Yesterday I forgot to mention: that was the last blog I’d write in a chair per se.  The furniture is really all gone now, and so I set myself up in a pillow/dog bed confabulation on the floor, this morning.  It even includes one dog!  It’s nice to see the house getting truly cleared out.  This is such a beautiful home — I hope some great people buy it.

The landscapers came yesterday and neatened everything up, and it’s just perfect.  My dad had hired a transient, down on his luck “west Texas white trash” guy to re-landscape the yard, two autumns ago, who came door to door looking for work.  And he did a phenomenal job!  It looks a little more “creative” than you’d get with an actual…like…professional.  I mean, he went out and found boulders and flagstone and decorative elements on his own, for free — possibly midnight requisitioned from neighbor yards, idk — anyway, it’s nice, I like it.  But Flagstaff is all about trees shitting pine needles everywhere, entire monumental drifts of them, so that all got tidied up yesterday.  Needless to say we had not been on top of it.  Imagine a place where nothing will grow but you have to deal with an avalanche of plant life detritus anyway.  The tragic flowerbed by the front walkway is the next people’s problem.

In a way, I feel bougie saying “the landscapers came yesterday”, which is probably why landscaping around here hasn’t been a common enough occurrence?  I’m recognizing these things in myself, right?  I got comfortable with the fact of paying for beauty-related services and auto maintenance a long time ago.  I don’t think anyone flexes by saying, “I got my 60k mile service last week”; and everyone sounds like an asshole saying, “I’m going for a mani/pedi”.  But contributing to the local economy, relative to home repair and beautification, feels like this really white lady thing, somehow.

I don’t actually believe I picked that up from recent racial events in the US; I think I got that from growing up on the Rez.  My experience of white people being white was exaggerated, because of the pseudo-spiritual reasons white people visit the Rez, to some degree, and their sometimes oblivious ways of being.  The things I associate with cultural whiteness, I tend to avoid, to my own detriment at times.  So I’ll notice that arise, now and then.  We live in a time right now where white people are getting shit on just for being white — open racism — which is always tedious.  But devil’s advocate, or however you wanna frame it — “being really white” is an actual thing, and a trait not confined to white people.  It’s hard to describe but terms like “pseudo-spiritual” and “oblivious” are a good start.

On the other hand, I was at the mall, getting a mani/pedi yesterday evening (sprechen sie asshole?), and almost every single person in the mall was fat — like grossly, problematically, diabetically fat, and the majority were natives.  It was a shock — I’ve been fire camp living it and whatever else; idk, just around all kinds of bodies but not so uniformly distended.  The obesity epidemic, which hits hardest in areas where literally nothing is done to prevent its inevitability, has been having its way with the Navajo Rez since I can remember, but this was next-level.  Just a normal Saturday evening at the Flagstaff mall.  That’s pretty pseudo-spiritual and oblivious in its own right.  And, oddly, seems an almost reassuring problem, in the context of 2020.  Like, ah — that old chestnut.  I forgot about that.

So I think the takeaway for me is, don’t worry about how it sounds/feels to participate in economic goods and services involving the proper care and feeding of a body, a home, a vehicle, an animal, whatever else.  If you have it, take care of it — even if that makes you feel kinda white.

Man, what a start!  I’m only a couple paragraphs in and I’ve already addressed both race and obesity in ways that I’m tacitly aware I’m not supposed to. Dammit, now I’ll never be woke.

I like the way Teal Swan uses the word “shadow” as a qualifier: shadow masculinity, shadow femininity, shadow spirituality.  It’s so smart, and cuts through the static so quickly, without the accusatory baggage of the word “toxic”.  It’s like: here’s a thing that is essentially good or at least neutral, but when it goes wonky in the particular way it tends to go wonky, it’s shadow-that.

We’ve got big shadows coloring and distorting our perceptions of things right now.  It’s almost like we have demonic leeches, sucking on us, “tuning” our perception of things around us to the shadow side of race, gender, cops, politics, diet, exercise, everything.

Before my mani/pedi I got a facial — and during all this, the landscapers were at the house PLUS I was haggling on the phone to get my money back on a hair service gone wrong the day before, so if you’re thinking this sounds like the most bougie white chick day imaginable, minus the tractor trailer training earlier, you’re right.  Anyway, me and my wonderful aesthetician friend, Kanani, always download really hard about our speculations; what’s happening behind-the-scenes, and she goes, “Honestly I think everyone’s getting MK Ultra’d through their TV’s or something.”

I said, “That’s kind of what I was wondering!  This whole time I’ve been so mad at everyone for being crazy but then just the other day I realized, it’s more like a mass casualty incident!”  I had to pause halfway through because she was micro-dermabrasion-ing around my mouth.

She said, “Well, what I’ve heard is that each of us has, like, ten demons sucking on us all the time, and kids have maybe five, and that’s why it’s so hard to wake up. They can’t create, so they use us to create. That’s why the media’s dividing everyone all the time — because we can create, and when we come together we’re so powerful, we make what we want, not what they want.  They actually broadcast this — it’s like a knee-jerk reaction about Trump, I forget what it’s called —“

“Trump derangement syndrome?,” I asked.

“Yeah!  It’s to divide people, they don’t even know what they feel or why they’re reacting that way.”

“That shit is for real,” I mumbled, getting slathered with something.

“Yeah.  And I heard they’ve been cleaning out the DUMB’s, you know, and I guess Australia was so much worse than anyone imagined.  But they found so much gold down in those things that it’s gonna, what’s it called, glut the market.  And so silver will be more valuable than gold.”

“That would be nice…” I said.  My family has some silver.

“And Nesara/Gesara is supposed to start in March.  Like the Ides of March or something about that.”

“So I should continue totally not paying my student loan debt.”

She giggled.  “I was telling Derrick, ‘babe, if you wanna get that side-by-side, you better do it soon!’”

That was funny.  I snorted, really the only thing available to me.

She continued, “So I guess there are different timelines?  And in one timeline, Hillary won the 2016 election, and the earth was nuked within like two years.  So the timeline got reset, and that’s why no one expected Trump to win — the Cabal people were all still looking into the future on the wrong timeline.  So now on this timeline there’s like a 48% chance that Hunter and Joe Biden will be charged for treason and this will come out during the three days of no internet, somehow.”

“I thought it was supposed to be like ten days.”

“Three to ten days, maybe.  So then Biden won’t be able to run and it will be a single-person race, and so then I was listening to this remote viewer guy —”

“Oh my god me too!  Is it Michael Jaco?”

“No, it’s a different one, his name is Gene.  So he says that all the Antifas so far have been like a level one, but there are actually three levels of Antifa, and so the other two are worse, and they’re still waiting for their cue and then they’ll start up.”

“Well that sucks, but it kind of makes sense?  Because Antifa level one has been not very good at their jobs, in my opinion.  I mean they cause a lot of chaos and destruction but mostly to themselves.”

“Yeah, exactly.  But there’s two more levels.”

“Dude, I bet they’re also dumb as fuck.  Maybe not.  Whatever.”

“Yeah I don’t know.”

“So is Hillary still alive or not?”

“I heard she’s on ice.”

“Because, did you see that footage of her from 2016 collapsing, and then getting forcibly put into a black SUV by a bunch of guys?”

“Oh yeah!  So I heard she’s got kuru really bad.  But it’s better to make a clone from the original, so she’s on ice.  But Obama’s clone is in Guantanamo.  Big Mike was his handler that whole time, running everything, and Obama hated him.  And Pence is a clone, but he’s not part of the Cabal people anymore.”

“Seems not.  He freaking slayed in that debate.”

“Yeah he did.  I heard the original Pence tried to kill Trump.”

“I heard it’s the real Trump when he wears a red tie and one of the clones when he wears a blue tie.”

“Yeah I don’t know.  I think he has like twelve or thirteen clones.”

“What’s the relationship between an original and a clone?  Or they, like, fully sentient?”

“I don’t know!  But I heard JFK Jr. is the one actually running for Vice President, and you know how they were saying he would announce himself on, what was it, like the 17th of September or something?  And everyone got excited?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“So I guess that was because of switching timelines.  In that timeline, he would have.  I just hope all this stuff is disclosed soon.”

I sighed.  “Yeah, but I mean — how??  It’s not just a matter of giving people information, anymore.  It’s all broken.”

“I heard 5% won’t believe it.”

“5%!?  That seems low.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.  I think they can’t put out too much information or it actually changes the timeline again.”

“Yeah…you know it’s weird, I feel something like that. Like things aren’t all as connected and linear as they used to be.”

“Yeah, exactly. And I guess every December 21st?, since like 2017, there’s a chance to rapture out — or go to a sister Earth, whatever you wanna call it — but some people choose to stay and fight the Cabal. But if you go, no one will miss you because they just automatically won’t remember you. And I guess the Cabal took out like 711 chapters of the Bible.”

“I wonder if those were the 711 that made actual sense. Oh, you know what? I keep forgetting to pray.  I mean, I have my head there, but I forget to actually do it.”

“Oh I’ve been praying all the time,” she said.  “For my family, for the white hats, for my parents, for all the people still asleep.  Have you heard of sun gazing?”

“Oh wow, yeah!  My dad has been into it for a while, and I think my brother’s been sun gazing too.”

“I started, while we were out camping for a couple weeks with the kids.”

“Oh cool.  My dad sent a link about it recently.  It’s like within a couple months your physical ailments start disappearing, and then eventually you can get sustenance from the sun and not have to really eat if you don’t want to or if there’s no food.”

“Yeah!  I swear I didn’t even need my glasses, and then I stopped sun gazing when I came back to work, and now I need my glasses more.”

“I bet Nick and I will try it when we get to Hawaii.  It’s probably perfect for sun gazing.  You just did like ten seconds more each time, right?”

“Yeah, right at dawn and before sunset.”

It was a really good download.  This isn’t even the craziest stuff — I’ll just keep that to myself for now.  But I loved it.  To me, it seems like big big things are happening right now, and it almost doesn’t matter what paradigm you interpret them through, if it helps you stay upright, and in love obviously.

Normally it feels risky to cop to my more conspiracy interests — there’s this sense of expecting to re-join collectively shared reality and you don’t want to derail that — but, when I say big big things are happening right now, I guess I mean it, even in the sense that I don’t expect to re-join collectively shared reality.  I’m not looking out and seeing a bunch of stuff I’m interested in re-joining.  Or even if I wanted to (and I don’t), I couldn’t.

I’ve been having this feeling, for a while this year: there’s no coming back from this.  For all of us, I mean.  That’s okay because there’s always forward, but this isn’t an upheaval easily defined by x y z label that we’re going to all reminisce over someday.  It’s literally shooting us all off into private realities dictated by, and shared with others matching, our overall level of vibration.  Which is what’s always happening anyway but more pronounced, now.  It’s not just COVID, it’s not just BLM/antifa, it’s not just cancel culture, it’s not just Hunter Biden’s laptop, it’s not just Trump Derangement Syndrome, it’s not just the Declaration of Independence being flagged as hate speech, it’s not just the MSM Wizard of Oz being revealed as an unimpressive little man, machinating behind a curtain, it’s not just Qanon, it’s not just coordinated tech platform censorship, it’s not just Ghislaine Maxwell, it’s not just Killary, it’s not just resounding Hollywood silence on Epstein flights etc., it’s not just the build-up of Guantanamo and the rumors about the DUMBs, it’s not just any one thing.

I’m just not gonna gaslight myself, ultimately.  It’s difficult for me to integrate and encompass the things I’m seeing, sensing, and learning, without making the box of potentially operative theories a lot bigger.  As big as it needs to be.  Not because I’ll ever know if I’m right or wrong, if anyone’s right or wrong.  But because staying on my feet, with my heart plus both eyes open, is more important to me than paying lip service to a collectively shared reality that, frankly, has never encompassed even simple veganism, let alone a sense that this smoking jalopy of a mainstream narrative is ever going to satisfy me.  How does it satisfy anyone?  I don’t know.  Anyway, it doesn’t matter.  The compass points and I follow, and I don’t need to know more than that.

Anyway, back to the important stuff, my facial yielded amazing results.  When I got home, Nick said, “Babe!  You look brand new!”

I said, “Feel my face, it’s sooooo soft.”

He ran the backs of his fingers over my cheek — the palm sides of his hands are perma-destroyed from deadlifting and general barbellery — and said, “Wowwww.”

And then I showed off my mani/pedi — I always do a simple French manicure style on both, so I feel wonderful.

This is small consolation since having my hair destroyed.  The color appointment went great but then the re-perm girl botched it, in obviously a permanent way.  Long story, but she made the straight parts curly and the curly parts straight, due to not wrapping it all in rollers — she insisted this technique totally works and it totally doesn’t, and I fucking KNEW it and let her do it anyway, to my eternal chagrin.  It’ll take me years to recover.  I’m years away from having the hair I wanted, thanks to this.

The only consolation is that, for absolute certain, I’m never going to get my hair done in Flagstaff again.  It never goes well; it usually goes better than this, but all of my big hair fails have been in Flagstaff, with sensational results elsewhere.  I just can’t win, here.  My fucking hair.  I wish I would have left it alone until I was safely out of the 86001 blast zone, ugh.  It’s my fault for not learning this lesson earlier.  You just think: wow, I’m hours and hours from somewhere else to get it done, I’m really fucking busy, it really needs what it needs, and I just came off of a huge national quarantine plus almost five months of truck camping — it seems safe to get my hair done.  Nope.  Years of progress, gone.  I’m insisting on my money back, however white that sounds.

But, out of all the things that could go wrong, now, I suppose I’m grateful it’s only that.  Bugaboo emigration is all green lights, same with Nick’s CDL training, same with selling my car, same with house on the market and prep for that.  If there is some national chaos in the works, it hasn’t happened yet in a way that impacts us.  Fingers crossed it won’t.  Nick loved my facial so much he’s getting one on Monday.  I think he wants to pick Kanani’s brain for more Cabal intel, too.  I can’t wait to live somewhere and find someone that never destroys my hair again, and then — just live there, with great hair; end of story.

I ordered some folic acid gummies to be the first package I receive, in Hawaii.  We’ll just see how long it takes to re-grow hair.  I’m going to be whole foods-ing like I’ve never whole foods’d before.  I’m going to ocean and sun and sand and jungle air and rain and salt pool swim and salad and smoothie and folic acid and walk and hike and lift and sleep and grow my hair nice and thick and long, in record time, and record a really dumb video blog about it, in white girl fashion.  And when you think about it — of course I have to leave Flagstaff with my hair destroyed.  How could I not?  It’s like an unwritten law.  The circle has been completed.  I can fuck off now.

Sitting here on the floor with no chair, in a house with no furniture, and my hair destroyed; that prophesied fucking off is closer than ever to becoming a reality.

I wanna, like, rage-cut the rest of it off, but I know that’s a bad impulse with a bad outcome.  I’m not gonna do that.

Sigh.  My blog is a very mixed bag, and that’s okay.