Previous post for context

I am no longer withholding the purple-haired girl's identity because she turned out to be a public figure and small business owner, and I don't care if she finds out that I think she's hot. Her name is Amber. Like I said, she looks like an Amber and could only ever have been an Amber. She told me she would start speaking on the hill in Liberty Park every Saturday at one, so last week and this week, I went there and waited. Well, last week I was already at the park for an event to commemorate John Lewis, but this week I went there for one purpose alone. She didn't show. It was fine because last week I befriended an unusually brave squirrel, and this week I heard a guy playing cool music on a weird instrument. But she didn't show at the Sunday drum circle these past two weeks either, so I couldn't ask her what the hell.

I'm moving in a few days and will find it more difficult to get to the park, but I was so confident that I met her for a reason and couldn't let it end here that, without any help from drugs, I worked up the courage to ask someone about her even though he might think I was a stalker. I told myself I could live with someone thinking I was a stalker. Wouldn't be the first time. I'd seen this guy hanging out with her, looking like a shaman in his own right, and assumed they were close. It turns out he's only met her the same number of times I have, but he had her business card and let me look at it. Sometimes life is so confusing, and then sometimes things just fall into place!

As soon as I saw it, I was like, yeaaah... I don't believe the kind of stuff she believes, and I shouldn't pretend I do just because I think she's hot, even though that's the most logical course of action. But that doesn't mean I should be entirely close-minded and think she can't teach me anything, right? On an unrelated note, when this guy learned my name, he asked how old I was, then explained that when he was in third grade, a psychotic classmate named Christopher stabbed him in the hand with a pencil and the lead broke off inside. I did stab a classmate with a pencil once, but we were older, I didn't stab him that hard, and it was because he was harassing a girl, and when he told the teacher, she laughed at him. True story.

Amber Lynn Patten's website didn't work. I looked around her socials, and I found another web address that didn't work and one that did, but then the link to schedule a magic consultation didn't work. I saw something about reading auras, which reminded me of my delusional pathological liar neighbor who told me she could read auras, but that's whatever. I found a Facebook post about me. It also has pictures of her sitting in a tree, which I won't reproduce here because I'm more conscientious about photographers' and artists' copyrights than I was in my early days of blogging. Here's her side of part of the story that I told about her:

She left out the part where she drugged me without my consent. Interesting. Jokes aside, since nothing bad happened to me, I decided it was hot that she did that, so maybe I'm a douche or something.

Anyway, I asked her about sermons because I thought she'd said she gave sermons, but in fairness, I was high at the time I thought she said that. I wasn't high when she said that she would give these "sermons" on the hill, which is very close to the gazebo by the pond but is not the same place. Also, I notice that in this post, she didn't say what time she'd be there. On the plus side, I guess she doesn't have the planning skills to be a cult leader.

"Skeptical but open-minded." Did you notice that phrase? I did, because I've used it to describe myself, and I didn't tell her that, so it's obviously a sign. No, but really. I'm skeptical because I don't believe in any of the magic stuff I read about on her pages, but I'm open-minded because I will believe in them if she gives me sufficient evidence. Not that I intend to challenge or argue with her, but I will ask and listen. I really don't care what people believe as long as they live by good values. Amber sells stuff, so maybe she's a grifter, but I'll reserve judgment on that point. I can imagine Mormons reading this and being all like "Yeah, bro, that's obvious priestcraft, and that's why women can't hold the priesthood" and then continuing to pay ten percent of their income and countless hours of free labor to a church that has hundreds of billions of dollars and tried really hard to keep people from knowing it.

I called the number on her business card, and she didn't answer, but at least it worked. So I texted her, and she hasn't responded yet, so I don't have anything juicy to share. Not that I intend, in the event of us having serious conversations about spirituality, consciousness, and the metaphysical, to share every word she writes or says, but I had to at least follow up on my previous post. Again, I'm not violating her privacy, I'm giving her free publicity. Not that she needs it from my woefully obscure little blog.

On an entirely unrelated note, on my way out of the park this evening, I encountered a friendly guy whom I had a little trouble understanding because English was his second language, but in the course of our interaction he asked me if I like men and invited me to go drink beer with him and then he'd suck my dick. The language barrier compounded my natural awkwardness and reluctance to emphatically say no to people. He asked questions about the shape and size of my dick. Oh, sir, it's very small, ridiculously small, much too small for you to bother with. I extricated myself from that by saying I needed to go home and get some work done. I should've just said, "I can't, I'm Mormon." He gave me a fist bump and never stopped smiling, which assuaged my guilt about rejecting him. It reminded me of the time as a kid when I was in the hayloft with an older (but still minor) cousin, and he whipped his out and told me he'd send me money when he got home if I sucked it, and I didn't think about it or realize how fucked up it was until years later. My family has issues, y'all. I still judge my cousin a hell of a lot less for that than for supporting Trump.

I confirmed from Amber's socials that she doesn't support Trump, but I would have bet my life on that anyway. And like I said, her values are more important than her beliefs. I know I can learn from her even if her beliefs are bullshit. (I said "if." Open-minded.)

When I take edibles, for the most part, I stay home where it's safe. I might walk around the neighborhood a little. A couple of weeks ago, I decided to try the drum circle in Liberty Park, where at least half of the people are also on drugs. It was farther from my home than I'd ever gone in such a state before, and the walk was stressful, as I kept worrying that I couldn't trust my eyes and might be hit by the cars or trains that appeared to be a block away. Then I got to the park and worried that someone would stab me. I'd probably be a great driver in that state because I was hyperaware of every potential threat. I'd thought I would participate in the drum circle, but I just watched. The cops showed up as I was walking away, and people started shouting some number that was obviously a warning about the cops, and I shouted it too because fuck the cops. Without knowing any context, I had no reason to assume they'd come for any reason but to harass someone much less dangerous than them for doing something harmless. Many of the people who gather there are on the outskirts of society, and probably sometimes it's because they're awful, but usually it's because society is awful. In this diverse community of weird people who like  music and drugs and look out for each other, I see the faces of God.

​Last week, I went back with less paranoia and more intention to participate. I still noticed people. For instance, I noticed a guy who looked a lot like me, beard and all, except that he was more handsome and his shirtless torso was a normal shape. I don't spend much energy worrying about my looks, but the fact that I could have looked like him if I'd been just a little luckier in the genetic lottery kind of bummed me out. But then my attention was monopolized by her. I'd noticed the attractive purple-haired girl dancing there before, at which point she already looked familiar; I think she may have been at the birthday party where we destroyed an ICE agent piñata, but I really don't know. I found her attractive on her own merits and not just because I like purple hair because it makes right-wing males lose their shit. Now, as she chatted with two friends in costumes with big wings for dancing, I really noticed her because edibles make everything more beautiful. They also had the side effect of convincing me to do something unwise that I wouldn't have even considered if I'd been in a more rational state. Yes, I decided to talk to her.

Inside the drum circle, a shrine of flowers and rocks had sprung up for some purpose I couldn't guess.

The purple-haired girl deposited a rock, then prostrated herself before the shrine. Then some old guy tossed a nickel on the grass behind her for whomever wanted it. I searched for a minute, but it had vanished, and I moved away from her so I wouldn't be creepier than necessary. (Note: this detail will be important later. The nickel, I mean, not me being creepy.) The old guy dumped several rocks on the shrine. I got a rock that I thought looked nice, and I thought asking the girl if I was allowed to put stuff on the shrine would be a good opening, but she was still busy worshipping, and the old guy was lingering, and I decided I should be a good person and try to make human connections with people I'm not attracted to, so I asked him instead. He said yes, and then he picked up his rocks one by one and showed me the fossils in them. He had little fish and what he claimed was a dinosaur vertebra.

The next time I noticed the purple-haired girl, she was holding a little burny thing and wafting the smoke over people's bodies one at a time. An even better opening! Whatever she was doing, there could be no harm in asking her to do it to me. In hindsight, the smoke could have been carcinogenic, but probably no more so than ordinary Salt Lake City air. I watched and waited patiently for her to finish with someone. She saw me looking and held out her burny thing with an inquisitive look. I nodded vigorously. She walked over, and I asked what she was doing while she did it. She said she was an energy healer who always knew what to say, and something about casting out negative energy. I think it was Reiki. I've seen some YouTube videos where a woman wafts smoke at the screen to make good things happen. She told me to stand with my feet apart, and she told me to lift them one at a time so she could waft under the soles, and of course I was more than happy to take orders from her.

This is the sort of thing that I don't believe in from a scientific perspective, but I'm not prepared to denounce it as bullshit because I've had a genuine healing experience with ThetaHealing, which I didn't have a strong belief in either but tried because my mom wanted me to. At a minimum, rituals have proven psychological benefits regardless of belief, and positive attention from beautiful women also has psychological benefits for some people, which it turns out can be very much amplified by certain drugs. She finished with me and moved on. Not that I was paying particularly close attention, but I saw her talking to a dozen other people, and I'm sure I didn't imprint myself into her brain with the force of a sledgehammer like she did into mine. I have no illusions about the nature of our interaction. But damn, it was nice.

I danced in the drum circle, but I suppose I started off tense and awkward, because after a couple of minutes, the purple-haired girl danced over to me and told me to relax and not worry about what people think. Outside of an emergency, I would never intentionally go into a woman's personal space and tell her what to do, but I wasn't mad. I told her I was brave because I was high. I had at least two reasons for sharing that - to absolve myself of responsibility for anything weird I said in my uncharacteristic confidence, and to put her at ease by letting her know that I was under the influence of something and therefore vulnerable. Oh, and part of me still thinks it's just funny to announce to anyone who will listen that I do drugs. Of course, she was just like, "That's understandable," totally unfazed. I told her she looked familiar and I wondered if we'd hung out with the same people, and she said maybe I'd been at one of her sermons, and I asked about her sermons, but she didn't hear me or intentionally changed the subject. I shared with her my feeling that most people there at the park would love me unconditionally while a small percentage would want to stab me. She affirmed the first part and said to let her know if there was anything she could do for me. I didn't even get her name.

I saw a friend from protesting, and because I was high, I went up and greeted him instead of avoiding him to recharge my introvert batteries. He invited me over to where a mutual friend I didn't know nearly as well was having a birthday party, much smaller and more low-key than the one where we destroyed an ICE agent piñata. I chilled with them and had some food, definitely not watching the purple-haired girl from a distance at any point, and then as it got dark, I helped them pick up. My friend handed me a bag full of earrings and stuff like that. As I took it from him, I let it slip and spill some stuff. When I picked the stuff up, guess what else was in my hand?

A nickel. A freaking nickel. I swear to God.

It occurred to me later that the nickel may have already been in the bag, which would mean that I stole it, but that's not how people typically carry loose change. At the time, it blew my mind, and I think it would have blown my mind even if I hadn't been high. While of course I have no proof and of course it could have been a coincidence, I don't think I'm at all unreasonable or psychotic for considering this a plausible sign from the universe - though of what, I haven't a damn clue.

I thought I would end the post there, but I held off so I could report on further developments without delay. Long story short, I thought about the purple-haired girl all week, then had anxiety for most of the day because I figured the next time I talked to her she would say she's pansexual and polyamorous and still not interested. That's the kind of thing that would happen to me. Having a great interest in spirituality, I sincerely wanted to learn from her, but the ulterior motive of finding her very hot made me conflicted. I showed up much earlier today despite the record-breaking heat, and an hour and a half later, during which time my keffiyeh made me two new friends, I saw her somehow looking even hotter now with her purple hair up. I left for a brief walk to calm my pounding heart because this time, against my better judgment, I'd come sober. I thought I should courageously face my fears without a crutch, and I thought she deserved to see my  personality without enhancements. (Feel free to say "Awwww.") Also, I just got high on Friday and didn't want to overdo it. I came back and waited my turn to talk to her again.

Two things stood out. First, I brought up the sermon thing again. Her explanation wasn't entirely clear - it sounded like she gives sermons to individuals, and other people just happen to show up and listen. She mentioned tarot card readings, and those, unlike Reiki, are something I consider bullshit. I presume she says things that apply to most people but still feel individualized, then has an excuse for why she pulls different cards if she does it a second time. Still, I'd be lying if I said she couldn't read my tarot cards whenever she wants. Anyway, she said that she believes everything is meant to happen and I was meant to say this to her, so now, solely because of me saying that to her, she'll start giving weekly public sermons for whomever shows up. I won't say when or where because even though nobody reads my blog, it would be just my luck for someone local to read my blog and then show up to embarrass me.

And what was the second thing? Oh yes, drugs. She again offered her assistance if I needed anything, but this time she specified that she grows mushrooms. I said I want to do mushrooms, but I want to be careful and not rush into it and have a bad experience. She shook her head and said that was a misconception, that people are scared of mushrooms, but mushrooms give them what they need, not what they want, and I needed to be confident and brave and get in touch with my "higher self," which is a concept I've heard and am agnostic about. I'm careful to phrase most of my spiritual beliefs as opinions, but most spiritual people, like most religious people, don't - and though she'd just done it with "I believe everything is meant to happen," that epistemological humility was a distant memory now. Anyway, she saw right through the courage I'd mustered up to talk to her and told me that I should do psilocybin microdoses for my anxiety. She said psilocybin would rebuild the neural pathways by all the (hypothetical) weed and alcohol I've ever had. indicated one of the people she was hanging out and liberally smoking weed with - a man who may have been her boyfriend, though he seemed a little old for her - and told me of the miracles psilocybin had done for his memory after being shot in the head.

She gave me a capsule that she claimed was a psilocybin microdose to get started. It was transparent and full of powder that looked like sand, which reminded me of a John Oliver segment I watched recently about unregulated gas station drugs that contain all kinds of random shit in God knows what doses. I thought I'd put it in my pocket and then maybe or maybe not ever consume it, but she said I needed to take it right now. Before I could stall, she put it in my mouth herself. Then she put her water bottle in my mouth to wash it down. I mean, she didn't overpower me. I could have easily punched her in the face. I didn't because she was hot. No, I am not proud of myself.

I figured whatever happened to me after that was her responsibility, so if I had the worst experience of my life because I couldn't say no to a hot woman who smiled at me, she'd have to guide me through it. I figured if I died, oh well, it had to happen sooner or later. All the capsule did was lower my cortisol levels and make me a little happier, like she said it would. That was fine, but jeez. Outside of an emergency, I would never make a woman ingest a drug. Now I also feel like a douche for being excited to share this story because it's one of the more interesting things that's happened to me. It wasn't exactly something I imagined when I tried to calm myself by objectively reviewing the best and worst probable outcomes of talking to her. And as much as I brag about doing drugs and being a bad boy, I'm still so sheltered that when someone in the drum circle offered me a weed cigarette, I declined because I thought it was tobacco. It's probably for the best that I didn't mix ingredients on my first try of psilocybin anyway.

At last I got the purple-haired girl's name (though she didn't ask mine), and of course it matched her face perfectly and was the only name she ever could have had. Anyway, I need someone to make me less lonely before I end up in a cult, please and thank you.

I figured out some time ago that the propaganda of American exceptionalism I was raised with - and I got a double dose because it's embedded in Mormon theology - is bullshit. By November 2024 at the latest, I knew that American society was rotten to the core. I had some understanding of the psychological reasons why MAGAts are dumber than mold, but it never satisfied me because nobody is putting guns to their heads and making them only watch Fox News. This video is the first explanation I've heard, though, that really drives home how deep the rot goes and makes me feel genuine compassion for MAGAts without being on drugs. No, really. When I'm on drugs, I understand that it isn't their fault they're so goddamn stupid, but as soon as the drugs wear off, I'm too tired of their bullshit to care. I still don't know how to help them when they don't want to be helped because they're too stupid to know what's good for them. I don't know how to fix the systemic, intentional problems that go back to the founding of this country. The current foundation will probably have to be burned down entirely. Trump is doing a decent job of that. I think AI has the potential to fix a lot of these problems, but chances are just as good that it will make them several times worse instead. I think it really depends on whether there's a divine purpose behind this world or just massive cosmic indifference. I'm not on drugs right now, I'm just not trying particularly hard to be coherent because my motivation is shot, which is why I'm happy to share a 50-minute video (though you can watch it at 2x speed, like I did) instead of writing a real post.

Sometimes MAGAts claim that normal people will oppose everything their cult leader does just because he's the one doing it. An example I've seen more than once is "if he cured cancer," and that's a spectacularly obtuse example because he literally cut funding for cancer research, you morons. The phrasing I saw most recently was "if he developed a vaccine for cancer," so that was extra stupid coming from one of the people who don't believe in vaccines. Anyway, to prove that this line of thinking isn't true, let me say that Trump did good things by rescheduling marijuana and expediting research into the healing effects of psychedelics. These are probably the second and third best things he'll ever do. The first, of course, is to stop breathing. Maybe if he used marijuana and/or psychedelics himself, he would learn not to be a piece of shit.

The Democratic contenders for the new congressional district in Utah were rocked by scandal last week. First, someone found out that Nate Blouin wrote anti-Mormon comments and joked about sexual assault on the internet over a decade ago when he was in his early twenties. I didn't much care about the anti-Mormon stuff. The other stuff was icky. Frankly, though, I think we need to make allowances, within reason, for people to grow out of being pieces of shit. I'm a completely different person than I was in my early twenties, and I believe the same is true of Nate. He's the only candidate I've ever seen attending or speaking at protests. If he had actually assaulted someone, that would be a dealbreaker for me, but if the left insists on crucifying people for past mistakes after they've become better, they won't have much incentive to become better, will they? One of the other candidates, city council member Eva Lopez Chavez, condemned his remarks, which irritated four women enough to come forward and accuse her of restraining them while she made unwanted sexual advances. Good Lord.

I went to the Democrat convention again yesterday to help choose a candidate because I thought it was my civic duty, not because I felt like spending my Saturday at something that's like Comic-Con minus all the fun parts. I now feel like the whole process was a waste of time. I spiraled into a bit of depression when I saw that I'd missed multiple Signal messages from the lady I came with, asking if I wanted to just go home and vote online, which would have given me up to four hours to do literally anything else, such as make money from my remote job. I had Signal notifications turned off because I used to get two hundred a day. Anyway, through the ranked-choice voting system, Liban Mohammed emerged victorious. Now he's the Democratic nominee, chosen by people whom I have no reason to assume are representative of voters. I know I'm not. I became the vice-chair of my precinct because I was one of the two people who showed up to caucus. And three of the losing candidates will also be on the primary ballot because they got enough signatures, so I don't see the freaking point of what I did.

I like Liban just fine, but I don't think he'll win the primary because he's young and has no direct political experience. I think Ben McAdams, the Republican Lite career politician who came in a close second, will win that. Some people at the convention booed him and yelled "FREE PALESTINE!" - two of them were sitting by me, which was a stressful experience - but ordinary Utah voters don't likely care that much about Palestine, or the minimum wage increase or public land protections or union protections that he voted against. I'd love to be wrong. The people near me also yelled "RESIGN!" and "WE BELIEVE WOMEN!" multiple times when Eva was on stage. It's nice that they don't have a double standard for lesbians of color. Unlike Nate, she didn't address her recent controversy; she just brought her family onstage and asked us to vote for her grandmother's future. We had been asked to treat all candidates with respect even if they weren't our favorite, but only one person in the front was removed for yelling at Ben, so that made the event organizers look pretty impotent.

Is this overly negative? Perhaps. I'm just tired of all this political crap, and I want to take a break, but it won't pause. Ever. Despite my exhaustion after this apparently pointless convention, I went to a protest at the governor's mansion against the proposed ICE concentration camp in our city. At least that had music, and I let off some steam by writing him a postcard. I didn't mean to add the part at the bottom, but someone mentioned Prop 4 while I was writing, I got pissed off, and my fingers moved faster than my brain.

If you're in Utah, please sign this letter, "A Statement of Utah Values," to register your opposition to the concentration camp. If you're not opposed to the concentration camp, please go play in traffic.