I’m convinced there’s a magic man out there for me. Except his eyes are like coffee.
[Heart — Magic Man]
Maybe I’m wrong. I mean, God keeps promising me one Jaxon Solsinger — that’s our new last name if he doesn’t step up to the plate soon. It’s his turn to be at the bat.
It’s rude to keep a lady waiting. Didn’t your momma ever teach you that?
I want you to know that God already chose this man, specifically. He chose six, actually, to be fair, I just whittled it down to a singular man. Sir Deli Man. I enjoyed his personality and his speech mannerisms and him the most.
Oh, she’s fucking nuts!
God made me that way. Literally. This all started in March 2021. I was all normal and shit for the longest time. 38 years of my life, actually. Well, I guess that’s arguable, but I felt like just one me until then. I mean, I was always a troll and a handful. A capricious punk. Yeah, that’s right. A Pixie Punk. That was what the band name was gonna be, me and Juilie. A friend that I lost because I trampled on her fashion sense and… honestly… I don’t understand girls. My mom’s a tomboy, why would I?
I mean, we all wear flannel from time to time. It’s warm. It’s just not soft enough for me, not unless it comes from Torrid and it’s not that gauzy shit they have everywhere that fails to stretch. That stuff isn’t very friendly on my skin. I crave comfort.
Now that I’ve mentioned Torrid, by the way, you’ll understand that most of my money went to clothes. I love clothes. I love comfort. I love doing my laundry twice a month, which means having a lot of clothes. But now? I don’t fit in any of them anymore. I lost weight. Over the period of the last three years, I lost 150 pounds and kept it off. I am not a supermodel in body shape, so get out of here, you asshole. I have marshmallow fluff and it’s unlikely to ever go away and I don’t care if it does or doesn’t, and neither will a real man like Jaxon. In fact, I saw he has some fluff of his own.
He’s still hot! HOT HOT HOT! *she drools*
It’s funny… a lot of people think he’s gay because he has a lisp. How many times have you decided someone with a speech impediment is gay? Stop doing that, it’s rude. It don’t matter who anyone is sleeping with unless it’s you. Then it matters.
I’ll tell you something: the man of my dreams is a dreamy fucking man. He’s all man. He’s equipped with muscles and everything. In fact, Sansara thinks his shoulders are massive. That he has muscles for miles up there. She could stare at them all day. Salivating, to boot.
[Alice Merton — No Roots]
Me? I like looking at his soul. I have soul sight, y’all. Me! Crystal. I’ve had it since I was seven years old, which is as good as the entirety of my life while I push 40. I got a few months yet, though, so stop aging so fast! I know… most women won’t admit their age. You won’t believe me when you see me. You’ll think I’m in my 20s. Early 20s, actually.
STUFF IT! We’ll argue later, when I finally produce a photograph.
Right now, I want to tell you about soul sight. It’s a really useful tool that you should develop for yourself. Shamanism 101: Soul Sight.
The soul is in your head. In between your eyes, in the middle of your noggin. You can see it in their eyes, she whispers dramatically. I know there’s tons of argument about whether or not the soul exists, blah blah blah. Let’s just say this to make it all make sense to everyone at the same time, all at once:
The soul is an expression of bio-electric energy in your brain. It’s at the center of the brain because that’s what developed first. It is something you are born with. So yeah, it’s true, babies that are unborn have souls. However… I know you motherfuckers too well and I know you’re going to use this as a reason to say women should never have an abortion. Fuck you. It’s the lady’s choice. GOD SAID SO.
If you got something to say about that, talk to God directly. He’s ready to have a conversation with you any time you please. (Thanks, G-man. I’m really not good with being confrontational like that. Unless I’m protecting my life. But I’ll grow up soon enough.)
I’ve aborted a fetus once. Maybe fetus is too generous for a six week old growth in my uterus. Her name is Trina. She’s back in Source, a.k.a. Heaven. She wished to be divorced of the men who are in our bloodline, so I aborted her and healed her soul. If you’ve ever aborted a baby or know someone who has, you can pray for that soul to be healed, and it will work.
And don’t worry — abortion is a tool for God. You don’t have to feel like a monster for making the decision to own your body. We’ve overpopulated planet Earth. Many souls being born are not human souls but they’re getting human bodies because there are not enough places for the wild animals to roam, to be wild. Let them rejoin the cycle in the kind of body they want — an animal’s body. Stop forcing them to be humans. It’s not right.
[Ani DiFranco — Tiptoe] — Can someone please make a lyric video for this? PLEASE?! Thanks.
I like being reminded that I’m already a murderer. They say the first one is always the hardest one, after all. In fact, that’s the message in Full Metal Jacket. War is not the same as getting personal and taking a life. War is garbage, I must add. It’s the root cause of all evil.
[Shiva Shidapu — Power of Celtic Tryambaka Remix]
It’s almost time to go to Wegmans and maybe catch a glimpse of my future hubby, y’all. I mean, there’s always a chance that Loki is lying to me about him being my man, I suppose, but I can wait just a little longer for The Mountain Dragon Man.
I need him for my future anime. Titled just that — The Mountain Dragon Man. I can do it without him by just ripping the answers out of his brain. He should know that. If I do it without him, well… He gets no credit! Wouldn’t that be a shame? If I stole all his brain waves, his thoughts about the subject, and packaged them up in an anime and made whatever monies an anime makes?
It might even be rude. Boy, I hope he gets here soon, so I don’t have to do it without him.
Or I could scrap that altogether and just rewrite The Bible. I already started. I’m about half done. It’s not what you think, though. God’s not telling me how to write it. I’m telling God how I’d rewrite it. He likes it better than the original version, it seems. Especially Jonah. He cries every time we read Jonah together.
I’m going to put those on my Patreon, I think. You can pay for that. That’s real work. Hard work. Boring-as-fuck-to-me honest-to-God WORK! So you have to pay for it. This? This rambling, ranting, entertaining stuff? Not work, not most of it. Not until we got to 20 questions. It’s exhausting trying to remember my hundreds of favorites of everything.
It’s because I don’t have favorites, y’all! I know that’s the definition of not-favorite! But y’all wanna know what I do with my spare time, so I might as well tell you and get it out there and get it over with.
The shortest answer to all that is this:
I read. I write. I listen to music. I play some video games. I talk to people because I like input. I absorb art. I go to live performances for musicals and plays and concerts and even sports ball. I like watching people do stuff that they love to do. It makes me happy because it’s full of love. Maybe that’s why God calls me the Angel of Love. I hope so. That’s the best explanation I can make up to try to figure it out.
He likes giving me puzzles because I like doing puzzles. That’s another thing I like. In fact, right now, we’re putting together a Peter Pan puzzle. I let my mom go for like a day or two and then I swoop in and put together like 1/6 the puzzle and I walk away. I’m trying to keep her brain busy, you see. I’m trying to show her that life moves forward even without her husband, because… to put it in the shorthand format… he’s dying. Actively on the cusp of death.
I can’t save him. He had to change his ways months ago to be saved. He refuses because in my bio-dad’s world, I am a shit stain and he is God. I know that very well. I’ve known it all my life. It is no secret.