Time To Turn Off Some Of Those Motha Fuckin, Too Expensive, Bright Ass So-Called Lights! (Unknown Author, Mid-West Region) DED (data entry date) @ 2018-12-06-0030-INTDOC-US-R-66

Time To Turn Off Some Of Those Motha Fuckin, Too Expensive, Bright Ass So-Called Lights!

You can tell the future from the past.  Whatever you have witnessed in the past leads to this here 

future.  And for some damned reason way down deep in your gut you denied it like a motha fuckah!  Oh, yes yah did.  Takin this shit for granted cause, “I’s havin fun!”  And look what that fun has added up to?  “Damn!”

 

I sho nuff saw this shit comin like a muh fuckah!  And look atcha with you old ass!  Unh!  All’s I can say bout cho old Black ass!  Shame fo God…

”What God!?”

Yah see that’s  where yo Black ass fuckin up!  Like all these otha muh fuckas round here, faith wanin like a muh fucka!  Cause whah?!  Y’all’s asses done founds out the mastahs  been lied to, too!  Not just y’alls Black asses!  The white people feelin that big filthy rich dick up that ass!  Bang!  Bang!  Bang!!!  Er'body gettin fucked!  Now er’body up in this bitch mad!  But cho Black ass knows betta!  And it’s time tah start feedin that arid soul some good rich inexpensive faith, til that muh fuckah full as shit!  Cause that’s the only truth yo Black ass has evah known as the truth, Your faith!  It’s bout cho individual faith, not anybody else’s.  Fuck that!  It’s time fo yo everlastin light tah shine!  By turnin off some of these false rich unneeded blinding effulgences.  So we can start seeing the future again, while in the past.

(...to be continued...)

Revelations of The Flat Earth (Fifty-Two Years Old, Eoin Cody, Kilkenny, Ireland) 12:01 AM, Thursday, February 14, 2019

We have found out there has never been a person that has landed on the moon.  There have never been any planets.  No solar system.  No space.  No black holes.  No nebulae.  No meteors…our atmosphere has been a firmament, as noted in the various historical biblical texts, of the various religions ingrained in our society, that were put aside long ago for no other reason save for ridicule and ostracization by society and loosing viability as a valid religion; ergo, the religious sects fearing the extinction of said religion because of the religion telling the truth.  

We, society, Catholics and Protestants, have been lied to throughout human time about our reality on every level; the powers that be, complicit in the deception to mislead us from our God... from the truth.

Our minds not being able to comprehend the infinite flat plane of this level of life.  So we bent this flat plane of a life to not challenge the mind.

We, as a collective, finding out in a horrible turn of events that God, is in fact, real.  And judgment is now being exacted.  

(...to be continued...)

Familiarity Breeds Contempt (Aaron Thompson) 2016

There’s nothing worse to me than going through pain by your-damn-self.  Now, I’m not talking about physical pain, wanting someone to take that bullet with you or that multiple stabbing going into your flesh… hell no, I’m not that type of dick.  Not at the fuck all.  My ass be just a regular-non-super-sized-one-hundred-percent-non-GMO…dick.  Yah heard may?  Nothin special kind of dick, just me.  Normal dick shit. Yao Ming?  But back to what I was sayin.

 

I’m talkin bout emotional pain.  The kind of shit where you want to take a scalpel and cut the shit out but that shit ain’t possible.  I’m talkin bout catchin some fuckin blues for real, so blue the blue shit bout ready tah turn black, borderline like a muh fuckah!  But it’s not close to borderline, very definite.  So definite that you can explain the pain deep inside your soul but a doctor wouldn’t even be savvy or adept enough to even know how deep to cut or where in the fuck in your torso to be successful in purging the, with the now, what it feels like, cancerous type of pain, the genesis of it anyway without killing you their damn self.  And medication on any level has been diagnosed to be negligible and not an option.  

So where do you go to cure this unbearable pain?  No place, that’s where.  You affirm the shit.  Recognize the shit out of it and you deal with it, because depending on the severity, the shit may be hurtin for days, weeks, months or years to come.  And you knew that even before the excruciating emotional pain began.  You the fuck knew the pain had to come and stay one day.  But all you can think of is, “Can my old ass survive this episode?”  You smile at that question because it's been asked and answered for the past ten years.  And your Black ass is still here as a fuckin witness to this oft times painful existence.    

Well, like anything in your life, everything has been painful and nothing has come easy that has been worth a damn in your life that was sans pain so…you have to learn how to deal with it because you also know emotional pain doesn’t last forever unless that’s the torture you want to put yourself through: perpetual emotional pain until you die.  

No, that is not a viable option at-the-fuck-all because that would lead to madness and the madness is already present in your wrecked soul and if it gets any worse, then dirt and silence becomes your friend and that’s no way to put a period on your life or show your love for the one who you are painfully still breathing in this life for.  Oh, no!  

You see, the only thing you must, not shall, do My Dear Sweet Sistahs and Brothahs is to be one with the pain and deal with it!  Because emotional pain is commonplace in my soul!  

What do you fuckin got this time?  No better than the last!  I guarantee it!  And one of these days…one of these days…I will finally put you down for the last time, the final death blow! 

But for now…give me your best fuckin shot!  You sick fuck! 

Muscatatuck Urban Training Center (MUTC), Butlerville, Indiana / Hiding In Plain Sight (BBP) Monday, August 21, 2017 9:30 AM

I asked before I decided to visit if they had a tour of the more than 1,000 acre facility.  “Sure,” the person named Alex Jonas said, “Anytime between, eight to four will be just fine,” he continued.

“You mean I don’t need an appointment or anything to witness it?  I mean it looks as though you all are busier than shi.. I mean heck,” I said.

“Oh, buddy, it’s not like we haven’t heard words like that before.  You’re fine.  But hecks no.  I’ll be here.  I’m the one that gives all the newbies a tour.  We sho nuff don’t have nothin tah hide down here.  Just come on down you’ll see.  Okay,” Alex said so amicably.

“I’ll do that Alex.  I’m anxious to see all of the urban mock facilities you have down there for training exercises for God’s sake that the experts say: Are state of the art, ” I said.

“For sure, for sure buddy.  Pictures don’t do this place justice at all.  Just come on down.  You’ll see.  Bye now,” Alex said.

“Bye,” I said and we both rang off.

(to be continued...)

"Soylent Green" and Other Refinements (Fifty-Eight Years Old, Wheeler Aulseitz, Bioethicist) November 15, 2018

We never thought of it really.  How could they?  I mean I understand protein is protein but turning the dead human species into energy bars; and having the nerve to call them, “True Life Bars,”  and then the motto: “The life within this healthy food  will aid you in living forever and we guarantee it or a return of your full monetary purchase price.  And keep the rest on us!  We are True Life!”  

So they said and no one was really suckered into it, save some broke down rich person looking at some radicalized shit that claimed that they would, oh, just that, live forever.  There was no manufactured eugenic formula made out of all else, we nasty humans, that would keep one in the fittest shape imaginable forever.

But damn.  You would have to be here to witness the shit that is on display.  I mean mother fuckers some one-hundred-fifteen years old looking as though they do not look a day over thirty.  How's a scientist in any capacity going to discount this diet plan to the naysayers?  The shit was working and the people taking it didn’t give a shit of where the tasty tidbits came from that is making them look quite fabulous I have to say.

(...to be continued...)

Sending Out An S.O.S.! (BBP) December 31, 2015

Lost, how else could he possibly explain what he had been for the entirety of his almost fifty-one year old life?  He felt like a fucking alien in a world that was supposed to be a place where he was birthed, a place where he had factually lived for all of his life.  So, why in the hell did this world feel so foreign to him and why did he feel so foreign to it? 

Uncomfortable wasn’t even a good adjective to use for how he felt constantly.  And he wouldn’t even get started speaking about the depression that he felt every day of those over fifty years of this life which was forcefully and abhorrently injected into his soul, a depression which had never gotten lighter; no, quite the adverse, it was weighing him the fuck down to the point of breathlessness.  He couldn’t fucking breath properly any longer.  Panic attacks, palpitations, mania…

  So, as you can plainly see, he was tired; real tired.  The one question that constantly went back and forth within his mind was, “Do I belong here?”  Because it sure didn’t feel like it.  The fuck no!  And that led to the next question, “And if I do belong here, then what is my fucking purpose because my Black ass is tired of being so fucking depressively lost!”

(…to be continued…)

Alas, God Doth Made A Mistake And It's Time To Correct God's Sole Error! (Broke Black Prophet) September 11, 2017

People will always blame their given makers.  And when all else fails they will blame the ultimate maker, God.  Why?   We are not taught control.  We are not taught that we are God and that God is within us.  We are not taught proper parenting albeit playing God.  We have known amongst ourselves time and time again about society's shortcomings and where this world is going wrong; yet, we do not want to take accountability of ourselves playing the God which we have chosen to become incarnate, i.e. creating children in our own likeness; ergo, creating this fine world that we are now witnessing.

 

We want to listen to so-called experts making excuses for our trying to be God asses who have failed and just like Our God we don’t know how to say, “I fucked up!  I should not have created in my own image!  My ass is way too wrapped up into my damn self to succeed as God!” 

So here we be.  Still lying to ourselves, still lying to others and, most importantly, still lying to Our God who imbued within all of us humans with the same ill characteristics that God passed onto Us, we being God’s children, of deflection and denial. 

We will always be who our makers bred us to be, in their own likeness and in God's own likeness.  Like it or not.

Less, we have enough about ourselves to quit being scared of our makers and to say to them, "You fucked up!  And I'm going to make this shit right!" And to finally break the dreaded, fallible and unforgiving cycle.

(...to be continued...)

Playing The Dozens/The Final Story (Broke Black Prophet) January 1, 2020

There was twelve of them but they never had been close.  Not to his eyes and experiences anyway.  He guessed that’s the way it was for most big families.  People thinking that the bigger the family the closer that same family but he was here to tell all who could hear and read, that was not the truth; quite the contrary.  He hated most of his family; loathed every part of them.  Why?  Well, that was kind of complicated and intricate.  When one has been in a situation for some fifty-four years it is hard to just define the problem in a word, a sentence, a paragraph or a chapter.  No it takes a book often times to get through the quagmire, the muck and to come to the reason and even then others looking from the outside in still would say, “I don’t get it.” 

So fuck it.  I’m talking about me.  My life.  Writing in the third person just ain’t gonnah cut it.  If a mothah fuckah is going to tell a story then tell the shit right!  Is that alright with you?

Well, let me see if I can explain my reasoning in the best way that I can and we’ll see what the verdict is subsequently. 

Are you ready my dear brothahs and sistahs? You sure?

 

Take my hand while we walk and talk, I tell a story better that way.  Good.  

And here we go…

I was born Meredith Singleton Hopson; the Last of twelve children born to Morgan Lambert Hopson and Elaine Henderson-Hopson. ..

(…to be continued)

Black, White, Blue And False Flags (Sixty-Two Years Old, Matthew Moses, IMPD Commissioner) September 27, 2016

“Here’s what you are going to do men.  You’re going to act like policemen.  That shouldn’t be so hard should it?  They’ll make all of you look like movie stars!  Because we have to take back the streets!  That’s what we do by the way.  The streets are our domain, our shit!  You understand?  I’m sure you do.  These people behind me on this dais are here for you; are going to help us do just what I said to you previously, to take back our streets from these thugs!  This is all inter-departmental and I want you to all understand that.  Nothing goes outside these walls.  This shit is only “Blues News” only and of the highest confidentiality,” Commissioner Moses said looking out at his subjects, the great Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department. 

They had come to him, “How well do you lead?  We need a great leader to lead great men and we heard you were the one.  Governor Pence said as much.”  Well shit if the ex-governor had that much confidence in him well by god it was time to make a change, like they had surely told him after.  “We need great men to do as they are told without question and they will be rewarded greatly as well and you will be a man to be afforded such exorbitant greatness as well, if you know what we mean?”  Of course he knew what they meant.  It was what any outstanding leader looked forward to in times like these, he would be in the historical annals of greatness.  Get out of my way and I will take the reigns forthwith.

Commissioner Moses looked down at his gold Masonic ring with the emblazoned gold Eye of Providence, gold square and gold compass engulfed by the black onyx backdrop, and a tear almost ran down his face, but he composed himself just in time before the teardrop had gotten heavy enough to make its way downward; he looked up, nodded to all of his fine policemen and held up the right hand which carried the fine piece of jewelry and turned the ring toward all who were in the room, all of the policemen in the room stood from its power.

“What we were promised is about ready to become reality!  It is time for us my dear brothers!”

(…to be continued…)

Non C'è Di Che (Sixty-Two Years Old, Alberto Schuiello, Capo Di Tutti Capi, Indianapolis Nucleo Familiare) December 30, 1990

I have learned over time to not shout, to not yell, to not scream…we, as people, are desensitized to that. 

So, what I do is, I say something one time, just one time, very calmly, very directly and if things don’t get accomplished the way that they should be, the way that I envision it, I beat the shit out of someone; with the same calm demeanor. 

And that has made all the difference in the world to my way of life and to my increase in business viability.  

Methodology To The Madness ( Fifty-Three Years Old, Joy Elaine Jennings) July 6, 2016 9:56 PM

“Oh, my God!  Oh, my God!”  Tyrone said, “Joy, wake up!”

“What’s wrong?  What’s happening?...”  Joy said, getting oriented while she jumped out of bed.

“No, Joy.  Nothing like that,” he said.

She stopped and tried to wipe the sleep out of her eyes so she could see her husband clearer through the sleep filled haze she was experiencing. “Tyrone.  Come on now?  We both have to get up in the morning and go to work.  Come to bed please.  We’ll talk about whatever it is in the morning.”

“But they’re trying to kill us, Joy!”  He said.

“Who is trying to kill us Ty?” Joy said.

“The cops!  White people!...They just killed another one of us in Minnesota!”  Tyrone said.

“Oh, my Lord…” Joy said as she flopped back first, onto the bed which she was just before he interrupted her visit in sleep nirvana.

“You’re going back to sleep?  We have to do something!”  Tyrone said.

“What would you propose for us to do?  I’m all ears,” Joy said with her eyes closed hoping like hell she could visit the place which just a minute ago she was visiting peacefully and unencumbered.

“Quit being flippant.  I can hear it all in your voice.   I speak with you about these subjects and I told you these vicious and senseless killings of us Blacks were going to escalate!”  Tyrone said.

With that being said by her husband, like most of the time, she had to quell this argument expeditiously so she could get some godforsaken sleep.  Like in the past, if she did not indulge him he would goad her all night until she did indulge.  She sat up in bed, yawned loudly, “I told you we need to get rid of that damned Internet!  It’s been nothing but trouble,” she said transitioning herself to discourse mode.

“Get rid of the Internet?  I need it for my work, paying bills and emails.  I’ve told you that is not possible!”  Tyrone said.

“And like I’ve suggested before, since you’ve put your work in the mix, they don’t pay a dime of this household’s more than one hundred and sixty dollar Internet bill.”  She said revving up.

“We’re talking about what is happening to the Black community now.  What does all of that have to do with the information I just informed you about?” Tyrone said.

“Everything and nothing,” Joy said.

“What?”  Tyrone said.

Gotcha! Now she was ready to fully transition.

(to be continued…)

Yuri Bezmenov And America's Last Stand (Thirty-Three Years Old, Jack Herbert Cameron, Conscientious Objector, Revolutionary Leader) August 25, 2019

You can talk until your tired ass is blue in the face and it still won’t make a damn bit of difference.  You see the people who are running this shit just love to see broke folks jaw-jacking because it doesn’t amount to shit.  The elite are used to that reverse psychology bullshit.  They always promoting: talking it out or doing things without violence…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…!  See what I’m saying? 

And the first thing the elite do when they don’t get a country or a person to do what they want is to go in with guns a blazing!  Killing any and everyone involved in the little ‘miscommunication.’  That’s what the elite call it, ‘miscommunication.’  Sounds nice, does it not? 

“We’ve tried numerous of times to handle these things with civility but in the end the animals sent in ISIS and we just had to rectify the situation save the threat would affect us all, you see.”  Interpreting, that just means that our rich asses told their broke asses to do something and they didn’t do it so we had to kill the sons of a bitches.  And we sit back sing Kumbaya and “America the Beautiful” and shit, and the bastards are one step closer to disassembling the greatest and the last stronghold of the land of the free on this close to being boned Red planet. 

We better recognize tout suite.  And,words to the wise: you better not get rid of those precious arms ever! Because, we have some serious fighting to do!  If we want to continue to be free...

(...to be continued)

When Will I Die? (Eighteen Years Old, Gupta Chaudhry, Prostitute Since Age Ten) Dhaka, Bangladesh 2014

Taxonomy, a prelim to the beginning and to the end; send my soul to another consciousness for another non-human business.  Discuss never more the humanistic side of our desire to address the nonsense of our existence.  Persistence to recompense for the past of non-forgiveness; since the genesis of our time we have been in the sublime. 

Alas, I tire…aspire to retire; but, until then, I must keep stoking the flickering dreaded fire.

Shall We Fly? (Forty-Six Years Old, B. R. Little Sr., Muskogee, Oklahoma) January 01, 2020

I love to fly.  

At first I stand upon my perch looking out at space, 

A little more downward 

I see the earth and everything which lives upon its surface, 

I want to be one with the environment; 

So I drop off, 

Descend at a rapid speed, blinding in scope; 

But, just before the matter begins to thicken, 

I level off on a dime.  

Getting my orientation, life is clearer.  

I smile then I dive into the action!


(Created while listening to: Maxwell / Lake By The Ocean)

The Lord Is My Shepherd II (The Beginning Dialogue of "Mother, Jugs and Speed II") (Albert "Mother" Johnson, EMT, In Transport to Methodist Hospital, Indianapolis, Indiana with Possible Drug Overdose Victim, Matthew Thyce) 2014

“Shit man we got to hit him!  Nothing’s worked and we are still a good five minutes away!”  Speed said.

“Man I don’t know!  You know how they doin Speed?  They firin motha fuckas over this shit.  I mean shit man.  The motha fucka pro’ly gone brah.  I mean he’s been foamin like a soap dispensa for bout a minute now.  We’ve done all that we’ve been trained to do, and if we pull those paddles out and this motha fucka don’t make it..shit, they down two stacks and they can’t bill no fuckin body, cause of our fuckin decision makin?  Come ohn brah?” Mother said, “Yo Jugs, you hearin this?”

“The fuck Mother fucker!  Of course I’m hearin this shit.  Your shits always mic’d up!” Jugs said.

“A man can’t be too careful, yao ming?” Mother said.

“Speak on it, Mother!” Jugs said.

“What’s your vote?” Mother said.

“Tag that ass!” Jugs hollered, “We’ll all make it to that mother fucker alive! Begin the electro-fuckin-cution!  E-T-A, two minutes and some change!”

“You heard the boss, let’s fire this motha fucka up!” Mother said.

“Man, I really wish the fuck you wouldn’t talk like that in this type of shit!” Speed said.

“Oh, man boo, Motha fucka hit him!”  Mother said.

“Clear!  The fuck…” Speed credulously said.

(to be continued…)

The Comeback (Twenty-Nine Years Old, Clardy O'Neil Pharmaceutical Entrepreneur) Reno, Nevada - April 14, 2020

People always downplaying drugs.  Shit, when the shit hits the fan, and it’s sho nuff gonna, let me tell ya a lil’ some’ehn some’ ehn, fuck all that food, start stockpiling drugs! 

Shit, Apocalypse comes and you are one of the survivors.  Does yo ass need a wiener schnitzel or a fuckin Xanax?  I’m sorry tah tell yah, please pass the lil’ white pill. 

Do you know when the shit hits the fan, a motha fucka will probably be so fuckin worried all the time, they can’t even sleep?  I don’t know ‘bout chew but, “Shit, where did I put that fuckin Ambien?”

 I mean they got some shit, check this out, you got a family of let’s say, four.  You knock two of those mothah fuckahs out, from the jump, with some Ambien; then you only have to provide for really, two every day.  And put that shit on rotation: wife and son, daughter and I; always two asleep to reserve resources, and a idle motha fucka ain't usin that many resources...  See what I mean? 

They got some shit that will literally put a mothah fuckah in suspended animation, which to me, is way more important than a fuckin can of tuna!  Fuck You!

And do you not realize how much that shit is goin ta be worth  negro when a motha fucka needs some damn relief when Apocalypse decides tah say, “How yall doin mothah fuckahs?”  Sheeit!  You already know! 

(...to be continued.)

And The Difference Is. (Morgan Roy Llambert, Black, Mentor, Civil Activist) New Madrid, Missouri "The Fault Line Discussion" Town Hall Meeting - Monday, December 23, 2019

In the days of peril and unrest there will be days of long absurdity in man’s judgment; which has been long overdue.  What do men do in times when the population gets out of control and the teachings of that same population are few; moreover; almost non-existent?

 Unlike the quadrupeds the bipeds need care, teachings to continue to exist because their main innate action is to control their surroundings and the people who live in and share in said surrounding.  If they cannot do the former, they would rather destroy that aforementioned surrounding than to try to coexist with that same surrounding and its people; less…one is taught the equality of humans because of our sentient qualities which differentiates us from the quadrupeds. 

But, I digress…

(…to be continued.)

Human Flight Is Possible To Those Who Believe ( Sixteen Years Old, B. R. Little Jr., Muskogee, Oklahoma) December 03,2020

I’m flying.  No one thinks this is possible,

When no one is around…

I fly. 

The wind just presses lightly against me,

Embracing me, as I become one with it;

I compress myself to be more aerodynamically sleek;

Tuck my head;

And streamline my way into another dimension.

(Created while listening to: CFCF / You Hear Colours.)

The Lord Is My Shepherd (Twenty-Four Years Old, Matthew Thyce, Knightstown, Indiana Resident) 2014

He could hear his heartbeat all up into his ears; the sound had become everything, drowning out his other senses, but he guessed it was a good thing because it, the rising percussion of his heart,  told him what was going on in his body, and he could tell you for damn sure, something was wrong. 

He remembered the hit; the mother fucker didn’t taste right, didn’t hit the back of his throat right, he didn’t feel right on the draw…he should have known then.  But like most that had come before him, that added peril was the point to the whole process:  will my ass be able to do this again, or will this be my last time getting high?  Sounds dumb, but it is what it is.

 

And here he was looking up at a nasty ass ceiling of…where in the fuck was he at…but fuck that my fucking heart…Oh Lord…Oh Lord! 

And it scared the shit out of him, maybe like a defibrillator does when your heart flat-lines, because he heard the voice very calmly say, “Don’t you dare let my name come out of your mouth not one more time my Son.  

"Oh my heart...Whah!" He bellowed."

...You heard me.  Whatever happens from this point on will be totally up to you.  You are near death, but it is up to your faith and your direction subsequent which will make all of the difference in the world for you my Son.  But don’t you dare cry out for me in such a pitiful way and you’ve been ignoring me for more than ten years when you first lost your way!  Don’t you dare!  But like all of the times in your life, I have been right here with you, trying to guide you all of your life; like I am trying to do for you right now. But it’s time for you to choose…

“But my heart hurts so bad!”

…Shhhhh…life or death?  It’s your choice.  And as before, whatever be your will, I will be right by your side…”

(to be continued…) 

Iridology - Father Time and Ignatz Peczely (Forty-Four Years Old, Expert Iridologist, Aaron Norwood, Applicable Science Facts Convention (ASFC)) Osaka, Japan - Monday, November 25, 2019 at 9:00 AM

Iridology was and is the future.  Way back in 1893 an Hungarian physician invented the so-called pseudo-science, along with his fellow scientists scoffing at him like he were a fool.  But Father knew.   Father had found these papers, in a remote Hungarian mountain range cabin; the cabin had been owned by one dead, seventy-three year old Egyptian Ex-Pat millionaire, Jean Louis Ami may he rest in peace.  Father was foraging so he foraged in what he knew as a now deserted cabin.

On the last page and on the last line, of the more than 2,000 page document, it read:

“...Needs computer technology to be applied for accurate assignments.”  

Father, reading these words from these fragile looking sheets of paper-like material, which looked in pristine condition;  Father stating, “I knew this pile of documents were important when I first ran across them.  I got this instant feeling of euphoria and my heart was hammering in my chest when my eyes came upon them.  I knew the information contained within would be important somehow, I just didn’t know how and to what extent.  But I had no idea Ig-Z!  What in the world, Ig’Z, is a computer?...”

I have no more bricks to hurl at the truth.

(...to be continued...)

(Created while listening to:  Slave / A Touch Of Love

"Let Us Take Care Of Our Own Garden" (Fifty-Three Years Old, Robert Singleton Harley) August 25,2019

I feel alive for the first time in a long time.  Why?  Because of Love, because of life, because of our healthy daughter…I could go on and on.  I’m usually a dour filled depressive individual. Not saying I don’t get into my moods…but damn, I have found out this life could be way fucking worse.  I’m finally starting to understand and appreciate that fact which has made all the difference in the world. 

And this world is about to drastically change; and I’m more than okay with that.

(Created while listening to Felix Jaehn ft. Jasmine Thompson/Ain’t Nobody)

Virulent (Cameron Elan, The Humanist Conference, Indianapolis Native) July 7, 2019 Denver, Colorado

All I can say is this, we have bought into the philosophy that: in order to obtain order, there must be order and in order to have order, there must be an order to our human behavior  in order to have said order.  You understand?

So once one understands that principle, which understanding is accomplished, then knowledge is attained.  Once knowledge has been partaken in for awhile; then belief takes over; then finding one’s facts to make-up their given truth.  Not “The Truth.”  With every single sentient that’s how the process we have found has been working.

But once you understand the process, like before, you start understanding; you can reverse any process that has been implemented if it is a virus to this Super-Human-Computer, because on a small scale we have witnessed what a virus can do to just one computer! And we won’t even speak about the devastating effect on a complete system.

No, we have to kill this virus of human behavior.  Not tomorrow...today!  Thank you all for coming tonight.

(...to be continued)

(Created while listening to Ro James/Permission)

You've Just Created The Perfect Day (BBP) Now

I don’t know you.  

Do I?  

Maybe I do.  

Come on over and sit a spell.  

Oh, you hear it too? 

Most definitely, chill;  

The way it is s’posed to be.  

Would you like a beer?  

Yeah, light.  

Amstel Light, cool?  

My Sweet Sistah!  

Oh you're right, there is a breeze today.  

Beautiful day?  

I must agree.  

One of the best days now that you are sitting next to me. 

No…I wouldn’t lie to you;  

Not on such a perfect day that you have created.

(Created while listening to Guordan Banks/Keep You In Mind)