Hail to Jellatinous Portal. No, not a band name, albeit a crafty one; it’s the literal wordery here, in where my trickerosity lies. Tis’ in the initialization, JP, that’s the initials of, what I believe to be, one of our modern-day, legendary-status living pop culture “icons,” if I may be so bold. I can’t think of anyone else, to be frank, who can hold a candle to this amazingly unique individual. He gives so much, so much to the world, so much to YOU, he’s given much to me. Regardless of that, some people actually want this guy stripped of his credentials, & forced to be “re-educated,” whatever the fuck that means. It’s such a joke, this plasticized world of arrested-development children, in power positions, making rules for those they deem as “beneath them,” & thus, must apparently now be “forced,” to assimilate, or be destroyed. This isn’t hyperbolic, or exaggerated, or fictionalized, in any way, what I’m talking about is very real, unfortunately, & despite the long-game-slow-kill efforts of these elitist pigs, PIGS, just like the book Animal Farm, where the pigs are in charge, well what a coincidence…power-hungry pigs rule this 3d matrix too, according to them anyway, & seemingly according to most of you, who follow these pigs, & abide the dominion of said pigs. Why do you listen to pigs? Why do you pay extortion taxes, to pigs? Why do you let these pigs live in castles, like royalty, while you live in the gutter? Why do we keep letting these ruthlessly sinister porky-pigs, who worship avatars of chaos & destruction, & create chaos & destruction to appease their pseudo-god, why do we keep letting them even be? Imagine a world with no pigs, no pigs at all, minus the ones we eat, because I like eating pigs, with a delightful barbecue sauce, not let them shape my destiny from their high towers.
Who is this JP? Well, if you haven’t put it together yet, I’ll give you a hint…it surely must be that dastardly straight white family man from Canada, the alt-right white supreme pizza, that figurehead of the modern-day neo-Nazi, but where is a safespace? RED ALERT, RED ALERT, REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…honk honk honk honk honk, there’s a REEEEEEEEEEEEE-cist showing up in the article, oh my oh my, whatever will we do? Derp, get back to Starbucks ya rainbow-haired gamma gophers. You hold no place here, now back to your soy lattes, double the soy. See ya. Now that the clown car has taken the express ramp off of a cliff hopefully, who am I talking about already? Don dada donnnnnnn…could it be? Can I be? Would I dare? How dare you Fish, you failed fool, how dare you bring this man’s name up….& here we go. I’m talking about Jordan Peterson, of course(make sure you spell my name right when you report me), YES, The Doctor is in the house, Dr. Jordan Paterson, the spiritual rebirthing of Jung & Nietzsche, combined with your favorite high school biology teacher(shoutout to Mr. Williams if you’re still amongst the living). Yes, DOCTOR Jordan Peterson, & said Doctor, helped me find the way, helped me to find the key to the golden door, when that key was always just dangling from a cheap chain around my neck, like when I was a latchkey kid in the 80s. This key, however, was stuck in a crack, a crack created by a terrible series of traumatic head injuries that weren’t properly treated. Left me a bit…foggy, you could say, for a long time. Sprinkle the purple haze of drug addiction on top of that, & damn if I just never saw that fucking key in the crack. It never left, it never rusted, if anything, it became a stronger key, as the steel propane-flame cured itself in the 4d spiral of time, waiting patiently for me to find it, when the fog had lifted.
Enter Jordan Peterson, at my own middle-age, but nonetheless, enter the keymaster. I have known the key was there, make no mistake, I have always been a writer, have always written, have always been able to go to the well & fill the bucket as needed. It just comes to me, & I don’t know how or why really, even now, but sure enough, I just let myself go, go into the flow, & what do ya know, THIS comes out. THIS, this writing that I’m illustrating for you, in real-time, but is now pastime, if you’re reading this now. My most special journals go back decades, hand-written, old-school journaling, kind of like this, on the daily, but with an actual pen, so it’s different. There’s an organic aspect to physical writing with a pen, & once it’s down on hard paper, the spell has been cast, & the words are now out there, blowing around in a whippety wind-whirlpool in the middle of an empty city block, until it blows into someone’s face. The digital pen involves a whole other dimension of creation to it, particularly if what you write you post on the Internet publicly for a global audience of all & none. The paper blowing in the wind whirlpool can now blow into the faces of potentially millions. Takes much longer for the physical pen, but the payoff, I’d imagine, would be glorious. GLORIOUS. Imagine handwriting a book, literally, then having it published, & it’s content appealing so much to a local audience, that eventually, the world finds it. Wow, what glory. Surely though, there’s a similar glory if ANY of your publishings happen to find reception from millions of eager beavers that can’t wait to see what you write next, right?
I don’t know, nor will I ever know, unless one of these rants that I channel from the big crockpot, making sure I get all the meat & potatoes that one can handle into the bowls of soup I serve from Source, to the slaves, to myself, to all of you, & to none of you at all. My soup is hot, hot out of the gate, because that’s how I serve it up. Who likes cold soup? My soup is so hot in fact, that your big tech overlords have exiled me from the majority of social media platforms, leaving me only this, my only thing I have left, my words. I guess TRUTH doesn’t work so well here in Clownworld. Virtue is verboten, & thought-criminal dissidents like me who know where all the exits are from The Great Mouse Trap, & then kick open the exit doors yelling, “Run free little mice, for you are mice no more, you are men, now run, you are free,” we are not welcome. Oh wait, but they just stand there, the mice just stand & stare, aimlessly eye-balling me, gawking at me like the village leper, like the exiled one, & maybe that’s because I am, for I’m surely exiled, digitally, & now in real-life, the moldy mold on the fetid fruits has spread, as I type from this proverbial jail cell that I’m always in. My own prison within The Great Mouse Trap. Maybe that’s why I know where all the exits are, because I never got through them, & just stay stuck, stuck in The Great Mouse Trap, with all these other menacingly moldy mice, no different, & certainly no better. I don’t know, I don’t know anymore, all I know is the writing, following this little Tinkerbell, & she keeps saying, “Write, write, for your time is running out, so write, like it is,” & she’s right, my time is running out methinks.
Ultimately, everyone’s time is running out, but particularly mine, I wonder if I’m near the end, at this middle-age I’ve reached. My grandfather died at the same age I am, from a heavy heart attack, & I could see that same scenario playing out for me. Just hanging out one day, probably between my paragraphs, as that’s usually when I leave my radio tower, in the gap between paragraphs. Yep, maybe I’m going to the fridge, maybe having a smoke, who knows, but all of a sudden, WHAM, OUCH, fuck my chest hurts, GAHHHH, my arm is numb, then oh fuck, I’m having a heart attack, & then what happens? I fall out, just going unconscious, like going to sleep, but not waking up this time? Damn, that’s a sordid scene. I’d hate for someone to find me unconsciousness and/or dead. Yikes. That’s how grandpa went though, wayyyyyyyyy before my mom decided to let herself get knocked up & have me. I have the traits of my grandfathers, the intelligence, the jovial wit, along with a dangerously addictive nature & reckless self-destruction. Ultimately, the failed fool, & I got all of it, one granddad dying a drunk, the other dying at the same age I am right now. Hmmm, kind of sounds like I’m genetically fucked then, yeah? Oh well, fuck it. I know death, as much as one can “know” death anyway from this 3d vantage point, & I know death is not an ending, so to speak. It’s only the end of this, this end of this 3d life of unwelcome incarceration. Thus, it’s a most-welcomed-ending then in fact, yes?…for those souls sick of being soul-sucked, stuck in this restrictive 3d meat suit, stripped of the memory of my our 5d immortality, our true selves, our Higher Selves.
Anyway, Jordan Peterson has an online writing course that I highly recommend. It’s a “Self-Authoring” course, practically titled, “Self-Authoring,” & involves guess what? Authoring YOU, yourself, writing about you, your life, & what happens when you do this writing course? I equate it to higher math, like anything algebraic & up. Math equations & proofs, designed to stimulate more complex synapses in the brain, well writing tasks have a similar function, in the sense that the more your write, the more you accumulate, the more your brain fires off electricity into fractally branching stems of elevated thought trees. It’s an essential nutrient, to keep your trees bearing their respective fruits, & the genius of the simplicity of this notion?…just write. WRITE, then keep writing. It doesn’t mater what you write, or even if you CAN write like a writer might, just WRITE. If your life has come to a cul-de-sac full of boarded-up crackhouses, figuratively of course, & no one else is around, & it’s only you left in the room, write about it. If all else has failed you, write about it. WRITE, WRITE, WRITE & as a lifelong writer, most surely, I have had periods of nil writing. Such wasted time, those lost pages, because I can only write about those times now from a present-perspective, rather than reflect on any actual real-time writing from the past, oh those many lost pages, so many I never wrote. Now I know my time grows cold, as my toilet has almost flushed itself away, I have to write like the crazy madman, much like I’m writing now in real-time, because the clock ticks away, faster & faster, flush flush flush, flush that toilet of 4d time away into the past. Who left a stinker? Go spray for fuck’s sake, the after-stench is stinking up the whole house ya filthy animal. (Fart Noise)
Sadly for me, he’ll never ever never never read this, as my view stats are around 20 visitors a day, so the odds of Jordan Peterson being one of those 20 readers, is analogous to assuming I just bought a winning Powerball ticket. Nope, never going to happen, as is anything ever going to happen in this horribly fucked-off life I’ll leave behind someday, maybe someday soon, via the unbearable stress of my own existence causing my heart to fail me. Or maybe one of my other organs? Maybe a car crash, like the one I have so many horrible visions of? Perhaps the powers-that-be will take me out? Or I’ll just keep going, towards directions unknown, who knows? I blink my eyes, & I was 5, then blink them again, & now I’m 45, so perhaps I’ll blink them again, & be 85, or blink the same eyes, only to never open them again here in this world tomorrow. You never know, when you’re going to go. Dang, all kinds of fishisms in this article, see the quotes at the bottom. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been leaving my own quotes at the bottoms of my posts. Dropping rhymes like dimes, you could say. At the end of the year, when my 365-day straight writing project completes its first COMPLETE yearly cycle, If I make it, if I’m still here, I’m going to take all my pages of accumulated quotes, & put them into another book of mine, only this time self-published by yours truly. No more “someone else,” it’s all me from here. Too many parasitic snapdragons out there, don’t need anyone else to make my melody, I’ll do it myself thanks.
The spinning record spins, right round baby like a record going round round right round, & it’s time to go, dear readers. Until next time, don’t be a dope, check out my quotes, not only below, but from before, don’t ya know? Best check my older posts, and/or jump into my archives. Closing in on 5000, 5000 pages for you to pursue dear reader. That was nice of me, wasn’t it? Go ahead & form a line to the left to shake my hand & offer thanks, as I’m as humble as ever towards my audience of faceless ghosts. No one cares, no one ever did, no one ever will, & such is the way for the walk for this Jobian fish. Jordan Peterson helped, but there is no help for me, for I am forsaken. Still, Dr.Peterson’s “Self-Authoring,” program will open up the Pandora’s box inside yourself, letting your true self peek out, like a baby roo in a pouch, except once your true self peeks out, so do all the shadows of said self. The only way to confront those shadows, is to open that box though, setting them free, along with yourself, because that’s how you find yourself, the self that you lost long ago, should you find yourself in a similar position as I. Until next time, dear readers, check out his site, just click the link above, then thank me later should you take the course. & run your own gauntlet. So sayeth FisH™🎣
For all of you, & for none of you at all.🐡
“You never know, when you’re gonna go, go, go.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
“Oh, those lost pages, so many I never wrote.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
“Tend to your fruit-bearing trees, feed them well.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
“Run free little mice, for you are mice no more, you are men, now run, you are free.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
“The key to unlock the door, has always been noosed around your own neck.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
“Don’t venerate pigs.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
“While you think of something to say, I await the end of the conversation.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
As the title implies, this Foozer is gonna have to be a placeholder of sorts, as in I’m not going to go off on one of my usual diatribes about whatever my wordsmithing happens to tangent off into. No no, this one will be short, because I’m wiring a short story for all of you that’s turned into a longer project. I’m so into it, I’m almost living the story, but that’s the only hint you all get. Regardless, I’m enjoying writing it, so I hope you all will enjoy reading it when I’m done. I don’t like deadlining my own stories, so let’s just say it’ll be done when it’s done, hopefully by tomorrow evening. I might need to chop out some new GIF animations for the story too, drats, so yes, don’t hold me to tomorrow evening, & we will just stick to, “done when it’s done,” sound good? Yes? Agreed? Great, thanks for playing.
In order to ensure I never miss a day of writing, despite my calendar over there on the right somewhere which reminds me, I have to make sure there’s at least a placeholder post, like this, so I don’t get a white day. If you look at the aforementioned “calendar,” over there on the right, you’ll see what I mean. YOU HAVE TO BE ON A DESKTOP OR LAPTOP THOUGH. You CAN see my site as it appears on desktop via your phone too, but YOU have to switch it to “view full site” with thine own hand, I can’t do anything more on my end than this, telling you how to view my site. Anyway, when I post something, the white days turn from white to blue, & then you can click on them on my calendar to view whatever I posted on the respective blue days. The ideal goal this year is to hit all 365 days. Yep, 365 Fooze articles, as well as my random posts, nope, not going to miss a single day, that’s the achievement trophy I’m going to get for myself on January 1st, 2024, if we all get there, but I digress. Anyway, again, you can only see this white day/blue day calendar of mine via laptop or desktop, maybe a tablet, I don’t know much abut tablets, or in “view full site” mode on your phone. If you are NOT seeing entire website as it appears on desktop/laptop, you’re missing out on a lot of my FisH™ magic, I promise you, so take the extra second to view the whole site, please & thanks, dear readers.
ARE YOU READING THIS POTENTIAL FUTURE EMPLOYERS? YOU NEED TO VIEW MY SITE ON SOMETHING OTHER THAN A PHONE TO SEE THE ENTIRE SITE AS I HAVE CREATED IT. ALSO, NOTE THAT I CENTER-TEXT ALIGN INTENTIONALLY ON HERE, BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I ROLL ON MY OWN SITE. THANKS FOR ASKING. CHEERS, PLEASE CONTINUE…🐟
There’s even a “DONATION” button over there, if any of you would like to donate to my PayPal. That would be amazing, since I’m running on fumes & have no money left. Like literally, no money, NOTHING, when I tell you all that all I have is this, my writing, it’s no exaggeration, I assure you, & I mean it when I say that all I have left is THIS, whatever this is, THIS is ALL I HAVE LEFT. My words, my words, & if you enjoy the way these words roll off my digital tongue as I lick your face with them, maybe help me out, if you can. ANYTHING helps, anything & everything money-wise. I’m too much of an artist to understand “money,” always have been. Not to mention the fact, that “money,” is just representative of the overall hijacking of the notion of currency, the planetary current of energy that keeps the world moving. It’s something I’ve mentioned many times before, & I’m sure I’ll mention again, but not right now, as I told you this one would just be a placeholder. Until next time dear reader, be sure to check out my site via laptop and/or desktop, so you can see all the fun stuff I have in the sidebar on the right. If you type any word, & I mean ANY word you want into my “search the archives” widget, you’ll never know what might come up. There’s OVER 4000 pages of work on this site, & even I don’t know what might come up, so feel free to dive in, swim around, & if you’re so inclined, feed the fish by donating to my PayPal. So sayeth FisH™🎣
For all of you, & for none of you at all.🐡
“Feed the fish, donate button on the right.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
Yes, these “narratives,’ as the title implies, these dastardly narratives they use in this now-nefarious nation, are more-often-than-not, completely false & make-believe story-time stories, but STILL pumped out daily via the Fake News Mainstream Media. The FNMM, which is a tough acronym to pronounce….”fin-um,”perhaps, how does that sound? Doesn’t roll off the tongue at all, does it? Hmmm, how about this one…the “narrative agenda pushing actor puppets,” NAPAP?…”nap-ap?” No? Don’t like it? Nah, me either, it sounds dumb. I suppose we must hold off until a proper acronym comes to me; I just have to adjust the dial at some point I’m thinking, & then POOF, it’ll just appear, but I digress. The point of this article is going to be about these narratives, not acronyms for globalist filth, & ironically, there’s yet another one happening as I type this. Yep, another shooting it appears, as if on queue, not that it is on deck ready-to-roll, just implying that the timing if these events is…odd, you could say. Anyway, moving on, & what’s this? 👇🏻BREAKING NEWSBELOW…honk honk honk…👇🏻
Funny how these “shootings” happen all of a sudden when there’s real news that needs to be shared. Like who blew up the Nordstream pipeline? Where’s Jeffrey Epstein’s client list? Shut up you plebs, stop asking questions. Just pay attention to these narratives we script, then subconsciously force-feed to you, go eat another hot pocket, & believe everything we tell you to believe. Oh, & the chemical holocaust in Ohio, almost forgot about that, yeah the one killing animals & now reportedly making people sick. Anything on that, any updates? No? (a nighttime field of chirping crickets chimes in)Shocker. It doesn’t fit the narrative, so squash it. Shhhhhhh. We’re doing #GunsAreBad now, & that’s how it goes. Can’t change it, can’t fight it, can’t stop it, so what’s the only option? Maybe turn off the tv, & end the program, how about that?
The problem with that, is when something really does happen, you hinder your awareness & leave yourself vulnerable by just “turning it all off,” but that’s only IF, & I emphasize “IF,” if Clownworld goes completely sideways. Don’t think it can’t happen; suppose these “Chinese spy balloons” cause an EMP, taking out the power, how long would it take for the ill-informed hordes in the cities to go into full-blown panic mode? No power, no internet, no ability to get money, or gas, or anything really, can you imagine the pandemonium? Oh my God, these UN-prepared people are fucked, especially in the cities. I speculate that it wouldn’t take long at all for the aforementioned “hordes,” to become primal. Assaults, looting, robbery, even murder, all on the table if they go into said “panic mode,” as they let go of whatever critical-thinking skills they might have had, & rely solely on their reptilian-brain. Pure survival instincts would become the norm, as people fight one another for resources, filling the streets with blood.
Are you able to picture a scenario like this? Utterly depressing, all this real-time devolution of humanity. Ultimately, that’s what your elitist overlords want though, everyone to kill each other. They can do it, they could kill you all, & I’m sure there’s numerous depopulation plans in place that are much more effective than whatever the slow-kill poison is that they put into the Covaids jab, but that’s not Plan A. Plan A is to manipulate the masses into fighting & killing each other. One, because they’re sick fucks that get off on misery & death & chaotic destruction, & two, because it keeps them from having to do it themselves & clean up the ensuing after-mess. Not to mention, if we all do end up in some kind of civil war, actually actively battling one another in a hot war, it’s going to be incredibly demoralizing, draining your human spirits, respectively. The aftermath & the survivors would be so war-weary, after so much loss, so much carnage, that they’d eventually submit to the will of these globalist psychopaths, or die.
Essentially, for us plebs, it would be a dystopian hell on Earth, while the elites live like kings & queens with the technology that they keep from us. Oh, & the AI will be there of course, helping them, maybe even guiding them, I don’t know. I think it’s much more advanced then people are aware of, & I’ve mentioned this before, but could it be? Could it be that these psychopaths actually listen to what they AI tells them? Perhaps they follow its commands, so to speak, complying with it as if it were God, or a “god,” it’s hard to say anymore. I know they openly worship Satan, or Lucifer, or both maybe, I’m not sure how that works, but they believe it’s real, & abide their pseudo-god accordingly. Maybe they think AI is Lucifer, that’s a stretch, sure, but who knows? Yes, it’s an avatar of chaos, & destruction, & darkness, all the termed negativities you can drum up in your own respective lexicons, & thats’ what THEY believe in. I know, it’s fucking weird right? Sheesh, what kind of fucked up world is this. with people that “worship” darkness, & are now manipulating AI to empower their avatarian overlord. Again, IT’S THEIR THING, not mine, & not mine in the sense that I believe they’re all abysmally insane, like no coming back. I don’t get it, don’t abide it, & I kind of wish I had no clue about the reality of their belief system, but I do, I do know, & it is what it is.
Oy vey, look at that, another real-time diatribe about the infamous topic of fake news narratives. How dare you, how dare you expose us you silly little fish man. Well, how about go fuck yourselves. I don’t like to hate, per se, but I absolutely hate you fucking elitist doucheflutes. I hate you, I hate your game, I hate your condescendation, I hate that you take power at the expense of human soul energy. It’s SICK, all of it, as sinister as it gets, & you fuckers just keep going, in some futile attempt to rule the world as “gods” under a pseudo-god of shadows, with the help of AI. Derp. Seriously with this? This cannot be true, right? You made this up, didn’t you? Great question, thanks for asking. Unfortunately, no I didn’t make this up, how could someone make up some crazy shit like this? It’s true, YES, it’s true, now let it sink in as the hamster runs his wheel, YES, YES it’s very true dear readers. Don’t blame me, I ain’t doing it. I’m not, nor will I ever, help these maniacal nerds, and/or aid them with their agendas in any way. In fact, I’m going to expose them at ever step, I will be that thorn in their hand until my last breath. Fuck these psychopathic s-elected elites, I’ll never stop, until they stop or we stop them. If we don’t, it’s all over…period, & a day of reckoning gets closer by the passing dusty seconds. So many of you are programmed though, ugh, the hopeful optimist on the shoulder says believe in Divinity, believe in the Universe to right the wrong & bring back balance, or…there’s the pragmatist on the other shoulder, imploring me to buckle up, because these so-called elites, will NEVER relinquish this power they all have, & what’s worse is that if they know their end is nigh, they’ll burn it all down, & try to take us all to hell with them. Mark my words on that notion.
Annnnnnnd, we’re just gonna have to ride out the oncoming storm I guess, as it all collapses, collapses for us, but they made sure they all got on the lifeboats, for them only of course. Yep, as the Titanican ship sinks, down we shall all go with it, while they laugh & drink champagne on their half-filled proverbial life boats. It’s a dark game, & none of US, can ever win. Time to go though dear readers. The ship’s horn blows, BWAWWWWWWWWWWAW. That’s my literary illustration of a ship’s horn loudly bellowing in the nighttime salty ocean air. Ahhhh, sounds & smells like freedom. Until next time, don’t sink, don’t float, crash the waves in your own boat. Corny as fuck but who cares? So sayeth FisH™🎣
For all of you, & for none of you at all…🎏
“Don’t sink, don’t float, crash the waves in your own boat.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
I don’t really watch television, like mainstream televised programming, nope, gave it up years ago. I only really use my tv to watch my Youtube videos on a 42-inch 4k viewing apparatus, or when I play the occasional Hitman mission on my PS4, but other than that, nah. If you’re a regular reader, you’ll know why. Televisions aren’t for your “entertainment,” they’re a medium used to program all of you, hence why it’s called “television programming,” & it’s “broadcast,” all some kind of spooky dark magic it sounds like, right? Well, if you saw any clips from The Grammys last night, you might think twice about disbelieving me on the dark magic notion. I like watching Matt Walsh’s channel. He’s a very thoughtful guy, very smart, & his breakdowns of Clownworld are quite well-illustrated. I’m going to link his 10-minute long video from earlier, detailing this insanity being broadcast on primetime television. My oh my, how the times change, know what I mean? Sheesh. Let’s get to it, make sure your kids aren’t in the room. I don’t have any kids, but if I did, I certainly would NOT want them watching crazy shit like this.
ROLL THE CLIP
I don’t even know who this Sam Smith guy is, or that other guy he performed with. I could care less if Kim Petras thinks HE’S a girl, because HE is not, despite getting his cock lopped off at the age of 16. Nope, I will NOT, nor will I EVER, abide these maniacs with their fucking pronouns. The world is BINARY. Nature is BINARY, existence itself, is BINARY, hot & cold, up & down, left & right, MAN & WOMAN. All this 137 gender non-binary mass mental illness madness is NOT “normal,” it’s insanity, & these so-called “celebrities,” promote & encourage this craziness to their programmed fans, who follow along like lemmings. THIS IS NOT OKAY. Something is NOT right, it’s as if the masses are mass-hypnotized into a state of some unprecedented media-driven psychosis. Seriously, does any of this seem okay to you, does it seem normal, and/or arguably even natural?…because it sure seems to be getting worse. Openly doing “satanic rituals” on LIVE primetime television now are we? I thought the Grammys were about the awards for the best musicians, not this parade of debaucherously dark shit. What the hell is happening in this world? (pun intended) …it’s actually feeling like hell, is it not? No bueno.
Personally, I don’t believe any of this “satanic” shit is real, but apparently, there’s a bunch of dumdums that do. Those pussies can all go find a high cliff, then koom-ba-yah-yah their black nail-polished hands together, as they jump in collective unison towards their respectively perilous deaths. Get the fuck outta here with that dark arts weirdo ritualistic nonsense, Gah, they really annoy me for some reason, I don’t get it, but I must admit, I don’t get ANY of this really, not any of it. Just gets more confusing by the day, & now “satanic rituals at broadcast award shows” are the top headline, so maybe this IS hell. These evil freaks live like kings & queens too, like royalty, while the rest of us seem to be losing, losing more by the minute, just saying. If I was a psychopathic cutthroat scumfuck pervert, maybe I’d be materially “rich” too, maybe that’s why they took everything from me, everything material at least, took it all. Why? What did I do? Why do I lose, when they keep winning? I have such a uniquely well-informed awareness, of the world around me as well as myself. I’m seemingly almost at the top of the zeitgeist mountain, where I finally will get the view from the top, the whole view, the painted canvas in its entirety, to see the real truth, but apparently at the expense of losing everything I had. Lost it all to get here, wherever here is. Is what it is, & I would much rather be here, then there, there among those devil-worshipping foot soldiers for the Great Darkness. Yeah, no thanks, I prefer the Sun, & all its shining light. What is this “Great Darkness” though? Satan? I don’t know, not exactly, but I have a good idea what it is, & have already written about it. I call it, “The Great Recycler,” & if you read via the link below, you’ll see what I am referencing…
Is that what these people worship? The Great Recycler? Is that thing their “Satan?” If it is, WOW, what a bunch of delusional dunces. Worshipping the thing that eats your soul, devouring your memories, then shits you out to get reborn again, only to go through another existence, die, then feed this God-damned creature again. Over & over you go, going “into the light, into the light CarolAnne,” except when you do, The Great Recycler feeds on you. You have to read the post I linked above, or none of this will sound even remotely sane. The more I see this broadcast satanism though, the more I’m thinking The Great Recycler is very real, & it is subconsciously venerated by these weak-minded fools, who think that worshipping “Satan,” particularly via live television, is going to get them to some kind of “special status” when they die. Again, THEIR beliefs, not mine, I don’t believe in any of this malevolent shit. It has to be some kind of mass mental illness, never before seen on this scale.
I do believe however, that when they die, they aren’t going to the same place that those who live by the benevolent principles of the real “Light” go. Attributes like honesty, courage, positivity, these are traits of the Light, the true “Light,” but wait, are there TWO “lights,” so to speak? Yes, there’s a good “light,” & a not-good “light.” It’s tough to speculate on though because one, you won’t know until YOU actually die if there’s ANY “light,” & two, the Great Recycler & its legion “trick” naive souls into “going into the light,” but it’s the false light, the trick that gets you, the ultimate slight of soul. NEWSFLASH: DO NOT GO INTO THE LIGHT. The “light” might feel all warm & fuzzy, ethereally blissful, you could feel like you just want to let yourself go into this “light,” but that’s the trap, the soul-trap. The Great Recycler might even show you your loved ones, or rather, just holographic projections of your friends & family, beckoning you to come into the “light,” to “be,” with them. DON’T DO IT. What’s the rush, what’s the worst that could happen if you wait, & perhaps just don’t do anything? Maybe just observe, be patient, stay mindful, because if this “light” is eternal, so are you, so what’s the harm in just hanging out, outside the “light,” until you can determine your next course of action? “No harm, no foul,” as the saying goes, & if it truly IS your prior-deceased friends & family inside that “light,” they can wait too, right?
I just don’t see the harm in NOT going directly into the “light” when you die. Why would that be a bad move? Worried about your individual “lack of faith?” Ummmm, no that’s false logic. I have faith in patience, & thinking things over before I take action. Why would that be any different in an afterlife where one has a CHOICE, whether to go into the “light,” or not? It wouldn’t, at least it shouldn’t, but I don’t know. Maybe none of that is real, maybe the afterlife isn’t real, maybe none of this matters, who knows? I know this though, there’s a growing legion of beta loser twerps who think Satan is real, & worship this darkest of dark avatars accordingly. It all circles back to my main general theory about what is going on in this quickly floundering mess of a humanity, & that is this; most people, most, NOT all, but most people are in a state of “hypnopsychosis.” There’s a dotted red line under that word. & why?…because it is NOT a real word, not yet, & you heard it HERE first, because I literally just coined it, remember that. This word, “hypnopsychosis,” as defined by me, see below…
Hypnopsychosis: a severe mental disorder in which the sufferer, in a state of hypnosis, having been hypnotized to believe in an UN-reality that does NOT exist, gets confronted by the REAL reality, & drastically declines into a state of severe psychosis in a futile attempt to make sense of “existing” in both worlds at the same time.”
Yes, & if any of you steal my concept & run with it, gaining infamy from the theft of my thoughts, I will not be pleased. Fair warning, not that I’m concerned about it. If my theory proves true, future psychologists might come across this & remember me as a psychological prophet, in some Jungian sense perhaps…or by then, in some Petersonian sense. A relatively entire planetary population, in varying states of “hypnopsychosis,” in this error of an era extraña. Unprecedented in scale, with an equitably unprecedented level of societal damage as a result of this worldwide mental disorder. Can you imagine, a whole world, hypnotized into a state of mass psychosis via the mass media programming, can you imagine? I certainly can, because I’m living it, in real-time, just like the rest of you. As always though, my circularity has found me once again, so it’s time to wrap up this daily Foozer. The beginning become the end, only to begin all over again. Until next time, stop, look around, & then honestly ask yourself, “does any of this seem organic to you?” So sayeth FisH™🎣
For all of you, & for none of you at all
“The organic macroorganism, spawning UN-organic microorganisms, as if “forced,” ferried into the false birth of a feral fetus.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
“I am the GOAT, there are no other goats before me,” says Fish (audience applauds). In case you didn’t know, “GOAT” is an acronym for “Greatest of All Time,” & I’m just joking, as I am no GOAT, & am but a meager fish, an acronym-less fish, in fact. What could “fish” stand for? Maybe…”Fallen into Satan’s Hell,” would that work? Or perhaps, “Flo isn’t Saying Hello?” No? How about, “Fucking Insane, Seek Help?” I don’t know, those all just don’t work like the grand GOAT, the Great One, the Great-EST One to be exact, & how does One, become a Great One, the Greatest One of All Time? Beats me, I’m proverbial pond scum, the only thing I’m the greatest at is nothing, & you don’t even get a participation trophy for that oh-so-high pseudo-achievement I’ve successfully accomplished. See what I did there? “SUCCESS” -fully, as in NOT a success at all. Ah, personal deprecation, my only actual success. There’s most certainly nothing great about a life of self-disappointment. (Fart Noise) …moving on…
It must be a surreal feeling, at least in my imagination it is, but those who don that exceptionally rare moniker of “The GOAT,” already live a life of surreality, so to them, it’s just another day of feeling great, being great, because you’re so great, look at you, what a great guy, greatest of all time. Of “all time,” you say? Yep, ALL time, YOU, are the GREATEST, of ALL time. Well dang, ok then, thanks for the compliment, & all that comes along with my greatnesses. Everyone is going to give me everything from now on, too? That’s so GREAT. Are you eating here tonight sir, oh great one, will you be dining with us? Of course, the bill is on us, we’re simply honored you’d bestow your unending greatness upon our humble eatery, so do not concern yourself with the check. Really? Ok then, I’ll give the server a life-changing tip, how about that? Sound good? Wow, YOU sir, YOU are just great, what a great guy, greatest of all time. Oh drats, I spilled some of my $10000 free bottle of wine on one of my favorite shirts, this shirt woven with real gold in the collar, so my neck glows. This shirt was given to me by God himself, whatever will I do?
Oh look, there’s an unbelievably exaggerated store across the street, with a great big name on the sign, same great name platinum-stitched on the clothes available there, a name that makes them 10000x their actual value, the price on the price tag, but that doesn’t matter Great One. Let’s GO GO GO…beepity-bopity-beepity-bopbop, I bee-bop to the store, & proclaim, “I’ve ruined my shirt, can someone help me please?” (sounds of people scurrying about like rats to help) …oh NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, we can fix this your greatness, oh Great One, no worries, how about this shirt? Or this one? Need new pants too? Let’s get you some fresh pants(more scurrying about)…there you go oh Great One, all spiffy & new, fresh clothes for you. Oh look, your helicopter has arrived to pick you up oh Great One, the Greatest of All Time, you Great GOAT(sound of helicopter landing)…& WOW, what a chopper she is, is that, could that be, a GOLDEN HELICOPTER?? Sure is, only the best for the GOAT, time to take off, let’s GO GO GO(people scurry their peasant asses out of your way)…& off you go, oh Great One.
Okay okay, I know, I know, I knnnnnnnnnowwwwwwwwww, that was rude, & crude, & I shouldn’t poke jealous fun at GOATs. It’s great to be great, did I just quote that? Surely, SOMEONE has thought that little quip up before, yes? “It’s great to be great,” hmmm, yeah I don’t know, & out of my own ignorance, I am going to enact my own utterly delusional self-sense of “greatness,” & pronounce myself the creator of that quote, how bout them apples? Who’s gonna stop me, the word police? I’m already wayyyyyyyy down at the end of D-wing in the digital gulag supermax, where all other thought criminals go, in my own solitary cell, with a little fish carved into a virtual wall. This is where those who are the “great” in their own right go, & of course in this case, I mean “great” as in “greatly” censored, “greatly” suppressed, “greatly” robbed of my created content, “greatly” exiled from the virtual town square, & I could go on & on, shedding my own skin, greatly, but fuck it, who cares? Who cares that our free speech has been systematically eroded to almost being null & void? Oh no, someone’s feewings got hurt due to “hate speech?” NOOOOOOOO…REEEEEEEEE…HONK HONK HONK…can’t have that, can we? B-O-O-H-O-O
Where are the real GOATs, the keepers of freedom, & truth, & the freedom to speak the truth, where are those GOATs? I’m yet to see anyone from this era estraña that could be considered a true GOAT, not even close really. Think about it…ALL TIME. Sure, there might be some people who have greatness, & they exude that greatness, but the “Greatest of All Time?”….meh, no, not in Clownworld, sorry not sorry, don’t blame me, blame the clowns, & their respective clown cars. They crashed the party, I wasn’t there, nope, & hell, I wasn’t even invited to the party, & surely have nothing to do with clowns, parties, GOATs, none of it. Just a wayward soul traveler that stumbled into this 3d clown town like a Twilight Zone episode, stopping at a one-waitered cafe I can never leave. Coffee, toast, a pen, some scraps of paper, & I’m stuck here until I write my way out, write my way right out of town. I don’t know, I don’t know if anyone was in this booth, at this cafe, in this town, before me, beef whore me, what has come before me? Could it be my circularity? Coming back around again to find me?
Look at that, right on time(class bell rings). Time to GO GO GO, now that the circle has come back around once again, round & round, looping loops, the GIF animation of days flying by, the circularity. Until next time, dear readers, remember this, “goats will eat anything, anything & everything.” Oh, & of course, coined right here in this article, “It’s great, to be great.” So sayeth FisH™🎏
For all of you, & for none of you at all.
“It’s great, to be great.” ~Fish F Fish🎏 “
“Goats will eat anything, anything & everything.” ~Fish F Fish🎏
ATTENTION: BONUS AT THE END, DON’T BE A SLOUCH & SCROLL TO THE BONUS…VERY IMPORTANT TO READ THE ARTICLE FIRST…DUH
There she is, look at her, my completed circle for the now-gone-forever month of January, year 2023. Gone forever, FOREVER, isn’t that surreal? January began, new year, new month, & now it’s gone, gone forever, so surreal, isn’t it, the way days come, then they’re just gone? Today is February 1st, 2023, & it’ll feel like tomorrow when THIS month is gone, then March, then it’s summer again, then winter again, then 2023 will be over. Not before we see what we are going to see this year, whatever that is, but it’s coming, the future is always coming, a future to become a past one day, the never-ending loop, the ouroboros of existence here in the 3rd dimension. If you want to use the image above for reference, when each white day turns blue, another day has come & gone, going from future to present to past, days flying by.
How do you complete YOUR circle? Do you even have a circle, YOUR own circularity? Maybe it’s just something weird I do, because that’s how I roll, I don’t know. I see the sacred ouroboros in everything, all loops, just one big GIF animation, going round & round, the end becoming the beginning becoming the end, only to start over from the beginning, & on & on it goes. Had your psychopathic overlords not hijacked the zeitgeist, what kind of world would this be? Would there be any concept of “money” anymore? Or would humanity work together, as a whole, to better the species, again, AS A WHOLE. Not a communist “whole,” but rather a system where people are encouraged to pursue their passions to contribute to the big snowball, rather than keeping that snowball running by forcing humanity to “work” in unsatisfying menial jobs for shitty bi-weekly over-taxed paychecks. Just worker bees, drones, working from birth to death, just to keep that proverbial “Queen” alive.
Not me, I hope the Queen gets savagely torn apart by a bunch of hornets. Unfortunately, the hornets are all non-binary beta twerps on hormone blockers, so their stingers are useless, & the Queen lives on, in dominion over Clownworld. You worker bees keep working, complying, back & forth every day, in some sadly surreal Metropolitan waking nightmare. Back & forth, back & forth, the daily commute, worker bees tending a multi-trillion dollar hive, but not even getting a drop of honey out of it. Meanwhile, the Queen & her minions have so much honey for themselves, they swim in it. In a big pool of honey, where ALL of YOU worker bees can see, you watch them swim in their honey, you hope maybe they’ll throw some honey at you, so you can buy some eggs, but they don’t. Nope, they keep all the honey for themselves, & they always will, so no matter what “game” you play to get more honey for yourself, you won’t. The game is rigged, & it’s certainly NOT the same game your masters play. The game THEY play doesn’t involve you, for YOU, are just a worker bee, killing yourself for that teaspoon of honey. Meanwhile, they have so much honey for themselves, that their game is to take the whole hive. They could care less about the little drops they give to you, but they tax it anyway, just to keep you down little worker bee. All the while, they play THEIR game, the game of hijacking hives, hive-jacking, if you will.
Well well well, where did that clever analogy come from? Out of nowhere, seemingly, because as you know dear reader, if you’ve read my previous posts, I just channel all of this, so to speak. I have no idea what I’ve written once I’ve finished until I read it myself, & I can’t definitively tell you where any of this, whatever this is, comes from. I just start writing, & these flourished fingers make magic happen. Maybe card trick magic, maybe Houdini magic, black magic, white magic, bronie magic, maybe no magic at all, just a delusional idiot that thinks he has some kind of talent for the art of the scribe, & calls it “magic” to maintain his own LARPing as if he were a real writer, could that be it? I don’t know, but what I do know, is that when I do this, I feel completely free. Time stops for me when I write, & once my antenna picks up a static-free frequency, I simply let go, & then channel, I channel all of this, for all of YOU, dear readers. Like I said earlier, I have no idea what I’ve written until I’ve actually read it once I’m done. I cannot explain it, even though I know I have the answer buried somewhere deep in the vault. Sadly, I cannot get to it, as many of my abilities have been suppressed, same as you. No, I didn’t escape the great dumbing-down of the culture. I’m a Gen-X TV baby, programmed from birth, poisoned by the food & water, again from birth. It wasn’t until my 20s, before the switch flicked from “off” back to “on,” & I systematically freed myself from this Matrix we’re all stuck in.
The overlords broke my circle, as soon as my mother’s water broke, my circle was broken, as were many of YOUR circles. Yep, they broke us, & thus, we grew up broken, broken in ways we cannot fix, we can only patch, until some kind of Divine intervention comes maybe, but I ain’t holding my breath for that. If you were God, would you help this sordid humanity? How would you help humanity, with another Great Flood, another Great Reset? A real one of course, & the few survivors would start again, hopefully to do better next time, much better than Clownworld(Honk Noise), would YOU do that if you were God? That’s God’s Great Reset, & it’s happened before & will happen again, not this bullshit “Great Reset” you hear via the fake news. That’s the globalists hijacking the zeitgeist, “playing God,” as I already mentioned. Incidentally, the CIA is WELL-AWARE of the previous global cataclysm, & so are your s-elected “leaders,”…wanna read about it? Click the link below, it’s a fascinating read, & astonishingly horrifying to visualize, check it out…
Yes there’s a fake “reset” being implemented by your masters as we speak. They want to play God, & they are trying, for now, but eventually that’s one game they will NOT win, & I don’t want any part of their “new world.” Their “new world,” is 85-90% of YOU gone, just gone, out of the way, there’s too many cattle on the ranch, so we need a Great Slaughter, hence Covaids, these pseudo-vaccines that are now killing people, upcoming World War 3, supply chain breakdown, out-of-control inflation, unprecedented levels of absolute corruption, all of it culminating to a societal critical mass, the likes of which we’ve never seen before, & probably never will again. Their dark circle completes in 2030, so we’ve got 7 years left, only 7 years, & that’s an exceptionally optimistic speculation. The overlords have an overlord, the Queen Bee, & who/what is this Queen Bee? The AI, that’s right, did you think I wasn’t going to go any further with my legendary & totally random analogy I came up with up there? Did you think I wouldn’t compete the circle? Oh ye of little faith in Fish, oh yes, there most certainly IS a Queen, & it’s the AI. They think it’s “sentient,” so much so that they follow its “commands,” & they worship the AI, like a God, a GOD. If you think this is totally mental, & I’m delusional paranoid with a hyper-active imagination, then good for you. Maybe I am, I probably am, & all of this is just fanciful folly from a fool’s foolishness, yes? What if I’m right though? This schizo-ed narrator has been right about everything else I’ve mentioned…maybe like a 94-96% accuracy rate, something like that. Look in my archives, I don’t miss much, like relatively ever, but sure, you’re “right,” to disbelieve me, this is all just silly sci-fi & I’m just a nutty nutter in a mad hat.
The circle has completed itself, once again, my serpent feasting on its own tail…nomnomnomnomnom. We also got that synchronously random analogy out of it too, how about that? Every time I write, I discover, just like listening to a story on the radio, except I AM the radio…I’m the antenna, the receiver, the capacitor, the powerhouse, the dials, the CB ham hock, all of it, all in one, all in my head. I don’t know what it all means, but when I do this, I am free, as free as one can be, in this idiocracy. Are you “free,” free to complete your own circle, to roller-coaster ride your own loops, are you truly free? Only YOU can answer that dear reader. Until next time, complete the circle, or keep cornering in your own square, it is all on you, do hast thou will.
For all of you, & for none of you at all.
BONUS: ENJOY THE VIDEO DEAR READERS, produced by yours truly…the FisH™abides…👇🏻🎏👇🏻
MOTHERFUCKER…GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…damnit…I had an ENTIRE article ready, & then had some random internet issue, & this silly site did NOT save my draft. Fucking fuck motherfucker, it was a good 3 pages long too, fuck, sorry dear readers, it is what it is. My last Fooze of the month too, there were red pills & such too, fuck you WordPress. I manually save, AND auto-save, yet it saves NONE of it? Come on now, internet or not, it should have saved my draft. Now I’m writing a totally different Fooze for the day, minus all my well-worded wordery from the previous draft, thanks a lot you fucking fucks. Ok, I’m done with the fuckaboutness, so let’s knock this out & complete our premier monthly circle, now eerily resembling a monthly period, with all my bitching about the lost draft. Cycles, circles, these circularities, these infinite loops, if you will, you know how we roll here by now, if you’re a regular reader of my ranting ramblings, of course. If not, welcome, welcome to my fishbowl.
Where is my serpent, here to eat its own tail for the last time in January, 2023, as this month ends forever, & we begin again with February tomorrow, where is she? Oh, right there she is…duh. She’s here to eat, eat her own tail, so she can began again, whether it be my next article, or tomorrow’s article, the circularity always completes herself. I need to make a GIF with an ouroborian theme, like some kind of serpent, eating itself, forever & ever, via the infinite loop, the nature of a GIF, BUT…with no skip. “No skips in your GIFs,” I think maybe Confucius said that, or Jesus mentioned it while he was up on that Roman cross, I can’t recall. I abide that notion though, to the fullest, & make sure my GIFs don’t skip. It’s very fast, only a few frames, but as a master GIF-maker, I can see it if it’s there, & will NOT abide a skippy GIF. When you create out of passion, TRULY create your art from passion, you are no longer an artist, you’re a magician. If a magician doesn’t perfect his magic, his magic tricks won’t work, thus, said “magician” is merely a fraud, & the TRUE passion was never there. One MUST be a perfectionist with their passion, one MUST be a magician, or the trickery is lost, along with the novelty, & you might wanna go apply at Starbucks, because you are no artist, & certainly NOT a magician. Deal with it, not my fault, I have nothing to do with YOU, or YOUR life, I am just an illustrator of this clown culture. Unfortunately however, any sort of culture, here in the once great USSA, has gone the way of the passenger pigeon. How the fuck did “passenger pigeons” go extinct, incidentally? They used to use them all the time to send letters to other people, hence the name, “passenger pigeon,” but somehow, they ALL died off? Entirely? What the heck? That’s kind of weird, right? I don’t know, check it for yourselves. I’ll link an article below about it, for your own reading pleasure.
Ok, since this is the SECOND time I wrote a Fooze today, but WordPress fucked up saving the original draft, I’m gonna wrap this little gem up. On the bright side, we all learned why passenger pigeons are no longer amongst the living. An entire species, wiped out, relatively quickly too. Life can change so fast sometimes, as things come, & things go, beginnings become endings, then endings turn back into beginnings, & on & on it goes, the infinite loop, & there she is, as if on cue, my sweet circularity. My serpent has found its own tail once again, in this final Fooze for January 2023. Round & round, as a new circle begins tomorrow, the February circle, denoted as “S2,” which you can see at the top of the post up there. I use the “S” for the month, & an “E” for the day, just to keep everything tidy & regimented, so to speak. Structure is good, but not over-structuring, this ain’t the fucking Marines for fuck’s sake, but I have to keep a strong self-discipline maintained, so as to make sure I write something, every day, every single day. The loop doesn’t stop, so why should I? …& time is spiraling fast into the future, like a flushing toilet, the flushing toilet of time, that I’ve mentioned ad nauseam here. Yes, time, 4d time, the temporal dimension that pulls us all “forward,” forward into an unprecedented & uncharted future.
As said “time,” marches on, what will come, what will the future reveal, as she slowly hikes up her skirt, what will we experience? Impossible to speculate, we just gotta ride out the storm, & try not to sink our own respective ships, at least that’s how my journey is going, how about yours? Billions of ships, billions of sailors on those ships, sailing toward the sun I suppose, I don’t know. I don’t know anything, I’m just an illustrator, illustrating this Clownworld we’re all apparently stuck in, one honk-honk day at a time. What else can one do when there’s no future for you? Until next time dear readers, until tomorrow, when the new circle begins.
Thanks for reading/watching the articles I post, here in my opus of sorts, these 4000ish pages of this, whatever this is. I am just going to keep doing this, every day, until the Great Circle is complete, for all of you & for none of you at all.
I had a moment the other day; I have my “moments” at random, it can hit me anytime, just poof, & I stare off into space for a moment, to have my moment, my momentary moment, if you will, subconsciously gazing into the void, not even using my eyes, even though they’re wide open. My vision is in my head though, when my moments come, & what do I see?…well, that can be almost anything, I just go wherever the moment takes me, just aimlessly following the initial thought that led me to my moment. The other day, as I mentioned at the start, I had this interesting moment, & so I thought, why not write about it? If it’s “interesting” to yours truly dear reader, I must write about it, for that is the way, the way of things now. The Fooze will guide me, now let the Fooze guide you, or maybe go Fooze yourself & Fooze you. What is my Fooze, is now your Fooze, therefore, do hast thou will.
This moment I”m going to illustrate for you all dear readers, happened just the other day, at my local dispo, during my semi-daily trip to pick up some fresh wax. I don’t do the flower much anymore, but I love my concentrates. Anyway, that’s not the point of this article, just detailing where I was. As I said, I was at my dispo, & while I’m waiting on my budtender to apply my loyalty points to the the total on my tab, I looked to my right & noticed a portly fellow with a red beard in some casual, leisure-wear type apparel, so leisurely in fact, that he was rockin’ sandals with socks with his trackies. He had a little blue duffle bag on his arm, with white straps, & the side of the bag had a little lion logo on it, as well as a few little dirt and/or grease stains here & there. Why did I notice so many details? I’ll get to that momentarily…after I fill you in on what he was doing there, with his little blue duffle bag that had white straps, a lion logo, & some dirtiness.
He was by the ATM, with his little blue duffle bag, next to the one inside the dispo, but this particular dispo has their ATM machine in the same part of the dispo where you buy your medicine. Most of them put their respective ATM machines out in the lobby, where you wait before you get buzzed in through a locked door to come to the shopping section. It’s always divided, lobby area & shopping area, but like I said, the ATM is out in the lobby almost every time. In THIS dispo however, it’s in the shopping section, particularly behind me & to the right, & the guy with the little blue duffle bag was unlocking the ATM machine when I first noticed him as I was waiting on my budtender. I’m watching him, watching that bag, what could be in that bag? Only one thing, right? Maybe he’s just grabbing receipt slips, or changing the receipt paper, & it’s just rolls of receipt paper…yeah, that must be it, no way he’d be using that little bag to take money, would he? WOULD he?
Apparently, yes, yes that’s precisely what he was doing, he was getting all the ATM money out of the ATM in the dispo there, & putting it into that little blue duffle bag, but not only their ATM, he’d been to a few others already, & how did I know this? Probably because my mindful self was watching him the whole time, critical thoughts on overdrive, & that little blue bag, when I finally saw what was in there when he opened it, what did I see? CASH, lots of cash, money money money, stinking cold hard stacks of loot. This guy was kind of goofy, weak, & I immediately had dark thought, dark thoughts like, “How could I get that bag from this chump?” Obviously, I would never actually take it, I’M NOT A CRIMINAL for fuck’s sake, so I would never rob someone like that, but I do have a very active imagination, so I let the thoughts come, just to see how this moment would play out. I watched him, watched exactly what he was doing, where the money came from once the ATM machine was open, I stood there & watched. My budtender seemed to be taking an exceptionally long time to sort out my loyalty points, so I was stuck, stuck in this moment, this moment that culminates in me getting that little blue duffle bag from this quasi-effeminate guy, who was UN-armed by the way. Yep, no gun, no taser, I don’t even think he had pepper spray, he had nothing, no way to defend himself, minus his own hands. Maybe he was trained in martial arts?…I don’t know, but he didn’t possess any sort of threatening demeanor whatsoever and/or a weapon, so I kept watching, thinking, plotting, scheming, how the fuck am I gonna get that bag?
If I had to guess, I’d say there was…ohhhhhhh…maybe $20k, $30k, there were quite a few hundreds, stacks of $100 bills, & I was counting it, believe me, well as best I could anyway from my vantage point, so it was a rough count, but still. Point is, there was a solid load of cash in there, enough to partially replenish what the so-called “elites,” took from me, & so many others. Little notes, little pieces of paper, but this “paper” is the currency, the energy, it makes things move, here in Clownworld it does anyway, at the detriment of billions of debt slaves, ruled by such a tiny few. They print these little notes, take what they want, for their own “energy needs,” so to speak, then everyone else manages the leftovers to keep their Big Machine moving. You need energy to give a machine power, the power to operate, to move, & we are all stuck in this Big Machine that they have created to empower themselves, not you. You are just a gear, a cog, an almost-insignificant wheel in that machine, & they “allow” you just enough money, barely enough currency, to get yourself from birth to death, & that’s your “life,” as it were, unfortunately for you. Bummer, isn’t it?…especially when you ponder all of the chaos in this world that is created by this money, these silly little “I-O-U” glue-free post-it notes, that people kill each other for, just to get more of these said “little notes.” It’s all just so ridiculous when you stop & think about it, but there I was, in my moment, contemplating physically assaulting a guy to get some of those all-too-sacred notes.
Again, & I emphasize, I am NOT a felonious criminal, & would NEVER rob another person. Like I said earlier, my imagination has a mind of its own, so I let it wander wherever it wants to go for the most part, because it’s ONLY IN MY HEAD, & I would never act on it. Also, I don’t think I would’ve gotten away with it, but I’ll tell you how I would’ve robbed this unarmed dope if I had had a criminal’s moxy to go through with it. Let’s back up a few minutes…so before I came into the dispensary, out in the parking lot, just as I parked my Beamsy, I noticed the ATM guy, parked directly next to me to the left, & he was driving a mini-van. At this point however, keep in mind that I did NOT know yet that he was in fact the ATM guy, I just assumed he was another customer, so I noticed him as far as a casual noticing, & thought nothing more of it, until I was inside, & I saw the little blue duffle bag, & what he was doing, & realized he was the ATM money-collector guy. Then I saw the money, which began my momentary moment, visualizing robbing this doofus & taking that bag full of money for myself. How though? How would I do it & get away with it?
Here’s the plan: I would follow him…I would leave right when he left, him back to his soccer-mom mini van, me back to my Beamsy, & I’d follow him in my car, not too close, not too far, don’t want him to see me following him obviously, but yes, I’d follow him. Patience…patience…just keep following this ATM money collector guy, this UN-armed clown, it’s almost going to be too easy, but right now…patience, just be patient & follow this guy, taking in all you can about his route. Not going to hit him on the next stop, nope, just going to watch from afar, parked just out of his view, but close enough for me, so I can watch, & wait, patiently wait for the moment to come. See what I did there? Momentary moments, our collective moments in time, moments dying into the past, then being reborn in the now as more line up to wait for their turn like children taking school portraits. Circular, circularity, the Great Circle, always circulating, round & round & round again, in the never-ending immortal loop, the eternal GIF animation, if you like. How’s that for an exceptionally clever analogy, dear reader?
REMINDER: THIS IS ONLY IN MY IMAGINATION. I AM NOT A FELON, NOT A CRIMINAL, DEFINITELY NOT A ROBBER. NO ONE WAS ROBBED AND/OR HARMED DURING THE WRITING OF THIS ARTICLE. YOU MAY NOW PROCEED INTO THE PARLOR FOR SOME TASTY CAKE.
Back to the plan…where were we? Oh yes, patiently being patient, still following, we’ve watched him make his next stop. He gets out of the van, but where is the little blue duffle bag? Does he keep it on the seat next to him, or somewhere in the back of the van? Details details details…they matter in such affairs, for if you miss one, just ONE, important detail, you’re locked up before you even committed your crime. You must pay attention, be mindful, this is a serious crime, like prison serious, & more importantly then getting the little blue duffle bag successfully, MUCH more important…DO NOT GET CAUGHT. Duh, you’d think, but many criminals get caught, since levels of priority tend to vary amongst felons, & most of them don’t give a fuck about going to prison. I like my virgin asshole thanks, & absolutely HATE…HATE, HATE, HATE being in cage. Ugh, it’s just the worst place to be, & fortunately I’ve only been to jail a few times for brief stays several years ago, facing bullshit weed charges before they finally wised up on the countrywide cannabis craze & stopped prosecuting marijuana arrests so harshly. Sadly, for me, my card got punched before they wised up, & I had some legal nonsense to sort out. This was years ago, as I mentioned, & I never got any felonies, & why? BECAUSE I’M NOT A CRIMINAL…but I digress, as usual. Continuing…
Ok, ATM guy has made his first stop after I started following him. I’m thinking he’d keep the bag on the passenger seat of the mini-van, up front, next to him, where he always had eyes on it, so that’s where my IMAGINATION led me. I’m still parked where he can’t see me, as he gets in his van, & I assume goes to his next stop, with even more riches in that little blue duffle bag. I start to follow him again, ready to make my move at the next stop maybe, if I see the opportunity of course. I follow, I follow, & then he stops. Ok, here’s where my IMAGINATION took two different paths.
Path One: He stops, maybe at a Starbucks we’ll pretend, & gets out of the mini-van, leaving the unassuming little blue duffle bag behind, in the van. With the ease of a bag of peas, I simply walk up, pull the door handle & realize it’s unlocked, lucky me. Without hesitation, I grab the little blue duffle bag, then take off, all within 10 seconds, gone, SCORE, & mission accomplished. That’s the easy path, the path with sunshiny trees, slightly blowing in the warm summer breeze. This path is laden with candy-colorful wildflowers & fluffy bunnies, & an easy $50k. Wouldn’t that path be so very nice, nice & lucrative?…
…or…
Path Two: He does NOT stop for Starbucks, he stops at his next ATM location, which is a relatively empty parking lot. Where are the cameras though? Looking, looking, don’t see any cameras covering the parking lot. Looking for people, anyone around? Nope, no one around. I’m parked where he cannot see again, watching, patiently being patient still, just waiting for my moment. Ok, time to move, as I get out of my car, & get close to his mini-van, ducking down somewhere where he can’t see me. He comes out, with the little blue duffle bag, there it is, the soon-to-be-mine little blue duffle bag, filled with even MORE money now. He walks to his driver’s side door, & pulls out his keys, & I make my move. I swiftly sneak up behind him, put a gun to his head, then blow his brains through the driver’s side window of his soccer mom mini van, like the Son of Sam. I’M JOKING, I’M JOKING…I hope none of you read this & take this silly story seriously. Oy vey. No, no guns, what I’d do is just sneak up behind him, & unleash my devastating rear-naked choke on this scrawny & UN-armed ATM money-collector guy. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, goodnight, he’s out, but only to sleep, he’ll wake up in a minute, but by the time he does, I’m gone, with the little blue duffle bag, which is now MINE, mine all mine, but only in my imagination unfortunately, only in my moment, my momentary moment.
This whole felonious envisionment just popped into my head, while I was buying some wax at my local dispo, & the ATM money-collector guy came in to do his job. Just my imagination, running in Gumpian fashion. I think all sorts of things, & it’s randomly random, when I have my moments, these moments of my momentary time, stretched out into a story, my story, albeit made up, that I just shared with all of you, dear reader. Sometimes, I stare off into the void of eyes-opened space when I have these moments, & I don’t even know it, until I catch myself doing it. Living a whole life, doing other things, in another time, on another timeline maybe, but all in my head, while I gaze into that proverbial abyss, only to turn my head at the final moment before the abyss gazes back at me. “It’s only a moment,” I proclaim to the abyss, “no need to look back at me, I’m only here to piss, & I’d hate to piss on your face, so you might wanna stay down there & not look up. Only a moment, one of many, the circularity circles back, eating its own tail, thus the nature of the literary ouroboros…entails. Clever clever, humble narrator, un-humbled only in this moment, because that last sentence was a gem. Let’s stick that in post-signatured quotes & see how it reads…
“Only a moment, one of many, the circularity circles back, eating its own tail, thus the nature of the literary ouroboros…entails.” ~Fish🎏
Until next time, moment to momentary moment. For all of you, & for none of you at all.
That’s right, dear readers, only 4 more days until we hit EVERY day in January, thus completing the first monthly circularity. 11 MORE months however, to complete the Great Circle, that’s right, 365 straight days of writing & creating new animations, hopefully adding up to a few thousand more pages in my opus of drivel here, here for all of you, & for none of you.
Thanks for all the views & such…more to come, MUCH more. Be sure to FOLLOW ME, & get notified when I post fresh fish.🎏
Everyone has a past, so let’s go back in time. Ever been to the nuthouse? Ever even been asked that question? Not a question many people throw out at the beginning of a convo, but clearly I ain’t most people, & I think it’s a fun question, particularly when the person you ask says,”Why yes, yes actually I HAVE been to the nuthouse, how about you?” …& then an interesting back-&-forth ensues as the 2 of you swap stories about your visit/s to the psych ward. Personally, I’ve only been once, for 3 days, & it was some kind of hustle by the doctors to get money from my insurance company. I was having some random chest pains, most likely just from anxiety, & when I went to get checked out, the doctor asked me questions like, “Do you ever feel like hurting yourself and/or others?” …& me, as a scholar of words & verbalizations, grossly overthought the question & answered with, “well sure, doesn’t everybody THINK about it?” Obviously, I didn’t say I WOULD hurt myself and/or others, I just had said I had thought about it, among all the other things I think about. Just thoughts, how HASN’T everyone thought of such things at some point? I thought it was just a psychological question to determine my mental status at the time, & I suppose it kind of was, but I had no idea that by answering the way I did, the doctors would use my answer to justify sending me on a 72-hour trip to the mental hospital. Yep, they determined I was “an immediate risk to myself and others,” & thus, needed to be locked up in crazy town for 3 days…& so I was…
Upon arriving, I was basically in a state of mental shock as to what was actually happening. I’ve never been to such a place, so there was that kind of foggy anxiousness, but also the fact of where I was actually at, a place for crazy people, it was a feeling of…I don’t know, maybe confusion, whatever uncomfortableness comes with your first visit to a mental health facility. Thoughts like, “Am I really crazy?” or, “Am I really a ‘threat’ to society?” …such thoughts, & I suppose that’s a common feeling amongst sane people who accidentally end up in place like this. For people who ARE actually insane though, I’m guessing there’s different inclinations upon their arrival to the nuthouse, as most likely it isn’t their first time, & maybe it’s relieving for them, being back in a place where “professionals” will help you get better, so to speak. Again, I’m not mental like that, so I can’t speculate with 100% accuracy how other people self-evaluate their respective trip/s to a place like this, sane or otherwise, but this was my adventure. What an adventure it turned into too, wowzers. For what it’s worth, I got some interesting stories out of my 3-day vacation to the funny farm, so I’ll just start at the arrival, then go from there.
When you first get there, you speak to the insurance guy, so the state gets their money out of this whole scheme. Isn’t that bizarre? Obviously for me, it wasn’t that bad, since I was “sane’ enough & lucid enough to handle paperwork & questionnaires & such before lockdown, but if I WAS in fact, totally nutzo, that process would surely not go as smoothly as it did for me, right? For instance, they asked me why I was there, & I said, “I don’t know, I guess they determined I was a threat because of the way I answered the question about me having suicidal/homicidal thoughts from an existential perspective.” Now if I was a betting man, & I am, I would bet that most people who end up in such places do NOT answer that question from a philosophical point-of-view. It’s often recorded as going something like this: The assessor asks,”Why are you here?’ & the patient replies, “Because I’m a werewolf.” …something along those lines, know what I mean? That’s actually a reference to a true story. My friend Dave took a trip to a similar place, & ended up having a roommate who in fact, thought he was a werewolf, to the point where the alleged werewolf woke Dave up in the middle of the night howling. Now THAT is quite nuthousian, yes? Of course, I did NOT answer in such a manner, & despite my obvious NON-violent demeanor & relative sanity, they still processed me, & so, my 3-day “vacation” from real-time & real-life began.
You gotta give your clothes, your shoes, your phone, your wallet, everything you have on you must be surrendered before they admit you, & will now be in a bag in storage until you leave. In its place, you get either a suicide smock, which is basically a gown you can’t tear so you won’t hang yourself or choke yourself with pieces of your clothes, or just something akin to a nurse’s scrubs, only cheaper & less functional. Oh & you get sandals, because your shoes, you can’t bring those. Shoelaces are dangerous for the crazies, & shoes in general I guess, because they took my shoes in their entirety, not just the laces. Like I said, EVERYTHING goes, & you just get the smock or scrubs, & the slippers, for your entire stay. I kept thinking of the dichotomy of wearing a “robe” of sorts & slippers, ideal when you’re in a 5-star resort in The Maldives, but the polar opposite when you’re stuck in the mental hospital. Unfortunately for me, it was the latter, & once I had changed & finished the all-important paperwork for the state, I was escorted by the arm to the “secured” part of the hospital.
Just like jail, they lock you in, & you are restricted to where you can & cannot go once you’re locked in. On the way to my wing, I got my first glimpse of some of the other patients. Many, upon simple observation, were clearly not mentally well. I saw tickers, the people that twitch & can’t stay still; I saw self-talkers, true “self-talkers” though, in the sense that they have audible 2-way conversations with themselves, all day every day. Usually those conversations are interesting to eavesdrop on, particularly because the convos they have with themselves are often totally non-linear, nonsensical yet understood in its entirety by both parties, even though it’s only one person talking, to themselves. There were quite a few of those, & mixed in to that group were the yellers. The yellers are annoying, mainly because they do actually yell, loudly, VERY loudly, startlingly loud, but it’s very random, so you never know when you’re gonna be jump-scared by that unique kind of screamy yelling that only crazy people do.
There was also the quiet ones, those quietly crazy ones. There’s just something in their eyes, even though they don’t talk much, sometimes never, but if you look at their eyes, there’s like a vacancy, like they aren’t totally present in the moment, stuck in some backrooms in their respective heads that they cannot escape maybe? I wouldn’t know, I could only speculate, could only use my own thoughts to try & rationally grasp this whole event, why I was even there, why I was there with people like this. I quickly realized that I was in a One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest sort of situation, as in I was quite possibly the ONLY clinically “sane” person in that place, yet still I was there, in there with these nutters, just like Murphy, a socially-awkward misfit, misunderstood by the general population, to the point where he was deemed a “threat” & thus, locked away from that aforementioned general population. Fortunately, for me, there was no large Native American fellow there to send me to my Maker.
First day, mostly just stuck in the good old “shock & awe” of where I had somehow gotten myself. It’s similar to jail, but nicer, nicer in the sense that the food actually wasn’t that bad, we got smoke breaks with generic cigs paid for by the state, it was warm in there, it was co-ed, we got to watch movies, & there was more room to move around freely. It was a scheduled routine, meds time was always the best time, when everyone lines up to get their variously respective medicines. They just gave me stuff to sleep & relax, which really did neither. I didn’t sleep more than an hour at a time the whole time I was there. Just couldn’t sleep, what can I say, so I stayed up all night & talked to the employees while the other crazies were in sleepytown. They had no idea why I was there, other than that I was yet another victim of this state-sponsored mental health progressive nonsense, which I explained to them, & only strengthened my “why the fuck am I here?’ argument. They use ANY pretext they can to justify sending people to these places so that they can get more money from the state, has nothing to really do with actual mental health issues. It’s kinda shocking actually, the depth of the corruption, but ultimately it’s is just another facet of the Titanic-like sinking of this country. It was never about “the people,” it was always about the corruption, which got them the money, which got them the power…sinister, isn’t it? …but as usual, I digress.
I met some of the other residents of this facility on that first day. My roommates of course, & we were 4 to a room in there. I mentioned it was co-ed, but obviously the sleeping arrangements were separated, because we wouldn’t want these whackadoos to be fucking, now would we? You might not think people couldn’t find love in such a place, but apparently 2 of them amazingly pulled it off. The dude was a tall, but very skinny, lazy-eyed fella, big lazy eye. I mean that one eye was lookin east while the other was stuck in the Wild West, impossible to maintain direct visual contact, but he was a naively nice guy, kinda what you expect when you see his distorted face, if you know what I mean? His new girlfriend was some kind of Native American I think, she had that look, that look of aged alcoholism & the miscreant mother of grownup yet fucked-up kids, yet kind of Eskimoish in the face, if that makes sense. She had many noticeable long girl-beard hairs, so very long they were, & pointing in different directions with hues of black & gray salt-&-peppered about. I don’t know why, but her beard kept distracting me by its own mere presence. She was definitely not a man, never was a man, but had that salt-of-the-earth that some girls of diverse nature seem to have, & simply never plucked and/or shaved the hairs on her face, which were now very easily seen by anyone who got within 10 feet of her. They were joined at the hip tho, those two sordid sods, & they seemed like they were in a happy little union, albeit both locked in the psych ward. The employees had to keep reminding them to stop holding hands & making out & such, which I happily obliged since they sight of those two making moves on each other was kind of horrifying. Nonetheless, there were the fledgling lovers in there, but everyone likes to hear about crazy stuff, so maybe I’ll talk about The Pisser.
The Pisser arrived after me, but later on in the night. People come & go, as their times start & end respectively, & you never know who might show up, so they brought this new guy in. First thing I noticed when I initially saw this guy, was his YUGE bush, & yes I mean his pubes…let me explain. I came out of my room & the guy was standing against the wall, in some scrubs, avoiding the dreadedly embarrassing suicide smock of shame. However, his hands were in the front of the scrub pants, weighing them down so his entire mountain of pubes was blowing openly in the breeze, along with the top of his penial shaft, & was in a Windex-clear view of everyone who accidentally happened to have functioning eyes. ZERO shame, nothing like that, I don’t even think he knew what he was doing, & why do I say that? Well, he was standing in his own piss, once I got close enough to smell it, then detect the origin of said smell, a big puddle of piss, & he was standing right in the middle of it, hands down the pants, pubes in view, but believe it or not, THIS was not the craziest part yet. The real cray-cray part, was what he was saying as he stood there, barefoot(I forgot to mention he apparently had decided to go sandal-free), but yes barefoot, standing in his own piss, & he was saying things.
Once I was close enough, to blatantly see/smell the piss & hear his actual words, I realized what he was saying…well somewhat. I could surely understand the words he was using, but the order of said words & the context was something out of an Exorcist movie maybe. He was reciting, what sounded like, random verses from the Satanic Bible. I’ve never actually read the real-life Satanic Bible, so I can only presume it sounded similar. I think you can use your imagination to paint this picture, because there’s no way I can recall what exactly he was saying, only that one, he was impressively eloquent, like he didn’t miss a beat, every word was perfect, almost like he was just reciting what he was hearing, possibly from some hellbound demon, how would I know?…& two, he didn’t stop, he just kept going, & going, & going, I’m not even sure he slept either, because I was up the entire time & so was he, unless he disappeared for a minute, but then he’d always come back, always the same spot, always those Kilamanjarian pubes, always in his own piss(they just stopped cleaning it up because he’d just piss again), & always lost in his own eyes while reciting these dark arts voodoo soliloquies. Right at the end of that first day there, we were waiting on our meds, & The Pisser was literally right next to me in line, but he had stopped talking out loud, maybe because of all the people, I don’t really know, but out of nowhere, he puts his arm around me, looks me right in the eye, & said, “We are…here.” I said, “We sure are, big guy,” not breaking eye contact, not flinching, certainly not panicking, despite an instantaneous adrenaline surge. It was firm sidearm side-hug, not to mention he was a rather big guy, easily 6’1, 6’2, kind of stocky, much bigger than my skinny little ass anyway, so when he scooped he into his arm basically, I would be a Bidenesque-level liar if I said I wasn’t afraid for my life, even if only briefly. That fear fled quickly though because he let me go rather hastily, as if he knew he was a gentle giant, & that his size & strength might make others feel uneasy, he seemed to know, despite his mental disorder. It ended up being sad, quite sad, & he was sad inside, very sad, so I felt bad for that guy, The Pisser, & that Bride of Frankenstein hairdo atop his shling-shlong.
That was day one, & day two consisted of a lot of walking, for me anyway, & countless push-ups. Up & down, up & down that piss-stanking hallway. We could only go out of rooms, & either into the hallway, or into the dayroom with the television. Obviously, many opted for the TV time. We only got to pick from a pre-selected selection of movies, & then we had to request to watch them, so no one gets their feelings hurt if they want to watch something else. First night, I skipped tv time, but 2nd day, I watched movies between my walking & push-ups. First movie was that movie Drumline, a film about black students at a black college in a black marching band. My absolute favorite genre. There’s a reason I’m repeating the word “black” so much…hang tight, it’s coming. The movie starts, I get my little spot on the edge of the couch, & altogether there’s maybe 20 of us in there, so we’re all kinda close, the bearded girl & her new boyfriend were really close, subtly holding hands just out of view of the staff. Adorable. Anyway, movie starts, we get into it, even me, what else was I gonna do?…wasn’t a bad movie really, once my disbelief was suspended, even had that same early-2000s vibe that movies like American Pie & Road Trip had, which now I suppose is nostalgic. Nonetheless, we all get into the movie, & about 20 minutes into it, I notice this trailer-park-looking white girl, about 4-5 months pregnant, sitting next to a little black guy(make a note), & she’s making a few comments, in an unbelievably exaggerated uber-wigger accent. If you don’t know what a wigger is, look it up on Urban Dictionary, but she was using that pseudo-dialect, only really laying it on extra-extra-thick, even dropping N-bombs, lots of them, more-so than actual black people drop them, WITH A BLACK GUY NEXT TO HER (told you to make a note).
She was completely oblivious though, & as the movie continued, I realized I was not only watching the movie, I was simultaneously listening to her, just mesmerized by how much she had embraced the black culture with her atrociously amplified accent. It wasn’t just the accent, it was the content as well, such incredible content. I caught something about how, & I’m just gonna loosely paraphrase her here(so roll with me as best you can), but how she, in her own blackanese, would “hood up like a dude, & rob niggas,” & so she’d pretend she was a thug, a male thug mind you, “cuz niggas is dumb yo, & I’m fresh,”& do “gang shit,” i.e. “rob niggas.” All of this, done under the guise that she “repuzzent dat hood hard,” & thus successfully changed her appearance, to look like a man, a MALE gang member, & everyone assumed she was, in fact, said hardcore MALE gang member, because she was so clever of course, & tricked them successfully, of course. She was “true-thug,” & she “owned her hood,” on & on this went on, & now that I’m thinking about it, retrospectively, that was MUCH more entertaining then Drumline. I did mention she was 4-5 months pregnant, right?
Yes, I did mention it, & me, being me, had to inquire with this girl about her preggo jive-talking self. I HAD QUESTIONS, that’s all I’m saying, & I had a feeling she only went full-ratchet like that as needed. Thus, I ended up bullshitting with her for a minute, face to face, & as if on cue, when she talked to a white guy like me, that accent seemed to be much less expressive, you could say. Turns out she started out as a redneck, born in bumfuck Kentucky, & came from a tragically broken & fucked-up home, poor girl. Quick summary as to what she revealed to me: She was abused & molested by multiple family members from as far back as she can recall, in every way, just a very traumatic childhood, to say the least. She was 19, but looked 30. This was her 2nd kid, but the 1st kid was stillborn, so assuming the kid she had in her belly at the time I met her in the nuthouse lived through the pregnancy, she now has a living kid to call her own. Her baby daddy this round was some much-older black guy, I think she said he was 52, 53, one of those, a guy named “D,” or maybe “Dee?” I never caught the proper spelling, but this D guy is/was a high-ranking, old school gang member I guess, according to her, I don’t know, she was definitely pregnant, but the rest of it was almost like a cry for help in a way. So much LARPing, but she LARPs to escape her terrible childhood, & it’s all so fucked up. It was just…it was just sad, all of it, sad as it gets. Child abuse is cancer, & it has infected the societal body. It spreads. Sad reflections of a dwindling humanity. I was mostly just listening in amazement, not really encouraging her, just listening, & now you are listening to me, so it looks like I got a little story to share with all of you out of it. How bout dat?…shhhhoooooooo, short-tay was thuggy G, knocked up by D, may-BE, we don’t know, do WE?…see what I did there?…my shitty rhymes?…I’m gang-sta, SEE?…woot woot…derp.
Day 3 was here at last, the final day of my 72-hour stint in this crazy place, literally crazy place. I had seen a lot, some girl intentionally throwing up her meds because she didn’t wanna take them, so she got a shot in the ass to “calm her down,” which it promptly did, & she was out for a solid 8 hours, which ultimately was probably better for her. I don’t know what she did, but she had the look of one of those whacked mothers that kills one or all of her own kids. There’s just something missing in the eyes, like a neon sign at a shitty motel with a few letters that don’t light up, so it reads, “VAC N Y,” instead of “VACANCY.” Make up your own analogy if you don’t fancy that one, but you get what I mean. Speaking of which, I must mention the Meth Mom, who ironically, arrived on day 3. Couldn’t get outta there without one more weird encounter, could I? Of course not, & so I had a run-in with said Meth Mom. This sordid single mother was an absolute meth, I mean “mess,” did I say meth? Oops. Anyway, yes, she was such a MESS, & as the title I adorned her with graciously implies, she was a mess, from meth, a messy meth mother, of 3, THREE KIDS she had, she mentioned at some point, which will really blow your mind once you read the upcoming revelation.
Here’s the revelation; she had smoked so much meth, that she didn’t know who was a real person & who wasn’t actually there, so she would touch everyone. Yes, physically touch people, she would touch everyone, EVERYONE, & anyone, more than once too, it wasn’t like she would touch you, realize you’re real, & remember you are indeed real, so she wouldn’t touch you again, oh no, she’d have to touch you multiple times. It was like OCD-touching, to make sure things were real, yes things too, not just people, so all day, she’s just touching everything & everyone, saying weird methy things. For her, it was all she could make sense of anymore. Her brain was Swiss cheese. She genuinely was scared, petrified even, that people she interacted with were not real people, I could see it, I could see her fear, & I honestly felt bad for her, because that would…honestly suck. Can you imagine, smoking so much methamphetamine, to the point that you cannot distinguish reality from methworld, can you imagine that? Touching people, touching things, to make sure they’re even there, yikes, but that was her deal, & why she was there, again. Yes, the staff knew her very well it seemed, & also were quite aware of her need to touch everything, so instead of yelling at her every time, they’d wait until it became too overwhelming to whoever or whatever she was touching before they’d do anything about it. All fucking day, day 3, my last day, I had to keep my eye out for Meth Mom, because I made the mistake of being nice to her before I knew why she was there, & thus, she kept wanting to talk to me specifically, & touch me, over & over, to make sure she was talking to a real person. Don’t misunderstand, it wasn’t like weird groping, she would just touch your arm real quick, then whisper “ok” to herself, but loud enough where you could hear her whisper. Then, a few minutes later, she’d do it again. In between, she’d ramble about all the meth she smoked, & the shadow aliens watching her & following her, & her fucked-up kids, & she’d forget about what she’d say, so she’d repeat herself. It was all on a big loop, as are so many things, even this article you’re reading, as I’m about to wrap it up in the next paragraph or 3, when I detail my exit from the mental hospital, & complete the circle, fulfilling my circularity for this daily Foozer, as my own loop circles back around on itself.
What a long Foozer this turned into…wow. Wasn’t intentional, like I’ve said ad nauseam here, I just tune the dial to the frequency that comes in the cleanest, give the antenna one final adjustment, then channel in what you’re reading NOW, but as I wrote it in the past. How surreal, I am writing this, in the present, MY present, right now, MY now, but it’s the past YOU are reading, figuratively AND literally, so…idiosyncratic, I think that word works there, let me check…yep, it’s a synonym of surreal. Clever boy. Such surreality, I love that word, one of my favorites, surreality, good stuff. I got a few up in the old lexicon upstairs that got there via means unknown, so many random words, maybe from my spelling bee days, I don’t know, but they pop out occasionally, these “big” words, like just a few words ago, in the past, my past, YOUR now, & there’s some synchronous circularity right there…never fails me, or us, my serpent, my oroborian snake, head eating the tail forever, loops, so many “loop-dee-loops,” or is it “loop-d-loops?” Get that one, dear reader? Anyway, future becoming present becoming past, all in the divine time of the 4th dimension of temporality, & as if on cue, I digress, so let’s go ahead & get the fuck outta this whackadoo place already.
Finally, the end, the end of day my technical day 3, all 72 hours soon to be behind me. It was a long 72 hours while I was there, & it’s been almost 6 years to the day that I had to suffer this ordeal, so wow, 6 years, speaking of the past, sheesh. Is time speeding up? People say it’s a phenomenon of aging, but I don’t agree. I think time IS literally speeding up. Obviously, I have no way to prove this, like zero way, but who can really prove anything here in Clownworld? (Honk Noise) For all you know, & I know, we could all be hypnotized & experiencing different realities, or does that sound too extreme? Have you seen the lunatic liberal left lately? Or even those with no obvious politically-affiliated mental disorder, just pick someone, pick a random person anywhere, then think of their overall understanding of this reality & what is really real here, how clueless are they? Not excluding myself either, believe me, I have no fucking idea what all this is about here in 3d Earth school, if that even IS what it is…I don’t know…I DO NOT KNOW, JUST LIKE YOU, I am not amongst the self-ascribed globalist noble elites who run this rigged game, not even close, & all I CAN say I know, is that those so-called elites DO know what the Big Picture truly illustrates, but they keep that occult knowledge to themselves. God forbid any of us down here in the peasantry get clued in on the real rules of the real game so we could have a chance to win maybe, but nope, no chance, minus the exceptionally random anomaly here & there, you’re either born into them, or you’re dropped of at the dock down here with us. Oh but wait, we haven’t checked out of the hotel for halfwits yet, & I needed my $140 hi-top leather Converse Caballeros I found at a thrift store in my size for $7 back.
Check out time, time to say goodbye, which I did like a stage performer addressing a crowd, the generic whole-crowd goodbye, nothing individual or personal. I would never see any of these people again, I didn’t meet anyone who I even would want to see again, so with a “take care everyone & good luck,” to this Keseyian crowd of the certifiably committed, it was on my way through the normally electro-locked door for the second time, only going the other way, back out into the world I hadn’t seen in 3 days. I had to do some exit-paperwork before I had the bag brought to me with all my stuff. MY SHOES, there were my dope shoes, man I loved those shoes, & I haven’t been able to find any ever since. My black ass is too broke to buy a pair brand new, & the chances of finding them for that insanely low $7 pricetag are like seeing Bigfoot riding a unicorn…otherwise, not gonna happen. You never know here in Clownworld though, & considering all we have witnessed collectively thus far, & what we are sure to witness in the coming years as this Titanic-inspired juggernaut hits that proverbial iceberg & swiftly sinks. Problem is, the psychopaths steering this ship, the REAL “crazy” people, are going to try & take all of us down with them. I cannot speculate how this will all happen precisely, but I have string inclinations, so to speak, that unfortunately, there’s no way to turn the ship away from the tempest on the horizon. The ship ain’t turning, the iceberg ain’t moving, & we are clown horns blaring, full speed ahead still, right toward critical mass, & damn these cue cards as I have digressed once more from the topic..let’s go already…
…got my shoes, my clothes, my wallet, my phone, some loose change, ½ pack of cigarettes, a lighter, & with my exit-paperwork done, it was time to go. My ride was waiting outside, & I immediately noticed that I was ravenously starving for real food. The food was actually not bad in there, but I was craving food food, so once I got to my car, I drove to a Chinese buffet, because that’s where al the best quality food food is, right? Meow meow, woof woof, but I didn’t give 2 fucks, I was so hungry, & in my head it sounded so yumyum-delish, so let’s do it. Once I got there, I fucking crushed it, & I don’t know where it all went, but it went down, like 4 plates. There was a sushi plate to start, from the Chinese buffet, yeah I know, I told you I was stupid-hungry, like Africa hungry, & I just said “fuck it” & kept going, sushi plate, Mongolian plate, 2 plates of regular Chinese buffet food, those boneless spare ribs are divine, & oh damn, I forgot my FIFTH plate, my dessert/fruit plate, so 5 plates, AND a soup, a cup of egg drop, geez…what an animal, & I’m short & skinny, but I got it all down, then the food-coma hit, started to come on fast, so back home I went, & slept like I was in God’s palm. Solid sleep, a good 8 hours, which for me, never really happens, but it did, it happened, that great sleep after my 72-hour trip to the haunted house of nutters, & with the circularity circling all around us, that’s gonna wrap up this new record-long daily Foo-Fooze. Beginning becoming the end, becoming the start, yet again, but for now, it ends, so until next time, if anyone ever asks you if you’re “suicidal,” say NO. Do NOT overthink it Aristotle, just say “NO,” unless you actually are, then you might wanna say “YES,” but I don’t know, that’s your bag of beans, spill them as you see fit & best of luck. Chuck. Now please, mind your head on the way to the glowing exit sign.
For all of you, for some of you, & for none of you at all.
EaT~aLL~YouR~FisH™ 