Whoo hoo! Now that Tucker Carlson’s MAGA hate machine’s plug has been pulled by Fox with his unceremonious firing yesterday, it’s time to go UP the rabbit hole! UP before Fox replaces Tucker with someone perhaps ever worse for democracy. My money is on Fox’s smarmy bigot sexist Jessie Waters as Tuckem’s replacement.
We’ve all heard of going down the MAGA/ Q cult Russian fostered rabbit hole, but what if we flipped the script and go up the rabbit hole instead? Instead of getting lost in the fog of lies, blatant disinformation and uncertainty, let’s ascend back to the light of truth and unity.
“This is the way”as they say on THE MADALORIAN:
Step 1: Realize at last that the current MAGA belief system has been founded a pile of traitorous lies. Lies clearly shown in the Dominion/Fox lawsuit, settled last week for $787 million. A case where in discovery the world incredibly learned all the Fox evening anchors, including Tucker, were found to be lying about the so-called 2020 stolen election. All anchors. Let that sink in. Lies that killed people on the January 6, 2021 insurrection and over a million people from Covid disinformation. The gem from Dominion lawsuit is that it uncovered that Tucker texted to a co-worker that he hates Trump passionately. It can be scary to let go of Trump’s hateful myth of a stolen election propagated by Fox, but it’s a necessary first step to accept that the truth Trump lost and lost 2020 badly to an old man running his presidential campaign from his home basement during Covid.
Step 2: “Do the research” is how Trump’s and his lying allies took you down the MAGA rabbit hole. Now doing the research is your ticket up the rabbit hole back to the real world. Go beyond MAGA sources and research alternative mainstream viewpoints. Read books and articles by liberal-minded people who challenge MAGA beliefs. Listen to liberal podcasts and watch Netflix documentaries like THE FAMILY and THE GREAT HACK that offer a fresh truth based perspective. Don’t be afraid to learn from those the MAGA cult previously, and self-severingly, asked you dismiss.
Step 3: Connect with others who are also exploring exiting the MAGA rabbit hole. Find an online community of like-minded individuals who are also questioning their false MAGA beliefs. Attend conferences, workshops, and meetups where you can engage in thoughtful discussions and debates. You might even find that your beliefs shift as a result of these conversations.
Step 4: Reawaken your powers of critical thinking. Don’t blindly accept what you were force fed by the likes of Tucker, Fox, Bannon, OAN, NewsmMax QAnnon, but instead, question everything. Dare to open your mind to MSNBC! Ask for evidence and do your own research. Challenge MAGA racism and sexism that seeks to divide us.
Step 5: Embrace uncertainty of today’s politics. It can be uncomfortable to not have all the answers MAGA would give you, but uncertainty is a necessary part of growth. Be open to changing your beliefs as you learn more and experience new things.
Step 6: Take care of yourself. Meditate. Eat healthy foods. Get into sports with people that do not look like yourself. Exploring new beliefs can be emotionally taxing. Make sure you’re taking care of your mental and physical health. Practice self-care and seek out support when you need it. When you watch Fox mix it up with some MSNBC. Free your mind.
Going up the MAGA rabbit hole is not a journey for the faint of heart, but it’s a journey worth taking. Exploring new beliefs and challenging old ones, will at the very least expand your understanding of the world and yourself. Embrace the groovy unknown, question everything, and climb higher than we ever thought possible, beyond the rabbit hole. We have a country and planet to save.
Rise up. It’s time to…
Update 4/26: The UN Russian ambassador mourning Tucker’s firing, coupled with an offer from RT (Russian Television) to host, is confirmation about where Tucker’s roots are deeply woven in his deadly to democracy rabbit hole.
Seven years ago the world lost one of it greatest actors and comedians of our time when Robin Williams chose to take his own life. The devastating news came without any sort of clear warning signals. A public outcry of grief and mourning erupted across the world that had not seen since the shocking death of Princess Diana.
Last week my wife and I had coffee with Robin, at least as my writer’s brain, happening for seven years now, likes to envision his brilliant light still shinning from the afterlife. Over java I asked Robin’s spirit what he thinks of our Covid crisis and here’s what I imagine he had to say on the matter.
Hey Groovy Gals and Guys,
Holy shit. This would all be funny if it were not so damn tragic, folks. People are literally dying because politicians, my brother and sisters in the media and regular people on social media are fabricating stories. All in a feeble effort to make them seem more important than they actually are with more clicks and eyes. In the end this toxic BS is simply to sell everything from donations to snake oil cure to tennis shoes to precious metals to crypt o-currencies.
Worst part is it done by appealing to the worst in human nature; a crusty old white man who lives in fear in our noggins. It’s gross gross negligence to plant fear in people’s hearts on a money-making scale never seen or felt before.
Now, I am sure many of you who were fans of my movies did not like every damn thing I acted in. You only watched the ones you liked, right? GOODWILL HUNTING over MAN OF THE YEAR (MOTY) let’s say. MOTY being one of my films that should have worked that didn’t. In fact, if you judged my career based on MOTY you mot not be here.
Treat all the Tuckers, Johnsons, Bezoses, Hannitys the same way. You are the master of your own story-verese. You pick and choose your reality. Take a pinch of reality from the blue and a spritz from the red. Stay balanced in a unbalanced AF world.
Time to stop listening the BS artists. Truth is love. Be smart. Get vaccinated.
Love, Robin
King of the Star Fish Nation
Robin’s kidding about the king thing But I do still see my vision of Robin — likely just a part of my beautiful imagination as I can’t bare he left us so soon — is reincarnated as a starfish. The starfish nation is a a nueral network for the planet Robin has explained to me.
Shameless plug. Read my far out sci-fi comedy set in another universe, Trump’s Fever Dream, using the pull-down menu above to access all 12, and counting, chapters. If I lifted your spirits please make a donation to keep more Williams visitations, new TFD chapters and cool cold style radio show audio coming.
It’s with great pleasure I present a post from a woman I am honored to call my wife and partner in all things. As a 14-year veteran of U.S. Army’s military intelligence and special operations, Elizabeth speaks out about the Russian and GOP psyop we are fighting with an authority seldom found on the web. She served during Operations Urgent Fury, the invasion of Panama, Just Cause, Uphold Democracy, Desert Storm and Desert Shield. Elizabeth also served three years as a Chaplain’s assistant to the National Guard during the war in Afghanistan, the War On Terror and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
Lies of the Christian Patriarchy – By Elizabeth England
When I hear all lives matter in response to black lives matter it’s like telling me all houses matter and refusing to help my black friend put out his house on fire, because he’s not white. Black lives have been attacked since wicked Christian men kidnapped their African ancestors from their homes, sailed them a thousand miles away in chains, and sold them to wicked Christian slave owners. The racists say this is a white Christian nation. Their Bible provides guidance on how to treat slaves and does not condemn slavery as an abomination.
For centuries, white Christians have forced their religion on subjugated populations, ensuring they are under the thumbs of the powerful Christian God with slavery intact and the Bible revered by the enslaved. Imagine when famous Christian explorers like Columbus showed up to the indigenous peoples and forced acceptance of Christianity on pain of death. Or when the Catholic church used their religious schools on reservations to select human subjects for barbaric medical research. Jesus didn’t speak out against slavery. When you ask a racist white Christian what would Jesus do, well, it doesn’t include ending institutionalized ways to suppress and enslave others through legal and economic systems. They truly believe it’s their ‘right’ to suppress and enslave others and the bible gives it the seal of approval.
That’s embedded in the system so subtlely. And if, like the ‘born-again’ Christians say, you confess Jesus as your Lord and Savior, you really don’t have to worry about sin because Jesus died on the cross to remove the ‘wages of sin,’ or death, promising you everlasting forgiveness and life in heaven (not here but after you die. Always wondered about why you have to die to experience heaven?) So ‘if’ slavery is a sin, and if you’re ‘born again,’ you still have the free pass to heaven even if you are a predator upon other human beings.
The church has become the protector of child molesters and other monumentally wicked leaders across the world. It makes me cringe when I hear my white friends say, ‘But me, I’m not racist and don’t all lives matter?’ The wicked precepts that have shaped our culture are invisible to most whites. And now with the Trump cult they have their hero who supports racism and sexism, or the ‘status quo.’ But the not so subtle system of cultural and economic enslavement isn’t there only for African Americans and immigrants.
Most women recall when they figured out, probably as a child, that their lives would be different than boys in so many dangerous, minimizing and challenging ways. Can you imagine—mothers have been having ‘the talk’ with their daughters for thousands of years? And mothers have looked the other way for thousands of years ‘to save lives.’ The alternative of demanding change would come with too high a price: her life. Females must be careful because they are often targets of discrimination and violence. Every woman knows she will be challenged personally with (the same primitive consciousness as racism that sees their) discrimination of women as the right of a man and in some cases this will be brutal. And don’t get me started on how our culture treats children, homeless, mentally ill and the vulnerable. So you’re going to fight for this system, the American way, that divides up the vulnerable?
The layers of discrimination begin:white supremacist, in this shit show, you have to hold on tight to you’re only advantage: being white in a racist country. Being poor, female and white is ‘better’ than being black. Huh? And if you’re a white male, you’ve got a golden ticket. If you’re a black or brown woman, well, my heart cries for the discrimination you must survive. And then we get to children…who lose all around in this system. No wonder our streets are filled with young people who’ve figured out they really don’t want this legacy.
So let’s get real. Do you think your rights are safe in this system? No one’s rights will be safe until we protect and care for everyone. But you’ll ask, how do we pay for that? Don’t ask me that when a couple of dozen people hoard more wealth than the other 330 million of us and we keep bailing big business out from their self-destructive and predatory practices, keep giving them the advantage of our tax laws while they do things that hurt our people, hurt the country. Maybe you’ll tell me the stock market shows the economy is great. Great for who? The banks, big pharma, stockbrokerages and insurance companies? Really? Economic layers of discrimination are embedded at every level to keep everyone in line. Our system even targets vulnerable populations. Our founders were slaveowners. Yup, the bible–racist and sexist and pro-slavery. And the nation’s founders–racist, sexist and wealthy through the labors of slaves. That’s the mindset of colonialism that we live in and that some of our politicians are clinging to.
When I served in the military I didn’t get all this. I was so idealistic and patriotic and I joined because I wanted to ‘walk my talk’ for democracy and the ‘’American dream.’ The richness and darkness of that experience served to awaken me to racism and sexism and corporate greed. After a decade and a half in the military it was obvious we were the blood and muscle behind so much greed, suppression and senseless violence on foreign soil, on women and children, all accepted ascollateral damage of our ‘pro-democracy policy.’ A big lie to cover the theft of natural resources and cultural treasures of non-white peoples. Trump is a symptom of our country’s worst nature, an abomination to the ideals that led me to love the country and take my oath to the Constitution: to defend it against enemies foreign and domestic. By his actions I see Trump as a threat to the Constitution. He’s certainly a threat to American military service members with his affinity to despots like Putin, Xi, Kim Jong-Il, Prince Mohammad bin Salman, Erdogan…
I pray to see our country working toward perfecting the union aspired to in the Constitution and rising above the inhumanity of its founders, many of whom, like Franklin and (sort of) Washington were troubled by slavery and its conflict with the un-Christian ideals of the Constitution. Thank goodness the founders stepped beyond their religious dogma and gave us universally righteous philosophies in the Constitution securing it as one of greatest documents ever written. My soul is crying for patriots and citizens to abolish racism, sexism, suppression, discrimination and economic enslavement of the people. I’m praying we are inspired in America to hold to our Constitution to create the change we need for a golden age.
Understand, there is a battle for our minds on social media. The Russian intelligence masters are experts at the ‘long game,’ and they are elated at the hyperspeed of their success in America using our fabulous creation of social media against us to speed their long-range goal of destabilizing our country. They are using psychological operations (psyops) to change the leadership of our country with weapons-grade propaganda. And they know who to target using Facebook data. Look it up. It’s a BIG part of foreign intelligence operations now. And greedy, unethical businesses (like Zuckerberg’s, Trump’s and Bezos’), politicians like McConnell, and greedy corporate lobbyists will piggy back on the manufactured chaos for their own benefit. It’s hard not to be a pawn, isn’t it?
My hope in writing this is to help others discern the psychological operations, a long-standing and secretive military specialty. Open-minded, suspicious, fearful, born-again Christian, spiritual, yoga fan, raw/organic foodies, non-GMOers, anti-vaxers, ET and disclosure, flat earthers, the list goes on of the interest groups and people targeted by psyop propaganda using social media ads. Q is a psyop that targets me and many of my friends. Trump is a useful asset to Russian intelligence, whether it’s purposeful or ignorant, controlled through money or sex or maybe just his admiration of despotism. Here’s a classic psyop method: flood the public with conflicting info to create confusion about the truth and repeat useful lies until they are accepted as truth. Sound familiar? That’s Trumps daily job. Say something outrageous, trot out your staff to deny or defend it, then deny again, claim it was a joke or some other smokescreen to ensure people will fight about what’s true and who to believe.
I urge you to take control of the battle for your mind. Remove the blinders to racism, sexism and the psyops trying to convince you they aren’t real. Trump is the hero of white, Christian racists who value poverty, racism and sexism to maintain the status quo and their power. They take more profits than they’d need for a hundred lifetimes and leave the rest of us without even our fair share of the fruits of our labors.
The pandemic is real. Racism is real. Sexism is real. It’s time to get real and take back your mind and our country. We are blessed to have inspiring and heroic examples of fearlessness from young women in our time. The world needs the balance of strong people, especially empowered women, to bring collaboration, compassion and care to communities and nations. Let’s see all women and children raised up and cared for as precious. Let’s see children treasured and nurtured into great people. Let’s stand up for our black American brothers and sisters, end their torture and say because Black Lives Matter in our America. Let’s stand up for our first people, end their torture and say Native Lives Matter in our America. Let’s stand up for our LGBTQ brothers and sisters and say LGBTQ Lives Matter in America. Let us be judged by the content of our character, not our appearance, sex, or preferences. Let it be.
Last night Elizabeth and I fell into bed exhausted from a day of preparing for what seems to be an inevitable shut down on our food supplies. Heck, normal life in general is shutting down in light of what was upgraded to a global pandemic by the World Health Organization this week.
Seeking to calm my nerves after our President’s Rose Garden press conference failed to, just can’t trust a man who lies for sport, I meditated to fall asleep. The last thing I expected was a spiritual message from my subconscious as to a possible meaning of life here on good old planet Earth.
I breathed deeply and rhythmically, grateful to be virus free. Quick as it came up, I banished a worry about a little tickle in my nose. Soon I was rewarded with a vision of the entire multiverse as a vast globule of, get this,… soup.
Here, on earth I saw it was humanity’s job to collectively generate a bitter ingredient, one made of a dash of mass hysteria and a pinch of sorrow over our the loss of enjoying each other’s daily society. Once our bitter contribution was made to the cosmic soup it was served up to a being so gigantic I could not make out anything but the gaping mouth of a spinning black hole.
Activated to full wakefulness by this cool but strange vision, I slipped from bed and raided the fridge, seeking to nosh on supplies we’d bought that day to tide us over from a food shortage. Call it controlled panic eating.
I made a snack of white mushrooms with the stem sockets filled with mustard and contemplated my vision of the cosmic soup we are all a part of making to create this reality which we both love and hate.
“Was this a vision of the meaning of life?” I wondered for a few munches. “Nah. Seems more like an elaborate cosmic rationalization,” I grumbled to myself, washing the mushrooms down with a Mexican bottle of Coke made with cane sugar. Way better than American corn syrup Coke, but not exactly a healthy dietary habit.
I flashed back earlier shopping of the day when Elizabeth stopped me from grabbing a pack of salami, “Ken, just because we’re stocking up to beat the Coronavirus outbreak does not mean you should abandon your healthy eating habits!”I chuckled about that and agreed Elizabeth was right, grateful I was noshing on mushrooms and not fatty salami.
Content this was enough deep thought and stress eating for one scary day on planet Earth for a man in his sixties, feeling vulnerable after March 2018 heart failure. I slipped back into bed with my love Elizabeth and snuggled up to her warm body. Soon I drifted off to sleep, grateful to have at least one human being to share this strange and bitter time in our world with.
Elizabeth and I wish you and yours perfect health in this crisis. Please check out our cool wellness products we use ourselves at CoolestTechEver.com products page.
Can you feel it? America is at the global epicenter of a low tide for the forces of good. It came to full light today in the bankruptcy filing of The Boy Scouts of America in the maelstrom of the horror that over 100,000 Boy Scouts may have been sexually molested by Boy Scout leaders.
The Boy Scouts are following the lead of many Catholic Archdioceses that have filed for bankruptcy protection from similar sexual misconduct against unsuspecting youth. Sadly, if this betrayal of basic human rights is happening in our upper echelon social and religious establishments we must conclude this is the tip of the iceberg in a plague of sexual abuse happening across America and the world.
This low tide for the good is also evidenced in a lawless corporatacracy running our world off the climate change cliff, cheered on by the followers of the poster boy of greed and power gone mad after his tragically farcical Senate trial.
Elizabeth and I enjoy C-Span as a way to avoid the filters of the media’s slanted coverage. But to our horror we saw a Congressional hearing this week about the rise of White Nationalism in the armed services. Incredibly, we learned, along with the shell-shocked bipartisan panel, that there is no provision to reject a card carrying member of the Nazi party from joining the military!
At this low point I offer the blog over to my spirit guide Ohom for wisdom on how we climb out of this black hole in our ethics field. Ohom…?
OHOM’S (OPEN HEART OPEN MIND) ADVICE
Hello, Ken and friends of Ken. I am ready to share some observations as a frequent ET thought travel visitor to your beautiful world.
Know in your heart of hearts that the sickness you are seeing has been in America’s soul from its inception. So rejoice in darkness coming to light. For a wound cannot heal unless the sickness is drained. And although this experience is most unpleasant it is the first step in true healing.
Know that all happens in divine order. It is inevitable that the darkest night becomes the new dawn.
Stay positive. Relish in meditation, song and laughter as it makes you ready for the beautiful global awakening growing up to overtake the ugly establishment.
Be a beacon of positivity to those in despair.
Visualize the world you’d like to see manifested rather than focusing on the death of the old ways.
Love each day and love each other. Your future is bright and cosmic. High tide is coming with more freshness and vitality than you can imagine.
Sorry I’ve been off the blog beat since 12.9.19. Sadly, I’ve been grieving the loss of my dear friend, client and film subject the incomparable inventor/scientist Dr. Patrick Flanagan.
Losing Pat is like losing a brother for me. Blessedly, I’ve had visits from his amazing spirit I will write of soon here that have helped me cope. You see, my issue is that within the past decade I have had too many losses; I’ve lost my best friend in LA Bradley Quick, a father, a stepfather, a sweet pal from my days in Malibu, a dear but troubled brother and a beloved uncle. And now Pat. Sigh.
So I hope you’ll excuse me that I’ve been lost from blogging to you dear reader for a time. I’ve been losing myself following the Impeachment, hoping to see some glimmer of justice for this bully that has stolen America’s soul.
My visualization of Trump doing a Nixon that has not happened on this timeline.
But watching the farce that is the Senate Impeachment Trial has not helped quell my pain as America has lost its series of check and balances. Indeed, the farce trial has only been useful in making it crystal clear how far our Republican Party has fallen from grace.
As an independent I’ve voted Republican as often as I’ve voted Democratic. In fact, the Republican Party is the only party I have ever registered to be part of back in my real estate mogul days of late 20th Century. I used to appreciate the GOP’s ideal of smaller government and therefore lower taxes which they once stood proudly for with an evangelical flair.
And while the Donald did not get the impeachment pardon yesterday he wanted in time for bragging rights at the Super Bowl tomorrow, he did get the Republicans to unite to protect him in agreeing not to call new witnesses or offer evidence. These creepy politicians’ nerve in destroying America’s systems of checks and balances despite polls showing that 75% of Americans want a fair trail is beyond astounding and one of the saddest times of my long life.
OHOM TO THE RESCUE
Last night I licked my psychic wounds watching the amazing musical WEST SIDE STORY last night. Half way through my movie as a meditation night by the flicker of the fireplace, my guide Ohom whispers in my mind:
“Time to let go, Ken. Donald John Trump has served his spiritual purpose of drawing out America’s deep flaws and is now superfluous.”
“But we haven’t had the final vote, Ohom,” I complain, feeling guilty for getting so wrapped up in a political show that I know is run by the oligarchs and corporate banksters who truly own our government.
Ohom (which stands for (Open Heart Open Mind) says tells me, “The American the people must WILL the birth of the new and better world into full reality. How you do this begins in your own bright hearts not Donald Trump’s dark heart. As leaders of the free world the American people must:
1. Let go of all racist behaviors and have love for all. This means full restitution for the Native Americans and African Americans. A restoration of your country as the land of opportunity for all genders, races and creeds will then be achievable.
2. Americans must speak and seek truth and integrity in all things. Lies and cheating have no place in a world of peace.
3. Your billionaires and the 1% must pay their fair share. Only then can you as a people let go of greed and make an end to the lie of poverty.
4. You must end your meddling in the affairs of other sovereign lands like we ETs do with other worlds such as yours. You have evolved to the point where war is obsolete and you must turn our talents and energy to peaceful endeavors.
5. Last, and most importantly, before you travel to other worlds you must learn to take good care of this beautiful world and all life upon it. You must all make an effort to leave a smaller footprint, recycle and implement solar and wind power. Only then can you make this world the paradise you’ve all dreamed of.”
Ohom’s sage advice washes over me like a cleansing slave to the pain of the fake Impeachment trial. I close my eyes and picture the rope of negative energy that ties me to Trump pulling at my hands. The tug of terror to this idiotic old man with his fingertips on the nuclear arsenal is strong.
“Leave Trump behind. Ken. You have important work to do reaching the North Pole in 2020 to complete the work you did in 2012 in Antarctica. Let go.” Ohom’s voice echoes in my mind.
I feel the rightness of Ohom’s words and finally let go of the energy ropes leading to DC and Trump. Ones I’ve been clinging to since his election. The relief of disconnecting from Trump and the DC energy is instantaneous.
“Let’s anchor this letting go of the old, Ken.”
Ohom leads me to the puja my wife Elizabeth has made in the center of our house. Graciously, My consciousness stands aside as Ohom, my higher self located in another dimension, steps forward into my body and I become the observer.
Using my body, Ohom picks up the small globe of his ice world of Nektar. A world where technology has involved into a blissful new life form that resides in the 13th dimension in the Orion star system and places it on the floor in front of the puja. The replica of the planet Nektar quickly begins to feed energy to the earth’s core.
High above the pristine skies of Sedona, the rings of the DreamShield, one circling the earth north and south, the other east to west, are frozen in place. More energy is needed to reactivate them! Ohom calls upon the ancient energies of 5 million years ago when Sedona Arizona was part of Antarctica. Nearby, Thunder Mountain rumbles to life, shimmering with white light in the January darkness. A jagged band of white energy races from Thunder Mountain to the Nektar globe in the center of our home.
An artillery shell shaped of blue light morphs from the globe of Nektar. More of the sacred sites in the Sedona area stir to life, Cathedral Rock, Airport Mesa, Bell Rock. Soon Sedona is a humming maze of jagged white lines of energy that dive through model of Nektar to the earth’s core.
The artillery shaped shell blasts the roof clean off our house and hurtles into space exploding upon the frozen DreamShield in blaze of blue light. With mighty groan of on metal on metal, sounding like the horn of Gabriel, the rings of the DreamShield I first witnessed in 2010 begin to turn. Slow at first the spinning speeds up geometrically to reform the powerful planetary DreamShield. It is only then I realize I have truly let go of all outcome in the Trump impeachment.
Ohom says, “The old world has ended and a new era has begun. Realize in this moment that each human being possess unique time space coordinates. And now I must return to my space time. I leave you and Ken to close our visit out via this blog. Please share”
Ok, I added the please share thing. Wow, this blog evolved over weeks of painful incubation. Hope you liked reading it as much I liked writing it.
It’s a good sign it came to full vision powered by the sad senate vote that has outraged many of we who truly love America, not just for what it was but will become.
Wrapping up, I hope you can too let go of Trump too. Look instead for leadership to people like Greta Thurnberg. She certainly has truly emerged a voice for a generation that does not have the luxury of time to waste that we Booomers did. Forgive we OK Boomers. We were lied to by the corporations seeking to evade blame for their destruction of our world. In any case we do not have time to waste on hand wringing about Trump or his lost Tea Party Republicans. Hoping Bernie makes it all the way in 2020!
My dear mother Georgiana turned 91 yesterday. And so I began meditating on the amazing change she’s seen so far as it relates to the changes we will be seeing in the next 91 years and setting intentions in the quantum field for a bright future.
Born in the roaring twenties she’s lived through the Great Depression. What might the next recession or depression look like and what can we do to prepare for it?
She lived through World War ll, and many other American wars from Korea to today. Today the Middle East is more unstable than ever. A black hole for politicians. Witness Syria news of the day and the US abandoning our ally the Kurds.
She’s contributed to the world population quadrupling in her lifetime with three boys of her own. Where’s overpopulation heading?
Countless inventions have made her life easier and advances in modern medicine have given her great odds of living past 100. But are we heading for a TERMINATOR like future with our outsized military budgets and technology?
She’s seen the pollution of our planet wax and wane and wax again. Sadly, she has lived long enough to see the oceans begin to die and global warming threaten all life.
My mom has thrived and survived under 16 presidents from Coolidge to Trump, who BTW she considers our worst president ever. And considering she lived through Hoover’s Great Depression that’s saying a lot. Are we heading for a Civil War as the Dems seek to oust Trump before he can use foreign powers to influence our elections?
Music has gone from the Charleston to rap. The Hippies became the Yuppies. And the Millennials emerged. Guessing where music is going is impossible. But I certainly like to see an end to corporatized music.
She has seen the rise and fall of the American middle-class, the outbreak of AIDs, the rise of gay rights, mass genocide, the legalization of Marijuana in her home state and the epidemic of opioids. Are we likely to see the integration of technology and biology?
But in all this change and more, despite the loss of so many loved ones, my sweet if unpredictable little brother Fred included and pictured below with me an Mom, she has remained a rock and a loving mother, grandmother and now great-grandmother.
Happy birthday to my mother, Georgiana. And here’s to the next 91 years.
I first learned the potent force of positive thinking — a skill set that paid my college tuition and as an adult allowed to me to raise hundreds of millions of dollars for everything from building skyscrapers to making movies — quite by accident back in 1971.
Here’s some 70s music to enjoy while you read this personal tale that will eventually wind it’s way to my thoughts on how our current president is breaking the laws of positive thinking laid out by Norman Vincent Peale in his groundbreaking book THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING.
It’s the fall of 1971. As the autumn leaves sparkle in the sunset I am worrying how I am going to make tuition for the second semester. Back in high school I only got average grades except for English and Art, and barely squeaked by in anything math related. So Art college is all I can get accepted into. Layton School of Art & Design to be precise. Conveniently, Layton is only about a mile’s walk from the new home my parents bought in ’69 on the banks of the Milwaukee River.
But after almost flunking out in my freshman year, in part because working night jobs to make tuition leaves me no time to study, this year’s grades and finances are looking no better. I am a nervous wreck, because if don’t stay in college it’s straight to Vietnam for my sorry ass, stuck with a lousy #15 draft lottery number.
Born 17 months after me, my kid brother Fred lucks out and pulls a draft # 265 in the lottery. He promptly drops out of college and starts apprenticing in the trades as a welder, our dad’s lucrative job. But for draft #15 me, it’s a matter of survival I keep my butt in college. A lot of us Boomers have Uncle Sam’s terrible war with Vietnam to thank for being the first in their families to graduate college.
One Tuesday night, fed up with cleaning bed pans at a local nursing home on the graveyard shift — the latest in a succession of lousy night jobs like bottle inspector at a Pepsi plant, pizza chef, window display artist, and more I’ve chosen to forget — I’m pouting in my parent’s beat up recliner that faces the Milwaukee river.
I’m still cooling off from a bad phone argument with my girlfriend from South Milwaukee. She’s away attending the University of Wisconsin Madison to learn to be a physical therapist. Her help correcting spelling and grammar on my term papers is raising my grades, but it’s a helluva lot to ask of her when she has her own schoolwork. I don’t blame my straight A student lover for listening to her mother that maybe she should dump me. Our relationship, like everything these Nixonian days, hangs by a thread.
Desperate to make tuition, I decide to put up with the inevitable mind numbing grief of hitting Dad up again for a small loan, but he’s been gone a week. I ask Mom, sitting mesmerized by a cartoon black bear paddling a canoe in a Hamm’s Beer commercial, where Daddy dearest might be. She shrugs and says in a hoarse whisper. “Off on another of his damned benders.”
Anxiously, flipping through the Help Wanted ads in the Milwaukee Journal I spot a winner: “PART-TIME WEEKEND DISPLAY WORK, EARN UP TO $1500 A MONTH. I hop from the easy chair, revealing a cigarette burn my Dad left behind after passing out in the middle of his third six pack, and dash for the phone. I dial, my fingers so shaky I’m barely able to spin my family’s dirty yellow rotary wall phone. Dad’s a mechanic plus a welder and his grime coats everything in the house in a thin black film.
A man with a buttery voice answers my desperate call. I blurt out my experience doing window display work at Des Forges Book Store on Wisconsin Avenue. The soothingly confident voice on the grimy phone tells me, “Come on in for an interview Thursday night, Ken.”
I holler for joy startling Mom. When I explain my thrill about the interview she says dryly, “Kenneth,” as she always does when lecturing me, “There’s no part-time job on earth that pays $1500 a month to do display work. It’s a scam, hon. Don’t go.”
I not so politely remind my Mom, “Well, I am over 18 now and I’ll decide what jobs to check out. That is unless you and Dad want to help me make tuition.” Desperation makes me sound whiny. Chastened, Mom returns to watching BEWITCHED in silence.
It seems like forever until Thursday night. As the big interview approaches all I can think of is, “Mom’s right. How the hell can I earn $1500 a month just doing part-time display work on weekends? I’m an idiot.”
My Drill Sargent Dad
The day before the interview my, lovable half the time and hateful the other half, father returns to home base. Thankfully he’s backed off beating mom on his frequent reinsertions into our lives. He’s stopped taking his self-hatred on out on Mom ever since I tossed his drunk abusive ass down the basement stairs a few months ago. I’m both ashamed and amazed I’m still alive after getting away with that angry stunt. A shrink will later explain my father was happy he forced me to sink to his level and confirm his claims I am a bad son.
Dad pops a Pabst Blue Ribbon and chortles, “Your ma tells me about this dumb ass interview you’ve set yourself up for. Ha. This how you think you’re going to make tuition? Get real. You’re on your own, Kenny boy, and I hope you flunk out. Maybe the Army can make man of you.” I storm out of the elegant north shore house that my blue-collar house poor family is over their heads owning.
His stinging words echoing in my head, I listen to my dad, except in the reverse. His disdain for the job is a huge endorsement for me. A challenge. I shout to the stars, “Fuck you, old man!”
Damn, I’m such a punk to think a man in his 40s is old.
Thursday comes at last. The glass entrance door emblazoned with gold letter reads: RAINBOW GREAT LAKES DIVISION. I am stoked. This feels like it’s the real deal, even though when I turn a corner I am taken down a set of grungy narrow stairs to the basement.
I open a flimsy hollow-core door labeled reception. My heart sinks to my shoes at the sight of a dozen other young people jammed into the dingy room built for 6 people max. I take a seat next to a kid my age and whisper, “Any idea what this job’s about?”
He shrugs and whispers back, “Fuck if I know.”
I wisecrack, “$1500 a month on weekends? Hey, maybe they’re looking for male strippers.” I get nervous laughs from the gang of applicants, but I wonder in my fevered brain, “Am I willing to turn male stripper to stay out of Vietnam?”
Before I can answer, “Hell yes!” a roguishly handsome blonde haired man, not much older than we anxious job candidates, spins into the room. Dressed in a cheap looking plaid suit, the toothy dude wisecracks, “Any of you gents wanna to learn how you can make $1500 a month or even more working part-time follow me.” He herds our bewildered clan into a crummy classroom adorned in fake wood paneling, and I grow ever more anxious.
The man in the plaid polyester suit vigorously writes his name on the chalkboard, like a teacher on crack:
Tom Deere
Now Tom asks for our first names and rapidly jots them all on the chalkboard one at a time with intense stares that seem to be some kind of memorization thing. When my turn comes I’m tempted to give a fake name but decide, “What the heck do I have to lose?” and answer, “Ken.”
Tom tells us with broad smile that never leaves his mustached puss, which does not make him look older, “Hi. I’m Tom Deere, Branch manager for Glendale’s Wisconsin Rainbow office. I’m 24 and I make seventy grand a year. More on that later. For now there’s some questionnaires for you guys to fill out before we get rollin’.”
After hearing the fantastic five figure income Tom makes, we’re all ears.
As Tom hands out questionnaires he coyly adds, “Don’t answer the last question until I give the OK.”
The questions are super easy to answer, written at 6th grade level, but give no indication whatsoever of what the hell this job is. I eye the door ready to bolt, thinking, “This dork makes 70K a year? Right. For once Dad and Mom are right. I’m outta here.”
Seeming to read my mind Tom pats me on the shoulder and says, “Relax. You’re gonna love this, Ken.” The shock Tom remembers my first name feels kinda magical and his warm hand on my shoulder quells some of my anxiety. I settle into the cheap folding chair.
A gruff Italian guy in a dried-blood-colored leather jacket slinks into the room through a half opened door. Now my overactive imagination starts to concoct a Mafia story of us all being candidates for stripper hit men when Tom speaks up, “Everybody meet Antony. — Tony, tell the guys how much you cleared working part time for Rainbow this month.”
Tony’s grimace shows he’s not loving the idea of sharing. “Tony?” says Tom, asserting some will Tony’s way.
Tony bows his head a little. After a brief internal struggle, he finally fesses up in a barely audible mutter, “Almost two K.”
“Thanks, Tony. You know, guys, Antony was a Milwaukee public bus driver before he started raking in the dough. Wanna hear how he did it and how you can make big bucks too?”
Tom cups a hand to his ear and about half of us all quickly say, “Yeah.”
Tom shouts, “Can’t hear you!”
Now we all shout back, “YEAH!” in unison. The group energy changes. We’re all in the palm of Tom’s hands. Soft hands I can see have never seen hard labor. I look at the fresh scar from a serious wound on my left index finger, a lifelong souvenir of my bottle inspecting night job at the Pepsi plant.
Tom pulls a little machine out of a box. It’s about the size of beauty parlor’s hair dryer bonnet with a chrome dome. An air slot is mounted over a brass colored base. It all sits atop clear plexiglass basin filled with water. The damed thing looks like an astronaut from a B sci-fi movie.
Tom flicks the switch and a gentle breeze flows from the noisy gizmo, stirring the stagnant basement air. Pollution is a huge issue in 1971. Tom demonstrates this air cleaner is dubbed the Rainbow because it filters out particulates through water. I’m sold.
Tom draws a line down the center of the chalkboard. He labels one column SALARY and the other COMMISSION. On the salary side Tom writes “$500 a month”. On the other Tom takes his time to diagram how by selling 30 $399 Rainbow air cleaners a month we can make $1500 a month in commissions.
He casually adds, “It’s easy to sell Rainbows because we do all the hard work of making the appointments. You simply visit potential customers and display what this beauty can do. The Rainbow has been around since the 1930s. Stellar reputation. Gents, I promise you it sells itself.”
I wonder, “How the hell has a company I’ve never heard ’til now been selling air cleaners since the 1930s; way before air pollution was a thing?”
Then Tom adds pine scent to the water. I have a pitiful sense of smell, so the fragrance of this forest scent is magic. A memory of a happy family visit to Whispering Pines State Park, when I was two and Mom and Dad were still in love, warms my heart. My worries vanish in the piney fresh smelling air.
“Ok,” Tom instructs we eager applicants, “Time to fill out the last question. Write S if you wanna work for Rainbow on a monthly salary of $500. Or write C top have the chance to make 3 times that much on commission. Ah, but wait! Hold your pens. Almost forgot to show you why the Rainbow is even more of a synch to display.”
Tom takes the grill off the Rainbow, whips a hose out of the box, and proceeds to vacuum the cheap carpet. “That’s right. The Rainbow not only cleans your air… drum roll please… it cleans the carpet.” Tom displays away, and now I finally get this ain’t window display work! I almost say “Fuck!” out loud but manage to hold it all in with a giggle internally at my dense take on the help wanted ad for “display work” that brought me here.
“Now fill out the last question, S for salary, C for commission. Tony will grab your questionnaires on the way out the door. Night and thanks for coming, gents,” says Tom bowing out the door, not giving us a chance to ask questions.
My Bic pen hovers over the questionnaire. I’m pretty shy and I think, “Better $500 a month than nothing on commission.”
I am about to write S when Tony pipes up, “Guys, I ain’t never sold nothin’ before. But if a freakin’ bus-driver-dego-whop like me can sell 40 of these Rainbows a month and knock down a legit 2 K you can too. My advice? Check C for commission.”
Feeling a little nauseous, I check C. First to make the big decision I head for Tony at the door. As I hand him the questionnaire I ask, “When will I know if I got the job?”
“Mr. Deere will hit you up quick if you’re in. If you don’t hear nothin’ in the next 48 hours, well, you’re toast,” says Tony with a mischievous grin.
When I get home Mom barely notices me slip in. She’s glued to BONANZA on her new color TV.
Recently, after a terrible fight, one that ended up with a visit from the cops, cops who always let Dad off easy even after my Mom is left black and blue — a thing still going on today in domestic abuse cases all too often — I ask her, my voice ash, “Ma, why don’t you divorce Dad? He’s going to kill you or me if this shit goes on much longer.”
Her terse answer, “Can’t afford to leave your father. He’s a good provider.”
Mom spots me pouring a milk at the fridge and asks, “How’d the interview go, Kenny?”
The dirty yellow wall phone rings before I can answer her. I’ve just gotten home so I don’t expect it to be Tom Deere on the line when I say, “Hello?”
“Ken?”
“Mr. Deere?”
“Tom please. Ha. You make me feel like I’m fifty. Congrats! You got the job.”
I cover the receiver and holler for joy, “I got the job, Mom!”
“What kind of job?” says Mom dryly.
“Selling home air cleaners,” I quickly tell Mom, leaving out the vacuum cleaner part of the Rainbow out.
“Sales? You get a salary?” Mom asks, her mouth full of potato chips.
In an instant the risk I am taking sinks in. It’s sell or off to ‘Nam and good chance I’ll die or be fucked up like the students I meet coming back the States after a tour of duty. The poor vets remind me of zombies. I shake off my fear and get back to Tom on the phone, dodging Mom’s fateful question, “What’s next?”
“Come in Saturday 9AM for training.”
The training is surprisingly good. My shriveled self esteem begins to blossom. I’m clumsy at first but soon I’m stunned to discover that I’m a natural born salesman. Thanks to my mother’s well-off side of the family buying machines as I train, in a matter of weeks I am the #1 part time Rainbow salesmen in Glendale. A title I never give up. It’s my first win-win experience of my life as my many aunts and uncles all love their Rainbows. I learn the lesson to offer customers advice on the best products and let stuff from vacs to skyscrapers sell themselves.
Even my hard case father is begrudgingly proud of the fact I’m learning to be a good provider like him. Tuition becomes a breeze and I even have enough money left over to, I shit you not, own a classic Lincoln Continental on campus.
Sculpture I Design and Fred Sheetz Welded – Our One and Only Collaboration
My kid brother Fred seems to down on my selling to earn my way through college. A jealousy takes seed in his mind that contributes to killing him one day as he drowns his rage of never making big money in drugging and drinking. Fred never copes well with my entrepreneurial successes compared to his playing it safe as a master welder on salary plus overtime. Also, he never sought therapy to heal from Dad’s epic physical and mental abuse like I did. Hell, I had a fleet of therapist help me rise from the ashes when my $162 million skyscraper project ruined me and my marriage.
My offer to set my little brother Fred up in business, him welding sculptures I’d design fell on deaf ears. Sad. He was so talented. I really regret not pushing my Gemini brother to do that. He simply was not prepared for the Obama years when America’s jobs left for China. Being laid off finished him off.
Back to 1971. My girlfriend hates my Lincoln’s big sidewalls, but she loves our expensive dates. She will become my wife over the objections over her mother. And one day my ex-wife to her mother’s delight.
So weird my wife’s mom hated me one for not being a doctor, like she said it right to my shocked face. A constant thorn in my side, even my becoming Chicago’s #1 commercial real estate broker according to the Chicago Times 15 years later and making her baby rich, never earns my mother-in-law-from-hell’s respect.
Me and client Oprah on the Opening of Her $28 million Harpo Studio
As part of my Rainbow sales training I am given some wonderful books to read by Mr. Deere. All of which add to my successes in life, including the building of Oprah’s Harpo Studios and developing a $162 million dollar skyscraper. Sadly, I lost touch with Tom after I graduated college and no longer wanted to sell Rainbows. He took it kinda hard I left to be an interior architect. But the most amazing of these books is Norman Vincent Peale’s THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING.
By the way, later as I become the number one part-time sales person on the Great Lakes region for Rainbow, I learn from Tom the only question he ever checks is C. If an applicant is willing to work on commission. Applications checked S for salary are placed in the circular file.
TRUMP’S ABUSE OF THE POWER OF POSITIVE THINKING
Now, I don’t know if Trump’s father was even half as abusive as my messed up drill sergeant dad, but it’s well known Trump’s father Fred was a hard-case father. So much so I think Fred Trump may have shattered Donald’s self worth. In fact, as junior shrink after so much therapy, I theorize the Don’s daddy issues made him the crazed narcissist we all either love or hate today.
As for me, it will be my “accidental” introduction to the power of positive thinking that serves to rescue me from the bone crushing barrage of mental negativity that my father subjected me to from birth. I remember reading these words at age 19 of Peale’s and feeling it a godsend, a life raft that saved me from a life depression and anxiety like my brother’s:
“Believe in yourself! Have faith in your abilities! Without a humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers you cannot be successful or happy.” ― Norman Vincent Peale
Note that I italicized humble but reasonable. Assuming Trump read the same book, a bit of stretch given his dislike for reading, and like me he learned how to rebuild his self worth from an abusive father through the power of positive thinking, it’s obvious Trump has either forgotten or intentionally ignored that self-belief has to be humble and reasonable.
Now, this might not sound like big deal, but without the restraints of being humble and reasonable in one’s confidence, positive thinking has a dark side. Indeed, without tempering, someone with the gift of charisma can literally become a confidence gamer or a con man, as Trump has.
My friends, there’s a simple reason conning people is illegal: It works all to well. So don’t be hard on a loved one or pal who has been taken in by Trump’s abuse of the power of positive thinking. You see, humans are conditioned by millions of years to trust our tribal leaders.
Especially, leaders who act with great confidence, as to having the greater welfare of the tribe at heart. Trump, unfortunately, is far from humble. To me he comes off as a compulsive liar. It’s sickness. I worked for one who shall remain anonymous as he’s as vindictive as Trump. “Buh-lieve me,” as Trump likes to say. Yep. These kind of mind fuckers lie for sport.
How disgustingly different the modern world that rewards lying leaders with wealth and fame is from the caveman days when the tribe stoned or hung bad leaders. Leaders today who are truthful are as rare as the 1 million endangered species Trump could give a shit about.
Lest you think Trump’s our first unethical leader, well, please read some history. To my heightened sensitivity as an abuse survivor, Obama, the drone president, the oil president, the surveillance president, was not much a more truthful a leader than the Cheet-oh Jesus as he being called, Trump. Nope. Pretty boy Barrack was just way smoother at his political con game. Still is. Though he has nothing on Bill Clinton for being a charming liar. Reagan? Don’t get me started. What a mess we’ve been in for decades.
Folks, and I am sure you know, Super liars are in charge of our world and it must change. Humanity can no longer function this way. We, the stable clan of geniuses who have created so many endangered species are now on our own endangered list. So thank your lucky stars the clumsy buffoonery of Trump has ruined lying for all future leaders. That’s where I see some hope.
The Amazon is on fire. The vast majority of scientists and his fellow G7 leaders are telling Trump that the environment is in crisis. But “the chosen one” prefers to proclaim that it’s all a Chinese hoax. He tells his followers to support fossil fuels, avoid solar power, avoid “cancer causing” wind power. He joyfully invites his loyal followers, a loyalty he does not deserve as he’s sticking it to most of them, to think positive as he proclaims global warming is liberal lie. “No biggie, so keep on gas guzzling, everyone!”
Trump’s irresponsible lack of humble leadership is a horror show on a scale never witnessed before in human history. And sadly it comes at a time when we can least afford it. The clock is running out fast on humanity’s ability to shirk off its responsibility to Gaia.
Take it from a man who worked his way through college selling Rainbows to stay out of a war he did not believe in, versus the one in DC who gamed the system with a fake story about bone spurs: We need a total reset in 2020 with young people taking the reigns from the old who cannot fully grasp that our very existence is at stake. Sorry Joe and Bernie/
Today, 8/3/19, with some update from 8/6 tossed in, I am still vibrating with the incredible Lion’s Gate energy that came through me the last three nights through the OHOM (Open Heart Open Mind) collective channel while blogging YOUR INVITE TO BREAK THE SPEED OF LIGHT – PART 2. Three nights minus the goddess I love, Elizabeth England, who is visiting family. Miss you, baby.
Now, since 2010 I’ve been channeling a number of spirits and beings — earthly, heavenly and cosmically — after my awakening in yoga hall in Italy. On this blog I re-broadcast the best wisdom from these amazing ET encounters. By far my favorite earthly spirit to channel is Robin Williams. As I write this intro his incredible spirit is sitting here in my office, patiently waiting for his coffee, a wistful smile on his famous face.
Now, about my channeling, since I cannot prove scientifically, yet anyways, that my unexpected connection to spirit is really happening, I always retain a seed of healthy doubt and invite you to do so as well as you read. Real or not, the source is unimportant. It’s the wisdom the process of channeling provides that counts. It gets me out of my head and in touch with my heart.
But to get this channeling started I first need to make a coffee for Robin. The great comedic spirit cannot, of course, drink coffee it in spirit form. Robin just loves to wrap his ghostly hands around a hot mug of java. And I am not the only living person he visits. Here’s the link on a good piece in the Huff Post I found searching “Robin loves coffee”. For the Huffpost writer, Robin’s energy came through a computer. There are other examples out there too. For me I am blessed to hear and see his ghost in the 3D. Be right back after I make a coffee for Robin and I to share.
OK. I am back with a steaming java. Robin’s in a happy mood today. “How’s the coffee, Robin?”
“Yummy in the tummy, that is if I had one anymore,” kids Robin.
“Like the chocolate almond milk I added for a change?”
“Yep. Hardly miss the sugar. Nice energy. Look, normally I love kibitzing, Ken, but can we get to why I am visiting today? ” says Robin, seeming a bit on edge. “We’re not at Coffee Pot restaurant and so I only have your energy to power this visit. We cool?”
“Coolest ever. What’s up, Robin?”
“Let’s talk addiction and how it’s destroying the planet,” says Robin. He gathers his wits, sniffing the coffee on the desk beside me. He’s here in both his new killer whale form and human form for the first time. Usually it’s one or the other.
“Please go on. I’ll keep my yap shut unless something super important occurs to ask you, Robin.”
“As there are no secrets in Hollywood, plus as I made rather light of being a junkie to the legal drug booze in my standup routines ad nauseum, I am famous, or shall I say infamous, for my drug and alcohol escapades during my salad days as a Hollywood superstar. One time I was so strung out on cocaine I did not sleep for 10 days. Never saw it coming that the fame I got conked on the head with in life by God would come back to bite me like a killer shark to a seal. Hmm. So hungry. Where a seal when you freakin’ want one? Anyhow, it was a curse when fame put drugs and booze under my big nose all too often for my feeble self-worth to resist.
Now, after a having had a LOTS, and I mean LOTS, of therapy to get and the to stay sober, way harder than getting sober, I see it all derived from my childhood trauma. Most of it centered around my dear old Pops who never loved me for who I am. Papa dearest meant well, but seemed afraid of the freakish power of my sense of humor. Always so strict you’d think he had 2X4 up his tukis. Yep, as a major corporate stiff Dad never got me or my jokes. It messed me up more than he, or I for that matter, ever knew.
Boo-hoo. Poor me. However, I am not recounting my lousy childhood that made me an adult addict for sympathy. That is not the point of our visitation today, Ken and company. — And thanks ,Kenny Bo Benny, for doing this banana bana bo bana channeling, despite your ever shrinking sense of doubt that I’m real. — No sire, killer shark. I am here to proclaim as a whale of an angel that the tragic way the refugee kids at the border are getting shit on stems directly from America’s deep seated addiction to the darkest high of all, the high of being a racist.
And all of America is racist. Don’t feel superior to the White Supremacist in El Paso that went Mexican hunting in the Wal-mart. Cue my Elmer Fudd imitation of Elmer as a White Supermicist as he breaks the 4th wall, “Hu hu hu, I’m hunting Mexcicans today. Hu hu hu.” Sorry, Elmer. Just clowning to make a point.
You know one of my biggest regrets here in the after life? Not doing enough GOOD MORNING VIETNAM kind of political films. I could have made such a difference. Sure, I’d have made less money. But maybe I would not be on killer whale detail in the Arctic if I’d used my gifts and power.
That’s why this killer whale is proud my astral pal Ken is making a protest film about the mistreatment of the refugee kids. America is building more than a wall, as he says in the new trailer, it’s building resentment. Making a shameless plug for Ken’s film you can donate to here.
Sorry to be so f’ing serious here on the usually lighthearted DreamShield blog today. Actually I am not in a good mood, Ken. How could I be in a good mood when I see the frequencies we killer whales and the other races of whale family are broadcasting to help erase addiction on this planet are going unheard by humanity at the moment? I mean, what the fuck?”
Ken here. I am mostly here. Robin or star beings I channel are never allowed to push me aside. Good boundaries are essential. And even though I am tempted to interrupt Robin here with an apology for misreading his mood as good and asking him a clarifying question I keep my mouth shut. He’s more whale spirit than human these days and he wants to get back to the Arctic where his killer whale self has already returned.
But reading my mind anyways, Robin goes on, “I hear you, Ken. Dear people reading this cool blog, my whale self is up in the arctic swimming through open damned seas! I can see through his big eyes. Where’s the fucking ice? My entire killer whale pod is stunned at the totally open seas where they have never been here before. One young killer whale, who shall goes anonymous chimes in, ‘Good riddance to the ice. This is so great for hunting because the seals have no ice to hide in. Dinner is served!’
Pardon me a sec. I am telepathically telling my brother and sister killers whale not to eat every damn seal in sight. “If we killer whales kill all the seals in this open sea there will soon be no mama seals and no more seal pups. Overeat and we let the oil burning culture of humans who caused this open to sea to kill we the killer whale people win. A lose-lose for we the good guys of cosmic proportions. Mother earth wants the killer whales to outlive the humans, who if they do not wise the fuck up and become the stewards of the earth she evolved them to be, will go extinct by their own hoggish hands.
Ah, cool. My whale tribe is listening, eating only the smallest number of seals we need to survive. Natural greed is thankfully not an addiction we killer whales have to contend with like the human tribe I was once a conscious leader of without being conscious of it. kind like that story where a mackrel, a sea lion and dolphin go into sand bar. The sand bar tender says, ‘What’ll it be gents?’ And the sea lion suddenly eats the makrel and the dolphin and says, ‘Burp.”
So how do I get this concept of caring about this world and stopping global warming across to your dense as brick human audience? I know you love my jokes, eveyone, but this ain’t fucking funny. So pardon my text shouting but…
HELLO! THE FUCKING NORTH POLE IS MELTING.
Put that message on a red MAGA cap and suck on it.
All this global warming denial bullshit is due to human addiction to an ignorant 50s era glorified by an old orange mogul with whale-sized daddy issues. An era that never really existed. An era rife with white racism so thick you could cut it with a burning KKK lawn cross. A mind controlled era of fake good ness born of a long dead era of white conquest of the Native Americans. That’s the real cause behind Trump’s ignoring global warming. The cheeseburger loving lard ass knows global warming will kill more people of color than Nazi Germany killed Jews and Poles by a power of 100.
Accept your within you white entitlement, either overt or covert, either active or passive, lies deep sickness at the heart of every citizens’ racism. That addictive entitlement is at the root cause of all the intelligent ignorance behind the denial of global warming caused by human pollution. Stop denying and start doing something about the way you are fucking up the only planet you have. Screw Elon Musk and his mission to Mars. Gamble all your money on solving earth’s global warming.
Trump is dangerous, not because he’s the evil boogey man the liberal media makes him to be, mostly for their own ratings benefit. Witness the kiss ass NTY headline TRUMP URGES UNITY VS RACSIM. #CanceltheNYT. Rather see Trump as he really is. Not a monster. Just an old fart, a duffer who can only put in a few hours of work a day. A bad hair nightmare suffering brain farts due a traumatic childhood he never did the hard work of therapy to overcome. A messed up childhood that makes him long for a racist past where he still seeks daddy and mama resolution. This even though they’ve both been rotting in an over design grave for too long to be reached.
Gone just like I will be one day, Ken and fans. Life goes on even after life. One day maybe I’ll simply forget I was ever Robin Williams the human and maybe start eating too many seals for my new killer whale species’ own good.
Be on constant guard for mind control from the left or right. Stay centered and stay aware of race bating and politics of distraction. At the same time ignore the endless media coverage getting done on it, droning on and on and there-fucking-by encouraging new racists stars to cut loose for the short burst of fame.
Oh, or should I say OY VEY! Keep in mind that Mr. Butter Would Not Melt in His Mouth Obama was no better a president either. He drones people. Made our social media a spy tool. Dug up sacred lands for oil. All because he too was a damaged child himself. And he too was addicted to seek power for the love of the masses with the lip service of hope and change. That cool cat was was just more genteel about it than angry grandpa bumble fuck Trump.
People, you’ve got to stop playing “me versus them” politics and realize you are all in the same lifeboat with each other whilest rich assholes in the Titanic above you sipping on champagne take a whizzes on all your dumb as dirt heads!
Robin’s voice begins to fade and he shouts,”Shit. Outta spirit juice. Bye, Ken and his coolest ever readers. Thanks for the coffee. Whale kisses.”
END CHANNELING
Please support my new film called SOAP & TOOTHBRUSHES about the plight of the refugee kids. Only 2 weeks or so left on the campaign and we have a long ways to go. Or grab yourself some enlightened tech to raise your wellness for the challenging times ahead at CoolestTechEver.com. The money all ends up in the same place helping to enlighten and entertain a weary world though thought provoking content.
Remember always that racism is hate. And hate is ultimately self defeating. Good will always win over evil. Only through love for each other just as we were born of the many races, all of us sharing the same beautiful blue world, can we make it. Yes we can, can…
Sing it Pointer Sisters.
A sad PS. Today August 6th a tragedy struck Robin’s killer whale pod in the Arctic. Stay tuned to my next in the Robin Williams visitations to hear the sad but uplifting whale of a tale DEATH AT THE NORTH POLE BY HUMAN NARCISSISM.
Join us for a look at the dirty secret behind this weekend’s $40 opening box office for ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD. Warning: Spoilers ahead.
Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt as Hippe Hater Heros in Tarantino’s ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD
I’ve been a Quentin Tarantino fan since PULP FICTION. And I admit to taking some joy when the good guys lit up Hitler in the INGLORIOUS BASTARDS finale. But as an independent filmmaker of modest success this past 23 years and counting, albeit one who got started a too late in life at age 42 to make it big — Hollywood’s young person’s game, my friends — I have to say the unpredictable Tarantino has become, alas, as predictable with his history revisionist twist endings.
This time Tarantino feeds like a vampire on the Sharon Tate’s brutal murder and dreams of up a washed up Cowboy actor, played to perfection by Leonardo DiCaprio and his co-dependent as it gets stuntman, equally well played by Brad Pitt as Sharon’s savior from the Manson family.
Please, Quentin, if you ever read this review of a huge fan of yours depressed over the turn of your career, go back to making good noir films instead of being some kind celluloid timeline cop. What’s next for your film 10th? Uma Thurman kills Booth before he assassinates Lincoln? Samuel Jackson kills Lee Harvey Oswald from the grassy knoll to save JFK? Get back to making great stories about lowlife characters.
Now, if you were part of the establishment, AKA the Man, AKA today’s Matrix, in the 60s and 70s, you likely hated Hippies and maybe still do to this day if you have not become woke folk. I’d even go so far as to say ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD was made specifically for liberal value haters, packaged in the form of Hippies.
Indeed, what’s painfully missing from Tarantino’s 9th film’s narrative is that Mason’s cult does not in any way genuinely represent the Hippie movement anymore than Nazis represent the German people. This makes the film an intoxicating ticket for conservatives and a brainwash for unsuspecting liberals who dig Tarantino. A win-win for the Trump era’s race bating, sexist, hate based politics.
And come on Brad Pitt, not cool you playing a character who got away with killing his wife and Leonardo as the ultimate wife killing enabler. I know Tarantino loves to study the underbelly of the world but unlike PULP FICTION where Samuel Jackson’s character experiences an awakening and mending of his wicked ways, there’s none of that in ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLYWOOD. Leaving the characters of Leo and Brad rendered as hopelessly sexist.
As life worked out I was, unlike my film career where I was a little too old, a little too young to be part of the Hippie movement. I was high schooler in the late 60s and a college student in early the 70s. By 1974 I was married at 22 in and having kids by the tender age of 27. Hippies were passe’ for me. I was busy being part of the Yuppie movement and became real estate millionaire who built a skyscraper and Oprah’s Harpo Studios by 38.
Tarantino, born in 1963, was all of six year old at the start of the death of Hippie movement that the Mason Family murders triggered, with some help making a connection not really there from the establishment media. Do the math, Tarantino missed the Hippie movement entirely when it gave way to the Yuppie movement by the time he was old enough to drive.
My bet is Tarantino’s only picked up on the Hippie vibe from old movies for the most part when he was a video store clerk with lots of free time on his hands. Or perhaps his parents used Hippies as some kind of parental scolding, “Do your homework, Quentin or you’ll end up a damned filthy Hippie!”
Tarantino’s connecting Hippie-hating to the most notorious commune leader, the Hippie Satan himself Charles Manson is frankly akin to making a movie about life in Oklahoma City with the heroes stopping right-wing Christian Timothy McVeigh’s bombing as a condemnation of Roman Catholics and vets.
So I say shame on Tarantino and Sony tapping into hate for liberal values of our current divided society and making a film bordering on a PSYOP. ONCE UPON A TIME IN HOLLWYOOD with its all white main cast — aside from the fantasy of white guy Brad Pitt kicking Bruce Lee’s ass — suffers from misguided Hippie hate and spoils an otherwise good movie. Even if this 9th film from Tarantino it does not come close to his mad story structure skills at his peak of 90s filmmaking.
With a $40 million take at the box office, hate targeted filmmaking has sadly become commercially viable. What will follow after the success of this film is scary as Hollywood is copycat industry.
I first learned the potent force of positive thinking — a skill set that paid my college tuition and as an adult allowed to me to raise hundreds of millions of dollars for everything from building skyscrapers to making movies — quite by accident back in 1971.
Tom pulls a little machine out of a box. It’s about the size of beauty parlor’s hair dryer bonnet with a chrome dome. An air slot is mounted over a brass colored base. It all sits atop clear plexiglass basin filled with water. The damed thing looks like an astronaut from a B sci-fi movie.
Media, Meditations & Musings 