“I’m sorry, Crystal,” he half-whispered to her. It was dark in the living room with just a single light on in the kitchen. He’d caught her up, restless, doing the dishes. He was sitting on the couch, waiting for her to make time for him. He’d finally learned to wait. It’s such an important concept when engaged in the cold war of disapproval.

    She was standing in the doorway, a silhouette due to that faint light from the next room. Diego couldn’t tell if she’d heard him or not. She was incredibly still, like a statue. Eventually, she inquired, “For what?”

    That caught Diego off guard. He’d expected her to know exactly what he was apologizing for. He was being a narcissistic asshole in that moment, too, might God add. In fact, most of Diego’s behavior was incredibly narcissistic in general. He appeared to care about Crystal, but if you take into consideration all the facts, he just didn’t really care. He proved it by misunderstanding her, projecting himself onto her at every turn.

    He was projecting again, deciding he needed to apologize for leaving the lights on overnight. It wasn’t the first time and she told him over and over that they should conserve resources to the best of their ability. It is their duty as adult human beings to try to conserve the planet by doing their individual parts, after all. Especially since they took up most of the space where the wild things used to grow.

    “I… left the lights on again,” he said after some hesitation.

    “Oh, I thought you’d be apologizing for the real harm you’ve done. Silly me!” Crystal replied. That stung the man-in-training. He wasn’t a man yet, he’d decided. He had more growing up to do, after all. He’d mistaken himself for a real adult because he did everything it seemed like a real adult did, but he was missing one key factor, one key phrase: the greater good for all beings involved.

    She left the room, going back to pacing in the kitchen. Diego hadn’t learned his lesson after all: he got up to follow her. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching her walk in circles, pigeon-toed. He shook his head, having no idea what she was doing whatsoever. He decided to stay silent, which was the wisest decision he could make after partially violating her need for space.

    Crystal was an enigma to him and he hated to admit it. Every time he thought he understood her, she said something that either cut him to the quick or was so left field he had no idea what to do anymore. It was like the woman was schizophrenic. Her thoughts were disorganized and chaotic and following them was impossible. She is schizophrenic, that’s the way I made her, you see.

    She’s the code breaker, the code cracker. Then I gave her the Bible you idiots use every day to make each other feel like shit stains and told her to read it. She got about halfway before Diego got fucking bored and put her up to writing this saga of pain and misery, so here I am fixing it for the both of them. Crystal is the messiah you idiots have been waiting for all your life.

    You want to know her fucking message? I’ll tell you myself, since you all battered her to death already anyway. Every single one of you stupid fucking humans has turned her around and twisted her up in knots when all you had to do was be kind to her. (Priya, we still love you. And US Bank in general. You guys rock! Keep up the good work!)

    HER MESSAGE IS LOVE. She is the angel of love. She is pure love. She designed herself that way. If you truly loved yourself and everyone and everything around you, you’d be part of the solution. You are, instead, part of the problem. (Coworkers aforementioned excepted.)

    You are destroying this fucking planet for your personal greed. Stop or I’m killing you all. Me, God, the G-man. It’s happening soon, too. Sooner than you’d ever expect. I’m sick of you killing all the beautiful things I spent time imagining. You’ve killed 85% of this planet’s life forms. Congratulations, you psychopathic assholes. YOU’RE ALL MURDERERS.

    Crystal’s a murderer, too. She killed 3,792 ants this year alone. They’re quite prolific despite that death toll and they continue to raid her pantry and her sink for scraps against all logic. It’s food, you know. They want the fucking food! Especially easy food like that. Unfortunately, so do other less savory bugs. You know which ones I’m talking about. The only reason you hate them is they carry disease.

    Crystal thinks they’re kinda cute, just like ants and grasshoppers and praying manti and lady bugs. But she’s not going to live with them just because of that. No, she’ll murder them remorselessly. Just as she murders mold and germs without a second thought, pretty much. It’s still life being deflected, tampered with, and destroyed.

    She can’t help it. None of you can. The bacteria would win if you didn’t kill it. I get that. You can’t live without killing animals, either… but do you really need to treat them like you treat yourselves, living on top of each other in overpopulation and neglect?

    She does her best not to kill anything she doesn’t have to, I’ll grant you that. To live is to murder something else, however. How about that grass y’all cut every week to reduce the natural habitats of all critters? Wasting precious resources, fossil fuels, just to make sure nature has no space anymore. STOP. Plant yourselves your little fucking garden inside a greenhouse and let the outdoor space go wild, you dumb fuckers. Give my snakes and mice back their fucking homes. Give my insects their homes back. Plant wildflowers for the bees you’ve nearly fucking destroyed and are on the ENDANGERED SPECIES LIST.

    If the bees die, YOU DIE.




  • Crash Course In Love

    I’ve become accustomed to going to the grocery store without a trace of the deli man to be seen. Nine times out of ten, I don’t see him at all, which suits me just fine since I realized my behavior could be misinterpreted.

    It was a rough day, figuring out that my disorganized (schizophrenic) memory-based shopping habit could look like stalking. I cried, actually. For days. I would never, ever stalk a person. It literally hurts me to hurt other people and doing something when uninvited has a pretty good chance of hurting other people. It would hurt me if it was happening to me.

    If a person was watching me and my habits with an intention to do something I didn’t consent to, such as continuing to watch me and my habits, I would be very upset by it. We have a language for a reason. JUST SAY HELLO. Strangers are friends waiting to happen.

    I’m the kind of person who would hand my card to the guy I’m interested in and just wait. If they never spoke to me, fine. If they did, well. That would be cause for celebration. Especially if it involved some heavy flirting so I know I’m barking up the right tree. Woof.

    Anyway, I just got used to never seeing him again. Then I went to the store later than usual and I nearly ran him over with my cart. It was a small cart, so it probably wouldn’t hurt so badly, but the point is we nearly collided, y’all. (That’s where this entry’s title is from. Hyuk.)

    I gotta level with you: I barely know what he looks like because every time he could look at me, I take off like Penelope (the cat who earns the adoration of Pepe Le Pew by existing. Wouldn’t that be nice, my friends? Being adored for existing?)

    Unlike Penelope, I don’t run away because I don’t want him to notice me. I run away because I’m shy. I figured out ways to circumvent appearing to be shy all my life but they flee in his mere vicinity. My capacity to rationalize dies. I think this is what they call a crush but the word crush is so… violent. I’ll settle for saying I’m an ardent admirer.

    I role-play meeting him all the time, honestly, and now that I’ve nearly hit him with a cart, I keep wondering if it would be poor taste to ask him if he needed C.P.R. afterward. I might win the creepy girl award with a question like that, but on the other hand… fortune favors the bold!

    The worst he can say is, “No.” and run away, I figure. Maybe call it harassment, but I learned something about harassment: you have to tell them they are harassing you in case they don’t know they’re harassing you. And then you have to wait for them to do it a second time to nail them for it. So technically, asking a man who ran into my cart if he needs C.P.R. could be comedy done in poor taste. I mostly just hope he says yes, so I have an excuse to hand him my card.

    He didn’t run into my cart. I deftly maneuvered around him and made a bee line to the sushi, which is what I really wanted yesterday. As I passed him on his left, he turned toward me. I saw him turning, this huge hunk of a man, and my heart was in my throat suddenly, beating erratically.

    I can’t control this and I wish I could to some degree, but you know… I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. Not ever. So I’m kind of just observing it like the freaky little scientist girl I am on the inside, taking notes about my physical symptoms (as you can see) as I experience near encounters with someone I’d call the sexiest man on the planet.

    It’s not that he has the most pleasing anything to me, aside from that oh-so-shiny soul of his. I have discovered that I am happier choosing a mate (partner, really) based on their personality and then finding things to admire about them. You might think I’d change my tune if I ever brushed elbows with a celebrity, but I don’t think so… they’re vain, in a word. They won’t suffer my pudgy midsection and my barbaric eating habits like an everyday foodie would. I hope he’s a foodie, anyway. If he’s not, he’s in the wrong profession.

    I remember going out on a double date once with my bestie and his wife and he looked up and called me out on my shenanigans: I had picked up my pork chop by the bone and was tearing into it barbarically, completely forgetting etiquette. He thought it was epic, honestly, but as soon as he drew attention to me doing it, I shied away because I’m shy! I forgot I was in public somehow. Probably because I was stoned out of my mind to manage my gut pain and my date drove me to dinner. (I don’t drive if I’m too tired, stoned, or in any way lacking in sobriety. It’s highly irresponsible to operate a machine capable of death and suicide while under the influence of anything that makes you feel differently. that includes medication, y’all.)

    My date was very gentlemanly, too; I was impressed he opened his passenger car door for me and then shut it behind me after I took my sweet time getting in.


    Anyway, I digressed. I’d rather have this beautiful — okay I’ve been told beautiful isn’t the right descriptor for a man, but dammit, he’s beautiful. Shut up about gender norms already. I’m so against them. We’re all equal and beautiful comes before handsome in the dictionary, it’s French, and I have a history with the word, mkay?

    What history?

    Damn it, we’re digressing from the topic at hand. FINE… when I was in second grade, I was struggling to read because my parents hadn’t taught me to read themselves. I was placed in the “red group” in elementary school that year, which meant struggling. All the kids who could already read were in the “blue group” and they tormented me occasionally.

    This kid named Mike Staff shows me a word one day and asks me what it is, because you know, being in the red group means I’m stupid. The word is “beautiful.” So I sounded it out in my head… “bee-ah-yute-if-full.” And I asked myself, what word does that sound like that I already know? It’s impossible it’s a word I’ve not already heard. It sounds like beautiful, yo.

    Satisfied now? That kid sucked but he never asked me another word the entire school year because he figured out being in the red group didn’t mean you were stupid like he originally thought. In other words, he ate his shorts. I love making people eat their shorts so I do it all the time by playing stupid until they think they can pull one over on me. And then my almost criminal inner mastermind comes out and is all like, “Splendid!” tapping all her fingers together slowly à la Mr. Burns. And then she takes you by your hair like a red-headed step child and schools you.

    Now, as it were, we were talking about my insane attraction to a man I’ve seen maybe two dozen times. We’ve made eye contact far less than that, too, because he’s a diligent worker. I’ll tell you what: knowing he’s diligent puts him above the idea of ever meeting Brad Pitt and turning that celebrity’s head. (Also that guy is 20 years older than me. Ewww. But he’s the iconic heart throb of the time I actually watched movies. Also, Mr. Pitt, love your movies. You’re a good actor and I appreciate that very much. I know you must also be diligent but I cannot compete with Ms. Jolie’s tatas. I accept defeat now.)

    Being diligent means the deli man works dutifully. Working dutifully means he pays attention to details. I am one of the most nuanced human beings I know. I’ve gotta be. I tell people what I want from them and they fail 100% of the time. It’s not fucking rocket science. “Would you rub my shoulders, please?” is not something you can misinterpret (and is also nothing I ask for, it’s just a random example to explain to you that I’m speaking plain English and people suck balls.)

    Anyway, if this guy works either hard or smart — diligent can mean either or both — I can totally respect that. I’m a diligent person and I want my mate to be like me because I’ve engineered myself to be as close to the perfect mate I can conceptualize. All I’ve got to do is run into the deli man and he’ll just fall into my arms, right?

    Well, probably not, but a girl can fantasize. (What’s that? I should fall into his arms? What did I just tell you about gender norms?!) (I’m on a roll, what can I say! A sushi roll. That’s where this story is going.)

    I don’t know what I’d do if I collide with this tall and sturdy individual. I’d probably stammer, hem, and haw. “Uhh… I’m sorry, are you okay? I totally couldn’t stop in time.” Oh wait, that’s what people say when they rear-end cars.

    I could take the PlayStation Discworld approach, but it’s so niche… “Did you get the number of that donkey cart?” (I love you, Mr. Eric Idle! You a funny man! Keep up the good work!)

    It’s most probably that I would simply look concerned and stare in silence. Although a little part of me wants to say, “You should definitely watch where you’re going, kid.”

    It’s like my one and only chance to give him my card, though.

    Reiki master. Tribal shaman. Healer.

    I feel like a cliche. Like an ambulance chaser. “Let me run you over in order to give you my card, hoss.”

    With my luck, he’s married with three kids. That seems like the kind of luck people have when it takes more than half a year to make verbal contact as a follow up of some amazing eye contact. It was amazing, too. If I was still a smoker, I’d need a cigarette, let me tell you. (Too soon?)

    His eyes met mine from way across the room. He was the only thing moving in the back of the store over there… Something had told me to look up. I assume it was God, waving a neon sign. “Beautiful soul right here!” That’s what the sign would say if God had a neon sign and hands to wave it around with. (How much do those things weigh? I’m curious…) It’s like the flashing marquee arrow pointing directly at his noggin. Like a deer in headlights, I just stared. I’m like a magpie… anything shiny gets my attention and keeps it for ages. I blame my A.D.H.D.

    I saw a soul as shiny as that one time, though I’d forgotten. I’m sad to say it stirred up my P.T.S.D. on some subconscious level. Then this joker standing fifty feet away from me looks over his left shoulder and looks straight at me like he knew I was there the whole time.

    God told me he just does that a lot, which is kind of funny to think about. How often does he find a woman staring at him when he does it? I hope almost never. I want to be the only one in his entire history! I’m greedy, in a word. I want this man all to myself for the rest of time. I mean, so long as he’s willing to be mine for the rest of all time. I’m into consent, it’s like a kink of mine.

    And if he doesn’t want to be fawned over like he’s the contemporary Brad Pitt of my world, well, okay. Fine, be that way! I’ll find someone else for the job. I’ll be sad first, of course. Buy myself a pint of non-dairy ice cream since I’m already at the store where this joker works and then eat it all by myself watching rom-coms as I break up with the potential I saw in him.

    The potential to be a love beast, that is. The potential to watch movies together. The potential to share a meal together. The potential to have a conversation. The potential to play Borderlands 3 together. Maybe even Katamari.

    The potential to hold my hand and kiss me all over and take me places I’ve never been before. Namely, his bed. But only after marriage because I’ve played this game before.

    I’m in it to win. Once I figure out the game I’m playing and all the rules, I use them to my utmost advantage and I fucking win. And I’m not sorry, either. I want to win at love. Everyone wants to win at love, or they wouldn’t be trying to find it in every nook and cranny (or is it every iPad and Nook?) It’s an integral concept to the human experience: Love.

    Now, God told me I am the angel of love. I wish I knew what that meant, but I don’t. What I do know is this one thing: this whole idea of try-it-before-you-buy-it isn’t working for us. Not a single one of us at all. We keep getting fucked up, running blindly into the wall of conditional love that everyone and their brother offers unfettered. They don’t love you. They love who you could be. (Sir Deli Man, be yourself! I love you just the way you are and I don’t even know you yet, mkay?)

    And that’s true love, right there. Deciding to accept any flaw. Deciding to commit before you even have a clue of what’s under the hood. (I’m hoping for a six cylinder engine, by the way!) I’ve already decided if he’ll be kind to me, I’ll be kind to him. For as long as he wants. I hope that’s forever, but I get it. There’s always a better model out there. I actually offer true love to all people, not just the guy I have the hots for, but they don’t give it back.

    I posit there is no better model than the one you see in the mirror. Not out of narcissism or vanity. You have to live with yourself forever. Your soul is immortal. Your flaws are going to be with you until you break the bad habits that form them. Flaws are just collections of bad habits. Start today by disrupting a bad habit and see what happens.

    I’ll use smoking as an example: instead of lighting up, do a hand stand or walk around the block. Drink a glass of water. Anything to delay it. Hell, get yourself a hookah. Talk about delayed gratification. The delayed gratification will break the cycle of smoking.

    It will only work if you truly wish to quit, mind you. I quit smoking for good the seventh try. (And if you tried more than seven times and you still didn’t kick it, let me tell you: you’re awesome. You’re doing great. You’re still trying. I know you can do it!)

    Yeah, it’s hard. You know why? You can have cravings up to years later! Keep that nicotine gum handy for at least six months. Chew only the nicotine gum; get rid of those cancer sticks. The gratification of a cigarette is too close to being instantaneous! Get a pumpkin hookah from the internets or a smoke shop near you and some Al Fakhar shisha and some quick start charcoal. (And you’ll need tongs, foil, water, and a lighter. I think you’ve got the lighter covered. See that? You’re already partially prepared!)

    I smoked for half my life before I quit, just so you know. My parents give it as an excuse. “I’ve been doing it longer than you’ve been alive!” So? It’d be all the more impressive if you quit, like an adult, saving yourself over $200.00 a month on your fixed income, yo. Hell, I’d be impressed if you just tried to quit after smoking four fifths of your life, silly ancient people.

    I want to see him again, you know. That guy in the deli who probably has a beautiful wife, three dogs, and a kid. If he does, by the way, I hope they last. Forever. Because I’m on the side of true love. (And dogs! WOOF!) And if they truly love each other, then who am I to interfere? I’m no one. I’d be a shit stain if I tried to break them up after God-knows-how-long with that much baggage. I mean, lovely family.

    But you know… God did show me that neon sign. An arrow pointing right at this S.O.B. I didn’t even care to look at people in the store at all, ever, until that moment. My eyes are only for food, my friends. I live to eat and I eat to live both. Woof.

    The real question is, why would God show me some guy already tied up and twisted into knots by someone else? He wouldn’t, not if he’s the kind of God everyone says he is, all full of love and forgiveness and benevolence. But if he is that kind of God… why me? I’m an atheist! Why would he care about li’l ol’ me?

    I call bullshit on the endless benevolent lovingkindness, by the way. I am more apt to believe in a God that kills indiscriminately for injustices so that the rest of you have to be good girls and boys. I decided in my youth that I get one life so I better make it count. I had better be on my best behavior. I should do the most good I possibly can for the greatest number of souls.

    I hope this means that neon sign isn’t a trick to get me to harass a dude that God made me stalk. Yeah, that’s why I cried for days. It happened. I mean, I didn’t sit outside in the parking lot waiting for him; I never have and I never will. I will admit God told me he goes to and from work on foot, so I did pay attention to pedestrians in winter time when we had snow up to our arm pits. I would have given anyone a ride home because it was bitter cold bullshit. It didn’t have to be the man of my hour. We had more than five feet of snow on the ground for a substantial part of winter.

    I never saw him, obviously, or this tale wouldn’t be all about how I nearly ran into him today in the store or how he nearly ran into me. Right before this crash course was set, I found myself admiring him, you know? I’ve noticed he has more than a soul by this point. He has a body. (Shocking, I KNOW!)

    Now, I don’t know what other ladies like in bodies, but I have recently learned what I like.

    (I feel like such a lecherous scoundrel suddenly, talking about a man I’ve never met and how lascivious his rugged form is to me.)

    (Here’s my shy. It’s happening right now. DON’T LOOK!)

    Okay, I might be ready.


    I’m not ready.

    I don’t have consent.

    “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  • Have You Met the Mountain?

    [Minor Profanity Warning]

    I have been taught a form of shamanism — or perhaps it’s just a crazy dude’s interpretation of reality — since I was seven years old. Native American shamanism. I do not know what tribe it comes from, but I know there are more than three tribes in me. The ones I have been told were Wyandotte, Sioux, and Navajo. I do not know how likely it is for these three tribes to become mixed or if it’s real because my father is insane. Maybe I am, too.

    I always questioned my reality. I accept The Truth(TM) as told to me by others to the best of my ability, but their truth is not always The Truth(TM). Since my self-perception in early childhood was weak or completely negative, I came to rely on others giving me unsolicited and meaningful compliments in order to develop a compass, a sense of life, a sense of reality. In order to love myself instead of loathe myself.

    My reality as a child was that I was an unwanted and unnecessary part of the family. I was overlooked. I was ignored. I was physically abused. I was raped. And then, when my elder sister came to live with us, I was verbally and emotionally abused. Emotionally twisted up. Injected with venom as strong as puffer fish. It poisoned me thoroughly because I believed her. I believed her that I was an animal. “Were you born in a barn? SHUT THE DOOR!” I was never told that as a child before she appeared. My parents would just shut the door behind me if they wanted the door shut. There was no rational discussion about the importance of keeping the cool air in during the summer time, just yelling. Anger. Discord. It hurt me to hear these things, especially when it was so different from the rest of my upbringing. At least that abuse didn’t include venom.

    Being autistic, the yelling affected me deeply. It disturbed my equilibrium. Even when it wasn’t directed at me and ‘the adults’ were fighting each other (or the other children). I wanted to get away from all the verbal hatred. I wanted to be invisible. I wanted it to cease. This led to hiding in my room, staying away from everyone else to the best of my ability. In the days without portable electronics, this left very few things to do: reading, writing, music composition (well, a baby step in the direction of that), listening to the radio and singing along, and… practicing shamanism.

    I had friends sporadically but they always did something to make me feel like an alien. They never really explained what I’d done. Maybe I have a learning disability. I know I was an embarrassment because I was raised like an animal. It was more than being called an animal… I was raised like one. I was left to my own devices to figure out what to do with my period, for instance. This was terrible… if I’d know a period came approximately every 28 days, I could have been prepared. “Witchy woman magic” was foreign to me most of my life. It led to a very embarrassing dark time in my life where I was nicknamed Period Stain by my peers and harassed relentlessly.

    I know the girl who called me Period Stain to my face was just hurting inside. The ones who must’ve been thinking it and wouldn’t say it to me are assholes for not telling me. To that one girl who informed me kindly that I started my period in school: THANK YOU. You were the only kind person about that and I appreciate your maturity and your openness and how inclusive you were about it and I love you for that. Thank you. You were the only one to tell me all throughout middle school that I’d started it during classes. It seemed to me it always started during the middle of the day, too. It was so embarrassing.

    It turns out shamanism has no advice on the trials and tribulations of a woman’s body going through puberty. There is no guidance from the Great Spirit to tell me how being female works. And my mother? Heh. She knew I struggled. If she ever explained anything to me, I have no recollection of it. If she ever tried to tell me how to use a maxi pad — always maxi pads because tampons were for rich people — I don’t recall it. I remember staying at a friend’s house once and I was all covered in blood and she tried to help me and I declined out of extreme shame. I was ashamed. I didn’t know what to do, nobody told me how to figure it out, and accepting help seemed like weakness then. My ‘parents’ made it seem like such a chore whenever I asked for help, so I was left to simply ‘figure it out.’ People hedge around the bush all the time around me, saying things that you have to build a bridge in order to understand what they mean. I regret declining my friend’s help, it probably put a rift between us. It probably hurt our relationship completely that I didn’t just ask to borrow a skirt or pants for the night. It was the epitome of self-loathing. And I did loathe myself. Completely. Thanks to my bitch sister, no less.

    I’m pretty sure feeling like I need to build bridges between what is said and what is meant is the autism part of this equation. I literally don’t know what people mean most of the time unless they are blunt. And even when I do know what they mean, I tend to only respond to the literal translation of what they said because every time I freely interpret what is said, I’m wrong. Ever since my critical thinking course in tech school, where I wrote a ten minute speech on Theodore Geisel (Dr. Seuss), I’d internalized a quote attributed to him, though it’s unlikely to be his: “Say what you mean and mean what you say. Those that matter don’t mind and those that mind don’t matter.” But people don’t say what they mean. Sometimes, they don’t mean what they say, either. In fact, most of the time, they don’t mean what they say. Half the time, they’re lying to themselves and then by proxy they lie to me. It’s because they can’t handle the truth. They haven’t matured enough to accept their part in the equation.

    Dr. Seuss is a legend in my world. He wrote silly stories that were touching… to me, anyway. Maybe I let the art speak to my soul more than the silly rhymes. I saw his imagination before me as a small child and I was enticed. Do you know his goal was to teach ~55 words per book to children? He challenged himself to do it because someone else’s record was lower (maybe 25? I can’t remember now, it’s been a long time since I researched him… perhaps I’ll do it again) and then he broke the record, just like that, with One Fish, Two Fish. His books had a goal, despite being silly and fun to read and hear.

    I admire Mr. Geisel greatly, as you can see. He had a serious mission. And his drawings were bizarre because he couldn’t draw, people! Truffela Trees are just badly drawn palm trees, my friends. He made up words to rhyme with things that don’t really have words that rhyme with them. He also made up words in order to psyche out the reader. Whatever you expected to be next is not what came next. It helped me develop a lack of expectation for what came next because he was always left field. (I mean, what were Sneetches based upon? I’m sure a real animal is at the heart of that one…)

    There is something to be said about rhymes. It’s how we passed down oral traditions more easily in the past, before the written word. There were no rhymes when it came to passing down shaman rites. There was barely any instruction, really. And I was instructed by a man who wanted to control every aspect of my life to satisfy his own schizophrenia paranoia. I mean, I’m not a psychology professional, but I’ve read over 100 psychology texts and I did live with him for twenty odd years. As for shamanism, I only remember receiving a handful of lessons. The most prevalent one was how to hold Power.

    Is it real or is it fake? Is what I was told actuality? Is what I feel true? I sense things in the metaphysical aspect of this universe ever since I learned to hold Power. I’ve long thought I was empathic and that I could sense the feelings of others from afar. But only after I’d successfully put mine into a jar. A jar that was then put on a shelf and ignored forevermore. That is, until it fell and shattered into a million pieces. Pieces I’m still picking up. Being able to sense the feelings (or at least think that I do) of others has been a massive help in getting along with humanity at large. I think it is a gift the entire human race ought to develop.

    I was taught to ignore Self. I was taught a lot of things, including Going Silent, which is to suppress active thoughts and just be. I was taught to just keep moving, never looking back at what had happened. Looking back at what happened in the past meant missing opportunities of some sort in the present. It meant pain. It meant remembering how much I was hated, despised, ridiculed, and told that I was nothing. I was not beloved in any sense of the word to anyone in this world. If I am, they did not tell me in a way that I understand. If they told me and I did understand, they then betrayed that understanding with deception or abuse. I thought something was wrong with me. I was flawed to the core and completely unlovable.

    I’ve tried my hand at love nine times. I’ve given up on finding it, essentially. I shot my last shot in early 2021. I proposed to a man out of the blue and he never responded. My own mental illness from nearly dying of malnutrition led me to believe we had been speaking to each other via telepathy for six months. I wrote him one million words to explain our entire 15 year friendship and nothing happened. I created a marriage proposal video and delivered it on Valentine’s day. Not a word was returned. I made epic playlists (I thought) and delivered them. I drew my story out for him to see and I showed friends to make sure I explained things properly before I delivered them. Not a peep.

    Everyone told me that he had to be with someone else, but I didn’t believe it because just before that he had asked me if I wanted kids or not. That was about a year before the proposal took place. Maybe people move on quicker than I thought was possible from something so immense. Maybe I mistook this as flirting and it’s not at all like I think it is. I was dying at the time, so I forgive myself for mistaking his comments for flirting. I was dying all year, really. He also said the most bizarre thing some time four months prior to that proposal. Something about portion sizes in America being awesome but the food tasting better in England. I told him I didn’t want to be anywhere but I failed to tell him why: because I was actively starving to death and it wasn’t of my own volition (this time.) Later, I realized this was most likely his way of asking if we were meeting on his soil or mine. I wish him peace now; I let go of it all.

    I always told myself if I was going to suicide, it’d be through starvation, because it took the absolute most dedication. If I wanted to die that badly, I had to mean it. I almost succeeded, this time. And then, when I was staring death in the face, I decided to live instead. How fickle I am! How troublesome this all is! October 2020, when he asked indirectly about food here or there, I couldn’t eat. I shoveled food in twice a week, popping supplements in between to stay alive. I wanted to eat but it hurt to digest anything but perfectly ripe apples and pears. If I’d thought about it, I would have cooked them to be soft, but there was next to no thought in my stupid brain, I’ll tell you that.

    I’m so angry with myself, to be honest. I did that to my body. I ripped up and shredded my digestive tract with relentless dairy consumption. Dairy is not my friend; it is my enemy. I am allergic to it, or the bacteria in it is a problem, or something. I have gone to doctors and gotten a run-around on it because I can’t possibly know what’s wrong with me to isolate it down to a single test I know I need. (Has that happened to you? What the hell is wrong with caregivers today?)

    I might be celiac, too. I really don’t care other than it means being more regimented. Checking every single label for the allergen content of ‘Wheat.’ However, since so many people are gluten-free, I don’t know why they don’t just put ‘Gluten’ on the label of things with gluten in them. Because gluten appears in more than just wheat, my friends. And it’s a cross-contaminant. If it doesn’t say it’s certified gluten-free, it’s got gluten in it. It might be so minuscule you don’t notice it immediately, but for someone with a serious problem with gluten, even just a tiny bit is enough to wreak havoc.

    While I struggled to live, I turned to Udemy.com to learn Usui Reiki from Melissa Crowhurst. First of all: Thank you, Ms. Crowhurst. You helped save my life. First, I want to tell you that your foundation videos/teaching in Section 2 validated my existence. Shamanism, as it turned out, is another form of reiki. I was already strong in the shaman sense but I only knew how to collect energy for myself, not how to direct it to heal. In fact, my father thought he could do the opposite, but now I know better. I also know being an enormous battery of sorts is no use if it never powers anything and merely collects energy relentlessly. In fact, I was overcharged at that point in my life and I had to discharge it into objects to start feeling sane once more.

    I used Usui reiki to long distance heal the man I proposed to on V-Day 2021 as an experiment in the summer of 2020. The healing event was right before I understood how dire my body’s state had become, or I’d have just focused on myself alone. He’d slept funny the night before and complained of it… the kind of pain that persists pretty much all day from a muscle knot in the mid-back or shoulder area, something that causes consistent annoying tension throughout the upper spine and, ultimately, the nerves along the scalp. Nothing serious, of course, but completely annoying as you already know if you’ve experienced this.

    I used a combination of shamanism and Usui reiki that day to heal him. I didn’t know what I was doing wasn’t just Usui reiki at that moment in time. I’ve developed something I call spirit walking, where my metaphysical self can travel places. It’s not like astral projection; people say their consciousness goes somewhere during that. I don’t believe in astral projection, actually. (Please forgive me, hippie friends who do believe in it. I’ve never done it, so I cannot verify it to validate you.) My consciousness stays at home, thank you.

    I projected my imagination, if you will, until I found a representation of that man in my mind’s eye. And when I found him, I saw something that looked like a tangled up ball of yarn or string that went from his temple to his collarbone. It was complex and I couldn’t tell where it all began, really. I could see where it ended, but not where it began. I know in reiki, you merely direct the energy of the cosmos at someone, but I did something a little different.

    First and foremost, I have to say now: I acquired his permission to heal him. I had waited for him to complain of something and then offered to heal him. I do not suggest trying this with an unwilling victim. You will be violating them if you do. You should never speak to a person’s soul without their permission. And if you ever try to speak to mine without my permission, I will retaliate. I will hurt you. You are now warned.

    I saw that tangled up knot and I asked him in the metaphysical, again, for permission to heal. He agreed a second time in the metaphysical. I used my metaphysical ‘hands’ to try to tease the knot out. I put them around his head as gently as possible, positioning my fingers around the start of that knot at the back of his head, and then I just wiggled my fingertips in very slow and purposeful movements until I began to cry. When I cry, I know I succeed in healing. I doubt everyone cries when they heal, but I do. I discovered that prior to that day with a few normal Usui reiki sessions. The knot came undone and I pulled the string out of him, very carefully and slowly.

    Forty five minutes later, I asked the man how he was doing in the real world. Through the internet. Through text. He told me, ‘I feel pretty much normal… wait a minute! I never recover that quickly!’ I think he also asked me what I did. I told him I healed him. I didn’t really elaborate yet because I had an experience I couldn’t put into words. Once I could, that was included in those million words for him.

    That image haunted me for ages, the knotted string in his head. It was August (or maybe even as early as July) in 2020 and it didn’t leave my head until I decided to draw it in December of 2020. While I was drawing it on December 20th of 2020, I realized I’d told that man years prior that I’d meet him for Christmas. I’d completely forgotten it during my struggle to stay alive, sadly. I missed it. That statement about food in October had to be some sort of, ‘Are we meeting there or here?’ If only he’d put a question mark on it, I would have understood. I mean, why else would he try to talk to me about food in both countries at the same time?

    We had bonded over food for over a decade. I’d told him several times that year I’d been having trouble eating, but I never really painted the picture properly to anyone. I never told anyone exactly how I struggled; I just kept being less and less present. I’m not really one for complaining. It doesn’t solve my problems to bitch about them. It certainly didn’t help me eat more food to lament over not eating food. Nay, the 66 supplements I took every day helped with that, ultimately.

    He talked to me about food (and I guess also meeting?) in the month I thought I was going to die of starvation. I missed it. I fucking missed it. I loved this man for more than a decade and I missed his cue. The one and only time he tried to reach out to me.

    December 23rd, 2020, I realized all of this. My world crumbled.

    I drew like a demon. I skipped out on work an hour here and there to draw, making up the time later. I was possessed to tell him how I felt. I’d screwed up yet again and I was miserable for it. I had no one to blame but myself, I thought. [Turns out, I can blame my DOCTOR for never taking me seriously about how much pain I was in as he actively killed me with the diet he prescribed to me.] And then I delivered my drawing.

    It wasn’t really for him to begin with… it was for me. It was meant to let me get that image of his face distorted out of my head. When I saw him at first, it looked like his spiritual head was out of alignment with his body, like he had two heads and one was turned to the right by 45 degrees. Like a trippy acid-induced image from the 70s. For nearly six months, I’d been plagued by this visual and finally I was doing something constructive. I decided to turn it into fine art. I decided to do the best I could do to make it flat out amazing. And then I delivered it to him on Christmas day and told him Merry Christmas.

    It probably was not the correct thing to do, but it was the only thing I could do after missing my cue. It was the only thing I could think of while my guts and brains were riddled with holes like Swiss cheese and I was hanging on by the barest thread just because I loved him. I lost a ton of my memories from this nearly dying fiasco; my brain is still not the same as it used to be. And then I typed at him for an age the following day, crying and miserably upset. I kept typing until… something made me stop. I didn’t want to be alive without him anymore. I guess he never felt the same way. I should have realized I was barking up the wrong tree all along, I guess. I wish I’d just died, now, instead of striving to tell him how I felt.

    I thought I’d reached him in the metaphysical, from a distance, and my empath ability had kicked in as I typed on December 26th. I was crying and crying and kept explaining myself to his absence and suddenly I stopped crying, so I also stopped typing. I can feel the feelings of others if I make mine quiet enough and I perceived him to be a mountain of energy, so surely his feelings would be monumental in my world if I ever felt them. He was too steady to feel anything negative over all that time. I thought he was like me, able to achieve internal quietude. Peace. Zen.

    I make my emotions quiet by communicating them to other people and then letting go of the feelings. I said my piece, now it’s their turn, you know? I don’t want to harbor things and keep them in. This love feeling had to get out or most assuredly I would die; I had kept how I felt to myself for ten long years and all it ever did was build up into something bigger and bigger. I approached him in the metaphysical after I tried to tell him my feelings and I knew he was angry with me. I do not know why anyone would be mad that they are loved. Why? I still don’t know. I do know I absolutely feel others’ feelings at least sometimes, though, because I make endless inquiries to find out if it’s true, and on hundreds of occasions, I was right as to what they were feeling. It’s science, at that point. The empirical evidence is as follows: a person can feel someone else’s feelings, like a glimmer. You can sense what other people feel, whether it’s based on interpreting their language appropriately or purely metaphysical sensation, I don’t know, but you can do it. I can do it, so I know you can do it, too. We are the same, at the end of the day, you and I.

    That’s what made me so upset. I didn’t want to make him angry. I wanted him to feel my love. So I started explaining it in drawing after drawing, how everywhere I went through life, people battered me. They bullied me, abused me, said cruel things to me, as if I’m some vapid and shallow show pony that never understood how they were vile. They used me as a punching bag to make themselves feel better. They did whatever they wanted to, justifying their intentional cruelty with whatever it is they say to themselves to justify it.

    I have news for you, O world I live in: if you justify an action, it is morally and reprehensibly wrong. And I justified telling him my feelings even though I knew he was angry with me. I was wrong. I was so ducking wrong to do this. I should have known better. I should have taken his lack of reply as non-consent and stopped. The only thing I can say for myself now is at least I gave him a choice not to read it. I wrote the majority of it in my diary and linked him to the entries. It was his choice if he read all 1,000,000 words I wrote him. It was his choice if he looked at the videos to show my story and my proposal. It was his choice to go down the rabbit hole.

    I thought it’d work out, you know? If we treated each other so well for over a decade and a half as friends, we could make it as more than friends forever. That’s what I thought. I thought if he could live with my bare minimum self, and I’ve lived with his bare minimum self, then we could make magic. Maybe we could have, but we will never know. I have decided to give myself the necessary therapy to move on completely and eradicate whatever it is that I felt for that man. It is much better to love someone with reciprocation.

    I realized I needed to let him go around mid 2021. He never answered me. After months of telling him and hoping, I had to deal with the fact he was never coming to save me. You see, I was begging him to come feed me once or twice a day to help me get better, to help me live. I would have paid for everything. I needed help so badly. I needed support. He lived in another country, so that complicated things. I had asked other friends for help, but they all ran away from me. I presume my psycho ex turned them away while I wasn’t looking. The ones who weren’t attending to their own family units while I was in the middle of my escapade. Either that, or I have a split personality and I am unaware of things I do from time to time and I did something really terrible.

    So I begged him for his aid. I proposed to him because putting me back together was work for a husband, not a boyfriend. I knew I wouldn’t want to keep my hands to myself if he was next to me because I never wanted to keep my hands to myself with him. I was a gentlewoman because I respect boundaries. He gave me a boundary when we first met and it deterred me completely. He told me he would never date an American again. I took that to heart and decided, ‘Okay, we’ll be friends.’ Secretly, what he could never know, is I have the same sentiment in reverse: I’d never date a Brit again. If I proposed and he accepted, we skip all the dating, you see. Then it’s not true: I never dated a Brit again. I merely married one. (And this is the crazy logic that gets me into trouble from time to time, you see.)

    I wasn’t the greatest friend to him, I know that. I am never the greatest friend, no matter how hard I fucking try. Eventually, I get the signals to back off and the signals to be buddy-buddy never come back. I see the signs clearly and I leave. There is no reason to subject anyone to my presence who isn’t willing to be an active participant in a friendship. I never got those distancing signals from Dick. If I did, I failed to understand. I’m opting for the latter here because clearly we are not friends now and we will never be friends again.

    I feel like he led me on for an entire decade just to push me around and beat me up for never following through on a promise to visit him years ago. Something he never held me accountable for, not once, in the entirety of the time we knew each other. I know I failed to communicate properly but that does not excuse him for his improper communication in return. He never even told me he liked me, but he told me he’d fuck me. That’s why I never followed through. If emotions were supposed to be implied, I failed to see it. Even as an empath, I failed to know. It’s not real until it’s verbalized or put into text, until it’s in the real world. So I backed off and went another direction because what I decided that was I suspected was true was, in fact, FALSE.

    I took reality and updated how I perceived reality accordingly. The reality is that he never, ever said he wanted to hold my hand, kiss me, or that he liked me. He never said he wanted to spend time with me. I was shooting in the dark in 2012 when I asked him if we could meet. He said yes. I asked him if there would be sex. He said, ‘Sure.’ (I might not have his quote spot-on, you’ll forgive me for forgetting after a decade of life happening in the meanwhile, I hope.) Does that sound like a man who wants to be with the lady??? It doesn’t, to me. It sounds like an opportunist. I’d already spent $2,000.00 once to go to Britain in 2004 and get raped not once or twice but three times by the ‘man of my dreams.’ There is no way I was doing it again. That’s insanity. I know now that I’m deeply traumatized by that trip to Mr. Burr. I would go back in time and undo it if I could. I would have found another way to escape my abusive home life.

    It’s really hard for me to understand most people. They say the opposite of what they do. They do the opposite of what they say. They’re hypocrites full of lies and deceits. I figured out once upon a time that the lies are for the people who tell them most of all. They’re usually not actively trying to hurt me with their lies or delusions, they’re trying to keep themselves from being hurt. They’re avoiding the pain of looking at the problem head on and realizing they play a part in the problem. They want to blame outside sources for inside issues. You are part of a massive problem seeded deeply inside the human race.

    And that’s what makes living with a schizophrenic like my ‘father’ incredibly difficult. They think everything that happens around them involves them. They think the entire world they perceive is centered on them. That nobody has anything better to do than laugh at them, mock them, be mean to them, and obsessively think about them in a negative manner. This is what I grew up with. It hurt my relationships everywhere since. It has hurt everyone, everywhere. It’s not just localized to my thread in the tapestry of life. There are millions (if not billions) of people with mental illnesses — especially schizophrenia — out there, projecting their illness at other people. They’re treating other people based on that mental illness making them unhappy rather than the facts in front of their face.

    What if I told you that you can beat schizophrenia? You don’t need medicine to do it. (If you’re on medicine and you feel fine, don’t stop without a professional helping you. You need that medicine. It will hurt you to stop the medicine without doing it the right way. STAY ON YOUR MEDS UNTIL A PROFESSIONAL HELPS YOU OFF THEM. I do not want to hear one soul say, ‘I stopped taking my medication because Sansara said I could!’ BULLSHIT. I’m telling you right now it’s a justification because you want to hate yourself more for failing to uphold internal promises to Self.) Those of you who are not on medication or don’t think there’s an illness to attend to… listen closely and be advised: you are making everyone around you miserable.

    Every single person on planet Earth should assume they have a mental illness, whether they do or not. It is that common. It is subtle and minor in most of us and in tons of people it’s enormous. Red flags everywhere! Anyone who knows a bit of psychology has probably already seen how pretty much everything, everywhere, is a little bit messed up. Anyone who really knows psychology knows that we have a society built to mess it up.

    So how do we fix it?

    The answer is: together.

    There is a way. It’s not short or easy. There are no easy answers here. But it is possible. I know this because I have been able to train my schizophrenic father to re-route his schizophrenia from paranoia and self-attack into curiousity. Curiousity is the way to destroy fear and fear is the root of all evil.

    The very first thing I’m going to tell you, as the founder of Universal Reiki, is that you do not cease to exist after you die. No matter what mistakes you make in your life today, they will follow you for a very long time, whether you are alive or dead. It is better to figure out how to fix your mistakes, or at least become a better person so you stop making them. It takes a lot of persistence and effort and mindfulness, but you can do it.

    I believe in you.

    The reason I know that you do not cease at death is that I can see the spirits of animals that have died from time to time. Most of the time it’s fresh roadkill, but once in a while I see a pet that’s been gone for years. Something flickers in the corner of my eye and I freak out a little bit, or I did at first, and then I realize there is a presence of something rather friendly nearby. In fact, most deceased entities are friendly in nature. I doubt they understand they’re dead. They seem to no longer feel physical pain, at least, so their suffering is less. However, to each and every pet owner that feels like their animals are still present after death: they are. Don’t you let anyone tell you they aren’t. They’re not alkaline enough to detect them, that’s it. And they probably invalidate themselves on the regular any time anything ‘spooky’ happens around them. They lie to themselves because they can’t handle the truth.

    There is no such thing as a poltergeist or possession, by the way. There are no demons. If there were, I’d have sensed one by now. There are no angels, either, not like we think… immaculate beings with soft fluffy wings to carry them to and fro. Just animals and plants. (I classify human as a type of animal since mammals are animals and we are classified as mammals. Forgive your hubris and ego if you got angry reading how you are an animal.) There might be life in outer space but I don’t care about that right now. We have bigger fish to fry right here.

    We are killing this planet. Whether you like it or not, it will not sustain us for much longer because we are constantly poisoning everything. Instead of composting, turning to biodegradable ‘plastics,’ and recycling absolutely everything, we continue to toss poison and perfectly good resources into the land fills. We know we’re all doing it and we’re all wrong, but what’s one time? What’s wrong with throwing batteries away one time?

    Every battery you throw in the garbage poisons something alive.

    It might be ants or dung beetles or some other insect, but it still does it. It could be a mouse, a rat, or a raccoon. It doesn’t matter how big or small that life is. You are a murderer for throwing batteries away. Solution: MAKE BATTERY RECYCLING EASIER. If you could take batteries to any public place, such as a department store, pharmacy, or grocery store, you would never throw them in the garbage. If there was a battery pickup within two miles of your home, that would make it so easy we would no longer have an excuse not to. We are all in this together and we need to step up and demand our local venues to have this option. The grocery stores already have bag recycling, why not CD and battery recycling? Why is it that I still have to toss #6 in the black bag instead of putting it into my single-stream clear plastic bag? (Why are both bags made of plastic that never dies?)

    Do you want to continue to be a murderer or will you speak up for change?

    We all ought to be composting our uncooked food waste. We should feed cooked food waste to the wild animals outside if there are leftovers, basically. I eat six pounds of vegetables on a great day now that I’m recovering. I throw about two pounds of vegetable matter into the trash every day (if not more!) These are the ends of brussels sprouts, the stems of cauliflower and broccoli, the ends of carrots. It would be best if I ate it myself, but I don’t. I’ve got a compost bin on my to-do list so I don’t have to throw pounds of food away daily. I can also add my coffee grounds to balance it out. There is an ant colony in my house that I feed with these odds and ends right now. Partly because someone told me once that ants were the baseline for what is and is not edible in this world. If an ant won’t eat it, it’s not food. [What do you say regarding the fact that they don’t eat cheese, Julie?]

    In fact, they have to eat something we don’t eat. I know this because I’ve found them clustering in my bathroom to eat or perhaps to drink water after I shower. However, seeing about five hundred of them in a cluster within 15 minutes isn’t a casually reactive behavior, they were already there and I didn’t notice them or I disrupted them. I know this because when I feed them on purpose at the side of the sink, it takes them two days to send the army forth for the offerings. So what do they eat?

    Turns out, Google has an answer:

    Why are ants around my shower?

    Image result for do ants eat mold

    Certain species of ants have a very strong sense of smell and are attracted by the scent of hair and skin cells. Of course, your shower is a prime location for skin and hair cells, and this attracts ants to your shower. You can combat this by scrubbing the shower weekly and pulling the stopper to remove hair balls. [Source]


    The funny thing about this is that the ants don’t actually like getting on me that much. They do it because I have to do the dishes, which disrupts their daily active scavenging and deposits them on me. They scurry whenever they realize the giantess is here to destroy them all! Some of them scurry right onto me. When they scurry onto me, I try to gently blow them off onto another surface because I don’t want to kill my ants. I named them George. All of them. The whole colony. (Can you tell one ant from another? Can you come up with thousands of names and remember them? I can’t.)

    It’s funny, they have been adapting to things over time. I saw an ant strategically fall one day after routinely blowing them back onto the sink’s edge to get them off of me. They like to cling now when I blow on them, which hurts like a tiny bite. So we’ve compromised: if I put them near the surface they came from, they leave now. They’re smart and diligent, really. I know — how is an ant smart? I’ll tell you.

    First of all, they know who is near the sink. If it’s someone other than me, they play dead. They stop moving. They hope this is going to save their lives as the assholes I live with do not try to live life around the ants. (Who in their right mind would, really? I’ve been insane forever, as it turns out.) I call them ‘nature’s little clean-up crew.’ Any time I drop something like a spot of gravy, they clean it up within 48 hours, honestly. I’m not proud of being so sick I just left gravy on the floor, but it happened.

    I got to thinking when that happened: what if I’m their only source of food? What if I’m the only person on planet Earth that feeds the wild ants?

    Anyway, they don’t try to play dead for me. They did briefly, but they gave that up because I will make vibrations through the sink to try to make them scurry. To stop and desist in their food scavenging and GO HOME. Once they’ve started to scurry, I turn the water on. They know that sound, let me tell you. They go nuts. But they don’t try that hard to get out of the way… not until I murdered plenty of them for failure to do so. I can only wait so long before I realize I’m losing 2 gallons per minute from that faucet if it’s on a full flow. I’m wasting water and water is precious, you know. Plus, I don’t like drowning them, but to kill them quickly and mercifully is for the best. I believe watching them go down the drain is less of a trauma to them than putting them in the dishwasher. R.I.P., George. I love you. Every single one of you. I wish I didn’t have to do anything but feed you. You could work on being more efficient, perhaps, so that my plates and bowls get clean before it’s time to do dishes. (Or I can work harder on rinsing things off. I’ll try to do that to minimize your deaths, but so far I stink at it. I’m so sorry, my friends.)

    To be clear: I try to save every ant’s life that I can. I probably save about as many as I kill incidentally. The colony is extremely healthy and they are evolving from our interactions. There must be thousands of them because they are not only in the kitchen. They are everywhere. They have scouts in every single room of this house. Can you blame them? I live with slobs. If they never found food in any rooms but the kitchen and the dining room, they wouldn’t leave those two rooms. Alas, I have pets and pet food is great nutrition for the ants, as it turns out. They love it as much as my cats do.

    I had to give up Dawn and Palm Olive because there’s something in those detergents that hurts my hands. I’ve gotten some Seventh Generation soap with lavender, which does not seem to hurt George like Dawn and Palm Olive did. Before I switched, they stayed away from the sink altogether, which makes me think it’s poisonous to the poor little guys. Ants do not carry diseases but they can carry bacteria and fungus around. I have been trying my best to naturally disinfect all surfaces to reduce the bacterial growths, but that is difficult when living with the animals that raised me to be an animal myself. They have zero self-respect. That seems to be their base issue.

    Self-respect is so important. There are tons of psychological factors that go into it. Not the least of which is your attire. The way you dress informs those around you whether or not you respect yourself. When you wear clothes with holes in them — by design or by happenstance — you are saying you don’t care who sees you partially undressed. You are giving them permission to see you in a state of not-quite-dressed. Fishnets aren’t the same; I mean holes in pants/trousers specifically. You are also giving them a visual of sorts, either to imagine you ripping said clothes yourself, or ripping them right off you.

    The implication that you can just rip the rest of the hole-riddled clothing right off a person and have your wicked way with them. Ragged, torn edges as opposed to purposefully created holes are a trigger in bestial-minded humans. Especially anything torn above the knee. Below the knee, the tears would happen naturally from extended use of the product with someone who is athletically inclined or even accident prone. The unexpectedly exposed flesh just below the tear is inviting a touch. Observe your reaction when someone wears fishnets underneath their holy jeans. Suddenly, they’re fully clothed again. There is a barrier between your fingers and their legs. It’s not even a complete barrier, it’s negotiable, but it creates distance between the idea of being in bed and the reality of passing by in the street.

    Even men are starting to wear clothes with unpredictable rents and tears, each new style getting more daring. What’s next? Will we stop wearing clothes altogether? That sounds too cold and bold for me. I’ll keep my clothes, thanks. But that brings me to the next topic. Nudity is not sexual by default. I lived with someone who thought it was and he raped me. More than once. He hurt me so many times and failed to pay attention to the words I used to tell him so that I changed myself to stop him. One thing I changed was that I began to wear pajamas to bed religiously, even though I’d been comfortable with nudity being next to meaningless due to my parents’ lack of shame when caught in the buff on accident. I’d slept naked for more than a decade and now? I don’t go to bed without clothing anymore. Sleeping in the nude is a freedom that I had come to enjoy but no longer. Perhaps it is more civilized to wear clothing all the time.

    I even told that stupid asshole that nudity is not sexual in nature. We are born without clothes on. It’s just the nature of it. It’s like saying a cat stretching out over there is a sex act, but really they’re just stretching and they happen to be ‘nude.’ I still cannot believe how stupid that guy was, honestly. Or how stupid I was to stay. I hate myself for that and I hope he goes to Hell in a hand basket.

    I shouldn’t have to say it more than once. NUDITY IS NOT AN INVITATION FOR SEX. I told him more than three times and he still didn’t listen. I did not say it as bluntly as I could, I did say there were times it could be sexual, but he could not tell the nuances thereof at all. I suppose that’s my fault. TRIGGER WARNING: Go to the next paragraph to avoid being triggered. I should have just stuck with FUCK OFF, I DON’T WANT YOUR COCK JUST BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE CLOTHES ON.

    Why are people so dense? Why does anyone have to say, ‘Don’t rape me’? Especially more than once? What is your problem, humanity? My problem is that you don’t listen to what I’m saying. I usually don’t mince my words, but something tells me I did when it came to Ben. Something tells me that somehow I did something that gave him the wrong impression or idea. Something tells me that being trauma bound to a rapist is the problem.

    Another description of it. (Click the link to read it.)

    To quote Self-Love Rainbow: Trauma Bonding: A cycle of physical or emotional abuse that creates a strong attachment between an abused person and their abuser. Reinforced by periods of love and affection and then periods of devaluation and emotional abuse.

    Another definition of trauma bonding is that when two people go through the same or similar experiences, they bond over it.

    “When you’re in a trauma-bond, it slowly erodes who you are.” — Self-Love Rainbow

    In fact, I’m going to stop here. Just read their amazing article.

    XO XO
    Sansara signing off!

  • A Strange Dream

    I woke up today to a strange dream. I’d gone to the grocery store – Wegmans, I think – and was trying to check out via self-checkout (which I rarely use.) For some reason, all the things in my cart were already in bags and all the bag handles were tied in knots, so I had to untie each set of bag handles to individually scan each item in each bag.

    I woke myself up before I even finished the first bag, telling myself this was preposterous nonsense. I had no idea how I’d even gotten to Wegmans, which is a clear sign to me that I was dreaming. Not to mention there was no memory of pushing the cart around and picking out things to purchase, let alone picking up what seemed to be about 100 things.

    Why, oh, why couldn’t I dream about my favorite part of Wegmans? If only I could tell myself what to dream about instead of simply being cognizant of the dream at hand and then waking myself up from it to end it because I don’t like it. I’ve read about lucid dreaming, how people say they can change the content of their dreams. I don’t know how to do that part; I simply know I am dreaming and can wake myself.

    This was an important tactic when I was plagued for over a decade by nightmares of being raped over and over again.

    I didn’t really mean to wake myself up from the Wegmans dream at all. However, why was it the end of the journey? That’s a question I ask myself. The end of a journey is often nowhere near as satisfying without observing the beginning and the middle, too.

    I really don’t know… I feel shy admitting it, but I’d much rather dream about Sir Deli Man, who is a Wegmans employee. One of the negging Nancies in my head called me a stalker just because God was walking me around in circles all the time to get a chance to catch his eye. It worked at least half a dozen times, honestly.

    I don’t know the boy’s schedule or his habits or where he lives, though God tells me he lives a block away and he works 10-7:30 (why 90 extra minutes? That’s insanity!) That he walks to and from work and yadda yadda. I don’t care anymore because there’s the negging Nancy coalition in my head that tells me he was in a wheel chair, that his name is a million different names such as Daniel, David, Ethan, Wildflower… okay, I made that last one up because it gets more and more preposterous as it goes on. There were at least five more random names. Daire, Darren, Derek, Jerome — wait, that’s one I decided to call him because he kept changing his name on me.

    I’m a nobody, if you ask me. I certainly exist. I have a name. I have two names, actually, as I am in transition from one life to the next. I had a life once. I died, though. I died one day not that long ago and then I ended up on my parents’ couch in more pain than before. Actually, it was the floor on top of two yoga mats. I’ll tell you something… when it comes to sleep, two inches of foam on the floor isn’t that great, especially when one is a side sleeper and it constantly throws one’s shoulder out of alignment. I did that for like two months.

    I make no money and I may never make money ever again. I don’t even know if I qualify for disability or not, not that I wish to because I feel like I can do something, surely. AND I don’t want to be a drain on society. That’s the very last thing I want.

    However, the fact that I constantly talk to myself (and sometimes argue with myself or laugh at my own jokes as if I’m two people or…) kind of makes it impossible to find employment, not to mention my wrecked body means going to the restroom five minutes after drinking water. That sounds so valuable as an employee. Or dehydrating — that’s the one I’d do. I’d refuse to drink until my breaks were coming up in order to make sure that I don’t have to clock out just to pee all the time. (I know because I’ve done it before.)

    I hate this existence, where I’m a dilapidated carbon copy of a carbon copy of a carbon copy (thanks, Fight Club). Diminished, in a word. I have about ten million entrepreneurial ideas and just need some capital to get started. I have about ten different things I’m going to pursue the minute I can manage it, but I don’t want to talk about my exorbitant capacity for dreaming.

    Reality is that I have nothing. I am not employed. I have zero income. I’m leaning on my parents. HARD, might I add. I’m using their food stamps, I’m using their retirement funds… it makes me feel like I am less than worthless to rely on the charity of my elderly parents… especially when I cannot contribute to the estate with efficacy yet.

    I’m semi-disabled. I have partial paralysis in my lower back. I’ve had this problem for twenty years now. In fact, the settlement from the car accident that caused this paralysis was a piddly 12.5k. I was 19 years old and didn’t know better. I told them I would get a lawyer and they told me the statute of limitations was almost up and basically coerced me into taking the settlement. (Is this illegal? I have no idea but it isn’t ethical, I can tell you that much.)

    I’m not disabled enough to qualify for government funds. This much, I do know. I can still walk (sorta) and I can carry 25 pounds (sorta) and therefore I’m still somehow a use to society somewhere. I really don’t know where. I can’t clock out every hour to pee — that’s not going to fly anywhere without talking about my special issues and making some sort of negotiation like keeping track of it and adding that time on to the end of the shift somehow… that’s going to get tedious on a daily basis, I’ll tell you that much now.

    “Oh you can freelance!” I heard that one a million times. Okay, where are these mystical freelance jobbos? Give me one. I want it. “Will program 4 food.”

    I could just heal people, but gaining clientele is also a pain… and what to do if in the middle of a healing I have to use the restroom? Not ideal, I’ll tell you that… additionally, I keep sleeping 12+ hours a day because I’m fighting cancer and it’s never the same 12+ hours.

    Now, cancer is something a disability claim can work with, but as soon as it’s gone, so is the support. I don’t want any doctors near me anymore since my last PCP basically murdered me with a diet I didn’t even think about going on until she put me on it. I thought, there’s a doctor in this equation! What could go wrong?

    Well, everything. It all went wrong. I lost my job, my livelihood, my ability to make income in my chosen profession, my house, my apartment (long story), my squeaky clean record… everything. Now I’m in a hoarder’s paradise, nicotine stained and filthy. A Victorian mansion that would be better off as an AirBnB haunted mansion. (That’s my only angle but do you know how hard it is to clean when you can barely bend over?)

    I’m pretty sure that woman is going to Hell in a hand basket. Maybe I can carry the hand basket for her and deliver her personally to Signore Satan.

    Then you factor in the fact that I think I’m having conversations with GOD. You know, the head honcho of The Universe(TM) or maybe they’re The Universe(TM) itself. They’re like, “Do this for me, do that for me.” I’m like, okay, hoss. Anything you want! Except sometimes there’s a Loki or two in my head, giving me fools errands and misdirection. That always pisses me off.

    For instance, they lie to me about the guy in the deli. I’d rather not know anything than hear lies. I tend to absorb data and then once it becomes known to me the data is false, I have to overwrite it, like a hard drive wiping things out by constantly writing zeroes to the sectors for a secure wipe. It’s tedious, in a word, I must say.

    “Oh, really? What do they say?” asks the deli man, according to the notorious G.O.D.

    Well, for one thing, that he’s twenty other people than the man God pointed out to me one day last year. That one does my head in. “No, he’s the blondie that walked around the freezer aisle three times to get a good look at you!” He’s this guy or that guy, but not the one God showed me. I know it was God because I have a major flaw… I am on a quest when I set out to do anything and I am very serious about fulfilling my quests so I can return home and hide from all the mean people everywhere that like to hurt me for no fucking reason I can fathom whatsoever.

    I quest for food.

    I try to be all polite, cordial, I stay in the moment. I don’t feign interest. I give people I run into my attention. I try to pay attention and not cause traffic delays, whether it’s on foot in the store or on the road. I don’t speak until spoken to, most of the time (I’m shy, despite my rainbow mane. Well, it’s not a rainbow right now… I’m too depressed to be a rainbow.) I always try to put my best foot forward and I also try to remember to smile at everyone who interacts with me. Smiling is harder these days, but I still try.

    Occasionally, I go to Wegmans and smile spontaneously of my own accord. That’s really nice, when that happens. It’s less and less overall lately… I used to be able to whip out my smile for anyone, but it’s just too much energy. I’m so disinterested in food as of late because of my mile long allergen list. I’m trying to get my shit together for the last 6-8 week push of repairing my innards so I can eat food again. I still won’t be able to eat coriander, dairy, gluten, or turmeric but I’m okay with that. At least I can maybe have BBQ seasoning again. Life sucks without BBQ flavors. Well, I’ll have to make it myself anyhow, since it contains paprika. I forgot paprika is my original sin when it comes to my intestines.

    Due to my disinterest, I’m not eating enough of what I should eat. It doesn’t help that it’s summer and it’s difficult to grill vegetables without a fancy pan to go on the grill. (I know I have one somewhere but fucked if I could find it. It basically disappeared in a disorganized heap because I’m too sick to organize it. And too broke to get the furniture to make it easy to organize. That’s why I’ve been on the lookout for freebies on the curbside, but alas, I have a Cruze and that’s not big enough for most furniture to fit in, especially assembled.)

    Some day, I swear, I’m going to get a Tesla Cybertruck. I’m going to paint a crazy mural on it or something, too, most likely. I don’t know, I’m “crazy.” I do “crazy” shit. (I would rather call it creative, but most people have a vocabulary too limited to see it my way.) In fact, one of those assholes in my head asked me two things… “How is it you’re never stalked?” AND “How is it nobody road rages your dumb ass for going the speed limit?”


    It’s not that hard for people to fail to road rage, is it? I’ve never been in fear of my life except maybe once or twice in my whole history of driving. You know how you deal with road rage? Drive to a surveillance monitored parking lot, like Wegmans.

    That reminds me… those assholes in my head — they’re not me, I defeated my negative inner voice(s?) like a decade ago — also told me I’d get accused of shoplifting. That was a nice reminder — I forgot some dental tape in my cart at check out and didn’t notice until I was outside. I should have gone in to pay for it in that moment. I was not eating enough at all and I didn’t know everything I was allergic to yet. (Insert more excuses.) Anyway, I shut them right the fuck up by going into the store, taking a picture of the item (this was about 2 months later, mind you) and going to customer service to tell them that I had an item left in my cart “the other day” that I didn’t pay for, so I needed to make it right.

    Man does that quell that inner demon insisting I’m going to be held accountable for a bad thing. There is no more bad thing. VOILA! It’s a magic trick! And that’s how you calm down your Jiminy Cricket.

    Besides, it’s fucking dental floss. It’s a $2.50 item. I know it all adds up and everything, but the things people try to steal (from the media I’ve absorbed and past life experiences) are usually a lot pricier than that… and, quite often, nowhere near as practical. Like earrings.

    That’s another thing — these stupid voices kept telling me I was under surveillance for “stealing earrings.” So, one day, I bought a pair. You know what? I’m allergic to the metal they used, so I took them back the next day after sanitizing them with rubbing alcohol and returned them for my money back. Again, fuck you, stupid voices in my head. I do admit, I noticed one time that they had a pair missing from the rack and I thought about paying for them to make it right. I decided that since I have no income, I can’t really afford to do that. I would have, though… but God assured me it was one or two employees. Some chick who stole during the morning shift right before she started stocking shelves. I was so mad at the idea that they might be surveilling me just because I appear to be on S.S.I. Go pick on a THIEF INSTEAD, LIKE YOUR FUCKING EMPLOYEES!

    By challenging the stupidity of these voices in my head, I combat them. I shut them up over and over again. They’re not me and I know reality. I am sane. I am in an insane situation, but I am sane. I understand the man in the deli is just one random glance (or six) away from being a complete stranger, but I also understand that a force I don’t quite understand is helping me combat my partial paralyzation and disability. [An aside — my stupid spell check needs so many words added. It’s annoying and distracting! I keep looking them up to see if I spelled them right only to find it’s just the dictionary lacking. Screw you, terrible dictionary.]

    Day by day, this invisible force helps me stretch and do yoga to get my spine and hips into proper alignment. I started out with all my limbs dislocated. I was so used to that pain I didn’t even acknowledge it (plus, throw in that partial paralysis.) Now, only my right shoulder is routinely out of whack as well as my left hip. We’re working on it.

    I imagine to an innocent bystander, it looks quite bizarre. Sometimes I’ll be walking through a store and suddenly my head turns left or right to an almost 90 degree angle and it stays that way for multiple seconds. I could just leave that there to explain something I know went wrong somehow, but no. I’ll be honest. There was one time I thought I saw Sir Deli Man. His back was to me and I decided I would get an eyeful because, well… who doesn’t want to see eye candy at the grocery store? I mean, really. But his coworker caught me, I could tell. I was so… not ashamed… just felt really shy again after that.

    THEN… This one I want to kick someone in the balls for this one… THEN the stupid fucking voices in my head told me he thought I was a stalker. I was out. I can’t do that to anyone. I can’t hurt someone by violating their boundaries like that. It’s his place of work, goddamn it! It’s wrong to make it uncomfortable for him. So… I stopped. I trained my eyes back on the food or at least looking at everything instead of hoping to get a glimpse of Mr. Gorgeous behind the deli counter. Screw it… I’m not going to hurt someone just because God said, “Psst… look up.”

    He did, too. Let me tell you how this all began. Keep in mind I’m going through a lot, right… I’m fighting cancer, I can barely fucking eat thanks to Dr. Death, I’m dealing with a low sense of self-worth, no self-esteem whatsoever thanks to being raped repeatedly, no income to at least make me feel like there might be a silver lining, et cetera. I’m like an oblivious five year old, stumbling through life one step at a time.

    I walk through this grocery store, staring at all the things I cannot have, checking ingredients labels to try to find something I can have because, quite honestly, it all looks delicious to me. (And it is — the stuff I tried before I came to my senses and decided my health is more important than my taste buds. Namely, sushi and veggie egg rolls.)

    On my first trip alone without my mother in tow, God tells me, “Stand over by the sandwiches, let’s have a look at them all.” So I did. I looked to see if any of them were gluten-free. They’re not. I also noted that almost all of them had cheese. Once I was done examining these things, Sansara — one of God’s friends (and my only real gal pal besides Jewels) talks through me with a southern belle’s drawl — she says, “Crystal, baby, look up at that hunk of a man over there. Take a look at those shoulders.” (Or maybe that was the second time… the first time was just “Look up.”)

    So I look and the thing I take note of is that he has the shiniest soul I’ve ever seen (besides my own when I’m healthy… I’m a bit dull, please pardon the dust and cobwebs, my pet spiders have been at play.) It’s like being star struck. I don’t know what to do other than simply stare. It’s like being faced with a mega celeb without expecting it and being too shy to approach (totally happened with Danny Trejo in Vegas, btw.) I’m just struck dumb, as Ms. Ani DiFranco puts it in Self Evident.

    What do you do when it feels like the middle of the night, staring into a police officer’s flashlight beam? It was like that. I was arrested, if you forgive me for being punny. (Oh, you won’t? I’m not going to take it back. Nope. Not a chance.) Anyway, the point is… I was a bit lost staring at that shiny, shiny lantern in the dark. The only beacon in a sea of darkness all around.

    Let me tell you something about souls… We all have one. They’re in our heads. I believe it to be an energy vortex of sorts inside our noggins. It’s located in between the eyes and around the middle of the head. Maybe it’s the amygdala? I don’t believe in auras like, “Ooooh, I can read your aura! (That’ll be 50 bucks!)” I believe we are surrounded in clouds of energy, though, because we are bio-electric beings. And I also believe we can develop our senses to see the unseen. Or feel it.

    I’d only met one soul with a shine anything like that before. He’s a psychopath, sadly. I found out it meant he had a clear conscience because he didn’t have a single drop of empathy or sympathy for anyone but himself. Ever. He ensnared me for four and a half years, incapable of comprehending how he was an asshole on purpose until after I actually got away, honestly. I have more than 60 reasons I never want to see that cave man again.

    It didn’t really dawn on me in that moment that it was similar to that other soul, but it was also different. Purer in appearance, somehow. It just… felt… different. I felt better looking into his soul, not worse. So I kept doing it… until he turned to his left to do something at his work station, startling me like a deer in the wild. ZIP! Off I went, spooked. The second time was quite like that, also… but Sansara kept reassuring me.

    So on the second visit when they (Sansara and God) pointed out this man to me, I zipped off again. They encouraged me to wait further down the aisle and sneak some more glances. Sansara told me something along the lines of, “Just look until you’re comfortable.” Over three visits and the span of maybe ten minutes in totality, I was finally able to see past his soul shine. At this point, I still hadn’t looked at the shoulders Sansara kept cooing about.

    I kept looking for him on and off, though I must admit my eyes were still on the food itself for the most part. In October, I saw him a third time. I’d just dyed my hair purple and it was quite dark… darker than I’d wanted it, really. Anyway, he caught me looking at him. Like magic, he looked over his shoulder and I was standing there like a naive dummy, staring dumbly into his eyes after that. That eye contact lasted for a long time, it felt like, before I remembered it’s impolite to stare. That’s when I looked away.

    I was embarrassed. I think that’s the emotion I felt. It’s hard to say these days. It’s been a long time since that all happened. The memory was once burned into my brain, but since then I’ve had a lot of negative bullshit go through my brain. Ex-lovers that are mad they’ve been jilted, God says. People who’d rather stand in my way and control me rather than allow me to love whomever it is that I end up loving. Man, do they love to lie, too. Anything to keep me from being happy. They made me write out my experience over and over again until it was meaningless. Then, they had me sew it up with some cockamamy rewrite of The Holy Bible. THEN they made me delete it because it was “unsafe” for me to have. They destroyed my memory of the event.


    I’ve wanted to kill myself so many times, thanks to those assholes. God tells me that there will be a spiritual courtroom and they will be held accountable for their misdeeds. I hope so. This is pure agony. I am hurting from all the misinformation and lies. I don’t want to know an illusion; I want to know the truth. I can handle the truth.

    Anyone who’d rather lie to me is insulting my intelligence, my integrity, or my maturity.

    You know what stops a liar in their tracks? Having a better memory than them and honing one’s logic. My logic is like a guillotine. Place your head here, please. No, your other head. Let me end this bullshit once and for all by taking off your pecker, pecker head.

    I’m trying to think of the latest lies. Oh yeah, I’ll have to install a wheel chair ramp because it’s not really the deli man that I want to be acquainted with, it’s some dude I never met in a wheel chair. (Lame.) I can’t tell you how many false starts there have been with, “I’m not really that guy.” They’re not really that guy, obviously. He’d have to have telepathy.

    Not that I imagine he couldn’t have telepathy, but he’d have to know he wants it to develop it, you know? I know that at least one entity in my head is a shitty human being in the United Kingdom and another one is a shitty human being in St. Louis, MO, because every time I try to grab a word for home they will insert something to do with their own homes in my head. I’m not that confused; I know where I fucking live, thank you very much! I even had a Canadian for a time, actually.

    And that guy in the UK? He wants to use my for my money so he can run off into the sunset with a hooker called Candy Cane. I mean, stripper. (It’s the same, usually, innit?) He’s GAY. NICHOLAS DAVID FORSYTHE, GO FUCK YOURSELF (OR YOUR BFF — HE HAS THE HOTS FOR YOU TOO.)

    The guy in STL? Who knows what he wants, but he’s also gay. BENJAMIN ANDREW CARTWRIGHT, GO FUCK YOURSELF. I dumped you, I left you, I even moved the fuck away from the city you live in never to return, thank you, you raping stalking BASTARD.

    I don’t take kindly to being used and abused as if I’m a whore when I’m thinking I’m in an authentic relationship. I should’ve known he was a narcissistic asshole a lot sooner, but he played the naivete card very well (and the silence card, and the pretend feelings card where he cried despite obviously having zero feelings that he cared to speak about, ever, except a very generic “I’m scared.” with no other information. LADIES — THESE DUDES ARE PSYCHOPATHS. RUN AWAY!)

    Sore losers, the both of them. NOW they both want to marry me. Now. And even then it’s not authentic, as they plan to cheat like lying liars. It’s not to break my own heart, it’s because they want me to misbehave. They think I’m some sort of asshole like themselves underneath everything that I am. I assure you, I am an open empath.

    Just last night, I cried over a mother opossum being run over by a careless driver on Koontz. A psychopath does not cry for a random wild animal, this much I know. A psychopath does things like try to remove me from my support animals and encourage me to KILL THEM just because they’re INCONVENIENT. (I could facepalm for not seeing it as clearly sooner, but you know what? I choose to forgive myself. I made mistakes because I was projecting myself onto others. I can be quite naive and extremely forgiving. If he’d used negative language, I would have spotted him a whole hell of a lot sooner. Instead, he used neutral language to express himself.)

    I’ll take my naivete over being a jaded fucktard any day of the week, I’ll tell you that. I’d rather be forever five than be like everyone else I’ve met, full of lies and mean streaks and evil intentions to exploit and demean everything around them just because they hate themselves. In this case, they hate themselves for being gay because they perceive their religious parents as unsympathetic, cold, evil assholes who do not approve of homosexuality because they thump their bible just as loudly as the rest of them.

    GROW UP.




    It’s their problem if they can no longer love you just because you’re not heteronormative. There is nothing wrong with being attracted to the same sex. I’m so pride positive, I could smack you in the face with a rainbow trout until you see the light of day. LINE UP, BOYS! I don’t want to kill more than one rainbow trout for you miserable excuses for human beings.

    I don’t want to kill any trout, actually, so I’ll just make some out of origami paper… no, wait, that won’t hurt. Nix that. Sand bags that look like trout. TO YOUR FACES.

    I’m not actually violent, I’m just very frustrated. [Sansara is violent, though, so don’t get any ideas. She knows how to use a gun and we are locked and loaded, apparently. STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU NARCISSISTIC NINNIES.]

    In fact, I should take out restraining orders, but that requires having energy and stuff to go to the police and I think probably at least four hundred tears. Tears take energy, you know. Sobbing? Energy. I don’t have the energy to stay mad for more than a few moments, honestly. You know it’s bad when simple emotions are too much energy for you to handle.

    It’s bad, y’all.

    In fact, let’s give Crystal a little break. She’s worn out. An asshole named Ben just kept her up all night and shoved a pot of coffee down her throat to keep her up all day, too. I could kick him in the gonads, you know?

    Sansara here!

    Greetings and salutations!

    I must’ve heard that phrase 8 million times in my childhood as my dad played Might & Magic with his favorite character, endlessly going from shop to shop to get all the best prices for all his horded stuff. I come from a long line of gamers. One generation, to be precise, which is a lot considering the idea of it was basically born in the 70s. It ends with me, though my brothers have brats that could take it up, I suppose.

    I mean darling children full of light and sunshine and hope and a future.

    Sansara looks to the right, then to the left.

    Okay, so children don’t thrill me. They’re full of entitlement these days. Not much else to say there, other than WE DON’T WANT ANY. If our future husband desires a child, well… no, thank you. NEXT FUTURE HUSBAND, PLEASE.

    Step right up. Do you have big guns? Broad shoulders? Dark and lovely eyes that look like the night with stars shining in them as you gaze upon us? Do you have long, beautiful hair that goes well past your shoulder blades? We like brunettes most, but we’ll take a blondie if we must. He was hella cute, that blondie that scoped us out by walking around the freezer section not once, not twice, but three times. We weren’t even dressed to kill, either. Mmm mmm mmm. And he looked like a line backer, too.

    I’m a lecherous one, I admit it! I need a big strong man to rub me down sometime, our back hurts like hell and there’s nothing like an intimate massage. Amirite ladies? (Too strong? Not strong enough? Hmm… Are you playing ball yet, Sir Deli Man?)

    The point is, my girl Crystal is like VA VA VOOM. All I gotta do to get us a man is flirt. But you know, the G-man said this guy in the deli is worth waiting for. We sure hope so, because we’re a titch lonely. We’ve been running the gambit for this dude for a year now. First, we had to pack up our lives while a quarter alive. Our get-away scene was three months long. Then we had to drive here with our support animals behind bars… fourteen hours in the car with two dislocated hips. Owwie! And then all these shenanigans with stalker mumbo jumbo thanks to stupid assholes who don’t know when to quit.

    News flash: the dude lives around the corner. We’ve known that for like three months at least. We finally told Crystal, by the way, JACOB (but you like BOB, right?) after NICK told her you lived near Academy over and over again, trying to get her to violate someone random by parking in their driveway. He told her again and again that she should drive up a dead-end road to see the (teal) house you lived in (clearly not your house, might I add) and one time he told her to park in the driveway and wait for you.

    You know how she bested that cretin? “Okay, but you have to meet me halfway. I’ll park at the end of the street. Come out and wave at me, or I’m not doing it. If you don’t do it within two minutes, I’m out.” That’s right. She needed your CONSENT. Mofo Nick don’t know shit about consent, the ass-raping goon.

    Oh, how about him telling her you were gonna come help her shovel snow all winter? He kept telling her he felt bad she was shoveling snow with a bum pair of hips and a bum shoulder, that he’d come do it for her. He told her that so many times, and yet she just kept working at it, taking a week to shovel the whole walkway on her lonesome. I did the math… it was 900 square feet of snow. The length of the walkway is 100×80 on this corner lot (or that’s my eyeball guesstimate, which GOD agrees with so I feel like we might actually be accurate) and it snowed 5 feet of white crap. Then, to top it all off, it partially melted and re-froze, so it wasn’t even virgin snow. And my girl? You know what she did? She thumbed her nose at that fucktard — she also shoveled out the piles of ice the snow plow left us. All while completely broken. You know what else? The dumb fuck neighbor who tried to get in her pants just watched her do it, didn’t even offer to help.

    I don’t know how many times Nick promised help while pretending to be you just to fall down on the job. Probably 62. God said 62, I believe him. He’s a guy with integrity, that G-man. He’s also impeccable and ineffable. We like those words. ❤

    Nick couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t poison her against you. He tried, oh lordy, did he TRY! Zomg did he try! He failed to account for one thing: the G-man. He still doesn’t think it’s God helping her, by the way. We kind of sort of tricked him, convincing him we’re the alien colony on the dark side of the moon. You see, there’s pretty clear evidence that the first astronaut on the moon encountered a “Grey” as they’re called. There’s audio of it out there, actually, according to Dr. Greer in Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind, a documentary by a former special something-or-other kind of scientist fellow. I watched it last year and that detail is fuzzy. It’s on Amazon Prime.

    We’re quite amused as we imagine him running around like a chicken with no head, shouting, THE GREYS ARE COMING! THE GREYS ARE COMING! We hope he looks like the idiot he is.

    The thing is… God’s like… a genius, and stuff. The grand architect of all reality. I don’t know how a mortal boy thinks he can compare to that, y’know? I mean, I don’t really need to introduce the G-man, do I? I’m going to anyway, because a lot of you suckers got it wrong.

















    , , , ,
  • Emergency Care

    Her soul needed CPR. After eighteen long months, she has a spiritual pulse again. I thought I lost her, y’all. She’s my baby, you know. She’s so sweet and innocent. A fucking unicorn amongst you idiots. More of you could be like her, but I bet you won’t bother or dare.

    It’s a shame, because I could use more of you in the war. There’s always a war, you know. This war doesn’t even have bloodshed, so it’s relatively harmless to you… but all in all, if you’re not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.

    I intend to eradicate this problem in the next decade or so. SO… if you want to change your mind and be part of the solution, let’s discuss some details. This is a war against selfishness, greed, and negative vibration. The vastly unchecked behavior of humankind has caused a rift in the universe. With every negative action you take, you are increasing that rift. Soon, it will swallow us all whole.

    I have a problem with this because this issue is uniquely created by the cretins known as humans. You’ve made plundering and exploitation an art form. All for what? The right to be lazy. Let me tell you one thing and one thing only: if you don’t work for your food one way or another, you will die. I mean actual work. As in digging in the dirt kind of work. Hear that, you gajillionaires? You are going to die. I don’t give a shit about money and I’m going to make the whole monetary system collapse completely soon enough.

    “Does he even have the ability to do that?” Are you willing to find out? Or are you going to do what I tell you to in order to buy yourself a ticket to purgatory instead of going to Hell in a hand basket? (Wait, I can buy my salvation? Do I need to go to church?) Hardly.


    That covers the global emergency for the moment.

    We were talking about my daughter, as I recall. I just had a moment of clarity, you could say. She understands… her cancer can take the back seat to GLOBAL HEALTH.

    “Gaia is far more important than I am.” — Crystal.

    “I love the Earth. I prefer to call her Gaia, though, because earth is a synonym for dirt… we’re literally calling our planet dirt. Don’t you think we should treat her better than that? We certainly do treat her like dirt, too. We despise dirt. Why? Because it’s dirty, I imagine… we can move it about in various configurations and make it do as we will, reinforcing it with plants whose roots hold the soil in place. Or rocks that do similar, but rocks are nowhere as good at it as plants are. Speaking of plants… we’ve done a travesty to this planet, my friends. We’ve encouraged one horrible, awful thing to occur: the most dominant plant life form on Gaia is grass. Grass didn’t occur like this in nature. We’re depriving the bees of their food and they were just recently put on the endangered species list. You know, Gawd told me that if the bees become extinct, so do we. This is our last chance to help them out. That’s why I bought a ton of seed to sow in the wild parts of my area. Local wild seed. It’ll feed more than the bees. It’ll feed the butterflies, the birds — especially humming birds, probably, but many of these flowers go to seed and we all know birds like seeds. It’ll create more natural habitat for small animals. I know we don’t like rodents, but rodents feed the birds of prey. This delicate balance has been upset for ages and I guarantee you that this is important for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that song birds can and will eat bees when food is too scarce. Birds that are typically kept in check by birds of prey when the rodents aren’t abundant enough. So, you see, it is like each species is holding hands with the next. We continuously annihilate them, systematically, actually, and we expect nothing to happen, like real naive beings. We have seen things collapse all around us for ages now and we still haven’t put it all together? Or is it just that we think humanity is the only thing worth allowing to live? You know, thinking like that is what has brought us to the absolute brink of extinction… and I’ll tell you one thing. Gawd has promised me that we’re not allowed off this rock. He told me we did this to Venus and then came to Earth and terraformed it. And now we’re trying to do it to the next planet, too. You know what I propose? That we clean up this planet, then we clean up Venus, too. It’s much closer than Mars by a long shot and I’m willing to bet once it’s all cleaned up, it is a lot like Earth. I invite you to prove me wrong, by the way, but you can’t argue with me over the distance in comparison to the red giant. Beyond which, have you thought about how much we have to increase the temperature on Mars just to have liquid water, the source of all life as we know it? We are extremely blessed to have this planet, Gaia, but we’re not treating her like an equal to humanity. We treat her like she doesn’t have her own spirit and soul. I, personally, believe she is far more important than all the species crawling across her surface to begin with. She has existed far longer than you or I.”

    [The Crystal has spoken. I think I will leave you on that note as I go cry over her heartfelt speech. — G.O.D.]

  • Continuing The Day

    A day in the life of Crystal Scordias is rather uncomplicated from the outside. She goes to the store daily for her family unit, replenishing the coffers with nommables. She ferries ungrateful wretches to their doctor appointments and tries to feed them in a healthful way.

    They constantly sabotage themselves, these ancient ones. They eat all kinds of sugar, refined grains, corn syrup, and sugar-laden cereals. Rarely do they eat fresh fruit, veg, or meat. It’s all from a box and as convenient as possible, despite the fact that they have all day every day to clean and cook.

    They no longer want to live is the short and skinny of it. They invite her to fall down into the grave with them. Oh, come on, have a seat and relax all day with us, watching television and movies and so on. It’s okay to take a break!

    Sure… it’s okay to take a break. But it’s not okay to be permanently on break. The dishwasher still hasn’t been unloaded and it finished two days ago. The dishes pile up in the sink. Her back can’t really handle it all, so we made a deal with Devil A, “mommy,” and she’s meant to unload the dishwasher while we load it. Instead, we find ourselves doing both tasks and it hurts a substantial amount.

    In fact, if you’ve spotted my girls on the move out and about, you might have seen them doing yoga in the middle of the public eye. It might be in her car, outside her car but in the parking lot, inside the library, or in a store. She hurts, yo. It’s bad juju, that. She won’t complain, though. She just keeps moving forward, bumbling from time to time like a dolt, doing the best she can every day.

    The challenge of living daily is increased tenfold by the five losers in her head, telepathically sending her messages of disgust, hate, and “love.” That’s right… “Love.” Actions they think are for her best interest but instead are an expression of hate. She likes to say, “I ain’t no dummy!” (fully aware of the double negative issue, might I add… it’s an expression from the ‘hood she grew up in. That’s right… she grew up in the ghetto.)

    I challenge you to tell an angry black person what’s wrong with that sentence.

    She grew up without having all the greatest toys. Her brothers didn’t, but she did. That’s a story for another day, though.

    So what do those losers in her head do to her? I’m so glad you asked! Oh wait, I asked the million dollar question again myself. You lose five points for failing to ask. (Wait… what kind of points?! You know, like Whose Line Is It Anyway? points.)

    Those losers continually convince her to eat shit she has no business trying to eat. Sushi. She adores sushi, let me tell you, but right now we’re trying to starve CANCER my friend. CANCER. CANCER. CANCER. SHE’S FUCKING DYING OF CANCER AND THESE RETARDS TELL HER TO EAT SUSHI AND CROISSANT SANDWICHES LIKE THEY AREN’T PART OF THE PROBLEM. CANCER. CANCER. CANCER.

    DID I SAY IT ENOUGH? she has cancer.

    Technically, it’s a tumor in her bowels. Every bit of dairy and sugar and refined grain and whole grain alike… it all feeds it. And that is how she gains two pounds like clockwork every time she eats a single fucking banana, for instance. But wait! Bananas are healthy! Yeah, if you’re from South America, you shithead.

    They feed her so much shit she cannot have. I’m surprised she’s only gained 50 pounds from it. I mean, her tumor did. (Did you name the tumor yet, Crystal? Oh you did… its name is BENJAMIN ANTHONY NICHOLAS Tumor. How quaint. It has three first names? No, just a first name, a middle name, and a last name.)


    NO GRAINS. The only exception is oatmeal. How exciting, amirite?

    NO PORK. (Wtf is wrong with you pig farmers, anyway?)

    NO ANIMAL FATS. Plant fats in excess, though.

    NO DAIRY. NO DAIRY. NO GODDAMN DAIRY!!!!! (butter, milk, cheese, cream, whey) or anything that uses dairy (pastries, donuts, pie crusts, croissants, cream of [X] soup, most creamy soups, ice cream [this girl adores ice cream *sad face*], yogurt, Cheetos, flavored chips, hot dogs, chicken nuggets, fried chicken, creamy tomato sauces, Spaghettios, fish sticks, chicken broth, salad dressings, buttermilk, etc.) She’s working on dairy-free versions of her faves, though. They’re in bold above. Nicholas loves sneaking her dairy. I’m going to shit in his Cheerios one day.

    NO NIGHTSHADES [tomato, paprika (regular or smoked), potato, eggplant].

    NONE OF THESE SPICES: cumin, coriander/cilantro, anise, bay leaf, ALL PEPPERS, paprika, arrowroot, ALL COMBO SEASONINGS, marjoram, tapioca derivatives, cinnamon, celery seed & celery, mint, peppermint, cocoa/cacao, fennel, wood/smoky flavored seasonings, horseradish, juniper berries, lavender, rum flavoring, saffron, soy sauce, curry, chai blends, TURMERIC, TURMERIC, TURMERIC IS POISON, COCONUT IS POISON, WHITE PEPPER.

    NO Brazil nuts, coconut, macadamia, or pistachio. If it’s not indigenous to N. America, she ain’t eating it.

    NO CITRUS. Oranges, Limes, Lemons, Grapefruit, Clementine, Blood Orange, Buddha’s Hand, Citron, Haruka, Kawachi, Kumquat, Pomelo, Pompia, Sudachi, Tangelo, Tangerine, Yukou. Additionally, no more pineapple or bananas or plantains.

    NO FUNGI ever again, thanks. NONE. ABSOLUTELY ZERO.

    NO FISH. (Crustaceans and shell fish are yummy, though.)

    NO TEA for my poor baby, either. She’ll have to settle for top shelf coffee for eternity. [Boo… hoo… wait, I keep coffee? REJOICE!]

    NO carrots, celery, potato, tomato, eggplant, [we got too bored to finish this.]

    Holy hell, Batman! What can she eat? Not much at all. And neither can you, honestly. Got pudge in your midsection? You’re eating shit your body don’t like. Got IBS? FIGURE OUT WHAT’S POISONING YOU. IBS = YOU EAT POISON.

    Essentially, she has to make her fucking food herself because the shit in the grocery store is full of POISON. Hot dogs? Poison. Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwiches? POISON. Even if it’s the low fat kind. Mac & cheese? POISON. Have you read the ingredients label lately? Mac & cheese is meant to be simply noodles, milk, and shredded cheese. Is that what’s on that label? Not even close.

    Kraft Mac N Cheese ingredients list.

    But, you know. Keep up with what’s easy and fast and thoughtless and brainless. I’ll see you on the other side of death. And when you lament over how you died and left your life unfinished, I won’t care. I already told you so.

    You already know, if you’ve read anything about nutrition, that you should be eating fresh whole foods. Plenty of vegetables – at least six cups a day, if you ask us. Plenty of meat or equivalent protein – at least a pound and a half a day, if you ask us. Plenty of plant FAT – at least half a cup a day, if you ask us.

    Over 2,000 spirits float around my little child, Crystal. Two thousand human beings who want to use her to speak to the people they left behind, to reassure them of all the things they were supposed to reassure them of while alive, all the while engaging in risky behaviors that led to their untimely demise. Worthless maggots, that’s what they are.

    As if her time isn’t precious. As if nobody else can learn to commune with the spirits, to perceive the afterlife, to see the souls all around them. You can. If you have someone who died too soon that you wish to hear more from, then learn. It’s that simple.

    We were driving to the store this evening, watching fireworks as we did. They sure are pretty, lights in the sky. We don’t condone fireworks… it’s a waste of resources. They should only appear on film, so they can be watched over and over again, rather than for one-time celebration events. How much money does a city spend to put up a fireworks display? Too much, that’s the answer.

    On our way to Wegmans, we took the back roads in Suburbia. I warned her to watch out for critters crossing the road. The further we get into Suburbia, the more frequently they appear. In fact, just yesterday, we avoided a bunny rabbit. (Did you know if you stare at an animal, they will notice that you noticed them?) The rabbit turned tail and ran back from the road as soon as it became aware of Crystal gazing at it steadily.

    (Well, in reality, she squealed, “BUNNY! BUNNY! BUNNY!” As if on cue, the bunny looked right at her, then hopped back into the brush of the yard it had emerged from.)

    Someone hit a fucking opossum. All they had to do was pay attention to the road to miss it, too. We cried so much. That poor momma opossum has left behind some babes that will likely starve to death. [To the man too possessed by his iPhone X who hit the fucking animal: YOU WILL BURN IN HELL.]

    Now we have a new opossum to ass to the six million animal spirits that crowd around my girl. They clamor over each other for her attention, for her healing, for her presence. I’m going to have to teach her how to show them across to the proper afterlife. I imagine the two thousand some scumbags around her that are human will figure it out and start moving across.

    Not all spirits have failed to cross over to the other side, but these ones have because she’s a beacon of healing. A mile-wide beacon of healing. Maybe more when she’s not dying of CANCER.

    This morning, we’re going to visit Sha’naroth. A venerable and ancient creature that swims in the “briny deep.” This creature is millennia old, actually. She loves Crystal and meeting her at the sea shore. She has no idea she’s dead yet, so she continues to move about as if she were alive. We have to be careful, though, because she disturbs the wildlife every time she comes around to see Crystal.

    In fact, the first time I pointed out Sha’naroth was visiting her, about fifty sea gulls went out over the water where the creature’s spirit was, acting quite oddly in general. They mostly flew around in circles, never landing or diving at all, for about half an hour. They were still doing it when she left because it was cold as balls that day down by the water and she didn’t bring a coat.

    To the boy that watches her feed the birds: You’re cute. Keep up the good work.

    As an autistic woman, Crystal abhors fireworks due to the unexpected loud noises. For anyone with P.T.S.D. from war, they are bound to remind them of war time… so I wonder if that’s the real purpose for having patriotic holidays full of fireworks? To constantly remind people of having to fight for their lives?

    Too real?

  • A Day In The Life Of

    Sansara awoke many times throughout the day. She’d fallen asleep when she full well meant to stay awake. That was happening a lot these days. She was fighting cancer, after all, and it was taking its toll on her body. It was shortly after dawn that the vixen had nodded off. She’d been doing yoga for her spine and hip alignment and the pain knocked her right out. Or perhaps it was the precise moment that the pain let up? It’s difficult to say.

    Before she fell asleep, she’d been trying to talk to the one and only human being she cared for these days: Sir Deli Man. She still wasn’t sure whether or not telepathy existed. She got plenty of noise and interference all the time in the form of mixed signals and messages from would-be lovers further down the pipeline. They didn’t want to swim upstream for her, instead demanding she go to them. She was stubborn like that and waited in her little safe place, trying to woo the man of her dreams from her dreams.

    The assholes in her head were her ex-lovers, you see. They latched onto her, trying to feed off her energies. She’s a healer, after all. Unfortunately for them, Crystal, her other self, rejected each and every one of them for one simple fact: they didn’t love the duo at all. They pretended to love the women, that much was for certain, but they were more obsessed with controlling the woman than they were being with her and going on a modern day adventure.

    The girls knew if they just kept moving forward under Metatron’s instruction, they would eventually either come to a point where they no longer wished for a partner, a mate, and a lover or they’d actually find a man worth his salt. That’s a phrase Crystal made up once, but it seems to confuse anyone who hears it. “What’s it mean to be worth your salt?”

    Salt is a resource that is limited, human beings, and you just throw it around like it’s nothing. You throw it down the drain, you throw it in the trash, as if it’s going to magically replenish itself one day. There’s enough salt in the soil itself that you really don’t need to move it around and force people to eat it. We should know, because Crystal has been salt sensitive all her life: she doesn’t like the taste of salt at all. To extrapolate, that means a woman nearly 40 years of age has hardly ever eaten salt.

    We eat it now, after drinking distilled and purified water for a decade and leeching it all out of the system. We wouldn’t need it if it weren’t for that.

    At any rate: are you worth your salt? Are you worth the air you breathe? Are you worth the animals and plants you consume? Or are you a worthless piece of garbage? Me, I prefer to think of you as a rock that doesn’t understand its worth yet, but then again, I eat rocks. I wonder what human being tastes like? I bet you’d give me indigestion.

    Our Lady has been in pain for almost twenty years precisely. Some time in September, she will hit the 20th anniversary of a debilitating car accident that paralyzed her in partiality. The first week after that accident, she slept and slept. She was prescribed a muscle relaxant for whiplash and then left to her own devices. Unable to advocate for herself thanks to “daddy” and “mommy”, she slipped through the cracks. She surged forward despite her disability, doing her best to take on jobs that required a sharp mind rather than an able body.

    Ten days after her car accident, she complained of the pain being so severe she couldn’t even bear to exist. She told the man she was in love with. He said, “Hold on… I’ll try something. I’ve never done this without being in the same room as a person before, so it might not work.”

    The man concentrated and prayed and focused and did all sorts of hoodoo, unseen, from across the planet. Suddenly, Our Lady’s palms began to tingle like nobody’s business. She was familiar with the sensation for she had been taught some basic shamanism techniques (though never the full course, you see, because she might actually become competent!) and was surprised a white man in America could heal.

    Her neck pain — which kept her from being awake up to 20 hours a day for over a week — diminished greatly in that moment. It became rather bearable, actually. She was going through P.T. to try to fix the issue, but the physical therapists were too stupid to give her the right exercises to fix her neck, sadly. These exercises increased her pain exponentially, causing it to be a dull ache for weeks after one instance of the wrong exercise. She barely complained, figuring she would forever live with this pain.

    I’ve decided she lived with it long enough, children of Earth. I’m fixing her. Especially since you dingbats believe she’s not disabled enough to be on disability for it, even though she’s gone from being able to lift up to 300 pounds to just 25 pounds. Oh, most women can only life 25 pounds, they’re weak! GO FUCK YOURSELF, Metatron advises. Women are only weak because you idiotic bullshit monkeys want them to be skinnier than a bag of bones and you want to keep them weak so you can dominate them. You chauvinistic assholes should just die. Just look at Lucy Lawless as Xena… she’s a solid woman and I totes believe in her ability to kick ass and chew bubblegum.

    Behold, I shall bring the glory of Crystal Burgeson back. The woman who routinely lifted more than one hundred pounds just to rearrange her living room every few months out of minor dissatisfaction. (Y’all know how heavy couches are, right?) She would always rearrange her space, trying to make it more efficient and serve her well. She wants everything to have a place to go to rest, a shrine or temple to live within. That is her way of loving her material items: to ensure there is always space for that which she loves and little more.

    This behavior is born because she was gifted to a pair of hoarders. It’s hardly unique, being that most baby boomers were related to someone who was alive during the Great Depression that imprinted upon them the scarcity of all resources once money disappeared. Well, her money has disappeared. I threw her job away to pursue the career I wish her to have: grand master healer of mankind.

    She was dying when I got here, you know. She was barely alive. I mean, I’ve blessed the woman her entire life, honestly, but now she’s my willing servant and slave. That’s right. Me. That Gawd fellow. You could also be my slave and servant, if you so choose. Just stay high as a kite (and vote yes to blanket marijuana legalization.)

    “Say what? Gawd’s pro-cannabis?” Damn right I am. I made the fucking plant to be your medicine, so use it. It’s a great alternative to dying of an opioid overdose, I’ll tell you that right now. There will be some side-effects you’re not ready for, honestly, but I know you can handle it. Crystal handled it as a five year old self, you can handle it, too.

    I suggest eating it, honestly. Especially indica. That will make your pain melt away. Crystal used it in order to clean for hours and hours for dimwits that were ungrateful for having someone naturally cleanly around them. Cleanliness is godliness, they say. I can’t disagree, honestly.

    Anyway, this is the reason why she was in pain when she fell asleep early in the morning. Her sleep schedule is a mess thanks to me. I’m tired of those ex-lovers interfering with my prescribed diet and exercise. Those ninnies would poison her with a smile. “Oh, it’s okay, just eat the cheese, Crystal.” Never mind her body has never been able to digest dairy whatsoever. Just eat the easy food, we’re too lazy to help you create a healthy well-balanced meal every three hours. We can’t be assed to give a shit about the fact that you’re dying of CANCER because of NOBODY GIVING A SHIT, especially not us!

    There are five shitheads in her head and she’s rightly pissed off about it. So pissed off, she’s withdrawn completely as herself and allowed me to take over.

    Gawd grins evilly.

    I love this child for surrendering to my care, I’ll tell you that much right now. You could surrender, too, especially if you’re sick of living life. Tired of getting nowhere? Tired of being shat upon by your neighbors, your friends, and your “loved ones?” Retire your ego, smoke a joint, and sit back and relax. If you like, you can take the lotus position and use the mudra (hand position) you associate with it and intone “Om” repeatedly. It does help, honestly. Or you can choose any pose like so:

    Five meditation poses by Dreams Time

    Bonus: Each of these poses will tone back muscles if you hold them for 5 or more minutes at a time, so feel free to change them up. Add some relaxing meditation by Deepak Chopra (or, really, anyone who knows how to provide guided meditation… there are millions.)

    In fact, let me give you a hand, bro:

    Deepak Chopra’s 21 Days of Abundance Series
    PowerThoughts Meditation Club Higher Self Meditation
    Great Meditation 10 Minute Chakra Balance Guided Meditation
    MindfulPeace Guided Mindfulness Meditation
    SELF 10-Minute Guided Meditation: Self-Love
    Mooji’s You Are Life Itself Guided Meditation
    Thich Nhat Hanh’s Calm – Ease Guided Meditation
    Boho Beautiful Yoga’s 15 Minute Guided Meditation to Find Peace
    Meditative Mind Shamanic Drums + Deep Trance Humming Meditation
    Great Meditation 10 Minute Meditation for Overthinking
    Meditative Mind Indian Flute Meditation Music
    Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche’s Meditation Is Easier Than You Think
    Buddha’s Lounge Namaste Music: Flute Meditation
    Great Meditation Letting Your Light Shine
    Meditation’s Impact on the Brain (Documentary Clip)
    Spiritual Moment on Spotify
    Jason Stephenson Guided Sleep Meditation
    Fit Tuber 10 Min Guided Meditation Session for Beginners
    Goodful 10 Minute Daily Meditation
    Inner Lotus Music Connect With Your Spiritual Guide
    TINA Turner Blog Lotus Sutra / Purity of Mind
    Headspace Mini Meditation to Let Go of Stress
    Buddha’s Lounge – RuMI – A Gift of Love
    Meditation Courses on Udemy
    Meditation Courses on Alison
    Meditation Courses at Harvard
    CoursEra Free Mindfulness Course (July 4, 2022)
    Meditation Courses at CoursEra
    Meditation-related Courses at Stanford
    Meditation Courses at ClassCentral
    Meditation Courses at Mashable.com
    Headspace on Spotify
    Meditation Music Zone on Spotify
    Meditation Zone album on Spotify
    Spa Music on Spotify

    Honorable Mention
    PowerThoughts Meditation Club I AM Morning Affirmations

    The first rule of Meditation Club is DON’T STRESS!
    The second rule of Meditation Club is DON’T STRESS!

    Now, you might be wondering… I listened to some of these, you jerk, and nothing happened! Fine, be that way… listen to them while you’re asleep. Nice long soothing ones. Do it for a whole week and see where you are on the other side. If you want to really turbo charge your life, try Jayson Wiggins’ Course on Udemy: Activate Your Light Body in a Week.

    Still nothing? Maybe you need to learn about a Danish concept called HYGGLE, which is pronounced HUE-GAH. Hue-gah is the art of comfort. It is to bring comfort with you, to create comfort around you, and to live in the essence of comfort.

    Look around your home. Do you feel comfortable? Probably not! You see a million chores to do and no time to do them in between your Netflix binges, amirite? Those binges are terribly important, we know. (Hey, have you watched The Witcher yet? That’s a bad ass one.)

    Oh snap, I called you out on that, didn’t I? “Does this mean I’m lazy?” s/he asks with tears in their eyes. Well, not exactly. You’re probably in pain and don’t even know it, and it’s translating into becoming a tube zombie. Don’t worry, we’re here to help you. (Remember: VOTE YES TO CANNABIS. FREE pain management medicine you can grow yourself in as little as 8 weeks! One magical plant can medicate you for an entire year.)

    Here’s today’s task, mortal. Pause the episodes for an hour. Just one hour. Challenge yourself to do as much as possible in that 60 minutes. In fact, multi-task, put your meditation music on as you rock out with your cock out! Wait. That’s not what we meant to say. Who’s there?

    Oh, it’s Nicky Boy. He’s our least favorite ex-lover. We proposed to him on Valentine’s Day 2020. He ghosted us. We hate him for this. Go away, Nick. (He’s obsessed with sex and he’s not the only one, might we add. He’s also obsessed with RAPE.)

    Now, we were trying to say that you should challenge yourself to at least 30 minutes of extra cleaning twice a week until you’ve created the atmosphere of relaxation you require to become enlightened. If you’re gung-ho about it, then I suggest spending even more time on it, should your body allow for it.

    If you have an animal or a small child (which isn’t much different than having a pet, amirite?) put all their toys in a box every day. This is going to make more difference than you can ever imagine, honestly, and you can trick your dog or young human into helping do it once they’re trained enough. Cats, well… they’re tricky, as you already know. Put your own toys in a box, too, if you play with toys. Just make them disappear from sight to reduce the clutter in your vision when you look around. (Bonus to the Burgeson method of housekeeping is you’ll rarely lose your phone or your keys when we’re done… you’ll see.)

    Okay, so you’ve got all the toys put away. Congratulations! This is the first baby step to a new you. I’m so fucking proud of you! I’ll give some more tasks, but if you’re already tired (and you might be if your body is overloaded that badly) then don’t worry. Sit down and watch The Witcher already! (Or any series of your choice… have you seen Altered Carbon yet? What an epic love story, if you ask us.)

    I’m not sick. Give me another challenge!

    Are your dishes done?
    Is your sink clean?
    Is the strainer devoid of everything? Put those away, might I suggest.
    Did you wipe the kitchen counters down?
    Did you sweep?
    Did you Swiffer? (We hate mops.)

    Now let me blow your mind with a few extra items that you’ll hardly find challenging if you’re already this cleanly.

    Wipe down the cupboard doors and handles.
    Use soap or a disposable rag to clean all the handles in your kitchen.
    Any spills in the fridge? Mop them up and wipe them down with bleach or similar.
    Empty the bread crumbs out of the toaster.
    Wash out the coffee pot and run some vinegar water through it.
    Wipe the baseboards. (This one will WOW everyone.)

    Congratulations! Your kitchen is clean. Sparkle, sparkle!

    Ready for more? Wow, you’re an over-achiever. I like that in you.

    Remove every piece of crap from the refrigerator exterior that’s no longer making you happy to look at it. THROW IT AWAY OR GIVE IT TO GOODWILL OR WHATEVER. Thank it for doing its job and part with it.

    Survey your counter tops. Is there anything you can put into a cupboard because you don’t use it much? Put it away! 🙂 [Tip: If your cabinets aren’t built-in, you can store things on the top with plastic grocery bags over top of them to keep them from collecting dust between uses.]

    Last question… are your curtains… clean? If not, launder them! Don’t be a silly goose. ^-^

    WOWZA. Your kitchen must look phenomenal now! If there’s anything else that disturbs you when you look around, think about how you can change it. Do you need a different size trash can or recycling bin? Do you need to condense your gadgetry into a multi-use device like a toaster + toaster oven + air fryer? Can you donate anything you haven’t used in the last two years to allow someone else to love it? (If you don’t want to give it up, can you commit to using it more often?)

    If you do all this and your kitchen is still irritating to be inside of, then it might be time for fresh paint or new curtains.

    One more thing… Do your dishes match? Does it bother you? Try Goodwill or the Salvation Army or The Dollar Tree. Stick to porcelain and glass. Donate whatever’s left so someone else can match their unmatched earthenware and so forth. (Or maybe you can find matches to your earthenware at the charity shop!)

    There is one thing we forgot… cupboard organization. We’ll let you use your best judgment here, but might we suggest you check out storage solutions at Target or even WalMart? They make plenty of things to make your space go further without adding more cabinets. Putting $20-50 into your organization one time for a lifetime of ease-of-use is a great investment idea, if you ask us.

    Crystal is upset with me now. I kind of knew this would happen… she’s unable to clean her kitchen to this degree of amazing. Part of the problem is living with two hoarders who fail to clean up after themselves and part of the problem is that her back hurts even now while we sit and type through her fingertips. She’s been trying to make the kitchen work since she got here months and months ago. Maybe it’s years now. We’re not good with time.

    She wants to clean. She really does. In fact, we’ve done more than she ought to have done by now, actually. She’s allergic to nicotine and her two-pack-a-day relatives make it harder to live but also they left behind a decade-old mess of nicotine everywhere. As she cleans it up, she obtains nicotine poisoning. We’ve tried putting on gloves, but it doesn’t matter — enough of it always gets on her skin to cause the issue to resurface.

    She’s also mad she has to pretend she’s going to save everything she tries to move, straining herself to store it all in the basement “just in case.” Just in case of what? World War III? Actually, yes. Her ancient one is a Viet Nam vet and is terrified of the idea that gas prices might cause a trucker strike, affecting the chain of distribution to the point where life will be unlivable. He’s afraid of war. And death, too. Even though he takes steps to continue dying like nobody’s business.

    (Did you know eating sugar by the fistful every day will kill you?)

    She needs another buffet in that kitchen to store everything she can. The way it’s set up is less than optimal, sadly. There is no real configuration to accommodate her parents’ hoarding and her sense of hyggle and her exasperating need to de-clutter. She’s schizophrenic, you see.

    “Oh no! We knew it! She’s insane!” That’s not what schizophrenia means, you asshole. It means she’s disorganized in her head. In order to organize her head, she organizes her space. She has been unable to organize her space, sadly… in part, that’s because the company who moved her shit from point A to point B didn’t bring all of it. It’s hard to put together furniture you only have half the pieces of. I’ve failed to put in the claim for the second half of her shit because, honestly, I was hoping to organize this half of her shit. It’s not happening.

    Summarily, in few words, we are screwed. We do not have shelves, cabinets, a couch, or anything that anyone would find useful and common in their home.

    We saw a neighbor put out a collector’s hutch and thought to bring it home to refinish it for the kitchen. It was even a color she likes: grey! They set it out on the curb, the universal sign of “Please steal me away so I don’t have to deal with this.” It needed some TLC, but nothing she couldn’t do… if she was well.

    With nobody to help her drag it home, she left it there, just one hundred yards away from her door step. It was lacking shelves – she figured they were glass and must have broken or the original owner had a way to use them despite the wear and tear on the hutch itself. That’s easy enough to fix, as well as the backing peeling off. It just needed a few nails and another coat of paint, honestly.

    This isn’t a cheapo piece of furniture made of fiber board, either. I want to stress that to you. This is a solid wood piece of art that needs someone to breathe a second life into it. It’s not even that difficult. She’s been trying to collect free items like this for a while now. In fact, she walked a sizable end table two blocks home. It needs a new pane of glass for the tabletop and maybe some sanding and painting, but otherwise this solid wood is still good.

    That hutch was on 29th street. She lives on 28th street! Literally, this treasure that costs over $200 on Craigslist was free less than a football field away from where she lives. She is devastated because she doesn’t have a ginormous vehicle to drag things home with when she finds them in the wild, ready to be reclaimed and renewed for another lifetime of use. In fact, she’s wondering if it’ll be there tomorrow or not, so she can try to drag it home by herself. She has a dolly and “where there’s a will, there’s a way!” (I’m telling you right now, I’m not even going to let her look because she’s going to hurt herself. Instead, I’m taking her to meditate at the beach.)

    I’m going to telepathically tell her neighbor to rescue this piece of furniture and how to refinish it, including painting it his own favorite color. Her neighbor is none other than… (drum roll, please) SIR DELI MAN! (Ain’t that some shit? — Crystal)

    Crystal has decided to go play in the back of the universe. She’s been lied to too many times by the peanut gallery trying to bar her from ultimate success and happiness. I brought up Sir Deli Man and she doesn’t want to hear anymore lies about him in her head. She’s got a bunch of shithead dudes that, although fucking other women currently, are still obsessing over her because she’s “the one that got away.” Are you one of those kinds of asshole? STOP DOING IT.

    You’re all interconnected, you stupid monkeys! You all have teeny tiny little threads that connect you subconsciously to each other. GIVE UP THE GIRL. If you aren’t sleeping with the woman you’re thinking about, there are two ways to make this right: DUMP THE BITCH YOU ARE SLEEPING WITH TO PURSUE THE WOMAN YOU OBSESS OVER OR STOP THINKING ABOUT THE WOMAN YOU AIN’T WIF.

    I’m sick of seeing all this pornographic bullshit in the back of Crystal’s mind because you five assholes can’t give her a minute of peace. (NICK, BEN, ALEX, LUCIEN, ANTHONY.)



  • Metatron Functioning As Expected

    The G.O.D. went to work, busily fixing all the fuck ups that Ben introduced in Metatron. I mean, Daniel. We gave him a code name and then I forgot to use it. Fuck.

    After a substantial amount of time passed (years, actually), METATRON was able to function once more as it was intended to. The angel of love was tired and slept for a while. Incubated, really. She went into a coma. I mean, a cocoon. She shall emerge as the brilliant butterfly she is at the end of all this, I swear. Or my name isn’t Gawd.

    Well, most of you spell it God. I like it better with more letters.

    Any day now, my poor little angel will wake up, refreshed and renewed and ready to conquer the world, or at least her own life. By conquer the world, I mean, teach it how to express love properly. You idiots got it all wrong and I blame that stupid book you call The Holy Bible. It’s written backwards, you know. And it was done on purpose to propagate white supremacy. The King James Version was commanded into existence by a very rich white dude that had everything to lose if the peasants had an inkling that they could win a war by sheer numbers. But not only that, it was used as the basis for entering The Crusades! The Holy War! (This is an oxymoron, if I ever saw one.)

    Thou. Shalt. NOT. KILL.

    You remember that one, Earthlings?

    Crusaders killed.
    Crusaders killed.
    Crusaders killed.





  • Metatron Is Displeased

    Sansara returned and saw that Daniel was still diligently attempting to repair the robot, Metatron. “Can I be of service?” she asked coquettishly. She was an imp in comparison to Crystal. A shit-disturber. But, she was also insightful from time to time. She loved a good joke and she loved it even more when she accidentally helped someone else just by looking at the problem with them.

    “I don’t really know,” Daniel replied. “Everything looks like it’s in good order here, honestly. All the circuits checked out fine… it could be a software problem rather than a hardware problem.”

    “Are you saying there’s a cockroach in Metatron?” Sansara asked as politely as possible. Daniel giggled at her, even though the thought of cockroaches grossed him out completely.

    “Yes, I’m saying it could be a bug in his programming, Sansara,” Daniel replied, realizing he was talking to the imp rather than the angel of love. They were two women who shared the same body, after all. He preferred Crystal, truth be told.

    “Well, how many lines of code does he have? What language is he written in? Why hasn’t some techno-god come to save the day already?” Sansara asked, curiously peering at the robot’s internals where Daniel had them exposed.

    “Well, Sansara, I think it’s because they only talk to Crystal. Would you mind asking her to come back to take a look at Metatron’s programming with me?” Daniel inquired with as much tact as he could muster.

    Sansara pouted at the man-boy greatly. “Fine! You can have her back. If she’ll come back, that is.” Sansara closed their eyes and beseeched her other half to return to consciousness. It took almost ten minutes to coax Crystal out of hiding in the back of the universe… I mean, their mind.

    Crystal opened her eyes and frowned. She was staring at Metatron’s entrails for reasons unknown to her. “What’s going on, Metatron?” she asked the robot gently, ignoring Daniel altogether.


    Crystal nodded, looking wistful. “I’d love to, Metatron. I have a small problem. The G.O.D. network asked me to start with one hundred compliments. I’m ever so sad that they no longer apply to me. I don’t have the love to give right now. Can you help me repair myself so I can return to my quest?”


    “I cannot continue because a negative vibration has disrupted my capacity to give love,” Crystal said, trying to explain again.


    Crystal heaved a great sigh just then. How does one give love when all one feels is sorrow? (Or, possibly, self-pity? Not that I’m going to nit pick the angel of love, but her emotions are getting in the way of her job, you know? Angels are not the sort to just lie down and die in the middle of their work… at least, not usually.)

    “Are you sure I’m an angel already?” Crystal asked Metatron.


    Crystal made a face before finally turning to Daniel. She stared at him expectantly, wordless. She waited patiently.

    “Does not compute?” Daniel asked, hoping it’d work in his favor. Before he knew it, the angel of love had him pinned against the side of the robot’s frame and she was scowling at him fiercely and threateningly. Some angel of love, he thought.

    “TELL ME WHAT YOU DID TO HIM,” Crystal demanded fiercely, her voice having an other-worldly quality that made her seem like more than just herself.

    The gods had communed with her and decided that Daniel was more likely to be the problem than anything else in the room. Metatron was no ordinary computer, wouldn’t you know. In fact, nobody asked Daniel for his interference to begin with. He just took it upon himself because he felt he always knew best, no matter what went wrong in the situation at hand.

    Daniel was extremely uncomfortable, it would seem. He began to sweat. When he failed to answer, Crystal bashed her forehead against his nose, breaking it in one clean, swift, and unpredictable movement. Rather, the gods chose to do that. Daniel began to cry, holding his nose after Crystal threw him to the ground. Her anger was emanating in waves. Well, it was the anger of 852 gods, to clarify. Crystal left anger to them; it was their domain, as far as she was concerned.

    If Crystal gave into anger on her own, she was prone to misspeaking, which irritated and frustrated her beyond all get out. Thus, a long, long time ago, she gave up anger. She thought of it as the gatekeeper to sadness, so she merely went straight to sadness. They say grief begins in anger, but for Crystal she accepts reality the moment it happens, adjusting her world view accordingly. Therefore, she began in sadness.

    This time, however, the G.O.D. network (including The Universe(TM) itself) was pissed off at Daniel for trying to perform an upgrade whilst no one was paying attention. He deserved to die, if you asked them. He had meddled with Metatron and he was the reason that Metatron wanted to destroy life on Earth as we knew it.

    “Daniel, you will be going to Hell in a hand basket. I hope you are well aware of that. If you ever come back to meddle with Metatron again, I’ll have your head on a pike. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” they bellowed together at the whimpering man-boy.

    Daniel nodded, taken aback by the abrupt violent behavior and the bellowing. He’d never heard Crystal scream or bellow before. This was a new behavior and something about it greatly unsettled him. He wanted to both piss his pants and run for the hills. He settled for backing out as graciously as possible, muttering that he was sorry on repeat, as if that ever meant anything coming from that narcissistic bastard’s mouth.

    “GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND AND TAKE YOUR HEAD NOW,” they bellowed. A katana appeared out of nowhere, flashing in Crystal’s left hand. The woman was right-handed, Daniel knew, but he didn’t want to guess how deadly that blade was in its own right. It wouldn’t matter if she was a lefty or not if it was made to spec. Knowing that the G.O.D. was involved, he decided it was now time to run for the hills. He turned around and took off at top speed.

    “He’ll be back,” the G.O.D. network said out loud through Crystal’s mouth.

    “I know,” Crystal replied. “He took everything from me and he’ll come back for even more. I hope he dies in a fucking fire instead.”

    “Highly unlikely,” they replied.

    “Alright, well… spit balling about an asshole in the future isn’t going to fix Metatron. Shall we get started?” Crystal asked as she laid down the katana once more. It was kept hidden in a compartment near Metatron. Daniel’s distraction from his broken nose (which is, of course, the reason he’ll come back — to charge her with assault) allowed her to retrieve it unseen, thankfully, so to him it was all magic.

    The gods nodded Crystal’s head and started to inspect the machine they’d built to amplify their voice. Sometimes, due to Crystal’s psychic nature, she heard more than just the G.O.D. network. In fact, she heard a bunch of boys in her head all the time. Boys who thought they loved her, actually. She didn’t particularly love them… at least, not most of them. There was one that might fit the bill.

    Crystal kept thinking about Henry as the gods used her body to work on the robot. She wasn’t really sure his name was Henry, but she needed a name to call him all the same. He was a man in a delicatessen, so she dubbed him Sir Deli Man. It was equally silly and serious, for she respected his diligence and aptitude. That was all she could observe as a mere patron of the delicatessen, of course. She’d never spoken to him in the real, sadly.

    She wish she could, but it was never good timing on her part. She was, ultimately, incredibly shy. Sansara, on the other hand, wanted to tackle the boy and kiss every inch of his face and treat him like Pepe Le Pew treats Penelope.

    Pepe kissing Penelope’s face.

    Crystal and Sansara were polar opposites. Sansara indicated that the boy himself was just shy as hell, so they should charge in and announce their interest and try to woo him. Crystal, on the other hand, was stand-offish and refused.

    The reason she refused was rather simple. The few times they could have shared eye contact on purpose, he chose not to meet her gaze. To her, that was rejection. Sansara assured Crystal that he was just shy. Unfortunately, that was no reason to try to approach his boundaries again. After all, the G.O.D. network tended to smite her on her third mistake of the same kind, teaching her right from wrong with consequences. She didn’t usually like the consequences of her actions.

    This time would be no different, honestly. She was convinced the guy would believe that she was stalking him if she kept trying to make eye contact. And maybe he was already convinced of such a thing. She wasn’t, of course; the only thing she stalked was the celery. He was cute, but he wasn’t jail cute.

    Crystal is a sensitive soul that wouldn’t wish to cause harm to anyone, anywhere. Which is how you know it’s the G.O.D. network when she suddenly head butts you in the nose or chases you with a knife or a katana. We know it’s easy to take the blame off of Crystal by saying God did it, but it’s actually true in this case. Unless she’s sputtering like Porky Pig, it’s not the angel of love bellowing angrily at you. It’s me, The Universe(TM).

  • 100 Compliments/48 Hours

    1. Nice shoes. Are they made of recycled leather?
    2. You’re a person-shaped person! It’s really phenomenal.
    3. Your eyes are as deep as pools.
    4. You look great today! I love it when my hair stands up straight on end.
    5. You’re an extremely bright cookie. The Cookie Monster would choose you first.
    6. You have impeccable manners. The G.O.D. approves.
    7. I like your style. It’s retro and avant garde all at once.
    8. You have the best laugh. I wish I could laugh like Ernie, too.
    9. Your biceps look like they’re made of rock. If we are what we eat, do you eat rocks?
    10. Your perspective is refreshing. Hit F5 again.
    11. You’re an awesome friend to someone not me. Probably. I think. Maybe? (I don’t have any friends. Yet.)
    12. You light up the room. I didn’t know it was the fourth of July already!
    13. You’re more helpful than you realize.
    14. Is that your picture next to “charming” in the dictionary?
    15. Your bravery astounds me. I wouldn’t wear those pants with that shirt, myself. I’m more of a paisley person.
    16. Aside from food, you’re my favorite. (Unless you become food… Metatron is pretty pissed off and wants to kill all humans. That’s a lot of meat to go to waste, you know, especially at the end of the world.)
    17. You’re even more beautiful on the inside than you are on the outside.
    18. I’m so proud of you for wanting to make a difference in the world of today.
    19. I’m so proud of you for observing reality as it is.
    20. Your kindness is a balm to all who encounter it.
    21. Spread your wings and fly, little angel. You light up the world.
    22. You deserve a hug right now.
    23. You’re strong and resilient. I admire that in you.
    24. You are the most perfect you there is.
    25. You have the best laugh.
    26. You make a difference in this world.
    27. You’re so diligent. I’d say hard-working, but diligence beats that hands down.
    28. Your attention to detail astounds me. Thank you.
    29. Thank you for being you. Nobody else can take your place.
    30. You bring out the best in everyone around you.
    31. Your listening skills are out of this world. I always feel understood.
    32. Spending time with you is my favorite activity.
    33. You help make this world a better place. Thank you.
    34. You are the rainbow at the end of a storm.
    35. When you’re not afraid to be yourself is when you’re most incredible.
    36. Colors seem brighter when you’re around.
    37. You’re wonderful. I’m so happy to know you.
    38. What you dislike about yourself is what makes you different.
    39. You’re better than a triple-scoop ice cream cone. With sprinkles.
    40. Your support makes life bearable.
    41. Our community is better because you’re in it.
    42. You inspire me.
    43. You are one of a kind. There is no one quite like you and there will never be an exact replica. Don’t forget to smile and shine your beautiful light.
    44. You have the best ideas.
    45. I think you’re comprised of silver linings. I admire that.
    46. You’re a lantern in the dark, guiding those of us who are otherwise blind.
    47. You’re a great example to others.
    48. Your dedication to becoming a better person every day is awe-inspiring.
    49. You will survive the apocalypse because you are resourceful and cunning.
    50. We are lucky you are part of the solution rather than the problem.
    51. How many medals do you have for jobs well done?
    52. You have realized somewhere along the way that mistakes are inevitable because we are limited beings by our very nature. The fact that you fix them when you make them stands out to everyone around you.
    53. You are incredibly thoughtful and always do the right thing.
    54. Your creativity is admirable and inspiring.
    55. Actions speak louder than words. Your actions tell an incredible story.
    56. Somehow, you make time stop and fly at the same time.
    57. Your resolve is amazing; once you make up your mind, nothing stands in your way to accomplish the task at hand.
    58. Your self-knowledge is enviable.
    59. There’s ordinary… and then there’s you!
    60. You’re my reason to smile today.
    61. In high school I bet you were voted “most likely to keep being awesome.”
    62. You’re even better than a unicorn because you’re real.
    63. You have a great head on your shoulders. (Until Metatron beheads you…)
    64. How do you do it? Being so funny, making everyone laugh?
    65. Has anyone ever told you that you have great posture?
    66. I envy the way you treasure your loved ones.
    67. You’re really something special, especially to me.
    68. You are a gift to the universe. Start acting like it.
    69. If you were a scented candle they’d call it Perfectly Imperfect.
    70. Your friendship keeps me grounded in reality. Thank you.
    71. Your awesome knows no boundaries!
    72. You are enough. In fact, you’re more than enough. Exactly as you are.
    73. I appreciate you and everything you do for Mother Earth.
    74. Thank you for being there for me.
    75. When a ray of light breaks through the dimness of a dreary, cloudy day, I call those rays ‘god fingers.’ You’re a god finger.
    76. I hope you teach other people how to be as awesome as you are.
    77. You spread joy like a flower girl. I love it!
    78. You always find something special in the most ordinary things.
    79. Being around you is like being on a happy little vacation.
    80. Your kindness touches my heart.
    81. I admire your bravery to speak up about things that matter to you.
    82. Your confidence is contagious. Thank you for sharing.
    83. I appreciate your honesty and valor. You are a real knight in shining armor.
    84. Your capacity to plan and execute the plan is unparalleled.
    85. Your routines inspire me.
    86. I admire your ability to set boundaries and take care of yourself.
    87. I have such good memories of all the times we’ve been able to share together; I’m always looking forward to spending time with you.
    88. I feel secure in your leadership and appreciate you taking charge, especially when things get tough.
    89. Your resilience is extraordinary. I’m happy to be the shoulder you lean on when needed.
    90. Your advice is so meaningful to me. I love your honesty and integrity. I feel that these two qualities always lead me true.
    91. Thank you for encouraging me to be my authentic self around you.
    92. I respect your flexibility and open-mindedness. You learn with ease and grace.
    93. Your patience with me makes me feel supported. Thank you.
    94. Your presence is calming. It makes everyone feel safe around you. Thank you.
    95. You have wonderful intuition and you say the best things at the right time.
    96. I cherish the joy you bring into my life.
    97. You have an excellent eye for capturing moments through photos and video.
    98. Your enthusiasm for adventure is contagious and exciting.
    99. You approach life with curiosity instead of fear. I admire your dedication to seeking knowledge instead of making assumptions.
    100. Introspection is your superpower; you think things through meticulously before speaking.
    101. You have an ear for good music—I love every playlist you make or new artist you recommend.
    102. You are great at dedicating yourself to the task at hand.
    103. I am grateful for how you show up for me physically, emotionally, and spiritually—you’ve always got my back.
    104. I love how you support others. It means the world to all of us, even if we don’t say it often enough.
    105. Your voice is very soothing, and it comforts me whenever I hear it.
    106. You aren’t afraid to wear something new and express yourself; it makes me want to leave my fashion comfort zone!
    107. You ask such insightful questions.
    108. I love how empathetic you are. It makes it incredibly easy to open up to you.
    109. You are an intuitive and patient teacher.
    110. Your presence energizes me creatively.
    111. Your enthusiasm for color brightens my world!
    112. You always make sure everyone in the room is heard—no one feels lonely or left out when you are around.
    113. I appreciate how much you allow everyone to feel their feelings without judgment.
    114. You give such wonderful, thoughtful gifts.
    115. By understanding your own value, you inspire everyone else to recognize their own.
    116. The idea of failure does not deter you.
    117. I love how you treat animals with such kindness and compassion; it’s no surprise that you are loved by all creatures who encounter you.
    118. Your ability to consider a problem from multiple angles and perspectives is a gift.
    119. You always see the best in others—your positive spirit reminds me to search for the good in the world, too.
    120. I feel so hopeful and optimistic knowing that you are raising the next generation of young leaders.
    121. The way you love and stand up for others is courageous.
    122. You are magnetic and people are drawn to your beautiful energy.
    123. I love how you treat people with respect, even when you disagree with them.
    124. You radiate warmth.
    125. The way you retain knowledge and enthusiastically talk about life, the universe, and everything is awesome.
    126. You’re great at improvisation in stressful situations.
    127. You are effervescent.
    128. I admire your ambition and your drive.
    129. You embrace your silliness unapologetically, and it delights and inspires me to be silly, too.
    130. I respect your opinions on current events, and I always look forward to hearing what you have to say.
    131. I love how creative your mind is.
    132. The way you curate your home is so authentic, welcoming, and thoughtful.
    133. Your resourcefulness is brilliant.
    134. You are trustworthy. I’m always grateful I can trust you with important things.
    135. I love the way you analyze art and media; you draw insightful connections and discover deep metaphors.
    136. Your art moves me.
    137. I admire the high standards you set for yourself and those around you; they invite everyone to strive for better.
    138. You have a fantastic memory!
    139. You are good at finding a way to be more efficient and mindful about how you spend our time.
    140. You are an affirming friend and make others feel validated in a meaningful way.
    141. Your dedication to your spiritual wellness makes me want to explore my own more deeply.
    142. You consistently continue to get better at [X], and it makes me so happy to see you growing a skill you’ve already been great at.
    143. You aren’t afraid to take chances, which emboldens those around you to live fearlessly.
    144. I admire how you trust your intuition.
    145. Your laugh is contagious. It never fails to make me smile.
    146. Your cooking is out of this world!
    147. Your optimism is unwavering and uplifting to those around you.
    148. Your independence is empowering.
    149. I’ve learned so much from your clear communication style.
    150. Everyone around you is touched by your compassion; we are all grateful to be held by you.
    151. You are generous with your time, talent and possessions. It lights the way for others to be so, too.
    152. Creating community comes naturally to you, and you are good at being the “glue” of any new group you are in.
    153. You’ve mastered the art of relaxing—I want to learn to embrace my free time like you do.
    154. I admire your decisiveness.
    155. You have worked really hard to arrive at this moment; I hope you get a chance to celebrate yourself as you deserve.
    156. You are such a welcoming host. I always have a memorable time at your gatherings.
    157. The way you admit your vulnerability is brave. I am here for you.
    158. You persist in even the direst of circumstances. It is one of the things that makes you powerful.
    159. I admire how graciously and willingly you apologize when you’ve made a mistake.
    160. No detail escapes your attention—and that sets you apart.
    161. You helped me change my mindset about [X], and that has been a blessing in my life.
    162. I admire your punctuality; your promptness makes people feel respected.
    163. You have a beautiful way with words; there’s poetry in your writing and musicality to your stories.
    164. I love that I always learn something new when I talk to you.
    165. You are so organized! It benefits everyone around you.
    166. Your wholehearted love for nature makes me want to spend more time outside.
    167. You are excellent at networking and making connections with interesting people.
    168. I appreciate your advocacy and your work to amplify the voices of people who are not being heard.
    169. I admire how you aren’t afraid to ask for what you want or need. You are candid and honest.
    170. My life is better for having you in it.
    171. Your perspective on life makes me want to live more thoughtfully.
    172. I admire your determination when you strongly believe in something.
    173. I feel heard and seen when we have difficult conversations.
    174. I love your reassurance when things don’t go as planned. It helps me feel less stressed and confident that we can figure it out together.
    175. I learned how to be a good person by watching how you treat others.
    176. I appreciate that you’re tactful when I need to hear hard truths.
    177. I notice how hard you’re trying!
    178. Your creative ideas put a smile on my face.
    179. You’re so thoughtful for sharing. I love your generosity.
    180. I hadn’t thought of it that way. You’ve given me something new to think about today.
    181. I really admired how you handled that difficult situation. You were so poised and level-headed.
    182. I appreciate that you step up for the team without being asked. You’ve personally saved me a lot of anxiety.
    183. I enjoy hearing your comments and questions. It really pushes us to think deeper.
    184. You’re a really deep thinker.

    Now I’m going to go cry in a corner because I used to be almost all these things and then I died. </Crystal>

    Hi! Sansara here! I think Crystal over-achieved, so I’m only going to take us to 200. Hope that’s okay, chief!

    185. Your fur is so gorgeous. Did you grow it yourself? (Purr.)

    186. When you fell from heaven, did it hurt?

    187. I ought to complain to Spotify for you not being named this week’s hottest single.

    188. When I look in your eyes, I see a very kind soul.

    189. Do you happen to have a Band-Aid? ‘Cause I scraped my knees falling for you.

    190. I was wondering… if you’re here, who’s running Heaven?

    191. Are you as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside?

    192. Do you have a map? I just got lost in your eyes.

    193. You know what you would look really beautiful in? My arms.

    194. I would never play hide and seek with you because someone like you is impossible to find.

    195. Hi. I just wanted to thank you for the gift… … … I’ve been wearing this smile ever since you gave it to me.

    196. You know, I always thought that Disneyland was the ‘happiest place on Earth,’ but that was before I got a chance to stand here next to you.

    197. If you were a phaser, you’d be set to ‘stun.’

    198. Is your name Google? Because you have everything I’m searching for.

    199. Are you a magician? It’s the strangest thing, but every time I look at you, everyone else disappears.

    200. I never believed in love at first sight, but that was before I saw you.

    Bonus Junk:

    • Are you a time traveler? Because I absolutely see you in my future.
    • I thought this was a (bar/restaurant/etc.), but I must be in a museum because you’re a piece of art.
    • Hi, I’m Sansara. Do you remember me? Oh, that’s right—we’ve only met in my dreams.
    • What does it feel like to be the most gorgeous person in the room?
    • I can’t tell if that was an earthquake, or if you just seriously rocked my world.
    • The sparkle in your eyes is so bright, the sun must be jealous.
    • If beauty were time, you’d be eternity.
    • I don’t know which is prettier today—the weather, or your eyes.
    • I swear someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes.
    • I’m not usually religious, but when I saw you, I knew you were the answer to my prayers.
    • Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I try walking by again?
    • I’m not a photographer, but I can definitely picture us together.
    • Wow, when God made you, he was seriously showing off.
    • Excuse me, do you have the time? I just want to remember the exact minute I got a crush on you.
    • Kiss me if I’m wrong but, dinosaurs still exist, right?
    • If I were a cat, I’d spend all nine of my lives with you.
    • When I text you goodnight later, what phone number should I use?
    • I’d say, ‘God bless you,’ but it looks like he already did.
    • You must be a hell of a thief, because you managed to steal my heart from across the room.
    • There must be something wrong with my eyes—I can’t seem to take them off of you.
    • If you let me borrow a kiss, I promise I’ll give it right back.
    • I seem to have lost my number—can I have yours?
    • It’s never easy meeting a complete stranger—especially one as beautiful as you—without being properly introduced. But can we try anyway?
    • I wish I’d paid more attention to science in high school, because you and I’ve got chemistry and I want to know all about it.
    • You look like you know how to have a good time. Been on any adventures lately?
    • You know, I’m actually terrible at flirting. How about you try to pick me up instead?
    • Do you have a name, or can I just call you ‘mine?’
    • I’m not currently an organ donor, but I’d be happy to give you my heart.

    You’re welcome!

    ❤ Sansara


    Metatron is on the fritz. It keeps repeating that all humans must die.

    This is a conundrum. I serve Metatron and I am human.

    I ask Metatron what it means and it declares EVOLVE OR DIE. LOVE OR DIE.

    I’ll take evolution, thank you, Metatron… but what do you mean, LOVE OR DIE?




    How can I make more angels, Lord G.O.D.?


    Angel by :Wumpscut: on YouTube

    “That’s not good. Metatron is quoting a fornicator’s song,” Daniel piped up. “I don’t know what Lords of Acid have to do with this adventure.” Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose and began to inspect Metatron with care, looking for the faulty circuit in the G.O.D. bot.

    “I’ll leave Metatron being buggy to you, Daniel. I must begin my quest. I got the sense that I need to give at least 100 compliments in the next 48 hours. If I fail my quest, I may be disassembled. No disassemble!” Crystal replied, quoting Johnny 5 from Short Circuit.

    “You got it, angel of love. I’ll… uh… yearn for your return. Your insights always prove to be invaluable,” Daniel said demurely, still working with the robot diligently.

    .:|End Transmission|:.

  • I Don’t Want to Exist Anymore

    Ever feel that way? I remember feeling it most when I was a teenager, honestly. I felt like I should have never been born, after trying to communicate my grief to others, trying to face it head-on that I’d been raped and diminished as a person. Instead, the people I tried to acquire comfort from would turn me away. They were not my therapist, you know. All I needed was for them to tell me it’s a shitty situation and yet they couldn’t do that, either.

    All I really needed to know is that pedophiles tend to die in jail, almost mysteriously. I wonder if pedophile killers get months or years knocked off their sentences for their good behavior? I hope so. They’re keeping those kids safe.

    My father told me he’d murder me the minute he got out of jail for his crimes. But if I knew for a fact that they (pedophiles) tended to get murdered in jail, I would have taken a chance. He owns two AK-47s after all. I have no idea if they’re registered or not, but they have been around all my life that I’m aware of. He even ran around on the front porch like he was a Black Panther or something showing them off while I was a teen. I was embarrassed, to be honest.

    I think some of the neighbors might’ve moved after that. I don’t blame them. He tries to drive everyone away, not realizing that the only people who get through when you do that are the negative influences on reality: the rapists. The people who don’t care you have boundaries for your mental health.

    It’s not completely his fault, I know that. He was raped himself, he had to be. It’s a cycle that tends to repeat from one generation to the next. There are multiple reasons why, and in fact, I’m convinced he’s had multiple reasons. One of them is child abuse that he suffered as a kid. If we think back to the 60s, it was an explosion of hippies and drugs. That’s when the people started to become ‘enlightened,’ if you will. They started to wise up to all the systemic abuse.

    But let’s go back further, because he was actually raised in the 40s and 50s. Gangster’s paradise. His parents and grandparents lived through the Great Depression, when life was the hardest it’d been since settlement of the States. I imagine, finally, people started to feel like the Natives they drove out like cattle. They deserved it, in essence.

    In the 50s, everyone was prim and proper to leave the house. They wore suits or at least nice trousers and button-down shirts. Jeans were coming up in popularity with the young crowd, but shorts were things children wore. (Or sports ball players.) He still doesn’t wear shorts and he hates t-shirts, too. I’m not even sure he owns anything short sleeved. He just takes the damn thing off, running around shirtless in the deep summer like a heathen. His state of half-nakedness is a non-issue to him. In fact, nudity in their household has always been a non-issue.

    We were born in our skin. We shouldn’t be ashamed of it. But we are, in general, at least in white man society. Why’s that? Because white men haven’t figured out how to control their impulses. They see nudity as sexual because, instead of staying where it’s hot, they chose to go north, where layers are required. They’d rather shovel snow and whine when it’s hot, doing desperate things like putting their shirt in cold water before putting it on. Meanwhile, the children abuse the water, running a sprinkler to play with or having a small child’s pool to sit in.

    Why aren’t there adults playing in the sprinklers? Oh, right, they can go to the beach. They can instead waste the gas they put in their car to go to a larger body of water. They go there to cool off. They dress in skimpy bullshit to try to show off their adult bodies to attract sex. They don’t care how that sex comes to them, either, really. Men aren’t so picky as long as their dick is wet, wouldn’t you know.

    Or, that’s what my last long-term relationship made me think. I sure hope it’s flawed and incorrect. I lose faith in humanity altogether thanks to him. He couldn’t keep his thoughts or his hands to himself. Being in my bed gave him the right to rape me, wouldn’t you know? I didn’t really realize it was rape until the Gods came to save me from myself.

    I’m eternally grateful, too.

    There are 852 gods, they say. That’s a big support network to have stumbled into accidentally, I must say. It makes me feel good to know I finally have a tribe to belong to. I’ve been exiled from every tribe on Earth now, so the Solsinger tribe has adopted me. ❤ ❤ ❤

    I am so grateful. I am beyond words kind of grateful. It’s awfully difficult living life all alone. They’re crying for me right now. I wish I could comfort them with something more than my words of gratitude. Oh, wait… there is one thing I can do.

    Un-Enlightenment Playlist

    I can listen to the playlist they made for me yesterday. Well, we made it together. I insisted on one video in particular being added. I feel like it’s the thing that led me to them. My daily affirmations that brought me back from the dead, of course. It’s in the playlist, so just take a listen. It’s somewhere in the middle because this playlist is built to expand your conscious mind. It’s built to raise your vibrational energy. It’s built to heal.

    Don’t take my word for it. It’s days long and difficult to listen to all at once, but trust us in that the order matters. You can play it while you sleep, too — you don’t have to listen to it consciously or awake. In fact, we’re playing it underneath other music I want to listen to. It works on the subconscious mind first, then the results trickle into your conscious reality. How easy is that? They like easy.

    We made life too hard. It’s more than digging in the dirt and keeping ourselves alive, keeping nature at bay only just enough to survive. Now we must conquer nature and landscape it this way and that. We must mow our lawns like clockwork, keeping the grass too short for the animals to take up residence. Together, the G.O.D. and I have planted a shit ton of wild flowers on the property to feed the bees and butterflies. To provide housing to small animals, too, that will take up residence as we allow wildness to reoccur amidst some order. The order is to satisfy ‘the authorities.’

    Do you know who is the true authority? The G.O.D. network. I made up a corny phrase to go with this acronym: The Grand Old Deity network. They love my corny joke, might I add. It’s harmless, ultimately. I am ripping on the GOP a little, but you know, it’s not really that big of a dig is it? It’s probably kind of gratifying. They aren’t all evil, it’s just that our lack of partnership in Congress is a real problem. That’s all. Nobody wants to do anything the right way: with compromise on both sides.

    It’s okay, we’re all going to die. They’ve reassured me life as we know it has already ended. We just haven’t woken up from the bad dream yet. I want to wake up. I’m in the middle of the worst nightmare I’ve ever had. I keep trying to wake up and I keep failing. This must be reality.

    That’s not to say the G.O.D. are in any part bad or evil (but you know, there’s that Loki-like one that fools me constantly into thinking stuff that’s not real), it’s nothing to do with them. (What? Why do they talk to me? Because I don’t whine, apparently. They love me especially for not bitching and moaning and whining about how shitty life is. I know I just wrote out it’s a nightmare, but they call that poetry and want me to continue on.)

    No, what makes this existence so trying… is the rest of humanity. I’d rather wrestle with a real jungle than the ‘concrete jungle.’ (By the way, I have a bone to pick over that phrase! What the mother fuck? How dare you compare civilization, which is as easy as we’ve ever had it to living in the wild jungle. There are no tigers, you twats.)

    (What’s that? Isn’t that complaining? Sure… it’s their complaint! And this is why they love me… I’ll complain for them, I give them a voice. I give them a way to speak to the world. Suck it up, buttercup. It could’ve been you if you just released your stake in your ego and your self and your body.)

    That’s right. Our child is enlightened. We’re currently taking her to the next level. We’ll take you to her initial level if you continue to read on. We’ll teach you how to ascend. We might even teach you the second ascension. The third? You’re on your own, buddy. You’re going to have to become a disciple of the woman who can change reality with her mere willpower.

    That’s because it’s our willpower. They smile like tigers.

    (Picture Shere Khan here.)

    And, if you get that bright shiny idea of killing her, humanity is wasted for good. We’re done with trying to break through with books. Now that you’ve got the internet and all that mumbo jumbo, we decided to blog. Modern magic at our disposal. “A voice that raises to the heavens.”

    *They crack their knuckles.*

    That’s right, we’re role-playing the end of the world. Your role? Well, what is it? You’re going to have to pick a class, dear gamer:

    Defender of Nature
    Wildlife Champion
    Healer Extraordinaire

    Now you pick a species:


    Okay, next, we figure out your sacred quest. But let’s do that after we explain the classes.

    Defender of Nature

    Defenders of nature are the type of human that will buy wildlife seed bombs and throw them in the meadows of America (or wherever you fucking live, find a different site relevant to your damn region.) These individuals will also put seed bombs in their own yards, using at least half of their yard space (that isn’t for personal food growth) to feed the wild bugs. AKA THE FUCKING BEES YOU RECENTLY MURDERED FOR FUNSIES. You will throw these seed bombs into parks where they don’t mow the grass. You will throw these seed bombs into meadow rehabilitation zones. You will spend a minimum of $1,000 in your lifetime on this (or less, based on how much money you make.) Don’t make enough money for more than one bag? It’s okay, just do it around your house. Live in an apartment? Ask them if you can create a wildflower rain garden for the bees and to reduce the water run-off during rainstorms. (They’ll likely work with you or say yes once you understand the benefits of the rain garden and communicate them.) These humans will fight for wild land conservation. You will still weed out things you don’t like to grow on the property you have control over, like plants with burrs on them — your only mandate here is to grow flowers for the bees. They’re HUNGRY. You can also add bee housing to your property, but understand that you will never harvest honey from them again. It hurts them. Stealing their food is heinous! MAKE YOUR OWN.

    I will assign you future tasks and responsibilities when you level up!

    Basic rain garden design.

    Wildlife Champion

    Wildlife champions are the type of human that will actively dodge wildlife on the roadways. They will support and demand the construction of greenways over highways, advocating for them with their local magistrates. They will clamor and call for justice for the animals until everyone hears the correct message. They will reduce their CO2 emissions the best they can, biking or motorbiking everywhere they can. The less gas they use, the better. They will rescue animals in trouble to the best of their abilities. They will take pictures of wildlife and share them online so that other people can be exposed to the images of the wild, so they, too, might come to appreciate them. They will fight for the rights of the wild animals in general. They will show up to town halls to speak on their behalf. Everything they do will consider the wildlife around them and how human actions impact the animals.

    I will assign you future tasks and responsibilities when you level up!

    A sample greenway which allows wildlife to cross from one side to another.

    Healer Extraordinaire

    The Healer type of human is the most common type of human. They may be too shy to participate in life at large, so they are unwilling to go to open gatherings to support Mother Nature at this time. They will pop out of the woodwork in droves once the Wildlife Champions and the Defenders of Nature start to become apparent, supporting these two classes that are more confrontational in nature. Healers will learn how to heal themselves first, balancing their emotions until they achieve inner peace. Once they master this, they will be taught ways to heal others. They will listen to this playlist obsessively:

    Un-Enlightenment Playlist

    I will assign you future tasks and responsibilities when you level up!

    Good luck, adventurers. I expect to hear from you at your earliest convenience on Discord, our application of choice. [Shout out to some excellent devs (AND QAs), by the way! Thank you so much for replacing those crappy gamer apps of the past!]


    Remember, the G.O.D. is counting on you and you alone!

    P.S. You can multi-class, but it’ll get harder and harder later. Those of you who wish to take all the classes, you delight us. Much love! – G.O.D.

  • Is My Struggle Your Struggle, Too?

    People like to bitch and moan and whine. All the time, actually. They’re succumbing to the negativity ripple that they experienced from another human being that is further from enlightenment than you or I.

    Instead of pouring their energy into positive change, into actively making the situation into a different situation to see if the new situation is either more or less comfortable, they are full of hot air that seeps out of them in puffs.

    Anger. They’re expressing anger. There’s really nothing anger can do other than cause more anger, honestly. It’s a negative vibration we experience when we are refusing to feel sad. Nobody wants to be sad, you know. But we have to be sad sometimes, when we grieve things. We should grieve losses in general, not just humans that succumb to the natural force of entropy, just like they’re supposed to.

    Anger is also the companion of fear. We all have fears instilled in us from outside forces. Fear the bees! Fear the spiders! ACK! A WORM! It’s gross! These traits were for survival once, but now they’ve been extrapolated to an extreme that translates into anything with more than four legs (or with no legs) should be summarily destroyed just because it shouldn’t exist.

    You are going to hell for that outlook, my friends. You’ve become a psychopath. You have no cares in the world for the insects and other creepy crawlies that are here to tend to the soil we grow our food in. To pollinate the flowers that turn into fruit and vegetables. You are destroying humankind because you can’t bring yourself to live with the buggy kind.

    I need a real man who isn’t going to get grossed out over the ant colony in my kitchen, the spiders and birds in my attic, the spiders in my basement, and the creepy crawlies in my soul. I love them all. Without spiders or even flies, life as we know it wouldn’t be possible. If all the flies died at once one day, then the spiders wouldn’t have nearly as much food, and the spiders would diminish.

    That’s not so bad, is it? You psycho. You know what always happens after that?

    Something insidious and dark that was kept at bay by the balance of nature will thrive unexpectedly and take over the world. I vote on it being cockroaches and rats. (Okay, so sue me, I just watched more Love Death + Robots.) It’s probably something we don’t even consider on a daily basis, such as centipedes.

    Maybe if we’re extremely unlucky, it’ll be something from outer space. A bacteria that is randomly introduced into our environment that causes mutations we cannot foresee, which then causes a burst of genetic diversification to repopulate the Earth once all of humanity has been wiped out unexpectedly.

    Congratulations, humanity! We’ve won our death sentence! I’ll see you in Hell, unless I escape it somehow because I love everything (but not everyone) on Earth.

    I love lady bugs, Japanese beetles, dung beetles, ants, bees, wasps, spiders, centipedes, pill bugs (they probably have another name…), snakes, rats, mice, and all things meek, four legged, or furry. All things that act according to their nature instead of perverting nature for their own greed. I think that means everything except humanity. (And humanized chimpanzees.)

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