To be bluntly honest, nothing has felt right since about 2016, and it’s not all due to the Cheeto in Chief. Yes, he got elected, and immediately donned his tard cap, and then did it twice more. I don’t think he was cheated out of 2020, but the bastard would never STFU to let anyone else work. He’s a man-baby, but we collectively put him there whether some of us want to come to grips with it or not. Do better, America. Get out and vote.
I’m thankful I took Charlie Rose to Opening Bell’s open mic last weekend for her first time, because this week’s shifted into some type of alternate dimension I could feel the moment I walked in the door. You know me; I’m going to be brutally honest, and I hope this doesn’t offend someone who’s decided to follow me after yesterday’s performance. This is why this writer can’t have too many friends. Only those with the toughest skin need apply. The greats pulled no punches, and lived in solitude. I guess that’s what I’ve done.
Time seemed to move differently from the stairway’s descent. We’d chosen dinner over haste this time around, and I signed my name on a line destined to be called after the first hour. I felt too skitzed for coffee, and I’m five-ish years sober (that’s why I avoid barre chords in my playing style. Laugh). Somehow, having a bottled water at a rock show was a tad too real for my ever-aging psyche, and I could feel the energy begin to leave my soul through the bottoms of my feet – deep, deep escape; down into the ancient, secret-laden concrete of the old SEARS building. At least I think it was; I don’t feel like checking because I’m in a mood. Things are flowing, and I’ve got that seventies playlist I love to gush over playing as loud as can be into my ears:
Can you imagine the blood and deeds soaked microscopically throughout the foundation of Dallas’ “South Side” monument? The catastrophes and sudden, violent deaths of the neighboring railyard? It was one of the biggest businesses in the entire world at the turn of the last century. There definitely had to be some mob ties going on there. I got the same sensations inside, as I did in most every history-laden warehouse in Brooklyn, Boston, and beyond – the oldest parts of this country. You don’t become that big and rich following the rules and playing nice; a lesson I hope some of you are now learning from casting your ballot multiple times for Christianity’s actual, stone-clad description of the Anti-Christ. Have fun with that sh*t. He can’t harvest my soul if I don’t believe, or at least that’s what I’ll keep telling myself until the scalding pitchforks invade my anus for all eternity.
Anyway, I’m my own worst enemy when it comes to time. The longer I sit in waiting, the more opportunities I’ll have to psych myself out. Surely, as explained, I tuned, and tuned, and retuned, and tuned again for the next hour and fifteen minutes. On the bright side of things, at least I was tuned.
What wasn’t tuned was my spirit. It was in constant battle with whatever energy was inhabiting this structure on this particular day. It seemed as though every artist who preached in my presence picked up on it as well; even if they didn’t realize it in the moment. Some have the gift, and we wish like hell we could give it back most times. If there’s anything my previous wife & life did for me in my decade-long roller coaster of shadows, it was to open my mind to things I shouldn’t speak of in religiously mixed circles. Lucky me; now I’m middle-aged and chasing UFO’s. It’s a living.
That’s secretly why I’m scared to continue my remote viewing training. I’m scared to death I’ll be successful, and I know me. It’s the Anakin Skywalker story arc on repeat. As a positive, it’s always made for great sex, and I’ll never complain about that. You know damn well Anakin used the force on Padme’s nether-regions a time or two. She was a sexy, rich senator; she could’ve had just about anyone in the galaxy. She chose the freed slave wizard with mommy issues. There’s a reason she slummed it to her last breath: The Force on that ass. Guaranteed…but I digress.
Bad vibes throughout; ALL artists fumbled and stumbled, and I knew I’d be no different. The hallways felt darker; more shadowy than normal. It’s always there, I mean. Today, it just felt “irritated”; like frantic flying insects on the verge of Autumn. Aggressive. Hungry, of sorts. It feasted on us one by one as we gave of our lifeforce freely; sans permission. A rape of whatever pent energy we’d stored throughout the week, and denied it to the ears of the starved, regulars. Unfulfilled, I could feel their unified dissatisfaction.
I could nitpick – giving credit where credit is due, as promised via my schtick, where you’re rarely left less-than-satiated – but it’s not fair. Everyone in the Opening Bell circle is a good, talented soul who performs with dreams in their heads and joy in their hearts. At least, that’s the vibe I get from them. I should know; I’ve spent decades mucked about by those who would do me harm. I know a good thing when I feel it; until I don’t.
And now, a word from the responsible writer:
I know there’s some shenanigans going down concerning em-dashes and AI, but I’ve written with em-dashes FOREVER. When I try to refrain from using them for the sake of AI accusations, it severely restricts my flow. For those who need it explained (and I’d expect those who already ‘get it’ to skip the following), you can suck your em-dash AI accusations out the skinniest part of my willy, and spit them into your bucket of shame – along with my fiction and railroading careers. Not that anyone’s done this yet – you need a fanbase for that, em-dashes nonwithstanding – I’m just pre-emptively stating my position on all this nonsense. Who knows? I could be busy when the clique-arrows fly. Using the “Old Noodle”, says I.
Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. Actual evil is a very ancient thing; older than man, religions, or money. You’d better f*cking listen when it calls you by your first name – regardless of how you wish you could erase it from the mouths and tongues of those who once held it dear. Collectively, our energies were unable to put a dent in that damn thing. There’s no such thing as hauntings – just haunted people; but energy is forever. It’s everywhere; always.
Next time, I’ll walk away, as I’ve done a few times before. I’m not sure why I’ve chosen to go against my psychic bells & whistles so often over the last decade – almost like I’m subliminally insisting those curses weren’t permanently attached to that identity. There’s no curing haunted, folks.
Maybe the building just needs a sacrifice. I doubt I could find many virgins in The Cedars.
Like those em-dashes? Yeah; you do.
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