I think a lot of people right now are getting overextended and stressed out, needing to see proof of x y z, or arrests, or disclosures of whatever sort.  I mean in regards to the breathtaking political epic that’s unfolding in front of us, of course, and mostly for red-pilled people on the Right, like myself.

Has Obama been arrested?  Is Joe in an ankle bracelet?  Is Gina Haspel turned informant in Guantanamo after being captured red-handed in Frankfurt, destroying evidence of election fraud?  Are there DUMBs (deep underground military bases) around the world, and were they raided by White Hats and relieved of their burden of trafficking victims and wealth over the summer in a separate, secret military op?  Was there some connection between the DUMBs and all those explosions that happened in the month of August, and did several of the explosions destroy business interests near and dear the the hearts of the Rothschilds?  Is there a global Cabal of pedovores, and is much of Hollywood, the Vatican, top political echelons world-wide, and European royalty comprised of members of this Cabal?  Etc etc etc?

I’d say the answer is probably “yes”, and people just need to not get their panties in a bunch right now, but even more importantly — what would you, or I, or anyone have done differently, if any/all of that turned out not to be true?  I mean seriously, what’s the hold your breath over?  If it turns out Trump has just been a really good, really beleaguered 45th president who has set some great economic things in motion while not involving us in any new wars and being full-time slandered by the establishment media, what — you would’ve been out rioting instead?  You would have been more skeptical of taking hydroxychloroquine for COVID, even though it never became necessary to have an opinion one way or the other because you never got COVID, and you probably never got it because it’s a fake pandemic and they have to lock old people in nursing homes just to bump up their numbers?  You would have been a Democrat all this time?

No.  It’s okay if all this is real, because that means the swamp is being drained (imagine the swamp’s surprise!); and if all of it is not real, Biden still smells and gropes and whispers aggressively into the ear of every female of every age within arm’s reach and is also, incidentally, riddled with dementia, and raised a son that can’t stop taking selfies of his own butthole.  Kamala is still the most obnoxious personality I have ever encountered.  Identity politics and woke culture is still a self licking ice cream cone that can’t notself-destruct.  “Intersectionality is the social justice Hunger Games: only black trans women will survive” lollllll, re: Christopher F. Rufo.  The MSM is a steaming pile of dog shit, no matter what.  I’m thoroughly tickled by the Project Veritas sting of CNN, unfolding at #cnntapes.  This is how my dad’s grandpa always described the Great Depression: “You could buy *anything* for a nickel — and no one had a nickel.”  Well, relative to today’s media, “You can be a hero, with only an inkling of a spine — and no one has a spine.”

Anyway, what I’m saying is that I wouldn’t have chosen differently at any stage in the game, this year, and I don’t need some big fucking reveal to validate that.  I found out that I have a violent allergy to compulsory participation in a victim narrative, let alone a whole bunch of them at the same time, overlapping.  I found out that it’s easy to find likeminded people and that I’m not willing to offer one iota of struggle to make myself heard or seen by those determined not to hear or see me.  We all like the idea of “agree to disagree” but it doesn’t work with hungry bears and it certainly doesn’t work with liberals.

So, events continue to be historic, jaw-dropping, truly the greatest story ever told, happening right now, and most people are missing it, and that’s fine.  Let’s pay attention to the story, but let’s not need it to powder our personal asses so we can feel okay.  Let’s just feel okay anyway and know that, no matter what, it’s still better than having TDS.

BUT, having said all that, I honestly am on the edge of my seat.  The fatal flaw in the bad guys’ plans has been, and continues to be, an inability to secure the allegiance of anyone who can actually think, create, or for whom courage matters.  As someone on this thread quipped, “If they think the US military is backing that pedophile usurper they are sorely mistaken” lol.  And then this is definitely one of the funniest Tweet trolls I’ve ever seen:

I, for one, am going to really enjoy watching it come back into fashion to have a sense of personal agency and responsibility, and to extend that expectation to others; to exert the merest fucking shred, even a tatter, of skepticism in response to media fear-mongering, instead of everyone just shitting their pants on command.  I want to watch everyone wake up from this hysterical dream and immediately being distancing themselves from its worst moments, like flashes of what you did when you were blackout drunk.  People will deny having been as crazy as they were, but the digital record will stand.  Whatever.

I had another ignominious go at boogie boarding yesterday.  Nick and I drove down to Waipio, where the ocean is gloriously warm and the black sand beach is glorious silky, and even the winter sun is a radiant, loving light.  The beach, per se, is divided in half by a fresh water river that spills into the ocean.  On one half of the river is the parking, and it feels very eldritch and secret there, with a forested canopy far overhead and a floor of pine needles — it’s so very silent.  You can surf or water recreate from there, but the more gentle waves and the nearly mile long expanse of black sand beach, all but uninhabited (due to the extreme rigors of the 4WD-mandatory route to get there) are on the other side of the river.  So it’s necessary to cross, either upstream in the colder, deeper, but less rocky part, or down at the shallow mouth where the freshwater and salt water meet, which is warmer but very rocky, and quite violently surging with the tide, even as shallow as it is.

We chose to cross at the deeper, calmer, colder part, and we each floated our bugaboos across, respectively, on the boogie boards.  You would think Buffy would be reduced to a cowering tiny comma, faced with all that, but she’s turned out to be quite the little Lewis and Clarke!  She captained her boogie board with dignity, all the way across the river (as I picked way way through, up to my chest at the deepest part), and even gamely hopped off as we neared the other side.  On the way back, she chose to jump in to the river halfway across, and swim!  She’s quite a strong little swimmer!

Our dogs are both really thriving in this environment, in Hawaii, but Buffy particularly gets utterly shut down by the cold, as do I.  She spends entire winters, on the mainland, immobile in front of the space heater, probably damaging her brain, and so her baseline here is much higher overall.  And Milo’s just ready for action all the time.  It’s frankly unbelievable how much our dogs reflect our own personalities — Buffy reflecting mine and Milo reflecting Nick’s.

Oh anyway, back to the ocean’s handing of my ass to me — yeah.  This is not easy.  You’d think you just jump in the ocean and figure it out, and maybe for some people that’s true but I’m having a really hard time!  So, we walked quite a ways down the black sand beach and chose a spot specifically because the surf seemed mellower there, but honest to god it got bigger and bigger as we attempted to break out past it.  This whole issue of putting on the fins earlier versus later has been resolved through frankly brutal trial and error — I’ll be putting those on out past the surf (if I ever try again — I’m sure I will, I guess), next time.  The fins augment both your purposeful and non-purposeful movements in the water, so…that translates to even MORE ass over teakettle for me.  ANYWAY, the surf got bigger and bigger, Nick kept saying “go under!”, and I was trying to paddle out on my board instead of just letting it float by its leash and getting myself, alone, under each wave.

The waves became bigger and more frequent, followed by more frequent and bigger, and pretty soon my entire world was just trying to get under wave after wave, often getting smashed around instead, dragged underneath and along, having my goddamn fins accentuate the total purposelessness of my movements, getting above water, hair in my face, wiping it away just in time to be smashed by another wave.  The craziest part of all was realizing that all this could be over if I could/would just get myself out past the breaks, BUT it occurred to me that, on a deep psychological level, I didn’t actually want to.  I mean, I wanted the pummeling to stop, but I was scared to be that far from shore, past the breaks.  That’s a hell of a time to realize that, right??

I did, at one point, get some breathing room between breaks, and it was reasonably flat for almost ten seconds, and I paddled my ass off, realizing as I did that I was totally exhausted, and that scared me more than anything, I think.  I didn’t want to get even further out, and be even tireder, you know?  But then a big monstrous swell came up and was towering over me, and Nick yelled at me to go under, and I tried, but it just cleaned my clock.  My swim bottoms almost came off, which was very distracting, because I needed them to walk all the way back to the truck for one thing.  And like I said before, but worse, my hair was in my eyes, another wave got me, and then another, because the big one had carried me back into the meat grinder zone of breaking waves.

So then I was like “fuck this” and I just let them carry me back to shore.  “Carry” being a totally euphemistic term in this sense — more like domestic violence me back to shore.  I crawled back up the sand and out of the tide and my whole body was exhausted.  I think I’d been in the ocean for a total of four minutes.  No, it had to have been longer than that, but I mean — it was short, but it was an eternity.  Nick rode back magnificently, on a wave, like a stylish young Poseidon, and commiserated with me on the shore for a bit, just gleaming and self-possessed.  I think growing up doing ocean stuff is the real white privilege.  Anyway, he goes, “After you’ve rested for a bit, we can try x y z to make it easier,” and I was like, “Oh, I’m never doing that again.”  He goes, “No?”  And I said, “Well, maybe sometime, but I’m going to sit my ass on the safe sand right now and that is it.”

So he went back into the ocean and, indeed, it wasn’t my imagination, the surf continued getting bigger and bigger!  Now that this is not merely theoretical to me, but I’ve had the experience of waves crashing down on my head, I’m paying a lot more attention to them.  Like, it really means something now.  So it was good I had decided to sit it out, then, but of course Nick was doing just fine.  But then, a distant siren began!  It wasn’t a car alarm, it was a definite siren.  I was worried Nick might not here it — and of course I had no idea what it meant — but he soon exited the ocean and we decided to start walking back to the truck.  The siren had turned off by now, but it had sounded for several minutes.  We passed an old Hawaiian fisherman further up the beach and he told us it was only a test, and that they test the siren on the first of every month.  It was probably noon when we heard it.  I asked him what it meant otherwise, and he grinned toothily and said, “Could mean anything!”

So that was my second big boogie boarding fail.  I will try again, but I’m not going in the dusk, or in the cold, or in the shade, or in the big surf.  I’m not that hard up to learn.  I know I can swim out past the waves just fine, so I’m going to just loop my fins around my forearm, drag my board along by its leash, go under the waves on my own without its buoyancy sabotaging my efforts, and then get out where it’s calm and gear up.  Then I will probably encounter whatever is my next series of problems, which I can’t even imagine from the level of my current series of problems, and that’s fine, I’ll deal with those then.

Ok, that’s it for today.  This house doesn’t have a walk in closet but with a little vision and elbow grease, I have completed most of the work involved in creating a crawl-up closet…kind of hard to explain but it’s a big closet, at the top of a ladder, that you have to get on your hands and knees to negotiate.  It’s a loft.  So I’m going to mess around with that a little and then get set up for audiobook narration work!  Hope everyone has a nice day.