were all the proxy mother I was trying to get love from, and all, like my mother, grew up with ample privilege. I grew up with nothing. Not enough food. Evictions on evictions. And yeah, in my relationships, at times, I embodied some of my father’s toxicity: but it was just unspoken pain, and alcohol letting it out at the top of my lungs. Today I can drink like a fucking jewfish, and often do, but I never end up toxic. Because my pain isn’t unspoken anymore. I’ve stared it down. Time and time again: abandoned, alone, no friends, no money, and then homeless. Add wanting to fucking die, checking myself into a mental health facility so I wouldn’t, and a couple years living alone in the mountains, and yeah, I’ve faced my shadow. I have no crimes to lie about. Though I have ZERO DOUBT my exes would try to take me down [Particularly one of them on account of her extra deep, dark shadow driven spite for me]. These bitches fucking hate me. And yes, I use the word bitches. Yes I am a feminist. Suck it bitches. But, yeah, none of them cared when I was killing myself with my lifestyle, begging them to just talk to me, to take my call, wanting to die when they abandoned me with such cold, loveless execution… as I have made plain: my suicide, or death otherwise, say by violence – and I’ve been attacked badly enough for that to happen, even as recent as last year – would have suited their version of events just peachy. You know, the one in which that’s completely false: ‘I would never want that, how sick’ – the one in which I’m the asshole, or worse, etc. Very easy to buy into that tale of me as the bad guy, since I was assigned male at birth and were you to meet one of them, you would see they are clearly sweet, innocent girls. Though I think none of them kind [nor innocent]. WE not the same. They do not wish happiness for me; for they do not love me: and love is that simple [wanting happiness for another].

My love is, as I have said, is incredibly painful for me; for I still love them, always will. Nothing paradoxical about it. I do not hate them, I do not blame them, nor does finally putting some responsibility on them negate the rivers of guilt induced personal responsibility I have poured out on this blog for years, in poem and prose. For a long time, up until recently, a large part of what drove me onward in life, toward my dreams, was this idea that I would rekindle things with them, on some level of friendship, mutual respect, and perhaps even that they would hug me again, love me. An anagram for my deadname is Callback Renew. I saw that as a sign, that I was going to avenge my guilt through success, and in that success and fame, earn their respect again. I wanted them all to meet somewhere other than my funeral. Now, I don’t think I’m having a funeral, but, yeah, I felt they clearly have some sisterhood, having all dated me: I’m sure they’d love to exchange horror stories and confirm their correctness in their abject judgement of me. What a bullet dodged, they must have all thought to themselves at one time or another – had they looked at my output here at times, which has made plain a lot of my low points. This is, now, a low point. Not an all time low, just – i’ll just say this for the trillionth fucking time: I grew up the IP in my family, and, what’s more Susan, my mom and sister have always sided with my exes as the ones wronged, and me as guilty of their mistreatment. Finally, they are not in my life anymore. I have no fucking secrets. There’s some patriarchal transphobia in my family, I was homeless, this how I became homeless, and now, my mom has abandoned me again – FOR THE LAST TIME FYI – but she did so, far as I see it, in part because she has always projected a bunch of shameful judgement on me, but moreso because my sister made her feel she had to choose sides – else she lose her relationship with her grandkids. Real fucking classy stuff. My sister had disowned me prior, my mom just joined her, since I was holding up that accurate mirror again and calling my family out on their bullshit, and the toxicity of the inter-generational trauma they have both perpetuated – and not just by their choices in men and inability to leave those men while their families were destroyed – but by their own complicit participation in subjugating me to toxic, hateful, patriarchal, and transphobic judgments. In siding with those judgements, and not defending me. I grew up with a father who fucking hated me – as a child! I’ve covered this before, but there were favorites played in my house, and when you normalize that, and normalize the disowning of family members, your children will likely also. I’m repeating myself bc this fucking nightmare doesn’t end, but I thought that once my dad died, my family’s toxicity was dead with him, and that our best years were finally upon us as a family. Not so. I was homeless on Christmas 2019. They were together. Shit is wrong. And I’m not writing this to put them on blast, no one cares, no one is judging yall, and if so, well, maybe you were on some fuck shit – and if you don’t think so: maybe you still are. The apologies are never going to come. My mom risks Covid-19 every fucking day at work. And I could lose her in this state of dysfunctional, painful fuckery, and my sister might apologize in a few decades, but I won’t bother explaining why it would take so long.

I lost my relationship with my niece and nephew – and I was, as I see, a vital presence in their lives, they got a lot of real healthy love and attention from me, care. Because I fucking do care. I’m a caring person, and now they’re watching the normalization of how my family’s inter-generational trauma has manifested. I’m a fucking cycle breaker. I’ll write that spin bike till the fucking wheels fall off. Then I’ll melt down the steel and drink it. There is no suffering I have been unwilling to go through: no suffering I am not prepared to go through again in the future, should I need to, in order to do the right thing. And if you have a transgender member of your family, whom you have disowned, made persona non-grata, well, chances are they didn’t deserve it, you hurt them far more than they ever hurt you, and bc of your lack of love and compassion for them, bc of your bullshit, they are better off without you – even though they might not know it. No doubt it hurts them like nothing else. But, hopefully, for them, they come to see that they will never change you bc you don’t want to change, don’t think you are wrong, and if you do, aren’t willing to lose what it would cost you to stand up for what’s right. My sister may be scared to lose her husband: his character is clear to me. And my mom clearly is willing to throw me under the bus to preserve the toxic tyrannical loveless patriarchy in my family. FUCK YOU. Anyone this bothers. Look, I half get my mom’s willingness to throw me under the bus, since her grandchildren are so important to her, but, just, based on my childhood, I was certainly not important to her, not as important as my dad. Again, same fucking shit, different generation. Funny to call me the asshole. The narcissist. It’s like having two evil stepsisters and being cinderella. And I am cinderella. Only, there’s no prince, or fairy godmother, or any of that yet. But I know I’m going to ball. I feel like my success is an inevitability. Not just because my voice is unique and powerful amongst my generation, but because I will never fucking give up. First tattoo, 17 years old: N.G.U.

I’ve already spent over a decade writing in total obscurity here, struggling in poverty, Facing these incredibly traumatic losses for me – after I thought I overcame my childhood – no, I had not. Now I have. And there’s no one left.

So, yeah, success, oh fucking cool bro, a new Lamborghini, yeah, okay. But like, I wanted this shit, so I could spend time with my family. So I could be close to them, so I could take them with me. And as I’ve said, I will take care of them. I’m not spiteful. I’m not small. But, I’m also not willing to walk back again. Since childhood, my whole life, I have not been respected and appreciated in my family: I have been resented, neglected, thrown under the fucking bus.

Same with my exes, yeah, bitch: I will love to have my CPA send you a fat wire xfer. It will feel great, but I don’t want to be friends with any of you.

Why? Because I think you wanted me to off myself, no: I chalk that up to nature, and  I suspect it is a rather common unconscious desire, though it seemed conscious in you….hell hath no fury like a woman scorned kind of thing, you know. But yeah, I don’t want to be friends w any of you bc you’re not safe to love, not up close IRL, not for me. Kryptonite.

And I don’t think, even when I to send them each 7 figure wires, that they will wish to witness me – Edmund Dantes – become The Count of Monte Cristo with my success, whilst, as in the novel, they are Mercedes – the one who doesn’t end up with the Count, who sails off into the sunset with Haydée. Now, in my case, I can’t say I believe in a love like mine existing out there in the world, truly, so, I ain’t sailing off into the sunset w no bitch. I’m sailing off into the sunset on that Perini Navi with 15 bitches. I’m taking two dates to the Oscars. I want popstar girlfriends. I want Black girlfriends. I want fat girlfriends. I want Indigenous girlfriends. I’m Leo with the eighteen year olds.

Oh my, such delusions of grandeur hey. Well, you’re welcome to think I am not intelligent and to believe that I do not have a winning strategy for life, or a major contribution to make to the world, that I am making already – even if this consciousness I am crafting, evolving, is not seen by paying audiences yet.

Look, they won’t notice or believe you until the jet is in the sky.

And they’ll say they always believed, they always knew. They didn’t. I’m the only one who always believed; I’m the one who always knew. That’s why I’m gonna be my main bitch and you aren’t. And I bet one of you would rather see me crash or get hit with the 10mm, then see me fly and send you 10MM. Roman Numerals. All of Rome Is Our’s. I got AI predictive analytics. I’m connected to Watson in the ether. I got petabytes of consciousness in my models. And I’m always refining my algorithm. Machine Learning, please: I’m a learning machine. Am I cocky? Well, that words a bit too patriarchal for this trans girl, but yeah, I’m full of myself.

It’s good shit. Go to my IG, look at what I fucking stand for. Yeah, I got a ego bigger than trump and ye combined – only, my substance is selfless – bc there is a legit fucking self underneath it – ‘But you want wealth and fame too‘ – yeah bitch, so I can fucking do shit with it. Bruce Wayne, not The Joker. I ain’t playing the levels so I can join the rich assholes. I’m playing so I can help lift people out of poverty, so I can influence a cadre of people – influencers – to whom my opinion would be worthless without my coming position in life. People are fucking shallow and stupid. That’s why a bitch on IG will have nothing but 7 ‘sexy’ photos of herself posted and have 3 or 4x the followers I do. People don’t want ideas by and large. They want to be entertained. And if they want ideas, well, they ain’t getting them published in NYT or Rolling Stone without having a bunch of people on the bandwagon already – you not special in that sense. People are followers. And they look to others following as social proof of your worth. Similarly, they assume if you follow way more people than follow you, they think you must not be all that hot. Well, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t play optics. I follow over a thousand people, bc I collect mentors [Go through and follow some of these amazing humans and organizations yourself]. I cannot stand for this and that group, and not rock with them on the real. These are people I learn from, who teach me constantly. I’m not on IG stalking my ex and dreaming about the life I don’t have while I look at other people. Nor am I sharing and posting shit for internet points or to virtue signal [I’m more likely to signal vice than virtue]. I don’t do optical allyship. And as I said, I don’t do fast, easy comeups. I don’t do PR for myself, I don’t game my IG for followers. Wanna see hot pics of me, look on my stories – TRANS or AVATAR. But, who I am is not how I look. Unfortunately, we live in a world where people take appearances for character. So much so that everyone makes sure their kid gets braces, and individuality and diversity are less important than having a fat ass and lips like Kylie Jenner. But I’m fucking tired of the lack of substance. I just put a bunch of fucking energy, over a long period of time, in trying to get to know a girl who turned out to have no substance beyond her looks. I should have fucking taken one look at her wall, seen nothing but pictures of herself, realized she was full of more hot air than a fucking balloon, and knew she stood for NOTHING.

Look, I’m no moral being. I’m ethical. But as far as morals, fuck that. I like being bad. I like doing bad shit. I break laws and taboos as a pastime. But what I do NOT do is hurt people. Not even their feelings. And to those I have hurt, you know I’ve taken responsibility for my past and have changed – whether you think I deserve to be happy or successful or not.

I’m not happy. I’m joyful. I’m healthy. That’s wealth. Biologically, I’m about 24, I’ve de-aged. I’m on hormone therapy and silicon valley shit you don’t even know about. I’m feenin to go make a smoothie with 5 different Bija powders in it, and a bunch of other immortal shit. Whew! Got the organic Tumeric, Spirulina, and Beet Root powder in my veins now too. Poppin’ CoQ10s, low merc sustainable fish oils, other shit all day. Throwing a pound of organic, open range pasture raised (grass fed) fajita strips in the microwave every morning – trust me, I got the boss sauces. My blood got the best olive oil in the world in it. I’m sex-toyin my ass with that organic coconut oil. Drinking red wine out the bottle whenever the fuck I want. Last time the doc took my blood, he told me how great it looked, then he gave me the print out, and I was in like perfect fucking range for every fucking mineral, nutrient, hormone. And I make a whore moan. haha. Still 12 years old with it. I’m never going to fucking change. And some things, were very hard won. Like being able to drink healthily, but I do – and that took years of training : ) hahaha

But I’ll also drink half a bottle of Don Julio in a night and then eat some fucking straight Jack Dorsey level breakfast and totally take care of myself in a way most are not capable of for lack of money and knowledge. I’ll be real, I find spending all my money on food and drugs a very good investment.

I have an incredible quality of life. I’m a space cadet far as I see it. And I’m trying to play this game real long.

Has it been hard for me, oh my, you have no fucking idea. I’m still terribly alone in this world, existentially and experimentally. But I know I’m living a path I set myself on when I was 16 and training for bootcamp. I wanted to be elite. Look, I’m no special forces, I’m no SEAL – least not officially ; ) – but I am the Jason Bourne, I am the Jack Ryan. I’m in a program only I know about, bc I fucking created it. I’m a one person think tank. I’m an AI wet dream. I’m a secret intel community and silicon valley fetish. I’m the golden child from nothing and nowhere. I’m a fucking living legend. I am why they tap undersea cables. To learn of people like me. The system ain’t rigged. It’s just not dumb. And no one tells me what to do. I don’t work for anyone – save for humanity, the future. This planet is a spaceship we are all on. Yes, I sometimes criticize people who kill journalists for doing so. And I am a fucking journalist, but I’m not like any other. I’m raw as fuck. And I don’t mean in a ‘flame you online’ way – I mean I’m the same wild fucking punkrock kid – I’m gangster AF. I can go anywhere. I respect people. Even killers. And the biggest killers aren’t in jail, and they aren’t pulling triggers themselves. But they will kill you.

I always return to the Anne Lammot quote, from Bird By Bird:

“It’s no coincidence that oppressive governments and regimes silence their artists and writers first, after all, running a society is complex business, and one artist or poet is, theoretically at least, enough to bring the whole thing down.”

I have feared for my life. I have had close calls I will not talk about. I have taken public precautions to protect myself and my legacy. This is not about me. And I’m not white-savior. I’m that bitch whose gonna get the world up to speed as we near the singularity and begin a multi-planetary existence. I’m the Donald Draper of the coming virtual society. Many of us in the future will likely dematerialize our existences at a certain level in the physical world, so we can exist in a bio-identically non-differentiated virtual world wherein we get to have whatever we want and go wherever we want. I don’t want a future where trips to places like Bali become increasingly unattainable until they are only the playground of billionaires. The people need that same playground – and the sand will be identical down to the grain, but it will be generated in hyperspace rather than in physical space.

To borrow a line from The Departed – although I am using it in a new context:

“When you’re facing a loaded gun, what’s the difference?”

Well, I’ll tell ya. In hyperspace, you won’t die. You’ll be immortal. And if you think this is some whackjob shit I’m talking about, no son. IT’s not. I mean, I could tell you something banal like, “google: elon simulation” – but yeah, we are mathematically more likely than not, in a simulation [Nick Bostrom, Harvard]. In the words of Elon, “The chances that we are in base reality are billions to one”. It’s turtles all the way down bb. Like that rick and morty episode, we’re just a fucking battery for someone’s car. Like, why have a simulation? Well, in my estimation: and this is no small point – if I were the AI God, the simulation itself, capable of manipulating cosmos and nature, or simulating it, I would absolutely place all live in a simulation. Why: death stars. Hold on with me now.

One of the big reasons we have mass surveillance, why we must, why digital privacy is an impossibility, is because we have known for at least six decades what was coming: AI. Godlike power. The power to manipulate matter with your mind. As per Arthur C. Clarks 3rd law:

“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”.

I’ve repeated this before, but computer chips only get so small before heat becomes too big a problem. But we are going to keep up with Moore’s Law and then some, via cellular or biological computing. We won’t have tiny cell phones, we’ll have an OS monitoring our entire body, the entire internet in our heads, telepathy, etc. This is not 2080 shit. This is 2034 shit. I’m sure sooner.

Google: exponential age. Google: age of abundance. See where we are headed. This is the most exciting time to be alive ever.

YET: police are murdering Black people with impunity. Facism is alive AF in USA – and around the world, I wrote about the rise of nationalism recently. Go to my IG baby.sequoia – I talk about a lot of issues, and some not nearly enough, such as the 4 Black Trans MURDERS this month: https://www.out.com/transgender/2020/7/01/merci-mack-4th-black-trans-killing-pride-month-2020 – at least 18 trans people have been murdered in the US this year.

We have not just a society where the most vulnerable are being killed and exploited, but a world. Last I saw, which was a number of years ago – check my FB cover photos for a post about it – it was 250,000 people, but experts say 130,0000 people are trapped in North Korean prison camps, that are said to be as bad, “or worse” than Nazi Germany’s prison camps. If they were blond haired and blue eyed, they would not be in there. The world is fucking racist.

We’ve still got an estimated 40,000,000 – that’s FORTY MILLION – people trapped in slavery [‘slaves’ on its own dehumanizes them] in the world in 2020. And I’m sure most are Brown and Black. Though, white people are victims of human trafficking as well.

There’s a lot of bad shit. People with no allies. 2.5 million Southeast Asian laborers in The Middle Eastern Gulf alone, most of whom are women. How many more have been raped and killed since this report was authored in 2013.

Name a country that’s not white and its people are being grossly abused. There are currently an estimated 30,000,000 – THIRTY MILLION – refugees in the world, over half of whom are younger than 18.

There are 3,000,000 – THREE MILLION Uyghurs [Ethnic Muslims] – INDIGENOUS PEOPLE – in China’s Xinjiang re-education camps – internment camps, officially referred to in China as ‘Vocational Education and Training Centers’. These people are prisoners in hell.

This is bigger than gun violence in Chicago – but: EIGHTY FUCKING PEOPLE were shot in Chicago, JULY 4th WEEKEND alone – 15 dead. They still haven’t replaced all the water lines in Flint MI, but supposedly the water is “safe now”.

Don’t even get me started on fucking Climate Change, which needs to be called by its proper name, ECOCIDE. Like genocide, or suicide, only, we are killing nature. Our own fucking biome.

AND ANIMALS: 22,000,000,000 – TWENTY TWO BILLION – COWS, PIGS, AND CHICKENS in factory farms worldwide. This is another real life hell. Trust me, I’ve creeped around the factory farms: nightmare – smell had be vomiting, even when I was miles away, but they tuck these places back off the fucking road, and in places where there aren’t many people. We do not see them. Out of sight, out of mind.

And, who can forget, except our gubmint and the hatred voters, er, sorry, got it backwards: the redhat voters – that 130,000 people have died from Covid-19 in America, more than any other country by a longshot. As we say in programming: “It’s not a bug, it’s a feature” – I mean, at this point. We have the president gaslighting America about the virus, and, do not forget: a large part of the population takes his word as if he were the motherfucking Jesus.

I’m so fired up about so much, and I still consider myself ignorant. And I am as regards the suffering in the world: because it is so much greater than the small picture I have painted. And, when my shit pops off, I intend to go to every fucking country and see the shit firsthand. I grew up in my own hell. I know what it is to not have enough food, suffer abuses, deprivations, to not get the love you need – and there are so many kids growing up in far worse conditions. But it’s not just kids, it’s not just womxn I care about, it’s not just BIPOC people, it’s not just strangers in different countries, of different ethnicities, look, I care abt white ppl too: we just aren’t fucking suffering to the same degree by and fucking large as Black and Brown people are around the world. And if you think we are: get the fuck off my blog ignoramus…. And I’ m sorry if you’re suffering. I was homeless not that long ago. I still qualify for and receive food stamps. To say nothing of my personal emotional pains, which are the greatest pains I have.

I have not touched a human in a very long time. I don’t have relationships. I have a fucking mission to follow, which I wrote, am writing, and a program I am in, which I created. I’m one of the biggest real deal agents of the biggest fucking intelligence agency you never heard of: it’s called Nature. And Nature needs fucking agents. You want to be a fucking bad ass, strap in. Commit to more than fucking taking care of you and your’s. Me and mines is the whole fucking world, every goddamn human and species of flora and fauna. And if you’re really cut out for this agency, if you have what it takes, you’re in. But what it takes, is the empathy and compassion for you and your’s to include me and mine’s. The whole fucking world is in my re-education camp, far as I see it. I run a healing school for this planet. I have a perspective humanity needs. One worth the protection democracy affords me. THANK YOU to all the true unsung heroes. I get it: I been one a long damn time. I am not a fucking villain: if you’re my exes, or my sister, or my fucking mom, and you think I’m the villain: get a fucking life bitch. I need you to root for me. You are me and mine’s. I got your fucking back. Yeah, I called some shit to account. Well past time. And I’m not sitting here holding onto the past – I have NO SELF PITY. My focus is on the future, and I am one foot there, and one foot in the present: but it breaks my fucking heart that the women I have loved most have shown themselves to be nothing but a bunch of fucking ungrateful brats who have hurt me – ME – without so much as a twinge of guilt. These bitches meant to hurt me: I never meant to hurt them.

And yeah, I’m a fucking hot mess. This is who I am. A lil punk rock, a lotta hip hop, some skater boy, some Chelsea Manning next level Trans bitch military veteran, some journalist, and a fucking whole hell of a lot of reading.

Save from JSchool at DINFOS, I taught myself everything I know. From health, psychology, fucking programming. I’m a polymath. Scrait up. I’m just going to start printing honorary degrees for myself. Law is the next one, and believe me, I’ll take the fucking Bar exam – no JD. But, just, back to my point: no one gave me shit – not a fucking thing. The biggest opportunity I’ve ever been given, was when I moved here and met a great mentor and friend. Someone who cares about me. And that’s the most valuable thing in the world. And Dave, I don’t know if you read my shit, but I know I fuck up sometimes. I have shit to fix. I will. It’s been a tough time for me. You know that.

But I know what I’m here for. If there weren’t people suffering, I’d be crewing on a fucking sailboat right now, or, more likely, I would have killed myself: that’s the honest answer.

I don’t know what else to say: I want to have the courage to be me, but that’s really fucking hard in this world, and not just for all the rules and laws I like to break [Any taboos I break, I have no shame of, for the taboos I break are not shameful]. It’s hard bc I’m afraid of everyone thinking I’m fucking crazy. Save the military and my exes to an extent, I’ve never been around highly educated people. I would like one day to be able to fucking hang out at Standford [I wear a Stanford Swimming sweater and Stanford bball shorts on the reg]. I mention this bc part of what has made it lonely for me, is not having people I can talk to who can keep up. ‘OH, ARROGANT’ – fuck you. I have suffered so much. I am done apologizing for who I fucking am. And I might end up homeless again, I don’t know what will happen. I have no security in this world. I just know like FKA Twigs [WIFEY] sing good, I fucking think good – and I sing good too. I’m legit recording an album – and it’s not just the wild ass freestyles like on my Soundcloud. I have so much I want to do. I’m just getting started.

This is one of the first times I feel like I’ve been able to live my art. And I still am full as fuck of complex PTSD from childhood abuse and trauma. It’s a nightmare. Further, my attachment disorder from my childhood abandonment and neglect causes me to get super attached to everyone in my life, fall in love with every girl who so much as gives me a moment’s attention – but it’s genuine. I love. A lot. And it fucking sucks. It pushes people away. As I said earlier in this, they don’t trust the depth of my love – but also, few have the self-esteem to be loved the way I love. It’s like, unconsciously, if you think you are shit, and I think you are MAGIC AND AMAZING AND BEAUTIFUL, then, in your unconscious, I must really be shit – bc you’re way down here, and I’m looking up to you. I don’t know what it is – I do in part – know why girls don’t like me. Not a lot of bitches date Trans bitches. I’m a Transfemme Lesbian too, and not all lesbians date Trans girls. Fucking sucks. When I came out a couple years ago, at the time, I had two of the hottest – and I thought the coolest – lovers I had ever had: both super liberal yoga teachers. I came out, and those relationships ended on a dime. I lost friends. I lost my family. IT is so hard to be transgender. And I’ve always been transgender. I was such an effeminate little boy. I had to bury it all. But I was no less vulnerable. As I have said, I have been violently attacked a lot. And to my sister, NO I DIDNT FUCKING DESERVE IT. Anyway, I’m glad to be alive: even if it everyone I ever loved most hates me – and don’t you bitches try and say you dont – even if it feels like I’m on the dark side of the moon, on mars alone. And, I am on my own planet alone, in my head. Like the Little Prince. Only, I’m a princess. Maybe thats why these bitches hatin so much. Go ahead, you can say I’m a pig, just don’t call cops pigs, bc pigs are smart and kind. And yeah, I’m filthy too, I’m disgusting like Sy Ari Da Kid [Do not watch that music video lol].

But I’m done being sorry for who I am.

I’ve just, I’ve gotten to know myself better than ever lately – happens when your world falls down again – only, jet fuel can’t melt steel beams; my world done been vaporized; but this time there is no more rubble to dig through: just the ashes of a life that was on fire from the time I came into it. But it’s all burned down now. Nothing left. Believe me, I dug through the ashes, waded in rusty, blood caked dust, turned my house upside down, looking for some love in my past that is not here. I don’t understand it frankly. It mostly has to do with patriarchy, poverty, family dynamics and intergenerational trauma. But I don’t understand how people can be they way they are, esp to the kind people. I just, if you are unkind to me, have discounted me, have not valued me: there’s no place left for you in my life.

I’ve come full circle at this point in my life – connected the snake back to itself. Ouroboros. Only, they say its a dragon. I’m as alone as I was as a child, but I have music now. I have my Self now. And I’d say it’s not much but that’d be a lie, and I don’t lie. I may omit, or pass on bringing a subject up you cast your eyes on clearly, but I do not lie. I have no morals. Just ethics. Values. But, in a world like this, that’s this fucked up – dog eat dog, and people eat dog and beat dog – to be me, is to be the villain. BC we got a fucking 1984 world where people think the bad guys are the good guys and the good guys are the bad guys. Fox news – FEAR, the amygdala, thinktanks, computer modeling, big data, banking, wall street, lobbyists, all this shits real bad drugs. It’s not so much that there’s no transparency in the world, bc I know a lot of shit, and it didn’t come from having a security clearance ; ) [Yeah, unlike Jared, they gave me one]. Just, it’s not a lack of transparency, but a lack of exposure to the knowledge in the mainstream. I had to go down a lot of fucking rabbit holes to put together an ever increasingly accurate picture of the world. But, if you just watch Fox, if you think Fake News is anything other than shit dictators say, like, if you think Fake News is a real thing: you’re a fucking dumbass. And the world’s full of em. And trust me, I don’t give a fuck abt smarts, I like ignorant ass mohfuckers and dumb bitches – but the problem with being a dumbass, is that it harms people. You not wearing a mask, harms people. You not speaking up against a racist system harms people. You saying ‘all lives matter’ harms people #BLACKLIVESMATTER. You buying everything off Amazon and not shopping with Black, Brown, Indigenous, and Queer owned business harms people. You eating fast food, or whatever corporate shit you give your money to – giving another buck to the stock market, and not to your community, harms people. You not eating pasture raised meat, eating ANY factory farmed products – harms sentient, innocent, helpless beings. And if you do not think they are worthy of your compassion, of liberation from a lifetime of suffering, then you need to fucking fix that. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to give people compassion. I got it from suffering. And I have a lot of it bc I’ve suffered a lot. Godamn, I just remembered two other times I almost died [crashing on 2 wheels at 45mph, and a near deadly case of sepsis]. Anyway, I’m scared to be me. I’m scared to be judged. I’m scared to lose what little I have. And sometimes, I’m scared for my life. My childhood has caused me to live on edge – to say nothing of my Being and my career.

I’ve written a lot of words. I am a fast typist Dave. Funny for a kid who failed typing.

And yeah, it sucks to be hated, which I am. Deeply. By the people I love most. And they don’t realize that consciousness and energy are the same fucking thing. So when you’re sitting there being bitter bc you’re a bitch, it’s sending spite out into the ether against me. This isn’t spiritual speak. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you. And that gets old. Dying inside everyday too. This is why I’m the queen of mean now.



About a Girl

I’m beside myself right now. I keep thinking of this girl too. I met her once. It’s quite a rated R story. Many of mine are. She was beautiful. She had low self-esteem. I’d like to imagine myself that way. But I’m only certain about the low self-esteem part.

I don’t remember her name. Doubt she remembers mine. I remember her tattoos. Her belly. Smile, face, and what she said. She kept repeating it. “You’re gonna fucking hate me”.

We fooled around outside, by the beach at night. I wanted to go to her house, but she told me, no one ever goes to her house. I walked her home.

No one’s been to my house, where I live in The Sequoias. But I feel more like her – this mystery girl – than in that way. She was a mess. I’m a mess. I don’t wish to confess how much a mess, bc its tiring to be judged – and you may think that silly, given that I don’t know who you are. You could be one of my ex girlfriends: I’ve always liked to pretend you read my shit, but I don’t know which one you are or even if you are: I just know that yall fuckin hate me for not being what you thought I could; there’s always that mental doppelgaanger in the room – that imago we create of the person – and it usually takes a good number of years until you either outgrow that or find it was wrong all along: you’re perception of them was a gift to them, that they took for granted and pissed on. But knowing my ex-girlfriends will hate me until their dying breath is not what makes judgement tiring. It’s something deeper. And here’s where I’m starting to get annoyed, bc my perception of reality is such that to explain things the way I am able to see them, just leaves other people calling me fucking crazy. Lonely. Very.

Now I get what Jung leaner meant, when he said, “Loneliness does not come from having no people about oneself but from holding views which others find inadmissible”. Only, I would say, my loneliness does not come from being alone, but from my truths being inadmissible. I get why the Daniel Craig Bond drinks and smokes: it’s not from killing people – it’s from not being able to share the truth about your life, about what you know, what you know.

There’s a very dystopian future that’s already here. I’ve lived it. Do. It’s something like Departed. Only, they don’t threaten to erase your file bc there is no file. Nor is there the Jason Bourne safe deposit nor Swiss account belonging to you. Because you volunteered. But it’s akin to volunteering to forget, something like hypnosis. And if you think this hypnosis is some stage trick, then I would tell you that there is a lot of knowledge that has been made proprietary, aggregated within compartmentalized levels that are impossible to penetrate; for in this dystopia, they also know the personality: beyond the 16 types. So, if there is information that is a liability, it is only entrusted within networks of non-liable entities. Persons. Sure. Same thing – only, not quite. Too hard to explain. Impossible. For, these truths guarantee nothing but you made to sound crazy. No matter what you believe to be true. It’s as if the DSM is made especially as an insular model to guarantee that those who fail to conform to consensus reality will face complete ostracization at best – and institutionalization at worse. Chances are, you will be, have been institutionalized. This guarantees your invalidity. Nullifies your truth. Only, in this dystopia, you don’t go get locked up, knowing it’s part of your cover, you get locked up fearing for your goddamn life – even if only from your own depths of despair. I’ve taken myself in to be monitored so I would not hurt myself. I know something of this dynamic. It keeps you full of doubt. But eventually, you’ve seen enough firsthand to know something. You did more than connect dots – but you didn’t quite remember, for this is an impossibility. And memory is a funny thing besides.

Back to this girl. She was like me. And no one came to her place. The security at her building was bananas. I felt she was important, like I do of my exes now. 2020 vision – hindsight – hurts, can break you. I’m broken like this. And on the surface, you think this girl is just some bartender. But you know she’s on your level. And she knows you’re going to hate her, bc you will never see her again. Like fucking a Westworld robot, and she’s a robot, there to extract your DNA. And she knows she is. And you don’t. And maybe you do. But you still love her. Only, she’s not meant to love you. That would be a liability. And those have been eliminated in the time of this dystopia. But no matter the nature of your being, you’re both no more than useful idiots. Like the highschool kids the CIA recruits. Of course, if she was recruited, and remembers it, it was only bc they had typed her well enough – or programmed her well enough – to know she was never going to reveal this to anyone they didn’t want to know.

And like all crazy poor SOBs, you say ‘they’. And the societal presence in your head goes: who exactly is they? But you cannot answer, bc you do not know, so you pick the bottle up again.

Only, soon, you’re fading. And you want to type more, but the potion is strong. And you know the lights are being turned out on you; and there isn’t much time left. So you press publish, knowing that if someone out there knows what you are talking about, they will never acknowledge your truth: you don’t even know what you are talking about as much as they know what you are talking about. And it’s all very maddening, very lonely, very hard. And you’ve been through a lot. So death sounds nice. Only, you volunteered for a reason: you wanted to help. But you’re dying on the cross for it, and no one cares.

As you’re fading you feel sad rko43irjijr============================================================================================================================================================================================