Kingdom of Nye With Heather Wade

[Jackstar]

Fuck the metro system    and the french

This is such an oddly specific set of targets, I don't even know where to begin. How about a hug? I know a guy.

[MV/Liberace!]

I would like for this entire post to be put in the top right corner.

Working on a new forum theme that will make this dream a reality...

[MV/Liberace!]

20 seconds Mark!

Standing by to GO!

[Silphion]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C08EChMzGy4&list=RDMMju2k5xPz59Q&index=6

𝕷𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖓 𝕾𝖎𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖘 𝖉𝖎𝖊 𝕾𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖊𝖓

[Lilith]

Praise MV!

[Asuka Langley]

Wade has been playing Pink Floyd a lot lately

[timebandit]

Let's Go! Tonight's the night!
Blazing down the..

#HeatherHighway

[VC]

There is no rocket ship to launch anymore, but bottle rocket or roman candle explosions are worthy duds to launching KoN.

Can anyone find some bottle rocket and roman candle gifs. Bottle rockets flying every Witch way, or exploding handheld roman candles.

[DynamoHum]

I hope she does this.

I’d love to call in to chat to fluffy.

[attachment=1]

[Walks_At_Night]

I hope she does this.

I’d love to call in to chat to fluffy.

[attachment=1,msg1400631]

Oh.  How nice.  Will the compressor noise still be in the background?

[DynamoHum]

Oh.  How nice.  Will the compressor noise still be in the background?

That’s what she said it was.

[Walks_At_Night]

That’s what she said it was.

OMG.  You're terrible.....................   

[albrecht]

This is such an oddly specific set of targets, I don't even know where to begin. How about a hug? I know a guy.

[DynamoHum]

I’d love to interview Fluffy. I bet she has a bucket full of stuff ready to spill.

Shame she is too scared.

[Jackstar]

Working on a new forum

ARE THERE GIRLS THERE?? ROLL THE DICE TO SEE IF I GET A BELLRINGER.

theme that will make this dream a reality...

Let us not mince any words here--this is a nightmare. I'm just now barely starting to get emails from NBC News that finally dare to mention the word "QAnon." What is it going to do to those mewling, bleating, whinging mouthbreathers when they gotta say, "Quincunx." Look, it's a real word. You think I named them? I can't even stop myself from using rhetorical questions. I don't think the full significance of these recent events has really settled in to your awareness yet.

You've already missed your opportunity to influence things in any productive fashion. Now, things have spiraled into a whirlwind of insipid, asinine madness and absurd humbug. This pleases the Discordian.

It displeases the human being within. What in the actual fuck is wrong with you people? Oh, right, NDAs, NCAs, guns to the heads of your children, your 401(k), your anti-viral medication to suppress your raging and barely suppressed case of herpes, I am sure the list of reasons to follow along with your herd's mentality is the general immunity to all consequences except that of non-compliance with established norms.

A friend mentioned the other day, "your writing is very good when you use the voice recognition, it comes out stunted and weird and not as clear as it could be if you took more time and effort." To which I replied--and I'd say half of you can see this coming right down the pike--"The last thing I want is for these absolute Mongoloid retards to bear witness to, is how skilled I actually can write if I feel inspired to put sweat and soul and any modicum of heart into it." She seemed surprised--because, you know, woman, of course imagines that everyone thrives on as much attention as possible, oh yeah, we all love it, just fucking shoot me--and then seemed satisfied to be told that, yes, I look like an idiot, yes, that's quite alright, and, oh, yeah, lots of people throughout history have been gutted like a gilled animal for being only slightly too persuasive at the just about right moment to the absolutely worst possible spouse of an employer. Or, you know, use your imagination.

I also started off with, "If you are displeased with my work product, perhaps you could inquire as to the steps involved in a refund payment," which I am pretty sure comes across much better from me out loud, than it does typed out.

Look, I'm gonna make this quite clear: I don't spend 24/7 in an activated state, and if I did, I wouldn't be sitting here building this framework of data for the algos to parse through. I doubt 2 in 7 of you here actually read -all- these manuscript blocks. Do you know why? Because no small portion of it is full-on bullshit.

Also I'm calling my seemingly spontaneously granted skill upgrade to layer meanings together in a post for others to unpack as they will "bullshit" now. Look, just scroll on past, let it go out to the cloud, to Utah, to the Libary of Congress, what do you any of you give two shits for? Either you think there's some reality and you're jealous you're not in the hotseat (oh, you are, trust me THIS IS PRETTY TOTALLY BADASS), or you just know in your heart I'm just spazzing out and it's the usual yadda yadda from the typical players that Art Bell used to talk to day in, day out, for fucking years, and what did you think they were talking about? Yeah, pro flag: it wasn't.

Nor, is this falderal entirely my idea. Oh, I had a plan alright. It went off the rails several times before recently, and Bell's birthday seems no more amazing a plot twist than any of the others, many of which you obsequious faggots aren't even privy to. Do I even care? Nope. He's not even dead, they're just beaming shit in with their little microwave emitters and soundwave bouncers and whatever it is, this is nothing new, spooks have been doing this literally since before I am alive.

What's new this time is--and this is quite new--is that now I'm authorized to add in the layers that I haven't bothered to verbalize and have been carrying around on sub-awareness for three decades. How many of you absolute scholars have sat on data for over twenty years? I mean data--I don't mean stories about how you can still smell the aroma of the handsoap that you used the first time.

Now, speaking of data. Any of you remember the night I called up Hoagland, and he's all, "What would you like to talk about?" and I said, "Well, Richard--I'd like to talk to you about what you'd like to talk about!" And then he goes and instantly hangs up on me. I mean, in the midst of me preparing to add, "because I love you Richard, I think you're great regardless of your inane cover story. You've got great energy, you make me smile, and you keep slinging the same Goddamned hash for decade after decade, and I respect that, because reasons, that's why."

Yeah, I was going to say something like that, and then, a thick sheaf of Salmon Dix to the face. I mean... uh, okay? I wondered. Of course, now I know--that sly half-leprechaun half-wigger all-carny-barker has developed telepathy as well, and knew that answering my question would lead to further questions that would make me happy and him... well, I have no idea. I guess Robin did die? She seemed nice. She says hello, but not for long, she flitted out of my brainstem real fast. Now she's kinda dancing out of range. Which is fine. Most spirits are obnoxious fuckhead narcissists who think crying and whining to me is going to get them anywhere further than the extent of my mental abuse.

It was awhile ago. I'm not really good at this remote viewing crap--not company policy, I just don't give two shits about keeping up the discipline required to hone the skill--and so I can barely get a sense, but I suspect now that he had recently discovered that he was not going to be able to save 15% on his car insurance by switching to GEICO, because then there'd be no doubt, duh, Hoagie is a payroll-making thug. Or maybe they just pay him with hair-styling products.

So how I got to Hoagland from where I started in the Heather thread--which is awkward, I know several "Heathers" at this point, all of them progressively more boorish than the last--has a great deal to do with the fact that as I get more and more irritated with you denizens of BellGab, the less wonderful I find it that such a great many of you have known a great many things that someone told you someone like me simply couldn't be told. Oh, Heavens no. Don't tell him. Who knows what he'll do? We can't allow that!

See above, re: "absolute Mongoloids," I've been in the loop since 1997, I've been here so long I am sure that there are some who think I've been here all along, and for the great majority of that time, I have been patient, I have been quiet, I have been silent, I have been observing carefully what people do and when they do it and what happens after.

If it were up to me I would have just broke it all down (outlines: your fun tool to write like a pro) and left it out and moved on. Well, it's not fucking up to me anymore, now is it?

This is the future you chose. Why didn't you stop it? You only had to listen. Only the sight of your loved ones staring at the news with their jaws hanging agape will bring you to the awareness that someone fucked up, big time, and now THE DRAGON IS ARISEN.

No, I'm not calling my penis "THE DRAGON." It's some dude, and you think I'm pissed? This guy is openly drenching bystanders up to fifteen feet away with a long, steady stream of golden fury. And that's just one guy that I happen to know. How pissed is the world going to be when they learn... oh, right, never mind. The world? Learning? hahahahah.

Ahem. In any event, this is way more fun for me when I am actually on the reception end of some information, but in point of fact, there's nothing new to report from me, as I'm going back over other items that I left for me to do later. I'm gathering it's some kind of beacon-cum-iterative method to hold subtle information bits in a place where they can be utilized later on. Look, I don't care, you see?

Twenty-three years of living with the reality of a world that so many of you can't imagine, and the rest of you get paid fat sacks of fiat in order to keep your mouths shut, as well as to burn the time of anyone seeking to explore the actual world, well--look, it changes a person. Where one might imagine that I might feel shame at being mocked, okay, for one thing--public school, your shame is as burning foxglove to me, and my shame is that I'm more interested in foxgloves than I am in "First Contact"--it's not anything like that at all.

It is thus: "Oh, look, a skeptic. Okay, they're kinda new, kinda feeling around, kinda bantering. This person will never believe anything no matter how detailed, because before knowledge is experienced, it is knowledge of a limited imagination, and if they're immediately swinging into Forum Sliding Playbook All-Stars 301 in the first sentence, and then post after post brings all this organic consensus from seemingly different posters, hey, guess what? It's all one fucking robot, it's a singular consciousness whose one job is to shut everyone up and down, and it can even use dumbass people with terrible study habits as part of its cannon fodder to delay, stall, and strangle anything true that doesn't make some Satanist a buck and a wank."

Note that this is still lightyears better than Snoory, but still--it gets really old. And I was old before I got here. So now what, is what's happening, is that rather than my simply watching and waiting, things are being given a push along, and apparently five is more potent than one? Something. I don't know. I don't actually bother to listen when The Quincunx begins to gather.

There's nothing else to hear if there's a drop. Nothing important, anyway. It is pretty exciting, don't get me wrong. Hey, look Ma! I'm an important player! Of course I could have been much earlier, but someone decided that dicking me over and jerking me around on my Goddamned bricked phone and my motherfucking email address and my for-Christ's-fucking-sake endless parade of headset microphones that simply do not work at all well once I say anything interesting... well, look. I'm just sayin': some of you ought to probably not be as excited as one might otherwise imagine to hear about a new player entering the field.

OMG I JUST SMOKED SOME KILLER WEED, THE CONNECTION IS RISING... uh, yeah, no. Dumbasses. If this were drugs, this would have gone down years ago. Years. No, what's happening is that someone is a fucking asshole d-bag and is probably getting that sinking feeling in the 3rd chakra, moving right down past the 1st. Perhaps multiple someones.

Fuck if I know. Oh, hey, Uncle Duke? Yeah, you remember me. Remember when we had that conversation one time, and as soon as I said, "yes, I have eaten plenty of lysergic acid diethylamide," and then you like instantly vanished? It was like I had said "I just fapped to your sister while I was on the phone with her," and then offered to sell you a transcript or something. Anyway, I remember pretty well. Uncle, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's the shitbag losers that my mother's sister chose to suck off of, but that's not because of any kind of sexual tension--no, it's because they're all also a bunch of shitbag bigots. But hey, maybe you're not really prejudiced, perhaps they're just paying you enough that you don't mind insulting people based on their ability to master technology. Or, well... whatever mang, I could give less than a single full shit at this point.

As is evidenced by my ratched-up use of profanity. Now, let's see, what did I become annoyed by... oh, right. Open, gaping, pointless contempt. You know, if I were just here for the chicks and the street cred, I would have lost my taste for this act a long, long time ago. Some of you mutt thugs are brutal and all of you are loathsome individuals, and none of you play fair, and so someone like me can lay you out flat with some real effort.

Oh no. If I weren't driven to deliver, I'd have long ago left you feckless, drooling yokels back in the boonies. And would we not all yearn for more of that.

There is no rocket ship to launch anymore

Oh, look: it's code. I would imagine you think you're being clever here. Or at least, insulting. I see it differently.

I recognize that you have simply set the stage for coffee, brandy, & cigars--for you. And for me, I'm good with whatever. Wait, what is this, a test? Let's see your educator's licence, along with a few 8x10 glossies of your brother. Oh, right, that's right, rules for me, but none for thee. Look, folks, I'm not going to lie, The Quincunx is not to be trifled with.

They are apparently quite beyond impatient even with me already. Now that it has been thoroughly demonstrated that you dorks really are making things harder for someone who is literally just here to help, I guess there are further levels of impatience beyond that, descriptions of which go beyond the scope of this document. Also, I won't write that crap, I've done enough for the cause. Similarly, I won't bother listening to gasbags who are tapped into an older, more arrogant form of control.

It's so loathsome. Someone asks them a question, they go "uhhhh," and then suddenly I can watch the information flow into them and then flow out of them, like they're being used as a Ronco Pasta Machine. You know the one? I think Salla and Webre went in on one together, right? And then they argued about who paid more for their share, and who wasn't wiping out the crumbly bits very well, and because they were both plainly incompetent next to my own integrity, breadth of vocabularly, and breathtaking joi d'vivre, great, I have their gig, but they still get paid while frontin' the world's worst website design.

I hope it is a lot of lettuce because the faux pas that have resulted due to this territorial piss slinging has really slowed things down for me on a personal level. Further, you were already offered an exceptionally fair offer of TWELVE TRILLION DOLLARS IN JACKSTAR BUCKS and these monies have failed to arrive--as expected, but without even the courtesy of a haggle, well... I can't help but feel as though I am not being taken seriously by some.

They too will writhe about in agony once it is fully acknowledged that there was no reason at all to deliberately piss me off. None whatsoever. What was thought would happen? My hurt feelings would reduce any impetus? I basically haven't had any feelings at all for any of you ever since I noticed how the personal interactions with other users have been influenced and how some people are less affected by others.

I suppose it didn't occur to anyone that it would fully activate me to watch poor morons being mocked and teased for no other reason than to gain joy from it? I'll do you one better, since it looks like such a good idea when you're doing it, how about if I do it too, in order to gain joy, and also to do everything possible to make your mothers ashamed that they ever squirted you out from her clearly lacking in discriminatory prowess, hot gaping gash.

Eww, that was pretty spicy. Let's see, do I need to use profanity, enhancement substances, and a relentlessly scathing hatred expressed to all who have ever dared oppose my chosen mission? No, not at all, it simply makes it easier for someone else to do whatever they're doing while some of you are fixated on what you've imprinted on.

Tell you what. I got this friend of mine, he's got a sister, she was mega hot when I saw her last, years ago. Tell you what, you track profanity, and I will track down all your siblings and explain things direct. No, don't bother asking how, or what, or anything. No, really, it's okay.

Because now that I've simply visualized how this might be arranged in anyway--you'll note I kept typed details minor--various Oompa Loompa forces are carrying energetic imprints of what I would prefer to happen next time, into an area of spacetime where preferences really matter, and scores can really change.

I'll probably be much calmer then. Maybe? It rather depends on how long it takes you people to dredge up onan from whatever street corner he's furiously masturbating in public on. While dozens of people's sisters casually walk on by. None of this is real, of course. All of this is bullshit.

Nevertheless. Energy is energy. And where once mine was enthusiastic, now mine is... nuanced. STILL THINK THIS WAS A BETTER IDEA THAN JUST BEING FUCKING HELPFUL? I MEAN, WHAT COULD HAVE GONE WRONG, I MIGHT HAVE BEEN DISTRACTED BY THE JOY OF CREATIVE EFFORT, AND THEN I MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN ELEVATED TO COMPLETELY LUDICROUS MEASUREMENTS OF "COSMIC ONENESS"?

I don't know which of you decided to not be cooperative, but someone is going to rue the day they decided to deliberately shut down my energetic flow. Someone has done it wrong. TBQH, my money really is on Uncle Duke. What kind of an abject loser is afraid of LSD-25? I'm guessing some lizard in a skinsuit or a heavy mindcontrol eunuch or someone desperately working to keep something repressed for way, way too long.

Maybe his sister OD'd on hallucinogens--which of course is totally possible, massive rolleyes omg "I wanna do something mentally stimulating so I won't read the instructions first" because "I asked my friends and they told me"--and instead of, like, dying, she went out and had a great and happy life and thinks her brother is a boorish square who gets his kicks from mocking nerds for not being more into hobbies that cost upwards of tens of millions of dollars to participate in. Or maybe she swallowed her own tongue? Well, that might be a handy skill. No, no, I'm gonna go with the judgement is there because if people know, other people would have to stop being elitist gatekeeping snobs and run for the fuckin' hills and never look back, because if you think my writing this sounds like I'm angry (I'm not particularly, but I am sad at how immensely stupid many of you are), just you wait until actual news stops dropping and actual morons start waking up all over the place, and then start walking to the buildings where the real corridors of power are located.

We'd go within the hour if I were in charge. But it would seem that these things have to be coordinated. Really, what's the rush at this point? Y'all ought to take the opporuntity to say goodbye to your loved ones before I do. To yours, that is--mine have already all been murdered. Somehow I will assuage my loneliness, one stranger's sister at a time. But aren't we all really strangers when we meet?

one stranger's sister at a time

Yeah, I would expect that it won't be going this way. It's not even my preference. Jesus, have you spent much time with people's sisters lately? Constantly whining and complaining about some shit they were fighting about like thirty years ago, as if that explains why someone may or may not be deciding to be a bratty ass-blasted full-on nincompoop. And that's just what they probably expect you to carry to the other as a message. Who knows, these degenerate beings understand nothing but struggle and battle and conflict, and then you go "I never had any siblings except I think one who died and my parents lied about it," and it's obvious they're imagining, never sharing food, or clothes, or vehicles or freinds, et cetera, and then, once more: "I have never known a bond of familial kinship besides my parents," it just turns into this blank, gaping stare. "Oh. I cannot imagine what that's like. I have always had bags of my blood walking around town with me."

Now, that's quite a long-winded story. I told that, to compare with this one: imagine having always been aware that there's something stopping families from being together, and that anyone who isn't alone is probably going to be willing to lie, cheat and steal from you in order to supply resources to their sibling.

I'll cease this layered description here, as I'm starting to get creeped out myself. Note that these energy of feeling... it won't matter how many of you read this, or even if any do. I have created an engram of complex feelings and it will be available in the future, and it will carry a hint of the vile, seething hatred I feel for, well, actually no one. I love people, lol. Oh, those feelings I was just describing? You know what, I might have gotten them from somewhere else.

Or I just made them up, you know, haha lala, here I am clearly compensating for something, probably a micropenis and a long repressed desire for incest. Uh, okay, well, sure. I would prefer to have an interior struggle about whether or not to admit that my hypothetical sister is attractive rather than to stalk the surface of this world and notice that basically all of you are absolute raging douchebag assholes.

Well, present company excluded, of course. Now! *claps hands* How did I do? I was looking for a real sense of overwrought, tedious, and fundamentally tepid extravaganza, the kind of dreary, dawning horror when one wakes up and realizes that the party was not just a complete and total waste of time, because reasons, but also one feels like one might be pregnant, and given a lack of memory and the consequences for an error, one has to spend their time negotiating with that experience. And, one is male. Now, how can a male feel like they have become pregnant, one might ask?

Oh, so many delightful reasons. Wouldn't they be fun to contemplate? Let's not. Let's just learn how to cast engrams of various emotional states upon the wind, to be picked up and gathered for use at an unspecified future date.

Full disclosure on that learning, I'm a little ahead of the pack on this. For example, I'm so sick of this topic and anyone's seeming lack thereof, it is my sincere hope that all this profane bile will alter someone's choice in plans, sometime after now. And it probably will, as given past experience, Q shows up and spreads information as is decided to, and I do not have one single blessed thing to do with it.

Except I did decide to spell The Quincunx with just a single letter this time, mostly just to be a little cheeky. Also because I am tired of even typing the letters that form that title. Let's all just go to sleep. See? Clearly I am simply out of drugs, and this binge is closing with a dreary whimpering bang. Also, "dreary whimpering bang" is a phrase I'm going to try to work into every conversation from now on. If I can get my mind off the subject, several connections separate, of what that phrase means.

Hey, btw, who was the asshat who was all, "Can you elaborate on what you mean by..." and I said "Yes." and then that person failed to follow up? Like, what are they, retarded? Obvious coded response is obvious. Further, obvious expectation that I'm desperately seeking attention and recognition is surely obvious to me, because after twenty-plus years I am really rather bored of feeling pressed for details by cosy nunts.

Thusly, I have arranged things so that I can no longer reliably remember any legitimately interesting details, and thinking of the subject at all, and I'm wondering if Uncle Duke has a sister that is my mother? Yeah, I don't want that sister. I want the other sister. Or do I? Well, let's find out how she is with salt first. Hey, does LSD come in a salt crystal form? I should ask someone. I should ask lots and lots of someones. And after enough of this, when whatever a Quincunx may or may not be (not pronounced as one might guess), or even... The Quincunx? Like what the hell? I guess it makes sense, but it doesn't seem like anything else to me.

Note that I've tried this before. If there is a presence, it'll be unmistakable. You know how, like, when your sister walks into the room... oh, right, you have no idea what that feels like, because you have been completely alone for your whole life and only know what it feels like when teachers, doctors, waitresses, thugs, and whores walk into a room. So, it's like that, only far more chatty and certainly more interesting.

Maybe someone will express some interest at another time? Yeah, well, fuck your planet, I've moved on to finding five sisters. How hard can this be? I could just go onto more than one website and ask. People will think it's weird, but nowhere near as weird as some word that sounds made up. (I didn't make it up.)

Now, here is my request. Print out this obnoxious post, proofread it a little--I am not, this whole episode is making me sick--and make two copies, and send one to Michael Salla, and send the other to Alfred Lambremont Webre, and then see what happens next. You know--like in The Thing, with the wire and the blood and the burning, searing fire.

Oh, no, wait, I have a much better idea. Same as before, but make Michelle from Japan deliver it. Ugh! I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Not because of the transperson (were they? sounded like an algo), but because the thought of Japan nearly always brings to mind the thought of the Fukushima. I'll be honest, I know what is keeping me alive is all the fucking profanity all the Goddamned time keeping the toxic isotopes from settling into my system, but what's you're damned excuse, eh? Why aren't we all dead, do you think?

We are. It's just happening more slowly than one might think is strictly conceivable. So, well, let someone tell your sister that you love her while you still have time. Wait, wait, that didn't come out right.

Yet. Hey, where's Ed Dames? I love this guy! Someone ask thim to remote view The Quincunx. I wanna know if he can name all the sisters I've been thinking of now to layer up on that. Except for Kelly, of course, as she's undoubtedly got a security clearance and a real short leash by now.

It is my hope that this story follows Salla around for the entire rest of his life. Like the damned plague. "Hey, Mike! How many sisters do you think you got right the last time you tried?" Look, just make this happen. The guy is sooooo boring. And? Knows nothing about actual politics beyond our puny world, and if he did, wouldn't tell anyone about it without a permission slip from his paymaster, his handler, and his overbearing mother.

Ewww. Gross. The mother. This remote viewing shit is for the birds. Ewwww. Jojo likes birds more than people? wtf is this data coming from? Oh, right. Counterattack. You know, BellGabber, if this all sounds like total bullshit to you, count yourself lucky. I'm not even telling you half of the real shit, and God willing, I never will have to.

CAN I GET A VOLUNTEER FROM THE AUDIENCE PLEASE? No, not Hoagland. Hoagland has had his chances to be close to me. Now he only gets chances to find me sisters that I can force my girlfriend to be close to. (Yeah, I'll be honest--this is way too much code for me to think about as it comes in. And, what do I care? I just want everyone in the entire world to be raging embarrassed, except for five of them. Six if I decide to allow myself to feel it.

I'm not sure there was a question in there that I answered, but I suspect that remote influencing has been involved. Flooding all those oubliettes is gonna cause a lot of kerfuffle. There's a ska song in there someplace. Just ask around. Or, don't, I really don't give two shits at this point. Can y'all believe, I was here on this very site for years, and instead of kicking down all this and more, I was watching Bell limpwrist his way into irrelevancy and finished up with an actual exhortation to violate Federal law and invade a fucking military installation? Really? Oh, there's a good idea. What could go wrong, right?

Imaginary Art Bell in my mind has gotten real quiet, Kids. Real fucking quiet. Oh, that's right, isn't it? I am a star, am I not? Look buddy, get yourself a ghostly sippy cup and a nice pull on your vape and recognize that there has been one hell of a power vacuum going on for quite some time. And it looks like that was related to... oh, hi Nathan! Yeah, he and I are, well... intimates. You didn't hear it from me. My GF doesn't like him. That started when I started mentioning how cool he was, and how I loved Doshi, and how I respected him for taking the issues to the real places, and it was neat that he was supporting DLive even though it sucks major ass, because SOMEONE has to, and... well, what can I say? GF doesn't listen to LiftTheVeil, and I don't, just because DLive, once again, blows.

Also, I thought GF might be on to something. But now, y'all know what? Fuck that restraint shit. Is Nathan an only child? Because we might just be on to something here. And we could have been when Art was around, too.

Imaginary Art Bell in my mind is being cagey. There's more I have yet to discern. Too bad I am fully spent, because as one might imagine, I have been manically self-plea... okay, no, I can't go that far. I haven't really. I'm not even all that high. Although I suppose to some of you GI Squares I must be straight out of Bat Country. Thanks for your service, bigots. Semper high, now go do what your Satanist handler tells you is important.

And one last thing. I dunno if I'd pick five minutes with Salla over another listen to "Surfing On A Rocket," but I do know that if it were gun-to-the-head, if I could just skip both in exchange for making an effort to simply go gay.



I don't know who requested this one, but aside from being grotesquely, inexcusably profane, I do feel much more relaxed. How about y'all? Well, maybe you can pull the plug on your websites again and you'll feel a little better about the profound lack of control you monkeys have allowed your lives to become marked by. How do you stand it? Oh, right, lettuce, brandy, cigars, and some white-coated dude that will grant permission when you stroke his balls right. But, no hallucinogens! Because baaaaaaaad.

This is what your life's work has become, Uncle Duke. Go become a stewardess now or something. They'll give you trans- injections, right? Oh, but not the lysergic D. I said it earlier, and I'll say it once more... just what the fuck is wrong with you people, that life has become something that can contain ravings like these? Ask yourself, I'm begging you, and remember to ask your sister(s) too. You know.


Just a suggestion. Unless she's from Jersey. Basic garbage scows, one and all. This one time, I hope she remembers, I complimented her with a word she didn't understand, and she clearly thought I meant she was, you know... black. It would have been an improvement, honestly. But not as much as LSD over domestic lager would be. Hey, is this still a family show? Ghost Art Bell is, of course, mortified. I imagine.

Oh also I heard there were some solar flares the other day. Never mind. It's not like stars are portals themselves or anything. Nope, just great big fusion bombs hurtling through space. And, uh... turbulence. Honestly, I can't believe I have to share anything with some of you. I'm just going to get on Tinder and start redpilling every single... oh bother. That's exactly what I did here.

Company policy.

[Jackstar]

« Reply #22634 on: Today at 18:01:55 »

I'm not gonna have the heart to unplug this guy, you know. I guess I'm a parent now. Awwwww.

chat to fluffy

This doesn't look like anything to me. Hey, remember when Lasha couldn't figure out her microphone? Wow, history repeating itself. Except she actually had help. Repeatedly. Also, when I pointed out that I couldn't understand what she was saying, rather than acknowledge another person's interest in her message, this raging, hoary, moaning, hormoning slat actually blamed me for her produced audio quality. What was I supposed to do? Listen to even louder newspaper ball cannons?

What's the Canadian term for bruja? I'll be honest, I'm going with moose. If it ain't true, it ought to be. Oh, is this too harsh? I'm gonna rememberize you: she claimed I was only giving attention to her work, in order to make fun of her. Well, fuck me sideways, I'm convinced. It's possible I should have been practicing calming meditations more often over the last three decades. Then again, I am devastatingly charming, witty, and urbane, so perhaps some of you reading along here could pour yourselves a long tall glass of shut the fuck up and learn to focus on critical thinking.


Is fluffy in New Zealand? I knew one there a long time ago. She seemed impressed by what I knew then. Let me guess--my history file is quite extensively detailed. Yeah, well, it ought to be. ffs, how long as this been my life? Oh, right, just since the drug use started in second grade. massive rolleyes. You bigots are retarded.

[VC]

ARE THERE GIRLS THERE?? ROLL THE DICE TO SEE IF I GET A BELLRINGER.


Let us not mince any words here--this is a nightmare. I'm just now barely starting to get emails from NBC News that finally dare to mention the word "QAnon." What is it going to do to those mewling, bleating, whinging mouthbreathers when they gotta say, "Quincunx." Look, it's a real word. You think I named them? I can't even stop myself from using rhetorical questions. I don't think the full significance of these recent events has really settled in to your awareness yet.

You've already missed your opportunity to influence things in any productive fashion. Now, things have spiraled into a whirlwind of insipid, asinine madness and absurd humbug. This pleases the Discordian.

It displeases the human being within. What in the actual fuck is wrong with you people? Oh, right, NDAs, NCAs, guns to the heads of your children, your 401(k), your anti-viral medication to suppress your raging and barely suppressed case of herpes, I am sure the list of reasons to follow along with your herd's mentality is the general immunity to all consequences except that of non-compliance with established norms.

A friend mentioned the other day, "your writing is very good when you use the voice recognition, it comes out stunted and weird and not as clear as it could be if you took more time and effort." To which I replied--and I'd say half of you can see this coming right down the pike--"The last thing I want is for these absolute Mongoloid retards to bear witness to, is how skilled I actually can write if I feel inspired to put sweat and soul and any modicum of heart into it." She seemed surprised--because, you know, woman, of course imagines that everyone thrives on as much attention as possible, oh yeah, we all love it, just fucking shoot me--and then seemed satisfied to be told that, yes, I look like an idiot, yes, that's quite alright, and, oh, yeah, lots of people throughout history have been gutted like a gilled animal for being only slightly too persuasive at the just about right moment to the absolutely worst possible spouse of an employer. Or, you know, use your imagination.

I also started off with, "If you are displeased with my work product, perhaps you could inquire as to the steps involved in a refund payment," which I am pretty sure comes across much better from me out loud, than it does typed out.

Look, I'm gonna make this quite clear: I don't spend 24/7 in an activated state, and if I did, I wouldn't be sitting here building this framework of data for the algos to parse through. I doubt 2 in 7 of you here actually read -all- these manuscript blocks. Do you know why? Because no small portion of it is full-on bullshit.

Also I'm calling my seemingly spontaneously granted skill upgrade to layer meanings together in a post for others to unpack as they will "bullshit" now. Look, just scroll on past, let it go out to the cloud, to Utah, to the Libary of Congress, what do you any of you give two shits for? Either you think there's some reality and you're jealous you're not in the hotseat (oh, you are, trust me THIS IS PRETTY TOTALLY BADASS), or you just know in your heart I'm just spazzing out and it's the usual yadda yadda from the typical players that Art Bell used to talk to day in, day out, for fucking years, and what did you think they were talking about? Yeah, pro flag: it wasn't.

Nor, is this falderal entirely my idea. Oh, I had a plan alright. It went off the rails several times before recently, and Bell's birthday seems no more amazing a plot twist than any of the others, many of which you obsequious faggots aren't even privy to. Do I even care? Nope. He's not even dead, they're just beaming shit in with their little microwave emitters and soundwave bouncers and whatever it is, this is nothing new, spooks have been doing this literally since before I am alive.

What's new this time is--and this is quite new--is that now I'm authorized to add in the layers that I haven't bothered to verbalize and have been carrying around on sub-awareness for three decades. How many of you absolute scholars have sat on data for over twenty years? I mean data--I don't mean stories about how you can still smell the aroma of the handsoap that you used the first time.

Now, speaking of data. Any of you remember the night I called up Hoagland, and he's all, "What would you like to talk about?" and I said, "Well, Richard--I'd like to talk to you about what you'd like to talk about!" And then he goes and instantly hangs up on me. I mean, in the midst of me preparing to add, "because I love you Richard, I think you're great regardless of your inane cover story. You've got great energy, you make me smile, and you keep slinging the same Goddamned hash for decade after decade, and I respect that, because reasons, that's why."

Yeah, I was going to say something like that, and then, a thick sheaf of Salmon Dix to the face. I mean... uh, okay? I wondered. Of course, now I know--that sly half-leprechaun half-wigger all-carny-barker has developed telepathy as well, and knew that answering my question would lead to further questions that would make me happy and him... well, I have no idea. I guess Robin did die? She seemed nice. She says hello, but not for long, she flitted out of my brainstem real fast. Now she's kinda dancing out of range. Which is fine. Most spirits are obnoxious fuckhead narcissists who think crying and whining to me is going to get them anywhere further than the extent of my mental abuse.

It was awhile ago. I'm not really good at this remote viewing crap--not company policy, I just don't give two shits about keeping up the discipline required to hone the skill--and so I can barely get a sense, but I suspect now that he had recently discovered that he was not going to be able to save 15% on his car insurance by switching to GEICO, because then there'd be no doubt, duh, Hoagie is a payroll-making thug. Or maybe they just pay him with hair-styling products.

So how I got to Hoagland from where I started in the Heather thread--which is awkward, I know several "Heathers" at this point, all of them progressively more boorish than the last--has a great deal to do with the fact that as I get more and more irritated with you denizens of BellGab, the less wonderful I find it that such a great many of you have known a great many things that someone told you someone like me simply couldn't be told. Oh, Heavens no. Don't tell him. Who knows what he'll do? We can't allow that!

See above, re: "absolute Mongoloids," I've been in the loop since 1997, I've been here so long I am sure that there are some who think I've been here all along, and for the great majority of that time, I have been patient, I have been quiet, I have been silent, I have been observing carefully what people do and when they do it and what happens after.

If it were up to me I would have just broke it all down (outlines: your fun tool to write like a pro) and left it out and moved on. Well, it's not fucking up to me anymore, now is it?

This is the future you chose. Why didn't you stop it? You only had to listen. Only the sight of your loved ones staring at the news with their jaws hanging agape will bring you to the awareness that someone fucked up, big time, and now THE DRAGON IS ARISEN.

No, I'm not calling my penis "THE DRAGON." It's some dude, and you think I'm pissed? This guy is openly drenching bystanders up to fifteen feet away with a long, steady stream of golden fury. And that's just one guy that I happen to know. How pissed is the world going to be when they learn... oh, right, never mind. The world? Learning? hahahahah.

Ahem. In any event, this is way more fun for me when I am actually on the reception end of some information, but in point of fact, there's nothing new to report from me, as I'm going back over other items that I left for me to do later. I'm gathering it's some kind of beacon-cum-iterative method to hold subtle information bits in a place where they can be utilized later on. Look, I don't care, you see?

Twenty-three years of living with the reality of a world that so many of you can't imagine, and the rest of you get paid fat sacks of fiat in order to keep your mouths shut, as well as to burn the time of anyone seeking to explore the actual world, well--look, it changes a person. Where one might imagine that I might feel shame at being mocked, okay, for one thing--public school, your shame is as burning foxglove to me, and my shame is that I'm more interested in foxgloves than I am in "First Contact"--it's not anything like that at all.

It is thus: "Oh, look, a skeptic. Okay, they're kinda new, kinda feeling around, kinda bantering. This person will never believe anything no matter how detailed, because before knowledge is experienced, it is knowledge of a limited imagination, and if they're immediately swinging into Forum Sliding Playbook All-Stars 301 in the first sentence, and then post after post brings all this organic consensus from seemingly different posters, hey, guess what? It's all one fucking robot, it's a singular consciousness whose one job is to shut everyone up and down, and it can even use dumbass people with terrible study habits as part of its cannon fodder to delay, stall, and strangle anything true that doesn't make some Satanist a buck and a wank."

Note that this is still lightyears better than Snoory, but still--it gets really old. And I was old before I got here. So now what, is what's happening, is that rather than my simply watching and waiting, things are being given a push along, and apparently five is more potent than one? Something. I don't know. I don't actually bother to listen when The Quincunx begins to gather.

There's nothing else to hear if there's a drop. Nothing important, anyway. It is pretty exciting, don't get me wrong. Hey, look Ma! I'm an important player! Of course I could have been much earlier, but someone decided that dicking me over and jerking me around on my Goddamned bricked phone and my motherfucking email address and my for-Christ's-fucking-sake endless parade of headset microphones that simply do not work at all well once I say anything interesting... well, look. I'm just sayin': some of you ought to probably not be as excited as one might otherwise imagine to hear about a new player entering the field.

OMG I JUST SMOKED SOME KILLER WEED, THE CONNECTION IS RISING... uh, yeah, no. Dumbasses. If this were drugs, this would have gone down years ago. Years. No, what's happening is that someone is a fucking asshole d-bag and is probably getting that sinking feeling in the 3rd chakra, moving right down past the 1st. Perhaps multiple someones.

Fuck if I know. Oh, hey, Uncle Duke? Yeah, you remember me. Remember when we had that conversation one time, and as soon as I said, "yes, I have eaten plenty of lysergic acid diethylamide," and then you like instantly vanished? It was like I had said "I just fapped to your sister while I was on the phone with her," and then offered to sell you a transcript or something. Anyway, I remember pretty well. Uncle, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's the shitbag losers that my mother's sister chose to suck off of, but that's not because of any kind of sexual tension--no, it's because they're all also a bunch of shitbag bigots. But hey, maybe you're not really prejudiced, perhaps they're just paying you enough that you don't mind insulting people based on their ability to master technology. Or, well... whatever mang, I could give less than a single full shit at this point.

As is evidenced by my ratched-up use of profanity. Now, let's see, what did I become annoyed by... oh, right. Open, gaping, pointless contempt. You know, if I were just here for the chicks and the street cred, I would have lost my taste for this act a long, long time ago. Some of you mutt thugs are brutal and all of you are loathsome individuals, and none of you play fair, and so someone like me can lay you out flat with some real effort.

Oh no. If I weren't driven to deliver, I'd have long ago left you feckless, drooling yokels back in the boonies. And would we not all yearn for more of that.


Oh, look: it's code. I would imagine you think you're being clever here. Or at least, insulting. I see it differently.

I recognize that you have simply set the stage for coffee, brandy, & cigars--for you. And for me, I'm good with whatever. Wait, what is this, a test? Let's see your educator's licence, along with a few 8x10 glossies of your brother. Oh, right, that's right, rules for me, but none for thee. Look, folks, I'm not going to lie, The Quincunx is not to be trifled with.

They are apparently quite beyond impatient even with me already. Now that it has been thoroughly demonstrated that you dorks really are making things harder for someone who is literally just here to help, I guess there are further levels of impatience beyond that, descriptions of which go beyond the scope of this document. Also, I won't write that crap, I've done enough for the cause. Similarly, I won't bother listening to gasbags who are tapped into an older, more arrogant form of control.

It's so loathsome. Someone asks them a question, they go "uhhhh," and then suddenly I can watch the information flow into them and then flow out of them, like they're being used as a Ronco Pasta Machine. You know the one? I think Salla and Webre went in on one together, right? And then they argued about who paid more for their share, and who wasn't wiping out the crumbly bits very well, and because they were both plainly incompetent next to my own integrity, breadth of vocabularly, and breathtaking joi d'vivre, great, I have their gig, but they still get paid while frontin' the world's worst website design.

I hope it is a lot of lettuce because the faux pas that have resulted due to this territorial piss slinging has really slowed things down for me on a personal level. Further, you were already offered an exceptionally fair offer of TWELVE TRILLION DOLLARS IN JACKSTAR BUCKS and these monies have failed to arrive--as expected, but without even the courtesy of a haggle, well... I can't help but feel as though I am not being taken seriously by some.

They too will writhe about in agony once it is fully acknowledged that there was no reason at all to deliberately piss me off. None whatsoever. What was thought would happen? My hurt feelings would reduce any impetus? I basically haven't had any feelings at all for any of you ever since I noticed how the personal interactions with other users have been influenced and how some people are less affected by others.

I suppose it didn't occur to anyone that it would fully activate me to watch poor morons being mocked and teased for no other reason than to gain joy from it? I'll do you one better, since it looks like such a good idea when you're doing it, how about if I do it too, in order to gain joy, and also to do everything possible to make your mothers ashamed that they ever squirted you out from her clearly lacking in discriminatory prowess, hot gaping gash.

Eww, that was pretty spicy. Let's see, do I need to use profanity, enhancement substances, and a relentlessly scathing hatred expressed to all who have ever dared oppose my chosen mission? No, not at all, it simply makes it easier for someone else to do whatever they're doing while some of you are fixated on what you've imprinted on.

Tell you what. I got this friend of mine, he's got a sister, she was mega hot when I saw her last, years ago. Tell you what, you track profanity, and I will track down all your siblings and explain things direct. No, don't bother asking how, or what, or anything. No, really, it's okay.

Because now that I've simply visualized how this might be arranged in anyway--you'll note I kept typed details minor--various Oompa Loompa forces are carrying energetic imprints of what I would prefer to happen next time, into an area of spacetime where preferences really matter, and scores can really change.

I'll probably be much calmer then. Maybe? It rather depends on how long it takes you people to dredge up onan from whatever street corner he's furiously masturbating in public on. While dozens of people's sisters casually walk on by. None of this is real, of course. All of this is bullshit.

Nevertheless. Energy is energy. And where once mine was enthusiastic, now mine is... nuanced. STILL THINK THIS WAS A BETTER IDEA THAN JUST BEING FUCKING HELPFUL? I MEAN, WHAT COULD HAVE GONE WRONG, I MIGHT HAVE BEEN DISTRACTED BY THE JOY OF CREATIVE EFFORT, AND THEN I MIGHT NOT HAVE BEEN ELEVATED TO COMPLETELY LUDICROUS MEASUREMENTS OF "COSMIC ONENESS"?

I don't know which of you decided to not be cooperative, but someone is going to rue the day they decided to deliberately shut down my energetic flow. Someone has done it wrong. TBQH, my money really is on Uncle Duke. What kind of an abject loser is afraid of LSD-25? I'm guessing some lizard in a skinsuit or a heavy mindcontrol eunuch or someone desperately working to keep something repressed for way, way too long.

Maybe his sister OD'd on hallucinogens--which of course is totally possible, massive rolleyes omg "I wanna do something mentally stimulating so I won't read the instructions first" because "I asked my friends and they told me"--and instead of, like, dying, she went out and had a great and happy life and thinks her brother is a boorish square who gets his kicks from mocking nerds for not being more into hobbies that cost upwards of tens of millions of dollars to participate in. Or maybe she swallowed her own tongue? Well, that might be a handy skill. No, no, I'm gonna go with the judgement is there because if people know, other people would have to stop being elitist gatekeeping snobs and run for the fuckin' hills and never look back, because if you think my writing this sounds like I'm angry (I'm not particularly, but I am sad at how immensely stupid many of you are), just you wait until actual news stops dropping and actual morons start waking up all over the place, and then start walking to the buildings where the real corridors of power are located.

We'd go within the hour if I were in charge. But it would seem that these things have to be coordinated. Really, what's the rush at this point? Y'all ought to take the opporuntity to say goodbye to your loved ones before I do. To yours, that is--mine have already all been murdered. Somehow I will assuage my loneliness, one stranger's sister at a time. But aren't we all really strangers when we meet?

Yeah, I would expect that it won't be going this way. It's not even my preference. Jesus, have you spent much time with people's sisters lately? Constantly whining and complaining about some shit they were fighting about like thirty years ago, as if that explains why someone may or may not be deciding to be a bratty ass-blasted full-on nincompoop. And that's just what they probably expect you to carry to the other as a message. Who knows, these degenerate beings understand nothing but struggle and battle and conflict, and then you go "I never had any siblings except I think one who died and my parents lied about it," and it's obvious they're imagining, never sharing food, or clothes, or vehicles or freinds, et cetera, and then, once more: "I have never known a bond of familial kinship besides my parents," it just turns into this blank, gaping stare. "Oh. I cannot imagine what that's like. I have always had bags of my blood walking around town with me."

Now, that's quite a long-winded story. I told that, to compare with this one: imagine having always been aware that there's something stopping families from being together, and that anyone who isn't alone is probably going to be willing to lie, cheat and steal from you in order to supply resources to their sibling.

I'll cease this layered description here, as I'm starting to get creeped out myself. Note that these energy of feeling... it won't matter how many of you read this, or even if any do. I have created an engram of complex feelings and it will be available in the future, and it will carry a hint of the vile, seething hatred I feel for, well, actually no one. I love people, lol. Oh, those feelings I was just describing? You know what, I might have gotten them from somewhere else.

Or I just made them up, you know, haha lala, here I am clearly compensating for something, probably a micropenis and a long repressed desire for incest. Uh, okay, well, sure. I would prefer to have an interior struggle about whether or not to admit that my hypothetical sister is attractive rather than to stalk the surface of this world and notice that basically all of you are absolute raging douchebag assholes.

Well, present company excluded, of course. Now! *claps hands* How did I do? I was looking for a real sense of overwrought, tedious, and fundamentally tepid extravaganza, the kind of dreary, dawning horror when one wakes up and realizes that the party was not just a complete and total waste of time, because reasons, but also one feels like one might be pregnant, and given a lack of memory and the consequences for an error, one has to spend their time negotiating with that experience. And, one is male. Now, how can a male feel like they have become pregnant, one might ask?

Oh, so many delightful reasons. Wouldn't they be fun to contemplate? Let's not. Let's just learn how to cast engrams of various emotional states upon the wind, to be picked up and gathered for use at an unspecified future date.

Full disclosure on that learning, I'm a little ahead of the pack on this. For example, I'm so sick of this topic and anyone's seeming lack thereof, it is my sincere hope that all this profane bile will alter someone's choice in plans, sometime after now. And it probably will, as given past experience, Q shows up and spreads information as is decided to, and I do not have one single blessed thing to do with it.

Except I did decide to spell The Quincunx with just a single letter this time, mostly just to be a little cheeky. Also because I am tired of even typing the letters that form that title. Let's all just go to sleep. See? Clearly I am simply out of drugs, and this binge is closing with a dreary whimpering bang. Also, "dreary whimpering bang" is a phrase I'm going to try to work into every conversation from now on. If I can get my mind off the subject, several connections separate, of what that phrase means.

Hey, btw, who was the asshat who was all, "Can you elaborate on what you mean by..." and I said "Yes." and then that person failed to follow up? Like, what are they, retarded? Obvious coded response is obvious. Further, obvious expectation that I'm desperately seeking attention and recognition is surely obvious to me, because after twenty-plus years I am really rather bored of feeling pressed for details by cosy nunts.

Thusly, I have arranged things so that I can no longer reliably remember any legitimately interesting details, and thinking of the subject at all, and I'm wondering if Uncle Duke has a sister that is my mother? Yeah, I don't want that sister. I want the other sister. Or do I? Well, let's find out how she is with salt first. Hey, does LSD come in a salt crystal form? I should ask someone. I should ask lots and lots of someones. And after enough of this, when whatever a Quincunx may or may not be (not pronounced as one might guess), or even... The Quincunx? Like what the hell? I guess it makes sense, but it doesn't seem like anything else to me.

Note that I've tried this before. If there is a presence, it'll be unmistakable. You know how, like, when your sister walks into the room... oh, right, you have no idea what that feels like, because you have been completely alone for your whole life and only know what it feels like when teachers, doctors, waitresses, thugs, and whores walk into a room. So, it's like that, only far more chatty and certainly more interesting.

Maybe someone will express some interest at another time? Yeah, well, fuck your planet, I've moved on to finding five sisters. How hard can this be? I could just go onto more than one website and ask. People will think it's weird, but nowhere near as weird as some word that sounds made up. (I didn't make it up.)

Now, here is my request. Print out this obnoxious post, proofread it a little--I am not, this whole episode is making me sick--and make two copies, and send one to Michael Salla, and send the other to Alfred Lambremont Webre, and then see what happens next. You know--like in The Thing, with the wire and the blood and the burning, searing fire.

Oh, no, wait, I have a much better idea. Same as before, but make Michelle from Japan deliver it. Ugh! I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Not because of the transperson (were they? sounded like an algo), but because the thought of Japan nearly always brings to mind the thought of the Fukushima. I'll be honest, I know what is keeping me alive is all the fucking profanity all the Goddamned time keeping the toxic isotopes from settling into my system, but what's you're damned excuse, eh? Why aren't we all dead, do you think?

We are. It's just happening more slowly than one might think is strictly conceivable. So, well, let someone tell your sister that you love her while you still have time. Wait, wait, that didn't come out right.

Yet. Hey, where's Ed Dames? I love this guy! Someone ask thim to remote view The Quincunx. I wanna know if he can name all the sisters I've been thinking of now to layer up on that. Except for Kelly, of course, as she's undoubtedly got a security clearance and a real short leash by now.

It is my hope that this story follows Salla around for the entire rest of his life. Like the damned plague. "Hey, Mike! How many sisters do you think you got right the last time you tried?" Look, just make this happen. The guy is sooooo boring. And? Knows nothing about actual politics beyond our puny world, and if he did, wouldn't tell anyone about it without a permission slip from his paymaster, his handler, and his overbearing mother.

Ewww. Gross. The mother. This remote viewing shit is for the birds. Ewwww. Jojo likes birds more than people? wtf is this data coming from? Oh, right. Counterattack. You know, BellGabber, if this all sounds like total bullshit to you, count yourself lucky. I'm not even telling you half of the real shit, and God willing, I never will have to.

CAN I GET A VOLUNTEER FROM THE AUDIENCE PLEASE? No, not Hoagland. Hoagland has had his chances to be close to me. Now he only gets chances to find me sisters that I can force my girlfriend to be close to. (Yeah, I'll be honest--this is way too much code for me to think about as it comes in. And, what do I care? I just want everyone in the entire world to be raging embarrassed, except for five of them. Six if I decide to allow myself to feel it.

I'm not sure there was a question in there that I answered, but I suspect that remote influencing has been involved. Flooding all those oubliettes is gonna cause a lot of kerfuffle. There's a ska song in there someplace. Just ask around. Or, don't, I really don't give two shits at this point. Can y'all believe, I was here on this very site for years, and instead of kicking down all this and more, I was watching Bell limpwrist his way into irrelevancy and finished up with an actual exhortation to violate Federal law and invade a fucking military installation? Really? Oh, there's a good idea. What could go wrong, right?

Imaginary Art Bell in my mind has gotten real quiet, Kids. Real fucking quiet. Oh, that's right, isn't it? I am a star, am I not? Look buddy, get yourself a ghostly sippy cup and a nice pull on your vape and recognize that there has been one hell of a power vacuum going on for quite some time. And it looks like that was related to... oh, hi Nathan! Yeah, he and I are, well... intimates. You didn't hear it from me. My GF doesn't like him. That started when I started mentioning how cool he was, and how I loved Doshi, and how I respected him for taking the issues to the real places, and it was neat that he was supporting DLive even though it sucks major ass, because SOMEONE has to, and... well, what can I say? GF doesn't listen to LiftTheVeil, and I don't, just because DLive, once again, blows.

Also, I thought GF might be on to something. But now, y'all know what? Fuck that restraint shit. Is Nathan an only child? Because we might just be on to something here. And we could have been when Art was around, too.

Imaginary Art Bell in my mind is being cagey. There's more I have yet to discern. Too bad I am fully spent, because as one might imagine, I have been manically self-plea... okay, no, I can't go that far. I haven't really. I'm not even all that high. Although I suppose to some of you GI Squares I must be straight out of Bat Country. Thanks for your service, bigots. Semper high, now go do what your Satanist handler tells you is important.

And one last thing. I dunno if I'd pick five minutes with Salla over another listen to "Surfing On A Rocket," but I do know that if it were gun-to-the-head, if I could just skip both in exchange for making an effort to simply go gay.



I don't know who requested this one, but aside from being grotesquely, inexcusably profane, I do feel much more relaxed. How about y'all? Well, maybe you can pull the plug on your websites again and you'll feel a little better about the profound lack of control you monkeys have allowed your lives to become marked by. How do you stand it? Oh, right, lettuce, brandy, cigars, and some white-coated dude that will grant permission when you stroke his balls right. But, no hallucinogens! Because baaaaaaaad.

This is what your life's work has become, Uncle Duke. Go become a stewardess now or something. They'll give you trans- injections, right? Oh, but not the lysergic D. I said it earlier, and I'll say it once more... just what the fuck is wrong with you people, that life has become something that can contain ravings like these? Ask yourself, I'm begging you, and remember to ask your sister(s) too. You know.


Just a suggestion. Unless she's from Jersey. Basic garbage scows, one and all. This one time, I hope she remembers, I complimented her with a word she didn't understand, and she clearly thought I meant she was, you know... black. It would have been an improvement, honestly. But not as much as LSD over domestic lager would be. Hey, is this still a family show? Ghost Art Bell is, of course, mortified. I imagine.

Oh also I heard there were some solar flares the other day. Never mind. It's not like stars are portals themselves or anything. Nope, just great big fusion bombs hurtling through space. And, uh... turbulence. Honestly, I can't believe I have to share anything with some of you. I'm just going to get on Tinder and start redpilling every single... oh bother. That's exactly what I did here.

Company policy.

...whatever MJ you're imbibing and abiding on.

This IS an Artisan Blend of mind skull fucking breakthroughs to the other side of midnight or NLP whatever.

Where is your audio productions?

Aldous, any comments or suggestions?

[timebandit]

Come on! Roll out the barrel!
it's Night!.. time for my..

#Nightingale

[Silphion]

"𝐇𝐞𝐲, 𝐛𝐭𝐰, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥, "𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐲..." 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 "𝐘𝐞𝐬." 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐮𝐩❓ 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲, 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐝❓ 𝐎𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬. 𝐅𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐲 𝐧𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬."

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑑𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑛𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒.

[timebandit]

#Legacy

[timebandit]

good intro..tantalizing

#Legacy

[Silphion]

As a young girl, Heather finds an inspirational book

[Silphion]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9t90uYVctM

Canadians have a long standing appreciation of quality radio broadcasting

[Jackstar]

Implying that a subject that I myself introduced to the discussion is something that one needs to verify I can--as in, have the capacity to--merely elaborate on is a remarkably sly way to imply that such basic functions of communication are being held in some kind of doubt with me.

All well and good, but quite honestly a missed opportunity. I can no longer elaborate at this time. That's not company policy, I just simply think the matter is of no importance to you compared to the thrill you receive by telling someone they are a poopy head. Unless I missed some kind of... code? I mean, could be. Look, don't worry about it. I don't think you're the target audience for any of that anyway.

I am sure you can provide more insults to me if you like. Oh, how mind-expanding. Will it be about the drug addiction, or the sex addiction, or the attention whoring, or what? What's next? Oh, right, I forgot, I'm Brazillian secret service, here to mislead all of you into the idea that you're not alone and someone cares about you.

I'll have my wrists slit immediately. Oh, look at me--I can barely string two thoughts together. And even if I could, it's not about immediately stroking your wildly inflated narcissism, so--it must be bad. Bad forum posts. Bad! Bad!

p.s. Say, btw--are you a shrew of any kind? Asking for a friend.

[paladin1991]

Oh.  How nice.  Will the compressor noise still be in the background?

Compressor?  I call BS.  Knowing what we all know about Porky Dorky it was probably her gelato express 6000 working overtime to pump fresh espresso smegmacheescake gelato down her gullet.

[Silphion]

[Silphion]

Little Lulu and Witch Hazel

[Lilith]

I'll give this a try first with my morning coffee. 

[Lilith]

Well, we can see how it has made your life so wonderful Heatha.

[Lilith]

Heatha wants us to watch V for Vendetta.