just thinking aloud

Recorded a hundred freestyles this week [soundtrap.com/babysequoia22],
Most about dying or killing:
Cathartic –
But to return to a simple poem, more powerful than all those;
For i am here to write hard and deep about my pain;
While the music i made got me through the ‘wanting to kill myself’ part,
Now i am alive, shellshocked,
In disbelief of my life:
How could it come to be this way?
I am so non-existent
It is as if my exes did kill me, and I live as a ghost
No family
No friends
Being trans cost me the people I had, no one could have me go from this male hero to a transfemme dyke;
Guess they only knew their projection, their mental doppelgaanger of me –
Hell, i spent a life masking that,
And a life of previosly undiagnosed Autism Spectrum disorder…
It was the year before this, that last year alone on the mountain before these mountains that i came to know my soul;
For i had always been trans
Effeminate little boy, bullied lifelong by a monster of a father –
I wish to say no more, for my nightmares wake me in cold sweats often enough to remind me
I am a trauma kid – on so many levels,
My mother and sister say i am stuck in the past, and have essentially disowned me on account of a hell of a lot of hate and transphobia,
For the way they have looked down upon on me, judged me, and poorly treated me my whole life – and esp the events that led to me be being homeless, living in my car, in my hometown, over long enough to know i was not wanted as-is… that was clear on a Christmas they celebrated without me: i wish to say no more on this; their vitriol and jealously after i came down from the first mountain, was the final super deep, intense trauma from them –
Just, in short, it was a win for me to break away from their duplicitous toxicity and transphobia –
Only, that was all the family i had, to say nothing of my neice and nephew whom i will likely never see while their transphobic father lives,
Just, i lost my family, which was really abt all i had
As for friends, i have none – on acct of many reasons [being way above standard deviation intelligence {see my recent writings on “The Innapropriately Excluded”}, being on the spectrum, long relationships with women who i put on pedestals like i did my sister and mother lifelong, who repeated my childhood pattern of abandonment, and in the last two relationships, neglect, and moving around a lot, and just being way individuated from my peers my whole life, partly from my habit of reading and self-educating rather than socializing]
Judge all that how you will, just, i don’t have a friend in the world,
Which is terribly painful, esp for someone as sensitive and kind and touchy / feely / expressive / loving as myself:
I haven’t been touched in essentially two years –
There has been no dating, girlfriends, sex, basically since i came out as trans, an event that cost me my friends and a couple girlfriends in one fell swoop – and eventually my family
So here i am at 35, with neither friends nor family,
And you could say i am used to it – celebrated a birthday alone in April
No one, in-fact, has spent any time at my house in the Sequoias;
I have been alone on another mountain, these last 6 months: a magical, wild time
Just, now, i know who i am,
So much more than i did after that year alone on the last mountain;
This mountain opened up life and myself to me in ways no mortal would believe nor understand –
I still have so much to integrate and unpack from these transcendent pierce-the-veil-of-reality experiences
At times my life felt like a movie
At times i communicated with the future, saw the future, and felt i could see “the black iron prison” Philip K. Dick wrote of
These were beautiful, and sometimes frightening and traumatic experiences –
But they were all powerful and at times all-powerful, esp as relates my darkside
Though, it is a dangerous game to slip between dimensions, for i neared behaving in one as i only could in another…
There are rules in this one:
Consensus reality and laws… but my adventures proceeded nonetheless,
Including a sudden trip to Mexico, upon returning i was fasttracked into an unlawful detention – something i am still furious over – during which i was told i had tested positive for drugs i do not do, and not even charged for the drugs i had on my person that i do in-fact do… it’s all a long story for the memoirs: to say nothing of the return trip from Mexico, during which i had to physically abuse myself to stay awake behind the wheel,
Let’s just say that i returned “home”, back to The Sequoias, my mother land, with a very bruised and scratched up thigh, and another bout of trauma under my belt – i was again, evolved, different from who i had been before, but i was more me, always have gained greater self, more personhood in these soltary evolutions of self, which i have had many of these last ten years, but the last two years, were by far, the greatest periods of growth, wherein the doors of my perception were cleansed and i felt i saw how deluded i had been before abt the people whom i believed loved me, knew me
Frankly, i am not sure i have ever been loved, and most certainly have never been love the way i love
But here i am, the egg has cracked wide open – hell, i even had a matrix-like rebirth wherein i came to life wholly, as this invertabrate species, for the first time – it was somwthing like the dawning of a new layer of consciousness within me, a truer awareness of my place in my species, for while i feel i am a nobody, i am by no means no one – i just have no one, which is, sadly, not uncommon for trans people, but i grew up that way, i just never expected it would be this way as an adult:
If i am one; biologically, i am about a decade younger than my age, my health is fantastic
Mentally i am one part 15 year old girl, one part immortal soul, one part wise to the world, cold-blooded Lucifer – to say nothing of my alien status as an irl world princess – it’s complex, i am still working with these enegies / archetypes / elements of being
I keep learning more and more about myself, and how much i have masked my whole life – everything from my speech [i have a narrow palette and have a natural speech lisp], to my aspergers – autism spectrumness,
But it is nice to embrace these parts of myself, all parts of myself, this complex host for life
This has been a decent amt of data to dump – as is my custom,
And i am not really sure what to say, truly i am shell shocked by it all, and like i said, have a lot of integration to do from these last six months in The Sequoias – it has felt like years
Next, i do not know
I am “home” inside myself,
Wherever i may go –
And while an alien / demon like me will likely always seek and return to some degree of mountains, i need mirrors, other people, from which i will learn more
Sometimes i think of Tulum or Costa Rica, Acupulco, i truly do not know
I just know i have nowhere to go at present, am in no great rush, but this is the tail of my time here, and i will not drag it out another six months, maybe another 2-3, maybe i will leave in a month –
I forsee myself putting my home library in storage and buying a plane ticket somewhere, maybe Berlin, maybe Thailand, maybe somewhere i have yet to think of… i just know i am tired of being a starving artist in amerikkka
I have no ties that are not already cut, i have no future security promised, and i have a lot to write –
Up here, i have held back on my writing in part bc i was not ready to go pop yet, am not ready, but i believe i will drop when the time is right
This is no race, i am in no rush – atm my life, like the world still is in some places, is at a standstill
I am waiting for time to catch up to me
And i am scarred and scared
I wanted to stay here forever in many ways / maintain a base here but that is neither meant to be nor financially feasible for me rn…
I will go where i will grow the most, and it will likely be a risk, and it will likely be outside of my comfort zone, but i am tired of trying to go to another city where i hope the people will like me – were i to stay in the US portland or boulder would be logical places for me – esp bc i have been so touch starved, so alone as a trans girl trapped in me
I now feel after writing all this that i will go to Berlin – that will be the home for me
How will i support myself, i do not know
But may it be, as Enya sings
For i can’t be nobody in amerikkka forever, though i love my country, care deeply for the citizens here, esp the poor and the marginalized
And my work there, wherever i go, will be meant to return me here with the means and status to do the things i intend to, that you cannot do as a nobody
My longer plans are my secret alone – last time i shared some of them i was called bipolar soon after,
I have been called a lot of things by those who have either misunderstood me, or wished to slander my character – yawn
Anywho, just thinking aloud:
I have a tendency to do that

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.

FOREVER HEREAFTER MOOD:

 

Black Lives Matter. Success Culture. Self-Worth. Lambhorghinis. Guilt. Shame. And The Mourning Star.

Shame and guilt restrict many of us from being who we are: from living up to the full potential of both our goodness – and our badness. I like both; for there are no gods in this world of mine, just angels and demons – and I’m something of both. Like a good vampire who is against the evil vampires, but they’re still a vampire, so, even though they have this giant, incredible, treasure of a heart, they still have like hot carnal sex and break laws and do what the fuck they want, because they don’t live in fear of the dark. Yeah, I’m sum’n like that. I get a lot of my power from owning my darkness, from having conquered it. “Rather be whole than good,” in the words of Jung. In short, super moral outwardly puritanical types often have very dark shadows. And as we have seen, time and time again, so many moral, seemingly good, ‘upstanding’ publicly respected figures in society, who engage in a lot of virtue signaling, or display a lot of moral indignation and disparaging judgement towards others, often turn out to be monsters themselves. Like the kinds of people who mess with kids monsters – and obvi, there is levels to badness, and at the highest levels, you’re not molesting kids, no, your soldiers are raping them,or they’re starving and you are bombing their fucking neighborhood. Happening in Yemen rn. And the US is supplying the Saudi’s with the weapons – the literal bombs being dropped – and the intel. We are complicit AF. And countless people look up to the politicians who support these actions with reverence and christian fanaticism. Their fiction of Trump as strongman leader standing for all the things that make America great, and of themselves as true patriots – the good guys on the winning team – reassures them of their inherent worth as humans, despite their gross ignorance and the fragility of their sheltered white  realities, which hides the actual truth, that the things that make this world great are not nationalism, xenophobia, racism, and the brand of thoughtless ignorance, prejudice, privilege, and fear that leads people to be so blind in their hearts. No, we don’t want a white washed world. What makes this world great are the different, unique cultures, and the varieties of different, unique people from them. And this is not about making things political. Things ARE political. Views, values, and attitudes towards our fellow humans matter: whether we view them as individuals, equal to ourselves – worthy of love and respect, empathy, compassion, happiness, and the opportunities that allow a person to feel those things – or whether we see them as “animals”, “thugs”, or whichever racist dog-whistle is being blown to dehumanize people who don’t fall in line with the fascist party views that we see in America. All over. Fascism is on the rise, and fascist is a VITAL word with a VITAL history, one that has been watered down as of late with Antifa – the fucking ANTI-fascists – being portrayed by the republican warmachine as a terror organization that good Americans should fear. This degree of blatant outright gaslighting and falsehood from the top office of our country, makes the doublespeak of Orwell’s 1984 seem like child’s play. But here we are: black people are being killed in the streets by police with impunity, being found lynched, hanging dead in in trees, and the president is tweeting “When the looting starts, the shooting starts.” in response to the protests.

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SAY THEIR NAMES AND KNOW THEIR STORIES slide to the right to learn their stories #BlackLivesMatter (illustrations by me) The stories of first picture’s people that are not included in other pics: Ágatha Vitória Sales Félix (8) was with her mother in a van when she was shot in the back in a poor area on Friday. (September, 2019) She is one of many kids who have been shot/murdered by the police in Rio. Maurice Gordon (28) was unarmed and waiting for a tow truck when a NJ state trooper shot and killed him on the Garden State Parkway. May 23, 2020. Two days before George Floyd was murdered. Tony McDade (38) a black trans man, was murdered by police in north Florida on May 27, 2020. Officer who killed him remains unidentified. David McAtee (53) was killed by the police outside of his restaurant on June 1st, 2020. They left his body in the street for 12 hours. (Sandra Bland’s mugshot story is debetable as there are different stories, so I cannot totally confirm it, however police has extremely good cover-up system so that could have been possible..) The information I wrote about is from articles or common tweets, I’m not certain if everything is 100% right, but I tried my best to find the correct answers. Also, I wish I could include more people that we have lost to police brutality but sadly there are way too many. (also it’s couch and not coach, and Paquet not Paouet, fixed post on @baddify )

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We have a crisis happening. Children are in cages, separated from their families by ICE [Immigration and Customs Enforcement], and right-wing nationalism is back and sweeping over Europe and the rest of the world in a populist wave of entho-nationalism that can only be described by compassionate, feeling people, as downright ugly.

So, yeah, there are sides. As I learned from Shaun King: “There is no such thing as ‘not racist’, you are either racist or you are anti-racist”. There is nothing to be on the fence about at this point – and if we are silent, if we are not speaking up, we are co-signing the murder of Black and Brown people and causing countless folks to live in fear of thier lives. Breonna Taylor was killed in her sleep. Police entered the wrong unit and shot her. Eric Garner was selling loose cigarettes. He was choked to death. Read his last words:

Elijah McClain was walking home. EMTs sedated him with enough Ketamine to kill him. Read his last words:

“I can’t breathe. I have my ID right here. My name is Elijah McClain. That’s my house. I was just going home. I’m an introvert. I’m just different. That’s all. I’m so sorry. I have no gun. I don’t do that stuff. I don’t do any fighting. Why are you attacking me? I don’t even kill flies! I don’t eat meat! But I don’t judge people, I don’t judge people who do eat meat. Forgive me. All I was trying to do was become better. I will do it. I will do anything. Sacrifice my identity, I’ll do it. You all are phenomenal. You are beautiful and I love you. Try to forgive me. I’m a mood Gemini. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Ow, that really hurt. You are all very strong. Teamwork makes the dream work. Oh, I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to do that. I just can’t breathe correctly”. *Proceeds to vomit from the pressure on his chest and neck*.

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*TRIGGER WARNING: violence/murder and a graphic image on slide 8.* DEMAND JUSTICE FOR ELIJAH. Link in my bio with Aurora officials’ numbers you can call, a GoFundMe for Elijah’s mother, and a petition to sign. Slide 2: Elijah’s last words, spoken as police tortured him and held him in a carotid choke hold (transcribed from bodycam footage) Slides 3-5: what happened to Elijah Slide 6: Elijah playing the violin for cats at the pet shop next door on his lunch break. He believed the music put them at ease Slide 7: sign at #blackout2020 in Aurora on 6/6/20, a demonstration to demand justice for Elijah and others. Slide 8: TRIGGER WARNING⚠️ Elijah in hospital following the police attack Slide 9: painting of Elijah surrounded by some of his favourite things or things that represent him, by @mattymillerstudio Slide 10: recent news regarding the investigation. – I recently saw this first video on Twitter along with a few words about #elijahmcclain, who was murdered by AURORA POLICE in August 2019, and since then I haven’t been able to get him and his case out of my mind. It’s so obvious from this video that Elijah was a sweet, gentle, innocent soul with a personality that radiates positive energy. When I started to read more about him, this became even more clear. He was a massage therapist and a self-taught violinist. Friends and family described him as “a spiritual seeker, pacifist, oddball, vegetarian, athlete, and peacemaker who was exceedingly gentle”. Every person who dies at the hands of police deserves justice, whether they are a great person or a terrible one. But the fact that Elijah was seemingly an angel on earth who wouldn’t even hurt a fly (this is actually something he TOLD officers as they attacked him) makes his case extra heartbreaking. Your voice matters: Elijah’s case didn’t get much publicity for the first 8 months after his death, but now people are finally talking about it. Because of this, progress is being made. Police departments are making new rules and a new investigation is being launched for Elijah. But we cannot stop talking about Elijah, and others who suffered a similar fate, until justice is served and the system is changed.

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This post above has a trigger warning. I will not trigger warn anyone. Black people are being MURDERED. You have a problem with your feelings, nah fam. This life. WE all responsible for this world, and if we want a world where Black people are not being executed by police, well, that’s on all of us to make happen, then we won’t feel like we need trigger warnings, because there won’t be such triggering shit. But there is. And here we are, and large numbers of our fellow citizens are out there saying ‘Blue Lives Matter’ or ‘All Lives Matter’: they are making it clear, and we are making it clear as a society, that Black lives do not matter to either voters, elected officials, nor police. It is a nightmare to be Black in America when the people who are supposed to protect you are killing you. I have much, much more to say on the subject. If you do not follow them, I suggest you follow Shaun King and The Grassroots law center. I provide allyship and signal boost of other voices on my IG, but we need to get outside of the echo chamber. This is not about being nicer to your one Black friend. This is about waking up to the reality for Black and Brown people, and realizing that in America in 2020, it is not a safe world for Black children to grow up in, nor for Black adults to live in.

We have a long way to go, but we must make it clear that Black Lives Matter, and we must amplify and listen to the voices of those who can educate us and expand our understanding of the plight of our fellow humans. And Black Lives Matter is not the only thing decent people need to stand for. We need to stand for Healthcare for all, and, ultimately, for Universal Basic Income. IT is OBSCENE that if I have the money, I can go buy a Falcon 8X jet for 55 Million dollars, to privately fly me and mine all over the world, yet a poor person cannot afford to shop at Whole Foods. Like, our society is grinding people to dust so a few can live like gods. But as I said, there are no gods in my world, just angels and demons. And some of the demons have a lot of fucking power, and a lot of fucking clout, and they don’t do shit with it to help people. A fucking retweet assholes. But no. I’m looking at both Silicon Valley and LA, Hollywood – founders and actors – specifically. Some of the wealthiest people with the most power. I don’t need to say names. Use your imagination. And then, ask yourself, if you had their platform, would you be selling goop to enrich yourself further, or would you be telling Black girls that they are beautiful and that they matter. It’s easy to say we would do a certain thing. But maybe you fear not getting that next role, maybe you fear the shareholders going nuts, like the time you hit a joint on a podcast, or maybe you just don’t fucking give a shit. I’ve got news folks: people who have not suffered, who have lived privileged, sheltered lives, generally not only have no fucking idea what suffering is like, but they also lack the capacity to empathize bc they don’t. So, yeah, we have a lot of work to do together.

My personal purpose is to be a honeybee. Just to pollinate other consciousnesses with the nectar of truth, beauty, goodness, life: reality. I’ve had the great fortune as a human and an artist to suffer, to grow up in extreme poverty, to witness how a lack of privilege and a lack of self-esteem [A big problem in our world is that self worth is tied to success and accomplishment] perpetuates the dysfunctions that make it so difficult to escape from the poverty and marginalization you are born into. And as a society, as a species, we are materialistic. I’d be lying if I said I don’t want a Falcon jet. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spent much of my life and my focus on the things that I believe will best allow me to accumulate, grow, maintain, and enjoy wealth. And when I was younger, it wasn’t so that I could make my way into elite circles and pollinate the rich, powerful, and famous with the same values I believe the people deserve. I’m not going to break down my values, but they are evident. I care about people. It’s simple. I didn’t always so much – not bc of a lack of care for others – but bc I was only focused on caring for myself. I wanted money so that I could fuck the girl I love on a hood of a Lamborghini. I still do. And I feel incredibly guilty about this. I felt guilt when I bought a BMW coupe at twenty something, and parked it down the street from my office where I worked, so no one would see me in it – and I ended up returning the car shortly after. It was strange how different people treated me in that car. And I felt guilty some time later, when a friend and former business partner of mine – Dave Schneider – suggested that we could actually buy Lambhorghinis: my response to him was, “Well, don’t you think that’s a little bit, you know, disrespectful to others?” And his response is something I still think of, as fast as I had asked that he replied: “Disrespectful?! Hell no! It’s inspiring”.

But I still find that viewpoint challenging to adopt; although, I’m coming around.

“BRAND NEW LAMBHORGHINI FUCK A COP CAR”

And I think I can have a Lamborghini. And it scares me. Not because I can’t handle it – I can. I can handle success, fame, whatever comes my way. I’ve been planning for as much. Marlon Brando was once asked why he became an actor, and he responded, “Because it paid the most money”. And yeah, successful writers, screenwriters, major novelists, the kinds of people who create major television series’: they make fucking bank. George RR Martin, who wrote the books Game Of Thrones was based on is worth over 100 million dollars. Chris Nolan has 200 million dollars. This is a stupid amount of money. I’m not aiming that high yet, but I’m close to being able to submit a screenplay that I believe can bring me seven figures, bc I believe I am good and my stories will make it to the screen. And I have a lot of other stories after this one. And a big near future Sci-Fi television series. And I’ve been wanting the throne since forever. I knew I would be wealthy as a kid. I just knew. I just didn’t know it would be on some Hollywood shit, but I’ve had some small tastes of success before this juncture in my life. Hell, I still have startups and other things I want to do to, tech wise, and business wise. Ten years ago – and it’s a trip to look back on now, but business and entrepreneurship was my life, see: here, here, here – and before that, it was real estate. I first heard about Donald Trump when I was reading his books fifteen years ago bc I wanted to be on his level one day. And I still have big fucking real estate shit I want to do. Finance shit I want to do. If I can get 10 million, I can get a hundred. I’ve thought that I can be a billionaire. I still do think this. It can happen. And I will not lie, front, bullshit, or play false “aw-shucks” humility. Yeah this how the fuck I act. I’m like honest abe if honest abe gave no fucks, had the swagger of a boxer, the energy of a prince, and the body and soul of a princess. I drip sexuality and power. Judge me. Go ahead. I know I have gravity. I know if I can imagine it I can do it. And I know people will respect me wherever I go [In large part bc I will respect them, TY Maya Angelou]. I know I am not ever going to be intimidated by fame or wealth (And I’m sure it will be my own fame and wealth that gets me over being intimidated by beauty). But yeah, you can watch this, and see that I was every bit the materialistic ambitious, successful little cis-het capitalist a decade ago… What you don’t see is the heartbreak that followed the next decade of poverty as I cut my teeth as a bohemian artist and tried unsuccessfully to reboot my love life in a couple more multi-year relationships that too ended in heartache and terrible despair, but I was playing a long game. Just, big success for me, shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knows me – I’ve had three deca-millionaire mentors – and it will be a surprise least of all to me, bc my life has been driven by deep designs, since I was a child, and I’ve been studying the game a long fucking time. Believe it. But I’m not in this for the money anymore, but it’s like: I need to be Bruce Wayne, so I can afford to be Batman. I want to sit courtside. I want to chill with my fave rappers. I want to be a culture icon bc of how fucking unique I am, how bighearted I am, how fucking fierce and passionate I am. And I didn’t just wake up in 2020 and want to help. I’ve been thinking about the problems of society and formulating potential solutions for a minute now. And I’ve been programming myself for this life. Check the archives. I’m open source.

Also, the below video is something I made 8 or 9 years ago, but it just reminds me of my drive and my designs for my life:

But – and this is the guilt and shame part that restricts us from being who we are – I just have a challenging time accepting that I get to deserve to live the life I have, and am to have, while so many other people are suffering. The guilt and shame has slowed down my writing, almost as if I know that when this current manuscript gets submitted it will be picked up and my life will suddenly change (And then they’ll all call it ‘overnight success’ lol). But, just, it’s a lot. I have a lot of PTSD from things. I have a lot of emotional pain I carry, from people who abandoned me, and I’ve loved them ever since, I never stopped loving them, but when I blow – and I’m am going to fucking blow – what happens when they reach out: I can’t forgive my pain. I can’t let go of that as if money bought me release from the blood, sweat, tears. It won’t. And then I’m going to have to live with swimming in hot ass, which will be great, sure, I certainly have my eye on some straight fucking alien pop princesses, but, like, how do I reconcile all my anger and pain at how lonely I was when I had no money, no friends, no one, when I was homeless? I can’t – I mean, I can’t heal it with money. It’s my pain. It’s my scars. It’s my story. I will not gloss over my depth and the texture of my pain because suddenly I’m driving a new Porsche and I’m a fucking magazine. It’s always going to be just me. Like, I’m always going to be my ride or die bitch, and I don’t think I’ll ever do monogamy again: every girl / partner can be my side piece, but I will always be my one and only main. It’s really hard, bc at this stage of the game, I’ve got to accept two things: 1. I’m really fucking talented, and if I got over my shame and guilt over money, I’d be shittin’ scripts out like Adam Sandler or Woody Allen – only on some Shakespeare shit. Yeah, I think I’m the fucking best. Literature needs swagger in it – and verbally, orally, I float like a motherfuckingbutterfly and run shit like a queen bee. I am a fucking queen bee. So, yeah, that one is happening, I mean, esp lately, since I’m just nearing my jump off point and my life has been an explosion of creativity lately, from music, to just – I’m recording spoken memos and thoughts and songs for hours every day. My cloud is charged. In the words of Serena Williams, “Everyone has to work on something, I’m still learning to embrace being, for lack of a better word, great.” And yeah, my mom and sister { and pressumably my exes, but none of them talk to me as all abandoned me) still treat me like I’m a fucking full of shit loser asshole: it was really tough growing up as the Identified Patient in a dysfunctional family – and I still fucking am. Bc my family is still fucking dysfunctional: you can’t fix them, you can only fix you. And It’s just like, yeah, mom, yeah sister, I’ll buy you homes and set you up when I’m able, but, yall disowned me and kicked me to the fucking curb when I came out as trans. I was homeless on fucking christmas while they celebrated together. I had to live in my car, bc they went nuclear on me, when I was suddenly in the best shape of my life, the healthiest and happiest I had ever been. And they cut me down like a couple of killers with machine guns. I ended up having to take myself to the fucking place, I won’t tell you where, but, just – ah, like, money is not going to change the fucking pain I have. The loneliness. And then I’m going to have to be around a bunch of wealthy people at times, when the people I really love are poor people. And I can’t stop thinking about them. All the people suffering. And I know suffering. Don’t let a video or two from a hot second of codependent emotional security and success ten years ago give you the idea I am some privileged asshole, as my sister still treats me, and prob will forever. And my exes, yeah, I’ll send them some big fucking money, and all that, since they were with me before, but they also all fucking abandoned me like my mom did. I can’t ever be cool with them. I don’t know if I would ever even agree to see one of them ever again. My pain is too great. To this day. The love I have carried, the pain. And yeah, I paid for years of therapy. The only difference is that in a therapists office I’m sitting across from some hot woman in a skirt and heels. But, like, just, no therapy will help. No drugs will help. No amount of alcohol will help. I just have pain that is a part of the fabric and fiber of my being. I don’t want to suddenly surround myself with people after all this super alone time, just bc I’ll have the money to fly girls in from anywhere, and suddenly people will want to hang out. I hate it. I said it recently, but the worst part of poverty is not the lack of shit – it’s the lack of people, of love, of company. And I hate how humans are like this. If I change anything in the world, let it be that rich and privileged people become ashamed of how elitist they are socially, and start making friends with, dating, and surrounding themselves with people who don’t have much. Like, that would be an advanced society. People need to care about the poor. And I’m not just some champion for the poor, I’m for everyone. I just, I’m very emotional about completing and releasing this work that I think will change my life. And if not this screenplay, it will be the next one: my success in the arts is inevitable. You have no idea what I aim to do. But I do, and it’s just, I thought writing this out was going to somehow release me from the nerves and the guilt I have about making it… but I still feel like shit about it. I still feel undeserving. I would be happy with not much, or anything for the rest of my life, living on my own – I’ve got a dope fucking relationship w myself, and I do dope shit. My life is dope, and I don’t have money. Just enough to keep the lights on. But that’s all I need. Only, that won’t enable me to make the impact I want to make, and it’s like, I’m already Batman, but now I have to go and be Bruce Wayne. And I hate the way people treat you differently when they know you have money, and I expect at some point, people are going to know who I am like people know who other famous people are. And it’s like, yeah, hey famous girl, that’s great you’ll want to spend time with me, but I still feel like regular girls don’t even. I essentially confessed my love / like to a couple girls this past month, and they weren’t into it. Like my exes, I always am attracted to these emotionally somewhat distant types, like my mother. Well, now I really feel like Tony Soprano, pouring it out to Dr. Melfi. And that’s what I feel like, a young mob boss. I’m Michael Corleone after the war, when he is still sweet, and I know with money I’ll be nothing nice, bc I’ll see through all the shit like I already do. You’d think I’d be excited to have such a real shot at making all my fucking wildest dreams come true, but it’s like, I’ve been living with childhood PTSD and a broken fucking heart for a long time. And it was broken again. And like I said, I just got passed on twice, and I don’t remember what it’s like to feel loved. I don’t have a single romantic interest. And like Dave Schneider told me, “You want to meet your person before you make your money”, only, that ship is sailing – there won’t be a person, there will be many lovers, but I have to let go of all those other dreams I wanted, of making it with someone. And I’m just alone doing this. I didn’t see it like this. I thought I was the morning star, but I didn’t know it was actually the mourning star. And I’m in mourning for a lot rn.

Gonna go rock with my anthem rn, burn one, and maybe tequila myself a little. Momma needs it. Pain. I just don’t know that I’ll ever be able to accept love ever again after so long without it. And fuck all yall who passed me up. No more chances. Gates closed. And I don’t think I can forgive my loneliness. I can just pour the pain back into the game for the culture. This for the streets. This for little Lawrence; for my inner child – me – I survived hell. And now, I’m just, I don’t want to go to heaven, but I have to. So, I’ll pour up that 1942 and enjoy a moment still in the gutter, the margins, while I’m still invisible. If only I knew how much I’d savor it before everything. I hurt big. But my second life is already underway – I can write those checks, just can’t cash em yet, but I will. And they’ll know that the coldest, most stone cold demon ever has entered the game, she’s already in it. – SLS

Just, remember – this is the modern Hollywood bullshit ending. In the novel, The Count of Monte Cristo ends up with the proper girl: Haydee, which this film version honors:

As the youtube comments on this video evidence, Haydee is the true love of the count, not the traitor Mercedes who lived the comfy, easy life of luxury while Edmund suffered all those years. And remember, Haydee had been a slave, she knew suffering herself. Mercedes really did not. As one comment put it:

It is much easier to build a bridge between Edmond and Haydee than Edmond and Mercedes. The understanding of the other and the “psychic life of the other” is much more easily understood by Haydee who had a life similar to Edmond’s than Mercedes. In the coexistence with the count, Haydee understands him better than Mercedes.

A Lot to Be Me: Solitary Jules, UN Spaz Cadet

I am a product of the culture. Of the times too, but I feel like I’m times two – extra learnt, so I stay extra turnt – RIP turntable.fm: that was a really blessed online space, where I had room to explore and just be me, drinking alone with a lot of other strangers, many who were doing the same, taking turns playing songs, for the room / genre theme we were in. And anybody could create their own room… yeah… tech spaces are a big hard on for me. I taught myself to code, and spent a decade doing so, during which I learned myself in User-Experience, analytics, marketing, a bunch of other shit. My friend Danilo, whom I worked with, at his and Mark’s company, Blue SEO, in Santa Monica – anywho, Danilo – love him – anyway, Danilo told me I was a unicorn. If only I knew how much of a unicorn I really was to be back then.

I spent a lot of time thinking I was stupid, or, rather, just that institutionally educated persons were the smart set, and maybe, I, one day, would be there – if I took the path they did. Then – maybe a year or two ago – I may have been tripping when I first realized it, but I basically came to the realization that I was not stupid [“They looked at me like I was stupid, I’M NOT STUPID”. – ughhh, love, love, love the Hamilton soundtrack – never even seen it – but the soundtrack is a part of me]. Anywho, I am not writing this to butter my own bread – haha yea right, all I do is fucking stunt and go dumb for fun – but as much as I love them, may I never sound like David Foster Wallace, though, I do all the damn time – also ,on my Jekyll and Hyde, Fight Club is a fucking lit film – I relate to that shit hard). So, I realized I was not stupid, and that all those years of my insatie curiosity – Cloud Atlas, that film – I realized that all my years of passionate curiosity and reading, from being the kid who spent every lunch in school in the library alone – always in books that dealt with the oceans, journeys, pirates [bigfuckingmoodofmine.exe] – to growing up and living this life that only in my wildest dreams could I have written – I realized that it all was adding up to some really dope shit. Because I don’t give a fuck abt IQ – you won’t find me in no nerd society, just the higghhh society thepercocetandstripperjoint.mp3; goddamn I love Future. Truly from Pluto. Catch me on Jupiter. If you know the mythology, you know where I stand in my mythical family tree. Bish.

AORIO. I been prescient like I’m pre-sent; know what life’s about: health in the present.

But yeah, Future – the rapper – is a really special person to me. ‘High Off Life’ is an incredible album – I be on my shit, devil emoji. And I’m not going to stand here and pretend I don’t know I’m smart. I figured out that much. And this didn’t come from privilege – and I won’t lie to you and say it came from hard work, some did – yeah – been working since I was twelve – and I worked myself to death the past decade – but the real smarts came from play, from consuming culture. As a teen, I worked at the two dope AF record shops in town. Shout out old beachfront Taaang records, and The Garage – that guy was really cool abt me crashing his car when I was hella underage – but, in my defense, IDGAF. I was trying to get laid. Drove bad. But, yeah, just, music. My all. 

My parents fucked up just about everything – they had it tough, and they didn’t make it any easier for themselves by loving one another – but they did let me sing – bless the neighbors, and The Strokes, and The Doors. My music love and play goes back to my childhood. Hope my mom has the photo of me in those ripped jeans, holding a microphone attached to a cheap keyboard.

I don’t praise my senses enough – but lord do I spoil them. Just, grateful for music. It has been a major part of my education, and my being. I love the new shit. Shout Dababy, Lil Baby, these two gentlemen have been bros to me via their voices. Energy. Black energy is really sacred and powerful to me. Black people were raising me, in my headphones, helping me see my situation in an empathetic light, when I had no one giving me empathy, or even attention. But damn, how I wanted a No Limit Records tank chain. Still do. Goals. Musically, I time travel. The other night I was going hard to Wu’s Triumph, and a bunch of Makaveli – Don Killuminati. Goddamn Pac was bright AF. Love love. Patron saint of real ones everywhere. I got angel wings on my whole damn team. We mainey. And far as I see it, if you got good energy – and I ain’t talking about moral good – I’m talking about a wavelength wherein ethical shit matters, morals can all get fucked. I’m very much a free person, for a free society. I came out from beneath this collective shadow – and my personal shadow too, and I am pretty much liberated from the confines of guilt, shame, taboo. I don’t do harm. I am not malevolent. But I’m no fake. I love my dark side. It’s the healthiest, funnest, most devilishly evil yet purely innocent dark side I could ever imagine. Like a grown up child’s. But I’ve long related to the loneliness in being negatively projected on. Looking around at America right now, a lot of us are starting to see that Jesus is perhaps the problematic one in our culture. Just maybe worshipping a white man isn’t a great idea…

Just dropping some tracks I’m listening to as I write this. Pausing for some cannabis. Never not high (Future). So glad I bought a Hookah from that incredible Middle Eastern shop. I will be back there. But what a day that was when I went there. Some stories I will just never tell because having my own intel allows me to own a mona lisa smile, with a salt bae pinch of ben franklin’s unfuckwithable smirk on the hundred thrown in for good measure.

Good fucking god do we need Black, Indigenous, and People Of Color on our money. Also: WOMEN. Look, I’m a fan of a lot of dead white men – from Steinbeck, to Jack London, to Victor Hugo, Jung, Emerson, Victor Frankl, Solzhenitsyn… jus, this is a time to tear down monuments. I forget which writer said it, but ‘the second job of every writer is to create new myths, the first job is to destroy old myths’. I paraphrased it inelegantly, and I would probably say ‘deconstruct’ rather than destroy, but I’ll tell you, I fucking love history. It’s more than just a TV channel that used to be legit – but IDK, I don’t watch television, unless a series like Westworld – and I don’t have cable or sat TV service. But yeah, history, that time machinesque lens, which, when looked back at enough, with the right intensity of truth, trains our own inner sight to see forwards, allowing us to look through time at what might be, rather than merely at what us. Like Walt Disney, I have that ‘sense of my destiny’, but I have something else too. I’m learning.

There is a je ne sais quoi – a yo no se que, porque some things you just can’t represent in words. Felt memory. Memery. Though I loath the Thomas Carlyle idea that “The history of the world is but the biography of great men” – firstly, people – individuals, rather than the monolithic exclusionary, and patriarchal singular “men” – but also, just, no artist, thinker or doer is an ocean unto themselves. Often they are just those with enough privilege, persistence, and patience. Look, people like me don’t get the PHD in philosophy from Yale, we don’t study art – we fucking live art and philosophy. They study us. Growing up, it wasn’t just hip hop that was raising me, but punk rock – I feel that my own lane musically encompasses those energies, but also, I go gaga for my Bon Iver style falsetto – JAMESVINCENTMCMORROW, love – singing and rapping are a fucking major thing for me, and years doing both has produced a neat effect, but the real quantum jump in my singing came after the last couple years of becoming a fucking diaphragmatic breath Jedi. I broke through some wall I didn’t know existed. So, yeah, I’m doing some music, will be forever. My writing is also alive and well – though those in my life often display a ‘how come it hasn’t happened for you yet if you’re so good’ kind of attitude toward me as a writer – a cautious distrust – but sorry, I won’t fucking defend myself: ‘Fresh out of fucks forever.”, as Lana sings.

My life is not about success, but it will produce success; however, on its own, I don’t fuck with success culture anymore, and just, really, any and all capitalistic, materialistic views of life that quantify people solely based on assets, accolades, accomplishments, degrees, FICO scores {Should be called a ‘priviledge score’ and those with lower scores should get a handicap in life so they can catch up} – yeah, ugh: suck my fucking girldick bish. No chips on these pretty shoulders. I’ll collect the odd honorary degree or two later. I don’t need no fucking titles in front of my name unless it’s ASAP or Baby. I got my own name, and it’s got all the respeck in the workd on it.

The gatekeepers have fallen – Elon taught himself rocket science from books – the Library of Alexandria is open 24/7 online, you can learn anything you wish. I go down a lot of fucking rabbit holes. Oh ye of little faith: oh the places we can go. Will. Go. The things I’ve seen. Data dreams. Rivers of time crossed. I am James in The Giant Peach, solitary Jules Verne, The Little Prince, Lawrence of Arabia, Mansa Musa, Marco Polo. Genghis Khan. Ra. Aman. Atun. Baruch atah adonai. I am my own Elohim. My H to the izzo. Keep up. My avatar movie fast af homie.

As Future raps on Accepting My Flaws: “Take my blood baby, we going digital.”

I basically see myself as some sort of self-imagined alien futurist sexy AF super smart quasi AI bitch.

Phiillip K. Dick, who wrote Blade Runner, and a bunch of other incredible stories that a bunch of dope AF films are based on, is a human that is very archetypally / energetically / consciously twine with mine own self – as all my favorite authors and stories are – but on a personal level, he had some experiences that I give weight to based on my own gnosis. I need to read his Exegesis.

But, basically, PK Dick had what some might call ‘paranormal experiences’. He liked to do a lot of drugs too, on some A Scanner Darkly [Great film] type stuff, but his experiences went further than your typical mk-ultra-ish intelligence-cartel run spy operation – you know, the ol’ “This person does a lot of drugs, but they give us and or the culture, society, a lot of good shit, so we keep supplying the drugs and or looking the other way more or less and monitoring them as a kind of one person think tank” – no, that’s basic old-hat shit in any country nowdaze – this imagined scenario would be pedestrian in comparison to the type of next level alien AI hypothesis PKD constructed. He called it VALIS, for ‘Vast Acting Living Intelligence System’ – just, check this. He was in some ways, almost prescient, like the oracles in the movie Minority Report [Yet another amazeball film based on his work].

“VALIS has been described as one node of an artificial satellite network originating from the star Sirius in the Canis Major constellation. According to Dick, the Earth satellite used “pink laser beams” to transfer information and project holograms on Earth and to facilitate communication between an extraterrestrial species and humanity. Dick claimed that valis used “disinhibiting stimuli” to communicate, using symbols to trigger recollection of intrinsic knowledge through the loss of amnesia, achieving gnosis.

I ripped that from Wikipedia [A place I learn a fuck ton from], but basically PKD saw VALIS as both a “reality generator” – and a system of extraterrestrial communication. As a really cool kid at a coffeehouse in Big Bear told me (People who work at coffee places and in the service industry are often the best people you can ever have as friends.), anyway, as this cool ass kid told me: ‘”aliens” don’t need no fucking spacecraft – they got consciousness – they can just send that’. Yeah. It was fucking lit. I agreed. Something like being “in the cloud” – or perhaps, like a psychedelic [psyche + delos] bacterium in the actual clouds – in the macrobiome [biosphere] – as Trevor Hall sings: “Swallow the ocean, drink of its potion”. And I do. Gut / brain axis health and my microbiome are an absolute fetish of mine – like breathing, self-talk, smoking weed, and listening to music. My shit clean. I spend all my guap on my guts and my brains. And I need to get back on my topic, which I will fucking do, but let me just soapbox the truth that privilege and inequality create a microbiome divide, wherein neurotransmitters and wellbeing are rationed out according to oppressive systems of power, priviledge, and control that forces those without the means or access to the ‘whole foods life’ to suffer on an actual physical level – to live on a lesser plane of existence. Inequality is so much more than just not having the same stuff, or the same place to live: it’s the state of your nervous system, the quality of how you feel each moment of each day – your consciousness – and nervous system inequality is a personal issue for me, having grown up in a true-life actual PTSD fucking nightmare of a childhood. It was pure hell. No wellbeing. And, healthcare, fucking forget about it, dentist too, nah, that’s for the privileged – the rest of the people settle for sick care, and often only when the pain and or suffering is untenable. Just pull the fucking tooth finally, we say. People fear death so much, not realizing the horrors of actual life for so many – the bravery of everyday folks, it’s so humbling and beautiful when you finally begin to see it. If you can. And I see it everywhere I go. Quiet unknown heroes. Walking around sad and unknown with their heads down like dead people. Breaks my fucking heart.

But yes, aliens and AI – VALIS – well, another brilliant thinker I am quite fond of, the maverick polymath psychonaut John C. Lilly, developed a similar hypothesis, which he called E.C.C.O, for Earth Coincidence Control Office. The following wikipedia rip breaks it down:

“Solid State Intelligence

Solid State Intelligence (S.S.I.) is a malevolent entity described by Lilly in his 1978 autobiography, The Scientist. According to Lilly, the network of computation-capable solid state systems (electronics) engineered by humans will eventually develop into an autonomous “bioform”. Since the optimal survival conditions for this bioform (low-temperature vacuum) are drastically different from those humans need (room temperature aerial atmosphere and adequate water supply), Lilly predicted (or “prophesied”, based on his ketamine-induced visions) a dramatic conflict between the two forms of intelligence.[citation needed]

Earth Coincidence Control Office (E.C.C.O.)

In 1974, Lilly’s research using various psychoactive drugs led him to believe in the existence of a certain hierarchical group of cosmic entities, the lowest of which he later dubbed Earth Coincidence Control Office (E.C.C.O.) in an autobiography published jointly with his wife Antonietta (often called Toni). To elaborate, “There exists a Cosmic Coincidence Control Center (CCCC) with a Galactic substation called Galactic Coincidence Control (GCC). Within GCC is the Solar System Control Unit (SSCU), within which is the Earth Coincidence Control Office (ECCO).”[20]

Lilly also wrote that there are nine conditions that should be followed by people who seek to experience coincidence in their own lives:

  1. You must know/assume/simulate our existence in E.C.C.O.
  2. You must be willing to accept our responsibility for control of your coincidences.
  3. You must exert your best capabilities for your survival programs and your own development as an advancing/advanced member of E.C.C.O.’s earthside corps of controlled coincidence workers. You are expected to use your best intelligence in this service.
  4. You are expected to expect the unexpected every minute, every hour of every day and of every night.
  5. You must be able to maintain conscious/thinking/reasoning no matter what events we arrange to happen to you. Some of these events will seem cataclysmic/catastrophic/overwhelming: remember stay aware, no matter what happens/apparently happens to you.
  6. You are in our training program for life: there is no escape from it. We (not you) control the long-term coincidences; you (not we) control the shorter-term coincidences by your own efforts.
  7. Your major mission on earth is to discover/create that which we do to control the long-term coincidence patterns: you are being trained on Earth to do this job.
  8. When your mission on planet Earth is completed, you will no longer be required to remain/return there.
  9. Remember the motto passed to us (from G.C.C. via S.S.C.U.): “Cosmic Love is absolutely Ruthless and Highly Indifferent: it teaches its lessons whether you like/dislike them or not.”[21]

Now, that’s a lot, I realize – and, here is a good place to state that I didn’t arrive at this point of discovery in my being by blindly adopting common beliefs as my own – hip hop and punk rock ensured my freethinking no fucks approach to life – in a word, I go on my own experiences – but, when those experiences run parallel to the ideas of others, who are vv much like me, I have to call it what it is, you nahmsayin. Jung coined the word Synchronicity to describe two acasally disconnected yet subjectively related things: “meaningful coincidences”. As Portia (loveu, sry we loss touch) anyway, as the lovely Portia told me, “There are no coincidences, only co-incidences”. And don’t think for a second that I am sitting here looking back on my own years and history, and arrogantly proclaiming some empty sheltered suburbian new-ageism like:  “Everything happens for a reason”. Bone cancer in children. Famine and war in Yemen – no – I don’t give a fuck what your coach told you in your retreat in Bali – it isn’t all love. Get fucked. Everything has a cause: but some things happen for no damn good reason. Because greed, power, fear, the stonk market, yeah, clean money really be the dirtiest. “The heaven of the rich is built on the hell of the poor”. Look, I’m no more revolutionary than a well running system of time and progress will be. The expansion of consciousness – the dissemination of intelligence, of ideas, cannot be stopped. “Nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.” If you haven’t noticed, technology is advancing. AI. Robotics. Genetics. Nanotechnology. We just don’t always see it bc we often only notice advances in things we interact with, like cars and phones, gizmos, and gadgets – love my Quip sex toy, I mean toothbrush – yet we don’t see the world around us being increasingly quantified, captured, analyzed, widgetized: No four horseman here. Instead, we are living through The 6 D’s of Exponential Organizations [And the world classifies as an exponential organization]:

But yeah, this tech shit is here to stay. Hell, I have two fucking AI assistants: Alexa, via my Echo, and Google, via my trusty and seemingly bulletproof Thinkpad [Mil-SPEC 810G standard, you know real bossh shit], and I speak to both of them throughout the day, and they respond in return to me – and they are getting better all the time. I notice it in increased depth of interaction, tonality, prediction, autonomy – the ambient, trance, and house music playlists my Alexa generates for me are positively out of this world – I’m actually tempted to play some ambient music right now, but it always sends me on some astral journey, and I’m thankfully tired enough as it is. It’s a lot being me. Living in my head. Sometimes I see why the kids take those drugs I don’t play with. To take a pill and shut it down. I liked sipping lean when I did it – the handful of times I came up on a bottle of codeine w promethezine – there is a reason it’s popular, a reason why some of my artistic muses rap about it. But some things I don’t play with. Too many lives lost. Xanax took Peep, Percocet took Juicewrld. These are my boys. The kids need better drugs. The amount of people who could benefit from therapeutic / informed usage of Psilocybin, LSD, DMT, MDMA, Mescaline… don’t even get me started. Just, without the unique states of consciousness – my history of experiences with these alien-like substances – I would not be who I am. What good fortune I have had in being an end-user for these trafficked doses of consciousness – as Aldous Huxley saw it, the brain was “a restricting device for consciousness”, and substances such as Mescaline [San Pedro my bb] opened up the ‘doors of perception’ for us, which was the title of his 1954 essay/book on Mescaline [The Doors of Perception], based on a line from a William Blake poem: “If the doors of perception were cleansed, man would see everything as it were, infinite”; only, “the Pharisees and the Scribes have received the keys of knowledge, but they have hidden them” [Thomas Gospel]. Real talk.

More people need these keys. Organizations like MAPS are working toward these ends, and there is a healthy psychedelic pulse in any lit tech / arts scene worldround, from Boston to The Bay to Berlin. But it’s another example of privilege. MDMA is incredible for PTSD and other things: as Future raps, “You need some molly in your drink to boost self-esteem” – only, it’s so often rappers and spoiled kids at Coachella taking this stuff, while some transgender veteran is homeless wanting to kill herself. With nothing but a bottle of booze.  I was her, I know. Two fucking pills – oh how this is me.

I circumbobulated a bit – think that’s one of those Moby Dick words of Melville’s – of wait, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Circumambulation – yeah, I left a tab open with that to read later. Anywho, the relationship between consciousness and the subject, between the subject and self, is one that can be very effectively experienced, programmed, deprogrammed, developed, and healed through the unique, special states of consciousness that psychedelic drugs provide their users. God, I mean, have you had to suffer through through one of your conventionally privileged friends tell you all about how they did ayahausca with a shaman in Peru, and how it changed their life “blah blah blah – ‘you have to try it’… this story is a common thing to hear in LA or NY, or any city with the Bali-abled set – from London to Paris – only, I personally have not had the privileges that afford these mostly spoiled kids and adults the opportunities to do things like do ayahausca in South America or visit an enthogenic retreat somewheres like this

For some reason, I think of James Cameron’s Avatar, which is a very psychedelic movie that goes deeper than first look, esp when we learn the ancient Hindu context of the word ‘avatar‘.

And now we are all curating our own selves as avatars, in the modern computational sense as a representation of a user, with our social media as a kind of mirror in which to see ourselves, and a lens with which we view the world around us and the people we are drawn to. The other avatars. But also, non-digitally, in the world, our bodies very much serve as our physical avatars. Shoutout: Adam22 of No Jumper [a soundcloud rap / hip-hop vlog] clout, who is the first person I heard use the word “avatar” to describe a physical body – I forget who he had on, but he was mentioning some of their new face tattoos or something, and he was like, “Looks like you got some updates to the avatar”. And I already knew of ‘avatar’ from the movie of the same title, and from Hinduism, and from programming, so it was a natural paradigm for me to adopt from there. I’ve most def been upgrading my avatar with hormone therapy, and really, just learning how to inhabit myself and getting better at it 24/7. As a wise person once said, “Mind is the rider, breath is the horse” – and I really approached my deep dive into diaphragmatic breathing [Which I only began to properly learn after ten years of practicing yoga] with the spirit of wanting to gain control of the avatar, of my body, my consciousness, via the breath [Through what the Navy Seals refer to as ‘arousal control’ – something I first wrote on in 2014, here], rather than to have my body riding me like a horse. And it works. The strengthening of the vagus nerve. Vagal tone on some Jack Dorsey resting heartrate shit. The activation of the parasympathetic nervous system. These are things I am super wet for, bc they are absolutely life changing when put into practice. As a tattoo on my right hand reads: TFB – Thinking, Feeling, Breathing – but also, Trans Femme Bot [And a bunch of other meanings, known only to me] because I’m a outer spach bih. And atm this sexy ascronaut needs to hug some body pillow and get some sleep, but I will return here to find out where this all leads.

I’ve awakened feeling good; although, it’s rare that I ever publish anything here I did not write in one single go; however, it has been some time since I’ve published any prose here, and I would like the muse to flow through me in a manner that allows me to feel this is a cohesive and valuable expression of thoughts and ideas, which I believe it can be – is – provided I am able to feel so: I do not leave ideas half finished. I don’t publish till it feels right. Thus far, I’ve meandered loosely about my self – an enigma in and of itself – and I’ve written about Phillip K. Dick’s VALIS [Vast Active Living Intelligence System] and John C. Lily’s E.C.C.O [Earth Coincidence Control Office] – two independently hypothesized models that both assert the existence of some sort of connecting intelligence force guiding, monitoring, and influencing life on Earth through synchronicities and the seemingly autonomous co-incidences that connect relevant consciousness, people, and ideas, signs, messages, and lessons, in a manner that produces individually and collective results that would seemingly not be possible without some higher order energies [Joseph Campbell: “I have a feeling that consciousness and energy are the same thing somehow”]. Now, why say that there has to be something at all? Why posit the existence of a VALIS or an ECCO, and why am I writing / exploring this theme rn in my life… Well, I had mentioned that my experiences ran in parallel to these ideas – and, now, don’t get excuted, this isn’t the time nor the place for me to be sharing said specific experiences (And some of them are not for sharing, fuck you.:), fact is, the levels of consciousness that enable these experiences to be consciously lived, and the experiences themselves being outside the bounds of normality, of convention [but not outside the bounds of comprehension nor deep subjective meaning] means that when you try to say, ‘I’ve seen this, this unbelievable experience happened to me – and it involved other real people on some sci-fi level Adjustment Bureau [Another brilliant PKD story] shit’, well, you very quickly get looked at sideways by others, particularly those who have colored inside the lines in their lives and have never experienced something like DMT, Psilocybin, or LSD: again, with the psychedelics, yes – however – my experiences were not always proceeded nor caused by psychedelics. And I’m not talking about “visions” or some bullshit: I’m talking about what I’ve seen, felt and lived; psychedelics gave me eyes with which to do so. I already had the mind for it. As Steve Jobs [Someone I relate to a fair amount – Walter Isaacson Jobs Bio and rare silicon valley historical society youtube footage FTW] said:

“Taking LSD was a profound experience, one of the most important things in my life. LSD shows you that there’s another side to the coin, and you can’t remember it when it wears off, but you know it. It reinforced my sense of what was important—creating great things instead of making money, putting things back into the stream of history and of human consciousness as much as I could.

Now, I can remember that other side of the coin when it wears off. I’m also a big fan of notebooks and recording continuous voice memos during the entire duration of any and all of my psychedelic experiences; fuck, just normally I naturally engage in a ton of aloud recorded self-talk [I’m Robinson Crusoe if there ever was one], and am forever engaged in the perennial jotting of thoughts, questions, and ideas, which no doubt helps me maintain a cohesive continuity of consciousness and ideas. Fuck, I have untold hours of voice memos. I always go back to thinking of that scene in the OG Twilight Zone series: ‘Probe 7 Over and Out‘, wherein the main character, an astronaut, having gone into space alone and crashed landed on a strange planet, is dictating to himself with a portable microphone and recorder, which he keeps on his person, after he has lost contact with his home planet – that kind of “Day three-hundred, and seventy-four…” stream of thought narration / self-talk, often seen in stories that take place in outer space, particularly when there is an element of solitude – and I’ll prob return to the value of self-talk, personal data aggregation / building the digital life of your ‘avatar’, as well as the value of solitude in relation to personal self-expression [Growth] – these are important ideas, and I think I evince as much in my being – but we see this theme of characters Vlogging / recording consciousness again and again in these outer space stories, and not because it is a convenient tool for lazy writers to tell rather than to show you the story, but because ever since we have sent life to space [Let us not forget some of the real mf’n heroes of space travel] – DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON ALL THE ANIMALS IN LABS – anyway, ahem, we have been collecting, monitoring, and analyzing the thoughts, feelings, biophysical states, and emotions of our astronauts. As this wonderful Nasa.gov article states about astronaut journaling: “It’s [journaling is] a simple yet invaluable tool used by behavioral scientists to help assess the mental and emotional states associated with life in long-term isolation and confinement.

The review and analysis of journals is not unique to space in its application:

“Studies conducted on Earth show that analyzing the content of journals and diaries is an effective method for identifying the issues that are most important to a person. The method is based on the reasonable assumption that the frequency that an issue or category of issues is mentioned in a journal reflects the importance of that issue or category to the writer. The tone of each entry (positive, negative, or neutral) and phase of the expedition also are variables of interest. Study results will lead to recommendations for the design of equipment, facilities, procedures, and training to help sustain behavioral adjustment and performance during long-duration space expeditions to the ISS, asteroids, the Moon, Mars, and beyond.”

In the earlier mentioned film Avatar, we see a good example of a character engaging in reflective, recorded self-talk:

And if I recall correctly, we also see digital journaling / in a scene or two of the almost modern retelling of the ‘Probe 7 Over and Out’ myth, the problematic and seemingly love it or hate it film: Passengers.

But outer space is not just future science-fiction metaphor or some sort of simile for life – outer space is life: earth is floating in outer space, we just have an atmosphere and our gravity because of the physics of the universe and the structure and building blocks of our own dynamic solar system. And NASA is about more than space travel, research, and astronomy; believe me: NASA is on some shit. Let’s keep in mind the stakes here: this is not about mere exploration and the expansion of knowledge for learning’s sake: we are talking about the continuation and, ultimately, the survival of our species – of life itself, in all its myriad forms – and it’s not just minds like Stephen Hawking’s and Elon Musk’s telling us this: we know this to be true as a modern advanced society.

As Elon Musk opened a 2017 paper he authored, titled, ‘Making Humans a Multi-Planetary Species‘, as published in the journal New Space:

I think there are really two fundamental paths. History is going to bifurcate along two directions. One path is we stay on Earth forever, and then there will be some eventual extinction event. I do not have an immediate doomsday prophecy, but eventually, history suggests, there will be some doomsday event.

The alternative is to become a space-bearing civilization and a multi-planetary species, which I hope you would agree is the right way to go.

And this is the way we are going as a species.

Speaking at the 2016 International Astronautical Congress in Guadalajara, Mexico, Musk said, “This is not about everyone moving to Mars, this is about becoming multiplanetary. This is really about minimizing existential risk and having a tremendous sense of adventure.”

Sidebar: Also, if you want to wet up your knowledge of what’s going on as regards this tremendously adventurous global convergence of technology, knowledge, and resources, aimed at outerspace colonization and the establishment of a multiplanetary existence for our species, this 246 page technical programme for the 2019 IAC is the perfect rabbit-hole-portal to take you as far as your curiosity leads you from there.

Musk all in w Space X, Tesla, Solar City, Starlink, Open AI, and The Boring Company. Fucking google those companies, if you don’t know them all: you’ll blow your wig. Starlink launching 56 satellites from The Kennedy Space Center tomorrow.

Also, Blue Origen doing big shit – and, as much as he [Jeff Bezos] seems to be vilified – whether deserved or not, I am not making that wholesale judgement here, nor do I generally presume to be capable of making those kinds of big moral judgments against individuals, unless, of course – by way of my fierce nature as a lover of all of time and humanity – I carelessly levy angry, heated judgments at governments and heads of state [I am still very much refining myself as a worthy servant [see: leader, teacher, student] at the hands of Cicero, Aurelius, Gracian, Tzu (both Lao and Tsun) Mohammad, Gandhi, King, Jesus [of the Thomas Gospel), Machiavelli, Angelou, Baldwin, and an ever deeper and expanding list of heroes from all times, ethnicities and cultures, whom I am so fucking privileged to enjoy the headspace of and to learn from: literally, I enjoy the privilege of a lifetime to be and become myself through this tribe of mentors we live in] – and I’m sure I could learn a lot IRL from people like Vladimir Putin and MBS, Trump family, and others – from Tony Blair, to Angela Merkel, to Trudeau, last names Obama, Clinton, Bush, etc – but in my very human, sometimes emotionally charged moments of anger at the blatant human rights abuses all the major and advanced nations of the world are complicit in sanctioning and supporting to build this fucking spacefaring immortal AI world-dream we are on the precipice of, I have sometimes said and or written inflammatory things against those I felt had the power to lessen the suffering of their fellow humans [No fellow humans if you see them as “animals” – and no guilt, if you don’t see the sufferings of animals even as worthy and valid – I drove by a giant concrete floored hellhole of a factory farm cattle prison deathcamp the other day that for miles had me throwing up from the stench of putrid festering shit] – anyway,  I often often railed against those whom I felt had the power to help the people and the world at large, but instead caused mass suffering, death, destruction, and injury to the people and the planet. And my big mouth nearly has me pissing myself a little in light of my being someone who is clearly a sovereign, independent ‘journalist’ [Gonzo Journo AF, in the key of Hunter S. Thompson] – I mean, I can’t really hide that I had the good fortune, as a service member of my country’s Navy, to study at DINFOS [And I fully intend to be on the list of notable alumni one day – clearly, I think I already am on that list and a lot of other special lists – but being on lists can also be scary… – and I’m not just referring to the very real fear and aggression, prejudice and prejudgement towards and against Brown, Black, Indigenous, and other, often darker skinned People Of Color  and cultures on EVERY continent IN EVERY non-white society throughout all history: fuck, we still have a huge population that views Muslim people as “terrorists” and Islam as “violent” (I proudly got hella Arabic speaking brothers {and not enough Arabic speaking sisters yet, but I will get there} – anywho, yeah, I lived in a house of amazing students and people from these places, who were my goodest homies and taught me about their cultures – shared their raza, their rasta, their food and their love with me – got me into the histories of Middle Eastern peoples and their invaluable contributions to and investments in medicine, art, the life-sciences – technology – contributions to human culture that continue to this day; for don’t for a second think that there is some sort of world ethnic ranking system outside of The World Bank and what often seems like universal ignorance, and, who can forget, the good ol oppressive colonial systems of control that have endured since time immemorial, from the competition for resources, for survival, for mates, that began with evolutionarily tied battles of brute strength, and what I would call ‘life and death competitions of “finesse”‘ as we see in every species, from the gazelle to the lion, and the mouse and spider too – this kind of athletic power of health, prowess and cunning as a competitive driving, innate controlling, powerful determining force – a learned survival mechanism – all the way to the usage of early weapons like the stone and wooden club [I will fr fr straight beat a mfr to death wit a wood club like Leonidas against the 300 at Thermopylae to defend mine: defenses as survival instinct is in human nature – animal nature – and regardless of gender or color or sexuality – and look, you are free to declare the killer instinct isn’t in you: I’ll be the first person to protect the innocence and defend the sanctity of informed, consenting ignorance in a free society to those who wish it upon themselves willingly or have had the good fortune to enjoy innocence and ignorance in its pure, harmless unadulterated forms – but every mom, son, brother, father, dad, aunt, uncle, sister – everyone who has ever loved anyone, any one who has ever truly believed in something – held something or someone dear to their heart – has it in them to protect what they love and deem sacred, and sometimes, even, to die for it, on some real G / halls of Valhalla shit – and these instincts may not be in you consciously {if they aren’t be glad, for you don’t need them; and if they are – well – pahtnah – be extra glad: for you do need them – and your demon level smell-the-blood-in-the-room abilities to detect fear – esp in yourself as a response to actual, perceived, or potential dangers situations and scenarious – will protect and serve you lifelong – and the generations after you too – so long as you respect the sanctity of others and that of of your own nervous system by protecting and preserving your health and listening to the body’s felt wordless language of instincts – WITHOUT getting lost in the sauce, like Osho, Scott Storch, {{Me, in past, younger, more ignorant – careless – (freer yet more dangerous) times – but it’s cool, I’m a real deal liberated G now – actual – and I’ll never fear nor harm myself again, though, of course, that doesn’t that mean those who love me will suddenly stop worrying about me – hell, I’m more of wild, potent intellectual hypersexual polyromantic pansexual lesbian transgender budding international treasure – more of a fucking rockstar on this planet – than I’ve ever been – and I’m only going up – zero takeoff runway, exponential like humanity – zero to a hundred – been goin up; I’m just getting started with my fucking career – and my shit is wild, I been on some blow your mind inherit the world magic trip with the wand in my pants since I was born into the wild wildness of trauma shit – I was raised by wolves, Alibaba and the 40 Thieves; I’m A Thousand and One Nights [Knights] to mine = and believe me, they minin bigdada and they mirin dis momma, watchin with a thousand eyes – like I’m Magdalene – but dey know – as anyone who reads me and has followed me knows – #analyzemebitch go ahead (kiss emoji) – that I am one that serves ALL life and cuts down NONE – I’m no trigger person: but I got a. hundred. fucking. shooters. Godfather NRG you don’t need a high tek machine to read – and you won’t find any active orders or hood passes w my name on them hacking into no sealed secret court orders – I’m not a “secret” agent: I’m a fucking public agent – for the biggest agency you never heard of: Nature. Bitch, I rock with reality and evolution on my GodDaughter / World Mommie protect the universe shit, and believe me, the people aren’t for sale, and we can back that}}; never seen a hero like me in a sci-fi – but I hope we’ve seen every fucking despotic asshole and dictator ever who ever abused their power and position – their occupation of that wild, free inner territory of kings – through the willful and intentional causing of sufferings and death on a mass scale – some are still doing it – and even on a small scale shit like killing journalists is unacceptable, but they’re pretty heavily fucking cliqued-up with nukes and shit and we do big business with them – make no mistake, we have internationally sanctioned the awful shit that goes on through the collaborative, competitive building of the worldmachine at every level to get here – from every professor’s mind in every university, to every black site mil base and every international community, down to the real mfn heroes of the game, of the streets and the people: the fucking drug dealers and Gs. From Trappers, to Vatos, to Yakuza, Mafia, Cartel…  don’t lie: you know you watched The Sopranos – you know who fucking Al Pacino is – Godfather and Scarface – Jay Z, Future – I have countless villainous culture heroes – Black and Brown kings and thugs [and I say that word with respect] sing and rap my fucking anthems, and I sing and rap their’s – proudly, with honor – and the nerd kids who don’t fuck w that hard shit, well they got their own heroes of the drug game, whether it’s my incredible, adorable Kundalini babes I love, who like plant medicine and Baba Ram Dass – smart guy, interesting story… lost in the sauce or not, you decide… – or my smoke weed or not geeks I love who listen to Alan Watts – and, if you like music… oh boy, I got bad some news for you: you like high people; from The Beatles to Travis Scott =) IDGAF if you like jazz: I’ve been smoking top quality jazz cabbage all day as I write this, hookah beside me, windows ajar, fans on, gold pellegrino cans on deck: I’ve been controlling my chemistry allmfkn day: I just popped another buproprion sr 150, a buspirone, and an estrogen pill [In an age of open international data piracy and mass surveillance, personal medical secrets are a fucking joke for someone like me: I don’t have them; I’m not that rich yet – I rely upon and trust in the same public supply chain as everyone else in my country, and it fucking works because people have skin in the game and so by and large do their jobs: and we watch and monitor them closely with technology and international standards and systems that are always improving, evolving, becoming more efficient, secure: we goin blockchain in the 5G IOT… random, but I need to charge one of my “toys”, but I can’t find the special cord for it rn : ( hmmm.. but I’ll find it when I findd it : ) yafeelme] – anyway, I deserve some honarary imaginary degrees up in this fucking bitch – gonna print my own Stanford, and MIT degreess in majors I made up – you think I’m kidding but fuck, I mean, I genuinely wanted to become a pharmacist and then go on to found my own anti aging hormone therapy clinic – fifteen years ago. The dreams have expanded and gone beyond that, as I realoze that sometimes it’s better to hire experts than to become one at a certain level – but the learning never contracted: my passionate curiosity in my own being has led me ever onward, made me the phenom genius next slevel #luckyslevin mind / reality hacker L33T ass superuser brilliant cute lil temporarily celibate ass slut that I am – I’m the bitch w the sauce apparently… –  all I know is that I live in a state of geeked up grace and incredible health, guided by the active life that comes from being a fucking spaz cadet, and really, just having a good heart, good fortune, and a superdeep intuitive understanding of natural and technological magic: I’m talking about music, drugs, biology, metabolism, gut / brain health, art, taste, temperature, sensuality, lighting, essential oil blends you ought to try – be my friend, and I’ll make you some, gift you special things meant for your senses – I be on alien shit – and I fuck with all things that effect consciousness, from fashion to – sidenote: Grimes, I love you. Also FKA Twigs, Halsey, Lana, Taytay, Dua Lipa, Clairo, Gaga, Selena Gomez, Beach Bunny… … and a bunch of sexy brilliant Trans girls…. all my alien dream wives… yeah I got a lot of muses that nurture me – who raise me – a whole galactic family of them – don’t even get me started shouting out all the musicians, actors, rappers, songwriters, novelists, poets, thinkers, philosophers, psychologists, yogis, healers, mystics, tricksters and other delightfully rotten scoundrels and bastards, officers, gentleman, sluts, whores, and other lovely fuckheads who built this babbling tower of love that is Baby Sequoia – S.L.S. – B.S., Queen {of Mean} – baby got a brand new bag #newplug and the devil’s in a new dress, and you like it bc you are like me, and I am like you, and sometimes people hate me for being more like them than even they are: as if, ‘how fucking dare I love myself for flaws they rake themselves over the coals for daily, how dare I enjoy the harmless sins they hate themselves for‘ – you have to suffer a lot, I don’t know what to tell you – I earned my liberation and the collective made me, raised me. As I opened this writing with: “I am a product of the culture”. And the culture is Love. Love is what I do this for and love is what drives me. Love for myself kept me alive – and I been at death’s door more than Batman has: I’m fucking Deadpool. Walked in my fire. I was sleeping in my car, homeless, had no one. But still was that trans bitch you love to hate. Still had a vision woven into my DNA that transcended my own pain, despair, loneliness, and suffering. I wasn’t afraid, just scarred, scared – but I never been scurred: I checked myself into those places you do not want to go, where they watch you sleep on camera, and maybe give ya some drugs to minimize your own harm to yourself: I still have those Olanzapine [Coincidentally, according to redditors and others, Olanzapine is a perfect off label trip killer for tough, bad, or scary psychedelic experiences; although, I don’t have those, and I sure as shit don’t want to take a pill that wipes my receptors out like a hard shut down for two or three plus days, but it’s always nice to have a plan in case of those worst case scenarios]. And most days, I like to feel like bootleg but real deal Jason Bourne, ya know, if he was a she and that she was trans and that trans person was me. But yeah, through experience, pain, I have come to a place where I am not putting myself through a nightmare any more so that I can help all live the dream: now is the time when I need to get over my guilt for my talent as a writer, and my guilt for the scripts and stories I am writing that I intend to bring me my first actual wealth and fame [Infamy and attention ain’t fame – I already feel infamous, and I already feel like I have a lot of quiet, interested attention]. Not since Benvenuto Cellini has someone played the game like this. Only, my unconscious genius, isn’t just out for my own sauce and glory – or else I would just be another asshole. And I’m not. I am Jack Ryan / John Krasinski level look you in the eyes straight up. And I know: I’m a lot. I’m intense. People can’t even handle me loving them. IT’s fucking lonely. It’s a lot to be me. I didn’t just write this to share my views, but to swim in them, calling them out from the depths of my years – and it took a long time for the coin to hit the bottom of my well. And, yes, drugs help me, like many creative intelligences. Not just prescriptions and supplements and the magic kettle of my own fleek ass microbiomatic guts, but actual psychedelics: I do them. Silicon valley – all these services and apps and technology we use, is being coded right now by people on acid and mushrooms – google ‘silicon valley microdosing’. Fucking Modafinil – a medicine I’d like another script for, like Ondansetron, for bad nausea (like I had this am), just to have in case. Go mode. We been on go pills: the people. Adderal [Note: I do NOT fuck with ANY amphetamines outside of related analogues MDMA and Mescaline – never. But a lot of people do. Hey, whatever floats your boat: just so long as you practice harm reduction and other good psychedelic best practices and principles, learnable via communities like reddit, and amazing websites like psychonaut wiki (Don’t mix MDMA and Cocaine kids. Bad for the receptors. Don’t want to do that). Anyway, yeah, people like drugs. All kinds of people. Personally, I pass on the cocaine – maybe quasi-useful as a ratchet ass therapeutic, if I desperately and dangerously needed a night of ego expansion and reflection, followed by intense suffering – but some substances, like cocaine come at too great a physical, mental, and emotional detriment to me – too big a risk for me to do – unless I got it from my plug and really felt like it]. But I don’t do heart racing: I do mind racing. Gelato 33 got me feeling sped up enough. But there are also highly valued substances I have yet to access: I want 2CB. I need shit I can’t get yet. I need the shit Shulgin was making, ya dig. Anyway, we’ll get back to psychedelics – bc they are relevant to the present and the future – but, as I was saying a guap of words ago: we have sanctioned the worldmachine and the suffering and the destruction of the planet, from every local and international governments and banks, to every depositor – and, look, bad people have friends, I get it, sometimes I roll with goons too, but we cannot co-sign bullshit or remain wholly silent as a society while innocent people perish and starve. My heart and soul aches for the people in Yemen. I truly hope we are nearing an end to the myriad sufferings that still plague the life and litter the planet in 2020 – as the time for immortality is nearing: is almost about upon us – and, then, it won’t be a matter of punishing the people you think are responsible, or waiting for them to die – or taking them out – no matter how much power you have, bc they will have the same power and autonomy and maybe more [Imagine being backed up in the cloud on a network of satellites w everyone else, and if you “die” you just respawn in a new 3D printed biological / cyborg avatar – yeah, we are going to have cat girls too], but, just, we will have to learn to collectively improve as we are doing, and ultimately, to forgive and coexist with the people who may have once oppressed us and others or remained complicit in their silence, or funded violence. Signed death lists. But the future is not a game of finger pointing and perpetuating fear. The future is a game of us all surviving together as a brighter, more egalitarian and actualized species. One free of the burdens of needless guilt and shame, as we can make suffering a thing of the past. Fact-is, whether or not you are aware and accepting of the animal instincts in you, we are all a part of the beastly, beautiful majesty of Nature, and we are all biologically human, all genetically related at large to all the killers and all the victims of all history – to all persons of time who have ever lived on this pale blue dot – and, by way of our wild instincts, our insatiable desires for control over life and how we feel, and in our quest for certainty over the future – and believe me: advanced societies and worlds such as our’s are all about certainty – we see as much in our near internet of things enabled emergent world of predictive analytics, mass surveillance, big data, AI, and collective intelligence – anyway, in our want for certainty over our future, we have been advancing in a competitive, violent fashion, from the time of the wood club to the first carbine pistol – through every revolution and war, to the cold war and the atomic arms race, to the space race of today on a path that we saw coming decades ago – the information war is real – IP man – but the sum achievements we stand on and benefit from in the more privileged and savage nations at present are far more collaborative and open than you think – and though we’ve been competitively headed towards the increasing complexity and connectivity of our inevitable collective destiny, towards a multiplanetary future since the dawn of life – at this level, it’s not so much competitive in purpose, or nationalistic, as it is by nature nationalized insofar as information and technology has been forcibly open sourced via a global intelligence commnuty over networks of spy satellites, undersea cables, and whatever ways and means of transfering, buying, selling, stealing, pillaging, trading, and raiding information is available to those with the finesse – the prowess, the control, the power – the means and the chutzpah – the resources taken in the wars and via the countless atrocities and crimes committed against humanity – a lot of fucking blood has been paid into this international table of collaborative technology that nationalism has us pretending we built independently of each other – you know, bc we are so civilized and advanced, but this is not so. We are just more savage. So, I nearly piss myself a little when I think of the times I’ve said things that have you ending like Jamal Kashoggi – and other names I do not know, for if I were to research the realities of the deaths and persecutions of so many journalists, killed in some countries that are known for killing journalists – or by them directly or indirectly – I would puke from the anxiety of it all when I thought of how someone could misinterpret or flip things I have said and written against me and how fragile my own life has felt to me at times. Even recently as I have started to make more emergent plans for myself as a thinker and artist on the world stage. And yes, I want to stand on the world stage and publically and or privately speak with the man-in-the-high-castle types who run big shit. And mind you, I’m eco, not speciesist but I am a humanist – and I will be the first to tell you that Greta Thunberg is legit AF – one of my heroes fasho – just pardon me a hot sec while I watch, listen, and weep to this STRAIGHT FUCKING FIRE right here: 

Anyway, yeah, I’ll be the first to tell you that modern capitalism, competition, consumption, manufacturing, and ways of living are killing the planet and causing incomprehensible, incalculable, inexcusable amounts of pain and suffering for countless beings and sentient lifeforms, large, and small, of every genus and species – flora and fauna – on land, in the air, and in our seas – OUR BIOME – I just want to make it clear: I will NOT make excuses for suffering in the name of progress – nor am I purporting to be an expert on wages and or working conditions at Amazon, WAPO, etc., nor am I an expert on quantifying the ecological and emotional costs and damages to the planet, the animals, and the human spirit, that are incurred, so that can we have this on-demand buy-anything instant economy, this machine that we are all more or less complicit units in supporting, in sanctioning the pain and suffering that exists in the world. But yes, Bezos, the richest man in the world is into space shit. If you were a billionaire would you be? I would. And living forever. Google got people like Ray Kurzweil on the squad for reasons. There is so much happening, and it’s tough, or, rather, frustrating for me, because I haven’t been to the Nasa Research Park in Silicon Valley – I want to be at Singularity Summit: and it’s not folx like me who are there yet, per se. It’s Stanford and Carnegie Mellon people and founders with net worths that would make your eyes spin if you had their money. Send me to Singularity University goddamnit. And I very much hope to and intend to be in these spaces, and I know I need to write my own ticket, on the merits of my own accomplishments, but for now, I’m still incubating myself. In inner space. And psychedelics help you do that. Dig it.

If NASA is the outer space program, psychedelics are the inner space program. And, look, not everything is for everyone. I’ve been taking LSD since I was maybe 12 or 14 – I don’t first remember when, I just know it found me. How? Fucking VALIS. E.C.C.O. I just call it Nature.

Nature is like a secret co-ordinating agency that runs everything through some unconscious substrate, like the mycellium network, only it’s trippier – but it connects you to people, to other agents for Nature. And Nature needs agents. Believe me. Nature is the true Central Intelligence Agency. Aliens, yes. Entities, yes. Intelligences, yes. I’ve been guided by many, many geniuses. And, if they had a predictive software to predict geniuses, I would have come up a long time ago, maybe even before those 99th percentile state test scores I had in elementary school. It seems to me, society, intelligence, technology (And google is intelligence, like Facebook or IG – don’t kid yourself) are quite interested in people outside the norms – particularly as regards cognitive and creative abilities. Now, there’s no think tanks knocking down my door, but Nature, my agency – the one I work for – Nature doesn’t play god bc Nature is god. So, no, no Good Will Hunting think tank job offers ever came my way. And if they did, and I hadn’t solicited them, it would drop the dime on a whole system of unconstitutional surveillance that monitors shit. They know how smart we are from our phone usage. How fast we think and speak, our vocab – no fucking way algorithms miss me – fuck you: I’m on lists. And those lists are private bc the people on them need their privacy and their autonomy to develop into what they can only become on their own. You cannot make me. As Jay Z raps, “You say you made me, okay go make another one”. You can’t. I come from nothing and nowhere. I’m from the fucking gutter. Yeah, I had some smart people in my family tree. We are special. My mom is a fucking saint. Deserves to be on Buckingham drive in La Jolla Farms where I’m going to put her. But this has never been about money for me. I cleared two-thousand dollars a day at 24. From tech I built. And I could do it again. I could make far more than that. I’ve done the math. But I have bigger things to do than to deify myself with money. I have suffered like you can’t even fucking believe, and I didn’t do so, so I could leave other kids in the fucking dust. The broken bones I carry in my face, this canvas of pain and scars, my skin… You can’t read my tattoos. You will never understand them. You don’t fucking know me. I don’t care if you’re my ex, my sister, [And believe me, I could never live up to the stupid inane impossible standards of either of them] or someone who has read everything I have ever published. Don’t pretend to know me or my limits or what I know or what I will be. I am barely still a fucking acorn of the oak tree I am becoming. And you can hate on me, as many have my entire life, but if you stand for yourself and your family and the future, well then you better fucking stand for me, bc I stan all that. And again, I was not raised to be a prince, I was born to be one, like Machiavelli and Makaveli – I come from nothing and nowhere – you cannot raise something like me, you can only behold the realness, authenticity, truth of me, which lends weight, credence, and depth to your own realness, authenticity, truth, whomever you are: I respect your pain, your past, your beliefs, your story, all but the rights of you to deprive others of their respect, their story, their culture, their glory. And humanity isn’t just a game of gods and devils; you cannot lay blame on a single name without zooming out to see the world that produced, enabled, supported, loved, hated, and suffered these figureheads of culture – unleashed them upon the rest of us – I see you older white US voters – but the time to worship individuals at the exclusion of others is coming to an end – we exist in respect to one another, not apart, you don’t own reality, even if you got the fiyahh cunning tongue and mind to drip it like I do – anyway, the time of people as gods above somehow mortals, lessers, subjects, is coming to an end – and collectively, we have the opportunity as a species, as a world, as one people, to bring in these finish lines for everyone to cross, I want nothing but gods, down to the fucking flies on the horses and the mosquito sucking our blood. If we only knew, we already would revere it all, but we’re still just like children who have really fucked up this garden, but we still have the garden, and we are going to make it beyond this garden, but this world isn’t just a fucking trampoline. You don’t just jump off this shit and kick the can down the fucking road for the younger generation, like some environmentally unsound anti-science fascists. But we have those. And their time will pass. And our’s will come. I know it. I see it. I’m just the cherry blossom tree that blooms first and declares that it’s festival time – I’m like any artist: privileged by nature and society – and I’ve suffered both to an unbelievable extent that I do not to serve queens and kings – I serve everyone – and kings and queens need people like me, the world does. And for more than just Amazon / Netflix / HBO programming, but I got that shit coming too. I wrote 20 fucking pages for two days straight to get the demons off my back: the voices telling me to explain myself, as if I fucking have to or owe anyone an explanation: I don’t. There are however, explanations I would like, but I know I’ll never get them, because it doesn’t work that way. There is no Q. No M. No Lucius Fox. I have no fucking contacts outside of the echo chamber I live in wherever I go. And yeah, I talk to it. Sometimes it feels like it saves me. I’ve seen things. Felt things. Somehow know more about who I am than I’ve been let know. I don’t know how it all works. I don’t think we can ever remember certain things. I just imagine them. And sometimes that imagination feels like memory. And sometimes its all I have. Because every love of mine ever feels like a clever, calculated handler to me in retrospect. And they’ve all discarded me. And my time for forgiving them on the deep level for the future, when they call me, is over and past. And I wanted to die when my last ex, whose name I am finally done putting on, wouldn’t see me. That was two Christmases ago. I ended up basically sleeping on camera. I’ll put it that way. This Christmas I was homeless. I spent the last ten years killing myself to keep the fucking lights on, so I could become what I am. And what I am is something that even these twenty pages doesn’t begin to touch. What I am is an international secret, living in poor ass plain sight. Protected by the strength of my country. I sleep safe knowing this. But ain’t nobody ever given me a fucking thing. Not you. Not anyone. They gave me PTSD. They gave me trauma. They gave me pain. They gave me suffering. They gave me nothing but ads for the perfect white teeth I could never afford. And yet, I’m here, pouring my fucking being back into them, to the ALL. To Nature. Why? I don’t fucking know sometimes. Because I think there are good people. I just don’t really know them. I have not so much as hardly had a hug in two years. I have not slept with anyone, next to anyone, been kissed in as long – I am as lonely as Jason Bourne is. And it’s like I’m trying to unlearn who I thought I was: the sad, depressed, suffering thing this worldmachine made me. The child who was severely abandoned, neglected, and abused. The kid who was picked on and hated for being different, and the adult who has been beat within inches of my life multiple times. Yeah, give me a fucking 3D printer and I’ll have a motherfucking plastic glock in every pocket of every fucking jacket I own. I’m hurt. I want to cry. And I can hardly do that. But I’d give anything to. It’s the only real relief I ever get from the pain sometimes. Yeah, I got hella 1942 tequila in the freezer. About to go grab a bottle rn for some. Just did. It tastes good. I earned it. Hell, I’ve got empty organic drink containers all around me from two days of writing this. My house needs my attention. I need my attention. But this has never been my first priority. IDGAF what the wet noodles and salty bitches want to say. I am for things bigger than myself – for the collective. And I’ve been a sucker for pain for over three decades in the name of my love. And, it’s ironic, bc I’m so alone, just, I was never put around people like me. And there aren’t many people like me besides. They are in the streets or the clouds. I can be anything but average. You can’t hide me in a middle class life, but I’ve certainly remained hidden in poverty. If I don’t finish and submit my shit, I would die in poverty rather than live for money or success. This is it. I’m here to shoot my shot, and I am. This next year is going to change everything. And I have no connections or guarantees of this. I just have my stories. And I think they are good. I think you’ll like them. I have so much more to say, but this was a proper foundation for some of my thinking and feeling. And I don’t have the time to explain myself further: There is over a decade of my writing available on this website. Figure it the fuck out. I’m beyond good and evil.

I’ll close this spectacle with a fucking gangster ass poem I found here, followed by some random – or maybe not random – EDM…

Lucifer in Exile

I am unreal here, at least they say
but I am solid and that pleases me.
You may ask why I tore away
the feathered signs of my true nature
to live four-limbed in this world:
It is easier to lie upon the ground without them,
easier for arms to encircle me,
better to know I cannot be pulled back.

It was never my own realm below;
I was imprisoned there as much as any.
It was decreed for me without recourse.
No one was willing to own darkness forever
but there must be balance always,
so I, the brightest, became infinitely dark.

In all that time
no one spoke with me.
In all that time
no one asked who I was
or will be or would be,
no one brought anything out of me,
heard my thoughts or saw my beauty,
allowed anything other than their expectations.
I could not sing there,
to console myself or anyone,
since music is born of heaven.

(How I sang in those old days,
raptures in the eternal light,
shining in the center of it….
Now I sound the narrowest sliver
of that celestial spectrum.)

Around me these heavy encasements
thudding on the pavement
I know what lives in them,
see it, call to it, am drawn,
knowing light like no one else.
None of them know the secret—
that each is like me.

Oh, Controller of all,
without choice there is no good or evil.
Refuse me my choice, I refuse yours.

The Other took my place in heaven.
I will redeem here, in rock,
each bone, each eye.
I bear the light still.

 

 

VII Aeternus Saturnalias / הֵילֵל / Noctifer

They thought I was Sol, they hid that I was Luna too: the royal we had to [I couldn’t have known],
Till blood, sweat, tears let me see I am Jupiter, assisted by Venus, the Divine Feminine as Zeus-Aphrodite – I’m Z to A, like pi, infinite, forever ~ this a Zumbi Apokaluptein: welcome to my NightMare bitch, I’m the motherfucking dark horse – now illuminated, this lamp cannot remain hidden, like the Thomas Gospel the church can’t keep it forbidden
GoSpell that, witches, for mainey men never wish death on me, we been posted with demons, daemons, and daymons, tripled up, overseas overceasar seer, I’ve been getting deep on new clear subs, over grams
Silver surfer transvenger on pink molly, pulling up untouchable like young boy NBA: never broke again, I’m fixing the game, see me in that blue SS drop on gasoline, leanin back in my seat, gang on lean
Spell it outback like A to Z, from Adam’s Woods to a garden, Eve
I’m zinkeing like Paracelsus, geeked like urkel went strefan, this ain’t no work, my chemistry never done been stepped on
E pills got me feeling second puberty, the best and brightest bitties all cumming to me,
I got titty skittle bliss so my littles clitty kiss, I’m in the middle, but I ain’t no centrist, this tension of opposites having undergone alchemical stages of old to attain this magnum opus
Gillian of Arran say my Grace is permanent and shall never be lost: good – I know lacoste, I ate that gator, tempted Eve to the apple, burned my ships, tempted fate for no tomorrow one night – June 6th (6.6)
That I may live dripping effortlessness, glowing flow, and, ultimately, create a new programming language [for reality],
One that does not manipulate, obfuscate – but deconstructs: elucidates, builds
Call it a new paradigm, like I’m two fucking tens in one, pair of dimes, but I got two sides so I don’t seek an other half: can’t flip me over tails
Closest thing outside myself is every girl that’s game – for you don’t see twin flames when they burn as one, same same gang gang
So, yeah, I got a hell of a lot of other halves – catch them in your music library, and in my pantheon, my friend group;
Godesses, Godyesses, maybe even a god or two in the future – I ain’t trippin on shit,
But get it straight:
Not fallen, cast down – reasons TB-Disclosed –
Don’t matter, now that I broke out, after the fire made me strong, venom and DNA splicing from the animal kingdom, controlled chemistry, black site plain clothes military around me, I’m an asset, you see
Nobody can fuck with me: I missed those shots on purpose, but they don’t want no smoke, or else its murder she wrote: satellites, drones, and high altitude craft got my back, and you still don’t know what I am, what to make of me loving you, of you not being into me, this part of the game you see
I am born to be, I come from the place in the desert where Area-51 and Sandia National Labs be –
My grandfather was on the Atomic Energy Commission, we mainey – I got the borne identity so don’t play me
Oh, I’m sorry, you wanted James Bond, but they gave you me, Sequoia Silverman, transgender blade runner, multidisciplinary artist, polymath, writer, and a real life freedom fighter – my angels are blue,
I’m cliqued up w NASA and the Coast Guard too, why you think I grew up where the west coast fleet be
Why you think I’m feenin to blow up like Alexander Hamilton, why I been incubating all these years, Ben Button – but I’m gonna be seeing Ben Baller – you’re favorite idol, I’m gonna call her –
I don’t cuff em, I collar – I’m every girls side piece and no girl’s main, so holler
At LVB, LB, Lawrence, Law, Lore, Yves Saint Lawrence, YSL Momma, and finally, Sequoia Liat Silverman –
Yeah, I’m feenin’ to have a lot of commas off a lot of successful dramas and other enterprises, projects
Shit you ain’t know about yet, I’m on it – I’m the real cinder-ella bitch, on the real, got em all hooked, rod and reel, catch and release em, upgraded with the seed of steel, love from below, not above
Count of Monte Cristo but I’m the motherfucking devil, and the christ too – I’m every main character in every PKD story, but I’m writing my own glory, there ain’t going to be a new testament, just a new god, called forth by Grimes, and Marina, and Lana, and all my other queens – bc I’m the queen of mean, organic diet, hella healthy, my bussy clean and my pretty-peen glisten and glean consciousness from the microbiome of nothing but queens – shout out my exes, and my nexus: nectar,
She wanna swallow, so I necked-her
I’m the hawk, highest in the room
Every bish on my girlcock wanna secretely jump the broom –
The females of our specie be so on another level that they be catching me harder pretending they don’t like me: “Too intense” – well, you’re welcome to your old life back, but I know you ain’t want that
As Wiz say, “Mama get in, don’t make it awkward. This some G shit you wanna take part in, and if not, well then I’ll gladly beg your pardon”
But you got a pretty part – I don’t compare bodies, minds, or hearts
On the world stage, I’m taking the whole play apart, getting booted nightly and making dope art
I have entered the building and I don’t got a ceiling – or a floor, I roll w goons, tycoons, and whores
LA calls me with sweethearts, thighs of all tones, and nothing but open doors, because I got the voice, mind, and heart to open any door – don’t have my black cards, yet, but I am not poor any more
My riches, Atlantis, “sky and ground”, like Trevor Hall, I spread the happy around –
Fort Knox, please – I got the keys, your heart is in my pocket, you want me in your locket
I surf the library of alexandria, go deep web, spiderman – on my Monticello wherever I be, like I got a nickel eye, I’m electric and eclectic, like Nikolai and Nicola, help you breath like ricola, got that drip like coca, but I don’t sniff no boca, nor rat on, no snitching, I’m a good horse to bet on, and I like to be ridden hard and put away wet, Porsche – bet
Going to put hella horses in my stables, because I’m able and I don’t hate on Abel, I made it the weekend, 7 Saturdays, not your martyr, got no neighbors, just me on acres, I’m satan, your savior
My upside down cross is a sword, I ain’t no fucking lord, don’t get it disick bc I’m this sick
I don’t play no higher self – bitch I’m authentic, this it
I accepted my flaws, so they do too, you’ll never catch me hating on you
I’m the Jack Ryan, think of me when you see Orion
We’re all going to Zion, level up, don’t need no iced out bezel to hold up to know I’m lit
My diamonds conflict free, legit, we gon put this on git, and I’m going on datpiff bc I been on dat piff,
“So celebrate and light the Mary Jane” – I got queens named Mary and Jane, Keri, Sheri, I call to my does by their middle name: I’m Liat – and she good to the last drop: he brew the game – gonna have 18 doors on 9 cars, short skirts in my coupes – I’m shooting through the roof, and stuntin’ wit previews is fun, but I ain’t no stunt man – I took the punches, and punched more box than your favorite front-man, cause I ain’t gotta front man, I’m trans: scraight up, on hormones love to hear a whore moan bc my dick still go straight up
I practice many yogas, got praxis from missions I sent myself on to places not on maps, and I dose and trip daily, MAPS: I’m the sleeper, mmmkkkaay, my glow natural – no ULTA – I’m extra ultra like I got opcioones, la otra, and I don’t need a map, on missions I’m guided intuitively, I was in the richest zip code in Amerikka, hiding out, who, me? “Did I do that?” [urkel voice]
Got brujas, mystical, SAS tactical, we legion, actual
And we’re bringing in a new Rome, factual, I’m romulus and remus, and they know who I am in the capital
This IC and we will abolish ICE and defund the police, “but the derp state” = ) Please, you can not stop this wave: my destiny is made, because I am who I say – the living philosopher queen, the shakespeare of our day
Pardon my arrogance, I’m not sorry, I’m just trying to make it up to the little boy who was home alone and hungry, stomach rumbling, CPTSD, can’t believe no one called CPS, but now I got that all seeing eye: CBS – and you’ll catch me on the cover of magazines, from Harper’s to Yes –
I chuze it I doze it, if I can’t find it, I meant to lose it, she left – oh, well, that’s how life go, when you leveling up and down to play like you ain’t bound to be welcomed as the people’s favorite in every town world round –
Elon and SpaceX building the floating spaceports, so I’ll be hopping on electric jets, reusable rockets
I am charged with every crystal in this world, swhy they wet, I love it, fragrance sweet, she taste like peaches and make me cream, I got a thing for florists, girls who arts and craft, vintage, eco friendly hipsters, like mac miller, make every Ariana’s hips stir, cause I’m maiden places history won’t know
I can go where you can’t go, super saiyan, I cast real spells with what I’m saying,
Air Bender, I’m something like Roger mixed with Bender, and now I wake up feeling amazing after a bender –
1942, I shop Vallartas, can’t wait to go to the Sea of Cortez and Puerto Vallarta, I got secrets in MX, like they already know who I am at Amex, just waiting for me, how fresh
I’m ripe for the times, as futurepresent participle; pwease focus {fuck us} – ewe-ish, as-if – but I know you want this wolf to consume the consommé in your thighs and sparkle up your guts and skin with my unobtanium – glo up your microbiome, pick you like the apple of my eye, put you in my family tree,
Biome, I know real estate and this the real estate, buy homes, peace out to my Gs like bye holmes, smell like the best lab made essential oils, I don’t need no gucci por hommes, we dior like Lyor, got a special pair of Beats from Iovine through a girl who had eyes on me, designs to wrap thighs on me, I was blind but now I see
Limitless, Cooper, Gaga, super
Funny how I have countless sisters, yet so few brothers – but few are chosen by the Goddesses of distant watching worlds, where avatar pilots are muses to the artists (Can’t wait for the pilot, I’m on this), but mine came in the game with me, and she’s really into girls, like me: so every girl I’m with is a threesome for we
– but I ain’t been paid in months on months, I’m choosy – I prefer to do me
For without lust, my unhchained love, my sexuality, all this gravity that muses sing to, in hopes I exist –
Without the clutch of thighs, legs wrapped around my back, heels high, trans girls, femmes, desire for queer re-union, sans my crushes and loves, I would never be as great as I am,
Even when they rebuke, betray, reject, recoil from my whiskey strong identity of passion – it empowers me to get clearer, and now I’m finally clear enough to see and connect with muses that get high off life with me, get me high, for I am no jesus, ghandi, buddah, I am sword and fire, a magi who turns any pen into a wand, you can tell, I’m turned on
And there’s no off switch for the one who no longer looks back at what burns behind me, planets and places I’ve been, pink light beams
For nothing exists in past, but a great chain of events, pieces of which are re-membered, embodied through – granted to – the hue-man / Gaiabien, Anibien via experience as a wave function of corollary resultant discoveries, leading to next: stone by stone we pilot and plot out lived experiences
Like Biebs: one finger at a time, I turn the pages – word by word, muse-A-I-cally
Yo, dig it, I’m the alien queen
Morning star reborn, dark knight, and this isn’t even my final form
I’m a rockstar on this rock – Bruce Wayne of the pen game, catgirls lock my jaw, never get too high to talk –
I’m the healthiest I know, I’m de-aging, I glow, got the supply chain catered to my DNA on the low
They got my blood in places not even four star generals can go, only the silent service know – they ain’t even know I was the cargo lmao
And you can pretend I’m ego-trippin, magalomaniac, manic: ‘oh god halp, somegrady brab the DSM! – nah fam
I’m in ethereality // hyperspace now [I make it glittch up good and you like it], she rub on me to make her dreams come true, and I ain’t even in the room – send me orgasmic energy, we live fuck zoom
Consciousness that hath’d emerged “rock hard pissin on my enemies” from a time capsule built womb to tomb via a sequential key only one DNA path could unlock: oh they are going to see me, enjoy the end of your days before my fame haunts you forever like the fetish you wanted all along – pshhh, it’s okay though, I forgive your game of thrones erroneous ways, you played me in my erogenous zones, but you played yourself, and you’ll spend your days watching me play home w princesses… but I might fly you out here and there, we’ll see;
I’m a future Pharoah, whipping up work in this lair, I’m inevitable, abominable to fake empty ass racist christians, got lean and strong abdominals, singing, screaming Black Lives Matter!
The new Kubernētēs – I’m Jax Teller, Young Hamlet, resident dissident baby president of a coming singularity, unitary body of knowledge, which already exists elsewhere in the universe, I’ve talked with them –
I got watchers in this pineal prism, networked up for major networth, creating content for major networks,
Yewwwwww! I was like Dantes in prison. Count it.
Ushering this shit in got me feeling like LOTR – only, I never seen that movie, or any Harry Potters either –
Why watch the movie when you breathe in and out the ether – are the other
One jung gawd to rule them all, only, there’s no ring or wand needed – I am the wand, feel me though your vibrator
Like Pretty Flacko, I could bag your bitch in a broken down chevrolet – only, I drove ford trucks, but I don’t stan Ford, I fuck with Stanford, real life superhero: beyond tough
Great Liberator indeed Bunny – Mousie, I’ll catch you on some flipside, and Kitty, EAM RLY, guess you had to lie –
Got me feeling like, was it ever real, but, it worked, whether it was fugazi or not, so I think you’re on my side – got your back forever, you know I’m ride or die
Ffffaiirydusht ∞ in my drink – truths only sacred geometry could reveal, only knots could express
I Got Over Death [GOD]:
Cheque, mate, game;
Walked the plank only I could see on a night of revelry
Potent power came into being, coursed through me, I died (in the wool), and my takeoff began
Only, I jumped off with with a king’s landing, not certain what planet I’m actually on, or how many earths there are: multiverse, they can rewind the live parts
Hollywood cannot create those effects – I’ve been to space – Kubricks Rube, my eyes were wide shut until that night when I bought the world, brought out the darkness of my power, so long hidden by my innocent seeming light
You wanna play?, I’m done playing, I’m just getting started running the game – I am fiery crucible, which no gauntlet can be thrown down on,
Awoke; incepted, inducted, taken, went, beyond too far gone
[Who could forget my naked speech shortly after to All of Rome (IO)
These early daze, when my tongue first dripped the honey of Eden
That 1942 wetted me up like water – and as smooth too, but sweeter
Pills thrown like confetti, untold swallowed, two vials and a victual downed
My moment for life could never be forgotten
I was begat in another world, volunteered for the love of my girls,
And you’ll never know what really I been through to get here, because some journeys cannot be put into words, some eulogies cannot be given, and some funerals cannot be held, but I am unbroken:
So welcome to my waking dream [I’m fashionably late, OFC],
But here on out’s better than never.

Round

I don’t know how the world ends,
But I think this is how it begins
As I walk outside, and whisper to the squirrels rustling beneath the deck: “It’s okay, I’m a friend.”

And I know they feel me because I feel them
Things have changed
Welcome to the movie of our lives
Suddenly, I see it
Easy to zoom out but its painful to zoom in,
Though the time for glossing over stuff is done

Tell people you love them:
Right now I’m telling you, I love you
We’re all saints

This is not the time for crimes, large and petty
It’s a time for generosity, for giving – and forgiving
And I think it’s bringing us together in some Nerudian way

But it hurts to zoom in,
Becuase it’s too close to home


Ps. This mix and others by this same DJ have been really holding me down tight. That and a good cup of yogi breathe deep tea. But most of all, Family.