I made an appearance on JV Hillard's podcast, The Realm, to promote my book, Crusaders of the Chrono-Crystal. I'm five hundred times more optimistic about the future of my country since last Sunday when Kamala Harris replaced Joe Biden as the prospective Democratic nominee for president. Trump is scared out of what little mind he has, and I'm so here for it. He calls her "Laughing Kamala" because he's a fucking toddler, and probably also because he doesn't know how to experience joy and hates anyone who does. Republicans call her a "DEI hire" because they can't use the n-word in public. They're obsessed with her real or perceived sex life because if there's one thing their candidate is known for, it's upholding conservative sexual morality. Their bigotry is infuriating, but their desperation and panic are hilarious. I can't wait to watch their demented felon/rapist/fascist candidate get curb-stomped by a Black woman. The cherry on top is him shooting himself in the foot (too soon? I don't care) by picking the least popular running mate in history for reasons that I'm sure made more sense when he was running against a man three years older than himself instead of a woman young enough to be his daughter. If she actually was his daughter, of course, he'd think she was hot.
In case I haven't made myself clear enough in the past, fuck Donald J. Trump and everything he stands for. I will go to my grave not understanding how so many ostensibly good people threw their principles in the trash and worshipped him. I was much, much more conservative in 2015 than I am now. I sincerely believed that from a policy standpoint, next to Clinton, Trump was the lesser of two evils. And I still never for one second considered voting for him because he was a garbage human. Why is that kind of integrity almost unheard of among the right wing? I don't get it. Well, the Republican Party made its choice, and now it's getting what it deserves for making such a terrible choice. It pledged its allegiance to someone who will bring it down with him. A majority of Americans will soundly reject its white Christian nationalist bullshit and teach it a lesson at the ballot box that it will never forget and hopefully never recover from. (I made sure to add "at the ballot box" to clarify that, unlike Trump and his ilk, I don't advocate for political violence.) Or maybe I've been lulled into a false sense of security and everything is screwed after all. Donald Trump is not the lesser of two evils, even if all you care about is limited government. The Republican Party is not a party of limited government. It's the party of forcing their shitty "values" on everyone else and giving billionaires and corporations free reign to screw everyone else in every possible way. I have tried with no success to get my conservative family members to understand that. Trump has already tried to overthrow democracy with lies and an insurrection. His cult is already planning to say the next election was fraudulent when he doesn't win. It's already threatening civil war. He said this out loud the other day: "Get out and vote just this time. You won't have to do it anymore. Four more years it will be fixed. It'll be fine. You won't have to vote anymore, my beautiful Christians. You've got to get out and vote. In four years, you don't have to vote again, we'll have it fixed so good you're not going to have to vote." Some of his supporters now claim that was joking or that he didn't mean anything at all. I'm really fucking tired of being gaslit that he doesn't mean any of the racist/sexist/fascist/impossibly stupid things he says. And this from the same morons who worship him because he "speaks his mind." By this they clearly mean that by being a horrible person so proudly with no repercussions, he gives them license to feel good about also being horrible people. I don't know where I'm going with this, but in summary, Harris for and Trump for president.
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There is some drama going on in my apartment. My report on it will have to wait, though, because I owe a tribute to the recently deceased Shelley Duvall. Some of my earliest memories are of her voice issuing from the CD player in my parents' basement. She was a second mother figure to me. I made this meme in her honor. Her release from mortality is probably for the best because she hadn't aged well. Her physical and mental decline was heartbreaking to see. She largely avoided the spotlight in her old age, but in a controversial appearance on Dr. Phil in 2016, she opined that her Popeye costar Robin Williams wasn't dead, just shape-shifting. She probably supported Trump too. Regardless, a formative piece of my childhood, of myself, is gone. The world of the nineties is quickly disappearing forever. At least her lullaby album lives on. It might not be Grammy material, but it ironically has far more sophisticated lyrics than the Harry Nilsson songs she sang in Popeye. (Who could forget such classics as "He needs me, he needs me, he needs me, he needs me, he needs me, he needs me"?) Here's that album, direct from my YouTube channel. I recommend it to any parents of little children, though more particularly little boys because a few of the lyrics specify that she's singing to a little boy. That seems unnecessary, especially since she didn't have any children of her own to whom she could have been singing, but it worked fine for me so I can't complain too much. Hey Little OneShe opens this opening track with "Hello, I'm Shelley Duvall. I'd like to sing a little lullaby or two for you." Chills. When I heard that as a kid, I knew I was in for a treat. Itty Bitty KidKind of an upbeat, almost marching song. Not really a lullaby, it occurs to me for the first time in thirty-one years. Small FryNow this is more of a lullaby. And now we really feel the depth of her feelings for her imaginary little boy as she sings, "You... are the apple... of... my eye." That sounded sarcastic, but it wasn't. Little Kid's WorldIn a similar vein to Madonna's "Dear Jessie," but less treacly, here's a tribute to the boundless imagination that most children have before it's squelched by Blippi and the public school system. I admit the chorus is a little weak, though. "In a little kid's world, a little kid's house, you can find anything from a rabbit, to a mouse." Wow, very range, such a diverse. That sounded sarcastic because it was. I still love her, though. Shelley Duvall, I mean, but Madonna is great too. TwinkleThis song is more poignant than any children's lullaby has a right to be. Here, she sings not to her imaginary little boy, but to a star outside her window that she considers her "dearest friend." Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but damn, she sounds lonely. SPOILER ALERT, the ending tears my heart out: "I know that I can't touch you... but I want so very much to... You know how much I love you... Liiiiiiittle... star..." Why?This song is a tribute to the curiosity that children have about literally everything, but it resonates with me more than ever as an adult grappling with existential and philosophical questions that I could never have imagined back then. She alludes to those ever so slightly, though, as she sings from the child's perspective that she adopted just for this one song, "Is there someone special called God?" And like her, I plead, "Tell me how? Why? I wanna know! How does it work? What makes it go? If it's just a puppet, then who pulls the strings? Is it all magic? Or is it just a dream?" Before You Were BornOne of the reasons I took so long to leave the LDS Church was that it teaches the existence of our souls before we were born more consistently and "officially" than any other religion I'm aware of. That concept made sense to me then and it makes sense to me now. Based on my research of near-death experiences, I still believe it, though of course I don't believe the specific details about the war in heaven and Black people being less valiant and all that jazz. Anyway, I think a lot of people intuitively sense this truth without being taught it. In this song, Shelley Duvall (who was never LDS) tells her imaginary little boy that he was in heaven before he was born. And she says a lot of other stuff that's really sweet. RainI love the sound effects and the sproingy instrumental thing during the chorus that kind of evokes raindrops even though it sounds nothing like them. If I knew anything about music, I could say what the instrument is, but I don't. I just know what I like. Little ChildI don't know what to say about this one. It's just a nice little song about how much she loves her little child, in case she hadn't managed to get that point across yet. Tiny PillowThis is the perfect song to close the album, as it's the best one to fall asleep to. So soft, so soothing, the aural equivalent of a pillow. An unidentified male joins her for the chorus, and I always imagined he was the imaginary little boy's father who had finally gotten home from work. I've prudently decided not to discuss how I feel about the assassination attempt on the guy who told the grieving parents of children murdered in a school shooting to "get over it." I will say that I've never wished death on anyone for having different political views than me, but I'm tired of being gaslit that opposition to Mr. "Grab 'em by the pussy" is merely a matter of differing political views.
I moved into my new place this week. It was the only place I considered because I knew that if I looked at more options I would just get more stressed about choosing one. I also knew from past experience that if I prayed for guidance, like I stopped doing years ago, I would get no response and wear myself out straining to hear one. This place was the cheapest I was going to find anywhere and it didn't sound horrible, so I wanted it and I went for it. I think that's how I need to live my life - just going with the flow, not trying to "follow the Holy Ghost." I'll try to be informed and make good decisions, of course, but I've come to realize that because I'm not a billionaire, I actually have zero control over most of the things that affect my life. Agency shmagency. No, it doesn't piss me off at all, why do you ask? I thought it would be just me in the basement and the two guys upstairs, one of whom is a friend of my friend, so it felt better than moving in with complete strangers. But I realized the basement was already inhabited as soon as I descended the stairs. The first thing I noticed was the smell, the most beautiful smell I've ever smelled. It assailed me every time I went up or down to move my stuff. I'd soon realize it was there to mask the cigarette smell, and now I've already acclimated to it, which stinks, pun intended. The second thing I noticed was the decor that had obviously been placed by an old woman. She was the first one I met, and then I thought it was just the two of us, and that was awkward. I was rather relieved when a younger guy introduced himself. And there's a younger woman too, but I've barely seen her, and I haven't talked to her, except that today she left me a note asking me not to put stuff in her cupboard. Time will tell if the smiley face and the word "Respectfully" were sincere or passive-aggressive. They worried me, but I'm trying not to jump to conclusions. My friend who told me about the place had said something about me maybe having female roommates, but then for some reason he caught himself and didn't pursue that subject, and neither did I because I didn't want his friend to not let me have it, and then I forgot about that. I'm cool with having female roommates. I had a de facto female roommate several years ago when my roommate's girlfriend or wife moved in with us and the landlord didn't care. Sometimes she walked around the kitchen in a towel like she didn't notice I was there. One time she tried to convince my roommate to let her kiss me, quote, "so that he can say he's kissed a black girl and I can say I've kissed a white guy," close quote, but he didn't go for that. I swear. If you don't believe me, you can pray about it and know for yourself that it's true. Anyway, I'm neutral on this current situation except that I like it because it would probably scandalize my conservative Mormon parents. My roommates are all kind of weird. I should fit right in. They're pretty quiet and keep to themselves a lot, which is great. I hope we can be friends without them inconveniencing me too much. There are two bathrooms right next to each other, as if the basement was designed with this living arrangement in mind. The bathrooms have sliding wooden doors that are only attached at the top and lock with a little hook and loop. The shower curtains are transparent so that psycho killers can't sneak up on you. The water doesn't get as hot as I'd like, and I had to close the air conditioning vent to stop it from blasting my naked wet body every time I got out. The air conditioning in this place runs constantly, and I mean constantly. The vent in my room was already closed, but I piled blankets up against it as well. My room felt like a refrigerator for the first couple of days. I guess I should be grateful for the privilege of freezing my ass off during a record-breaking heat wave. Oh yeah, I moved to this area just in time for a record-breaking heat wave. It's almost like the climate is changing or something. With that exception, it's a nice area. I live in a quiet suburb, but if I walk two blocks, I'm on a busy city street. I've gone out exploring during the less dangerously hot hours. There are as many Mexican and Asian restaurants in my immediate vicinity as I could possibly want, and a 7-eleven so close that it takes a lot of self-control to not buy a Slurpee every day. I haven't yet seen anything as pretty as the town I left behind. Logan has prettier houses, prettier buildings, and prettier scenery. But with any luck, I'll get to spend more time with my friends who live in nearby cities. I hope they're not always busy doing lame adult stuff. Oh yeah, and my room is full of boxes. I have too much stuff and not enough space. I'll probably leave most of my stuff packed up for however many months or years I'm here. It feels like a temporary situation, but I'm trying to live in the moment and not fantasize about a better future. One where I could afford my own house before I'm ninety, for example. I had a bit of a drug flashback this morning while I was half-asleep and delirious. Not the cool oneness-with-the-universe part, just some of the weirdness. I wonder how often that will happen. It's been almost two weeks since I ate the mushroom gummy. I don't regret it yet.
Today I'm still with extended family, and tomorrow I'm moving to Midvale. Where I was excited before, now I'm nervous and depressed, and I'll probably just have to wait that out. I think this move is a good thing, but it comes with an opportunity cost, as change always does. Anyway, I'm going to make another brief post. Of all the things I could write about after this week with family, I think the most important is a recommendation to all parents or prospective parents of young children to not let them watch an awful show called Blippi. My little cousin loves that show. Lots of kids love that show. But I could tell within seconds from the host's overenthusiasm and goofy voice that he thinks kids are stupid. I could tell the difference between this show and superior kids' shows that aren't excruciating for adults to watch because the writers put some actual effort into them. I knew I couldn't be the only adult who recognized this, so I did some research, and after accidentally finding out about the disgusting viral video that Stevin John did before he became Blippi, I found this Current Affairs article that explains why his garbage show won't help your children develop imagination, critical thinking, or empathy. (I actually think it's kind of weird that the author brings Trump into it, but his points are well made.) My Blippi-loving cousin is so uncultured that he complained about watching Mary Poppins, which I felt an urge to watch for the first time in a long time because we flew a kite. I appreciate more than ever how funny and heartwarming this movie is and how good the music is. I also realize now that even though it's sixty years old, if it came out today, conservatives would melt down over its woke feminist and anti-capitalist undertones. Of course there are the obvious bits about women's suffrage that don't affect the plot in any meaningful way, but I can also imagine certain YouTubers complaining that all of the male characters in the movie are made fools of by female characters. George Banks is hotheaded and irrational and mean compared to Winifred, and Mary Poppins manipulates him with ease. (I also realized what a gaslighter she is to him and the children, but that's neither here nor there.) Mary Poppins scolds Bert and Uncle Albert for their foolishness. Michael can't snap his fingers, and at a pivotal moment, he says something dumb and Jane tells him to be quiet. Oh, how the YouTubers would hate that if Disney did it in 2024! And why does the movie's female protagonist have to be practically perfect in every way? The Mary Sue jokes write themselves. As for the anti-capitalist part, the bank (run by white males who are portrayed as jackasses, of course) is portrayed as an antagonist. Childlike whimsy and nonsense and frivolous expenditures to benefit wildlife are portrayed as superior to acting self-important and making frugal investments in colonialism. Jeez, that was too easy. If I didn't hate my mannerisms and my voice, I'd make a YouTube video about it instead of a blog post and make some real money. Prior to my move, I'm once again on vacation with family including my loveable but exhausting little cousins, and I forgot to write a post yesterday. I could have done it while they were all at church, but I did other stuff instead. I have to crank something out now to keep up my goal of writing something every week even if it's garbage.
I've reflected on my legal drug experience last week, trying to figure out if it was the best experience of my life or one of the best experiences of my life, and if so, why. I can imagine someone reading my description and wondering what's so great about a weird and confusing experience like that. First of all, it was inherently interesting because it was like nothing I'd experienced before. Second, as I've realized even more upon reflection, the peace I felt throughout was really incredible. It may have been the only time in my adult life that all my worries didn't just fade to the background but ceased to matter altogether. Even now, as I enjoy time with my family, part of my brain is devoted to the stresses of moving to another city, paying rent, dealing with my property management company for what I hope is the last time, and possibly losing what's left of democracy in my country if the demented lying orange jackass is re-elected because his opponent acted too old during their recent debate and then appoints three more supreme court justices whose life goal is to drag society back a hundred years. But nothing worried me when I was high, and that was great. And then, of course, there were those moments when I felt disconnected from my physical body and connected to the universe. Again, I don't want to overstate those, but as I reflect on them, they were pretty great. I think that if I did this again knowing what to expect and relaxed more, surrendered more, analyzed less, I would get more of that part. I want more of that part. The reason I wanted to try psilocybin, which is not yet legal, except through a religious freedom loophole that I intend to exploit when I'm settled closer to the Divine Assembly church, was to experience death before I die. That's done wonders for the mental health of terminally ill people. Legal mushroom gummies don't contain psilocybin, and I don't know if I can achieve that full experience with them, but what I got was close enough. I want more of it regardless of what it is. Anyway, there's plenty more I could write about besides drugs, but I should go be with my family. |
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- Amelia Whitlock "I don't know how well you know Christopher Randall Nicholson, but... he's trolling. You should read his blog. It's delightful." - David Young About the AuthorC. Randall Nicholson is a white cisgender Christian male, so you can hate him without guilt, but he's also autistic and asexual, so you can't, unless you're an anti-vaxxer, in which case the feeling is mutual. This blog is where he periodically rants about life, the universe, and/or everything. Archives
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