You know the way ideas can just rattle around in your head. Unclosed loops. Even if/when I write them out, which I do less and less nowadays, they're still there. Far too often it's negative ideas, things I've said that I regret, because they caused pain. I didn't mean for that, but no excuse. Jack. Just keep your mouth shut.
One of the non-toxic things that keeps worming my ear is the stupid sweet song about how I believe I can fly. And my rote response is, Really? I believe you can fall. I believe in gravity. I am right, and this is not an example of anything I would regret saying. There are true things that should not be spoken, or, then again, that should be. Sane reality is good.
So the toxic cultic dogma that stupid parents poison their victim-children with: you can be anything you want to be. So sweet. So positive & empowering. But only if the government or insurance will pay for your tranny castration and mutilation.
You want to be a girl, because on a non-contradictable level of reality you really are a girl -- evolution, biology and human nature to the contrary? Well, honey child, then that's what you are. You're truth. You being you. god don't make no mistakes, nor Goddess neither.
Except of course for the little embarrassing fact, the hanging chad, the loose end, of your penis and fully descended testicles partially filling your scrotum, confusing folks about how you really are a girl. Off with their heads.
So the brain worm is that, should I hear or think of the phrase, I believe I can fly -- I just can't help but complete the idea, if it is an idea:
Really? You believe you can fly? I believe you can be child-molested by the guy who's singing that song.
All the more likely, because such children have not been taught about the nature of immutable reality. I believe I can do any possible thing. I can climb, and jump, and glide with equipment. I can walk on a tight rope, if I practice, and the rope is thick, and stabilized. I can climb an 18 foot rope without using my legs -- did it yesterday. I can walk on my hands, still, with someone holding my feet for balance. I could do a backflip, if I practice, with coaching and safety measures. I have the ridiculous idea that I could still run a 5 minute mile, if I train -- even at my age. It must not be impossible.
I do not believe I can fly, or jump to the moon, or read minds or voodoo an enemy. My emotion, I believe, affects mostly only me, and then, in descending order, anyone who might love me, then care about me, then have to spend time with me, then fall within the radius of my influence -- like you, now.
And the aforementioned abused children, are abused also because they have not been taught about critical thinking. Magic, and Santa, and happy endings -- all part of the play of childhood. As are the revenge killings of fairy tales, and the tummy-aches that follow Halloween, and the itch of poison ivy after a fun day in the woods. It's all good -- honing the edge and point of one's intelligent apprehending of reality. Reality reality reality.
The stupidity and moral turpitude of our current depraved american and western culture can be traced in part to the mindset, the magical thinking that budded in the 60s and metastasized toward the end of the 20th century. Our myth of the land of opportunity has led to the self-entitled alien invader, claiming our benefits without acknowledging any responsibility. Elsewhere I've shown the picture of the placard-holder, asserting that "asylum is a right". Well, maybe. But it's a right that has a mandatory procedure by which it may be enjoyed. Otherwise, me having sex with your daughter, or son, is my right, because I want it.
In this, am I stupid, with moral turpitude? Yes. But I believe I can fly. It's my truth. Me being me.
J
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