A King in the Cosmic River

aching in an earthly vessel

Evidently, being taken under the wing of HRS [humanity’s reluctant savior] makes a girl wanna sing. He doesn’t necessarily “enjoy” that label, but the dimple that never fails assures me that he does, in continually exhibited fact, like it when I mess with him. I suspect that he lets me prod because he’s drawn to my roundabout invitation to welcome a loss of control and, in a pussyfooting manner, it evokes justification for his desire {to let me have it}.

I know, right? Gettin’ personal (all of a sudden).

Grow up.

And, no, I wouldn’t say this to his face. [Hey, Atlas!] For now, we only talk about this kind of stuff when faces aren’t being faced. Shush; it’s fine.

Are you looking at this budding situation through a lens that filters objectionable subjectivity? Little ol’ me, penetrating his emotional boundaries? What a weird world ours has become! (Ha. Just wait.)

Also, this really isn’t all that comical, but we should probably seek to find the humor in it. I think that’ll increase our chances of widespread sanity-preservation once people start puncturing the next barrier in scientifically spiritual thought.

I’m gonna be famous (unless I die). That’s a fucked-up thing to know (for sure) in advance.

On top of that, there’s no funny business going on here, by the way, because currently (we recognize that) physical connection {in spite of increasingly obvious attraction} isn’t the smartest option. Sometimes people choose to ignore their magnetically dueling charges. Because reasons exist. Yeah?

Yeah.

Also we don’t know that his super-seed wouldn’t kill me {or most any other human female, for that matter} before the third trimester. In actual fact, we’re not even sure how long I’d be pregnant in this weirdly academic, hypothetical fantasy. Elvyn’s old textbook suggests a gestation period upwards of 60 weeks. It’s funny: I really do feel like I know her (very well). I hope to meet her (someday soon).

God, I can’t wait ’til all this information beats down the thick door which steely guards the realm of common knowledge before gaining access, settling in, and kicking up a bunch of dirt. There’s a lot of shit that could use a strong, stirring motion. [I’m evaporating in my own obscene brilliance.] Yeah, it’s gonna stink at first, but playing the long game is the only way we’ll get outta this mess.

Yesterday I caught a glimpse of the gear Atlas keeps mostly out of sight in our new vehicle’s variously sized storage spaces. My eyes zeroed in on a few gadgets that I was only 99.999999999999999999999999999% sure I had correctly identified in my head. So I asked. “What’re those?” He confirmed that they were, indeed, very strong restraints, usually effective against hungry, overheated belanoc [never tested on a galacian].

Is it wrong that I instantly had a naughty daydream centered around being restrained by the fancy restraints in question and then masturbated later to the juicily fruiting thought-train therefrom? Don’t answer that.

Or do. Just keep it to yourself.

Or don’t. Whichever, really.

Who cares? I’ve already said too much!

Oh, and I’ve been dancing a lot, too, lately—typically when I find myself alone for brief swaths of time. Like earlier this morning while he was out doing secret stuff you can’t know about yet. I had some “me time.” Danced around (the interior of) our current shelter in these new (green) panties that don’t quite fit.

I have experienced an odd strain against this weird feeling of late—I think it’s what folks call “happiness.”

Mind you, I’m still quite prone to chaotic bursts of tearful hyperventilation because this real-ass shit is scary as hell.

Thanks to a recent fresh perspective on old scientific equations, I can feel my innermost self untangling deep guilt from the energetic enjoyment of any good mood that shows up and graces my soulful bones. I think I’m allowed now, finally, after having shouldered the immensely personal weight of a few major missteps along my lily-padded hopscotch across our universal pond. [History Mystory Lesson: Iris barely beat out Lily for my (firstborn) child’s given name. I {might’ve} flipped the same coin three {consecutive} times.] Once I was Abby before becoming Maddy, and now I’m dynamite in the flesh. My identity has been (re)claimed. Ownership “done got” snatched from jaws that know exclusively how to defeat. Today, I wear who I am clumsily {up}on my rolled-up sleeve. Screw it—I’ve earned this. I get to be me now.

When the water looks fine and you know you’ll be caught, feel the pull, lean into the fall, spring toward action, and reap the tiered rewards of a cloudlike landing.

In a vacuum, the act of falling never stops anybody, but having fallen before sometimes inspires resistance.

Don’t resist; instead, let it slide.

What can I say? My bipolarity has flared the fuck up! Which brings us to why we’re here. See, I just can’t keep my mouth shut anymore about the childish circus cultivating collusive, counterproductive, conspiratorial division while the indomitable nature of time shoves us headlong/-first into the threatening black ice which spreads quickly across our shared horizon.

So here’s what’s bugging me today.

I affiliate with neither political party, but I’m definitely more repulsed by one than the other. I’ll let (the rest of) you (struggle to) figure out which. This is clear to some/few.

In my view, each of the two main camps harbor, groom, enable, and fund corrupt clowns of various nose sizes, all (of which are) red and swollen swelling. But in watching the myriad stream of “representatives” from either corner plead the same case over and over, something has become clear: Democrats display more intelligence than their counterparts.

The reason I say this is because I have been listening intently to the dumb words spewing from mouthy Republican blowholes. Some of them seem to actually believe what they’re spouting—it’s very disorienting, I must confess ahead of begging for your pardon.

They keep regurgitating the same crap ad nauseam; it’s all smoke and mirrors and bells and whistles. [Guys, stop eating your own shit, would ya?] It’s a bad look, okay? And, sadly, it works on roughly half the population.

Also, I we can’t help but notice a recurring cadence in their overall speech patterns. Very preachy. Very sermon-like. That’s very purposeful, you know? Don’t worry if you’re falling for it; cheap tricks are effective!

Really I’m just sick of hearing “witch-hunt” thrown around by crotchety, stubborn old-timers. Don’t be giving witches a bad name, “gentlemen.” Not smart. Clearly these senior citizens who also double as white boys have never met an actual witchy woman.

But I do hope that one day they have the (dis)pleasure of such an encounter.

Meow.

Let’s keep being real. Wanna?

No? ‘K bye.

The Dems have been chomping at the bit for a reason to impeach Trump since before day one. Get that straighter than an arrow. Of course they have. You’ve heard what happens when he attempts the art of oration, right? “Verbal vomit” feels like an overly generous description. That dummy is definitely deft at discharging diarrheal diatribes.

Undeniably, yeah, they’ve been waiting for a single reason. Just one.

Lo and behold, now they have three, but they’re only highlighting two.

POTUS handed these evidential conditions to them. The platter was not quite gold, but it was shiny nonetheless.

Lucky for The Left, (some of) the (official) reasons for impeachment are, in fact, constitutionally legitimate.

Lucky for The Right, it won’t result in his removal due to how math works and why capitalistically fueled partisanship can only fail.

Unlucky for us, our political processes are borked, and We—The People—have been split by an escalating pattern of greedy buffoonery.

“Process, spaghetti, bubbly burp, process, due. Dew? Whatever, do processes. Pronunciation. Winky face.”
That’s a nice talking point you have there.

“You’re not even saying Mr. Trump committed a crime!”
True.

“The President wasn’t given the opportunity to receive due process!”
Still false.

“Well, the military/financial aid was ultimately awarded anyway, so…”
Yep. Also that’s like saying, “We got caught trying to rob a bank, but the money is there, so we did nothing wrong.”

“The Ukrainians said that they didn’t feel pressure!!”
Why are you so excited? Plus, okay, whatever you say. But so what? Where’s Tina Turner when you need her?

“Persnickety cash-cleaners and shifty bitch-biscuits, daisies and herpes, name-calling and word-saying, perfect convo, best deal ever, jobby stuffs, winny meats and Jesus’s cheeseses.”
Ah.

“And the economy; it booms!”
This ain’t about that. But since someone brought it up, have you properly contemplated the true cost of the “booming economy” {you may be so quick to cite but probably don’t fully understand (in terms of its shaky foundation)} on a global scale?

Isn’t it neat{o} how I can write “you” and you know when I’m {not} addressing you?

Desperately, I wish more people would understand already. ‘Cause I’m dying here.

Suggestion: first take aim then follow it with your best shot.

Only fools resist time, and only the strong may resist gravity.

Liana Rex Knight (translated by her half-boy)

Resist gravity. Go with time. Just my two cents. But what the hell do I know? I’m merely the muse. Teehee.

Back to the subject at hand. Bipartisan politics, man. Same crap, on repeat, round the clock.

News media outlets preach solely to their obediently starving choirs.

In other words, progress has been thwarted.

This nation, once the truly United States of America, used to be a lovable role model; now it’s more like the world’s smelly armpit. Perhaps it’s time we try both deodorant and antiperspirant instead of but one or the other.

Balance must be found.

Or let’s just go ahead and make two countries (out of one) before calling it a goddamn day. Split the land diagonally like the flaky piece of burnt toast it has become.

The American divide is already unofficial. Why not remove the troublesome prefix? That’s a whole syllable we could be saving, you all.

In case it’s not clear, yes, I proudly wield the privilege of declaring, “We.” I’ve earned my right to be/live here, motherfucker. That’s what’s up.

Look at bipartisanship as a basic seesawing scale. The left side efforts to go right while the right side pushes back in the name of keeping policy balanced and in check. The grain must be felt in order to build strength while churning the engine of advancement. That’s the system. That’s the way progression has been paced. That’s how it used to work. The introduction of corrupt money amounts to why it works no longer. Our slate is too dirty to survive. It’s time for a clean wipe. Sorry to be the harbinger of dogshit news; meanwhile, I’m not sorry (AT ALL) to pull the wool from your skewed sightlines.

About half the population is being given both the finger and the dick (by D. Trump) as each slips beneath far too many failing grasps of any conceptual radar. Meanwhile, The Don himself is being bent over a cluttered countertop (mostly unbeknownst to him and his followers) by both Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping. Simultaneously! [It’s a gang-bang, y’all.] Double whammies are fun, eh? Sometimes, sure. In this case, no.

Fuck no.

These conditions promote sadness, desperation, violence.

Long division, meet short span.

It’s not good. Put another way, it sucks.

We gotta do something different, or we will not be ready for the real war, the catastrophic conflict almost no one knows is coming.

It doth come; and this way, from that place, it cometh. Thump your bibles about it if you gotta.

Anyhoo, I think officially going Splitsville might at least strengthen our inevitable rallying together down the road once the true threat rises suddenly from beneath dark, dense, icy depths.

Look at us. We. Humans. Humanity. Up in arms over an unabridged, uncooperative, unadulterated village idiot who haphazardly stumbled dumb-luckily into office while the most powerful civilization in history plots our downfall {largely via forced re-insertion into the food chain} if not our outright deletion. Unkind, humankind. Get right, fools.

Priorities, people: nature sets them for us. Ya know? The equation has been solved. Strip any issue to its essence. One way will always trump the other. It’s simple fucking math.

You have no idea just how close we are to going extinct.

To hell with that. I wanna live.