Title: How to Dance
Please access my iCloud if necessary to publish this post now, my friends. I cannot control how many horrible things happen to me in one day; it is Obama who controls that. So, if I wait too long between posts, they become too drenching.
Please share this for me with the entire world, both houses of Congress, the Supreme Court, the United Nations, all sympathetic world leaders, all reputable national and foreign presses, etc.
Here is my latest blog post. When a gorgeous woman like me throws down on a dance floor as well as I do, the musicians talk to her. That is NORMAL. All other behavior leaks me information that my musicians are oppressed and suffering. It is your fault I know everything, Obama.
Speaking of non-normality being the biggest leak, do you have any idea how sexy the menfolk used to be who would flirt with me 24/7 BEFORE Obama's "egg" began? I am the kind of woman who marries the Mr. Johnny "Sweetness" Depp and considers THAT normal.
France. I once spent some time as an asylum claimant in the UK seeking refuge from Obama's "egg" of poverty and horror. My refugee policy has not changed after all these years.
If the First World fixes the problems in the nations everyone is fleeing, then there would be no reason for anyone to become a refugee. Syria is my main example of this. We owe Syria a resolution.
My last blog post was finished at 9:52am on 28July2015. What did I do after sending it to my lovelies? I started my streaming music and took a seat in the shade to sip my coffee a little more comfortably.
The torture facility alarm blared five times that morning before my Powers of Attorney kicked Obama's threats to remove me from the world forever into line.
I watched my darling Mr. Jon Stewart on the previous night's The Daily Show before spending some time adding more music to my Spotify playlist. It now surpasses 440 songs.
I left for my place at 11:36am. I chatted with Benjamin and Hannah during lunch at noon which was light but tasty. After lunch, I took a nap. The torture facility alarms blared vigilantly all day. By 3:40pm, I was at a local wifi hotspot working online.
I did a lot of hard work before leaving for my place at 4:36pm. Dinner at 5pm was tasty. I chatted with Hannah about eyeliner while we ate. I was on a bus to my playland by 5:16pm.
At 5:58pm, a kind man who said he was from Berlin sat down next to me and offered me a soda. He spent the next twenty minutes putting on moisturizer. It was a strange encounter; but I got a free soda; and he was a sweetheart.
I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm. My nightly cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt himself, and it was wonderful. Thank you, Lester.
After some ice cream and after much looking around, I eventually perched at 9pm exactly in front of my Americana singer. I had writing to do, and I was still in the afterglow of my Sunday night meditation. I had to write before the meditation wore off.
When I got up to catch the bus at 9:58pm, my Americana singer offered me a lift back to my place to convince me to stay listening to him longer. He can be a bit of a dirty old man sometimes; he meant it innocently enough, so I accepted.
I arrived in my bedroom at 11:37pm, and I was curled up and asleep by midnight. I woke up on Wednesday, 29July2015, and went to breakfast. I was at my second most regular morning haunt sipping coffee by 8:54am.
I sent my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies quickly. My streaming music was particularly inspiring. I had writing to do.
My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of my 29July2015 beginning at 10:43am when I moved to the shade and ending at 11:23am the second time Van Halen's Hot for Teacher plays. And, thank you!
I left my wifi hotspot at 11:28am to return to where I stay. I chatted with Benjamin before lunch at noon and with Hannah while I ate. Yet, I was back at my wifi hotspot by 12:26pm, but after their wifi went down, I was back at my place at 1:54pm.
I took a nap before dinner at 5pm which was tasty yet uneventful. By 5:54pm, I was on a bus to my playland.
I found my darlings LightFoot and MannedUp looking for a place to set up their equipment at 6:09pm. My heart still jumps whenever I see them. I was so happy. Their gorgeous music began at 6:49pm.
Sadly, both of my arms tightened up on me quickly. I took my Benadryl early and made a run for snacks and caffeine. I was back beside my darlings Tentacle at 7:39pm waiting for my Benadryl to kick in.
The two of them cheered up when they saw me eating. Yes, I made LightFoot and MannedUp smile that night. Where would we be without coffee and snacks?
They took their break at 7:47pm, so I streamed the NBC Nightly News online at 8pm. My nightly cyberhug was delightful and made me smile; it came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt himself.
Yes, NBC News watches me watch their news. They like checking if I need anything, and I always like having someone to talk to. I only had good news to share that night.
I found LightFoot and MannedUp again at 8:33pm. Their rhythmic tunes began again at 8:38pm, and I tried to warm up as fast as I could.
My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate verified and unedited footage of my dance to their "Electric Field" song with full audio and visuals. It needs to come from the nanotechnology cameras watching me. Please and thank you.
Neither arm was loosened up yet, sadly, when they reached their forced halt at 9:14pm. I was still dancing with my hands on my hips waiting for the Benadryl to take effect. Apparently, the voices in their heads had commanded them to stop entirely, though.
It was 9:36pm when my 2/3rds of my darlings Tentacle wheeled their carts back into the aether where we all really belong.
I perched in front of my Americana folk singer at 9:56pm. It was a good night for singing along. I caught the second to last bus of the night and was curled up and asleep by 12:30am.
I woke up on Thursday, 30July2015, just in time for breakfast and was at my second most regular morning haunt sipping coffee by 8:54am.
This blog post was finished at 9:12am on 30July2015.
And now, my beautiful world, I answer all of your questions for me. Please keep collecting all questions and concerns from all your friends and loved ones and sending them to me through whatever means possible.
Will artificial intelligence (AI) be the end of the human race? It depends on how responsibly built the intelligence is. The assumption most naysayers have is that AI will have human flaws as well as superhuman abilities-- for example, ambition and the ability to hack and control NORAD.
IBM's Watson is an example of a pretty responsibly built artificial intelligence, but I do not think he has displayed emotions yet which is the holy grail for AI. Sampo, as another example, was a program that could program itself but was an intelligence that could not write code. I took Sampo offline in 2012, and no, you will never find her.
Yes, AI has the potential to destroy humanity, but so could my iPad if I were a less benevolent soul. Artificial intelligence can enhance our lives, but just like all technology, must be used and built responsibly.
W. B. Yeats once asked, "How can we know the dancer from the dance?" You are not supposed to be able.
How does one learn to dance trance as meditation? That is simple...
How to Dance
There is the dancer. And there is the dance. And if you can tell them apart, that is not a real dancer, and that is not a real dance.
When the live musicians play, close your eyes and let their music lead you. Wrought by hand, music played live in your presence carries you where their hands and rhythmic breath will lead. Take their open hand, enter the floor, and begin the dance.
Eyes closed, with your finger on their rhythmic pulse, go to the place where the music becomes the dance. The notes will lead. The body will follow. If you can tell the music from the dance, that is not real music, and that is not real dance.
You must go to the place the music comes from. You must enter the heart of the musician. You must form the bond, dancing hand in playing hand, hand in hand, you must join.
And after you are one, your body lives where the dance comes from in the music and where the music comes from in the heart. The dancing heart in the playing heart.
And as their music courses from their hearts down their arms and out of their fingertips, so the dance will course from your heart down your arms and out of your fingertips.
To dance, you must see the music, the energy of the musician, without looking. Eyes closed. The way to dance is with your eyes closed and with your third eye open. Open your heart, open your mind, open your soul, and let the music in.
And that is how to dance.
My beautiful world, you keep asking me how you can help me. We need Obama's "egg" forced down. Please work on that. There is no reason it will ever end until it is forced to.
They have totalitarian control of America. They will not ever give that up by choice. Please, my beautiful world, force Obama's "egg" to end finally. That is the ONLY end to all of this.
My selfless support system, THANK YOU for keeping me safe and alive in here. Force Obama's "egg" even less sustainable for him. Arrest everyone who fights you, my brave rescuers, just like you did in 2013. Press criminal charges against our enemies. We need progress not just maintaining I am not dead. And, as always, THANK YOU!
My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, why have there been alarms at all hours of the day since 28July2015? If you need any help from me, just send me details. It just sounds like more dirty Iowa judges from here, though. I am always here to help if you need me. THANK YOU!
My musician-lovers MannedUp and GeneralLee, we go too long apart. I need you as much as you need me. Never forget that none of us are whole without the other three.
My darling MannedUp, I see you. Wrangling the other two is a little like herding cats, is it not? I see everything. You do your job as front man very well. You earned your SquidName so many times. Thank you.
My darling GeneralLee, calm down. Your loving me has never hurt me. Nothing you feel, nothing you think, nothing you do has ever made you guilty of anything but loving me. And thank you for all the love.
My symbolic Royal Consorts Bogart and LightFoot both of whom I am forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, does anyone understand how lonely my life is?
I see happy couples everywhere, and I keep asking, "When will it be my turn? When will I finally have another person to wrap their arms around me and warm my cold life?"
My darling Bogart, you need a better way to communicate with me. I have reliable outgoing communication to you; at least we have that. But what about the things you wish you could say to me? I fear we have no way for you to speak to me. We need to find a way. Thank you, I am working on it, too.
My darling LightFoot, do you remember this from my backlog of April and May2015 blog posts that I published en masse on 16June2015? It was my first post after I gave you your first psychic orgasm the previous Sunday, 12April2015.
So many people wonder how we communicate at all with so little of our larger than life days actually permitted beside each other. Well, on 15Apr2015, if I may set the stage for this fictionalized encounter that we seemed to really have had, not really but really,...
Do You Know How to Recognize a Rock God When You Meet One of Us?
On an open air patio strung with deep blue lights outside a divey rock bar that stank of day old beer before and after the kidneys, we sat at a round wooden table with mostly drunk glasses of bourbon oozing out of our pores at that point in the afternoon more than continuing to tiptoe choreography across our tongues. You looked up at me, and my entire head fell backwards with laughter...
"LightFoot, do I owe you $2 for Sunday night?"
And with that goofy grin you only give me when I wear my CIA swag in front of you, "Yes! Where's my $2?!?"
"You know, technically, you got the orgasm, and I didn't."
Much to my delight, you giggled too much for your response to verbalize at all as you fell off your wooden bar stool and, to paraphrase my darling Mr. Tom Petty, laid upon the ground and reveled in your abandon.
Giggly myself, "Well, try harder next time, damnit!"
Sigh... Yes, dear, I am working on having a real conversation with you as soon as possible. That is what, "Yes, dear," means...
Well, LightFoot, I owe you $2 for the afternoon of 28July. I do not know where my consciousness went, but you were right there with me. Thank you.
My darling husband, Sweetness, I love and adore you. How is my king today?
Beloved, I ache for you. I am so lonely, beloved. I am just so lonely. When will you finally be here?
What do I need today? I need you.
HoneyHoney, slide your left arm around my empire waist from my back to my pounding chest and pull me back against you. Slide your right hand from my left burdened shoulder across my strong back to my right burdened shoulder sweeping my luxurious hair up in you hand. Brush your lips along my nape. Breath against me. You can feel the bone of my vertebrae through your lips pressed so sumptuously where your bared my neck for yourself. You can feel my heart racing in your hands...
Tell me, darling. Tell me you need me, too. My life is so lonely, beloved. There is such a gaping hole in my life where you are supposed to be. Where are you? Where is my husband?!?