Have you been half asleep, and have you heard voices?

Some 13 weeks ago the male voice in my head guided me to a landing on a metal scaffolding high above an enormous, busy, cluttered warehouse floor. “All you have been seeking is here.” Knowing was available without further comment. From that day forward I have suddenly been awarded special privileges in awareness not before experienced. Every exploration of the warehouse in my mind now nets extreme gain.

For awhile, I was diligent in my work to learn from this gift and then became more casual. Because I did keep at it but not at a desperate gait, it surprised me when a few days ago my voice came to my right ear and asked me, “I have a place for you. Would you be willing to dedicate your life to good and only good?”

I understand the question at a deep level so it only took a few seconds to confess my truth to my voice. “No. I appreciate you asking but I know that the day will come and I will choose evil.” “OK.”

Perhaps I should have lied because of the neat and semi-mystical events that follow my agreements with the voice. The problem is that the voice seems to know my thoughts and would know I’m lying. One thing I have never done to the voices is lie to them. Probably should keep it that way.


What Makes Us So Great?

So shortly ago, maybe 3 weeks, I was in the back room of a little Crafts and Crystals shop. Somehow a woman who wanted a store has co-opted with like-minded folks to each rent sections of the store making a little mall of sorts. Also recently, an insurance saleswoman friend of mine brought a psychic medium to me and insisted that we should work together. To satisfy my curiosity, I found her in the furthermost room in the back of the store in a neat little hidy-hole. We get along famously. As I was leaving the store, the leaseholder stopped me and during pleasant conversation, asked my occupation. I told her and she immediately questioned if I could help her son. “Maybe” I told her, and gathered a minute or two of information. “Great! I’ll look up some information and text you. May I have your contact info?” While giving it to me she wanted to know if I could tell her why all the men she dates turn out to be terrible. Of course, the answer was in her question, but I had time to waste so I asked if we could have a conversation about her situation. Lease holder Bio: 41 years old. (About 13 years younger than anticipated.) Has 4 brothers who are all perfect, so she knows what a perfect man is supposed to be. Has 3 kids each fathered by separate men who are all complete loser assholes. Was popular in high school, pregnant at 17. Found 2 men who were perfect, one became a millionaire within 2 years of their breakup, and the other became a California congressman. Speaks horribly of EVERY man she has ever mated with. “Is it OK to ask an approximate body count?” “Between 5 and 6 hundred.” (Not bad now days.) Um… “Where are you finding all these horrible men?” “They approach me.” “What kind of man are you looking for?” This stumped her for a few seconds. “Well, I’m not really looking. They just approach me.” “Where do you go to be approached? I mean, these guys aren’t just falling out of the sky, right? Wait, let’s leave the guys out of it for now. What kind of experience are you hoping to realize?” We discussed low hanging fruit. How relations with married women are the best bang because we can have the good part and their husbands get the shit. Is hanging around in a bar where she found the 2 great men she bragged about? I took about 90 minutes to detail her desired experience. Fantasy Man’s Bio: He is in his 50s, wealthy, (3 mil +) has race cars, business owner, young and fun and NEVER speaks badly of ANY of his ex’s. Funny thing is, I know this guy. His name is (insert fake name), 48, all the above. I barely know him but helped set him up with (You know the drill) who is also 41, vivacious, wealthy and all around beautiful. I’m going to call her Debbie and him Larry. Here is Debbie’s story. Maybe you can relate. Debbie was married to a perfect man at 18 and produced 2 kids. The boy is a few years behind from too frequent drug use and the daughter lost her mind and became a Mormon missionary. It happens. Anyway, Debbie worked on herself until the inevitable happened and she realized she was the center of the universe and when her husband was not distracted by this horse-shit revelation, she divorced him. So far, so good. If you are over 27, you probably saw that coming. Debbie, still working on herself, married again and found out that he also was not capable of being whatever the hell her self-help guru told her that a man should be. She divorces him as well. The strange thing about Debbie though, she kept working on herself and one day it hit her like a wrecking ball someone left hanging in a dark hallway. MAYBE IT’S ME!!! And so, it was. Debbie is among the rarest of females in the Western world, she took honest stock of herself and now, at 41, she really is awesome. While talking with the lease holder, I commented that men like the one she wants are rare and that I will get back with her in a few days. As a parting comment, I asked her to keep in mind that if she wants a man like Larry, she will have to bring something of equivalent value. She stiffened and became instantly cool. I brought the conversation up with my wife because I realized in my heart that even though the kind of man the lease holder wants IS available, she wears the mantle and attitude of a 304. How do I tell her with kindness? Days later after some searching, I gave her the info about her son. As a Postscript, I revisited our conversation and reminded her in several pages of text that men get better and more valuable with age in contrast with certain other people who lose value with age. How the men with the qualities that she desires are much more careful with how they use their time and resources. As far as we can tell, she will need much more than a coat of paint and simple staging for a quick sale. Maybe a total rehab. She will need a decade or more of diligent work with an older, well qualified psychologist. The good news is, she will still be in her early 50s with plenty of time for a great life. “Would you like to engage in further discussions?” The answer was an angry NO! Without a doubt, the lease holder is a neat gal. I actually like her. I think though, that I might be the first person to tell her the truth in a context unrelated to a domestic uproar. I keep wondering… How is it that people believe their own value to be so high with absolutely no development or maintenance?


AITAH? (Am I the Ass Hole)

So I went for a drive and ended up in the City of Ill Repute just a few miles from the ocean. Conditions being what ever you want to think they are, I found myself needing to pee.

Reason guiding me, I found a little shop offering fortune telling. Bathrooms are for paying customers only though, so I discovered that an ATM was in my future.

Waiting in line for customer cash at the ATM, I witnessed an interviewer moving along the shady tree line asking for opinions that they can use for attention. Semi interested, I must have been staring because soon a lovely yellow-haired gal stuck a microphone in my face and asked if I was keeping up with current events.

“Kinda” I responded. “What is this about?”

“Can you define what a woman is?” She asked, pushing the audio phallus towards my face. I had seen on youtube an advertisement where an ‘Orange Man Bad’ supporter was asking unsuspecting people these kind of questions and made a show about it. Now, I haven’t seen the actual show but it was instantly clear that I didn’t want to be any part of this so I decided to placate her, get my ATM money, and go pee at the Fortune Teller’s shop.

“I reckon I can recognize a woman as well as anyone else.” Smiling, I backed away and prepared to act interested in waiting in line when she pressed forward. “Sir”. She smiled sweetly, “Can you elaborate on how you can define what a woman is?”

“Well,” I winked, “If you need me to ‘splain it to you, you are probably a woman.” HAaaaa! I raised my right hand for a high five being sure I had come up with the answer this right wing, social-media influencer girl was wanting.

She took 2 steps back, balled her fists at her sides, and fire shot out of her eyes. I was still cackling cockily at the joke at the right-winger’s expense. I glanced around quickly, scoping for someone to revel in my genius. Bizarrely, an encompassing quiet moved away from me in a neat circle like a pebble dropped in the lake.

Within seconds word spread psychically and a slow-moving zombie crowd began turning their misguided malice towards me. My interviewer, jaw distended, bellowed out an ear piercing scream and it was at this moment I knew that I had fucked up. She wasn’t MAGA!

“No, no, no, no. It was a joke! It was a Joke.” Dammit, I know better than this. The last time I thought something was funny enough to be witty I was 16 and in doing so I accidentally triggered a race riot. None of my compatriots are capable of recognizing satire so I seldom joke about anything unless I happen to be around someone so uninformed that they are safe to be funny around.

“Stop! I’m one of you!”

As the cast of Planet of the Apes advanced, waving the Staple signs about ‘hate-having-no-home-here’, ‘love not war’ and ‘coexist’, (signs that I and my friends had made for the event) I desperately scoured the stone-cold faces of the Hive Mind for the group I traveled in with. Even those I have been close friends for years moved blindly towards me in trance-like vacancy.

Seeing two park police, I began to run towards them. The good, loving, ethical group of which I am a dedicated follower of, were slow to follow because at that moment a small band of Proud Boys (3) presented themselves on my behalf so I made it to safety. The cops realized my plight and pretended to arrest me to satisfy the good guys, releasing me a few minutes later. Good thing too since I needed to be present for the firebombing of an Asian convenience store whose owner was suspected of agreeing with those misinformed constitutionalists.

Finally! The shop keeper graciously showed me to the water closet. The Fortune Teller was an old Hindi woman with a no-nonsense manner. She held my hands across the table and went into a Hindu prayer and gave me the most accurate reading of any Voodoo type experience of my life….. Except for one thing. She must have called me an asshole 6 times, shaking her head and scolding me. That part couldn’t have been accurate.

Calling my mom a few months later, I recalled with her how I had been confused as a child, asking to why, when ever I met a truly loving person, they were NEVER a member of our church and how is that possible if the people in our church were the only ones of whom the ‘God of the Love of All Eternity’ recognizes worthy. She couldn’t answer me then or now.

“Mom? Is it possible that I am the asshole?” The phone went silent for about 10 seconds. “Yes.” and then “Your dad will be glad you called. I’ve gotta go.”

Does This Sound a Bit Obnoxious to You?

It’s not MY fault. It’s the fault of that stupid lady at the bank that is rude. All I did was try to take a selfie in the vault and you’da thought I was planning to kill a endangered bird the way she started yelling. If that’s all the better you train your employees then I’m not going to make my house payment. If enough customers stand up to this bullshit, maybe there’d be a change. Well NOW they’re foreclosing and saying that it’s MY fault for not paying.

Corporate A** H****!

You’ve gotta know when to hold ’em. (know when to fold ’em)

So, it’s a windy Saturday morning and I’m sipping some kind of internet coffee with a half pack of Swiss Miss cocoa that has the little dried marshmallows. I had invited a lady who lives in my neighborhood to go to church with me this morning. She wanted to know what that meant so I asked her what she wanted it to mean. Turns out me driving her to the plant nursery that is closing so that a RV park could be built was her idea of church.

The owner of the place is just an owner. It is an investment for him so he doesn’t have the reverence for plants that my mom had. He is just trying to get rid of stuff so that the tractors can come in and build his next money factory.

I asked him if I could buy a pallet of dandelions and some goat heads (a horrible plant that drops hard, thorny seeds). He laughed and offered me two pallets of each. Since he had a minute to visit, I asked him if he had some of the blood-meal fertilizer that makes the grass grow green and he said no, but he had a different kind that people with indoor plants love and swear by.

“Some people actually pet their plants. I know, it sounds weird, but they actually do.” He shared while shaking his head. “I get it.” I nodded, adding that “I’ve known people who had strange relationships with their horses.” (That got weird fast.)

“It happens though, I’m not particularly proud of my relationship with coffee but we all have something going on.” He laughed and agreed holding his coffee high and taking a sip. (Whew! Nice save!)

My church-marm emerged from the greenery and asked if there was anything that I wanted, or thought would look attractive. I spaced off for a few seconds wondering what my options might be. Since she was buying, I selected a red-flowering plant that had red buttons as blooms.

Dragging the plant-wagon, a Radio Flyer red wagon that they used like a grocery cart for weeds, to the register, she sang out “I’m going to need you to pay since I didn’t bring my purse.” Luckily, I donate plasma, so I had my debit card loaded with ‘blood money’.

She smelled nice so I took my time helping her load her plants into the trunk of the car. Traffic was light so I got the lane I wanted, crossed the tracks, and eased up to the red traffic light. “Thank you.” She cooed. “I know you wanted to pay for me getting my hair and nails done so I’ll let you pay for this instead.” She patted my leg and smiled at me.

Hmm.. I held steady. If I play my cards right, this could become a new religion. I can see taking her to church every week. It’s my Christen duty after all.

We pulled up and unloaded the greenery. I suggested she might want to change clothes before planting, maybe a white bikini. She asserted that she was fine in the clothes she had on and maybe I should get on my way as she had work to do.

Well, so much for playing my cards right. I wonder what’s happening on the internet.