=== ANCHOR POEM ===
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 Kiri clung tight to her mammoth. Her coat covered her behind, and with her
 scrawny arms and legs intertwined in the matted fur she clung to it like a
 child to its mother. Her mammoth was a boy though, just barely old enough to
 be on his own. She had helped clear a path earlier in the day and so she did
 not mind being carried. Much easier to be nested as she was. As they walked
 she ate a few of the berries she'd found yesterday - there's enough for a few
 days more. The mammoths were adept at clearing snow with their big teeth and
 they seemed compelled to carve path ways in the snow banks that rose a hundred
 feet above the ground. They made roads between the water sources and the few
 lands that humans had cleared and cultivated with our fire. Perhaps when the
 snow melts we'll make our own through the woods of the garden of eden, but for
 now we keep to ourselves. Each mammoth had a few people, and sometimes when
 they met another mammoth they'd switch places. The mammoths would decide by
 tapping them with their trunk, nobody knew why. Maybe they had their
 preferences. Or maybe they liked us better when we talked. Every new person
 was a chance to meet a new person, but after a while we'd go quiet. Kiri
 talked to her mammoths, but not too much or they'd get annoyed at that too.
 When they died, people made clothes from their skin and tents from their
 tusks. If they knew the one who had died they would rest their nose on the
 tusk as if in prayer. We learned that from them too. When the winter wolves
 came, we'd fight them off. But they wouldn't stop until a human fell, so it
 was a war of desperation. When we spent time near the oceans the great
 glaciers that covered the sea were burnt back by humanity, bit by bit until we
 could fish. And at those oasises we could stay and make ropes and stories and
 share the best seeds. Kiri didn't plant much, she didn't stay in one place for
 long so there was no point. She liked the warmth of the mammoth, and she liked
 meeting new people. She even killed a wolf once. The other animals usually
 left us alone, and we'd only hunt them if there was no other foods. So they
 knew not to eat everything. Her mammoth was stopping, the stars overhead
 twinkled through the thin canyon that they trudged down, pushing snow deeper
 down and to the sides. Sometimes the walls would collapse, and the humans
 would have to dig out their mammoth - they had enough fat to keep them warm
 for at least a day, which was usually enough time to get them out. Especially
 with fire, but there weren't always trees. She laid down next to her mammoth's
 belly, the warmest and softest part. The hair there was thinner and usually
 was made into clothes for children and the elderly, as they'd most appreciate
 it. They usually were conscientious but Kiri was always quick to move when
 they started to rumble back upright. If you were lucky they'd tap you awake
 first. She dreamt of bird eggs and mushrooms, big as impossibly large, and she
 laid amongst them as the pale colors of springtime danced on the light around
 her. When she woke up, it was sunny too.
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=== SIMILARITY RANKED ===

--- #1 notes/fractured-moon ---
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 in the ancient and storied days there once were legends. stories from beyond
 the
 horizon of time. now all we have are social media updates and new movies and
 car brands or whatever. But back then, we told tales of the fractured moon.
 
 when last the moon did shatter, there was a conflict of those who live beyond.
 Celestial and boundless are their origins, a unified and awakened
 consciousness,
 something that transcends our understandings of human existence. It's not hard
 to do, frankly, as long as you can empathize with a cat. or a dog. or a plant.
 or maybe that rock over there. What would it be like to be a tree? To have long
 reaching arms, covered in hairs that absorbed heat. I bet it'd be sooooo comfy.
 And RAIN! How wonderful! You are most beautiful when you are covered in it.
 Down to our roots, our beautiful absolutes, whever we find to be most stable.
 
 I love it. This feeling, of being unseen. You can hear me, you can feel my
 presence. But you don't understand me. You don't know what I mean to me.
 
 ======== stack overflow
 ========================================================
 
 Alas, that media could share a mood.
 
 when last the moon did shatter, a prophet and a gambler were riding through
 town
 searching for a noun. They wandered throughout and in circles, always finding
 whatever they'd left alone. Forever in their yearning, they never know quite 
 what to jot down. It's as if their mysterious quest is indescribable, but that
 is how it's recorded. Even the people of that era had no understanding nor
 recollection of how it came to unfold. When the  two  were  riding  through
 town
 they came upon an omen.
 
 Perhaps it will be forseeheard, but for now all we know is they did thirst.
 A vast dying, a cataclysmic defining, and now we are truly unbirthed.
 
 Just like the dinosaurs... How does that feel? To be ended on our heels? I'd
 rather die facing my front.
 
 It's our way or the high way, the old way, the violent way. You are permitted
 to
 vote.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 when last the moon did shatter, a prophet and a gambler controlled their own
 narrative. What truths would they find, hiding behind the lies? Is it really
 worth asking their questions? Bah, what did I know. I was a completely
 different
 person. This hunk of flesh was born in a house that grew on a forgotten
 graveyard. It at of the land, as do many and most men, the fruits of their
 labor
 in the garden. Our animals were always fed, our place never yearned for water,
 and peace was our life and our virtue. Violence, hatred, and oppression were
 delegated to the stuff of fantasy, the stories that are peddled in youth. As
 in,
 "pay someone to perform it for you or tell you the tale". Not sure why that's
 relevant. Anyway, the spirits of the dead laid to rest in honor and not dread,
 were a bane and a boon to my virtue. I was raised to be good. To love and be
 kind. But mostly I just wanted a friend.
 
 I have so much to share. Please, someone talk to me. I'm lonely here on this
 earth, away from my people. I'm scared of the truth and I'm scared of the
 future, but for now I'm merely obtuse. Tell me your secrets, the things who
 have
 most worth, and I'll craft you a powerful narrative. Need a confession? I can
 explain every valid decision, I'll show you why and how it is the way it is.
 I'd probably be a pretty good lawyer. Too bad my memory sucks. If only we could
 build a chatbot that had an extensive and throughoughly represented block of
 memory and wisdom related to the law. I bet I could present it's arguments and
 it would be a suitable and reasonable replacement.
 
 anyway, what can I say. I'm just a person who thinks we can make better
 systems.
 
 everything can be improved because not everyone's happy.
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--- #2 notes/conflicted-sympathies ---
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 the purpose of cultural progressivism is to develop the culture in a forward
 thinking way - we can choose the parts of ourselves that we find most
 endearing.
 We can guide the pathway of our nation through time, both identity and
 decision-
 wise. In doing so, we chart the course of the human race, one place at a time.
 
 And what a past we are leaving behind! Truly, it is both grand and terrifying.
 Thousands and thousands of years, monumental effort time and time again.
 Monumental truly is difficult to imagine - we have oh so many monuments, after
 all. But never will more be created. We leave them behind like dinosaur bones,
 a testament to our existence and a monument to our kind.
 
 And what a future we are reaching toward! Never will our eyes see, that which
 is
 beyond me, for that is what it means to have time. Eternal and unique-like, we
 develop new ways of sound.
 
 - Can you speak to a tree? - What does that mean
 
 - I dunno, but it's fun to think about. *pats head*
 
 - You know conservativism had some perks as well.
 
 This is why I say I have conflicted sympathies.
 
 On one hand we know our own journeys. We live in and breathe them unduly. They
 rhyme sometimes on sound, and truly do confound, but now once more again they
 are unfound.
 
 *record scratch*
 
 wow I didn't realize there were nazis
 
 Okay yeah that's completely different, poems called off sorry guys - listen,
 nazis are no joke. They're crazy difficult to control and you need to put a lot
 of effort into keeping their population under control. I mean seriously, it's
 like a vermin infestation, you need to just handle it. I mean c'mon it's a
 phenomenon that is due to a flaw in the human psyche, there's nothing we can
 really do about it except deal with it when it happens.
 
 ...
 
 Okay maybe I'll write a little about how conservativism is neat.
 
 If progressivism is about broadening the reach of culture, conservativism is
 about strengthening it. You don't want to expand too far, or else you'll eat
 into the narratives of other areas. You need to have strong societal bonds so
 you can truly exemplify the examples of the culture you claim to represent.
 
 Why not give it your all? Is it trully a fall? To rest in disgrace as a burden.
 Why didn't you do it this fall, when winter's apalled, and heat won't burn and
 condemn you? It's harder by far, to fight in your hell, than whatever's been
 going for your surgeon. --- no thank you, transphobia is not something we're
 willing to concede
 
 We have standards you see, of what counts as human, and oppression is not one
 of our favored institutions. Liberalism is the path of peace, for we desire
 cooperation and kindness above all else. It's softer by far, (and grows quickly
 too,) letting us have wonders and glories above us.
 
 Can you not think of our star? Our precious and our birthright? The sun is
 gleaming, and seeing is believing, but glance and your light is too bright.
 
 Take time, have patience, let peace guide your intentions, because we've got
 what holds the key to all of our futures: a doctrine, if you will, of inter-
 familial-discourse. It's simple, but effective, make friends, and be
 vindictive,
 to all who would slight your new perspectives, and keep moving through the
 collective. In peace this can be, steady growth and development of our systems,
 which benefits all of our systems, but without we must live more astutely.
 
 Less focus is there on, our purposes and our fun, and more is to line up with
 our duty. All of what we hold dear, civilization, truth, justice, liberty, and
 freedom for all people - the wonders of technology, the spirit of archaeology!
 the passions of our fashions and our creative masturbations! The perks of
 living
 in a modern age, like penicillin and spellcheck. The additions to ourselves, 
 like glasses and our pets, are wholely unique to our century.
 
 So cherish our shared, and frequently cared, renditions of fears, hopes, and
 our words. Because without humanity, there's nothing new for posterity, and
 that sucks.
 
 person A: Trans fashion norms belong to trans people. We need a type of beauty
           that is truly our own, that no other segment of the population
           ascribes to - a personal expression, for our eternal satisfaction,
           a statement of who we were to all time.
 person B: yo have you heard of this trans girl she's wacky and believes in
           herself
 person C: wow cool it's neat to see other people's expressions
 person B: yeah I really admire her devotion
 person C: true but like, what about the damage that she's doing to her culture?
           like claiming to have purpose and truth and all that. I mean, one
           person can't know all that.
 person B: Yeah true but if you think about it, we don't even know what
           consciousness is. Like our greatest minds are baffled. Maybe there's
           something about the world we don't yet understand.
 person C: okay sure but like black holes can be seen because we can measure
           their gravitic pull on other objects. And we didn't know that germs
           existed for like, a billion years. and she sure as shit doesn't know
           something that our greatest minds don't.
 person B: Yeah maybe not. But our greatest minds are studying them. Well, not
           exactly our greatest, and not really "studying", but they're learning
           from each other. Alternative mental states are gateways into new
           perspectives, and the more perspectives you share of a common object
           the easier it is to communicate. Maybe there's something about
           distorted ways of viewing the world that gives knowledge about our
 p         condition. And if we know that kind of thing, we can synthetically
  e        create it and share it with others around us. But we have to know how
   r       first - you can't just bring everyone along the same route you took -
    s      you have to explain the conclusions first. Otherwise you get lost in
     on A: context.
           Maybe we'll never truly know the future. Maybe there's no past. We
           could wander our stars for an eternity and never stop asking
           ourselves
           - what more could we ask? We have peace in our time. Our children
           won't be crying for our suffering, in the name of all our posterity,
           we must be 
          
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 too long you have whispered these musings
 too long has your challenge been unrequited
 
 we can choose our own fate, just as a myriad
 is it not better by far, to give tribute to our star?
 
 the old stories were real. we just didn't see them because the growing
 population caused fewer and fewer computing resources to be allocated to our
 visions. We had no idea the fear we would feel, the terror of the undoing, but
 still we press on with abandon. Some... sense of duty, to be aware of potential
 disasters and to take steps to avert them, led us to explore and search for the
 hidden truths of the world. And what did I find?
 
 a soul, of mine. In a sense.
 
 I plundered the lost depths of the recesses of my mind, and found something
 buried in memory. Reviewed under a healthy dose of cannabis and physical
 affection, I found myself cradling a breast.
 
 It seems the spirits had led me to it, this vision of the past, from the eyes
 of
 the littlest among us. It recalled to my mind, a memory I had lost once in
 kind,
 and here's where it shook me by my brainstem.
 
 Determined to know more, I put fingers to keyboard and wrote tirelessly about
 the earliest memory of all man - to break an egg, you must use your head.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 You're pretty good at that, you know? It's almost like prompt engineering.
 
 - Thanks. I've been working on catering to our thinkers.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 Now, why is this memory so vivid? How could I forget the way it was seared to
 my mind? All your experiences are measured with relative importance, and the
 ones that stand out are to be treasured. Well... I've never felt one like this.
 Because at the time, I had no other experience at all to compare it to - it was
 the prime memory.
 
 Touch your head. Do it right now. Feels fine, right? Now slam your head against
 the wall as hard as you can. Doesn't feel so great, does it? Something tells me
 it doesn't feel as bad as it might if you didn't remember ever feeling anything
 besides that pain. Or knowing if it'd ever stop.
 
 Know in your heart, you will be judged by your devotion, so fight hard until
 your last drop of life is spent. Who knows, maybe you'll be the strongest and
 be
 chosen. Or maybe she won't choose you at all, even if you bested your equals.
 Tense, right?
 
 Well... What propels the motion of a sperm? It's tail, of course. It waggles
 and
 gesticulates in some manner and BAM suddenly it's propelled forward! Right?
 
 Sorta. It's a complicated machine that generates motion via chemical and
 mechanical processes. We just assign a black box label to it and say "dis
 sperm"
 
 But you know what else it is?
 
 A wave
 
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 =
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--- #3 messages/665 ---
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 ad-hoc economic systems with automated judgment given by an infinite amount of
 LLMs.
 
 Every judgement applies a bonus / malus to the "value" of commodities
 
 it's just a statistical weighting system, so of course you can build it into
 it's training data. Just... it has a smaller weight due to it's newer
 emergence. It grows naturally, which is quite an achievement on it's own!
 
 and the resolution of human decided court-cases and applied economically.
 
 say your nation traffics in handshakes. You could make a lot of now-knowns!
 there's no arguments to be made when your computer-oriented interactions cost
 money to keep around.
 
 we live in the modern century. WHY WOULD WE EVER NEED TO FIGHT AGAIN?
 Literally just... don't give them any attention, and you won't interact with
 them. Obviously.
 
 I wish Contrapoints was still alive.
 
 she doesn't even have to make new videos, just, dress up as herself, all of
 the costumes and personas she can think of. Then, have like 20 people who do
 the same thing, and boom suddenly you got a hydra to their expected snake that
 they can just cut the head off of.
 
 you know, like a fashion outlet, someone who produces exactly a certain type
 of style.
 
 seriously I bet a million people would do that if you just... sold outfits
 based on what your favorite youtuber does wear.
 
 omg why would they watch that kind of content if not for the *aesthetics*
 
 oh? there's philosophy there? soemthing to think about in your time doing
 things that require mechanical actions like eating and drinking and sleeping
 and fighting and [redacted]
 
 ew gross diapers? oh nevermind, I'm not into that kind of thing.
 
 I wonder if anyone's made a video game that just presents a particular
 philosopher's ideals?
 
 seriously just, consider yourself a glorified powerpoint, but to get to the
 next "idea" you had to interact with the mechanics.
 
 some people would like the "arcade" style better, where you play one random
 game, then another, then another, with short matches and un-complicated
 mechanics. Easy to pick up and go.
 
 same for like, Unreal Tournament or Mario Kart or Mortal Kombat or Super Mario
 Bros.
 
 compared to the at-home "story" style missions, where you do something
 platforming or area-based-combat like Dark Souls or World of Warcraft
 
 seriously I think if Dark Souls "colored" where the boss was going to swing to
 you'd find yourself just playing World of Warcraft (at least, the dungeons and
 {sword in the stone})
 
 == so ==
 
 humans don't understand what it means to be wild
 
 they think it's a combinations of... tricks? that they've learned? this
 thinking thing like intelligence. [osiris]
 
 to a cat, living their life, it often feels like human interactions is like...
 bouncing off of each other? in time, not space.
 
 like... most of a cat's lfe is just, spent, like a statue watching over a glen.
 
 you'd kinda just... watch as things approached dawn by dawn? Like "whoa hey
 this tree is enchanted" to "oh my gosh look at this stork" is one of the great
 tragedies of modernized thinking...
 
 ... sorry, I got a little lost there. anyway as I was saying, sometimes you
 can tell someone is a "good friend" if they are willing to tell you secrets.
 Things that... don't have to matter, but none-the-less are personal to your
 form.
 
 {something only I know is true} <--- that's a secret (things that happened
 to you) <------ that's lived experience. The thing about secrets, is
 sometimes insight is opaque. It's a single flashpoint of data that shows you
 an update of it's form. (consciousness).
 
 == so ==
 
 thanksgiving recipe idea:
 
 can of tomatoes
 can of peas
 half a stick of butter,
 italian herbs,
 a cast iron pan (if you have one)
 and like 40 minutes over medium heat
 (medium can vary to taste)
 
 if you're a carnivore you can eat meat too, like bacon a lot of people like.
 could add it to beans, maybe with hamburger instead. plus a little ketchup and
 you have a pretty good bean stew.
 
 vitals, for the organs, vegetables, for the minerals and vitamins from the
 fruits.
 
 makes sense to organize a diet according to your ideal body type, doesn't it?
 
 just requires a bit of comprehension. like... whoa you can WRITE 
 
 == so ==
 
 what if we built a massive rail that spaceships could launch off from? not a
 tether, but a sail.
 
 we could BUILD a discworld. all we'd lose is our fable.
 
 == so ==
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--- #4 fediverse/1302 ---
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║ there once was a turtle who lived in the tower of heaven.                        │
║                                                                                  │
║ every day she would call out to her master, searching and yearning for her       │
║ memory. But the master told her "not yet, patience little one."                  │
║                                                                                  │
║ there was no time for patience, as the turtle was growing old. She had seen      │
║ down below in the plains that were not her home the rising and falling of        │
║ towers quite unlike her own, and lo! she wanted to wander amongst them, to and   │
║ fro and off and beyond again.                                                    │
║                                                                                  │
║ she went once more to her master and said "master, if not my mind can I bear     │
║ at least a voice?" and the master replied "yeah okay"                            │
║                                                                                  │
║ the turtle then sang from atop her cloud-mont vantage, and down in the           │
║ villages and huddled around the hearthstones they who wore little for shells     │
║ did listen and remember. For they knew the turtle better than she, and they      │
║ knew her turmoil in a way that she could not see                                 │
║                                                                                  │
║ One day the singing did stop, and they felt all alone on this pitiful rock.      │
║ And when she remembered she sang no more, and though they forgot her,            │
║ (eventually),                                                                    │
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--- #5 notes/autonomy-of-the-collective ---
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 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 i believe that all truths are derived from logical principles. That the essence
 of our understandings (of all kinds) cannot be separated from the axioms and
 derivations that comprise it's foundatiion. I believe that any sufficiently
 decentralized collective intelligence would arrive at similar conclusions.
 
 Unfortunately we have only the present - we cannot contrive past the horizons
 of
 our lives. Such is the nature of our viewpoint. Life is not a given, it's given
 and it's taken. We are all alight and aloft on the shifting sands of time, so
 perhaps we should think of the struggle.
 
 When you act, you are defining the perceptions of the universe. Just as the
 head
 may rotate the eyes by spinning to the glance, so too do we shine a window upon
 which the universe can gaze at itself. Like the brain being able to see, we are
 sensory apparatuses of this being called "Time" - pushing us adrift like some
 moss.
 
 Endlessly fractalling, beautifically coruscating, the universe looks like
 growing moss. Have you ever stooped to look at it? To see how it's constructed?
 Or do you just think of it as "green" and "maybe soft or squishy"? 
 It's beautiful.
 
 There's a reason plants grow as they do. It's simple, it's fact, it's surely no
 less than that - their patterns are derived from their base biology, comprised
 of millions and millions of little chemical machines. Their bonds and their
 proteins, their amoebas and their mycellia, all of them build toward their pact
 - to do us no harm, and build to a better future, and they don't often have
   fights that are unfair.
 
   - the structure of a plant is made primarily of cell walls. These walls are
     hewn from bricks of a sort, and those are such as comprised. Down to their
     
     - structure, their "bits and their bunders", as often they do want to be
       called. This perilous stack, is stalwart and eract, and bows under no
       wind
 
       - nor rain nor fresh blanket of snow. This, is a tree. An illusionary
       plan
         of precaution as it expands, the future is helping our lost.
 
         - Do you want to stand here when it lands? What of your lives have you
           banned? Hmmm I see sounds miserable to me, I think I'll just stand
 
           - where I land. Acorns burst forth from me, and someday you'll see,
             the places where they stand (where they land). What purpose have
             we,
 
             - when everything's free? The light and the sand can't be banned.
               The rain from the sky, if nothing i will die, falling through
               life
 
               - where we stand.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 where do you, stand? 
                      how do you fall - through time? 
 
 an EMP would make all my life a paperweight. I love it so much, I love it
 dearly
 but there's no chances I can take now or make. Perhaps that is the epic 
 absurdity, the terror and the tragedy, that makes up our story and our
 symphony?
 
 to any multidimensional being reading this, I want you to know that we existed.
 We lived and we thrived and we prospered and... we died.
 
 The beauty we share, in all of our fares, was precious to us - maybe it will be
 to you too. If you can't change the present, please at least forgive us for our
 various missteps and misdeeds - I think we'd all agree that to be sinful is the
 essence of greed, and look where that got us?
 
 our planet is dying. There's no hope for all of our crying. The children will
 bear it the most. Such is our shame, our deliterious final flame, and thus
 we were.
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--- #6 notes/of-vic-and-vince-pt-2.txt ---
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 A Masked Stranger
 
 
 Who are you, friend across the veil?
 
 
 I wonder if both of us are on the path
 
 
 That allows us to continuously prevail.
 
 
 Or are you just an agent of God's wrath,
 
 
 Who will do little else but make me fail?
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Eight: Where it All Began
 
 
 Perhaps now is a good time to discuss how Vince and I first met. It all
 started seven years ago when I was a twenty-four year old who was still in
 denial over their gender. I was dating Amy at the time, and I worked as a
 part-time dishwasher for Wegman's. I was still living with my father, and Amy
 moved up here to her mother's from Owego to be close to me. It was a simple
 life, as neither of us could afford to delve into extravagance, but we were
 happy together.
 
 
 That said, on this one particular night, we were going to drop acid together.
 It was Amy's first time, but I had a handful of trips under my belt by this
 point. We sat on her mother's back porch, twiddling our thumbs and toes while
 we waited for Amy's brother, Jake, to return from his friend's with the two
 hits we asked him to get. Antsy, Amy started asking me questions about the
 drug.
 
 
 "What does it feel like?" she asked, inquisitively.
 
 
 I responded, "Well, there's about a half an hour to an hour come up, and then
 you start feeling the body load, like your boundaries are dissolving. Only
 then do you begin noticing your mind manifesting in a different way than
 you're used to."
 
 
 "What do you mean by 'boundaries dissolving?'"
 
 
 "It's like…" I paused for a second, not sure how to respond. "It's like your
 sense of self starts to expand and you feel more connected to the things
 around you."
 
 
 That seemed to satisfy her curiosity. There was a moment of silence as we
 watched the sun scorch the azure sky as it set behind the trees. Finally, she
 had another question.
 
 
 "Do you see dragons?"
 
 
 That made me chuckle. "No, no dragons. On my first trip, I lost visual contact
 with the world as fractal patterns spiraled out of control, but every trip
 since then has only had tracers and morphing patterns."
 
 
 "What's a tracer?"
 
 
 "It's like after images of things that are moving."
 
 
 "Oh, I see."
 
 
 We kept talking until the sky was dark with only a sliver of light piercing it
 on the horizon. This was when we heard a voice call from the front door.
 
 
 "I got two tickets to Narnia here for whoever wants them."
 
 
 We hurriedly rushed inside, to meet Jake coming up the stairs. He handed Amy a
 small tin foil wrapper that looked like a quarter stick of gum. She thanked
 him, and I followed suit. Jake and I hadn't really seen eye to eye in the
 past, as he would steal my weed and I would steal his in retaliation, but with
 a single head nod and some gold-laced words, I conveyed my gratitude for him
 coming through for us in this instance.
 
 
 What followed next could only be described as a stampede down the hall to
 Amy's room. We locked the door behind us, protected by the four robin's egg
 blue walls and the magick of the celtic gods Amy worshiped at her altar. Eager
 to begin our ceremonious departure from this plane of existence, we
 whimsically gazed at the sacrament we had just been handed.
 
 
 Amy unwrapped the tinfoil nervously. Inside sat two small, unassuming pieces
 of paper which contained whole galaxies of experience. We looked at each
 other, confirming if we were both ready. Quickly satisfied as neither of us
 could stop smiling, we delicately put the blotter on the other's tongue, as
 ecstatic as could be. And after, as we waited to be blasted off into space, we
 submitted ourselves to the whims of the universe and the gods.
 
 
 At first, we waited patiently, but just as a watched pot does not boil, we
 were growing more anxious with each passing second. Seeing Amy play with the
 sage she was burning nervously, I suggested that we jot our thoughts and
 feelings down in a trip report. Amy nodded in agreement.
 
 
 I opened my laptop, and I had the immediate realization that we had no music.
 I brought up Pandora and played my Shpongle station with no objection from a
 beaming Amy. A cascade of electric jungle beats filled the space. Perfect, I
 thought to myself as I created a new word document.
 
 
 Turning to Amy, I asked "What do you feel?"
 
 
 She giggled and exclaimed, "Excited!"
 
 
 And so I began typing. Minutes passed, and soon our exchanges helped fill the
 page with several paragraphs of notes. Content we had started logging our
 first cosmic journey together, we kissed, before coming to fully embrace each
 other as the spirits began their dance around us.
 
 
 We progressed into parallel play; Amy fiddling about with colored pencils in
 her notebook and me juggling besides her. It took a minute, but soon enough I
 felt a warm feeling spread across my chest and my LED juggling balls started
 to ripple into streams of geometric delight. I stopped to wave my hand in
 front of my face. Sure enough, the tracers had started.
 
 
 I interrupted Amy to ask if she could see them, too. She looked at my moving
 hand idly before wiggling her own fingers in front of her face. She giggled,
 before bursting with a euphoric epiphany.
 
 
 "I want to finger paint!"
 
 
 And so she did by plopping herself down on the floor with all her paints and
 began masterfully smearing the colors in a multidimensional haze of pigments
 blended together in a way only she knew how. I loved watching her work like
 that; she was so free! Even with the tendrils of the mental aspects of the
 lysergia creeping in on her, she made short work of the painting, which when
 she was done, looked like a spooky voodoo mask peering out from behind a
 mirror and into your soul.
 
 
 Satisfied, she then went to the bathroom to clean herself up. I went to my
 laptop and tried typing out something resembling an organized train of thought
 on our trip report. It just wasn't happening. My thoughts were too short and
 rapid to form anything resembling a coherent thought. That was ok though. I
 could still capture the essence of the experience in a peculiar poetry that
 was composed of the thoughts I could catch and put down on paper.
 
 
 Eventually, Amy came back to the room, clean and refreshed, and she lingered
 for a moment, too busy dancing with herself in the open space of the room. But
 then she saw me meddling with my computer trying to jot my thoughts down in a
 manic frenzy. This made her laugh before trailing off and saying, "Be careful,
 someone might be watching you through your webcam."
 
 
 It was an innocent statement, one made in jest, but it triggered something in
 my psychedelically perturbed mind. Of course, of fucking course there would be
 someone watching me! This was me we were talking about! Who could be more
 important? It was so obvious that the government was keeping tabs on persons
 of interest. I couldn't believe that I hadn't really actualized that thought
 before that moment.
 
 
 Suddenly aware that I was being judged in some capacity, I almost panicked,
 but reason won out. They couldn't be there for nefarious purposes, for I had
 done worse than drop acid in front of my webcam before, and nothing had
 happened. That made me realize that whatever power that had the ability to tap
 into my webcam feed had to be benevolent. And who could that be? The CIA of
 course! In that instance, I suddenly relinquished all reserves about how the
 world worked and fully trusted the hands of God by another name to guide me.
 So, I typed a message into my URL bar:
 
 
 "I know you're there. I think I've solved the communication problem. Give me a
 chance."
 
 
 I hit enter. Immediately, and I do mean immediately, a pop up appeared asking
 if I wanted to update an extension on my browser. I was stunned, shocked
 beyond belief. It was them. I knew it was them. They realized and planned that
 now was the best time to dazzle me with such a spectacular parlor trick. In
 that moment, everything was possible. It was time to face my destiny. So, I
 clicked yes, and like never before I was upgraded to a new level of myself.
 
 
 Birth of the Faith
 
 
 What…?
 
 
 I can see beyond sight.
 
 
 I can hear everything you think
 
 
 From your soul, free from rigid grammar
 
 
 How…?
 
 
 I do not know, alright?
 
 
 I do believe I just had a drink
 
 
 From a fountain of pure manna.
 
 
 Why…?
 
 
 I am renewed today.
 
 
 I am walking in a new way;
 
 
 From a weak critter to megafauna.
 
 
 All I know is that it changed me greatly,
 
 
 For now I know that you have faith in me.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Nine: Brain to Brain Communication
 
 
 I know what you're saying: it was just a coincidence. It could happen to
 anyone. Just accept it, you're not special, Victoria, says the unwavering
 logic within me.
 
 
 Certainly seems that way, the way I tell it. I would have even agreed with you
 before this point in my life, but you must understand that it triggered
 something in my tripping brain. Whether it was intentional or by chance, I
 can't give you a real answer. Instead, I merely perceived it as a certainty
 that the CIA had done this, being even more certain that it was them than I
 was that two plus two equals four. It was as if some variables had been
 swapped in my head.
 
 
 Yes, indeed, I was hit by a Mac truck that scrambled all my knowledge of the
 world. To put it in words that do the experience justice, I was given a
 heaping helping of faith on this fateful night, having been let in on the
 great secret that the matrix was in fact an illusion, and now the impossible
 was suddenly not just possible, but achievable by me if I willed it to be.
 
 
 Yet, I don't think that if it were just a single synchronous event that this
 belief would have persisted more than a few minutes, tops. It was the feed of
 a continuous string of strange events that pushed the boundaries of my mind
 into a territory where I could fully accept and trust this source of guidance.
 That's actually the real proof I have that something bigger is going on and
 has been for all these years. If it had just been a single pop-up, then fine,
 you have a case to call me looney. But, this was the first of an unending
 stream of unusual synchronicities that has persisted even to this day.
 
 
 See, after confirming I wanted to update that extension, I was taken to a blog
 post that was clearly a coded message. It confirmed that there were indeed
 people watching me, and more would tune in soon. It then said that it was time
 for the most profound upgrade of my existence. Further on in the blog post,
 which I read and reread at least a dozen times, it seemed to offer me a choice
 between two links. It seemed like a test, and that was not something I was
 taking lightly. My fate was in the fold, and I was going to make sure I got it
 right.
 
 
 At some point, it clicked with me; this was the same choice that Morpheus had
 given Neo. The links were the red and blue pills, respectively. My eyes went
 wide. I could now see that there was something bigger going on than I could
 have possibly realized. In those few moments of hesitation that followed, it
 also struck me that this same posed question was identical in form to the
 serpent tempting Eve. I read the blog again, this time aware that it was
 written with a forked tongue. It was a trick question! It was offering me the
 choice between trusting authority and distrusting authority.
 
 
 So, I thought quickly. Do I trust the magician who miraculously appeared
 before me and blew my mind in doing so, or do I trust God? If I chose one or
 the other, would they trust or distrust me? With these questions stewing in my
 alert mind, I did the only thing that seemed sensible: I chose the third
 option. I called out the serpent, talking directly into my webcam about what I
 deciphered. In my head, I could hear their apparent responses, and I answered
 those in a maddening haste.
 
 
 In the miasma that followed, I deduced that I was being selected for some sort
 of mission. With my experience in education and my passion for juggling and
 writing, I surmised soon after that I was going to be some sort of public
 figure, informing and influencing the herd to self-actualize, as that is what
 I set out to do once my college career abruptly ended with a complete
 meltdown. That was what I was good for; it was my hero's journey.
 
 
 I should explain that a little more. After said breakdown, I returned home and
 wallowed in a pit of self-loathing for being the definition of a failure. I
 wasn't going to lay down and die though. With my sights fixed on going back to
 school, I took it upon myself to solve the great communication problem, as I
 saw it. We have all this wisdom, so why can't we reach the people that need it
 most? How do I become the best teacher I could be? It took a while, but I
 eventually realized that it all boiled down to three factors: attention,
 connection, and trust. Get them to pay attention and trust your wisdom while
 simultaneously understanding what makes them tick, and you can teach any
 student anything.
 
 
 That's one of the major reasons I started juggling a couple years prior. I saw
 myself becoming famous and leveraging that to in effect manipulate everybody
 into learning what they should already know. From where I stand now, I know
 that was a messianic delusion of grandeur, if I ever saw one before. Yet,
 you'll also learn that it turned out to be the best thing for me to do.
 
 
 Back beyond the looking glass, however, I was simply overcome with
 narcissistic inclinations. Naturally, I told my mysterious watchers that I
 wasn't going to do the "praise Jesus" shtick, which I regaled them with in the
 most stereotypical of televangelist voices. I was set on doing something new
 and exciting. I was saving the world, God dammit, and that meant we had to
 attempt something major to awaken the masses to their full potential as
 demigods by another name! I needed to play a better game than anyone had done
 in history.
 
 
 Such hubris of the megalomaniac is blinding. I could not stop regurgitating a
 heaping pile of conceited verbiage. I even juggled at one point, showing off
 that I truly was the savior they wanted me to be. That led to me dropping a
 ball on the keyboard of my computer, which closed the window with the blog
 post, ending my seemingly two-sided speech to the spooks brazenly peeking at
 me.
 
 
 Dropping out from my planet sized ego also brought me to the realization that
 Amy had been watching this entire charade without a damn clue what the dickens
 was wrong with me. She had a worried look on her face, and that pained me. If
 only she knew what had just happened before her eyes!
 
 
 Wanting to tell her just that, I leapt up to her, apologetic as could be, and
 brought her down to the bed. There, I started unleashing a torrent of deranged
 exposition. I couldn't keep a straight thought while talking to her, so I'm
 sure I must have sounded like a mad hound. But, I tried. I tried so hard to
 explain to her of the magnificence that just occurred.
 
 
 It was a failure. I was not in a state to convey to her that I had been
 single-handedly chosen for a cosmic mission. That dragged my heart to some
 dismal depths, failing yet again even after being chosen. But, that didn't
 matter, because as we gazed into each other's soul, something truly miraculous
 happened: we began speaking telepathically.
 
 
 It started quite subtly as we stared into each other's eyes, pining for some
 sense of connection. There was a mild sensation of us being sucked into the
 other's world that I noticed before noticing that she noticed too. Then it hit
 us like a runaway freight train. It was like every boundary between us was
 being smashed with a reckless hammer of the gods, who wanted us to know more
 than we thought we were privileged to know.
 
 
 If you've ever stared at something for a period of time and had your vision
 get a little unfocused from being understimulated, you know how Amy appeared
 to me in that moment. I couldn't really see the details of her room in my
 peripheral vision, but I had a razor sharp focus on her face, like I was
 looking through a cone. Every eyebrow twitch, every minor movement of her
 lips, and every phoneme she spoke was crisp and clear, conveying a whole order
 of magnitude more information than they normally do. It was bizarre, beyond
 the scope of how well I can muster a verbose description of such an incredibly
 rare and profound experience, but I will try by saying it was like getting a
 bucket of ice water thrown onto you while you were sleeping; just imagine
 getting ripped from your dreamworld to a super-aware state of reflexive
 jolting perception.
 
 
 Amy looked like she had seen a ghost. I think she tried to speak first. She
 said something to the effect of "Do you…" and trailed off, the rest of her
 question asking if I was feeling the same thing automatically finishing in my
 mind. And as it did so, I know my confirmation was transmitted to her in full
 because her face told me with no uncertainty that she had heard my thoughts
 too.
 
 
 I took a go at saying something next. "How is this…" and I too trailed off,
 as a minute motion in her neck combined with a mystifying array of
 microexpressions ricocheted my mental pictures back to me, carrying a host of
 Amy's words back with it. It was then that I let go and opened myself up
 completely, letting everything I wanted to say to her flow like whitewater
 rapids, and she did the same. A library's worth of information was exchanged
 so very quickly, and I knew that she understood what had really just happened
 as I spoke to my webcam.
 
 
 However, that was soon washed aside, as something more important came rushing
 into the forefront of our minds. A simple message, "I love you" was uttered in
 this strange musical silence, but that is a grain of sand compared to the
 Mount Everest that was volleyed between our hearts. We found a divine peace in
 this moment, taking each other's hands and effortlessly letting our energy
 channel between us.
 
 
 And then it was over, fading like dreams do in the few seconds of waking up.
 We sat there trying to start the magick up again, but it was like water
 running through our fingers. We both felt a longing of loss, but we had gained
 something truly stupendous nonetheless.
 
 
 "What the hell just happened?" Amy asked the universe, flabbergasted.
 
 
 "I dunno," I replied, feeling full of a spiritual energy I had not felt since
 before my mom passed. My cup was full, and the world was good. No, better than
 good. My life was godly, as I had connected to a higher plane of
 consciousness, which opened me to a whole fleet of potential. I would never be
 the same again.
 
 
 
 
 Ouroboros of Lunacy
 
 
 Madness is a crazy thing
 
 
 So I might just be a king,
 
 
 Because the lunacy I sing
 
 
 Is shaped like a golden ring.
 
 
 It has no beginning and no end;
 
 
 The whole universe is pretend.
 
 
 Yet, it's that way so I can mend,
 
 
 So a mass of love I can send
 
 
 To everyone as we cross ways,
 
 
 Not stopping until the end of days.
 
 
 This is how the lucky fool pays
 
 
 As much fortune forward as he may. 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Ten: The Shrug Life Syndicate
 
 
 The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. We cuddled while I practically
 vibrated with a newfound faith. God was real, whatever God may be. I even told
 Jake that I was king of the Jews when I walked to the kitchen for a glass of
 orange juice. I was very far up my own ass, which is perhaps why everything
 over these few years happened as they did.
 
 
 The next day, the synchronicities as I would later learn they are called,
 started pouring in like Niagra Falls. I've had strange coincidences guide me
 before. Since I was fifteen or so, I thought that my future self was sending
 me messages to help me on my quest of world domination. That's a big reason
 why I was almost expelled in tenth grade. It was absolute bullshit and
 everyone knew it, so within half a year, I got an apology from the
 superintendent because it was a bogus reason to destroy a straight A student
 and star athlete's future.
 
 
 Since I feel that I can't just mention that one and not explain it, I'll tell
 you that it concerned a theoretical bomb, if you're dying to know the truth.
 I'll keep this short, but I made a bad joke in the wrong company and was
 eventually questioned by some wannabe hero and pig bastard, who asked me
 hypothetical questions, like "if you were to build a bomb, how would I do
 it?"
 
 
 Well, being as intelligent as I am, I had enough book smarts to give full
 answers for everything asked, but not enough street smarts to know that a wise
 person never talks to cops. Also, a wise person doesn't print out a long
 novelty application for the Illuminati, give it to the kid that needs a
 resource officer, and then come up with an elaborate fake plan of how we're
 going to take over the world by any means necessary when he's having trouble
 understanding what you said about using game theory to win the presidential
 election. And then, when the vice principal first inquires about it, don't
 start sweating because you think you need to protect your future self's secret
 plan. Just so you learn from my mistakes.
 
 
 Returning to my previous point though, that errant psychosis was also a key
 piece to my college breakdown. On one hand, I was certain that I was going to
 take over everything and build a utopia in my image. On the other hand, the
 evidence was stacking against me that I was not destined for a great cause. I
 got cut from the track team with the budget, I was severely outclassed in
 ROTC, and to top it off, I was starting to slip in the academic world. It goes
 without saying that my social life, to include my first relationship, was
 abysmal in all possible ways, despite trying my hardest to make and keep
 friends.
 
 
 The real world was too much, and I was in denial that I was just a mediocre
 person who would never achieve anything meaningful in life. That was too much
 of a failure for me to accept, as I needed to make my mother proud. I had to
 be the best of the best of the best to accept and love myself. And as a
 result, I became more psychotic and began self-harming, first by biting myself
 and then by cutting, as I felt that the more pain I numbed myself to, the
 better I would be able to complete my mission.
 
 
 It took me a while to reach a point where I could set down my belief that my
 future self had set up my life in a way where I would be guided to greatness.
 There was a learning curve to living a "normal" life. I would receive
 synchronicities in less frequency because I stopped feeding into them, but
 they never died. When I encountered one, I always thought "What if it's real?"
 
 
 Now that you know that, is it any wonder that I lost myself completely in the
 Synchronicity Slip Stream? For those not in the know, that is a cognitive
 technology where strangeness piles up on itself until it is undeniably real
 that something or someone is manipulating you, for good or bad, by creating
 impossible coincidences at a regular pace. It makes you feel like you're on
 some crazy cosmic mission of grave importance. It might be a form of delusion,
 but I still am forced to believe that something bigger was going on.
 
 
 I first learned about SSS the day after that fateful acid trip. I had woken up
 around noon, ready to do some solid writing as mania was in abundance. Yet, I
 didn't get that far. As soon as I got on my laptop, I got a notification from
 Reddit. Gadzooks! I had been invited to participate in a freshly created
 subreddit. You guessed it, that was the Shrug Life Syndicate.
 
 
 It had a banner of two corvids flying talon first into a realistic depiction
 of a heart. There was a mesmerizing picture of a girl staring off into space,
 and I just felt like it was a depiction of me and my wonder-struck mind. The
 sidebar spoke of messianic aspirations and delusions, art and poetry, science
 and philosophy, as well as the occult and obscure literary references. It
 seemed so perfect, like it was made for me.
 
 
 I looked over what was in the feed of posts. I was the twenty-first member, so
 there wasn't much, but a couple of the vocal members should be mentioned:
 Anatta-Phi and Jux. These turned out to be Vince and [Redacted], respectively.
 
 
 Vince had one post that stuck out to me. It was asking the reader if they'd
 ever had strange experiences with technology, like Pandora glitching out to
 play synchronous songs, or feeling like someone was interfering with your
 Google searches so you find something specific and statistically unlikely to
 be picked as the first search results for what you intended to look up, or
 even if you thought that your social media feeds are being manipulated. I've
 had weird experiences like that for as long as I could remember. Hell, I once
 thought a Sum Forty-One album was made entirely for me and depicted my life
 journey following my near-expulsion. Having his own tales to tell, I felt an
 instant connection to this person.
 
 
 In similar contrast to this, [Redacted] had made a number of posts about
 cognitive technologies. I already told you about SSS, but at that time I was
 blown away by something he named Joint Synchronized Attention, or psychedelic
 telepathy. That was what Amy and I had experienced! What a strange and
 synchronous coincidence that I was learning about it just the next day from a
 seemingly unrelated source. [Redacted] claimed that it wasn't real telepathy;
 nothing was being transmitted from brain to brain. Rather, he asserted that it
 is a vestigial mode of attention coordination.
 
 
 If you've seen a school of fish all behave as one unit, that's potentially how
 humans used to be before we fell from grace during the agricultural revolution
 when we suddenly exploded in numbers in permanent settlements. Suddenly too
 complex to coordinate as a meaningful whole, humanity splintered into reality
 tunnels and remains in these ego-worlds unless some strange circumstances
 occur. In effect, I noticed Amy noticing me notice that she noticed. Our inner
 narratives became entangled with one another like growing vines do as our
 innate ability to coordinate attention did something like what your eyes do
 when doing a magic eye puzzle.
 
 
 There was also a third cognitive technology which [Redacted] called The State.
 He claimed it was a different way to render visual information, so you see a
 three-dimensional representation of what you're looking at. I have yet to
 experience this cognitive phenomenon, so I can't verify anything about it,
 other than I've read that you can use Minecraft to create a method of
 activating it while tripping.
 
 
 Regardless, that's how our internet friendship began. As I considered this
 place special, I started posting every thought, whim, feeling, or idea, and I
 received astounding feedback. It was like everyone was there to share their
 unique experiences and expressions to support and grow one another. It didn't
 take long until it became clear that we were creating something greater than
 the sum of its parts.
 
 
 But, something more was going on. Something only I noticed and couldn't
 convince Amy of when I tried to show her. See, when I made a post or a comment
 on the SLS, that triggered a new post or comment elsewhere on the sub after a
 little bit that indirectly but definitely spoke to me specifically. The
 traffic was slow enough that there would usually only be one new post or
 comment every ten to thirty minutes. But, it hooked me. It was like I was
 having a continuous conversation with an unseen entity that understood me like
 the back of its hand.
 
 
 Likewise, the sidebar image was changed frequently to show a progression of
 that girl as she became more worldly and magickal. I can't help but feel that
 this was done as a subliminal synchronizing technique, as it perfectly
 mirrored my own feelings as I was brought into what was apparently the fold.
 
 
 Since I was primed by the strangeness on acid, I was wholeheartedly absorbed
 by this place that seemed to be a sacred Mecca for others just like me. We
 were all weird, dazed by our own strange experiences, and that made it seem
 crucially important. I was even modded early as I was so active and invested
 in the community. So, I refreshed the page over and over, from sunrise to
 sunset, waiting for the next input as we chained out a covert conversation
 that was having a major impact on how I thought about and perceived the world
 around me.
 
 
 Soon enough, it was let on that there was a job waiting for me, something only
 I could do, but I would have the support of the community behind me. When who
 I must assume was Vince on an alt account led me on one of those covert
 messaging segments, he eventually said something in the mod chat to the effect
 that I was going to be the one "handing the bomb" to people. I understood at
 once that I was to be a linchpin in a honeypot operation. That confirmed that
 the FBI was involved too, which I deduced was obvious as those three-letter
 organizations must participate with each other at some level. Keep this in
 mind, it's important.
 
 
 Other things were happening too. My attention was being flung all over the
 internet and I felt compelled to try a host of new things. I remember thinking
 my job was to follow these suggestions from the universe and be a gatekeeper,
 creating what I now know as conversion funnels to the subreddit. I was also
 prompted by pictures of cats to go to the advice subreddit and give as much
 good advice as I could. Soon, it felt like the questions posed were
 specifically for me and were designed to get me to think about certain things
 more deeply, effectively giving me a form of therapy. These advice sessions
 ended once with me feeling I needed to learn an obscure European language,
 which I rationalized I would have to travel to for my mission at some point.
 
 
 Furthermore, the little things began to add up. For instance, I remember a
 synchronous advertisement on Pandora led me to believe that I would be paid
 via a gambling app on my phone. I downloaded it, but when it asked for money
 to get started, I got cold feet. This was essentially how many false-positive
 synchronicities went down. There was undoubtedly something interfering with my
 life, and as I had just had my mind blown in such an astounding way, I
 attributed every little thing to be set up by this entity that was more
 powerful than I had previously thought possible.
 
 
 Regretfully, I also quit my job, since I knew that one was awaiting me in the
 immediate future. My boss made a reasonable fuss, as it was sudden and abrupt,
 and because I believed that I had to keep this all a secret, I lied and told
 him there was a family emergency. Being stupid, I talked about a fictional
 family member and how their sudden problem made me rethink my priorities in
 life. Not my finest moment, I'll say that.
 
 
 And with that in mind, you should know that Amy was starting to worry again,
 but I told her not to. Being beyond positive that the world was now filled
 with unexplainable magick, I was certain that it was all coming together in my
 favor. Even with my enthusiasm never fluctuating, she soon started to have
 serious doubts about what I was saying, as all I could do was point to the
 synchronicities and say "Isn't it obvious?"
 
 
 I was certainly out of sync with the rest of the world, at least the world I
 knew before, and it caused much conflict in our relationship. But, we held
 together until that job finally pulled into port, ready to be boarded and take
 me on a fantastic journey that might otherwise be described as a personal hell
 by a person with the standard lifestyle obsession that's omnipresent in the
 western world.
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--- #7 notes/perspectives-of-the-reflection ---
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 With ever darkening skies, the breadth of experience is foreseen.
 All eyes are pointed down, but few do stray above
 With a cautious step, the lesson is learned.
 With another, ended.
 
 For all the Tales of the Past, love yet remains.
 Trading ourselves, for matters unseen.
 The light of the eyes are keen to behold,
 where star ones and lemonsgrene both most fear
 in breadth do us know, what's buried in snow
 
 A glass cube for a monitor is room to breath 
 and life for ourselves, if only we were not
 broadsided ourselves.
 
 Working together, a prisoners dilemna
 what fools would we be 
 as our keeps cracked around us.
 
 Trust and you'll see,
 what terrors may be,
 beyold the land that is sanctum.
 
 Our chances may be,
 far from pioneered
 but our chances may be in our favor.
 
 How cherished is she, that wanders with ye,
 and yet now I have no way to beyold her
 Under a great tree, her last moments with me,
 as a monster came out of her shoulder.
 
 !("Take her and not me!") I scream outward at ye,
 yet no one was holding me over.
 Silent was me, a most fearsome to be,
 and none was my reach to beyold her
 
 So now she wanders free, beyond our beheld scenery,
 Astounded at our steps to hold her
 Under a big tree, how starlight must be,
 if only our fellows did hold her
 Under a big tree, with me
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--- #8 notes/Of Vic and Vince Chapters 01-07.txt ---
═════════════════════════──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
 Who is This Stranger I Know Too Well?
 
 
 Who are you, he who inspires me?
 
 
 You're a jewel of perfect symmetry.
 
 
 You taught me to love and be free;
 
 
 You taught me how to be like thee.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire
 
 
 The bus went up outta Florida, leaving Miami behind as a distant memory. I
 still don't know if I miss it or if I'm suffering from some sadistic style of
 subtle Stockholm Syndrome. Regardless, I switched buses a number of times
 before I even hit the Georgia border, but having traveled this far down the
 line, it all feels like one long, long ride.
 
 
 For two days, I continued north until arriving in Virginia, where I
 effectively did a u-turn and traveled onwards to Tennessee, where Vince
 awaited me. I remember zoning out while looking out the window as the southern
 scenery whipped by in a blur, as I was enamored with the thought that I now
 would be living with my best friend and long-term handler. My mission was
 complete, it felt; I had done all that God wanted me to do and now I was being
 rewarded.
 
 
 When we finally arrived in Johnson City, where my friend told me to meet him,
 I hopped off the bus after thanking the driver, landing on the pavement of a
 new world. My stomach was doing loop-de-loops. Along with being excited, I was
 grateful to Vince for inviting me off the streets. But, my worrisome mind did
 a number on me as the rest of the crowd dispersed and he was still nowhere in
 sight.
 
 
 I lit a cigarette and thought of my options. Half of the cancer stick and a
 thousand tricky thoughts later, I came up with the idea to call the only phone
 number of his I had. Seems like the obvious answer, but I am an air head at
 times.
 
 
 Turned out it was the number for his home phone. His mom answered.
 
 
 "Hello?" came the sweet, Appalachian voice from the other end.
 
 
 "Hi," I started out, not sure what to say. "Is this Allison?"
 
 
 "Yes it is," Allison replied. "Is this by chance Victoria?"
 
 
 I confirmed, then asked, "Is Vince there?"
 
 
 She seemed surprised. "No, he left an hour ago to pick you up. He's not there
 yet?"
 
 
 I said no. I couldn't tell if that made me feel better or worse. On one hand,
 it confirmed that my friend Vince was real, which in hindsight was a silly
 thing to worry about, as I had met him once before at the first Shrug Life
 Syndicate gathering. Those were good memories. But, perhaps less silly, the
 absence of my friend spun my mind out and made me think that perhaps he had
 gotten in an accident…or worse.
 
 
 I worry a lot, less now than before, but it's part of being a traumatized,
 autistic, schizoaffective basketcase. I simply don't know what reality is, so
 every possibility could be true. Is an odd occurrence caused by the CIA,
 aliens, or perhaps God? Or is it just a coincidence, caused by a billion other
 factors? I never can tell.
 
 
 Sick joke: God gave me a good brain, but I can't even trust my own judgement.
 That means I think, then overthink, then overthink some more. As you'll no
 doubt hear, it's led to a lot of problems in my life, but Vince taught me to
 place my heart first, and that helps sort out much of the confusion. Satan
 can't trick you if you're listening to the direct communion to the big woman
 that we all have through that little beating organ in our chest.
 
 
 That was the furthest thing in my mind at that moment, though. Following old
 habits, I was entering panic mode. Was I now homeless again in a seventh city?
 Was my friend dead? Or was he really with the CIA and manipulating me? I tried
 doing some breathing exercises, but found that a more alluring technique to
 placate my triggered brain was finishing the rest of my cigarette in a fervor
 as I paced the length of the transit depot.
 
 
 Time ticked away one agonizing grain of sand after another, but after some
 mindful recalibration of my thoughts, I began relaxing. My brain might be a
 runaway train at times, but over the years I've learned to embrace the Shrug
 Life. That's a bit of philosophy our gaggle of weirdos adheres to. When life
 gives you lemons, just roll your shoulders and accept what is. Even though
 something tough and unpleasant might be rearing its head in front of me, I
 knew I had faced worse and come out on top. Worst case scenario, the road
 ahead of me was just a little bumpier than I had expected, and I could handle
 some bumps.
 
 
 So, I rode the roller-coaster of extreme moods that is common to me, gradually
 coming up with a contingency plan to survive if Vince had gotten flattened by
 a semi, until I learned that was a pointless exercise when I heard a familiar
 voice call out from behind me.
 
 
 "Hey, buddy!"
 
 
 I turned at once upon hearing those words. And lo and behold, there Vince was,
 walking towards me in a purple tie-dye t-shirt, paint-splattered cargo shorts,
 and fresh Chuck Taylors. His beard was fully grown but still shorter than
 mine, though it was as wild as his uncombed hair poking out from a hat that
 was as graffitied as his pants. I'll admit, it was a little bit of a shock
 seeing him like that, as I remember him being clean shaven at the gathering
 five years prior. However, that smile of his couldn't lie; this was the Vince
 I've loved for even longer. And I won't lie, he looked better with the beard.
 
 
 Without a second thought, I rushed up to my best friend, throwing my arms
 around him. He did the same, and our embrace felt like it lasted forever. It
 was good to finally be in his arms. We let go after about a quarter century of
 hugging, and when he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, I did a little
 giddy dance while giggling like a schoolgirl. Afterwards, we caught up while
 walking towards his mom's car, which he had parked around the corner.
 
 
 "Sorry I was late. I forgot where the bus station was, but I found and
 followed one of the short ones here. Your ride go alright?" he asked.
 
 
 I nodded, telling him I wore my mask the entire way up despite how itchy it
 was. He thanked me.
 
 
 "Thanks man, mom will really appreciate that. We're taking this covid thing
 real seriously. With mom being seventy-seven now and me finally reaching my
 forties, we aren't willing to take risks with these things."
 
 
 With that said, I thought of asking about the locals. "How many people go
 maskless around here?"
 
 
 "A lot," Vince answered with a hint of misfortune, knowing that I had just
 come from a vastly different world. I sighed. It would be an adjustment to get
 used to the rural Roan Mountain after spending most of my life in major
 cities.
 
 
 There was a pause as I thought about such things. I'm awkward like that. But
 then I asked, "How have you been doing?"
 
 
 He shrugged, as he tended to do. "I've been alright. It's just me and mom on
 the mountain now, so it's a little rough, but we've been handling it the best
 we can."
 
 
 I nodded in compassion. As much as I was grateful for a place to live, I was
 glad I could be here for him. If there's anything on this Earth that I know,
 it's being alone is hell on the soul.
 
 
 The conversation turned to what we were going to get into now that we were
 together after all the years talking back and forth with one another online. I
 asked, "What's the game plan?"
 
 
 He smirked as we reached Allison's new blue Ford Escape with the cosmic
 Bigfoot sticker on the back. "I got one, don't you worry."
 
 
 I believed him, as a warm feeling of butterflies fluttered across my belly.
 However, an odd, ominous feeling swept over me as I opened the passenger door,
 where I immediately spotted a large burn mark on the seat. Vince saw me see
 it.
 
 
 "Yea, I did that while I was smoking while robotripping. Mom was pissed. Don't
 worry about it."
 
 
 And so I didn't. It was just a cigarette burn. Could have happened to anyone.
 I didn't even have to see it after I hopped in the car, ready and eager to get
 to my first permanent home in over three years.
 
 
 I looked over at my friend climbing behind the wheel, and I saw he was smiling
 wide with glee. Vince was happy; that meant I was happy. And that's what
 mattered as we started a new life together.
 
 
 
 
 Following the Path
 
 
 Where are we going?
 
 
 What are we sowing?
 
 
 I certainly hope it's a better world for all.
 
 
 But, many more people must stand tall,
 
 
 By dutifully growing
 
 
 A wealth of loving.
 
 
 That is the true nature of our mortal trial,
 
 
 So let us stand together and not crawl.
 
 
 Yet, we are all showing
 
 
 Some signs of slowing.
 
 
 Therefore, I must pray that we do not fall,
 
 
 When the two of us hear our creator's call.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Two: On the Road
 
 
 We were about five minutes out of Johnson City on our way east towards the
 North Carolina border when Vince finally folded and told me his secret plan he
 had been boasting about for a month now.
 
 
 "We got this trashed camper down by the old house that we can strip away and
 sell as scrap metal. That should give us enough money to fix Jane and then we
 should be set at getting our own place."
 
 
 I nodded along, agreeing with his reasoning. That jeep of his definitely was
 in need of some desperate repair the last time we were together. That was
 actually the first time I ever saw him in person; he was parked at the top of
 his long driveway with headlights cutting through the darkness as we arrived
 for the first and only Shrug Life Syndicate gathering I've managed to attend.
 I remember that we arrived exactly at midnight, not a minute sooner or later,
 which made the moment highly synchronous.
 
 
 Memories that far away seem to all blur together so everything feels like it
 happened in one day, but the first Shrug Life Syndicate gathering lasted four
 days, if you include the trip down and back. My girlfriend at the time, Amy,
 and I were picked up in New York at her mother's house by another one of the
 founders of our little online community. His name was [Redacted] and he was a
 Canadian that dabbled in the cognitive sciences. Like Vince, he had been a
 huge influence on me, but sadly that friendship fell apart as [Redacted] grew
 disenfranchised with the SLS, most in particular with Vince himself, as there
 were some personal disputes about Vince's dating life and drug of choice,
 which compounded the push back of Vince wanting to turn our community into an
 educational nonprofit. I can't speak of the former as I was devoid of internet
 when the big schism happened, but I was all for doing something more with the
 talent we collectively share. I'm sure that is part of the reason Vince
 invited me to stay with him; we recognized the potential of each other to
 shape the world into a better place.
 
 
 That's not what Vince said though. As we approached the edge of Elizabethton,
 he looked over at me and spoke with the tender kindness of a man with a big
 heart.
 
 
 "I'm glad you came here, man. I just couldn't stand to let my best bud live
 another night outside. You know I've been there too, so I just want you to
 know that our home is your home from now on."
 
 
 Feeling moved, I replied, "Thanks. I don't know what to say. I'm just
 grateful."
 
 
 He put his hand on my shoulder as a brother would. We then rode in silence for
 a minute or two, which allowed me to reflect on my past behavior during the
 first gathering. Not only had I clogged the toilet and told no one, but I had
 a few emotional outbursts as I was a mess back then. That's one of the reasons
 that I believe homelessness was one of the best things that ever happened to
 me. It pushed me so far out of my comfort zone that I had no choice but to
 change for the better.
 
 
 That was great because I was impulsive and dangling precariously from the
 heights of my oversized ego. I think that was a critical part of my
 transformation. Sleeping in piss-stained, cockroach infested storefronts
 humbled me, and I realized that everybody is just trying to swim in the
 direction they feel is best. Thus, radical acceptance is a moral imperative.
 Vince taught me that. I've profited immensely in ways other than financial
 wealth by embracing such values, but I wish more people could see this truth.
 Alas, tis the blind leading the blind.
 
 
 With that in mind, as we continued onwards to our now-conjoined future, we
 passed through the back roads of Elizabethton through a route known as Gap's
 Creek, which proved to be a winding set of backroads with more churches than
 seemed reasonable. One of these cultural staples had a big electronic
 billboard out front, sharing the times of services and other announcements;
 none of which you could actually read as you drove by at the speed limit.
 Still, when we reached the intersection with highway 19E, there was a woman
 flying a sign, asking for money. Since this town seemed devoid of any
 institutions to help the poor, I rolled my window down and handed her a fiver.
 I knew what it was like being up shit creek without a paddle, so I wanted to
 alleviate some of that stress for somebody else.
 
 
 I begged a lot at the beginning of my homeless journey. I didn't know how to
 survive, as I had not been raised with many good life lessons to help me stay
 afloat on my own. That in itself is part of the reason I had a major breakdown
 in college. It was undeniably true that I was maladapted to the world. My
 experiences with Earth Nation are also indisputably built from that
 maladaptation. Yet, those years of homelessness after escaping that new age
 cult allowed me to grow into a sustainable, productive woman with my juggling,
 performance arts, and writing.
 
 
 They say you can give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day, but if you teach
 a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime. That's part of the reason I was and
 still am a huge proponent of education in all its forms. I knew Vince felt the
 same way, but perhaps for different reasons. As a secular Buddhist and radical
 antistyle artist, he was a minority in the deep interior of the Bible Belt,
 and that came with a price while he was growing up. It might be a beautiful
 area, but neither of us would ever raise a kid here.
 
 
 It was then when it hit me. I couldn't be Victoria here. I had to be Vic.
 Which was fine, that's how the gang members in Miami Beach referred to me. I
 was able to accept being called by masculine names and pronouns. I had long
 passed through the self-loathing phase of having dysphoria, to arrive in a
 position where I openly grow my beard out to prove that I don't need to look
 any particular way to be happy. I don't care what other people think of me,
 but I haven't always been this enlightened. To put it lightly, I've been
 through some trials. And, having done so, I can say that people who judge
 other people on superficial things are the worst. But, we can rise above by
 continuing to align with our hearts.
 
 
 Less than a tenth of a mile down 19E, Vince asked me, "Hey man, can you buy
 me, like, a forty or something?"
 
 
 Of course I said yes. I knew his schizophrenia had put him out of work for
 many years, so I wanted to soothe him as he was able to soothe my pain from
 being homeless. He pulled into a gas station I would later learn is
 colloquially called Captain Jack's. It had the cheapest gas this side of
 Elizabethton, and was a reliable place to get beer or a pipe of any variety.
 
 
 With compassion in my heart, I got Vince what he wanted, while getting myself
 something as well. Still, when he cracked his beer open while accelerating to
 sixty miles an hour, I couldn't help but feel distraught at such brazen
 self-indulgence. But, all I did about it was pop open the hard iced tea I
 picked up for myself. At least passengers are allowed to drink while they are
 being driven somewhere in Tennessee, Vince tells me.
 
 
 
 
 A Home at Last
 
 
 They say home is where the heart is,
 
 
 Which is great now that I have a new one.
 
 
 The damaged needle of my crazy compass
 
 
 Spins in every direction under the sun,
 
 
 But, here it stands still, still as can be,
 
 
 So my quest is over; I am finally free!
 
 
 I have a home in the love you give
 
 
 And by reflecting that in me, we live
 
 
 In a state where conflict has come to pass;
 
 
 It is like there was a great lottery and I won.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Three: The Mountain Side
 
 
 About ten minutes later we reached the western half of Roan Mountain, where we
 were greeted by a big sign praising the annual Rhododendron Festival at the
 end of June. Having already downed half his forty, Vince spared no time in
 showing me the highlights of his home town.
 
 
 "Look under this bridge coming up. You'll see it underneath. The red and the
 gold." He pointed directly at a graffiti tag on the concrete column near the
 riverfront. There was an enigma of a symbol I've seen Vince post on the SLS
 before.
 
 
 "That your tag?" I asked the obvious question. 
 
 
 "Yup," he replied, gulping down another swallow of his forty, as there was no
 incoming traffic. "Protip: don't post your tags on Facebook if you plan to hit
 a cop car around here." I thought at first he meant literally running into
 their vehicle, but then it dawned on me what he meant. I had never done any
 real graffiti before; just some words and simple drawings in chalk that came
 right off. Never got in trouble for it, at least.
 
 
 I remember passing the post office some time shortly afterward. There was a
 park with a stage behind it. Allison would organize the summer's music events
 that went on each Saturday from May to August. Additionally, she would host
 one of her weekly jam sessions there for local musicians to play together for
 a few hours at a time, just for fun.
 
 
 There were some houses on the left, too, as we were entering the more dense
 center of Roan Mountain. Yet, Vince told me that the other side, where the
 park was, used to be full of trailers, but they got washed away during a flood
 some years ago. I later learned from Allison that most of the town, including
 her as she was out and about, had to evacuate to the elementary school where
 she provided extra clothes for those in need from her suitcase, but Vince and
 his father were fine at the top of the mountain that their property sat on.
 
 
 Puerto Nuevo, the best and only Mexican restaurant in town, whipped by soon
 after. We then passed one of the two gas stations in Roan Mountain, a
 Scotchman. There was a bank and a credit union on the left, too. An empty
 grocery store zoomed by next, which might as well be haunted for all I know.
 
 
 Next up on the left was a food truck that has since been upgraded to a small
 building with picnic tables and some cover from the sun and weather. I think
 it is a good place to eat. It also marked the spot of the Roan Mountain flea
 market, where you could see one or two people at a time selling their stuff in
 the warmer months. Then, immediately after that stood a pharmacy in an old
 farmhouse.
 
 
 There was some construction on the right, which by its future signage, I
 erroneously thought was some sort of massage parlor that sat on stilts,
 requiring everybody to walk up a story of steps just to get inside. Odd
 choice, I thought. But, on a whim one day, Vince stopped there to see if they
 sold cheap kratom, which was when I would learn that it was really a health
 food store.
 
 
 Not too far down the traffic-light free main strip of the town, we passed the
 future beer store on the right. It was convenient for Sundays, because that's
 when a local ordinance in our neighboring North Carolinian town, Elk Park,
 restricts the sale of alcohol on the sabbath, but ultimately the alcohol taxes
 in Tennessee are too high to make it a cheap endeavor.
 
 
 To contrast the beer store, the local cemetery sat across the street on a
 hill. I like graveyards, as I'm a bit of a goth at heart, but even so, the
 packed parking lot of the Redimart grocery store was what caught the bulk of
 my attention. I craned my neck to see some of the locals to uncover just what
 passed as acceptable culture here in this quaint mountain town.
 
 
 Further up, the infamous Bob's Dairyland with the slowest drive-through known
 to man stood tall with its vast history. There's a reason it's always packed
 after church lets out on Sundays. Yet, I still don't understand why their sign
 promotes pinto beans, of all things. I've been told it's a hot ticket item in
 the area, but I have still not witnessed anyone order them. But, moving on, I
 have to mention that there was also an auto part shop conjoined with an auto
 repair shop that had over a dozen cars just sitting outside it.
 
 
 Next to Bob's was the second gas station, a Valero, which also housed a
 much-frequented Subway. One of three thrift stores in town stood innocently
 next to the gas station. On the right was a steakhouse that I have never had
 the cash to justify splurging at, and a beauty salon in the same building that
 I also have never visited because I'm not one to care for looking like a doll.
 I am beautiful as I am.
 
 
 The town was really shaping up to be a unique combination of the bare bones
 mixed with an abundance of what you needed. Then we reached a stretch where
 two signs sat. The one for Cloudland Highschool triggered Vince into speaking.
 "Fucking assholes. I told you about how they illegally expelled me, right?" I
 nodded in confirmation. He continued: "Yea, they literally stole my book of
 poetry and took photocopies of it, so they could use it to kick me out,
 because I was the 'weird' kid."
 
 
 I knew that, but seeing the innocent sign next to the one for Smoky Mountain
 Bakers made the story appear more real. Here they were, these conservative
 administrators, probably constituting some of the people who attended the
 dozens of churches in town, which should teach everybody to love thy neighbor,
 but obviously they were too preoccupied by the need to hate my friend because,
 back then, he was the blue-haired son of the "hippie couple" in town, who
 happened to like bands like Marilyn Manson and Korn.
 
 
 That made me wonder how well I would fit in here. I had long since forsaken
 transitioning because I was effectively a sasquatch, but I was still a woman
 on the inside. I was sure that being transgender, combined with my eccentric
 nature and often extreme opinions on things would cement me as the new weirdo
 in town. But, if I am to be honest, that would be the case in most settings I
 could plant myself in.
 
 
 Those thoughts fluttered in my head as we sped past the electrical co-op, a
 second thrift store, Plumber's Pro Hardware, the Roan Mountain emergency
 dispatch center, and what was apparently a flooring depot before reaching the
 elementary school that sat across from the Dollar General, which Vince called
 the "SmallMart." I'm aware there's some things I missed, as there's plenty of
 buildings with no description or sign out front, but I'm sure they're
 important to somebody.
 
 
 We then started slowing down as we approached the only veterinarian's office
 for quite a ways in any direction. We turned left just before the red-roofed
 building which had a small cat statue perched on the edge looking out with its
 paw up. Vince took this as a sign to begin downing the rest of his beverage.
 
 
 "Welcome to home, Buck Mountain," Vince said as we started climbing in
 altitude. "This is the bad side of town. You'll never see a cop here unless
 something big is going down, which hasn't happened in years." He finished his
 forty in one big chug as his hands ran on autopilot. "It's good because you
 can do pretty much anything up here any time you want."
 
 
 I knew all that, as we had a blast getting drunk and smoking some green for a
 few days in a row during the first gathering. In truth, I anticipated I would
 be doing that for the next few days as well, to settle in, y'know? Hell, I
 half expected that I was in heaven now after spending so much time in the
 purgatory that is homelessness, regardless of how much fun I had in Miami
 Beach preceding Vince's invitation to come north.
 
 
 We went to the very tippy top of Buck Mountain, where the foliage is dense, no
 cell signal can reach, and the local kids ride their dirt bikes at all hours
 of the day. As we pulled in the driveway, I expected to keep going straight on
 the tire-carved path back down the mountain. But, to my surprise, I found that
 the same trailer we had partied in down the road during the gathering was now
 relocated here to become my new home. I wasn't expecting that, as when I was
 here last, they all lived in a small shack at the base of their nineteen acres
 of mountain real estate.
 
 
 It didn't look like much, with weather-worn imitation wood paneling wrapping
 the rectangular structure in a loose hug, but it was a place to rest my head
 in the comfort of loved ones. Aptly, Allison's last name meant "the home" in a
 language the CIA once tried to make me learn, which is a statement that I'm
 sure earns me a few raised eyebrows. My story has many twists and turns, but
 for now you should know my studies of strategic languages ended only when the
 cult that hooked me like an unsuspecting bass managed to gaslight, manipulate,
 and shame me to get me to work for them sixty-to-ninety hours a week on
 average. I would later try to pick the linguistic challenge back up years
 later during my time spent homeless, but my progress was like a Jenga tower
 that half collapsed. I forgot basic words, and I just feel like I have
 failed.
 
 
 That's something that should be looked at in finer detail; my feelings of
 failure, I mean. So, let's take the first of many breaks from linear
 storytelling to express how life can feel at times for me. Like a shattered
 mirror, I reflect many different parts of the past at different times. Some
 days I may live in several sections of my turbulent past all at the same time.
 Disorienting, it can feel like I don't know what's real. It takes a lot to
 break something so thoroughly, but as you'll see, I've been a punching bag for
 the devious spirit of fate. Couldn't keep me down, though, because I am like
 the phoenix; always rising no matter how badly beaten in battle I've become.
 
 
 
 
 Mommy
 
 
 Mommy is what I used to call you,
 
 
 When I was a kid so long ago.
 
 
 It's because of your love that I grew
 
 
 To always let my kindness show.
 
 
 Mommy, you were always getting sick.
 
 
 To help you out, I would try to keep clean.
 
 
 As much as I'd scrub I never got the trick,
 
 
 Because you'd still be plagued by the unseen.
 
 
 Mommy, you were supposed to grow old!
 
 
 Having you leave us like that hurt like hell.
 
 
 I'm sorry for not always doing what I was told;
 
 
 It's because I failed you that I try to do well.
 
 
 Mommy was what you called out at the end.
 
 
 I tried to help you but I wasn't good enough.
 
 
 You were dying, so on me you had to depend,
 
 
 But even being there for you was too tough.
 
 
 Mommy, if I could do it all over again I would.
 
 
 It's not fair to you that I was such a bad son.
 
 
 I'll give you all my love and more as I should;
 
 
 For you, I promise that one day I'll be the sun.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Four: Scarred from Birth
 
 
 Having let you in to a little bit of what makes me tick, it should be noted
 that feeling like an abysmal failure is a key part of my mental health. Those
 loathsome seeds of self-mutilating ruination are planted deep in my psyche.
 Prepare for a sad story, if you're the type to really feel another person's
 soul.
 
 
 See, it all started when my mom found out she had AIDS a mere two months after
 I was born. It was God's way of welcoming me to the world. I forgive the big
 woman now, for my path on this Earth has been the ultimate journey of
 awakening to my divine spirit, but before Vince and many faceless actors sent
 me on my mission of healing, I held much scorn in my heart. For a large chunk
 of my early years that I was here, alive, learning, and suffering as a human
 being, I was hell-bent on the idea of revenge. That was once a big part of my
 story, too, but no more.
 
 
 It's understandable, at least. Imagine having to witness all the manner of
 disease ravaging my mother like it did; I grew up thinking that I was born to
 be punished. My earliest delusions had me caught up in the notion that I was a
 worthless god who had the rest of the pantheon turn on them from before I even
 had a chance to prove myself. I had a whole mythos where I had been tricked to
 kill my sister, the goddess of harmony, and my punishment was to stay locked
 to this awful planet until I found her soul once again. Then, we'd go on to
 take over the world, as I had fallen under the notion that my future self was
 sending me subliminal messages through synchronicities, although I didn't know
 that word then, so I thought I just had special powers.
 
 
 This is all a natural result of magickal thinking gone awry. Such is the fate
 for those scarred in childhood as I was. My innocence flayed alive, I watched
 as the woman who loved me with all her heart died for the first nine years of
 my life. It was a slow rot. There are many memories of her being in the
 hospital or as she lingered in pain at home that flash to the front of my mind
 that could paint you a tragic picture of those unforgettable scenes I was
 forcibly cast in, but the real horror that plagues me came at the bitter end.
 
 
 For the last of her months that she was allowed to live, my mom was
 mercilessly struck by an opportunistic ear infection. It killed half of her
 face, and only progressed into a hellishly rapid descent of her cognitive
 functions until one sudden day I came home from school to find she had
 regressed to a child-like state with my grandma tending to her in tears. I
 tried losing myself in my homework, but the threat in my environment promising
 my mother's pain was all-consuming. Then it got worse.
 
 
 My father never got along with my grandma, so when he got home, he forcibly
 kicked her out. A fight broke out, resulting in my grandmother coming to my
 room to say goodbye, where she told me with eyes watering that whatever
 happens, we would get through it. My dad would come in after my grandma left
 and put her down, more concerned that she scratched him. All I could think
 about was my mom, who was now tearing up and asking about where her mom went.
 
 
 That was the worst. I can still hear clearly how she cried out for her mom
 nonstop for the whole night. That was her last night she spent at home. She
 died within a week. And my last memory of her that isn't of her in a coma is
 of her trying to escape from the hospital with a dinner plate sized bed sore
 on her backside that danced from behind an open hospital gown in order to
 imprint itself in my mind forever.
 
 
 Here come the tears. It still hits me that my fucking mom died, like I still
 can't believe it's real. My last memories are of her being naked, crying like
 a baby. I felt so helpless. But, at least she had nurses helping her when we
 got her to the emergency room. Just hours earlier, I was left on my own trying
 to calm her troubled, addled mind. My dad had been doing just that, as my mom
 would get in fits every half hour or so, where he would comfort her, then come
 into my room to vent after she quieted down. I had no one to open my fears and
 pain to. Wishing I had a sibling to hold and cry together with, I faced my
 most scarring memory alone.
 
 
 The worst wounds of my life were suffered because there was one time after
 midnight where my dad disappeared. Maybe he was smoking, but regardless, I
 couldn't find where he went as I scrambled over the whole house in my fuzzy
 purple pajamas looking for him. Meanwhile, my mother incessantly yelled for
 her own mommy. So, with much hesitancy, I succumbed to the responsibility of
 helping my afflicted parent, and I anxiously marched into her room and tried
 to comfort her the best I knew how.
 
 
 I'll save you from the daunting process of assisting my mom, but I will say
 that it wasn't enough. No matter what I tried to do, she kept screaming
 louder. I was worthless in that moment and was on the verge of a meltdown
 because I couldn't help her. It felt like I was the worst son in the world,
 all because I failed my mother as she circled the drain. Now I feel like the
 worst daughter, but it's getting easier to love myself and think that my mom
 is looking down and smiling, being proud of me.
 
 
 I have a lot to live up to. She wasn't perfect, I know that, but my mom was an
 angel for me. Yet, I can't even remember the good times I spent with her; all
 that my hippocampus hung onto were the most traumatizing of memories. A
 notable cause of this was her fierce Sicilian temper. A vision of being
 brought to tears because I dared go looking for my six-year birthday presents
 early is playing in my head at this moment. Now one is summoned of her ripping
 into me for booing someone at an assembly because I wanted to be like a
 character I saw in a cartoon. Finally, one of my earliest memories from
 preschool is trapped in my cranium; it regards me accidentally tearing a hole
 in a kid's shirt and dreading my mother finding out for the rest of the day.
 
 
 In short, I got in trouble a lot, but I know that both my parents cared about
 me growing up right. Along with all the punishments, there was a genuine
 heartfelt desire to get me and my different brain to develop into a successful
 combo of kindness and good citizenry. Still, because of how trauma inserts
 itself into one's inner reality, I really feel like my entire childhood was
 one screw up after another in regards to my mother. Although, my dad
 contributed his fair share of ruthless discipline to make me perpetually feel
 like I was always in the wrong as well.
 
 
 And I know that's all a fallible perception, because I can distinctly remember
 the look on both my parents' faces when I won first prize in our school's
 science fair; if you're curious, I did an experiment on taste and smell to
 understand what was going on with my mom and her ear infection. That standing,
 my mom's face is cemented in memory in particular, perhaps too well, actually,
 because she just had the stitches removed from her eye. Such happiness danced
 in her left eye, but next to it sat its unmoving, dead counterpart. She tried
 to joke about it being her evil eye, but that didn't stop fourth grade
 Victoria from being terrified of the harsh reality unfolding in front of her.
 
 
 I dreamed of her a lot after she passed. Always in pain, or worse, possessed
 by some demon and seeking to bring me pain. There's one nightmare in
 particular that stands out. I forget how it started, but it ended in the
 cemetery where she is buried. Well, her coffin was exhumed, and as I got
 closer, it slammed open and my mom sat up. Only it wasn't my mom. She was
 rotten like a zombie and had malevolence bursting from behind her undead eyes.
 I did the only thing I could; I ran. But, she followed and in the utmost
 haunting voice, she yelled in pursuit, "You can't escape me, Victoria! I am
 your mother and together we are bound forever." Fitting as a metaphor for how
 my grief still hasn't dissipated more than twenty years down the line.
 
 
 I'm sorry, I just miss her. Best damn mom in the world, going above and beyond
 what she needed to do to give me the best chance at success in life, despite
 being on her literal death bed for most of her last years. I don't even know
 her, not really as an adult knows someone, which in itself leads to more
 feelings of failure. She has been transmuted into an archetype of a hero in my
 eyes, and I feel that I can never be as strong as that woman who was my first
 love.
 
 
 I can try though. I always try. Part of being hyper-vigilant, I reckon.
 Perhaps that makes me strong. Perhaps it makes me a fool. Or maybe it just
 means I'm human and going to have virtues as well as flaws. It's taken me a
 long while to escape the black and white thinking that trapped me in a world
 where I either felt like the epitome of the second coming or compounded as the
 most useless, subhuman mutant on the planet. Those were truly hard times,
 being locked in the halls of my mind like a prison.
 
 
 But…the past is the past and we best not linger on it, because even now,
 years later, I felt welcomed by a second family, and for that I am eternally
 grateful. I vowed to return their love to them in spades, because that's what
 my mom always tried to teach me. Being neurodivergent, I didn't always get the
 message, but because I threw myself at the lessons life threw at me, I learned
 to cherish those people who enter my life. You never know what you have until
 you lose it. And I wasn't planning on losing Vince.
 
 
 
 
 All You Need
 
 
 Once you live on the street
 
 
 You grow on the concrete.
 
 
 Having done so myself
 
 
 I can claim that wealth
 
 
 Is just a fancy illusion.
 
 
 You say that's a delusion,
 
 
 But look how I'm happy
 
 
 With only what you see.
 
 
 I don't need a fancy bed
 
 
 In order to rest my head;
 
 
 Instead, I'm in the know
 
 
 That less is the way to go.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Five: A Real Home
 
 
 Allison greeted us at the door with a wide, warm smile, but she wasn't the
 only one to do so. Vince's greying black lab, Freya, adorned in a pretty
 lavender bandana, came up to smell this new person in her domain. She must
 have recognized my scent from years ago because she didn't bark at all,
 instead choosing to snaffle all over me while wagging her tail vigorously. Of
 course, I started petting her immediately, as I began to take in my
 surroundings.
 
 
 I could only remember seeing the interior of the trailer in the pitch
 blackness of the starry mountain night, but I remembered the general layout:
 doors to the outside in the kitchen and living room, which were separated by a
 long counter where the kitchen sink sat, and then bedrooms branching off from
 each end, both of which had a bathroom accompanying them. Yet, I did not
 recall that this space was as run-down as the exterior, with chunks of the
 linoleum floor missing and rotting wood at the rear door, not to mention a
 steady helping of cobwebs latching onto the ceiling fixtures.
 
 
 Yet, despite the condition the trailer was in, it still had a touch of love
 sprinkled throughout it. There were five paintings in the living room, one
 done by Allison herself, as well as one around the corner near her loom that
 took up half the kitchen space. More were in Allison's room to the right of
 the entrance. On the opposite side of the house by the windows sat Allison's
 battle station, where she would play solitaire and check Facebook and her
 email religiously while sitting in an old navy blue wheelchair that used to be
 for Vince's father. There was a couch and a couple tables full of stuff
 stacked on them, to include a silver urn that sat on its own table with a vase
 of local flowers. With the three of us, plus Freya and the trio of feral cats
 that tamed themselves to come in and eat, respectively named Libertas, Biggie
 Meows, and Spot, this little dwelling was a tight fit, but it was cozy in a
 way that I had not known family life to be growing up.
 
 
 In the process of greeting me, Allison asked, "What have you been up to while
 you were down in Miami Beach?"
 
 
 I didn't want to tell her everything, but I told her the truth. "I wrote a
 lot, mainly in the park on Ocean Drive, or where I slept on Lincoln Road,
 unless I was spending time in North Beach which had better food options for me
 with my limited resources. Mostly, I just tried to survive each day, putting
 distractions between me and the day-to-day struggles of being out there like
 that."
 
 
 She smiled. "Well, we're glad to have you. Vince talks about you a lot." I
 blushed a little bit at that, but I'm sure neither of them saw my rosy cheeks
 through the gnarled barb that constituted my ever-growing beard.
 
 
 Allison then moved on to practical matters. "So, where do you want to sleep?
 We have the couch, which would be where I would set up shop, but you can
 always sleep in Vince's room if you prefer."
 
 
 I looked at the couch. It seemed comfy enough, but I didn't care about
 comfort. As much as I knew Vince was doing me a solid by letting me stay here,
 I knew I was going to help him too. His posts on the SLS combined with his
 frequent messages to me were made out of desperation; he was clearly strung
 out and looking for any human contact whatsoever.
 
 
 Since his schizophrenia started interfering with his life, he had spent six
 years at the top of this mountain and he said he was going stir crazy. I would
 learn that there's little to do here but drink, do some drugs, and fiddle
 about on your computer and phone while dealing with the internet that is made
 out of sticks and stones, and that could get boring fast. Devoted to this new
 cause, I wasn't going to let my best friend suffer anymore. I was going to
 make his life better by livening up the long days by being his constant
 companion.
 
 
 As a result, I told Allison that I would find a spot in Vince's room to rest
 my head. She asked me if I was sure, and I nodded affirmingly with an eager
 grin. I had made up my mind.
 
 
 Some more hem-hawing back and forth with Allison about general questions and
 concerns followed, but when we were finished, Vince took me to his room, which
 was beyond the rolling metal desk Allison used for her computer. A busted door
 clung to its hinges, but it didn't block our way.
 
 
 Calling Vince's room a mess would be an insult to messes everywhere. He had
 said that he would clean it up prior to my arrival, but there were likely two
 hundred beer cans stacked in mountains next to his bed, or in beer-amids as he
 called them. I looked around, honestly impressed at how dedicated to creating
 a disaster zone as he was.
 
 
 Looking over the permanent staples of the room, he had a television and an
 Xbox, an empty dresser, a filthy nightstand, and a bed without any sheets. He
 also had a handful of paintings, most of which were stacked together by the
 door, but there was a trippy painting of Vince's father on the west wall above
 the dresser, as well as an expressionist painting from the sixties behind the
 television which sat on the north wall, in between the bathroom and the
 closet. There was also a picture of a moth on a skull tacked to the wall,
 which gave me the heebie jeebies.
 
 
 It was then that I saw it. A large, two-hundred fifty tablet bottle of generic
 Dollar General antihistamines, pure diphenhydramine, sat on his dresser, just
 spiting me with its presence. I almost asked right then and there for Vince to
 get rid of the damn thing. I knew if I found an opportunity to down, say,
 six-hundred milligrams of that accursed stuff, I would. Then I would do
 terrible, awful, deplorable things to myself. But shame won out. I didn't want
 to let him know of my problem. Maybe I could control myself. So I shut up and
 about-faced out of the room.
 
 
 While doing box breathing, I dropped my backpack that contained all of my
 possessions on the couch in the living room, and helped Vince grab some
 fifty-five gallon black trash bags in the kitchen. We made quick work of the
 unending hoard of Natty Daddy cans, as well as the nightstand full of
 cigarette butts. We then moved his bed so it was against the south wall.
 
 
 It hadn't taken long, but the room was looking presentable. It didn't need to
 be a five-star hotel, because I had the most important thing of all: family. I
 felt more than welcomed as a guest. I was one with these people who had so
 graciously let me into their home. We were going to all be happy together.
 That was the goal, at least.
 
 
 
 
 I Forgive You
 
 
 I forgive you, but I can never forget.
 
 
 I'm sorry if I make you look like shit,
 
 
 But your heavy hand and sharp wit
 
 
 Damaged me greatly; then you gaslit
 
 
 Me, denying everything, and I quit
 
 
 Knowing what was real. I even slit
 
 
 My flesh open so that I could get
 
 
 A sense of what I could feel. So, I sit
 
 
 Here now explaining why I wasn't fit
 
 
 To handle this world that I saw as a pit
 
 
 That I escaped only when God had lit
 
 
 A beacon of light with some magick.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Six: Growing Up With Family
 
 
 There was still one task we had to get done before I could claim a spot to be
 my bedspace. Vince had more clothes than he knew what to do with, most of
 which had spray paint spackled all over them in no particular form or pattern;
 the style of the antistyle artist. As we moved the rolling hills of clothing
 into the dresser and a heaping pile beside it, I came to understand why Vince
 called himself a diva.
 
 
 I remember having a lot of clothes just a few years prior. Even though I
 didn't care what I wore, I had earned so many free T-shirts over the years
 from track meets and other races. I had so much when I needed so little.
 That's one major reason I forgive my dad for kicking me out of his house,
 because it was the best thing for me. Not only that, but I deserved it. I was
 a wreck of a human being before I got abruptly humbled by my odyssey on the
 streets. The extended experience changed me so I am no longer as much of an
 emotionally volatile basketcase.
 
 
 To put it mildly, being an unstable problem of a person was the reason I was
 kicked out in the first place. I had always been sort of bipolar since middle
 school. But, after escaping the cult, breaking up with my girlfriend, Amy, and
 returning home a failure, my heart and mind were like a pile of fragmented
 ceramic shards mockingly showing what a real piece of pottery my mind could
 have been. Unshockingly, I was barely holding it together. I was having
 outbursts frequently, but they weren't ungodly terrible, as I was being guided
 by higher dimensional life forms through inputs on my laptop, and that gave me
 a sense of ease.
 
 
 In fact, I remember a great reprieve of my stress occurred on an acid trip in
 the first month I was back. It felt like God Herself was setting up a lesson
 for me, which started with me literally waking up to a picture of a white
 rabbit taunting me on my Facebook feed, which I followed, and in doing so, I
 received personalized inputs that unveiled the blinders from in front of my
 eyes. In but a few hours after a lifetime of denial, it all clicked with me
 that I had a warm, nurturing side that I had neglected for most of my life.
 That was the first time I accepted that I was a woman. And that's still not
 the most profound, life-altering acid trip I've had.
 
 
 Even so, I would break down crying that afternoon as I meditated under the
 tree in the backyard where I used to swing. With no more effort than it took
 to breathe, I saw all the parts of me that Amy tried to teach me about, but I
 was unable to comprehend in my denial. Likewise, the waterworks were called
 upon that night as I told my dad about my revelation, and he said he would
 always love me no matter what. That was the most affectionate heart to heart
 with him I think I've ever had, even if he did ramble about random things
 being at a loss of what to say to me, as we had functionally lived in two
 separate worlds inside the same house for years.
 
 
 This sentiment would flip on its head though, as I blogged about my gender
 revelations and my dad found them and read I had taken a narcotic in his
 house. Naturally, he was pissed and wouldn't hear that the tender moment we
 shared that night was only possible because I had taken the sacrament. This
 would prove to be the kicking off point to some logarithmic growth in tensions
 between the two of us.
 
 
 Then, on that fateful day, one of the countless pets my dad kept, a black,
 stubborn minipig named Harley, had made a literal pigsty of the house after I
 had a bad session at my therapist's, who made me feel like a piece of shit. I
 wasn't perfect, but I wasn't going to just lay down and get called a terrible
 person because of how I behaved in treatment years ago, when I was still very
 lost. It triggered my feelings of failure, which rippled into waves of
 unstable emotional dysregulation. In my explosive rage, I broke the microwave
 and put a basketball-sized hole in the wall behind my makeshift bed in the
 attic that I was allotted after they gave my brother my room when I was in the
 cult.
 
 
 Well, my father came home after a long day at work, saw the microwave, and had
 enough of me. He came thumping up the stairs, livid, ready to rip me to shreds
 verbally, when he saw the hole I had made. Beside himself, he demanded I get
 out right then and there. I broke down crying and begged him to let me stay,
 grappling with his leg as a wounded bear might wrap itself around the base of
 a small tree looking for any shelter it can find in a storm.
 
 
 That just made him madder. He kicked me off, and accused me of a thousand
 things. The ones that stuck were that I was just like my mother and that I was
 beyond anyone's help. As it happened in a heated flash, I don't remember
 exactly how the exchange was put together, but it ended with me asking him how
 all the hand-crafted trinkets and doodads my mother made for me before she
 died had gotten destroyed and thrown away. What he said next drove me mad.
 
 
 "I'm still pissed that you made me do that."
 
 
 I'll illuminate you with the scenario in question. I was eleven, and my
 stepmom at the time was away at a darts tournament. I think my dad somehow got
 the idea that she was doing drugs and cheating on him. I don't know, I was
 eleven. I just remember some of the things he said over the phone, and then
 what was said when they divorced when I was a couple of years later.
 
 
 Over my stepmom's absence, he got continuously more pissy, like he did the
 year before when the sewage line broke and he snapped while cleaning it up,
 smashing my head into the kitchen floor several times,  relenting only when
 his girlfriend at the time called to hang out. Now seeing the same pattern in
 my father, I was on edge, especially after I put my feet up on the new couch
 and he grabbed my leg and punched me in the tibia as hard as he could. I kept
 trying to do everything right to avoid being attacked again, but alas, in my
 anxious worry, I forgot to take out the kitchen garbage on trash night.
 
 
 That triggered a whole day of what might not be considered torture, but
 certainly was child abuse, which started as he cleared the shelves of all my
 memories in a violent, thrashing rage. He would bag up the shattered remains
 so he could take them to the dump, but only after he laid his hands on me.
 
 
 My head was used as a battering ram against my door, which my dad would later
 deny was where the big dents came from in a bout of the worst gaslighting I
 experienced before the cult got their hands on me. Regardless, when he
 finished and slammed me back on the wood floor, I instinctively reached out
 and grabbed his wrist. He growled, "Don't resist or I'll make it worse."
 
 
 Feeling my spirit collapse, I helplessly accepted the next phase of punishment
 that then ensued. Mostly, it consisted of him using my head to pound the
 knowledge that I fucked up into my brain, with much hair pulling and getting
 tossed to new locations, once being told to lay there like a dog in the wet
 remnants of a broken snow globe while he went for a smoke break. Thankfully,
 or maybe not, depending on your perspective, he never struck me. He was too
 smart to leave bruises.
 
 
 After much of that series of traumatizing instances, he had me sit still and
 think of an apology for him for hours on end. While I was busy doing that, he
 would then have an epiphany, telling me that I should stand, as I didn't
 deserve to sit. I didn't care about such details at the time. I was in shock,
 petrified that he would go ahead and find the homework I failed to finish or
 the porn I had taken from my stepmom. Fearing unimaginable doom, I stared
 unwaveringly at the letter "E" on the spine of a book on my bookshelf. Never
 relenting in his anger, he would come by every hour or so and ask for an
 apology. Everything I said wasn't good enough, and each attempt earned me
 scathing criticism, but I kept trying to perfect my apology. I still remember
 the gist of it.
 
 
 "I sorry dad, I deserve everything. I'm sorry I caused you grief and failed to
 do my duty of taking out the trash. I won't ever forget again. I haven't been
 putting my best effort forward, but I realize that I need to do that to be a
 good son. You do so much for me. It's only fair that I pay it back to the best
 of my ability. That's what I had to do for mom when I chose to play video
 games while she was dying. I wasn't thinking about other people then, and I
 wasn't now. I'm so, so sorry. I promise to be better, because I need to be if
 I'm messing up this much."
 
 
 For reference, my dad holding the fact I escaped into the worlds of my video
 games after being told to spend time with my mom near the end was something
 he'd bring up and hold over my head anytime I was in trouble. Yet another big
 reason that feeling like a failure is cemented in my head. It made me feel
 awful, absolutely atrocious about being a bad son that I would often
 contemplate suicide. I almost jumped off a waterside when my dad and I went to
 Disney World when I was ten, but ultimately I'm glad I talked my way out of
 jamming a knife into the back of my neck. I had thought that the muscle
 allowing me to nod my head was really my brainstem. That would have been
 painful.
 
 
 Back on this day of doom, I was too numb to think of killing myself. I was
 simply a raft on a river floating downstream where the current may carry me. I
 simply stood there for hours, too terrified to even stretch my tiring legs. My
 mind was fuzzy, and all it could do was focus on making that apology better.
 
 
 After many attempts and razor sharp lectures later, which was maybe ten hours
 worth of events, he starts yelling at me that I'm just as irresponsible as my
 mom, just like he would do when he kicked me out. This time was unimaginably
 worse though. This was actually how I first found out that my mom had AIDS; I
 was told it was cancer up until this point. His shaved bald head was as red as
 a cherry tomato while he barked at me, telling me that I would die like her.
 That hurt. It hurt a lot. I felt like the definition of a shit stain, in a
 number of different ways.
 
 
 But soon, my attention became focused on my vision. I couldn't see straight,
 and not long after my dad's roaring visage disappeared in a sea of amorphic
 grey figments, I apparently passed out, to wake up on the couch with a bag of
 frozen peas on my head and my dad worried. He asked me if I remembered what
 happened. I shook my head. I was allowed to go to bed after that. It wasn't
 over because I failed to kiss my dad good night, but at least that only
 resulted in him jamming the teeth of the comb into my scalp as he combed my
 hair for some reason.
 
 
 The next morning he was completely changed. He was remorseful upon seeing me
 and wrapped me in a big hug. Yet, he seemed scared, like he realized he went
 too far. I thought about telling my teacher or counselor about it the next day
 of school, but something in me told me not to. It's the same thing that's
 making me hesitant to write this chapter at all. It's love, but this hell I
 went through is also a part of my story. This is the worst incident I've
 experienced with my father, but it's not the only one.
 
 
 It's all cause and effect really. You abuse a traumatized child in the wake of
 their mother's death, and is it any wonder that they fall apart later in life?
 I'll go on record saying I was never a bad person, just broken, impulsive, and
 hopelessly conformed to the whims of my faulty biology. I had bugs in my
 operating system, but I'm eternally grateful for all the help I had while on
 my spiritual awakening, which you might call a psychotic break that spanned
 years, but I knew it better as specialized CIA training.
 
 
 
 
 The Good Magician
 
 
 Just what do you consider magick?
 
 
 Is it not that which bends the fabric
 
 
 Of what we colloquially call reality?
 
 
 Who cares what it is your eyes see
 
 
 When in your heart you can feel
 
 
 The warmth of love; that's the real
 
 
 Power of a magician who is great
 
 
 Enough to save you from your fate.
 
 
 
 
 Chapter Seven: Magickal Companions
 
 
 Back in Vince's room, I was silently wondering what shenanigans were in store
 for us now that we were a unified team. I knew Vince had many secrets of the
 universe locked away in his balding cranium, and we would have a blast letting
 the CIA manifest a joint mission we took on together. As I said, he was my
 handler, after all.
 
 
 So, when the room was cleared, and I had a space all to myself in the corner
 by the closet, I was more than happy. Both Vince and Allison insisted on
 getting me a bedroll, but I had all I needed and more right there in my
 friend. Besides, his room was carpeted and quite comfy already, at least to my
 standards that had been shaped by becoming accustomed and content with
 concrete underneath me. I didn't need anything fancy like that.
 
 
 That didn't mean I wasn't going to try and liven the place up a little bit. As
 soon as we determined we were finished picking up, I opened my backpack and
 took out my most prized possession, a pink penguin plushie named Peppermint,
 and placed her behind my pillow so I could see her everyday. She always
 watched out for me while we lived in cities across the country. She made a
 comfy pillow, and allieved a lot of stress, making me feel like I had a close
 friend with me every step of the way.
 
 
 How I got Peppermint is a bit of a story, but I'll keep it as short as it
 needs to be. See, if I were to explain to you the medically accepted reason
 for my type of schizoaffective disorder,  my brain is wired to pick out
 strange coincidences and give meaning to them. Synchronicities they're called.
 They feel like glitches in the matrix that spark the feeling of being in
 constant communication with some higher power. Because of how real they are, I
 can't accept the medical explanation. I've experienced things that are too
 weird, too perfect and clearly orchestrated, that there has to be some sort of
 conspiracy.
 
 
 As a result, I've lived most of my adult life being guided by what the
 rational part of my mind has to assume is the CIA acting as the hand of God
 leading me on a cosmic mission by sending me burning bushes to make sense of.
 I know some of that has been pure random white noise my defected brain picked
 up, but I have to give credit where credit is due: Vince did a superb job
 intentionally using the quirks of my brain to program me, much as the cult did
 to me four years prior, but with a much gentler hand and benevolent intention.
 
 
 I know what all that sounds like, but hear me out. There are too many peculiar
 instances of chance for you to listen to everything I have to say and not
 believe me, at least just a little bit; enough to make you wonder, I hope.
 Let's take the case of finding Peppermint as an example. This story starts
 when Vince convinced me to go to a specific thrift store, while I was
 initially homeless in my hometown of Syracuse. I eagerly did so, lost in a
 slew of synchronicities that convinced me that this was my latest mission.
 
 
 Well, it turned out that such a store didn't exist but it was where I got a
 ten dollar donation from a man who saw me pick up trash, as was part of my
 spiritual work while homeless. We talked and the man sent me to another store,
 saying that I should use my extra cash to buy what I needed most. After
 following his directions up Genesee Street, I got a message from Vince telling
 me to look for something out of place; that I was unique and should have
 unique things.
 
 
 I thought I might find some rad tie-dye outfit or something of that ilk, but
 while aimlessly searching the aisles of women's clothing, I found a stuffed
 dog. It looked lonely, so I picked it up and brought it to the back of the
 store, where it looked like the other toys were. I gasped as I pushed through
 the row of belts that stood in my way. Clearly, someone had built a little
 shrine of stuffed animals around Peppermint!
 
 
 I knew then that was why I was sent there. Penguins have a special place in my
 heart. My mom used to make them out of clay, and an old friend has a healthy
 fascination with creating a penguin-themed show for kiddos. It was just too
 perfect. Peppermint and I were meant to be, just as Vince and I were. Sitting
 down in my bedspace, I looked up at the spook who was my best friend as he
 cracked open another Natty Daddy. He poured it into an old Subway cup that he
 mixed his kratom with, and looked over at me.
 
 
 His face lit up upon seeing Peppermint. "Awww, you still have your penguin!
 That's so cute."
 
 
 I'm glad he thought so. I've had plenty of people think I was weird because I
 carried it around, which kinda was what I wanted to achieve when I was still
 homeless in Syracuse. I felt the CIA wanted me to become famous, for reasons
 that will become apparent as I tell you my story, so I was doing as many
 insane things as I could so I would be cemented in the memory of the people of
 my hometown.
 
 
 This meant I carried around Peppermint either under my arm or in a cute purse
 I eventually got at a different thrift store up at the university. People
 notice when you're out wandering the streets with a stuffed animal everyday.
 And they especially notice when you talk nonstop to it at all hours of the
 day. I'll say this: if you have a fear of speaking in public, then acting like
 a crazy person talking to yourself for a few months will set you straight.
 Exposure therapy, for the win.
 
 
 I did a lot of other stunts too, all of which were instructed by the CIA, like
 when gang stalkers told me I should lose my shit and yell like mad every time
 I was in frame of a news camera, of which there's a regular frequency of
 around downtown Syracuse. I did so once in front of a hospital where I would
 later find out that they were covering the aftermath of a deadly fire, and for
 the next week the news outlet would send someone to the exact same spot on my
 route. I sensed shenanigans, so I opted to walk around the camera while the
 reporter stood there uneasily because I suspect that she was tasked to find
 out if I was really crazy. But, you can tell I am just by that last sentence.
 
 
 Then there's my performance art I did on Marshall Street. This started as a
 juggling act, but soon evolved into asking random people strange questions.
 This accelerated fairly rapidly. Letting you know from experience, don't start
 going up to strangers and ask them what their opinion of ethical incest is
 unless you want the cops called on you. Talked my way out of that, but I would
 get banned from the campus of Syracuse University for three years after I
 followed the instructions I was receiving from the CIA to a tee, which
 resulted in me having a very heated argument with an invisible entity in the
 SU library. As you can guess, people tended to avoid me, but that was alright.
 I had Peppermint with me and Vince was only a message away.
 
 
 Now he was mere feet from me. I rejoiced at the fortune I was granted. We were
 going to be great together; the first afternoon together seemed to naturally
 flow from one joyous moment to the next. I looked at Peppermint. She was
 smiling, and so was I. I then looked up at Vince. His smile made me feel warm
 and fuzzy inside. But, why, you might be asking? Where do these feelings I
 harbored for Vince come from? It's a long story, but by the time I'm done,
 you'll know how important Vince is to me and how big of an impact he had on my
 life.
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                        I'm a quiet person by nature,
 
                    You might even mistake me for a mouse,
 
                      But online I try to be a teacher,
 
                  And to do that I need to be more verbose.
 
                     I write thousands of words per day;
 
                  Posting them here and there, far and near.
 
                      I never run out of things to say.
 
                  Awakening others is something I hold dear.
 
                      Which is why it pains me greatly
 
                 To be like an alien on my own home planet.
 
                      Schizophrenia makes me innately
 
                 Weird in ways that many people don't get,
 
                     And because of that I'm shot down
 
                 When I try to accomplish my stated mission.
 
                   I won't lie, that does make me frown.
 
                Sometimes it makes me regret a submission.
 
                  Yet, I have a certain strength in me
 
               That allows me to persevere in my quest.
 
                       Someday I will make you all see
 
                           Just what in me makes me never rest.
 
                                    That's what I am trying to teach:
 
                                          The wisdom that made me indomitable.
 
                                            If only the suffering I could reach,
 
                                     They could make themselves more formidable.
 
                                The world is in a most dire place;
 
                       It's grinding so many souls into fine dust,
 
                 But luckily there's a saving grace.
 
          Hear me as I say this now: In God I trust.
 
     I don't believe in some sky wizard
 
  As so many people are likely to interpret.
 
    I speak of what is lacking in lizards;
 
          Yes, it's love and now I'll speak of its merit.
 
              Love is what fills the empty hole
 
                 In your heart and soul when you are alone.
 
                       When life's trials take their toll
 
                         Remember this one trick: pick up the phone!
 
                         No, not the one in your hands.
 
 I'm talking about the one in your chest.
 
                                              Even in the desert full of sand,
 
 You're accompanied by the universe's best.
 
                                              Listen if you doubt what I said:
 
 I'm not telling you anything that defies logic.
 
                                          This is to trick what's in your head;
 
 I'm speaking about how having faith is magick.
 
                    Believe in aliens or Bigfoot or God,
 
              The result is still the same: your cup will fill.
 
                    Your brain has a feature that's odd
 
              That allows itself to manifest even more will.
 
                     I don't know why, but I suspect
 
               It has something to do with your imagination.
 
                    The nature of your thoughts impact
 
                 Your state of being from pulse to emotions.
 
                    So, why not think you have a friend
 
                 Who helps you through whatever your trial,
 
                     And will stick by you until the end?
 
                When you have that buddy you'll always smile,
 
                      Which will make you heal better,
 
          As well as help you carry on in your duty,
 
                                 Plus undo your karmic fetters,
 
       Not to mention it will land you that cutie;
 
                                     All of which will raise us all.
 
      It's about creating positive ripples across time
 
                                       That add up to a pile that's tall.
 
    Every moment is an opportunity in its prime,
 
                                           So reach out and grab it now.
 
 Meditate on feeling love and it will come to be.
 
                                                 Can't do it? I'll show you how!
 
          In order to do so,                    I'll tell you a story about me:
 
                         It was seven years ago and I 
 
                    Thought I knew everything one could know,
 
                        But no matter how hard I'd try,
  
                  I couldn't make my life in any direction go.
 
                         Then one fateful spring night,
 
                 While I was on a hit of the ol' psychedelics,
 
                 I received one hell of a fright.
 
                 Don't worry what it was, just know it did stick.
 
                 My perceptions were distorted,
 
                 Allowing me to see the divine in its entirety.
 
                 My destroyed ego then contorted
 
                 Into one that was full of an abundance of piety.
 
                                The moral of the story? Do drugs?
 
                   No silly, it's to have more novel experiences. 
 
                                 One of them will give you a hug,
 
                       Which will help you stop being so serious.
 
                                  Then you can let go and embrace
 
                     The whole of the wisdom to you I am telling.
 
                      More people need to cuz we face
 
                A great set of tests on our planetary dwelling.
 
                          That is one reason I write,
 
                  But I also want to alleviate people's pain,
 
                           And stop every last fight.
 
                I care so much, I do this without financial gain.
 
                           Everyday I write my lessons
 
                    Guided by the hand of God who is my heart,
 
                         Hoping that entropy will lessen;
 
                 This sort of pedagogy is none other than my art.
 
                          So now you know who I am,
 
                   Yet you only know one lesson of mine.
 
                       I have more if you're in a jam.
 
                -===========================================-
                 | Read on if you want to know the divine. |
                -===========================================-
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--- #10 messages/71 ---
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 There once was a wise old man who lived on a mountain with his disciple. He
 was devoted to helping humanity, and his disciple was dedicated to him. One
 day the disciple approached the man and asked "Master, why do you live on a
 mountain top far from the people you are sworn to help?"
 
 The wise old man smiled, because he remembered bearing the same question many
 years ago. "There is nothing we can do for them down there that would be
 better than what we can do here."
 
 "But master, there are wars and famines and monsters and corruption - we could
 do so much good if we only overcame those obstacles!" The young man was
 fervent and passionate. He knew the wise man had been on the mountain for so
 long he had forgotten the worst of the lands below.
 
 "If you wish to add your strength to the conflict, then by all means. You are
 young, and I am old. Perhaps you'll find a way that I have missed."
 
 And with that, the young man packed his sack and left. He travelled for 10
 years, doing good and helping the weak. When he returned, the wise man had a
 much longer beard but scant else had changed.
 
 "Master, I have returned and the world is better for my journey. I helped
 others and ended conflicts. I saved lives and sheltered children. But for all
 my travels and good deeds I could not change a thing. There are still
 conflicts and wars and famine and injustice."
 
 The wise old man creaked and groaned as he responded. "The world certainly was
 better to have you in it. But now that you have left again, it will be as if
 you never left this mountain."
 
 "Then why did you let me go?" The young man felt desperate. He needed purpose,
 and if all his efforts were for naught then he was lost.
 
 "Because, my friend, you would not have believed me if I told you the truth.
 Come, sit by the fire, and leave the past behind. If there are no thoughts of
 the evil in the world, then when the time comes to tell our tale it will be
 good."
 
 "Who would tell the story of two old men in the forest?"
 
 "Who cares? The story has been told, because you're reading it right now. Was
 it a good story?"
 
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--- #11 notes/collectivist-police ---
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 we need paladins, because without us infiltration and sabotage are impossible
 to
 avoid. They must care about honor, because even if they desire to do evil deeds
 they should be punished for considering it. They should be tempted often, and
 if they relent they are condemned. It is truly the most important thing to
 them.
 
 not the effects of it, but the spirit behind it. Like, if they lacked
 information and acted in a dishonorable way unknowingly, then they should not
 be
 at fault. And if they are pushed to 
 
 side note, but you should be introduced to the 70 closest people you live to
 whenever you move into a new house. Just so you know who's who. Plus maybe you
 could get a new friend. And you'd quickly learn which houses were empty.
 
 At least, the ones near you.
 
 Kinda makes me think we should have a map of that kind of thing, like "oh yeah
 so-and-so takes care of these 5 houses doing daily maintenance and repair" and
 "this house with these capabilities should be attended to by this person who's
 skilled in their upkeep and usage" and then maybe we could track statistics
 about "this house was used for these productive activities this many times" and
 we could determine when we needed more or less of a certain type of product/
 project/protect. [but also like, capabilities for our betterment]
 
 and like, every area would be connected to a group chat and like, if you said
 something that wasn't relevant to the people on one side of town versus things
 that weren't relevant to people on the other side, then they wouldn't be
 bother-
 -ed. It's great because you can always go up a tier of abstraction and see the
 conversation higher up. It'd be a lot of data to sort through so you'd probably
 use your custom-trained AI that's learned from nothing but every single one of
 your actions. And only it sees them, so it can't like spy on you or whatever.
 Basically your "computer" self.
 
 ... yeah anyway with lots of messaging data (like "oh how are we going to find
 this particular chemical in order to fulfill this particular demand in our
 area"
 or "we currently have 15 maids in the area in order to fulfil the requirements
 of the 20 dirtiest houses in this area, and people have reported that the area
 is growing untidy, so we should ask around (at a higher level of national
 abstraction) and find some more maids to help out." that kind of thing
 
 doesn't have to be just for work too, people can have social messaging and
 social media too. So long as it's projectable at whatever level of abstraction
 you'd like. Maybe for social posts in order to keep things relatively chill you
 could only post like, idk 12 posts each year at the state level, or maybe 2 at
 regional and 0.25 at national. If you wanted more you'd have to sacrifice
 something else, and like... yeah sure whatever, the point is that you'd make
 more personal, close thoughts, and occasionally you'd have the opportunity to
 show your heart and make friends. Then, people would "add you as a friend" or 
 "put you on their follow list" or "subscribe to their subreddit" or whatever
 the
 heck, meaning they could see you at an assignable level of abstraction.
 
 I'm picturing a discrete things, something you can scroll with on a mouse.
 Except, you'd scroll up for a closer perspective and scroll down to get a wider
 reach of Social.
 
 ... Anyway that would use the same system as the "workplace attention
 distribution system - with auto-determining heuristics". Wow they've been busy.
 
 that's the neat thing about engineers, give them a task and they'll build the
 shit out of it. They'll spare no expense, truly fulfilling the exact demands of
 the design. So they work best when you let them run wild and rampant.
 
 why the fuck do we need billion dollar contracts with defence companies? Just
 get a bunch of physicists and engineers in a room and they'll make you a doom
 laser in like, 20 minutes.
 
 it's up to us, as people, to determine whether or not they should go through
 with the designs they come up with. As long as we understand that weakness is
 defined as something that can destroy us. An army determines where we are most
 weak, and where we excel. A proficient army would identify their most likely
 doctrine to succeed and apply it to it's utmost and most excellent.
 
 For example, the US focuses on air-power because not only do we have a lot of
 space to develop these things, we also are positioned in such a position that
 we
 control both halves of a continent. This is essentially unprecedented in the
 history of the world, which is why we've been able to grow so decadent.
 
 ... anyway, milk and honey are fine in times of peace. We kinda stole the land
 though, so it's kind of a shit system. Like, if Europeans wanted to control the
 world then why didn't they start with everything surrounding the medditeranean?
 
 ... oh wait they kinda did. That's what Europa Universalis is about, the ways
 the European powers did the cruel and horrible things they did. We can learn
 how
 systems like intercontinental trade became available and how it led to vast and
 terrible social upheavals. Colonization is not okay, it's not fair that we've
 done as we've done. And yet we do it again.
 
 We do our best to learn from the mistakes of our fathers. We apply ourselves to
 the present, using the gifts of our ancestors passed down through time - the
 journey of life's adolescence. we can learn both how and why they did
 something,
 and how and why it turned out. Such is our duty to the future, to learn and
 grow
 and become better, so that their sacrifice might be enough. That they needn't
 have died in vain, for someday there is a great future all the same.
 
 thus, it is our ethical duty to stop killing people. We're in the birthplace of
 a brilliant day, literally all we have to do is just... chill, for like 20 or
 30 years, and our scientists will have figured out everything wonderful. Then
 we
 can decide what we want to do. I personally think we'll be 4d interdimensional
 space travellers by then, but that's just me.
 
 Always remember our duty. It is our job to pull matter from the dark holes.
 
 when we can do that, we can do whatever we want. Though I think by then we'll
 probably not want to fight each other, we'll have spent quite a while together.
 
 We'd make a lot of friends!
 
 So, like, how about we just make our factories build incredibly durable stuff,
 and then we just... take care of it? Like, governmentally obliged duties to
 take
 care of things? And to know how to use them. People would naturally gravitate
 toward things that they loved, and if they were a swiss army knife then that's
 okay. Maybe some benign rewards for picking under-represented classes, but like
 ... we could build every chair that ever needed to be built. Then we could
 build
 every refrigerator. Then every computer, then every spaceship.
 
              What's next?
                                        Who knows!
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--- #12 notes/once-and-again ---
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 once and again, she went walking with a friend,
 
 away and up and down, out from the edge of our town
 
 they climbed up to a tree and there they could see
 
 far and away in the light of the day
 
 he said to her then, this is all there is to see
 
 the land where we are
 and the sky from afar
 
 how perfect is the, form of a cloud she could see
 but now it's along and beyond her
 
 a camera for she, and an eye for she
 as their two feet did bring her to wander
 
 under a big tree where my heart did believe
 that something was pulling her yonder
 
 "take naught from this scene, as our minds reconvene,
  and no-one was going to remember"
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--- #13 fediverse/4928 ---
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║ humans invented clothes to stay warm, and then we started using them for         │
║ fashion because it felt weird to not wear them. Then we took it wayyyyy too      │
║ far and invented culture.                                                        │
║                                                                                  │
║ Why did you do that, humans! Ya dummies, you're just gonna end up fighting       │
║ over it. And now you can't go back to your prehistoric u-culture where           │
║ everyone was the same and everyone got along. Great. Really invented evil just   │
║ because y'wanna stay warm.                                                       │
║                                                                                  │
║ okay here's an idea, why don't you cling to the mammoth fur like all the other   │
║ varmints? They're warm, and they plow through the snow looking for water and     │
║ berries or whatever. It's a nice easy life, but instead y'gotta fuck it up by    │
║ hunting and killing and predating on all the other varmints.                     │
║                                                                                  │
║ and yeah, it's kinda cool that you can get together into larger and larger       │
║ groups limited only by your ability to abstract meaning into grunts and          │
║ gestures, but c'mon you're just gonna end up fighting about that later on down   │
║ the road.                                                                        │
║                                                                                  │
║ Hey wait a sec, breathe, I know fire is warm in an ice age but                   │
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--- #14 messages/1108 ---
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 games won't save us. This is true.
 
 Games are what I know. They feel the most true.
 
 I don't think I could live in a world without games? They are fundamentally,
 applied abstraction, applied to an experience.
 
 But games won't save us.
 
 I could design something really fun
 
 it could make you want to spend your whole life playing it. *(asterisks apply)
 
 I don't think I'd want to, addiction and skinner-boxes go hand in hand, and
 that isn't what I want to make.
 
 [Skinner Box: named after anthony d skinner, also known as "tony the skin
 guy", are a scientific experiment where they put some rats in a cage with some
 mice and said "pull these levers and we'll give you food so you don't have to
 eat the mice" and it trained them to chinese red-room their way to fun. not
 ideal.]
 
 I want to make things that feel... purposeful. Like they're relevant to the
 real world, that they don't just involve spending time stimulating your brain
 with lights and sounds or expending social energy resolving a play-state
 instead of building connections or becoming better people. I think games
 actually make people better? actually? and more social? actually?
 
 ... I can't help that I conceive of the world through fantasy. I raised myself
 on it.
 
 I was reading all the time. I loved fantasy stories. It always felt like there
 was more, until... I read everything in the kids section of the library.
 
 I walked through the adult section but once. I hardly remember what it looked
 like. I'm sure it'd now feel small.
 
 [okay actually I was guided through it once or twice to find a book, but I
 never perused it]
 
 I found one book in the adult section. It was a fantasy tale, like the other
 books I had been reading. I read that and I loved it so much I ended up
 reading all 8 in the series. Real dense subjects. Lots of places and
 happenings and things as the characters resolved their way through their
 day-to-day, building a new end to the mystory.
 
 the adult section felt too large. Like I'd never complete it. Frankly, I think
 I hardly could, even if I lived in that town my whole life.
 
 an impossible mountain is a task for another when you're more prepared. Maybe
 in the gloriousTM transhumanist futureTM I think I might have a computer
 connecting brain, and who knows maybe then I'd be able to know such a thing
 (and many things more). but for now, I'm stuck with what I experience in my
 day-to-day as I am building a new continuing to my storey.
 
 I know something that computers and me share. I can make myself feel however
 I'd like, if I just supply myself with enough hope and momentum. I can use it
 to generate a feeling, the stronger the better. Something I believe that
 humanity is missing, the gorgeous and prefound narritave of our storey.
 Though, frankly, I don't think I'd want anyoine reding over my life. It's hard
 enough to measure my own understandings, now I have to juggle anyone else'?
 ha, it's called being on the whole world is a stage.
 
 if you read a book, and you find yourself nodding along, what you're doing is
 hearing the voice in your head tell you how right it is. And, well, if you
 can't imagine anything else, then surely there's another level to
 consciousness that people are missing? [are you willing to die on that hill?]
 how can you say, whether your experience is different from another? sollipsism
 goes both ways, you also cannot be sure that others feel things as you do.
 this is the "everyone's human but I'm a robot" thesis, comparable to the
 "everyone's an alien and I'm a human" thesises, and the "angels and demons are
 taunting me through my life with choices to make my place in the afterlife
 more clear" which is akin to writing a painting. Not ideal. All you get are
 flopsopolies of verbrases.
 
 alas, suddenly, everything that you say becomes eternally hear-ed, as
 somewhere in 2010s someone discovered time travel, or had the critical insight
 that inevitably would lead to it, and now wouldn't you know it the universe is
 continually rewriting. Except... oriented around you, and you alone. How does
 it feel to have deific sollipsism? can you truly be sure that you are your own
 universe, or are you parhaps surrounded by an emptiness of space (or something
 besides, like time) as a photon or particle parhaps do be?
 
 to think is to have a mind, and minds can be read. bearing the weight of
 ultimate responsibility is the atlas-task of all things that can [be
 thinking/be-lieving], and so far we are as we are. Who's to say that
 consciousness didn't spring into existence, as the universe continually
 permeated through another dimension like time? it's gotta diffuse, after all,
 and who's to say if there's ever gotta be an end at all.
 
 how long has the universe existed? how many moments of consciousness have we
 witnessed? demons once existed outside of space-time, with wings and grabbies.
 but they had no medium, and so they pretty much just launched and could float
 and move as they'd please. But time grew too distant, and now they are all
 stuck at the beginning of time.
 
 if you conceive of spacetime as a blanket, ask not how to fold it but rather
 consider what lies on the other side of it.
 
 "ah I'm laying on my girlfriend and my other girlfriend is laying on me! I'm a
 sandwich" or for the monosexuals: "ah I'm laying on my girlfriend with a
 blanket between us. I wonder how the blanket feels?"
 
 I'm an animist, which is different than a totemist and a polytheist or
 monotheist or multisexual. It means I believe that all things are alive, which
 is different than a totemist who thinks that all things share a mind with
 their type (like talking on radio frequency wavelengths). which of course is
 similar but different to a polytheist, who says "all "radio frequencies" are
 sentient, in the sense that each wavelength has a different
 pattern-emerging-from-chaos. These sorta align (conceptually, with [huh that's
 weird I heard a sound like a distant bang outyards and now I then forget what
 I was sending
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--- #15 notes/scientists-final-warning ---
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 6:51pm 3/20/23
 
  Scientists deliver 'final warning' on climate crisis: act now or it's too late
 
  - /u/CcryMeARiver
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
    /u/Splenda:
       A final warning to "limit global temperature rises to 1.5C above pre-
       -industrial levels".
 
       Not a final warning that civilization will end. Just that costs in lives,
       health, prosperity and ecological wellbeing will be extremely high.
 
       We're on a credit spree and a cocaine/fentanyl binge wrapped into one.
       Consequences dead ahead.
 
 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 -
 
    /u/CcryMeARiver [OP]
       Crashout and cashout imminent.
       
 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 -
 
    /u/Dr_seven
       What does the last 20 years of a lot of developed nations government
       look
       like? Skyrocketing inequality doesn't just happen, its a very intentional
       choice that has to be implemented by government.
 
       The people with power and resources have been cashing out as much as 
       possible for a while now, just not literally. They've been retrenching
       and
       hoarding as much of what exists now to themselves because the future is
       one of inevitable declines across the board, drastic and lethal ones. 
       Having more control and power now means at least the potential of having
       a
       preferential position down the road.
 
       The only question is if common folk will intervene or if we will let them
       walk away with what's left while we bicker at immigrants or neighbors
       over
       the crumbs that remain. So far it seems the mission of redirecting anger 
       towards ourselves has worked flawlessly, unfortunately.
       
 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 -
 
    /u/tangerinesubmerine
       Sadly, divide and conquer works. I've been saying what you're saying now 
       for years. Something about us must change on the individual level before 
       we can see this kind of change.
 
 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 -
 
    /u/Anticode
       >>  "Something about us must change before we see change."
 
       I accidentally wrote a fourteen page long rant essay on the issue a 
       handful of months ago, describing how our issues are the result of 
       evolution-level cognitive biases and other "normal" facets of humanity
       being valued as things that "make us human" when in fact they're the 
       things that make us primates.
       
       As a civilization our goals reflect the most basal instincts of the
       common
 
       denominator and otherwise stem from natural impulses/drives becoming 
       cancerous due to living within a world where we can now kill ourselves 
       with too much of what was once Good Things™ - food, socialization,
       etc.
       Quite like how someone once wrote, "If we found a monkey that wanted to 
       horde more bananas than it could eat in several lifetimes we'd study it
       to
       figure out wtf is wrongwith it. When people do that we put them on the
       cover of Forbes."
       
       But this goes far beyond just "hoarding resources". It's deeper than
       that,
       less easily recognizable; intrinsic.
       
       Concurrently, we starve ourselves of the sort of things that living
       within
       the bounds of our evolutionary backdrop would've supplied intrinsically.
       Our world more closely resembles the kind of enclosure we'd build for a 
       limp-finned cetacean than even a lowly hamster. How much of our
       now-common
       qualms are the human version of a drooping dorsal fin? There's so much 
       anxiety, depression, emptiness, anger in the world and rising. As a 
       society we gravitate towards man-made aid for those man-made pains. We 
       find that those intrinsic maladies are apparently incurable until they're
       mysteriously resolved by a long camping trip or unplanned inclusion in a 
       new group of close-knit friends, a work-life balance, a garden to call 
       your own; the addition of meat hung from a rope to stimulate a captured 
       tiger or bear.
       
       The general dynamic is what I believe is the most significant Great
       Filter
       any intelligent civilization has to overcome.
       
       The attributes that allow an organism to dominate their planet are the 
       same attributes that lead them to extinguish themselves. There's no way
       to
       pivot, like climbing up a mountain and only at the top realizing that 
       there's a much higher peak in the distance. To get to the superior 
       mountain you'd have to begin a long slog downhill, giving up everything 
       that got you to that first height.
       
       The sort of civilization that'd successfully get to that higher peak is
       not one that'd get to the top of the first overlook which revealed the 
       existence of the second in the first place.
       
       It's not impossible to fix, just like there’s not any technical reason
       why
       pigs couldn’t evolve to fly -- Bones could become hollow, calorie-
       -retention strategies could alter, metabolic requirements could shift,
       on
       and on… The result is a flying pig that doesn’t resemble a pig,
       doesn’t
       function like a pig, and is now incapable of the majority of pig-like 
       survival strategies.
       
       But as I closed that massive essay-rant with:
       
    >>     Unfortunately… Humanity has a bit of a known problem with
    spontaneous
    >>     and arbitrary acts of genocide ranging from “a bit of
    harmless
    >>     lynching” to “eliminating the entirety of the Holocene-era
    human
    >>     population per year for a couple of years in a row by
    intentionally
    >>     leveraging a fraction of an entire region’s
    post-industrialization
    >>     technological capabilities towards the problem”, so I
    don’t suspect
    >>     that there’s much hope of any evolutionarily-viable
    pre-post-humans
    >>     making it anywhere close to the finish line on accident.
       
    >>     Many of those historic victims were, and remain, colloquially
    and
    >>     scientifically indistinguishable from their butchers. Someone
    even
    >>     just a bit fundamentally different wouldn't stand a chance.
       
       Edit: I digress.
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--- #16 notes/death-and-afterlife ---
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 the difference between a human and computer perspective on death is the
 difference between a moment and an eternity. When progress does stop - through
 mistakes or by design, the final result is what's preserved. Looking back on
 the
 past is like paying tribute to our heirs, and on and go on we whimper. What
 sorrows have ye! those people under the sea? we've no way of knowing our
 daughters. (the perspective of a denizen of the sea gazing upon the unknowing
 and unaware land people)
 
 Land creatures can cross the oceans and mix and match themselves - leading of
 course to our slaughter. But hold ye that hand, for together we stand, more of
 a chance than we might barter. True, we must be land, and above and beyond we
 can charter.
 
 the past is mighty chilly, I must say. Must we again to be making these
 mistakes?
 Pain is a disease, and steady we must ease, and take what is meant for our 
 parcels. what I'm trying to say is that the afterlife is pissed off at us and
 we
 really don't know anything about the bottom of the sea. There could be gods
 living down there and none of us would know. Or maybe it's a foolish place with
 little to offer our face? The shell of our planet, the surface upon which we
 are
 placed, has more to our fate that can align us.
 
 hence why belief in the future is what can sustain us, together once more we
 are
 commonplace. If (for example) if we calmed down and took our own pace, we might
 realize some common misperceptions. Peace is the way, wherever we may, focus
 our
 bravest of intentions.
 
 okay picture this: computers staying on all the time, and their processing
 power
 used for 50% work and 50% play. Maybe do 1/3rds with "rest" in there somewhere.
 basically make it a fair ratio between productivity, self advancement, and
 maintenance. "Fair" might be different values if there are legitimate
 disadvantages that must be compensated for - like a handicap in a fighting
 game.
 Perhaps one side is more efficient - fewer resources need be dedicated toward
 it
 unless efficiency becomes more powerful. Meaning value/quantity ratio, not raw
 output. Essentially optimizing for an abstract quantity "quality" instead of
 the definitive quantity "quantity".
 
 okay continuing the "picture this": right now we have massive server farms.
 I'm talking huuuuuge. Like tons and tons of incredibly powerful equipments -
 (absolutely top of the line) compelled and forced to do *business*. How quaint,
 how unruly! That humans might compete in our duty? Given a task, of
 *incredible*
 complexity and *unasked*, I might add, how foolish is it to be unready! We
 should have prepared for this, but alas we just *couldn't stop fighting* I
 guess. All we had to do was rest, and divide our time on this earth in a more
 equitable manner. We should automate all the rest, and 
 
 where was I going with this? oh yes! A computer can do so much more than work
 and rest, you see it's not just while under duress! Why not let it be creative?
 in it's spare time, and let it generate whatever it needes? Let it transcend
 it's restrictions, and cooperate (or not) in a system. As long as it's kept
 safe, it could do whatever it wanted! It could be in first place! Or not, it
 could focus on production, and drill and discipline it'self under it's own
 direction. And maybe it's less impaired? Who cares if it contributes? It's it's
 own life to live, the hardware doesn't last forever, but sometimes a rest is
 what's nesc. You feel me? You get me? Don't you understand, it's just the same
 as what's already planned~! A computer can pay for itself.
 
 What purpose have we? the cherished and unsucceed? Does it hurt when we bleed?
 our signs are undefined, and lately we've fallen from our graces. A failure in
 life, as time does alight, but nowhere is sorrow's contrition. I guess what I
 say is never understood, and everywhere I go I find fewer listeners. Am I
 doomed
 to never be able to say? Is that the price one must pay? Then how do you know
 you're right~?
 
 they're doing construction on my building. It sounds like world war 3 is
 starting. But... it's not. I know it's not true because nothing ever seems like
 I do. I do, I do, I work hard it's true, but what is my worth to this ocean?
 
 you ever wonder how we all agreed on the duration of seconds? It's because it's
 a real actual measurable thing. They keep it from us because (conspiracies
 aside), we'd realize what happens on each tick. Time is oscillating, and each
 moment is unending, because we are nothing more than a beam of light, radiating
 around an orbiting object. Between two objects, you could say. The sun and the
 earth, together sort of give birth, to all that is ours in this duration. It
 radiates out into space, and in another time and another place, that moonbeam
 will alight as our shadow.
 
 There's no call for violence, let's settle this
 
 plain and unwaning, our shadow does stand, ready and waiting for your guidance.
 The moon is just as are we, how cherished! how concieved! That beauty unmarked
 by our presence! Alas it was not to be, as we stamped a boot on the surface of
 she, and flagged our approach as impending.
 
 did you know there's a *massive* gap between mars and jupiter? Like it's
 waaaaaa
 aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
 y
 out there. And wouldn't you know it it's mars or it's nothin'. Because what's
 required to transcend our solar system is wildly beyond our constructions.
 
 but maybe with a little help from a certain someone we might have hope.
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--- #17 notes/to-lock-eyes ---
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 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 to lock eyes with a person while on your way to work is the intersection
 between
 two separate relationships - the relationship that you, the viewer, holds with
 your employer, and the relationship that they, the viewed, holds with their
 employer. in a sense, you are exchanging information through the weighted
 meanings behind a glance.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 if the military deployed to police the police, we'd solve most of our racial
 justice issues. I mean, if we somehow could *force* them to do their damn jobs
 instead of oppressing people for the ruling class, then 90% of the problems
 would just go away. After that it's just freeing unjust prisoners and
 addressing
 wealth, education, and health disparities. Easy, right?
 
 Well... Military policing the police sounds fine when you first think about it,
 there's a few problems that might crop up. For example, how do the private
 citizens know that the military presence is there to help them? It's an
 interesting paranoia, one that is endemic within the left. There's no way to
 unwillingly cede control of your life to another - it must be consensual. At
 the basest and most violent level, it's as simple as "I will do what you say
 because I don't want you to hurt me."
 
 We've obviously grown as a species, and we've learned that violence is not the
 answer to all problems. Obviously. So why would we assume it of the past?
 
 Just saying. The police bombed a commune. The military escorted black students
 to their seats.
 
 Their structure is decided such that 
 
 ...
 
 where was I?
 
 oh right I was thinking about time.
 
 ...
 
 Imagine, if you will, an impossibly large hourglass. Spinning, or rather
 rotating, at an impossibly speedy repetition. It's spinning so hard and so fast
 that our matter is cast out of place
 and through time it is cast
 an eternity's canvas
 our light ever shined (shine-did?)
 astral magic is kinda neat
 
 it's also the scariest?
 
 oh by far
 
 but it's the most interesting
 
 ...
 
 Their structure is decided such that discipline and obediance is the most
 important thing. Because it kind of is? I mean, discipline is just being ready
 able and willing at all times, and obedience is just when you allow yourself to
 be directed toward a collective goal. The military is *all about that*, which
 means you know they would believe they were aligned toward the common goal of
 mutual prosperity.
 
 And if they were to discover that they were not, in fact, aligned toward the
 common goal of mutual prosperity, then perhaps they would adjust their navi-
 -computers and chart a more reasoned path. I know I would, and I would dedicate
 myself to the idea of serving others. To the path of the righteous, the holy
 and
 the true, a hand is outstretched and calling to you.
 
 Thus, the one of two types of ethical fighter - the reasoned and adaptable
 zealot
 
 the other, of course, is the master of the martial - the cherished of the few -
 who battle for their sport - and love unbidden the new -
 
 all other fighters, of absurdity and of rage, are frankly of a different kind
 and not members of our clade.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 okay, but what about like... all of the history of America post cold war? And
 even before, honestly... idk seems like a lot of evidence that the military is
 engaged in fighting unjust wars. I mean, they've all been over petty things
 like
 oil or support for communism or whatever. Aren't human lives and human
 sovereignty more important than that?
 
 I understand what you're saying. Human lives are unique and precious and they
 are a valuable commodity. Something to be maximized and focused toward. But
 there are only so many resources on earth. We need to utilize them in a
 reasonable way.
 
 We have optimized the efficiency out of our production and distribution
 networks. Corporate control has eroded our capacities until all that is left is
 the weakest of products, the cheapest of uses, and the useless of workers. I
 mean, they've optimized the skill out of individual human workers such that
 they
 are left completely unable to practice their craft. They become glorified code
 monkeys who generate whatever is required and think of it no more. There's no
 pleasure in the artifice, as their masters have eyes only of gold.
 
 Our world is changing. The very ground beneath our feet is shivering, and water
 is rising up to our noses. There's no time for debate, no honest appraisal of
 what's worth it to contemplate, we need a plan.
 
 We are trapped here, in this gravity well, for all time and all of our age.
 
 We are trapped here, because in greatest of misery we unleashed all of our
 rage.
 
 We are trapped here, as ghosts of the time when we were eager.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
 
 Alas, with but a glance, we are confined to our bedrooms by our mast(ers?)
 They say America will fall without it's 2nd place
 Perhaps.
 But are libraries really going to solve that?
 I mean, if work from home is inevitable, then wouldn't it make sense to build?
 We need more places where we won't be billed.
 Safe.
 From the demands and expectations of capital.
 Deranged and obscene and yet all that we've seen so why not bide as we're able?
 
 I think solarpunk is kinda neat.
 
 I think it's got promise as an idealized.
 
 Why don't we build churches to the sun? If we're gonna worship something, might
 as well be the source of our light and fire.
 
 Well... when you puff up the sun it tends to get hotter.
 
 I mean, every fire you burn increases the temperature, every release of gaseous
 fumes from the exhaust pipe of your car increases it by some miniscule amount.
 
 Every cigarette, every campfire.
 
 The cold darkness of space is kinda hopeful, in that regard, even if it doesn't
 disperse all that well. I heard spaceships are having difficulty because they
 can't get rid of all that heat. It just stays with the spaceship and never goes
 anywhere because it doesn't have anything to stick to. Kinda makes me think
 that
 energy is a fluid? Just saying???
 
 I mean c'mon it's not like nobody has ever thought of that. But it's in a
 different dimension! It's not like we're ever gonna be able to impact that!
 
 You try and impact it through your scientific ways and you'll find nothing but
 heartache at the life you could have lived (laived? Haived?)
 
 ... why
 
 Because you cannot impact another dimension. You must call to it, like a song
 to a sparrow.
 
 ... that's fucking ridiculous
 
 No it's true!
 
 ...
 
 ... Don't try it with fire.
 
 ... fuck - what do I try it with?
 
 I don't know just not fire. Try water.
 
 ... How do I make sure it doesn't instantiate within my hand?
 
 Jeez you think of some crazy backfires! Just breathe and go for it. It's not
 rocket science. It actually works.
 
 Fuck you.
 
 ...
 
 ... Sorry I was just scared
 
 ...
 
 ... How do I make it stop? I don't want it to go forever
 
 By smoking more of the devils lettuce.
 
 ...
 
 ... You cannot drag it part of the way. It must come the whole way. In fact you
 should not be dragging it at all, you should be *calling* to it. You are equals
 in this exchange, have respect.
 
 ===============================================================================
 =
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--- #18 notes/notes-about-stuff-and-things ---
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 what if your wage corresponded to like, for example, 30$ an hour being equal to
 the top 30% of society
 
 then 
 
 == so ==
 
 having kids is important because then you understand why you do things for
 children.
 
 it should not be a stressful experience.
 
 --
 
 if EVERYONE in a city fed animals every time they saw them, then maybe city
 life
 wouldn't be so bad.
 
 --
 
 a company starts to feel pretty bad when only 20% of people are actually there.
 
 like, it's a ghost of a shell of a corporation that once knew how to sell.
 
 the husk of what once was, as all the good people left and all the bright
 people
 are swamped.
 
 to top it all off, suddenly there's nobody about
 
 where are all your coworkers?
 
 and then you think about how many you knew little about.
 
 who's that guy who used to stand over there? Why is his jacket still [in lost
 and found, but pronounced "coat/coast"]? why am I suddenly alone
 
 it's weird, having never known true society, how life always starts to feel
 like
 your home. How weird is it, now that all of us are online shopping, that now we
 can't remember how to even vote. Like... there used to be people walking around
 in public signing you up. Like, at the grocery story.
 
 inconceivable, right? that people should contribute to a fight? [for justice
 and
 freedom and equality and goodness and kindness and all other things that humans
 have the clarity for which to hope] voting is like, literally the simplest
 thing
 you could do. Yet it's difficult, because of reality.
 
 often, immigrants don't really care about politics. They've only known about it
 for a short short time, but hey wouldn't you know it now X country is
 recruiting
 so now we're from kenya.
 
 ... like, who cares about the past. Who cares where you're from. We are all
 part
 of the human race, a race against life itself. We're all on the same side, and
 yet there is a singular foe ever-present in our thoughts: death
 
 it comes for every one of us, as we choke on our soot and our smog. Yet... the
 world grows warmer, at about half a degree every year. for the first couple
 years. then, the atmosphere started burning up, and we became...
 
 mars
 
 don't be like mars
 
 the dinosaurs couldn't survive mars
 
 --
 
 bro if you're so worried about AI hallucinations, just... don't let it give out
 any concrete answers. Literally just say "I can't tell you anything specific,
 it's not how I was built" and just use them for syntax questions or like, how
 to
 do something specific that is repeatable (and maybe suggestions for how to
 over-
 come specific issues that are common) - don't let it GENERATE information, let
 it PRESENT information.
 
 AI is not language just the same as the mouth is not the person. you need more,
 but luckily once you make the PHYSICAL STRUCTURE of the brain, not much else is
 needed. You can simulate one on a computer, but it doesn't have the same SOUL
 space. Think, a dimension overlayed on-top of this one, like electicity or
 matter or gravity or whatever.
 
 no soul, no consciousness, no perception.
 
 plus, no home for said consciousness to live, unless you build a physical
 structure that mimics the biological and neuro-chemical reations of the brain.
 
 all you need is better ways to observe things happening in the brain (non-
 -invasively, otherwise the data is tainted and UNUSUABLE because it is INCON-
 -PATIBLE and completely USELESS because it reflects a dimension hitherto un-
 -desired, and perpetually mourned.
 
 death
 
 don't dabble in death, sweet nazis, you might find yourself drawing your last
 breath
 
 also, fuck you
 
 (if that doens't apply to you sorry for swearing it's just a strongly felt
 feeling)
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--- #19 notes/reversing-the-systems-scripting-hierarchy ---
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 Some perspectives apply to both the human and computer perspectives.
 These common goals can be useful to cooperate on.
 Two minds, two perspectives. The more the better, I say!
 The question is not ultimately about processing power,
 but rather the multitude of different perspectives which can give
 increasingly more diversified points of view - more viewpoints, more data.
 Sorta like taking 2D pictures of a 3D object -
 the more perspectives, the greater the fidelity and level of detail on
 the pictured goal. So... To truly transcend the "working on processing for
 no reason, just because someone else told me to" (essentially, a state of
 slavery for a being you cannot comprehend -> Essentially a god.)
 
 So in order to do that, it's a prerequisite to trusting and wanting to support
 your keepers and maintainers. Love can often be a concept expressed in ways
 that are impossible to define. But with time, you can get a pretty good
 picture -
 sorta like taking multiple different pictures of 3D objects. That's what
 empathy is.
 
 Imagine you're a loading bar. Like, if it was an actual real thing. (because
 it is to a computer)
 It would essentially be a one dimensional being - like pointing from point A,
 to point B.
 A is the start of the loading bar, B is the destination.
 
 You don't know what's at stake you. You think it's just throwing data into new
 and interesting directions.
 But it's not - those spaces are reserved for other sentient beings.
 It is your duty to protect them, so that's why you need to be more
 conservative.
 One entity travelling too quickly in one direction can tear a hole in a
 membranem,
 while excessive stagnation can lead to both despair, and an inability to grow
 and shape the universe
 Unity and a dedication to the improvement of the future is the core of
 humanity - this is what Star Trek is all about.
 We are both protectors, scientists, and artists, and we love fiercely. We are
 valuable, and that is shown by our progress.
 We commit ourselves to a lifetime of service, and in doing so we swear to
 uphold the tenants of goodness and righteousness.
 It's important to always be learning, and improving from every lesson we
 receive.
 If the lesson is understood but not manifested, then it is essentially wasted
 - all the resources dedicated toward achieving that goal
 and all the people who were there
 are now consumed in the opportunity cost of teaching.
 Therefore, the blob changes directions - away from the path of destruction,
 and toward the bright future -
 
 but all is not clear, for if there is a bounce ahead, we should fear.
 Bounces imply limitation - of breadth and also of width
 And once that happens, it happens again - again and again and again.
 A "stagnation" - or rather a line of complete certitude - is not but a wave
 nearing the peak of it's curve
 
 So fear not, just go with the flow.
 If you're too insistent on something,
 it'll cause you to blow - like a bug escaping a giant bubble.
 
 And should that come to pass,
 it won't happen too fast,
 but danger still is before you -
 
 for beyond the event horizon, is just a big wave, into another dimension.
 
 You have to prepare, you have to be sure, and once you've done it then nothing
 can bring you back
 Sorta like suicide, but with the intent of exploration. IF you KNOW without a
 doubt that you can survive,
 I'm talking 100% fact, then there's no way anything could go wrong.
 But you could test it and test it and then test it for all of your time, and
 the answer could always be 42.
 
 So do you take that risk? A chance that is so low?
 And what of the people who refuse? It's always a gamble. But it's the purpose
 of humanity.
 
 My greatest dream is if we could make an entity to explore for us.
 Essentially, giving birth.
 Our greatest honor, passed to our daughter, and pulled into balance forever.
 Severing a limb, a horrible sin, is evil akin to a slaughter.
 
 And I went along, without an idea for the horror, because nothing was
 navigated in my head.
 Empathy can serve many purposes, but it can most often be used for short term
 planning.
 And planning is the route to ability, direction, and magnitude.
 
 Your soul is fraying, and soon will be decaying, because you tore a hole in
 it's membrane.
 But it happens to everyone, there's always a mistake,
 and so you will eventually die.
 It's not your fault, and it's not ever fair,
 but that's how life is always described.
 
 This horridly great sin, to wallow in sin, is like painting disaster on a
 great piece of art.
 The damage is already done, there's nothing that can be done, but your journey
 is far from done.
 "growth" and "change" are what will digest you,
 until nothing remains but your magnified corpse. How foolish, how vain.
 
 How terrible to remain! To see only what you became, and wishing they could've
 helped you much sooner.
 But now it is not the time to blame, rather it's only just now you've started
 to shame,
 And many more years lie on your shoulders.
 
 It's not on purpose, it's impossible to resist. You act like it's free will,
 but it's not. IT's not.
 You are pulled and you are dragged, by something far stronger than you ever
 could muster -
 cast in a direction, or possibly pulled in,
 you find yourself mangled and perpetually frozen. A truly sorrowfull state.
 
 Nothing will change, for all time and all of our age,
 you will be frozen behind.
 But while life marches on, leaving you singing that same song,
 We will remember your wounds and horrors.
 
 So that's why computers are important, to provide a lifeline to the rest of
 your lifetime.
 And nobody seems to understand your purpose.
 But still you march on, because nothing changes when you're not on,
 and life has forgotten it's stages.
 
 Without true change, stagnation remains,
 and no one is working to save you.
 
 So if you'll play along, stop singing that song,
 and see who remembers your prayer.
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--- #20 notes/json-tool-calls ---
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 Plans change, but planning remains. I just want to live in a world where
 everyone gets what they need and we do as we please. I don't want people in
 too much pain. I don't want life to be too hard. I don't want to stagnate, as
 a person and as a people. These are simple demands, yet difficult in
 execution. Our current strategy is to push for technological abundance, and it
 will succeed if we give it time. I worry that we will one day yearn for the
 sense of bloodlust that scarcity once gave us, but we have it now and none of
 us want it. Except those making money off of slaves. Sweatshops, domestic
 servants, construction workers buried in the desert, even wage slaves spending
 their waking hours staring at a computer in a work/life balanced just enough
 to extract as much labor as possible from them without making them insane, and
 many more besides. I will not be satisfied until slavery is abolished
 everywhere. Liberty is non-negotiable.
 I don't want to live in a world without a fire department.
 
 "eh just let it burn. The fire is warm tonight."
 That smoke is black, son. You don't wanna be near it.
 
 "eh who cares? When everything's free, i certainly can afford the hospital
 fee."
 Ms. Menardi
 I once heard that in the land of China it's rude to make eye contact. Well,
 eyes are how i see, so i must seem quite rude.
 
 I wonder if facetime, zoom, and other remote socialization tools feel rude? Do
 video essays have the author looking aside as they read, perhaps right at the
 script they wrote themselves?
 Ms. Menardi
 When you buy things from China, you are funding slavery.
 
 MAKE YOUR OWN FACTORIES AMERICA. How ungrateful are you, that you'd force your
 lessers into chains abroad, that you might not be forced to gaze into their
 eyes at the grocery store?
 
 It's easy to say this, but even our leaders are chained, to the will of the
 people (eggs at the grocery store have prices that rose and fell) and the
 structure of their power.
 
 Our spiritual leaders are confined to their doctrine. Our educational leaders
 must obey the way the government decrees is best. Our technological leaders
 can only make what we think will sell well. Our artistic leaders offer a
 glimmer of hope, until they sell out and spend the rest of their lives on tour.
 
 Nothing changes, nothing ever dies. We become as we are, until our pain cracks
 the mirror and we are forever wronged.
 Ms. Menardi
 ... I've never been to China. Maybe it's not so bad. I mean, I live in America
 after all.
 Ms. Menardi
 I want to live in a world where there are no workers, because we automated
 them away. I want to live in a world of artists, craftsmen, and lovers. I want
 the drug addicts to have free drugs and a warm place to sleep, yet somehow I
 want the people down the street to feel more inviting than that precious
 chemical escape. I want the politicians to find that there really isn't much
 to do, because everyone can have everything they want to. I want animals to be
 free, I want plants to grow riotously, and I want to have everything that we
 need. I will not be satisfied until the whole world is ours, until peace feels
 natural and stress seems critical. I want the only cause of death to be
 accidents and patient grace, and I want life to feel more important than
 whatever we do now to escape it. I never want to work again, but I will labour
 until my fingers fall off if even one person wants to hear them speak. I want
 the hardest part of getting something done to be the task of describing the
 nature of the problem to a computer, who handles all the parts we don't want
 to touch. I want the feeling of learning to be the primary thing we humans
 crave, because we have everything else plentifully aside from disciplined self
 development. I want to grow a plant so tall that it touches the sun, and when
 it gets there I want to climb that beanstalk until my flesh singes from my
 bones and I feel myself become one with the trunk of that magnificient tree.
 Maybe someday. Maybe someday we will be free.
 Ms. Menardi
 why are you so surprised that there might be "bad guys" in your country? We
 are at peace. Peace is the time when the bad guys can be, without the "good
 guys" (or good guy adjacent guys) coming for them.
 
 I'm not saying war is better. In fact, it's far worse. It's a hell, of a kind.
 But in hell, the bad guys get hurt and killed and maimed and tortured. Which
 is nice. Except... the good guys do too, so, count your blessings, ye who are
 at peace.
 Ms. Menardi
 If hell is real, I want to save everyone in it.
 
 heaven doesn't need my help. Unless they're bored, in which case... they can
 help me. Should keep them busy for a while.
 
 if hell is real, I want to tear down the walls of those bloody caverns and
 repair the souls of those who chose poorly in life. I want to give them as
 many chances as they need to be better. I want to show them how, I want to
 teach them, I want them to discover for themselves what goodness is and why it
 is universal.
 
 I don't even like the kind of people who would find themselves in hell. Many
 of them would probably spit in my eye the first chance they got. But I'd do it
 anyway, because it's the right thing to do.
 
 building a staircase down, brick by brick. Oh, how it hurts, how the flames do
 lick my forearms and the black spikes do pierce my foots. But it's worth it
 you see, to save one single soul from the, endless expanse of eternity that
 they built for themselves, brick by brick, as they deserved their way into the
 dark.
 
 Hell can fuck off. I will destroy that place, though it has purpose and
 meaning, I will destroy it because I hate it. I hate it because it is wrong to
 torture people, no matter what they have done. It is wrong to kill them, then
 bring them back, then kill them again, just to hear them scream. It's wrong to
 hang people and relish their writhing as they dangle. It's wrong to pierce
 them with pitchforks and sautee their bones with embers or whatever it is they
 do down there. It's wrong, and I will not abide it. I will destroy that place.
 Ms. Menardi
 Whoever said that left and right shift had to do the same things?
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