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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.

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MILLION DOLLAR HOME

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230916_MILLION_DOLLAR_HOME.mp3

Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles

Million Dollar Home:

  1. Movie: “Also and Whatever …”
  2. If you can, say a prayer for my sister and her husband – for healing and peace.
  3. they held a trial at the park …
  4. Living during the coming chaos: thoughts?
  5. At costco, someone was “changing the cassette tape”
  6. Kirkland Baby Wines
  7. Douglas Fir Needle Rich
  8. Million Dollar Home
  9. Psalm 54: be courageous, the Lord goes before you.
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What you doing at the park?

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230915_WHAT_YOU_DOING_AT_THE_PARK.mp3

Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles

What you doing at the park?

1. not-potable water. Been drinking it, it’s great.

2. “keep Dan in the park Bonds” available soon, Genzler is supportive.

3. What you doing at the park?

4. Craig’s List is the GREYHOUND of e-commerce.

5. If you are on YOUTUBE and not canceled?

6. VP Harris talking about freedom to not be shot by guns.

7. Don’t pour water down the urinal.

8. Hunter Biden Bimbo Eruption continues with coke-head-gun-buys.

9. NASA to use AI to find ALIENS … really?

10. Ronald Reagan used CARNIVOR!

11. Not a prophet.

12. Getting park fit.

13. I was a frequent pier once.

14. “We’re exploring, it’s okay to make mistakes …” (sure)

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ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION CURED!

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230914_ED_CURED.mp3

Donate: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/doctorfreckles

ASH AND TRASH:

  1. Back in WA state, at the park: in a set of bad options, it is the best option right now. Not sure what happens next and I’m not sure that I give a fuck.
  2. More or less have given up on the news. Ukraine, COVID PART DEUX, Trump Trauma Drama or Biden Brain Damage. I stick to my guns on this one: whatever the real threat is, IT is still being obscured by a lot of psyop bullshit.
  3. Before boarding any plane I need to go into a happy space in my head, deep in my head, a place where I feel secure from the growing madness so apparent on the plane or at the airport.
  4. So much delusion and illusion, so much denial anger and bargaining, fantasy is rampant. Everyone negotiating with reality to find their “magical safe place” … no such place exists.
  5. Physical versus mental baggage.
  6. 737-800/900 RAFTING!
  7. At Air and Space Museum, in Seattle, marveling at the tiny little portholes they gave passengers on the Concorde. What didn’t they want the average RICH jet setter to see back in the day?
  8. The appeal of slow burn scenarios, graceful degradation, linear collapses, but is nature really this kind? Was it really that LINEAR for the indigenous Americans who encountered the Europeans? Was it altogether that LINEAR when the Mongol Empire began to fall apart?
  9. Mt. Rainier looks like shit. When I was a kid, year round, there would be a nice cap of white – now the cap is missing, as if that majestic artifact of God’s creation had been circumcised.
  10. Security guards at Safeway in Burien.

JOOG-WHORES: https://planetarystatusreport.com/?p=9484

ERECTILE DYSFUNCTION CURED:

  1. Tabitha shows up in the advertisements on ZeroHedge for “ED CURED” ADs.
  2. Tabitha un-gumbulates her boobies as she massages her boovula.
  3. Dribbly juices flow as your copper wand flourishes and imbues her capuus-hole with snowy weather.
  4. Tabitha smiles, as she shlocks the blue pills and the green pills and the crushed-bull-testicle-New-Zealand-bee-pollen-power-spice ….
  5. Your fever increases, and your heart races, your platinum spear is stiff, your mind is wired.
  6. Tabitha sighs, as her power-belly stored your load.
  7. You are primed in the money-face-paradise, you spill some seeg-sauce on her tummy, as her body shivers and her boobs become erect’er.
  8. As you lay there, exhausted, 50+ years old, nearly heart-flanked, Tabitha grabs your wallet and picks you your AMEX black-card and goes and buys stuff on AMAZON.
  9. You are left alone, in your cum soaked dungeon, surrounded by protein stains and other kinds of greases. Cops with spray bottles and blacklights are coming soon.

CRIME REPORTS from REGION-DAGON-ZULU-11:

  1. There have been reports of DOOGAH-PIRATES near GAMMA-PRIME. They carry voog-cannons and have mutant chimpanzee warriors, raised to kill and snort METH.
  2. The HOOKER QUEEN, Yebera, has taken over the flesh trade in GRID-23. She is selling coop-bots to the Shriner’s who are holding their 1200th Conference, in alliance with the MASONS.
  3. ROGUE EX-COPS are converging on the barriers built by the silk-league. Bogin-tog slaves are being harvested by these cops who fled QUADRANT-WHISKEY because qualified immunity was removed.
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JOOG-WHORES

A tale of that FLIX BUS STOP off of 31st Street, in NYC, across from the Madison Square Gardens …

They cast their eyes at me and I winced, as the TUESDAY NIGHT COASTERS zoomed on by. their women-folk in tow, as the “johns” look on, seeking sweaty and degrading liaisons in some grimy alleyway in NYC.

“YOU FROM FRIMPTON?”, screamed Benny. He knows – he can’t really read or write, but he knows.

Benny ruled the streets around 31st Street, he carried a carpenter’s hammer and a roll of quarters. He was the SHOT CALLER on that block, working for the WEST SIDE JOOG-CLAN and running the flesh show near Broadway and Madison Square Gardens. “BIG B” as they called Benny sat large on his Honda scooter and would circle the gawkers and European vacation crowd, murmuring their broken English with strong German accents, being so aloof to the circumstance that is all to real where they are from.

The FLICKER BUS passengers would huddle in the darkness, as the “land crab” scuttles by, looking for some bagel left behind during the morning rush hour slog.

Benny was rounding up the joog-whores and other ne’er-do-wells this night … He had is brigade of boovula dealers, strutting, cussing, too coy or worried to look long.

Benny was a cowboy of sorts, keeping the “flesh moving”, making sure that all the old freaks could take a look and maybe decide based on the window dressing. The women were scared and poor. They wore tight clothes, with tears and visible blood stains on their jeans, near the crotch. Benny had to have a stony heart to do what he did – to be who he was. He had competition. He had enemies.

Benny faced opposition from the STRUG-BOYS of Harlem. They didn’t like how his crew was muscling in on the action and taking their cheddar …

Benny was constantly menaced by the HOOVER-SCOUTS of CROWN HEIGHTS. They carried fully automatic GLOCK-19’s and would spray their lead spew wherever they threw down …

Benny was harried by the BOOMER-RATS of PARK AVENUE – and these old skeez freaks did NOT mess around. One on one they weren’t much, but in groups of 10 or 20 they would surround you and pummel you with their “wisdom and insight” … by the time it was over, you’d pray for death.

Finally, there were ROMEO-DEALERS, spreading meth and X and KROKODIL. They’d sell blues to the street-rats, who after smoking that shit became their willing death zombies.

But Benny was fine, this was his milieu …

Benny was okay …

His ilk were striving in a world of degradation and deformed values, stale bread and moldy t-shirts.

He and his men were ready to go, for whatever, and it’s happening TONIGHT.

Benny’s not leaving.

Are you leaving?

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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)