My neighbor is trolling me again and it's f***ing frustrating. Yount. Always involving the garages. Last night he texted me at 11:30 and told me someone left the dome light on in their car and that I should text them and let them know. I did, they said their car was in the front it wasn't them. So i put my shoes on and went down and opened the garages, no dome light was on. It's a bizarre power move to force me to respond to him. Just so you know, you're being trolled by a neighbor or someone you know. And they are stupid.
I'm not great with faces. I'm just not. I see souls so I don't really pay attention to bodies, but I think I keep seeing this frantic woman at shows, like we must like the same music or something. But she never seems to be enjoying herself.
All day I've been popping Midol less for period stuff and more for a raging toothache. I'm not talking a cavity either. My mouth stinks like rotten, I just sneezed on my arm and the pain stopped bc something popped and my arm smells like infection. So disgusting, right? I think I might be at USC for way too many hours so a new dental student can practice root canals. My last dental student texted that he's graduating in a couple weeks. Gigas Codex for the win. (remember I thought the monk was in devilly dental pain? It's really happening)
Okay...where to start with my mom. And me. And her mom. And my Great Aunt. Now just my mom and me.
And I'm not saying we're the only ones, but we're not technically mentally ill and pharmaceuticals don't really work. We're just different.
I am about to fill out an advanced care directive so I can help her see a doctor, she HATES doctors because they have historically institutionalized her so it's safer to project herself as not having ANY problems, but she has a big one, she can't BREATHE because of a lifetime of smoking. (Jesse? Jesse? JESSE!!!! TAKE SOME f***EN NOTES, it doesn't end pretty.)
So my mom has COPD and chronic emphysema. She basically coughs and chokes and coughs all day. She has attempted to remedy this by taking way too many allergy pills, she thinks it helps her to breathe better, it opens up her bronchial passages. But she take FIVE TIMES the recomended dose so at the end of the day she's basically methed out which is BAAAAAAD, BAD news for whatever flavor of alien we are. WHen I went on my walkabout looking for Steve Martin and stealing a Volvo and and walking in th e Mojave Desert singing songs to telephone poles, I was on close to 200 mg of Ritalin a day. I currently take 30 mg to manage my ADHD and still fill a little wigged out by it, I has flying like a plane during that jaunt. Mom is flying now.
Sooooo...okay. SHit, I don't know where to start. We're not technically mediums, we're more like docents of the afterworld and sleeping state. I learned Bird and Alchemy. My mom knows a lot more Bird than she lets on, she listens to KFI 24/7 to hear the message between the message and she's stuck in a time trap right now, she's courting a ghost she thinks is still alive who is going to save her. You can court people who are alive when they are sleeping and daydreaming, but it's waaaaay easier to court dead people. I often court Morrissey and this thread is like a blog of that, a third person account of my fun and frustration doing that. I don't ever think for a moment he is going to manifest in my world and want to be part of my life, I mean I doooooo entertain that, but that's part of a very delicate dance Alchemists use to let go of control and go with the flow and BELIEVE, it allows more gold to transpire that be read in Bird to solve bigger problems like Factory Farming and various world crisis. Titus Burckhardt in his book Alchemy talks about materia prima, that essence of the philosophers gold found in everything in both rough and fine forms. To paraphrase a beautiful metaphor he lays out involving the branches of trees that can be reached only by those qualified to reach them, materia prima is essentially words that the mind can latch onto to hear a parallel reality beyond the listeners immediate reach. Materia prima is basically the worlds first internet, but it required one to deduce the reality they were reading and double checking the facts with constants. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Wilde, Joyce, Aristotle, many more utilized the meteria prima of the philosophers stone to listen and engage with conversation of the Gods. Okay, I feel I'm getting off track, but there's that.
So my mom listens to KFI and American Idol and THe Voice and the six o'clock news and she's listening for her lover. Her lover is talking to her through these channels. His name is Ronald Holmes. The love of his life is named...wait for it...Linda. He talks to Linda DAILY. They have a LOT in common. They grew up in West Covina. They're parents were from Lincoln Nebraska. They like to travel. He is going to come save her and take her places. She tols me today his son picked up her wigs and took them to be shaped and styled, that his son is very kind to her but she can't get him to say when his dad is going to pick her up and save her...this is a constant pattern. Her whole life she has wanted to be saved.
Okay, a little bit about being a docent to the dead. I can, she can, (we've talked about it) ask a question in our head, a yes or no question, and while walking in a public place the spirit can descend upon the crowd and answer the question through a person and they will nod yes or no as to the answer. She does this CONSTANTLY at the mall looking for Ron. But she isn't asking the right questions. It is eeerie to witness and can't technically be witnessed bc the questions can't be spoken, it's in your mind and no energy is wasted on the question, it's all channeled into the baby in the stroller than randomly shakes his head no the moment your gaze passes across him...this sounds nuts, just trust this is a real thing.
Okay so I asked my mom more about Ron Holmes. They apprently went to High School together, shared an apartment, were madly in love, he was forced to marry another woman because of "planetary arrangements and obligations" but he was coming back for her. The standard archetype is Mars and Venus, we're the Venus and the Moon and Jupiter, our lover Mars or Martin or Morrs, etc, etc... there's a reason behond the madness, it's planetary obligation. I can't explain it now. ANYWAY, Ron is Nor is IRON...Ron is Mars, just trust me. She's looking for the right person.
Unfortunately, I found him. She's not nuts. She's just too late.
And now she's courting his GHOST, confused why he isn't showing up. and concurrently she's courting and confused why other dead people aren't showing up. She hasn't figured out he's dead yet. And I'm not sure if I should let her wait (Ohhhh lava, so much to answer for. this is REAL death though, sorta more heavy) and get her off her Sudafed and get her eating healthy food and have the dream fizzle out (it happens, it's just very difficult bc she'll wake up every morning with him greeting his Linda, but it's not her, she's just a hostess to the dead catching the channel of his longing for his real Linda.) Or do I show her he's dead.
So that's where I'm at now. It feels very real to her, to us. I ride the wave for alchemical reason and allow myself to tentatively believe, but to her it's as real as the hand in front of her face, Ron's coming to save her one day. I also don't want to trick her, being tricked is HORRIBBLE.
To make matters worse, she is STILL acting out the Monkees episode she appeared in as the practice princess. My mom is (LITERALLY, she got the gig while working at the playboy club in the 60s.) Gloria that the shy Prince practices on. A ghost is practicing on her every day with his heart set on another real Linda mourning in Palm Springs somewhere. It's all very tragic, art imitating ghost world life.
I may be able to shake her up and get her dating real men, she's very, very weird though. Like ten times more odd than me.
One time Morrissey wrote on TTY that his "therapy" involved be out and about at concerts or something, so I myself tried to guess what shows for a chance bump-into, "Hey do you see any signs yet?" opportunity. It was the evening of one of these nights that solidified in my brain that I was protected by God. Morrissey never showed up, but a man did who I suspect put Rohypnol in my full beer I STUPIDLY left at a little table in the balcony when I went to get a bottle of water and another beer since the lines were low and I have to drink early and dance off the buzz to drive myself home. I got back to the table and there was a man sitting one table over watching. I pulled the chair out, sat down grabbing the tablecloth with my foot and SPILLED 1/3 of the beer all over the table. I noticed the man at the other table looked very agitated by this, like he was PISSED. I had no frame of reference why at the time and thought he worked for The El Rey and had to clean it up. I felt embarrassed and ran downstairs, then it started to hit me. I miraculously got home, I had to stop and sleep a couple times in my car. I felt headaches and symptoms for days, but it was stepping on mthat tablecloth that saved my life that night. Or my chastity, whatever. I'm not a slut, it would've been very traumatic. I didn't step on that tablecloth, God did.
I was preparing my portfolio for review for my AP Studio Art class in High School in 1992 and this was in the throwaway pile. My teacher plucked it out and matted it, he said it was too beautiful to trash. I failed the portfolio review.
Peter and Betty got a new floor two days ago. Today I'm screwing their bathroom cabinets back on after repairing them. While in there just now Peter has this other thing he needs fixed and I'm off to do it now, a flap on the bottom of his front door since the new wood floors created a gap where the carpet used to be. He's watching Law & Order and giving me a play-by-play. In short lots of stuff being FIXED. NOW. Which means maybe crooked election.
C'mon Clegg, reign supreme in the middle of the dirt! A girl can dream for a fellow dark horse.
I don't know exactly where the chlorine in the sea lion water is going to pop up but I have some theories. Either the post about Zumba is a FAKE post trying to get me to think someone is suggesting fatty in code is gross. OR on Ellen Kristen Wiig is pushing my new favorite movie and they had her talking through a GRILL, or she was the voice of the grill...is that great? Or fake? Because anything fake is chlorine in the water, I look away and it's a shame to miss out on real great stuff if it's real. Do you see where I'm coming from? This need to CONTROL, it;s all very irritating to a reader looking for nature's clues and cue's and not a board room of people deciding.
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Nature warns me when I'm about to read fake stuff. God is Dog.