Circling Back To Innocence Park

Five year old Alex in the sunny days.

I like public radio (MPBN). But it isn't for the reason you might think. That is, if you think I'm the NPR stereotyped listener, just because I seem to have emerged from decades of being digested by the culture's more disappointing intestines, as a fully formed Liberal crumudgeon. It's true that I may lobby more often with the “progressives” these days, but I really think of myself more as an Anarchist. I despise ideology of all kinds.

Anyway, no, no, no. My attraction to the public broadcasting *ideal* comes from my childhood memories of watching inarguably innocent shows like “Sesame Street,” “Mr.Rogers,” “The Electric Company,” and “Mutual Omaha's Wild Kingdom.”

I like the feeling that I am observing something innocent; something made for well-meaning reasons. Even the left-weighted stories on public radio seem innocent enough for me now—*pure* enough. These shows seem to cause no one any harm and might have even taught me a thing or two! Again, an ideal. This ideal is deep within and indicates to me that there are - somehow – psychological safe zones where I can return to the Park of childlike innocence; to the sunny days (whether real or imagined) that illuminated the start of my life.

Having nearly died a few times now, I understand very well how the push-down from the momentum to “give up” can be defeated by the slightly stronger up-ward lift of finding the will to trying over again. It has very little to do with physiology. It is all about will-choice. It seems that it is a spin on the old cliché to say that: making a will-choice to try again is just enough of the self-help needed for God to then jump in and offer he/she/it's own help. (If you will.) Life is either given up or taken. There is no in between. As long as a person doesn't currently have one of those things doing death duty, one can live, and even learn! Adding the lubrication of experience as it is motivated by will-choice is how true wisdom and maybe even spiritual maturity can polish the weathered parts of the soul that have long since rusted shut.

When I was a younger man I didn't know how to be on time to meetings. Though my colleagues were patient with me, I began to catch on that making people wait just because I couldn't plan carefully enough was disrespectful to them, and made me look like a dick.

Resolving to change my evil ways, I tried to manipulate my environment in order to make reality look more acceptable to myself, as I put my own time ahead of other people's time, thinking that might work. I guess that became literal. I'd set my clocks ten minutes ahead, so that, in an attempt at reverse self-psychology, I'd always feel like I still had time for myself. “Four o'clock! Oh, right! Phew, it's only ten of four.” This failed spectacularly. Then one day I had the compulsion to try something different. I decided I would instead set my clocks to the most precisely known, *actual* (or, most mutual and socially-agreed upon) time. I decided that at least it could be a fun new challenge. It was then, when my reality matched the state of the moment as well as it could, that I was final able to be on time for meetings. I can't say why. The change was instant and lasting. It was the socially-friendly thing to do too. Yes, I changed because I respect other people's schedules, but I ended up unwittingly helping my own reputation! No more, “when is dick gonna show up.”

Decades of being a rebel with no rebellion to fight for, as well as a socially skeptical and jaded, “shamer and blamer ” of others, has left me wondering about the value or harm of habitual rejection, for rejection's sake. Turns out that only now can I hold the mirror up at just the right angle to see how my pretension (often accompanying plenty of outward contention) was a subconscious way to strut around, philosophically.

Only since pupating back from the chrysalis of surgical anesthesia have I discovered that “the fight” has been molted out of me. I just don't care enough anymore to defend, or *offend* with my own personal belief system. It's done. I've said it already in great detail. I've said enough. If people still want to argue with me about what *I* believe, I hope to lovingly send them to this blog. It is the socially-friendly thing to do. I'd rather just get along now, as much as it really stings my pride sometimes. time is short. (Beware though: I still hate unasked for advice. And, if you attack me unfairly, I'm not above pulling out my dusty verbal/textual buzz-saw. Ha!)

For me, the things that are important now are like those that a new parent must respect. Stability, social responsibility, and protection are the priorities. As you may know, I care for my mom as she is figuratively and tragically, getting “younger,” more childlike and innocent, creeping toward the mysterious birth place from which she had first emerged in her own sunnier days.

There is nothing more important. I put aside my life of over-sized ambition and isolation for something much more valuable to me, than me. The complexity of silly obligations, subtle social cues, the transient face-value of an artificial and highly disordered human universe go straight around my mom, without her even noticing. It's like gravitational lensing. The growing gravity well of her mind disperses all that is not as vital as the immediate moment, and terminally, forever swallows the light of her own mortal ability to escape.

And the connections born of irony never cease. My mom was exceedingly generous to me as a kid. If I had been a greedy and ambitious child, one might say she spoiled me. But I appreciated her help and put it to the best advantage I could. She was everything to me as a child. She had to be in order to balance things as the “good cop” parent. But, in so many ways, my mom and I were also friends, especially as I got older. We would often talk to each other for hours and hours about the problems we were having. It is our friendship that still allows humor to be present and not allow us to take ourselves too seriously. Hopefully that will last a while. Now that she needs help with even the smallest things, I find it bitter sweet to be the helper she will have, at least for the rest of my life (as she will likely outlive me).

Mom is circling around and becoming innocent again; as innocent as the PBS shows she encouraged me to watch when I was her child. Back then, we stuck to the safe side of the road. Our clocks were right on time. We just never knew what that time really was. It didn't matter back then.

To stop myself from speeding I drive at exactly the posted speed limit. It isn't just Protestant moderation, or Yankee sensibility. It is just socially-friendly.

I refuse to use my phone in any way except as GPS while driving. It isn't because the law demands it. It is because I need to know what it's like to follow the rules, to be responsibly to society. Throwing snowballs at the street signs felt good as a rebel, and I could cover them occasionally. But snow always melts and the signs stay. Cooperation is a will-choice for innocence.

Doing the cooperative thing isn't about right and wrong. It isn't about turning up my amp above the rest of the band and shredding through a guitar solo, or brandishing a unique physical appearance in order to cause intrigue and controversy. Only now do I realize that it isn't about the melody. It is about the harmony. While I would never advise capping creativity, originality, or novelty, I understand now that those three things shine best when they are highlighted least. They can make the show, rather than stealing it.

I have mentioned many times in the last couple years, that I believe my post surgical world (the world I came back to—THIS world) is like an over-the-top B-grade, sci-fi film, done in shaky handed video, like “Cloverfield” (but much worse), where every now and then you catch the microphone dipping down into the shot.

When I was prepped for surgery I left a semi-rational world; one where the most ridiculous thing in history was the election of an orange colored American president. The earth in the reality which I awoke after surgery was – right off the bat – like a shit show playing out in a shuttering boxcar, coming loose from a runaway, crazy train, on a dark and stormy night. No metaphor does this world any justice.

But, you'll be happy to know that I have since regained a largely unfounded faith that at least this version of earth is not, indeed, hell, as I had postulated about somemonths ago. Nope. I think this is just a less ordered local universe than the one I left. I know how unhinged all of this sounds. Ha! I am fully aware that if your world – my new world – seems so radically off the average planetary standard deviation curve to be real at all, it probably means the only truly weird character in this discussion is ME! Okay, that will remain up for discussion. But something happened to me while I was in between worlds.

Was it a lack of oxygen? Was it an overdose of imagination? Where is Occam's Razor? We will never know. I will never know. But, like every over-thinker who has ever thought about existential realty a little too long—because duh, that's what ya do, I – like you – have to eventually choose a belief system that integrates as much as possible about how my existence fits into everyone else's consensus reality. I choose to believe that this world must, instead of being a “beautiful hell,” perhaps the only sure way of avoiding that spiritual insanity-fate.

Of course, this space isn't perfect. No space is perfect for me or you. But our adventures in time can be a perfecting engine for all of us. Space and time are a *place.* What will lead to perfection in the end, can, in hindsight from there, be deemed a perfect place, but only then. Is that determinism? No, I don't think so, and thank you for asking! A perfect static circle may be seen from above, but an ascending and dynamic spiral staircase is what we see from the side. We may never see it from above—and thence both perspectives, but I believe we will!

And maybe the eternal striving for perfection simply takes us home to the sunny days just after we were born, subsequently linking each of us into the human over-mind that we know and love in this life—when we truly were innocent? I believe we are playing out the time-constrained dramas that we ourselves – in spirit – authorized in the deep past-planning of whichever world we all agreed was best, before meeting around the eternal camp fire.

Then, to enjoy the material freewill, like you read about—as adventure, we have briefly become mortal again, in observation. We learn the consequences for the moral decisions we make, like a kind of magic. Or, we don't learn.

I'm fortunate that the Universe or Universes has given me such ample opportunity to have another chance to try again. It is the golden dream: to return to innocence for one more try. This time? I remember what to do. I remember what is at stake. But most of all, I am perked up and ready to learn more about the plot of my own story. I think we are all doing that.

Here's a trip toy for you: Ultimately, I perceive a future Sea made up of all souls together, unified as One uncountable mega-multitude; sitting there in common ascendant perfection, at the Center of Infinity. For sport or entertainment, they like to dip their consciousnesses back down through the depths of their past experience—the decisions and events which allowed them to sit at such a lofty place of perfection.

Here on earth I am not really me yet. You are not yet you. We (writing and reading this) are like probes sent from our future selves to re-live the formulas of spiritual calculus our spirits once chose way back at the start of all things to complete the circle of eternity.

Only by experiencing the consequences of the erroneous decisions we make purely to help ourselves can we understand that love ends up meaning helping others. Love is many things. To give wisely without the expectation of any possible return on that love investment is one form. And, yes, admittedly, the extent to which that last sentence is followed is directly proportional to the purity of the love being proffered, I think.

The most profound realization I have had lately is that love doesn't have to be very pure, to be pure enough. Nothing has to be pure. Not yet. Things don't have to be ideal in order to be idyllic. Even people don't have to be perfect in order to claim they are “perfecting.” Knowing this allows for finding innocence again. We can all be forgiven, for truly, we know not a fucking thing about what we say. And what we say has to carry all the weight of what builds our world, from the Planck scale to the deep fields of starry twisting filaments teaming with endless galaxies. Terence McKenna said, “The world is made of language.”

I once walked and wrote about the roads spanning a single continent on a world I thought I understood, but toward which I was perpetually angry. Now, I've been kicked over to a world I don't understand, and for some reason I want to play nice now! I'm just walking the circular arc of the spiral, returning to innocence.

I still think you'll see my soul on the outside before I'm gone. Mom's soul is just a little further up the path... Look within! There she is!

Aw, she's smiling the first smile I ever saw! The most beautiful smile I've ever known and what I judged all other women by. Together, we're off to the Park, to the sunny days at the start! Come play with us whenever you are ready.

A New Plan, Reality, and Music

The author in between practicing songs for the new album, CROWNS.

* * * 

I just wanted to announce that I will be traveling on to Plan B instead of around the globe. Plan A was to be a world tour. Unfortunately, my physical condition just won't allow that at this point. Big surprise, not, I guess... Who knows what the future will bring? 

Seems the actual "walking" aspect of my life is fading into the life experiences of the last version of Alex Wall. The idea of rough camping and walking 15 miles a day and such is as appealing to me as re-taking the S.A.T.. I literally gave my life to those things in 2019 and have now come back to this world to accomplish something different and greater.

My lung capacity is much shortened from what it once was, no matter what I've tried. I thought I could expand it, but have been unsuccessful so far. Putting on my socks, sucks. My heart is doing pretty well, but I am having serious sleep problems. I also suffer from what I can only find described online as Rumination Disorder--something I apparently have had all my life. This is coupled with PTSD from some recent family experiences and of course all the earlier ones. I'm working on it all. It never ends for me. (And that may be be point: please re-read This Beautiful Hell.) 

It's okay, though. Or, it has to be, since I have no choice but to deal with it all. Mercifully, music has been burrowing its way back into my life like an adorable kitten trying to climb up my shirt. Like a kitty who cares, music has been curled up over my broken heart, waiting to be my companion again. And that is making all the difference. It is now something I can't ignore, can't avoid, and for god-sake, why would I ever want to? I love it beyond all the other things in this world.

When I was a young teen, I dreamed a dream. It is one I have described before, but let me recap...

The Spark and Fusion

Once below a time, far back before humanity took over this world, the Spark that I've written about lived in another man's mind, literally on another planet. 

This man on a more ancient world was a musician too, very famous though. He (and his "band"--another man and a woman) was a real phenomenon, even inventing a new way to "hear" music. But he became embroiled on the losing side of a great spiritual, worlds-wide conflict--there being two other planets in his solar system that were involved. And with defeat, he chose to commit suicide rather than give into the authorities. Thus, voluntarily, he lost his only chance to survive death ("survival" in this context means fusing with the Spark after material death). Over the eons of galactic time and ages of interplanetary development, his Spark has become my Spark. It chose me, because my projected life was to be very similar to it's last host. 

So, it was in my teens that this was revealed to me. Sparks forget not what they have experienced in the minds of human beings. And, my Spark wisely chose to show me only a brief scene from it's former host's life. To this day that dream/vision rests in my soul. By choosing this life with me, the Spark challenged itself with overcoming some of the exact same existential problems it faced in the last guy's life. It is betting on me not to drop the ball. Frankly, I think it couldn't have chosen a more difficult challenge.

The Spark is collaborating with my personality, in my mind, while together we build a soul and while also attempting to bring that soul into the outside world, so that I might wear it like a strange garment. And while I myself know there is NO outside world.

This is not to be done for the sake of pride, but as a means of opening the window to what each and every one of us is capable of. I think the Spark is offering musical and compositional insights from the experience of its former host in order to give me a little something extra to work with since just about this time last year, right when the virus hit. I see these insights while I am writing and working out parts on songs these days; bits, pieces, flashes of long forgotten adventures in melody and meaning. Yes, I'd been given these types of musical and artistic insights many times in my life before this point, but nothing like I do now; so frequently and so clearly. Music itself is slowly becoming my Will. I know other artists and musicians would surely agree to some kind of "inspiration."

So why did I wallk so long? Why did I suffer so intensely? Why didn't I simply make music the only priority ten years ago and fill up this last decade with it? I don't think I was ready for the profound self-revelation of musically exploring every nook and cranny of an early 21st Century life in the flesh, but now that I know it is happening I welcome it completely. I didn't know what our society was until I camped around it and mapped it from the outside, from sea to sea. 

It seems to be just the right time to both complete my own spiritual goals for this purely material life, while also doing my part as best I can  to be proactive in designing a new world for the "After-times" (a word I heard Kai Ryssdal use on Marketplace, to describe the more settled future we will eventually find after the pandemic and it's related chaos). I want to influence my fellow human beings, but not for them to believe what I believe. Rather I want them to make their own beliefs the most important things in their lives. I explored our nation, high and low, and you were right there with me, fellow readers! Now we know that basically people are good--if not always thinking very carefully; having a penchant for serving ideologies instead of each other.

Reality Theory

Tangentially, I wanted to remind folks that I am a polymath and therefore continue to be drawn to many different subjects and disciplines. I even have a Reality Theory of my own that I have been working to formalize mathematically for the last two decades. Finally, are my suspicions about the purity and fundamental nature of consciousness as reality maker being validated. My time so close to the Spark in the last ten years has convinced me that there is indeed NO outside world. All that we experience through our senses is a world of collapsed quantum waves that vibrate back out into superposition when we aren't observing them. The best summation of this theory is described by Bob Berman and Robert Lanza in their co-authored book, Biocentrism: How Life and Consciousness are the Keys to Understanding the True Nature of the Universe (2010).

I had long been a student of a group of philosophers and scientists, including, Emmanuel Kant, David Hume, Alfred North Whitehead, Marshall McLuhan, David Bohm, John Stewart Bell, John Wheeler, Fred Alan Wolf, Terence McKenna, and Dennis McKenna, and now I have to make space (pun intended) for these new guys: Berman and Lanza. The Anthropic Principle has played a large role in my thinking, but I am much more convinced now than ever before that nothing occurs outside of living things and the consciousness that permeates them, individually and collectively. With Biocentrism, the lines are finally laid down, boldly and unapologetically. I am convinced that this will help lead to the physics and metaphysics of a final and real Theory of Everything.

What does any of that have to do with me? I have a novel mathematical (geometric) and graphic approach to representing multidimensional reality, and it happens to fit Biocentrism perfectly. It is called, "Metaphorics." I will announce the publication of this hypothesis at some point in the next couple of years. While these things are not involved in my creative efforts, they do influence my thinking.

MUSIC - Crowns

The album I've been working on for the better part of this last year is moving along via it's own momentum now. Nine songs have been written (with possibly more to come). Lately, it's been a matter arranging parts within the songs. The project is meant to be an unbroken piece when listened to or performed. In other words, each song leads into the next song. In all, the album is like one song. I want to be able to sit down and play it all the way through. So, keeping the whole thing in mind even when playing one of the songs is important. Besides distributing it online, I really wanted to release it on vinyl. The total length should be about 40 minutes.

Writing and Composition

                      

Some of the subjects of the songs are close to being almost banal in a purposeful way that kind of makes them especially personal to me, and I hope the listener too will identify with that. As with most of my music the lyrics are meant to be more like poems. Songs usually come into being in the following way...

1. Subject is chosen.

2. Instrumental composition is worked out.

3. Words begin to come as I repeat playing it.

4. Melody is born.

5. Write a poem to match the music and fit the subject.

6. Integrate music and lyrics. 

The subjects range from dementia, depression, longing for youth, to deals with the devil, death of loved ones, this apocalyptic age, tyranny of politicians, billionaires and "holy" men, to prophecy about the "Age of Heroes" to come. The things I believe and the things I have written should be familiarly available in my music. It has always been that way. "Crowns" refers to symbols we use to give our world meaning. The obvious connection is to leadership, but the symbol of the crown could also fit the corona (which of course means "crown") virus.

The music is old fashioned sounding, compared to what is considered popular right now, especially when played solo on the piano. But I "hear" the songs in my head already in their final and more aurally experimental state, in full instrumentation with a band beside me.

Therefore, the first published version of the album will be piano and voice--kind of like a demo. Then, after I've had some time to perform it, I will put together a band to fully record, produce and perform it (along with future albums).

CROWNS 

Current Song List

1. Herx Sing

2. Already Over

3. With You

4. Seven Stars

5. Snow to Rain

6. Crowns

7. I Don't Know

8. Euphoria

9. Age of Heroes

Album Cover Ideas

The following sketch gives a very rough idea about the theme...

Recording Environment

I have been writing poetry, song lyrics and prose since 1980, playing my own music since 1982. I've been multitrack recording since 1984. In the early days, buying and piling up mountains of equipment was the real goal of building a studio. Thankfully, I have been able to hold onto the core recorder (a Korg D32-XD 32 track recorder with programmable moving faders).

I used to have twenty guitars, two basses, effects units, a dozen microphones, stands...tons of stuff. In 2011, I gave most of it away and put the rest into deep storage. What I have now is the most basic set up left from that storage. My 1986 Fender Stratocaster is in need of serious repair and is unplayable, same with my acoustic. So I bought a simple Ibanez electric, which turned out to be a great guitar! I picked up a Kustom amp for $2 at a yard sale, from a couple who thought it was a broken air conditioner. I still have an old modified bass that I just bought coated strings for a year ago. I have my little Yamaha keyboard and my Rode condenser microphone. Interestingly, for live vocals, I still have the same Shure SM-58 I used in high school!

Mostly though, I have been attached to my mother's beautiful Yamaha Studio piano. I secured a microphone on left and right inside the piano to isolate them from vocals. For some reason, since my surgery in October 2019, I have found it much easier to play the piano, and to sing.

   

From left to right: Korg D32XD recorder, Shure SM-58 microphone,

guitar and piano, and amp far right.

Ibanez guitar and Kustom amp.

I hooked up a headphone jack for my mom so she can listen along to the mixes on the recorder.

I am learning a bunch of cover songs too.

A Working Routine

Though musicians are said to "play" music, writing, performing, recording, mixing, mastering and producing an album is a huge amount of work. For sub poverty folks like me it has to be done for no compensation, and is the very definition of "a labor of love." But it does pay me. I have had a horrible experience in the last ten months (even unrelated from viruses and coming civil wars). As implied above with my mentioning rumination, there were panic attacks and depression, insomnia, anxiety, high blood pressure. I had been libeled, defamed, and slandered by the closest person in my family. Being able to escape into music might well be called a "life saving" activity.

I do live -in direct care for my mom now and am blessed to have her as my captive audience. Actually, when I procrastinate and a day goes by without piano work, she begins to tell me how much she likes listening. Many nights after working on my originals I play her a set of ELO, the Beatles, John or Paul's solo material, Pink Floyd, the Eagles, or unusual stuff like TV on the Radio, Duran Duran, David Bowie, on and on... Mom remembers the songs by sound, but not by title. She has her favorites of both my music and the covers. She is easily moved to tears, unable to suppress her intense emotions (even really good ones) when she listens to music. Songs like those from John and Yoko Lennon's, Double Fantasy, or Louis Armstrong's, "What a Wonderful World" or Cat Stevens', "Morning Has Broken," or Leonard Cohen's, "Hallelujah." By far her very favorite cover tune that I play is "Midnight Blue," off of ELO's, Discovery, album...

Mom's favorite cover song: Midnight Blue

With Mom's support, my routine includes playing a whole day 4-6 hours of cover tunes (sometimes broken up) to keep my piano and vocal chops up. Then, each other day I work on the latest CROWNS' songs, before running through the whole album as it is currently structured. This is usually in 2 hour chunks. I do get burned out though, and if I play my songs too often I get sick of them. Giving a day in between covers and originals is enough to keep my interest in both.

* * *

I suppose that at this point, everything creative that I do is really just for myself. I have to admit that, like all my former walking, if one or two people care enough to follow along I will continue to be motivated to share what I do. I have no more illusions about becoming a big star, nor do I desire to be cool anymore. I want to make music for music sake; to mine the ancient melodies within myself and brought forth by the Spark, in an attempt to reinforce the harmonies needed to help keep humanity hungering for unity, peace and love. 

The IWALLK Essays - 14. This Beautiful Hell

William Blake

Since normalcy died back in March with the start of the Covid-19 pandemic in America, the strangest sense has been coming over me... 

Or, maybe it was set up by normalcy dying with the election of Donald Trump in 2016? Or, was everything normal until I walked out of a materialist life ruled over by everyone else's expectations for me, way back in 2011 when I started this blog? Whatever the case, the overwhelming feeling is: For some people, nothing ever really gets better and it never will. My life seems to be evidence of such a fate. 

I've been sharpening up my math skills lately and I re-learned the formulas for plotting standard deviation. It struck me suddenly that any series of events fits into that concept. Even when you examine lifetimes - from an admittedly subjective standpoint - being, that of your own experiences, a definite "falling into the curve" occurs. 

I want to be very clear about something... I am not complaining. I am not feeling sorry for myself. There is nothing to feel sorry for and nothing to complain about. Things ARE the way they ARE. Yet, there should be every possible attempt to evaluate the way things ARE. Why not? What else do we have to do?

Just as statistically some people suffer their whole lives and die miserably on one end of the curve, so must some other people be fortunate enough to find a constant satisfaction nearly every day and remain relatively happy until the end of their long, healthy lives. Of course most people's lives lie in between these extremes, with ups and downs; some, more ups, and some, more downs. 

I look at Paul McCartney as an example of a fairly charmed life. He was born handsome, creative, intelligent and extremely talented, at just the right time in history; ended up in the most famous band of all time (The Beatles), and is now considered the most successful musician in history. And to this day, he has never faded from immense popularity. Compare his life with a prepubescent Thai girl who is kidnapped or sold into sexual slavery, is seriously abused and then finally killed at 18 years old. What makes these two human beings so different? Well, just about everything! Only the mean curve connects them, as two sides of the human condition.

Theoretically, they are both "of equal value in the eyes of the Lord." But, they certainly aren't treated that way, theoretically, by the "Lord," presumably--Creator of the entire Universe. Christians claim that only through living life as prescribed by the intercessors and middlemen of Jesus Christ - the ministers, preachers, and priests, etc., whose "Authority" to interpret the Word as God's Holy Bible - will (or might not?) the human seeker have eternal life. 

These intercessors seem to have decided on their own that they be the world's self-appointed, minor Jesuses. Through them, you get to Jesus. But, Jesus himself said to Thomas,  “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me." [King James, John 14:6] Jesus didn't require you to utilize a minister as your interpreter. You were meant to communicate directly with Jesus through prayer, no men-in-robes necessary. But, like the buggy horses put out of business by Henry Ford's Model A, the intercessors between you and God, in this more open-minded age, are losing their energy to the new vehicle of self-aware, truth seeking. 

These used car salesmen of the spirit would have to distort their ideology pretty significantly to let the poor Thai girl get into heaven. They would need to manipulate and rationalize why she should be let in to the purity of heaven after, you know, what she's seen. But, she never went through them--the intercessors, never mind not going through Jesus either. No. I don't buy that it keeps you out of the next life. 

Even Paul McCartney, who once said none of the Beatles believed in God, might have a free pass to Paradise, on his deathbed he will of course realize that the Catholic priest who baptized him as a child was right all along! Or, at least, he knows the difference. Certainly, the Thai girl had no education, no choice in her religious practice or belief system. She didn't know Jesus from any other abusive man, or even what a "god" is. She probably had no idea that life was meant to be anything more than steady pain, punctuated by misery, followed eventually by death. Where does she go when she dies in a loving God's Universe? I mean, she's already been to hell? She was born there, thanks to God working in his "mysterious ways"? Surely the well-formed plans of men in robes have it all mapped out for her?

As a relatively pampered, first world, white-privileged, middle class American, former Protestant male, I've had several opportunities to get into heaven. I've come accidentally close on more than three occasions, and willfully close on a few others. 

My surgeon didn't beat around the bush when he gave me my new life expectancy. He was the guy who literally held and observed my beating heart in his hands. He said I had five-to fifteen years left. That surgery was exactly one year ago. I am seeing the glass of the "waters of life" as half empty now, but I also seem to be intentionally sipping a little off each time before the next measurement.

Being an over-thinker doesn't help. What is this spiritually passive aggressive need to very slowly commit suicide? Why has it afflicted me since I was in my preteens? Clearly, it is a mental illness of some kind. But frankly, compared to some people I know very well - and who can't see their own narcissism and sociopathy - it's a pretty mild case. 

In other words, it only torments me and the people who have to listen (or read) me rant about it. I have never met a highly intelligent human being who had less of a mental illness than I do now. Nevertheless, this seemingly voluntary negativity never fails to keep the water level in that glass pretty low. 

I have railed against wishful thinking and using optimism as a strategy for changing the world. Instead, I work to plan for the worst, while hoping for the best only whenever I am able to relax. It is only now that the end is nearer that I don't even understand what hope is good for anymore; not just with me, but in general. Hope isn't practical. Hope isn't a scheme for success. Hope is a recipe for disappointment. But how does one abandon hope? I'm learning. Perhaps abandoning hope is the final prerequisite to accepting hell. Remember the inscription at the gate of hell in Dante Alighieri's work, Inferno  “…lasciate ogne speranza, vow ch'intrate,” or "...abandon all hope ye who enter here." In fact, it seems that "hope" is very much a trendy kind of faith for atheists and agnostics. We are told by our atheistic brethren that they are sending "good vibes" when we are in trouble. No one stops and stares out into space to ponder just how many ways we continuously contradict our own personal and societal philosophies, singularly and collectively. That's what we do: contradict ourselves. That is the true human condition. So hope is not my answer. It is my hypocrisy.

Conversely, I have to admit that going in the other direction while still functioning in the world of hyper-sensitive society's wide denial of so much that society has inflicted upon itself, is just as stupid. Take it from me, being a "downer" about things all the time is not only a strategy for not impressing people (whilst pushing them away), but builds up a sort of negative patina in layers around the dwindling once shining silver core of one's objective--even when things actually are positive. Here is where I left off... left this world, experienced decades in a Faraway Place, then came back after two earth-hours.

I have tried several times here at the blog to self-psychoanalyze and/or theorize about why my own thinking is so different since that surgery where I left and came back last year. I mentioned that I had a death-like experience (see: "The IWALLK Essays - 7. Meaning in a Faraway Place") that formed whatever I am now. But I wonder sometimes... did I actually "come back"? How would I (or anyone else) know the difference? Cosmology speaks of the "Many Worlds" theory--where every decision splits off into countless alternative universes. Why can't this 2020 shit show be one of them? I think it might be; a special species of hell.

Red flags indicate just such a thing. They are not difficult to find, as you should know. In this universe a global pandemic that is not at all understood even after seven months of intense study is still growing, while America - erupting after 400 years of racism - teeters on the edge of a Second Civil War, and thereby threatens global geopolitics. Even the most powerful (if stupid) man in the world, the President of the United States, has become literally sick, because of his own pretentious hypocrisy. 

Of course, this is all occurring as, millions of species are lost, the oceans are turning into humanity's plastic dumps, and climate change twists and cancels out all predictability from our annual forecasts, threatening all future generations with ever-more destructive weather patterns and sea level rise...

And that is just the "outside" world!

We who didn't look for the difference need to admit to ourselves that everything we ever perceived around us has been limited by (1) our five electrochemical, gross-senses, (2) the material limitations of the human brain to process theses senses, while (3) "feeling" that there is more going on with the Universe than than our gross electrochemical senses can detect--that there are actually more than five senses. Even I agree that there is more than quantum observations of the behavior of leptons and quarks going on. "More Than This." Yes, among all the limitations of our certainty, leave some other things that are amazing and mystical. Physics and quantum mechanics hints at these things. Terence McKenna said that "physics is now to the left of psychology." That means that the most whacked out psychological theories are nothing compared to the bizarre action of nature at the quantum level.

Could it be that at the most precarious moment in surgery I did die. I mean permanently--like you read about? No return?

If I were a devil and was given the power to create the worst hell that could be imagined for the soul of Alex Wall, after life, here's what I would do...

The idea of eternal fire and brimstone is so passé. What you want is a slow, downward sloping curve of more and more intense sensations of failure and loss for as long as possible--in a place where the very concept of time breaks down--like post-Covid 21st Century earth! Do you get what I'm saying? You don't need eternity, if you are able to stretch the last moment between life and death long enough to convince someone that their soul has no business going on to its "eternal reward," you (the devil) win!

Run the graphic curve from today to the end of all things (at least as they are understood by the incomplete human mind). That allows for perfectly synching the arc of high and occasionally pleasant existence into the ultimate bottomless pit of pain and discouragement, and "hopefully" (says the devil) absolute hopelessness; perhaps eventually leading to soul-self-annihilation. 

See where I'm going now? I wish I could think, and not overthink. Indeed, hope is just wishful thinking, but it relies on the number of facts. If the facts are ultimately positive, there was always hope. If the facts are ultimately negative, there was always hopelessness. Hell may be many things, but I think it could include the ultimate subtraction of facts, slowly, over any amount of "time"--through actual experience. What better way to stain the soul with hopelessness and complete the loss of all dignity and will power.

When hope is permanently gone--as the hypothetical devil, having achieved my objective for Alex Wall's situation? I win. And *I* lose. Perfect!

It started with the notion that Alex would choose to come back to one of the available earths from almost dying at surgery to (at least as he thought) "make a difference." He would have one last hoorah and travel around the globe promoting the establishment of the Next Age. But, hark, there is no way to travel now around the nations of this world, especially for Americans, because of America's profound and extreme ignorance (from leaders to individual citizens) in dealing with Covid-19.  How incredibly disappointing.

It took a long time to try to recover from surgery and I am not even now recovered, for many different reasons. Additionally, in June, the closest member of my family suddenly attacked me viscously and under false pretenses to remove me for caring for my mom who I have lived with since surgery. This attack is something I defended myself against, while nobody knew, and even "won," in a relativistic way. But the victory was hollow. I lost a summer, and gained another subspecies of PTSD. There's another point for the devil!

The ratcheting down of my joy for life began with this June attack. During that 90 days of this otherwise beautiful summer, I contemplated and fantasized about suicide many times--day dreaming of it was a daily ritual. I had several panic attacks which has never happened to me before and I had no idea that they would pass. I was not able to work at my consulting job, and became unable to sleep more than a few hours each night, if at all. 

I had been looking forward to a summer working and writing in Maine's natural beauty, tending our little garden, planning my Final IWALLK Journey and enjoying my third shot at life. 

But again, instead, wishful thinking and hope led to disappointment... I have no place at all for hope anymore. As mentioned above, non-emotionally expressing the fact of my heart's natural deterioration to other human beings? I just get a "No way, dude, you'll live to be 100! My Aunt Velma had the same condition, and..." How I fucking hate that so very, very much! The only thing more useless than relying on my own hope is listening to someone else's hope for me. It is it's own kind of nauseation. To unintelligent humans "hope" plays the role of medicine; medicine for other people. 

What I don't want is a remaining lifetime of diminishing hope while ignorant people try to force it upon me. That may be selfish of me, but I'm not sure it hurts anyone else for me to just want to be left the fuck alone in that regard? I guess we'll see. Positivity doesn't happen on it's own. It must be motivated, moved by someone's will.

Once the good intentioned people are in their own little hells maybe they won't have time for tormenting me? Right? But that's what the devil wants Alex Wall to think! Ha! (Okay, done with the third person thing.) That is what he wants me to think, even now. I thought it was all over, when in fact, it has only begun. I can't even claim to be schizophrenic! Somehow I did not pass the test that would let me walk along the positive side of the number line. It's a number line--that's all it should be. Theoretically anything on the right side can be reflected on the left side? But somehow it just isn't. Going down, is going down. Hard to see it as anything else.

Contrary to the way this all sounds, it is a strange and confusing kind of damnation. The beauty I no longer have access to appreciating shines ever more brilliantly in nature's glorious ramparts, as my hope fails more and more completely. Perfect torment. I watch the rest of the people enjoy the sun, and blue skies, the puffy clouds and orange sunsets. They are letting the little things go. But these natural wonders are no longer there for me. I feel nothing, more and more reliably. But I do still see them and appreciate their grandeur; very much so.

For now, this is all a thought experiment. Einstein imagined what it would be like to ride on a photon of light, and thereby better discerned Relativity. The sinking of the soul is just a concept, until it becomes "real." 

If I did end up in hell and the only expectation that Reality has is a test for me is to realize it, I think I have passed my first test. 

So, maybe this world is hell and this hell is my only heaven. Maybe the devil is the only God here. Maybe there are no friends or relatives with me. Maybe they are simply demons. And maybe demons are simply the parts of my mind where the vestiges of hope still cling--trying but failing to be personalities. Maybe the bottomless pit is filled with passing seasons and beautiful sunsets that get more beautiful with each descending step. 

I have decided something though. If I must be here, so here shall I rule!

It is all my hell after all. You folks (the real you) inhabit that other universe I died in last year. So you won't mind if I take over, will you? 

Don't you remember Lucifer's grand statement in Paradise Lost? For now...

"It is better to reign in hell than serve in heaven."

The IWALLK Essays - 13. Can Foresight be 2020?

This is the second part to the last essay, inspired by Larry Cooper’s question…

“Brother Alex , Im curious as to your Thoughts , opinion n Prophecy as to what the future history of 2020 may say . Albeit yes youve stated much of what needs to Be done already , But Will We ?, Or will we / mankind , try to go back to the Old Normal or Actualy CHANGE For the Better , Or Are WE FUBAR . IMO Hope is one thing yet Action is Another . Or Just play the fiddle while Rome & the Titanic Sinks ...The Only Constant Is Change.”

* * *

First, the background and motivation for my ideas…

I have a Spark. You do too. We all have one—be it known by a different name for each of us. It is not God. It is not personal. It DOES however possess a Will of it’s own: the Expression of the Will of the Original Parent. 

Mine craves to become fused with me, and thence become a Real person. Until then, it is (it may crudely be called) an “entity”—yet, of the highest spiritual kind. 

Before the beginning of everything, were the Sparks gathered—as Absolute Unity, and in my belief system (which should never be anyone else’s!), the Spark was and is a piece of the spirit substance of the Original Creator Parent, whose Will it represents, as He/She/They exists at the Center of Infinity, and at both “ends” of Eternity.

The Sparks fly out without restriction from the Absolute perfection of the Center into the still-evolving realms of space and time, to indwell the minds of evolutionary human beings. 

As physically, developmentally, socially and spiritually varied and diverse as those inhabitants of the billions of planets may be, the Sparks that reach them are uniform in Will and mission; only being altered by former indwellings and the experiences gained therefrom. 

In my case, and over a life time of deep mind exploration and real-world experience, I know that there was at least one mind that my Spark indwelt before me. I know a greater amount of detail than I would have, had I not thought to investigate the matter (most people don’t realize the situation and never investigate it).

I can say, and have written about, the man who hosted my Spark before it became mine, because the Spark has shone me these memories that It holds, in proportion to ratcheting up of the gaining of wisdom that I acquired. Try it for yourself! It works. 

The Spark’s former host (he was named after an ocean on his world, so I call him, “Okeanos”) lived on a planet more socially evolved than Earth is today, slightly more advanced technologically, and more spiritually settled. That world was in communication with the other inhabited worlds around it and with what we would consider to be “unseen” beings (on normal worlds human vision allows more interaction with “the others”). But Oceans world was going through a “rebellion” of the Luciferian kind, yet long before Lucifer proposed his plans in our more local space. I know this all sounds crazy, but hear me out, even if you see it as fiction.

Okeanos was a prominent musician and cultural leader. Until he was taken in by the spiritual rebels, his work had brought joy to millions of people, and “his heart was lifted up” and flattered by the apostates. Needless to say, there is a huge story about what happened next, that I hope to go into someday, but not today. 

Suffice it to say that he learned from the Spark (now MY Spark) that if he followed the rebels into open warfare he would not be resurrected in the next world when he died. Instead, he would (and did) LOSE HIS SOUL—the counter part to the Spark—the eternal substance that, with the Spark, would have allowed the personality fusion, and thus eternal life.

In an act of passion (or to make a point) he chose to kill himself by immolation—locking himself in a kind of trash incinerator, while his wife pounded on the glass door trying to stop him. That moment was a profound memory for the Spark! So much so, that even *I* can remember the look on her face as the flames burst in. I sometimes wonder what happened to her? I have seen women who remind me of her—even though she wasn’t mine, personally. Did her Spark follow his to OUR world? Would make a good Netflix series!

So, when I speak of the Spark, there is implied a heavy relationship to how I see my life as the continuation of IT’S life, and how I see my role in the story of our more primitive world. 

Earth - at this time in our evolution - is a far more manageable kind of place in some ways. We don’t yet have spiritual wars. Our wars are still of the blowing-up-your-fellow-man kind. Red blood-soaked battlefields are the barbaric stage we are seemingly stuck in and use to determine who “wins.” We haven’t even come close to recognizing unseen forces and beings, and we are even less in tune with the fact that the greatest part of the Universe of Universes is NON-material. We’re getting there, though.

But as our great minds discover forces that allow for growth in technology, our childlike grab-it-and-make-a-million-dollars rushes in, before we even know how to handle the other side of energy (the Reaction to Action). We have issues like oil spills, a warming atmosphere filling up with CO2, nuclear power accidents, and even runaway viruses who were perfectly happy inside bats, until we chopped them up for food in places where cleanliness is pretty fucking far from godliness. The real arrogance, of course, came from not thinking a pandemic could happen in the modern world. 

Processed food (for example) or anything leading to obesity, cancer, diabetes, etc, or the fire waiting in thousands of nuclear missile warheads easily launched with a simple computer error, or by a future despot who wants to burn the WHOLE world down, rather than be listed as an idiot in the history books…these things are REAL THREATS. But we treat them like afterthoughts.

So, what does the Spark tell me about the future? Well, it doesn’t tell me that human survival is assured. It doesn’t tell me that super beings are coming to save us, or that Jesus is on his way back, ready to amaze us with miracles. It doesn’t tell me that aliens are hiding behind the moon for just the right moment! No. No. No.

Since my surgery, the Spark has migrated more toward my soul. It isn’t as easily differentiated anymore, as a “voice” (which it never really was anyway). I have willed it Control over my thoughts. Interestingly this does not prevent my hair-trigger temper, depression, anxiety, or any related mental illnesses to be avoided. Things have actually been terribly difficult for me in those other ways. Human ways. Personally, I know that most of my work has to be done on fixing these human faults in myself and focusing them on one final life mission. It has been difficult, to say the very least. 

But I will tell you my “Sense” as it may (or may not be) imparted by the Spark…

Our planet is an evolutionary sphere. That means life is implanted or otherwise develops from ONE SINGLE CELL. If there are greater beings among us it is absolutely forbidden for them to interfere with this physiological evolution, once humans have evolved. Even before the advent of human-sized brains (capable of non-material thought, foresight, and wisdom, and therefore AN AFTERLIFE), there was no interference in the normal natural growth lines of living things as they descended down through the ages.

While Einstein was clearly averse to the idea of chance, saying “God does not play dice with the Universe!” there is in every sub-Absolute sense, chance occurring all around us! Quantum mechanics clearly shows that all things and events are in a superpositional waves until they are observed. Observing is called collapsing the wave. FACT. This shows that consciousness is the MOST fundamental force in the Universe—even on our dark world. 

With all of this in mind, we as a species are part of nature; literally derived from it, but because of our access to Universal consciousness we can - to a lesser or greater extent - MAKE the world we want. We have spent roughly a million years trying to live away from nature. 

Much of that time, we had damn good reasons! It’s friggin’ cold out there in the winter, and hot out there in the summer! Take it from me, it sucks to be homeless and caught out in the rain, or plunging through a thick woods in pitch dark. So with these big brains, we developed shelter, found water, grew food, built fires…leading eventually to detonating atom bombs, launching space shuttles, and giant feed lots of McDonald’s beef cattle. Again, though, it has been all about solving a discomfort (pick your example) temporarily without any concern about how the development of that solution will impact the future. That is animal thinking, not human thinking.

Point?: WE HAVE THE MINDS TO MAKE THIS EARTH A PARADISE OF PEACE AND SPACEFARING CONVENIENCE. We do! There is nothing in the natural world that prevents us from making heaven on earth. There is no food shortage for the billion people who go to sleep hungry. There is no dollar shortage to allow housing for every single human on the planet. There is no cosmic reason why all people are not given medical care FIRST——F…I…R…S…T, before worrying about whether the economy is still growing at 3%. WE—I’m saying. WE, as a species, are to blame, not nature.

In the former part of this essay, I gave you the doom and gloom. Were I a betting man, I’d bet on the doom and gloom. That’s why I wrote it. But, at the end I said it was the lack of LOVE that is dooming our gloomy human race. I suggested to you above that it is the Human Will that has True Power - channeled from the Original Parent, with the full force of unspeakable divinity. This Power is not only extent in our personal lives, but is jacked-up exponentially when approached standing beside other people as a team along with our own dear individual selves! We know this. It is why we CAN make good things happen when we’re really pressed to.

The ultimate challenge for humanity is to LOOK WITHIN itself. Look within yourself, as I look within myself. It can also BE a collective act. I see you there as my sister or brother, and you see me there—on this inside. Each of us is a GOOD LOVING person. We are! No person of average morals wants to see other people suffer and die. Yet, we forget about this ultimate God-given (if you will) power that we possess to work together.

So, you made it this far reading! Good for you! You may be not so far from your own personal solution AND your (and my) world’s solution!

If you want a more optimistic evaluation about 2020 and the years that will follow, I predict this: Terrible things are still going to happen. They will characterize life through the end of this year. We deserve a bloody nose. We deserve a LONG night of the collective soul. We deserve to PAY for our transgressions. That’s how energy works. We took an awful lot. And, now we must PAY, with interest! 

But, we are not immortally hell-bound “sinners in the hands of an angry God!” We don’t deserve species extinction (even after foisting that fate upon hundreds of other species). We are cosmic children fooling around with Daddy’s shotgun, perhaps spoiled by our own hubris and overly active intelligence, while neglecting our moral responsibility to each other and the whole planet. One of the first human beings might have put how we think into five prescient words: “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Still, we are just as important as all the rest of life.

IF we can rid ourselves of relying on human (as opposed to Cosmic) ideologies completely - and I DO mean COMPLETELY, within ourselves, and thence within society - we will begin to *think* for our individual selves, we could turn 2021 into the best year on Earth! Why? It’s a matter of IF’s and COULD’s.

We COULD recognize that the age of Nationalism is over forever. We COULD become Planetary Patriots! The planet is in for far greater dangers in the future. Be a Planetary Patriot and PREPARE, TOGETHER!

We (the citizens of the world) COULD draw up a Declaration of Independence from the Billionaire Caste. Choose the richest 8 and put their little noses to the grindstone. MAKE them understand that there is no more rationalization for unbridled, endless accumulation of wealth, thing fetishism, consumer shopping for sport. Stop buying useless shit you don’t need it, just because TV is telling you to do it! Remember, TOILET PAPER was the most valuable thing when we all lost our marbles…not salad shooters!

We COULD turn the militaries into ONE global disaster recovery machine. That is what it will end up being by default anyway. For the first time in world history ALL nations (except the US) have already agreed to a world-wide ceasefire. MAKE U.S. LEADERS follow suit!

We COULD make healthcare, access to healthcare, and the RIGHT to healthcare a HUMAN RIGHT across all nations. IF we don’t do this consciously, we will do it at the end of a virus-barrel, loaded gun (or many of them!) anyway—as we are currently being forced, until we CHOOSE to do it. Make Universal Healthcare the number one priority—starting TODAY!

We COULD - and this is perhaps MOST important - realize that the Right vs Left social war, that is on track to becoming a SHOOTING war in america, and then across the globe, is actually based on a false premise. That premise presumes that loyalty to political platforms is more important than loyalty to our fellow sisters and brothers. Get rid of the criminal, autocratic, greed-based leaders in the highest posts by doing whatever is necessary. IF not, seriously, WE WILL ALL DIE.

I have no idea whether this writing will be (most likely) ignored—because Americans seem to have one-sentence attention spans, or my three most loyal readers will be ready to go out into the world proclaiming these ideals. 

What I DON’T want is for people making ideologies around what *I* say. I do NOT hold the answers. What I have in a concave mirror that I hold up to Reality as I see it. If you see an answer there that matches your own belief system, make it Real.

I wrote a song for my mom. To me, the most important lines could apply to you all, and I offer it with all the love and sincerity I can express…

* * * 

There’s so much more to do

So many ways to sing

But I will be here with you

At the end of everything

* * *

Whether we die or survive together, it was an incredible life (if a rather sad one) for me on this blue speck of mist, circling a back water star. 

I Think There IS still hope. 

The IWALLK Essays - 12. Will Hindsight be 2020?

What a great question. Larry Cooper asks…

“Brother Alex , Im curious as to your Thoughts , opinion n Prophecy as to what the future history of 2020 may say . Albeit yes youve stated much of what needs to Be done already , But Will We ?, Or will we / mankind , try to go back to the Old Normal or Actualy CHANGE For the Better , Or Are WE FUBAR . IMO Hope is one thing yet Action is Another . Or Just play the fiddle while Rome & the Titanic Sinks ...The Only Constant Is Change.”

I’ll take a stab at that…

* * *

I wish I were a prophet, so that I had some higher reality to blame when my predictions go wrong. But, ultimately, that’s what they are…predictions…not prophecies. I am a time conscious-savant.

I see around corners, over horizons, through barriers. When I look at a trend or subtle change, my mind skips the working out of the calculus and gives me the clearly determined integration; the area under the function/curve. This is true, even if I’m not asking or looking for it.

Integration is the inverse of the differentials involved. I see the world through its differentials—then derive the integral. Rightly or wrongly. Have at me in the comment if you think I am wrong!

Larry writes: “Hope is one thing yet Action is Another.”

What a brilliant summation of so much that is concerning all of us.

I have already set forth my predictions for this pandemic. A few people listened, most didn’t. And, that is expected. I am so intense, because I am so lost in the noise of your daily routine. But it isn’t about me! (Hard to tell when I’m talking—sorry about that).

It is about what is coming. What is coming is greater than the Biblical plagues, or the current plagues. It is more significant to our species than any other possible issue. Why? Because it IS about our species’s limitations.

We run around like Nature is the problem. It isn't! We’ve separated ourselves from her almost completely before the virus. Stupid monkeys!

Then, what is a normal evolutionary event happens, although facilitated by a bloody market (in China—but it could be anywhere) where humans choose to eat wildlife, instead of leaving it the fuck alone, while blood and feces splatters everywhere in the name of interesting food: A natural virus is introduced into our human world? Well, fucking duh!!

Had we, as a species, not been full of our own hubris about just HOW MUCH we have separated ourselves from the natural world, we would be better angled to handle the situation.

But no, instead, we bring up all the things that have nothing to do with viruses, like ideologies, political ambitions, greedy billionaire grabs (along with their banks, have made more than ever before!). "How are my numbers looking as I make this or that pronouncement?" Cashing in, cashing in, LOSING their souls.

The progression of destruction for the next 12 months is pretty straightforward: Opening businesses that require close contact (nail salons, beauty salons, barbers, massage therapists, tattoo shops, restaurants, etc.), will lead to second, third, and forth waves of viral infection. But it isn’t that simple.

The waves bouncing back and forth need tighter scrutiny. What equipment works and what doesn’t?, where is the virus in public places?, who is immune—if anyone (and it looks like people can be reinfected)?

TESTING: Americans don’t get the idea that being asymptomatic means you are the MOST dangerous carriers of all, on, and on, and on…… There should be dirt cheap tests funded by the federal government as a wartime extreme production, that every American takes every day. THEN, things could be qualified and restricted more objectively.

We put millions of young men to work digging ditches after the great depression, we made a million items to be sent over seas for fighting men in WWI and WWII. The federal government has NO OTHER JOB than protecting the public!

The presidency or leader of the Senate’s job security is absolutely NOTHING compared to the people they supposedly represent and protect.

Let me say this, once and for all: A TRUE PRESIDENT (representative of the 330 MILLION Americans) would not even bring up his election during this kind of apocalyptic period—it would be a non subject. He would be entirely devoted to the task at hand.

Instead we have an impotent, flaccid, petty, two-digit IQ, racist, pedophilic, self-absorbed coward who will do anything to steal a second (third, forth, fifth ??) term, and turn the world into a cesspool of dripping, violent, unrestricted putrid, ideological venom.

But I have an even darker prediction. Personally? I think Trump will be come infected with Covid-19 (it’s not smart of me to say this, since the Secret Service will come looking for those who make such pronouncements once it’s happened).

I think Pence will be infected too. This doesn’t mean they die. The hope is that they do die (frankly, since it would save millions). The more realistic thing is that they recover. And, I’ll make another big pronouncement about that: They would be unstoppable then. Trump would get another term, as the hero who lived through the pandemic. And he would not give up the presidency after that second term. BE SURE OF THAT!

On the other weak, disabled hand, no matter who is the opposition to Trump, if that person wins (probably the dumbass, Biden), he will be coming in late as the public sees it. And Trump will not make the transition easy. Trump has made it a goal to excoriate Obama in the past. He will be sure to leave as much chaos as possible for any successor in the future.

It isn’t really about a stupid, but extremely devoted, populace. That’s a given for about 25-30% of white, conservative, male, American voters—too stupid to think for themselves and more than happy to have Trump’s retardation think for them.

Okay so that gets us an estimate on the next election. I don’t think it will be decided on the handling of the pandemic. If that were the case, Bernie would be redirected into the winning democratic primary and then presidential election. Things typically associated with socialism are THE ONLY WAY OUT of this, as we will see. Cash your $1,200 check first before you object!

I haven’t forgotten Larry’s inquiry, BTW. I have however, come to the realization that no amount of money given back to taxpayers can do a single thing, if there is nothing to BUY with it. If you have a chicken and I need protein, I will attempt to buy it with a $20 bill. But, if NO ONE has protein, you will make that chicken more than its weight in gold. And I can’t afford gold. You eat the chicken, and I plan on ways to kill you and take your chickens. Let’s say…

The food system will break down, as I have illustrated and provided plenty of evidence for. Once food is uncertain for the people who aren’t usually food insecure anyway (you all thought that was okay, until you’re own freezer began to lighten up?), civil unrest will begin. When your kid asks why she can’t eat tonight, your attitude will transform—guaranteed.

And remember the American Civil War was only a short time ago—relatively speaking (1861-1865). It took 100 years longer for black people to get rights, and even for women to vote!

The South, drenched in Spanish moss and sweat tea as-it-is is still chasing down black people and shooting them then relying on the general public to forgive the red-neck shooters. The North does not look kindly upon that (having lost OVER 300 THOUSAND YOUNG MEN to fight against the fantasy of slave-run society).

Any major violence will FIRST happen between North and South states, but not as regional differences, rather as ideological (right vs left) issues. Left vs Right will be a confusing guerrilla war until the nuclear stockpiled warheads come into the formula.

When THAT happens all bets are off.

Meanwhile, the nations outside the US sphere of influence will adjust accordingly. Canada will draw to the side and remain unaffiliated, anything to not align itself with the destructive policies of the US. Mexico will be dealing with their own extreme infection rate (having ignored it for too long, as we are seeing now).

There will be other countries that have largely solved the problem. But the US will not look to them or work with them. And, millions more will die.

In all, by the time two years have passed at LEAST a million Americans will have died. I *SO* hope I’m wrong with this!

When five years have passed, the US will be the equivalent of a third world nation. A petty dictator named “Trump” will bathe in the poison waters of “absolution.” China will be the only REAL superpower left. That will not be acceptable to the putrid Trumpian rulers on the Americas.

And then - once again - nuclear warfare will become the major threat. That’s what it always boils down to. They will destroy all life in a nuclear exchange, or they will turn around and join forces with China. We, who have long since died from the virus or social prescriptions thereof, can shout out as ghosts…

LOVE was the answer. It was the cure. It was the vaccine. LOVE was the solution. LOVE was what made life worth living. Helping one’s neighbors, family and friends was in every way superior to fighting them for existence or political points.

Personally, I would look down from my heavenly cloud and applaud. But we all know that will never happen. We are doomed. Is that the answer you were looking for?