“I don’t fear death, I fear that I’m already dead and this is HELL.” – Dr. Freckles
Elon Musk’s account …
Something anecdotal and subjective:
It seems to me about a month ago Elon Musk’s twitter account changed, in weird ways …
Spinal surgery advice? Really?
Link: https://www.findlaw.com/healthcare/patient-rights/what-is-the-unauthorized-practice-of-medicine.html
Other weird stuff …
And now this trauma monkey about charging new accounts a fee … on the surface it MIGHT indicate desperate times for tech, it could be a kind of “paywall” for free speech … who knows … but it’s weird.
It’s as if the “we make money from advertising” thing was always bullshit, and that a deeper and uglier agenda is afoot.
Boy Who Cried “Toilet Paper” …
When I talked about the “toilet paper shortage” in 2020, I talked about the:
“Boy Who Cried Wolf” Operation …
- create a fake panic about shortages
- in the future, the population, enough of them, will ignore real signals of coming shortages
THE HEIST
Good luck …
If you believe Trump represents Christian values? – good luck.
Remember “malls” …
Remember going to that food court and ordering that REAL ITALIAN pizza slice, named after some Mexican killed in France?
Remember those FUN STORES with fake shit and whoopie cushions? You could buy your girl a mood ring and then test your love at the YMCA shower … those were days, mall rat days.
Some SCRYB is selling cell phone plans in the main hall, and he says “LISTEN UP VERN, YOU GONNA BUY THIS RINGLE DING” … and it’s all I can do to keep myself from braining this GUY with a baseball bat from DICK’S SPORTS.
I would go to Nordstrom’s and try on their spring/summer pastel button down BULLSHIT. I’d go home to my dorm room at the UW and watch GEORGE F. WILL mind fuck me with sideways “small government republican” tripe, as I drifted deeper into a personal abyss that almost destroyed me … but malls helped, amirite?
You remember going to the mall with RITA, and trying on the mascara-dick-wand at Frederick’s? – she would tease you with those strapless bras, and those tube tops, but you were her jizzum king, and she was your sandwich dream. You’d spend the day watching Woody Allen films and trying on skirts and shoes … she would … you’d pay. And by the time the sun was going down, you’d grab takeout from Old Style Panda Express, their motto used to be “Real Good Panda, Real Fast … Panda Express” … you’d get the Orange Panda, and she’d order General Tso’s Panda, and you’d make love in your studio apartment till the sun came up … somewhere.
The mall is where RICK broke your small ginger heart. He was big and strong and played football, he said he’d marry you one day. But instead he left you pregnant, and you’d just finished seeing Jurassic Park … so you think life is a shame. And Rick had his game and he ended up lame and washed up near S’compton. But your cat-spirit burned hot, and you made your way to Hot Topic for some new tees …
There was this store, at this one mall …
Called “S’kleeves”, and it only sold sleeveless clothes …
Gumbo freaks and EAST SIDE TOMMIES and various law enforcement would frequent S’kleeves for buying wife beater t-shirts and sleeveless coats and jackets … the same place would sell MERCURY LOVE POTION from the Philippines, and very abrasive rope, and cloth masks, chloroform …
I recall going to SEARS and buying a new bicycle … I rode and rode and rode down MUH ROADS all summer day long … chased by midget-squirrels and pettergast-flies … and the sun rose so high in the sky … and I was at peace, because of malls.
Malls were our AMAZON.
Malls were our INTERNET.
Malls were our SOCIAL NETWORK.
Malls is where we first contracted genital crabs …
Malls is where we bought smack from Birney.
Malls is where the world died.
Malls.
Bugs is steak …
“Bugs is hamburger. QED: bugs is steak.” – Alan Greenspan
DIESEL
“As diesel prices increase, the likelihood of government threats made REAL decreases.” – Dr. Freckles
BTW: if you don’t know that TRADE and MILITARIES basically run on diesel, how dumb are you?
Laws …
“The bogus laws of men do not apply to any man of dignity.” – Dr. Freckles
And now think on what the elite did in 2020.
And what THEY got away with.
DEMOCRACY
“Democracy is, at best, a training wheel. At its typical worst, it’s a wheel that grinds humans to dust.” – Dr. Freckles
Weak men …
“Weak men, and women, let trauma monkeys pull them by the nose.” – Dr. Freckles
GOLFING during BOBLIMPTOCK …
“MINT CONDITION” SHIT
“Mint condition shit is still shit.” – Dr. Freckles
HOW I LIVE!
A little slice …
So I’ve finished a couple days of work, haven’t really had to tutor much yet but I’m expecting my first victims to show up soon …
I’m tutoring and mentoring high school students, as prep for a career as a teacher.
Been thinking on the fictional writing project – “BIG FOOT WAR ONE” – and the first chapter that will likely be a back story, context, for all the grievances and issues, the moral justification for the war, and the initial plans. I can imagine the raccoon folk and crow/raven folk and the orca whales joining forces – the crow will be indifferent and cynical, as they enjoy the tossed out McDonald’s garbage that must invariably cease once the war begins.
My goal is to write one chapter a week – to attempt two “normal” sort of podcasts about “what’s up” and one podcast, or two, per week, on a chapter/serial basis. Sure, some might not get the idea of the Sasquatch, the forest people, the Yeti or Wookie, coming down from the slopes of the hills, filled with rage and glory, smelling of venison and pain … but some will get it, and if I can tell a good story, people will connect.
My boss and her husband have a property they manage for campers, “glampers”, and she offered to let my brother and I stay there – me in a camper, my brother in his truck but safer from boondocking and cheaper than the parks. It’s a real break from the running from one place to another, the frenzied search for SOMETHING LIKE what I left behind in Utah. But there is no replacing my friends Beth and Justin, there is no replacing their dogs, especially Boomer … I cry a little less now when I think about him, but I still cry.
So am I still circling about the drain? – sure.
Do I have some “solid plan”? – it would depend upon how you defined the word “solid”. I have a plan, I think I might want to teach. It would be great if I could make my podcast work, but maybe I suck, maybe I suck because I refuse to simply “entertain”. Maybe I’ll suck less if I tell mostly stories, because the reality of the situation is horrifying, best case, medium case, likely case. And, I know we’re being lied to on a historic scale, and the thing they are lying about is not good – that’s putting it in mild terms. But we keep going, we keep hoping, we keep dreaming, and we endure.
I could have avoided much of the “sturm und drang” of the last 6 weeks if I’d been able to simply pause, somewhere, for a few weeks … to take a sense of things. It’s a nice luxury for some that they can pause without falling off the social radar, without being cast, thrown, into the seemingly perpetual darkness that is STREET HOMELESSNESS … and the hatred directed at you because you simply made one too many mistakes … sucks to be you. If you HATE the homeless and you live in a city? – your rude awakening hasn’t arrived, but it’s coming. We could have made different choices, we could have CHOSEN NOT to treat housing or shelter like a financialized product – but our system tossed us a crooked bone, and so many, irrespective of political affiliation, picked up the bone. Should we be surprised that there is a boiling mass of human suffering below our feet? Rumbling, shifting, shaking the ground? – no, don’t be surprised when they show up at your door, and the cops show up to tag your bodies 5 hours later.
Yet – I have a camper, with a space heater …
I have the nature that surrounds me, and the bigfoot folk looking out for me or observing me … who knows what the forest people do.
I have food and water …
I have a radio and a Bible and Jesus looking out for me …
I have a lot to be grateful for, and I’m trying to remember that too.
I have a slice – not the whole pizza, a part of it, and for me it’s enough to keep going.
MIND JOURNEY: forgotten caverns of Nordstrom’s
- cleavage hustlers slink their way to the underwear department.
- bold pricks buy their briefs from Jerry.
- skleb-trolls wander the dusty way, talking up purses and handbags and wallets and departed friends lost at the Rack …
- Hoglon is leader of the retail death cult, he feeds on boob-cheese, he makes a bayonet wedding.
- Stugger-mugger jerk squirrel meat being sold near the coffee mugs, not far from the jabbering fools of fossil …
- PF CHANG’S is GONE …
- Mustard dog deacon’s are moving the juice for the crowded revelers, Orange Julius is being sued for ecoli
- Get your parrot suit on sale, and spy the next fall’s fashion – it’s grey and worn and red and deadly.
Who knows …
MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230921_WHO_KNOWS.mp3
Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles
Cost of homelessness:
WHO KNOWS?:
Who knows … what’s next, what changes, where we will be at the end of 2023?
Who knows …
I desire an optimistic landing pad for my broken and dark soul, but what I’ll find are the KEEVUS-RATS and the old guard standing by the wall, letting in those chosen few who can submit to the power of the world. The old droghies sit at the table, eating their sausage mick-hoodles and discussing how many Vietcong they killed, so many decades ago. STYG-WARRIORS, talking colonoscopy and tumors and bronchitis and weird scars that none focus on for long.
Who is getting paid to take care of the bodies?
Where are they being taken?
When the old coot dies and the land is dead and the water has turned to blood, who knows, who cares?
I can take my corn scars and slather on the frungo-oils and carry myself about like some slab time king – not looking for the freeway or the hangman’s scaffold. I take my time crossing the byway, unconcerned and irrelevant to the movement of traffic. If I fall? – I hope a kind coyote feeds on my flesh, and then leaves something behind as a marker: “here lay a dead hobo, no one remembers, no one cares, everyone on the run, all refugees in a strange land of madness.
You took notice, HINDO-BOOG, when I stared into the abyss and saw my reflection in YOU. You tracked my actions and kept a journal, and there were too many entries and your pencil got dull.
You took notice when the AIR became metallic and the water smelled of aviation fuel and copper – in this there was a queer acceptance, if only the grey welcoming of those street crabs that can’t be stopped, only shunned.
STLEEG was muttering at the edge of the Clallam Transit Center, talking to his demon master – exchanging ancient signals indecipherable to normies.
KORN-GOL is arguing his cases on the 50 BUS. He is laying out the arguments, appealing to the supreme justice “fuckers … fucking casino … they took it … it’s gone” …
HAMLIN-TOURISTS depart the ship from BOON TOWN to CRUSKY – all the skein-cats change names and await the final banishment.
And it’s … who knows.
Glazed bear spice and tryouts for the stripper bar off of Carlsdale Drive. Hank has his pick of special toys to use, and then sends the rump to the toaster where they can shake their bags and watch the greasy fisherman whack-off.
I checked my baggage with Fritz at the RITZ and built a temple of disgrace outside the chapel. The corporal beat his drum and the 5 cohorts brought up the rear, as the dynasty of lost street people marched on to S’compton and Grinken Town and Old Helbridge AVE. No amount of fury stopped it …
And we don’t know.
No one does.
On the road again?
Yes – on the road, the plane, downtown NYC and Newark, on my way back to WA state. I had a good trip, got to meet one of my listeners in PA, and had a HELL of a ride on Greyhound (emphasis “hell”). One might consider the entire expedition to the east coast futile, absurd, pointless, but it wasn’t. I learned a lot on this jaunt, a week long trek, covering much of the country and meeting many members that occupy many strata of society.
I keep my listener’s situations private, but here’s what you need to know about our “friend in PA” – he’s a cool dude, prepared, in so many ways more prepared than me or most that I know. I had a break on the road at his home, which I needed, soaked up some of that country air, and I figured out that I needed to keep moving. It was not anything more complicated than my own demons chasing me to PA, and then chasing me down the road. It’s beautiful where our friend lives and I hope it stays that way, but it’s hard to say – troubling times for all on the death star.
The bus I took to the airport stopped near Madison Square Gardens in NYC. A filthy spot, surrounded by homeless and hookers and pimps riding scooters, running through the FLIX bus parking lot as the forlorn wanderers huddled together, waiting for our next bus. Nothing made sense, the numbers on the buses didn’t make sense, yet we, I think WE, found our bus and made our way to the next way point – for me it was Raymond Plaza in Newark.
As the bus entered Newark there were cops everywhere – seemed like hundreds on the streets …
As I grabbed a taxi to the airport, and we drove out of downtown Newark, more cops could be seen – new shiny vehicles, with magical strobe lights designed to ensure that anyone with the least susceptibility to seizure or epilepsy would be triggered, shaking on the ground, foaming at the mouth. I don’t know what was up with Newark on a Tuesday night at around midnight, seems like that runaway Brazilian (Cavalcante) might have made his way toward Jersey and someone wanted to bag the bad guy … maybe.
For my listeners: feel free to be disappointed in me if you wish.
A month ago I was still in Utah, wishing I didn’t have to leave, hoping the situation of peace and relative tranquility could continue – the morning walks with a dog named Boomer. But such things were not meant to last, especially these days. This old hobo would not be allowed to stay long in such a state of bliss – people like me are meant to “move on”, like the gangs of VFW and American Legion that would guard small towns during the Great Depression. “Move along hobo, your time has run out here”, and so I did, I moved on, and I’m still moving.
As I’ve said and written, I’m not giving up. No reason to give up, too many mistakes to make yet – but this weird trip, as resource costly as it was, probably helped me. I’m more at peace today with my situation than I was a month ago, the amount of stuff I carry is reduced, as it should be, not quite streamlined yet but getting there … I can imagine a day, in the not too distant future, when I’m down to a simple pack, tarp, sleeping bag, and whatever else makes sense for a traveler to carry.
So I say: “CHEERS TO THE UNDEFEATED HOBOS!”
Cheers to the GRAND ARMY of drain-circle’rs …
Cheers to the refugees and those struggling against the weight of the age.
Cheers to all who are unwilling to break, even if sometimes we must bend.
And CHEERS to all of you – somehow, we will laugh about this some day, I mean it …
(really)