Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 5 – The Desert Sickness

Here’s some old timey radio style audio for them’s like to listen versus the whole readin’ thing.

Howdy Buckaroos, I wrote the first draft for this here chapter 5 ’bout 6 months before old Trump actually got the Covid. And, well, you didn’t need to be no Western Fortune Teller to know that it was a gonna happen. What with them rallies an’ all the kissin’ talk. And here I am in 2021, addin’ old-style radio show audio with the best western accent I can muster up, to amuse and astound the left and right alike.

Heads up you sensitive folk who don’t like gunfights, people a dyin’ and one a them there alternate universe Trumps and other GQP a gettin’ they’s comeuppance, well, just feel free to mosey on off.

CHAPTER 5 – THE DESERT SICKNESS

Meanwhile one timeline away….

Trump blinks his open bloodshot eyes and squints at the blinding glare of surgery lights overhead. He struggles to sit up, but restraints hold Trump in place.

A gowned, masked Dr. Fauci notices Trump stir and says in his best soothing tone, “Please don’t struggle, Mr. President. You’re lucky your body man Robert kept you alive with mouth to mouth until the paramedics brought you here. Um, not so lucky, you’ve come down with a severe case of the Coronavirus, sir.”

Trump tries to speak, but the pain is so intense he cannot.

“Don’t speak! Your throat’s badly seared. Nod if you understand me,” offers Dr. Fauci.

Trump nods “yes” curtly.

“Now, Mr. President, serious question I need a serious answer for if I am going to have a chance to save your life. Here goes: Have you taken any Hydroxychloroquine?”

Trump nods yes sadly.

“And did you drink any disinfectants today?”

Trump nods grimly while making the hand signal for “a little.”

“Lysol perhaps?” says Fauci, resisting the urge for to do a face palm.

Trump shakes his head “no” rapidly.

“Sorry. Brand’s immaterial. — Did you orally ingest any sort of bleach?”

Trump nods “yes” reluctantly.

“OK. It’s 2 AM. I’m gonna name some earlier times from today. Nod when I’m close to the time of day you drank the bleach.”

“Midnight?”

Trump nods, impressed Fauci guessed right on the first try.

“Nurse, stomach pump! Stat!”

An older nurse wheels over a stomach pump.

“Donald, I’m placing you on anesthesia. After pumping your stomach the nurse will immediately intubate you. That is if your damaged esophagus can handle it. But before I put you in that coma, uh, there’s an old friend here who must have a word with you,” says Dr. Fauci as he steps aside to reveal a gowned and masked Mike Pence.

“Hey, buddy. It’s Mike, um, Mike Pence, your VP. How you doin’?”

Annoyed as hell, Trump messages with his eyes for Pence to get on with it.

“Ok, Ok. Why I ‘m here. Right. You see, I’d like your blessings on my VP choice before I temporarily step into your big shoes, amigo. All very temporary of course until your back on the job in record covid-time,” says Pence, doing his best to sound sincere.

Trump becomes more agitated, but nods OK.

The mask-free Pence speaks up nervously, “Now, I know this is going to be a little hard for you to swallow — Geez Louise, sorry about that expression! — Um, what with how my Veep pick and you, um, have had a little run-in on Celebrity Apprentice –”

Trump’s eyes widen with rage as he grunts angrily.

“Sorry. — I’ll cut to the chase.– Donald, we need to reunite the country in this dark time. The markets have crashed three times in the past 24 hours. The Dow is down 5000 points. Banks are closed to prevent runs and bankers are demanding $3 trillion in aid –” Pence stops his political blathering under Trump’s searing glare.

“Ok, ok, Arnold Schwarzenegger is my VP pick.” says Pence

Trump writhes and groans in agony that his fever dream about Schwarzenegger as president in 2022 might be turning out to be prophetic.

“Swell, Donald. I’m going to take your reaction as a definite “yes” and announce you’re in total and complete agreement to make Arnold  my temporary VP, assuming I can get a Senate waiver on his not being American born,” says Pence as Trump writhes in agony. “See? That wasn’t so bad now was it? Okie dokie. I turn you back of to the good Dr. Fauci here. Get well soon, buddy,” chirps Pence.

Enraged, Trump struggles mightily to free himself of the restraints. Pence gives Trump a peck on his sweaty forehead. Dr. Fauci injects the writhing Trump. The surgery room and the worried face of Mike Pence fade from view.

Fauci’s distant echoing voice rides the white void, “Word of warning, Mr. President. Covid fever dreams can be… quite intense. Brace yourself… self… self.”

WELCOME TO CORONA NEVADA

Trump’s blurry twisted vision of an old town of the West fades into confusing view. Town folk, half of them wearing blue colored western bandit masks and half mask-free with red cowboy hats, mill about on the dusty street.

Two gunfighters take to the street, one a blue-masked young man and mask-free old timer in a red cowboy hat. Everyone scatters. Doors slam.

Blue masked young man says, “I take back what I said about the Sheriff, Uncle. We ain’t gotta do this.”

Oblivious to the gunfighters, Trump stares into the desert sky, fascinated as it keeps shifting back and forth between being the sun and an overhead surgery light.

The man in the red hat spits and shouts, “Bugs ya I love Sheriff Trump more than you, Nephew. Don’t it?”

“You raised me, Uncle! Of course it does!”

“Draw, nigger lover!”

“No, Uncle! I refuse to draw on family –”

BANG!

The blue masked young man watches in shock as blood spreads from a hole in his white shirt. He falls face down in the dirt street.

The man in a red hat snarls over the young man’s body, “Worthless, mask lover. Give my regards to my slave loving sister in hell.”

Trump watches in a daze as the town undertaker and town drunk, Rudy Giuliani, drags the blue-masked young boy towards his funeral parlor with a red door. Rudy, waves to Trump and says brightly. “Mornin’ Sheriff Trump. Gorgeous day!”

Trump does not answer. Rudy shrugs his shoulders and returns to dragging his human cargo for his funeral parlor.

A short time later on the outskirts of town, Rudy whips his horse team, pulling a wagon full of dead bodies. “Ah. That dang sheriff wants me put these bodies in separate graved, the red and the blue. But I just ain’t got the time no more. Can’t keep up with this desert sickness. — Whoa!” shouts Rudy bringing the horse team to a halt.

Rudy chugs a bottle of whiskey, downs the bottle and tosses it into the canyon.

Rudy pulls a lever and the wagon bed lifts up. Corpses rain into the canyon below. “Well, you’re all finally together now, aren’t ya? The red blue alike,” cackles Rudy.

BANG! A bullet hole appears in Rudy’s forehead. “Welp, them injuns die warn me this was their burial ground…”

Rudy falls into the canyon below, joining the dead.

A Native American pats his stove pipe hat, with a feather on it, holsters his rifle and rides off into the distance.

Back in town, Trump works out a kink in his back, squirming on the porch bench of his sheriff’s office, and belches loudly. Trump happily notices he’s dressed as the town sheriff, tin badge, six shooter and all.

Trump blinks, fully taking in the sight of the dusty New Mexico town of Corona, here in the Old West. “Reckon I’m on the set of Westworld?” says Trump, puzzled at his Western accent. “That’s as odd as a rattler with jingle bells on his durned tail. Fuck. Can’t shake this danged bum fuck accent!”

Kellyanne Conway, takes a seat beside him on the bench. She’s dressed in a frilly pioneer frock of the day. Kellyanne swings opens picnic basket and chirps brightly in a thick southern accent, “Hey, sleepy head. Have a nice nap?”

“Kellyanne?” says Trump, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Haha! That’s my name alright, sleepy bear. You sure do dream deep. Made your fav, hon. Burgers and gravy. Just the thing to wake you up!” coos Kellyanne, uncovering her steaming masterpiece. Kellyanne lovingly tucks a napkin into Trump’s dusty shirt.

On the street a woman in a red bonnet falls to the dirt.

“Another customer for Rudy. Desert Sickness keeps takin’ people from the Right we won’t have much of a Right left,” says Trump with a shrug as he digs into Kellyanne gravy soaked burger. And speaks with his mouthful,”Wow, babe. Had this crazy dream I’s president of these here United States a way, way in the future.”

“Sorry, hon. Ya’all’s just the Sheriff of our sweet little town of Corona in 1864,” purrs Kellyanne.

“I’d a sweared it was the year 2020,” grouses Trump, still surprised by how old West he sounds.

“And we’ll be married 35 years come June 23rd next week. So now ya’all have no excuse to forgit again!” says Kellyanne, sneaking a kiss to Trump’s cheek.

Trump’s badly overweight deputy, William Barr, Billy in this world, plops two used up paint cans, one blue and one red, on the porch. He grabs seat, mopping his forehead with a dirty white hanky. Seeing Trump’s puzzled expression Barr offers, “Finished, sir.”

“Finished with what, Billy?” asks Trump.

“Why, paintin’ every dang front door in town of the Confederate homes red and the Union homes blue. Just like you ordered, sir,” says Barr.

Puzzled to say the least, Trump runs a hand though his long head of silver hair as he says uncertainly, “Lemme see, our brave Confederates… they don’t wear masks, right?”

Kellyanne brightly offers, “Them Union folks are chickens who are slaved to wearing a mask and keeping their distance! Silly old blue bellies are terrified of the desert sickness.”

“Stupefyingly stupid. Right, sir?”

“Amen, Billy boy,” says Trump, getting into the swing of things.

“Got anymore of them delicious burgers and gravy in your picnic basket, Kellyanne?” asks Barr sweetly.

“Never forgit my favorite deputy. Here ya’all go, Billy boy,” says Kellyanne offering deputy Barr a gravy soaked burger.

“Billy, why in holy hell is the dang General Store still closed?!” Trump says, angrily pointing to the General Store across the street with a freshly painted blue front door.

“That uppity nigger Bobby Tulsa, says he ain’t opening our fair town’s only General Store ’til Doc gives everybody a checkup for the desert sickness,” grouses Kellyanne.

“Meantime, Corona’s citizens, red and blue both, are runnin’ outta food fast — and they’s a blamin’ you, Sheriff,” offers Barr.

“Time to pay a little visit to our town’s only freed slave,” says Trump rising a bit shakily to his feet. And comes face to face with his horse Eric.

“Oh, Dad. Why’d I gotta be a horse in this dream?” brays Eric the horse.

“Shut up! I got me a nigger ta see!” barks Trump.

A short time later Trump Trump glares over the cash register at the blue mask wearing Robert, his Black personal valet in DC of 2020. The same one who saved his life with mouth to mouth, and who is now in this reality the general store owner in Trump’s 1864 fever dream.

Trump bellows, “I don’t care if’n you’re worried about some weak old sods headin’ for the last roundup. You Yankees gottsta realize this here sickness serves God’s purpose. It’s like the wolves. They thin the herd! Get it? Huh. Gotta tweet that today.”

“Tweet? Ya mean like a little birdy?” wisecracks Robert.

Trump grabs Robert by his shopkeeper’s blue apron, “Do not get uppity with me, boy! If was up to me you’d be still picking cotton in Georgia where you belong!”

Robert shakes off Trump’s hand on his shirt and angrily says, seething hate welling in his normally soft eyes, “No doubt as a slave. Nevada’s a free territory, Trump. And I am a free man. My store. My rules. And my rule is that my store stays shut until Doc examines everyone for the desert sickness. Only way to stop swapping us back and forth tween us like deranged kindergartners!”

Barr inserts himself between Trump and Robert and says in his usual deadpan droll, “Now, Robert. You, more than most in Corona, have enjoyed the good Sheriff’s protection from the Confederates in here town. Now, son, we’d never want to see you lynched –”

Trump shoves Barr aside and bellows, “Shut it, Deputy! I give the orders in this here town! And I demand this here General Store reopen today and you get your lazy black ass back on the job, Bobby boy!”

“You know, runnin’ this little store I get to know a few personal things about the folks in this town. And Sheriff, to be honest — And it’s nice nice to be honest. You should give it try once and while just to keep us guessin’ — There’s a whole lotta things you don’t want me tellin’ your fourth wife Kellyanne about. Like, for example, your “Stormy” twice a week deal with the town whore,” calmly offer Robert.

Dumbfounded that Robert has boxed him in, Trump sputters, “You’re gonna be sorry, Tulsa. Powerful sorry.”

“I am already sorry, Donald. Sorry I ever moved to your piece of shit you call a town,” says Robert taking Trump and Barr forcefully about the shoulders and escorting them out of the store with a shove and they fall into the dirt.

“And you still owe me for that shipment of hydroxychloroquine, Trump!” snarls Robert as he slams the General Store door shut and pulls down the CLOSED window shade.

Robert turns from the storefront and almost jumps out of his skin at the sight of a Native American. The same one with the stove pipe hat who shot Giuliani. Robert breaths a sigh of relief and says, “Chief! Gotta stop sneaking up on me like that!”

“Mocasins. I hear all crazy orange one spoke. His venom smells of sulfur,” says the Chief sniffing the air in disgust.

“Ha. They don’t call you Laughing Skies for nothin’!” laughs Robert, transferring a big bag of grain into the chief’s muscular arms.

“No joke today, Robert Tulsa. You twist tail of demon,” says the chief.

“Ah, Trump’s just an old wind bag. Nothinl’ to fret about,” says Robert, trying to convince himself.

Chief Laughing Skies says sadly, “No. Trump worse than US Cavalry.”

“Worse?”

“Blue bellies kill the Paiute. Trump kills own White tribe. Evil spirit,” says Chief Laughing Skies grimly.

Robert peers out the window at the fuming Trump. “Well, I can tell you one thing for sure, Sheriff Trump’s madder than a wet hen.”

Outside Robert Tulsa’s General Store, Barr dusts off his boss. Enraged, Trump spins to Barr, “Billy, I want a full investigation into where Robert Tulsa gets his stock foods.”

“Already done. The blackie gets most of his supplies from a damned Chinaman who visits Corona once a month. In fact, I have conspiracy theory all my own that Bobby was responsible for helpin’ the Chinese bastards spread the desert sickness to our fine Confederate folk.”

“Hell, yeah! That must be why Confederate folks are getting sicker faster, ain’t they?” ponders Trump, loving Barr’s conspiracy theory.

“Yup. Though, a course, Doc said it could also be because, uh, we red doors don’t wash our hands and wear masks,” offers Barr feebly.

“Never you mind with them new fangled Union notions! Draft up charges and serve that blackie Tulsa. I want him hung by Sunday. Folks do love a good hangin’. Cleanses the soul,” gloats Trump, wishing to himself again that the old west had Twitter.

An out of breath kid, wearing a blue cloth mask, runs up to Trump and holds out a note. But Trump is too busy kicking Eric the horse in the ass to notice.

“Ouch! Stop it, Pa!” neighs Eric, who only Trump can hear.

“That’ll teach you for eatin’ up all the horse pills!” shouts Trump.

Townspeople, red and blue alike, hide the fear in the eyes that the Sheriff is talking to a horse who they only hear neighs and whinnies.

“Those are my horse pills, Pa. For my worms,” neighs Eric.

“Don’t talk so loud, Eric. The horse pills are secret recipe for stayin’ clear of the desert of the Desert Sickness!” says Trump giving Eric another kick in the horse’s ass. Eric the horse poops on Trump’s boots.

Townspeople hide the fear in their eyes that the sheriff is talking to a horse, who they only hear as neighs and whinnies. Eric poops mightily.

“You shit my boots, you stupid nag of a son!” complains Trump.

“Sorry, Pa. It was the worms made me,” says Eric the horse.

BOOM! A fireball rises in the desert sky. Debris falls. Townspeople scream.

The uncle who killed his nephew, seared by the explosion, stumbles from an alley up to Trump and says, proudly saluting, “Sir! Blowed up that town windmill like you asked for, sir!”

“Huh?” puzzles Trump, still ignoring the kid with a note.

The murdering uncle adds, “You know, the windmill that pumps water to the town. The one was makin’ everybody get the cancer with that terrible noise.”

Trump makes the noise,”Whirrr whirr whirr? “

“Yup! No more whir, whir whir, sir!” says the murdering flashing his lousy toothy grin at Trump.

Barr worries quietly to Trump, “How we gonna get water without the windmill, Donald?”

“Why, uh, from the creek, a course!” shouts Trump.

“Dry Creek dried up. Ain’t rained a drop in Corona for over in a year,” worries Barr.

“No problemo, sirs. I know a secret spring where the town can get the freshest water in the –” the murdering sycophant’s eyes go wide and he falls face first into the dirt at Trump’s shit covered boots, dead as a doornail.

Trump steps over the murdering uncle’s body and complains, “Desert sickness strikes again. Where’d my booze hound good for nothin’ Rudy go? Street’s littered with corpses!” Finally spotting the kid with the note Trump bellows, “Seen the undertaker you lousy blue-masked brat?!”

The boy in the mask bawls, shoves the note in Barr’s chubby hand and runs off.

Barr opens the note and his eyes go wide.

“Whut?” growls Trump.

“Note from Kellyanne,” says Barr offering the note to Trump.

“Well, read it!”

“Pray for me, Donald. I have the fever. Love, Kellyanne” says Barr softly.

“Louder!” yells Trump.

“PRAY FOR ME, DONALD. I HAVE THE FEVER! LOVE, KELLYANNE!” bellows Barr, hiding any emotion on his rolly polly puss.

Townspeople red and blue stop dead in their tracks.

Trump stiffens and preaches piously to the shocked coughing townspeople, holding his Bible high, “Fever? Ha! Who cares? I am the Chosen one! And I hereby choose that my love Kellyanne will not perish the Desert Sickness! So help me, Trump!”

“Show’s over, folks Get back to your business!” Barr shouts at the dazed townspeople.

Time shifts into high gear. Citizens, masked and unmasked, race up the street as the sun rockets overhead across the western sky. Eight hours pass in the blink of an eye. Night falls like rock.

Trump happily finds himself on the outskirts of town, standing beside a hanging tree, dressed in a KKK robe, the hood down.

Atop Eric the horse, Robert Tulsa is surrounded by two dozen KKK members whose Tiki torches light their sinister eyes.

Trump raises a mug to the stars, “A toast to the end our water troubles…”

“You’re dad gum, sir!” says the amazed Deputy Barr.

…drinkin’ our own urine!” proclaims Trump to the stunned Klansmen

Barr discreetly pours his mug of piss into the sand.

The KKK men raise their mugs of piss, cheering, “For he’s the jolly good fellow!” as they drink the urine through the mouth slits in their hoods.

Robert says, “Oh my God, Guys, you’re going to drink piss for Trump? Hang me now!”

“Ah. Dee-licious!” shouts Trump as he turns from orange to green and vomits. The KKK men lift their hoods and vomit, to the incredulous laughter of Robert.

“Appears we may still have water problem, sir. — Uh, how’s Kellyanne doin’?” worries Deputy Barr to change the subject.

“Dang desert sickness got her,” says Trump, wiping his vomit soaked hand on Barr’s leather jacket.

“Oh, Donald I’m so sorry. So sorry,” says Barr, throwing away his jacket.

“Yeah. Sure gonna miss Kellyanne’s burgers and gravy,” muses Trump.

“Is that all — I mean me too,” bumbles Barr.

“But lookin’ on the bright side….”

“Here it fuckin’ comes,” mutters Robert to himself.

“…I’m single again! Yee haw!” cheers Trump, hamming it up for his lynch mob.

Robert says bitterly, “Let’s get this party over with you and your “fine people”, Mr. Mayor, Reverend, Sheriff and Racist Asshole.”

Barr cracks Robert in the jaw with the butt of his rifle.

“As Carona’s mayor, sheriff and reverend I hereby send you straight to hell, Robert Tulsa,” says Trump bitterly.

Robert spits out blood on Trump’s platform cowboy boots and says, courage lighting his large brown eyes. “I said get on with it. I don’t want the last thing I hear in this life to be your bullshit,” says Robert, the rope tugging at his neck.

Eric the horse, who only Trump can hear, brays, “He’s heavy, Pa. You’ve been eating all my horse pills. I ain’t got the strength to carry this man.”

“Well, you’re not gonna have to carry him far, Eric!” shouts Trump.

Robert twists to face the KKK mob and says,”Trump is talking to a fucking horse. Come on, guys. We gotta rid of this senile mother fucker before he lets the Desert Sickness kill us all!”

“Nice try but they don’t speak nigger!” laughs Barr.

The lynch mob laugh so hard the almost laugh their KKK hoods off.

“Final chance. Speak your last words , boy!” bellows Trump.

“This is all I got. America was built on the backs of my people and the extermination of it’s native –”

Trump smacks his son Eric horse on the butt.

The KKK men cheer with Trump as Robert chokes.

BANG! A distant rifle’s sound splits the air and the rope above Robert’s hangmen noose is cut free. Hands tied, Robert kicks Eric hard in his ribs.

Eric the horse neighs to Trump as he races Robert,” Sorry, Pa!”

“You traitorous nag!”

“He kicked me hard, Pa! Sorry!” nays Eric, racing Robert off into the night.

Trump turns to dumbfounded KKK men and hollers, “Well, don’t none of you grand wizards own a fucking gun?”

The KKK thugs all fire. All miss.

Trump forgets his fury. He staggers, suddenly dizzy and cough-says. “Man…

“Trump’s got the desert sickness! Let’s get the fuck out of here!” shouts the only skinny KKK man. The KKK men thunder off and run smack into Robert, Laughing Skies and the Paiute warriors.

“Billy, Billy, you gotta help me back to the town., “croaks Trump.

“Sorry, Donald. It every man for himself. You got the Desert –” BANG!

Hey there, Buckaroos. I’d say that bullet went through Barr heart. But that old Billy Barr ain’t got no heart.

All is darkness. Black as the soul of Donald J. Trump. Trump floats over the desert in a hospital bed… intubated.

A fly lands on Trump’s nose. He squints, trying to remove the fly, shakes his head, best as he can, but the fly sticks.

Trump finally notices the fly has the face of his father, Fred Trump. Fred the fly shouts,”You’re no good, Donnie. You’re no good. You’re going to even fuck up getting Covid. Aren’t ya? You’re a fuck up, Donnie. You’re a fuck up, Donnie. You’re a fuck up, Donnie. You fuck up everything!”

Trump groans in agony.

“Can’t believe I gave you three million dollars a year when you were a baby. You’re not worth three cents now!

A Black hand reaches out from nowhere, swats the fly away and disappears instantly. Trump breathes a sign of relief when he sees the lights of Corona in the distance. Trump swims through the air with his arms, pulling the hospital bed floating towards the city.

He looks down and sees a celebration taking place in the town square, headed up by no other than Robert Tulsa, who announces, “Citizens of Corona it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you our new Sheriff. Sheriff Barrack Obama!

Barack dances onto the stage and hugs Robert to the wild applause of the townspeople, now all wearing American flag masks. Sheriff Barrack is flanked by the Paiute chief Laughing Skies and his band of warriors, who bravely rescued Robert and defeated the KKK.

Floating high above in his hospital bed ,Trump moans in agony as Barrack launches into a speech, “If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is still a place where all things are possible…”

Back in the real world Robert Tulsa is enjoying watching Obama’s 2008 victory speech on the hospital TV in Trump’s room. A fly lands on the intubated Trump’s nose. Robert swats the fly away. And we notice this the same hand that swatted the fly away in Trump’s fever dream.

Suddenly, Fauci enters. He panics at the sight of Obama’s victory video playing and says a bit amused, “Robert, what are you doing here? You can’t play that kind of thing while Trump is sleeping! It’s gonna get into his mind and it’s going to totally screw with his dreams wherever he is in his coma!”

Robert quickly remotes the TV off and asks, “Is the President gonna make it, Doc?”

Worried, Fauci speculates, “I don’t know… There’s a lot of horse medicine in him.”

To Be Continued in Chapter 6 – Mt. Rushmore and the Bunker Rebels

REAL FEVER DREAMS

Sadly Covid-19 patients can end up intubated in an induced coma on a respirator for weeks on end. The odds of a virus patient ever regaining consciousness drop daily the longer someone remains on a respirator. Strangely, Trump’s terrible fever dreams of choking and dying over and over again in elaborate ways I depict in this story are something I intuited weeks ago before this story from Atlantic.

Special thanks to my wife Elizabeth England for her fine portrayal of Kelly Anne Conway as a Southern belle in the West.

As always my handy disclaimer that this story is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection of the kind and compassionate real-life Donald J Trump, and his charming GOP enablers the Supreme Court, or for that matter, the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

Phew. It takes months to make these audio recording. Donate at the link below to keep my one of a kind quantum space time meditational audio entertainment and enlightening content flowing.

Donate for the Coolest in stories and meditation.

BONUS CONTENT: A NIKI MINAJ CONSPIRACY THEORY

Trump’s Fever Dream – Chapter 1 – The Loneliest White House

Love Trumps Hate smaller
That’s my love Elizabeth and Fellow Voice Actor in the Coolest Meditation Ever Antarctica penguin hat.
Old time radio audio added 2021 to rewritten April 2020 chapter 1

To think I had put all my Trump fears, built up over decades of seeing his antics in the media aside to meditate in DC, along with my love Elizabeth, in 2017 for the best possible presidency… Yeesh!

Welp, it was a short honeymoon because Trump was already steamrolling over the Standing Rock tribe by green-lighting the Dakota Access Pipeline, even before Elizabeth and I headed back to Sedona.

And so, my Trump bias fully disclosed, I proudly present my parody… drum roll please…

Chapter One – THE LONELIEST WHITE HOUSE

Meanwhile, one timeline away…

A shabby shadow of his former self, President Trump aimlessly roams an abandoned hallway in the White House, now an empty ghost town. The leader of the free world, his bizarre mop of hair even more of a mess than usual, shuffles to an abrupt stop before an oil painting of JKF and vents loudly, “You had it easy, Jacko. The Cuban Missile Crisis was Jack shit compared to being a conservative running this liberal leaning country during a fucking pandemic!”

A Mexican cleaning woman wearing a surgeon’s mask leans her head out of a conference room and quickly ducks back inside again. She takes a small cross on a chain from her blouse, kisses it and prays, “Jesus, protect us from the Anti-Christ.”

After glaring at JFK’s glorious image for an inordinate amount of time, Trump flips off the Kennedy painting and slumps away, a rumpled embodiment of depression.

A short time later — by the light of FOX NEWS playing Sean Hannity, broadcasting from his elegant home — Trump wolfs down half a Big Mac in three bites. He glibly washes down the Mickey D with a long noisy straw dipped into an idiotically large plastic cup of Diet Coke.

Sean Hannity seems to speak directly to Trump from the big TV screen,”Hey Bud. Don’t listen to the commie loving liberals. You closed all travel from China the day you learned about the Chinese Virus, all way back in January. Your bold action was swift, decisive and all-American! If Pelosi and her corrupt Democrat Congress had not distracted you with their hoax impeachment we would never have lost so many precious Americans!”

“Hell yeah!” cheers Trump so loud it sends him into a coughing fit. Between coughs he desperately gasps for air. Trump finally regains control of his coughing. He wipes sweat from his brow with a monogrammed DJT hanky, smeared with orange tan makeup. “Shit. Gotta get tested again. Nah. Probably just a budding ulcer this bullshit’s giving me. Fuck this. I give ulcers, not get them! I’m fine. I’m fine. “

A short time later Trump brushes his teeth before the presidential bathroom mirror. Done, he grins smugly at his reflection, “Lookin’ good, Donnie.”

The Donald in the mirror dryly answers back, “Like hell, loser.”

Trump drops his electric toothbrush clattering to the marble floor and leans to the mirror. He makes strange faces at himself, mimicked perfectly by his reflection. “Seein’ things. Must be one those Covid hallucinations that fucker Fauci warned me about, or was it my fuck son-in-law Jared?”

“Jared’s a filet mignon meathead,” says Trump’s perturbed reflection.

“Who the hell’s doin’ this shit? Gotta be a TV monitor behind the mirror doin’ some kind of deep fake!” growls Trump at his smirking reflection.

“Never thought you had a conscience, eh asshole?” says mirror Trump.

“Screw you. The FBI will figure this out for me and nail your sneaky liberal ass!”

“Right. The FBI loves your fat ass. Don’t they?” laughs mirror Trump.

Nervous as an orange tabby facing down a German Shepard, Trump rushes to turn off the light switch.

Mirror Trump quips, “See you in your dreams, killer.”

Trump scurries out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He picks up a phone.  “Danny. — Shut up and listen. I wanna sweep done of my can. Someone’s hijacked my mirror.” Trump listens for a beat. “I don’t need a doctor. I need you to do what I fucking tell you!” Trump slams the phone down and angrily begins to tear his grungy outfit off.

Later, still shaken by his dark vision, Trump jams his chubby legs into his too tight red silk pajama bottoms.

A Black male servant, Robert Tulsa, sporting an elegant, if there can be such a thing, surgical mask, pokes his roguishly handsome head through the presidential bedroom door and says, “Will there be anything else, Mr. President?”

“Nope. Those two Big Macs and fries will tide me over nicely.” Trumps says, punctuating his sentence with a, “Burp.”

“Night then, Mr. President,” says Robert doing his best to hide a shudder of revulsion.

Trump’s fluffs his pillow without acknowledging the kindly servant. Robert leaves Trump to his own rantings, gently closing the big paneled door.

“Robert?!” shouts Trump, loud enough to be heard through the soundproof door.

Robert peers his head back inside the door inquisitively.

“Come in, Robert. I need some, uh, advice,” says Trump, with a pinch of boyish charm.

Robert apprehensively takes the gold-framed chair Trump offers by the crackling fireplace. He tilts his head to the side to avoid Trump’s mask-free breath. The gorgeous smell of the roaring fireplace fills Robert’s nostrils. His big brown eyes close in bliss for just a moment, and then he hides his feelings, straightening his butler jacket’s red vest.

Ever the salesman, Trump notices Robert’s blissful sniff and brags, “Tonight’s fire is genuine redwood from California’s National Redwood Forest. Gift from the lumber industry. Chopped me up 10 cords. Great guys those lumberjacks. They will sweep the forest floor.  Biggest forestry contract ever!”

“You never fail to amaze me, sir,” offers Robert politically.

“Robert, here’s what I wanted to fireside chat with you about: Today that smug fuck Jake Tapper said everyone on my White House personal staff hates me. This despite of the extra I pay I slip all of you huge bonuses under the table, 100% tax free I might add,” says Trump.

“Well, we don’t always sees things eye to eye, Mister President,” says Robert, breaking into a warm reassuring and absolutely genuine smile you can see only in his eyes above the mask. “But ya know I love the fact you say exactly what’s on your mind!”

Without returning Robert’s kindness, Trump says, “Robert, how’s it make you feel when someone calls you a nigger?”

“Why, uh, terrible. The worst sir.” says Robert, pain written on his angelic face.

“Well, that’s how I feel tonight, terrible in the nigger worst way,” says Trump dropping his head into his hands.

“About that N word, sir. I wish — “

“Pence wants me killed.” whispers Trump, cutting Robert’s complaint off. “Keep your voice down, Pence might have this bedroom bugged.”

“Mr. Boy Scout? What makes you think that, sir?” asks Robert respectfully.

“Mike’s pissed I made him the fall guy for the ventilator shortage and not Jared. But Jared’s is my son-in-law goddammit. Family comes first!” says Trump staring into the fireplace flames as if looking for answers.

“Amen to that. But relax, Vice Prez Pence wouldn’t hurt a fly. Let alone you, sir,” says Robert reassuringly.

“It’s the quiet ones you gotta worry about, Robert. Pence wants me out of the way. He wants me dead so he can pin all the blame on all the Americans stacking up bodies in mass fucking graves!” bellows Trump. “Robert, you’re the only guy I trust. Starting tomorrow I need you to make my McDonald’s runs personally.”

“Happy to but why, sir?”

“Poisoning. That’s how the sneaky boy scout is gonna bump me off. Or try to. Will you do this for me, Robert. Can I count on you, broheim? Did I say that right?  Am I hip?”

“The hippest, sir. Now, if you don’t mind –” Robert notices a trickle of sweat leaving a traces of white skin at Trump temple. “May I, sir?”

“May you what?”

“Take your temperature,” says Robert pulling out a thermometer from his jacket.

“I’m fine. Just stress. No fever,’ says Trump unconvincingly.

“Well, I am gonna get the White House doctor on the phone just in case,” says Robert picking  up the red phone. “Odd. Phone’s dead. Lemme get you into bed and I –“

” I AM FUCKING FINE!” roars Trump in defiance, going into a coughing fit.

“Hang on, Mr. President! I’ll be right back!” Robert races out of the bedroom.

“Why is no one fucking listening to me?! I am fit as a fucking — “Trump falls like a tower of fast food to the plush carpet. The room dissolves into the form of a giant butterfly, floating amidst a galaxy of stars.

Trump hollers in fear, awakening astride said giant butterfly that says, “Welcome aboard, Sir. There’s something important I, like, totally want you to see.” 

Trump hollers again, shocked to be buck naked,”Mommy!”

The Butterfly banks over a mass grave on Hart Island. Workers in hazmat suits shovel dirt onto cheap wooden coffins. “Sir, millions will die unless you lead by example. Wear a mask,” says the cosmic butterfly.

“Masks are for pussies. And you’re nothing but a God damn nightmare bug!” shouts Trump.

“I am the butterfly of truth. No wonder you hate me.” the butterfly says as it flies over the mass graves.

“Shit happens. Take me back to the White House!”

“Stop lying. Start masking. Now, loser!” the butterfly calmly says and it dive bombs for Washington DC. It banks upside down and dumps the naked Trump on the White House lawn. Trump tumbles to screaming halt in the thorny bushes of the Rose Garden.

A flashlight sets the spectacle that is naked Donald Trump aglow. Dressed in a bright yellow hospital gown, Robert, now sporting a goatee, tosses aside a cigarette and shouts, “Who goes there?”

“The President!” shouts Trump, hiding in the rose bushes.

“No dice. President Schwarzenegger has an accent?” says Robert with a puzzled squint as pulls on his surgical mask.

“President who?!” shouts Trump.

“Wait, what the, that you Donald?”

“Donald?!  Shut it and get me some clothes, Robert,” says the shivering Trump.

“But you’ve been missing 2 years now, um, Mister former President Trump!” says Robert in shock. “Where you been?”

Trump’s orange face goes as white as his ample ass.

END CHAPTER ONE

As always my handy disclaimer that this story is of course a work of pure fiction about an alternate universe. It is in no way a true reflection of the kind and compassionate real-life Donald J Trump, and his charming GOP enablers or for that matter the supposed good guys in this dark comedic tale.

Make a donation to help me keep bringing you more chapters and more old style radio show audio. Thanks.

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Click TRUMP’S FEVER DREAM in the menu bar top of the page to read all the chapters.

Coming attractions. Twelve tormentingly funny chapters here. 8 with audio.

Be a Responsible Influencer

Guest Blogger Elizabeth England

My concern at this time is that the conscious community is no longer discerning the influence of some of their posts. I urge everyone: Be responsible with your influence. Realize that your influence is what is for sale to any advertiser and millions of dollars are being spent on destructive influence. Please consider this.

Being a veteran of special ops and an oath keeper to the constitution, I’m concerned by weaponized mind control on social media—a ‘Psyop’ or psychological operation used by the military and intelligence operators to influence large populations. We are all subject to ubiquitous modern mind control technology that we are completely unprepared for.

This ‘long-game’ psyop is meant to desensitize us to the concept of ‘human collateral damage’ and to ignore cruelty to others, and influence us to find ‘like-minded’ people and join a larger group. In this case it leads to Q, a pseudo-Christian philosophy of freedom. Q is the most effective psychological operation ever run in the history of foreign intelligence warfare, and at a scale absolutely impossible before social media.

Millions of people of mind control attacks being convinced they must support a murderous action of justice and judgment of the enemies, ‘the storm’: people of color, women, commies, socialists, pro-choice advocates, pedophiles (which the entire democratic party has been labelled), blue states, mask wearers (believing they are tricked by a ‘fake’ pandemic conflated with a faux liberty fear). It’s a thorough job of programmed misdirection.

People are being influenced that civil discourse has to be shut down ‘to save the country.’ Confusion is being fomented by intelligence operators with big budgets buying target ads on social media. Everyone has become their own authority now on topics they have little education or training in, and no one is a credible authority to trust. Historical ignorance and naivete abounds.

We are being divided up to encourage dangerous discord. We are being asked to accept that there are expendable humans in our society and to look the other way when leadership chooses cruelty and control disguised as freedom for the greater good.

I’ve been watching the growth of very dangerous propaganda on F b since 2014. It targeted magical thinkers and generally those with distrust in the government—people open to alternative health, ufos, anti-gmo, heirs/heiresses of St. Germaine, goddess communities, chem trail, anti-vax, veggie/vegan, yoga, galactic council, angels, crystals, spiritual patriots like me, oathkeepers, charismatic Christians, Christ-consciousness preppers, sovereignty proponents, open-hearted, freedom-loving, you name it.

There are a lot of us who are angry about ongoing preventable harm perpetrated by greedy controllers. Suspicion of the government coupled with the Psyop to desensitize us to ‘human collateral damage’ and cruelty has helped to establish a larger group of ‘like-minded freedom lovers,’ who fail to see the psyop has triggered a primal fear of us versus them. This primal fear is the key to the mind program of the death of others as acceptable human collateral damage.

Senior citizens of all backgrounds are feeling marginalized, their deaths from a virus as an acceptable of human collateral damage—something experienced by women and people of color in this country. Children are pawns. The zone of discrimination is being expanded.

In the military the training intends to desensitize soldiers to this concept of acceptable human collateral damage–necessary for war to exist. I’m absolutely bereft that this psyop has desensitized the minds of so many in our country and supplanted a peaceful populace with a desensitized mass movement. This new philosophy of pseudo-freedom is toxic. It is an ongoing psychological operation, facilitated by f b advertising.

As an advertiser myself, I know how easy it is to target people by their interests, favorite issues, location, personality profile. Because of this I no longer advertise on Facebook. At the peak millions $ were spent each day in 2015-2016. Targeted we were with weaponized content to influence us to see the Q movement as a gathering of like-minded people. To influence us to trust Trump as the solution to the niche need identified by the psyop. Whatever it was that each group was looking for…ads were created pointing us to the solution through Q and Trump.

I saw it. I warned people. But it worked. Consider what I’m saying.We’re all being attacked by a highly successful, massive psychological operation on social media and internet press trying to end civil discourse in this country and desensitize, even our most peaceful citizens, to acceptance of cruelty and the death of others under the guise of acceptable human collateral damage, to accepting the spread of disrespect and hatred with people energetically puking on each other and physically threatening and harming each other.

In our governmental system, energetic exchanges from the heart are the civil discourse that has served our country well for centuries. The idea that one can stand in their truth and sovereignty, respecting the opinions of others and allowing them to be heard, receiving and giving equal time. Without civil discourse, women and blacks wouldn’t have the rights we now take for granted. Parliamentary procedure has facilitated this open exchange of civil discourse in Congress where our elected representatives share beliefs in a safe forum.

This exercise of free speech is meant to help all of us get our viewpoints considered at the local, state and federal levels, reported on by the press, examined by scholars and courts, and resolved so that we don’t have to fight between ourselves in our neighborhoods. This is the agreed upon social contract that has kept peace within our borders since the Civil War.

We hear the opinions of congressional leaders we agree and disagree with—and some people are very upset by what they hear from elected officials like Mitch McConnell or Nancy Pelosi—but our system is meant to keep us from being at fisticuffs with our neighbors by keeping the discord and discussions civil and within respectful procedural confines. The constructive use of influence on behalf of the best interests of the people is the goal. So when you look at what is being said, ask yourself if it is constructive civil discourse.

To resume civil discourse become aware of and call out destructive civil discourse like name calling, disrespect and disinformation. This basic rule of courtesy has been vilified by radicalized citizens who are now willing to accept previously unacceptable and dangerous forms of interaction. Civil discord is being sown between citizens at this time to destabilize our communities through distrust of neighbors and friends with name calling and disrespect.

Protect your mind from mind control and propaganda. Don’t help spread hateful concepts like herd immunity as acceptable human collateral damage, or children in cages taken from caregivers ‘for their own good,’ or removing health insurance during a pandemic is ‘good for the country.’ Being a seeker of higher understanding myself with a deep belief that we are all in an era of awakening, my internal alarm bells are ringing.

My community has inspired me with the kindness, compassion and empowerment. I’ve treasured its open mindedness, spiritual freedom and magical nature. But the ease with which my community was programmed to turn from kindness and compassion to accepting the human collateral damage pushed by weaponized memes and videos is tragic.

If we can accept the viral deaths of a projected 2 million people as acceptable collateral damage under herd immunity, the separation of thousands of children from their caregivers, many who have already died, a governor being targeted with kidnapping and the leader of the country unconcerned for her safety, we are desensitized to the future extermination of groups of people on the way to this genocidal program of ‘freedom.’

We’re being tricked to give up our hard won human rights for this faux-freedom.I’m appealing to my country and community–don’t spread ideas that devalue the preciousness of life and each person. Engage in civil discourse. Examine your posts for destructive influence on the people that read them. Consider the references and evaluate the sources. Cross-check and confirm. Ensure truth. Be responsible with your influence. Guard your mind. Wear a mask. Socially distance. Wash your hands.

Offered with love and respect.

#FightThePsyop

LIES OF THE PATRIARCHY

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.

Elizabeth in the Air Force

Today, Trump’s obvious lie that he knew anything about the horrific revelation about Russian bounties being placed on American soldiers in Afghanistan inspired her to share some of her hard won wisdom as a true patriot and conscious crusader. And as an attractive woman she has had to deal with the patriarchal system–one today seeking to halt the enlightenment, to turn good brothers and sisters of the conscious movement against one another in order to negate its positive effects at bringing about real change and a compassionate nation.

In 2017, Elizabeth and I followed the messages from spirit and traveled to Washington to hold a space of love within the crowd of hate-soaked supporters of Donald Trump. Like the brave solider she is Elizabeth stood there with me as the crowds booed and heckled Obama and any Democrat who took the the dais with the now-familiar Trump soundbites of vitriol. And yet, we sent Trump love in the insane hope he could rise to the occasion as president.

It did not take long to see those hopes for Trump’s rise to decency to be dashed. Indeed, before Elizabeth and I even left DC Trump began Russian-style fire-hosing, an ‘intel’ term for flooding media with confusing information or unfounded conspiracy theories, kicking off with Trump contesting reality over what we could plainly see with our own eyes: crowd size.

Trump then signaled his White Supremacist, misogynistic presidency’s unrelenting start by giving one of his first executive orders–green-lighting the North Dakota Access Pipeline and crushing the Standing Rock tribe’s brave fight as water protectors. Despite our horror at the Trump presidency, we remain proud that we went to Trump’s inauguration to be a presence of love and reason in a sea of anger and decisiveness for CoolestMeditationEver.com. That’s still at the heart of our hopes–unity among Americans and a better life for all.

I could go on for pages about my heroic love, my very own Joan of Arc. But let’s get to Elizabeth’s amazing take on the fight of our lives we are embroiled in when you cut through all Trump’s bluster. You see, sorry to those still brainwashed, on a spirit plane Donny’s nothing more than a than a festering zit upon the dying face of a bygone macho era fighting to survive…the patriarchy.

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 as collateral 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.

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled?! – A Cosmic Parody

Happy evening of 11/11/19. I hope you will enjoy this somewhat humorous quantum meditation look ahead two days into one possible timeline. A fantasy that will not happen exactly as I write about here, but one that may paradoxically happen precisely in this way somewhere in the infinite multi-verse or later in this universe.

Take a deep cleaning breath, in through your nose and out your mouth five times. Congrats. You’ve just time traveled in your mind, breaking the speed of light, to the fateful first day of the Trump Impeachment hearings.

11/13/19, 6:30 AM AZ Time

I awaken groggy and ready for coffee. The first sunbeams light up the autumn leaves to the west out our bedroom windows in gorgeous Sedona. Not yet married 2 months, my love Elizabeth and I are still on our blissful honeymoon. At 67 years of age I have never been happier in my long life.

My beautiful bride has a delightful ritual of snuggling to start each day. But today I separate from Elizabeth’s well toned arms and silently slip from bed.

DSC07062

I am as excited as a six-year old on Christmas morn because it’s Wednesday November 13th, the first day of the public Trump Impeachment hearings. I feel a twinge of regret leaving our love nest, but I know Elizabeth finds Trumpy stuff a YUGE time waste. She worked in Special Forces during her 17 years of military service to America and she feels quite sad about the low grade civil war we seem to be mired in.

Our little rescue dog Lincoln snores beside Elizabeth, keeping her company as I make my escape. Throwing on my trusty warm robe I close the door softly behind me and turn on the kitchen light.

Wow. Today’s the first live Impeachment hearing since I was in college during Watergate.

7AM is too early for popcorn while I devour the hearings. So I drop a frozen waffle in the toaster just as Elizabeth steps from the bedroom, pulling her white bathrobe around her lovely figure. Rubbing the sleep from her beautiful blue-green eyes Elizabeth says half asleep, “Why’d you leave bed without hugs, Ken?”

Lincoln hops against my plaid PJs as I say, trying not to sound like a guilty little boy, “Trump’s impeachment hearings start in –”

“Ken, I thought you said you weren’t going to watch the live hearings,” says Elizabeth playfully poking me in my all too Trump-like belly.  I welcome Elizabeth’s gentle scolding because she’s suffered through my serious Trump news addiction for 4 years now, sharing a small home office.

Elizabeth takes me into a forgiving hug. She’s without a doubt one of the greatest huggers on earth. She looks deep into my eyes and says,”I’ll make tea. Get the circus going.”

I flashback to the Trump inauguration Elizabeth and I attended with the support of our fans. Our mission: Hold a space of love and hope in the feisty red-capped crowd for  Trump’s first and hopefully only term in office. It was a hard thing for me because I’ve not been a fan of Trump’s brash style and the harsh way he treats people who serve him since the 1980s.

Love Trumps Hate

Unfortunately, the Ukraine scandal has fired my Trump news addiction back up again. I worry that watching the hearings this morning — and the inevitable cycle of Trump’s feisty blowback — might be harmful to the peaceful energies of my idyllic life here in Sedona.

Little Lincoln pokes me with his paws again. begging for his forgotten breakfast. This snaps me out of yet another of my Trump spells. I pop open the refrigerator and pull out his dog food. I multi-task finishing my waffle, dropping Lincoln’s food in his green plastic bowl to the floor with a familiar little clatter and hurry to the living room.

“Tea’s almost ready” says Elizabeth cheerfully from the open kitchen as I fumble through the hollow book that holds our TV’s remote controls.

I surf to channel 53, CNN here in Sedona where Anderson Cooper is talking without sound. The CNN title card in this waking dream Trumpian fantasy reads:

Trump Impeachment Hearings Canceled!

“What the fuck?!” I shout so loudly Elizabeth drops her tea pot spilling to the counter.

“What?!” Elizabeth shouts as she rips off some paper towel. and quickly starts a cleanup.

“I don’t know. Somehow Trump has gotten his impeachment hearings canceled!”

Elizabeth races to the couch, “Where’s the volume?”

Diving to look under the couch on the floor I say, looking at dust bunnies, “Not here.”

I hear Anderson Cooper’s excited voice boom from the sound system that Elizabeth has obviously found first. Anderson says:

“… you just watched Chairman Adam Schiff announce the unbelievable: President Trump has stolen the thunder from today’s live Impeachment hearings in announcing he will resign the presidency of the United States of America, effective noon Eastern time on this historic November 13th 2019.”

Elizabeth and I leap to our feet and dance and scream for joy! Lincoln runs for his safety zone in our bedroom closet. I sweep Elizabeth into the pose of the famous New York kiss of the sailor and the young woman at the end of World War Two.

Can this really be happening (or happen in two days)?  Yes, on several timelines Trump resigns just as Nixon did. But not to avoid the shame, the man has none, but by shrewdly accepting the certainty that the Impeachment of Congress could go either way amid eroding public support. So Trump wisely cuts the deal of his life to be pardoned along with all his family and businesses in return for his resignation.

And now back to our Trumpian fantasy. About noon DC time Elizabeth and I stop working on shipping product for CoolestTechEver.com (shameless plug) to watch TV again. Trump shouts over the noise of the presidential chopper. His face beet red from the shouting, Trump goes on for what seems agonizingly forever. He rambles in a rally-like diatribe against the Deep State, Crooked Hilary and Obama, who he still says was born in Kenya, and more and more. Trump rails on:

“..in anyone’s book, even in Shifty Schiff’s, my Ukraine call was totally perfect! Perfect! Perfect! Perfect! Truth is I only resign today because Mark Burnett and I have reached a deal for me to star in our new reality show THE WHITE HOUSE APPRENTICE, airing Monday 7PM Eastern on NBC. Filming starts right now!”

“Hail to the Chief” plays as Trump high fives his loyal staffers who line the White House lawn leading to the presidential chopper. Head held high, former President Trump proudly strides up to President Pence and bear hugs him off the ground. Trump is already miked for reality TV and so we hear:

“Thanks for the pardon, pard! They’ll be after your sweet ass next, Mikey.” says Trump with a winner’s grin.

“I know, Don. I know. Mother and I are ready to do battle.” says President Pence as  Trump walks away, not listening.

Clown to the last, Trump hurries up the little set of stairs, pieces of toilet paper stuck to both his shoes. Trump hams up the Nixon farewell pose as a gag to the laughter from many; but not Jared and Ivanka, whose plans for world domination have been crushed by ex-president Donald J. Trump.

Impeachment Hearings Canceled

Qanon tweets on 11/14.19 that the toilet paper bit was an intentional insult to the left-wing media to kiss his ass.

End fantasy meditation. We now return you to your present timeline.

Which timeline to which of endless possible futures are you actually on? Trump’s outrageous resignation visualized here? Trump’s rise to become the most outrageous dictator in our blue world’s history? Trump as a humbled man who mends his ways and becomes a surprisingly great president? Somewhere in between? Stay positive imaging please.

Oh and no imagining Trump starts World War 3 timelines please!!! You are far more powerful than you know.

Well, we’ll all know more about what this timeline you’re reading this blog holds on Wednesday. Good night, my fellow meditation fans.

Screen Shot 2018-06-10 at 5.34.11 PM

And here’s the promised audio version. Note that it’s edited to be shorter than the written version.

The Importance of Listening to Spirit Guides in Troubled Times

Elizabeth and I are off on a little honeymoon camping trip to the parks in Utah. Yesterday we recorded our wedding for Youtube and live broadcasted it on Facebook.

Our decision was based on the fact there’s so little positive story-wise these days. We hope our sharing of this normally very private ceremony warms your heart  during these trying times.

None of this would have happened without my listening to my ET spirit guide Ohom as you see in the video below.

Now more than ever it’s vital to stay in a place of love and listen to your spirit guides, ET or otherwise. They have the big picture and will never steer you wrong.

 

Your Invite to Break the Speed of Light – Part 3

Guest Blogger: The Spirit of Robin Williams

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Me in my favorite movie WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. Big Hi to Barney Hollywood’s most amazing producer

Happy 9.9.19, Surface Dwellers! After some coaxing, because it’s  tricky to channel and write, Ken’s agreed to let me be your ghost writer today, literally.

My name when I walked the earth was Robin Williams. I was just a regular Joe from Chicago who, due to an intense funny bone, made a fortune and flew in the same private jet skies as the richest a-holes wrecking the planet.

POP QUIZ: What number am I thinking about between 121212 and 121214?

If you guessed 121213 you’re ready to learn lesson 3 of how to travel faster than the speed of light. On the other hand if you didn’t guess 121213 you suck at math like me. In any case, if you haven’t done so as yet, please read part one and two first if you know what’s good for you.

All aboard the Williams Express! Let’s begin.

I, the being FKA Robin Williams, am hovering in wispy spirit form over a beautiful coral reef off the big island of Hawaii. Now, if you traveled from the sun to this reef at the speed of light it would take you 8 minutes and 17 seconds to reach me. But in reading the proceeding sentence it took you only a few seconds to make the journey in your mind’s eye.

Thought is indeed faster than the speed of light. Ken’s taught you that nugget already. But as you see my spirit floating above the Pacific surf and… Tada!… you also see that thought is more potent than the speed of light for imagineering new realities.

Robin surfs for a starfish life by Ken Sheetz

After my brief but beautiful afterlives these past, weird and wonderful as it gets, five years, first as a blue whale, then as a blue dolphin and last as a killer whale, I’ve finally chosen my next reincarnation. Hint it’s a part I played in my life on earth. Don’t skip ahead. That’s cheating, naughty readers.

Very cool of Ken to let me hang out in his big heart for a few weeks while I make up my spirit mind. And now to be able hang out with all of you readers here on the DreamShield blog my coolest visitation ever. The internet is a truly amazing gift for forging new conscious connections. But it’s force that’s being abused by some greedy people. Yeah, I’m looking at you Zuckerberg.

Screen Shot 2019-09-08 at 3.45.05 PMTo those in the house reading the first direct blog by your ghost host with most today and wondering how I can fit comfortably into Ken’s heart space, hear my voice in your mind’s ear, imitating Albert Einstein, as I did in the movie AI “In spirit form, you zee, vee humans don’t take up too much space. Zere’s a kingdom in each heart and a lot of space on zee quantum subatomic level.”

Now hear me slip in John Wayne’s voice, “So, ya see pard, there’s plenty of room in your hearts to have spirit folk share adventures if you want them. Ya ha.”

One day earlier this week, while Ken and Elizabeth hike to a swim in the creek at Red Rock state park, I invite some of my ocean friends to swim along in Ken’s auric field. All with his permission of course.

Some sea tourists come from my 2014-2017 blue whale pod. Some come from the krill we ate, “Urp!” Pardon me. Some come from my 2017-2018 blue dolphin pod and the wide variety of fish we ate, yum. Some come from the octopi clan. Last come my 2018-2019 pod of killer whales. All we killer whales were killed when global warming coaxed us into swimming too far north and the Arctic ice closed behind us. Whales don’t make good pancakes.

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Loving our Sensor V medallions. Get you own at CoolestTechEver.com Patrick Flanagan page!

So there I am a couple of days ago hiking along with Ken in the red rocks of Sedona, suspended inside an aquatic menagerie that only Ken can see. Suspended in miniature in the fresh Sedona morning air, swimming about Ken’s auric field in a 9 foot spherical radius.

Always low key about his psychic gifts because of an Irish Grandmother who warned little Ken he’d end up in the looney bin if he shared his visions, Ken speaks to my aquatic band of sea tourist telepathically.

He relays our wonder at the wonders of the surface world in real time to his love Elizabeth. She has the jitters because she’s going to marry Ken on 9.19.19 and his amplified psychic powers since the Lion’s gate are a bit unnerving.

So Ken keeps it cool reporting to Elizabeth on my turning him into a human Carnival Cruise while he happily swims in the cold fresh water creek. We sea tourist spin between the creek and the air in Ken’s energy field, telepathically shouting, “Wee!”

Most of my sea pals have never incarnated on the surface of Gaia. So their little flippers are all a flutter by of all things Sedona’s dry red dirt along the banks of the creek. Huh. I thought it would be trees my sea mates would be amazed by. But the minerals and dryness of the red dirt are like nothing their little sea eyes have ever beheld. The rich red soil sparkles in the sun like tiny diamonds and rubies. Land. Dry land.

Anyways, a funny thing happens to me in the sacred Oak Creek where the Hopi and other tribes once thrived. A nurse shark swim up to me in the next door water molecule . The dapper looking shark speaks in a thick Jersey accent, “Name’s Jerry. Nice of of you to take me and your sea clan to visit your old surface world, Robin.”

“My pleasure, Jerry. — Hey, man, sorry I ate you when I was a killer whale.” I add sheepishly.

“No sweat. Killer’s gotta kill. Hey, I should know! — Word from your arctic pod is you’re kinda stuck about what you next life should be?” says Jerry, flashing three rows of nurse shark teeth.

“Yup.”

“Lemmie help. Tell me about your last three incarnations,” says Jerry the nurse shark earnestly.

“What are you a shark or a shrink, Jerry?”

“What’s a shrink?” asks the puzzled nurse shark.

“Long human story. Let’s just say I had a school of shrinks in my last life as Robin Fucking Williams.”

My pale reflection stares back at me on Jerry big eye. Huh. Between lives I look like I did at about age 27. Back when I played Mork on a thing called ABC. So my work as the joie de vivre energy of Robin Williams is not yet done I guess.

Either that or Ken, a gifted writer that came to the Hollywood game too late in life to strike it rich, lucky him, is simply imagining me the way his Grandma Agnes warned. What’s it really fucking matter if some of Ken’s, perhaps, fantasy of who I was in life makes you think and smile, dear reader?

Anyways, it’s super kind of Ken to put me up in his heart while I pick out my next life. I try to be as quiet a heart-guest as I can be. But, hey, I am freaking Robin Williams! Quiet was never my thing! “Nanu! Nanu!” I shout to the sea tourist guests. And they shout it back in unison, “Nanuuu!”

After some hemming and hawing I finally tell Jerry the nurse shark the harrowing and sometime hilarious adventures of my last three sea lives, which you can read for yourself here on The Robin Williams Visitations.  He gives me a knowing shark eye wink and says, “Robby, never done it myself, but I hear life as a starfish is cool as it gets.”

“What’s so cool about being a starfish?” I ask casually, sounding a blue blood snob shopping for a condo in Hong Kong and and not my next incarnation.

Jerry takes me under a flipper and coaches me like the sea rookie I am, “Take it from a nurse shark brother, the starfish are a freaking yuge mass consciousness that travels the multi-universes. Starfish is a dream lifetime.”

“How’d you hear about the interstellar starfish good life?” I ask Jerry.

“Starfish are my favorite food. One starfish begged for his life told me all about it. That is it if I’d not eat him,” says Jerry punctuating his starfish story with a whip of his shark tail.

“A fair exchange then,” I say squirming out from under Jerry’s sandpaper-like flipper.

” Yeah. But hadda eat the starfish anyways. Sharks will be sharks!”

My ghostly face glows white. Jerry belly laughs at my shocked look (guess I’m still funny even as a ghost) and swims off into the sun above the dazzling Oak Creek that Ken and Elizabeth splash in with their adorable pooch Lincoln.

Cut to earlier tonight: Ken’s love Elizabeth asks him to Google how long a starfish live, But Ken forgot to check before I took over the blog for him. Wait a sec. — Cool. Just searched it and starfish live a lot longer than I thought. 35 years! See that? Both, you dear reader and I, learned something new tonight.

This morning as Ken crosses from the dream world, where he nightly works on reenforcing the protective DreamShield he helped build in 2010 in his Italy awakening to the OHOM (Open Heart Open Mind) consciousness, I say, “Bro, I’ve picked my next life.”

“What this time?” Ken says snuggling up the his babe-elicious bride to be.

“I’m gonna be a starfish!” I accidentally shout too loudly in Ken’s mind’s ears.

Ken takes my abundant energy in stride and says in his mind so as not to awaken his sleeping beauty, “Sorry see you go… again. But you’re always welcome back, Robin.”

I sense Ken’s afraid we might never hang again. I really don’t know myself. So I tell a white lie and reassure him,” Course you’ll be able to channel me in for a coffee anytime.”

“Course,” says Ken sensing my white lie. “But why a starfish? Do they even have a brain?”

“Never had a much of brain while I human. Sure. But not individually. It’s a collective brain thing,” I tell Ken realizing it for the first time myself. “Can’t pass up the chance to blanket the ocean floor in a sacred geometry mesh joined with every starfish on earth.”

I wave goodbye to Ken as I float from his auric field, where I’ve been camping out after an upgrade to Ken’s heart that left me no room. It got too cramped after Ken had a heart opening watching his beautiful Elizabeth, my Mamu blue whale momma on another plane of reality, sing this Ganesh chant.

 

As I float out the window and into the deep blue Sedona sky Ken does not see me wave bye or does not want to. I rocket off for the coral reef I’ve picked out, faster than the speed of light shouting “Nanu! Nanu!”

As my spirit dives into the Pacific I feel Ken’s sadness at the end of my long visit. The dude has abandonment issues he’s yet to resolve. He will overcome it one day. I see it so clearly, reborn as starfish here beneath a coral reef off the cost of the Big Island.

Robin the Starfish

Let’s test out my new starfish powers. Now,, if you are lucky enough to own a Patrick Flanagan Sensor V medallion, (Sorry we never escape product placement even in the afterlife) with it’s five side pyramids coated in gold, rub your fingers over the pointy fibonacci spiral and close your eyes. It’s cool if you don’t have a Sensor V, no worries, just concentrate on your left hand’s five fingers in your minds eye. See your left hand transform into a starfish as you place your right hand over your heart.

See bright beams of energy shoot out from the ends of your starfish hand. See the grid that joins billions of we starfish into a neural network that spans all the seven seas. Feel the wisdom of a consciousness far older than humanity’s by a power of 100. Feel our anguish over the pollution humanity is dumping to the oceans of Gaia. Oceans that are like blood for we sea creatures and you idiots human too.

Starfish are powerful enough to pull in a comet from space to wipe the surface world clean of humanity’s destruction of the mother earth. But that is forbidden under galactic law. We of the Ocean-Nation’s Starfish clan have watched over humanity since lung fish chose to leave the sea behind and crawl upon the land.

Tonight we invite you, the lucky person that finds this blog, to leave your physical body to travel with we starfish of the stars to any time, dimension, star system or planet you wish.

Have your destination in mind? Okie dokey. See your soul leave your body. Oh and make sure you’ve read part one and two on traveling faster than the speed of light. You need to have a strong tether to reel yourself back in after we journey at blog’s end. We gracefully pass through the clouds, clouds which hold the memories of all life on earth’s past and future lives, in the form of a highly advance bio code held by the water.

For porpoises of this blog I am asking Ken where he’d like to go. Please comment below where our journey took you, dear readers ready to starfish travel.

Ken says, “I dare to dream of a visit the earth 50 years from now and see if our meditations in Antarctica and subsequent meditations I have done with Elizabeth and will do have helped save the earth.”

“OK, Ken. Hang tight to your Sensor V. We are traveling to the year 2069. See the vortex up ahead,” I say as Ken and I fly into the eye of a hurricane.

“There are so many hurricane’s on the earth right now because of global warming, ” worries Ken.

“Yeah. But they are handy vortexes for starfish travel,” I add.

“See, Kenster? You and Elizabeth have been done with your DreamShield Coolest Meditation Ever work on planetary healing for 7 years now. Disease is thing of the past. Age is obsolete. Poverty a distant memory. Thought traveling ETs use the sleek new silver city of Sedona as a primary earth gateway. Scientists have broken the code to use the memory of all life stored in the clouds to restore all extinct species, including the dinosaurs, back to life.”

Ken says in wonder, “Wow, Robin. It all looked so hopeless in 2019. I’d nearly given up. But 50 years from now I can see all is cool!”

“Coolest ever. Hey, wanna to see the space port under construction in the San Fernando village where the Warner Bros. lot used to be, Ken?” I say.

Ken rubs his sleepy eyes and says, “Maybe another time. Good night, my brother Robin. I am so glad for your new life as a starfish and our ever stronger connection. I look forward to reporting more of your adventures.”

“Night, Ken.”

And night, dear reader. Robin Williams the Starfish signing off from the coral reef in Hawaii. Oh, that role I played in life thing I mentioned top of the blog? Yep, it’s nice to be star again.

Reel in your spirit tethers. Time to get back in your body! Hope you enjoyed my guest blog. Let me know in the comments and maybe Ken will let me blog directly to you again.

Meantime, be kind to the oceans.

Love, Robin

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A Saturday Morning Coffee With the Ghost of Robin Williams – The Real Cause of Global Warming is Racism

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.

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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.

Coffee With Robin Williams/Whaliams

Elizabeth and I had just gotten back from a successful screening of our new film THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS at the prestigious New Living Expo when I got the psychic hit from the spirit of Robin Williams, currently reincarnated as a killer whale, that he’d like to meet us for coffee at his favorite Sedona hangout the Coffee Pot Restaurant.

Read past Williams blog postst here to understand how the heck Robin ended up a killer of a killer whale, but why you might be asking yourself does Robin like Coffee Pot?  The beloved star and comic tells me in his funny George Jessel voice, “Hmm. I guess because maybe it’s Sedona’s closest thing to the classic LA diner and that kinda coffee I was hooked on in life.” Hooked on? A whale hooked on coffee. Yep. Robin’s still funny in the afterlife.

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Anyways, after being on the road for a week the last thing Elizabeth wants is to eat out, so she tells me to invite Robin to a home cooked breakfast.  Now, Robin does dine in our home with us once and awhile, but this time he tells me to tell Elizabeth, “I get a better signal with the energy of the restaurant’s crowd. And, sorry hon, I like their java better than yours.” Elizabeth chuckles and starts to get dressed for Coffee Pot with Robin, even if it is GMO laden chow.

Coffee Pot does not allow pets.  So we tell our little dog to watch the house and make the short 1.5 mile trek. Now, I was a bit a Coffee Pot regular before Elizabeth showed up in my life 3 years ago. It’s the cozy spot for locals and tourists alike where Robin first appeared to me a blue whale fetus in 2015. That was back when I began his segment of the blog THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATIONS that cries out to be a book or screenplay if I can ever find the time. Sure enough, the Coffee Pot host recognizes me says, “You know the drill. Pick a seat,” and hands me a menu.

Elizabeth suggests one of the upper booths that gives us a view of busy place and room for a place at the table for Robin. Soon as the busboy pours the coffee we are joined by Robin in human form. Lately he’s taken to wearing a black tuxedo, white shirt with amazing pearl buttons and playful colored bow tie. Of course Robin can’t pick up the Kokopelli adorned coffee cup , but he gets  dreamy look of satisfaction on his face as he wraps his hands around the mug and sniffs the aroma. Elizabeth knows just how Robin likes his coffee with cream and double sugar.

I adore Elizabeth for validating my channeling the great comedian right from the get go of our relationship, as she does with many of the being I channel. Folks, if you’ve had an awakening there’s nothing like being in love with someone else who also has had a wild awakening.

Elizabeth’s awakening story is cool one I will share here soon. While both of us are remarkably alike in how we interact with the cosmic forces, she’s more of channeler of yogic powers and I am more of a self-taught rebel that does not like to follow any single tradition. Maybe my rebellious comedic steak is why Robin has picked me to chronicle some of his sea life adventures.

Elizabeth’s cool question to Robin at Coffee Pot is: What parts of the earth correspond spiritually to the the human body? I realize I’d be writing a long time if I tried to encapsulate Robin’s answers, so I’ve made the video to express the beauty and wisdom of Robin the killer whale. BTW Robin’s told me he likes being called Robin Whaliams these reincarnated days. Enjoy!

 

Robin Williams Gives Newly Departed Friend a Whale of a Ride

During my stay at Malibu’s Great Spirits Ranch, hosting events and running social media for the bulk of 2012, I was blessed to meet many amazing stars of the LA spirit community.  One of those LA stars is now my partner in love, biz and life, Elizabeth England. We’ve been living in bliss together now for three years, nestled in a lovely home in Sedona.

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Annelise Balfour Couchman (Annalisa)

As we work round the clock to get the word out about an amazing line of EMF protection devices that literally save lives on our new CoolestTechEver.com e-commerce site, it can be easy to actually forget that magical time. A time when all of us in the yoga and meditation community across the planet were looking forward to the end of the Mayan calendar with hope for a new era in human awareness.

In that heady time, there was lovely woman named Annelise (Annalisa) Balfour who visited the Malibu ranch a few times for GSR events. Her mega-watt smile and contagious positive attitude made her a stand-out from the crowds who visited the 14 acres ranch, perched high above the city of Malibu in the Santa Monica mountains. Annelise was curious about my ET spirit guide Ohom and we had great conversation about the mission of the DreamShield to assist in gently elevating human consciousness through meditation.

Yesterday, amidst all the hype on FB surrounding the mid-term elections, which gratefully succeeded in the Dems taking the house to put some check on 45, I was shocked to learn that sweet Annelise had passed away from breast cancer. It instantly put all the nonsense surrounding Trump and our crazy-making politics into perspective.

Monday, at Ross Pittman’s of ConsciousLifeNews.com’s weekly power of eight meditation event, I asked the group to help Annelise on her journey. Everyone eagerly agreed. As soon as we all closed our eyes and dropped into our heart space I connected to my dear spirit guide Robin Williams; now enjoying an oceanic afterlife as a killer whale, after short reincarnations as a blue whale and a blue dolphin. Robin, who calls himself Nanu these days, volunteered to help in the group meditation.

Robin found Annelise’s spirit wandering the beach in Malibu. When she spotted Robin they connected telepathically and he playfully invited Annelise to swim out and climb aboard his back and hang onto his dorsal fin. Annelise happily accepted Robin’s invitation and soon they were off!

Annelise gleefully clung to Robin the killer whale like a mermaid born for this. Robin dove deep and soared up, flying from from wave to wave. Annelise laughed with carefree joy as the duo glided on the wind and waves.

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Now Robin dove deep.  Deeper and deeper, down to the bottom of the ocean he raced. At first Annelise worried about air but then chuckled she no longer had the need for mortal breathing. She gasped as up ahead a small portal of golden light opened, a glittering beacon on the dark ocean floor.

Robin told Annelise, “Sorry.  Too small for me. This is as far as I can take you, babe. Enjoy your journey to the center for the earth!”

I watched the vision from the Sedona meditation circle with a giddy smile as Annelise’s spirit accepted Nanu’s whale of an invite and dove into the golden portal. Her spirit easily glided though the layers of the earth, gaining in power. Soon she arrived at the planetary core. But instead of hot magma she was amazed the earth’s core swirled in molten gold.

A large golden lever that stuck out from a golden column beckoned to Annelise. Free of mortal hesitation, she pulled the golden lever sharply down. To her joy a wave of golden energy sailed from the earth’s core rocketing out to the surface and kept right on going throughout the solar system and the whole universe.

The vision ended and I shared the story with our Sedona meditation group. Others shared visions too of her powerful presence. And I felt immense gratitude for the abundant health of my love Elizabeth and the mutual support we give each other as we continue to grow and develop as leaders of the conscious community.

Today, America awoke to a renewed Congress, blessed with 100 women of many races and creeds who, to record turnouts, were elected yesterday. Thanks for helping make that happen, Annelise and my coolest ever mediation Sedona pals! Safe journeys on whatever you are up to next on the other side, Annalisa. I have a feeling your part of your work will be helping heal the idiotic divides between the people.

Oh, and I’ll pass your thanks onto spirit guide and killer whale Nanu, AKA Robin Williams.

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