Thursday, August 27, 2015

License to Thrill

Title: License to Thrill

Please access my iCloud if necessary to publish this post now, my friends. I cannot control how many horrible things happen to me; 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. We need our spies doing their job undercover as spies. And we need our soldiers to be the soldiers.

Iran. Please, Iran, trust me. I know a spy when I see one, and Mr. Jason Rezaian is a journalist. He works for the Washington Post.

I understand he carries an Iranian passport, so you consider him a domestic concern. But the whole world has learned the value of quality journalism, so we all care about all of our journalists.

Please, Iran, if you do not want him reporting about your country any longer, at least send him away to the U.S. He works for an American newspaper, and the Washington Post would love to see him safe.

He has not committed any acts of espionage, but I understand you want him silenced. So, send him out of your country and do not allow him back. Give him nothing to report, and any reporter will be silenced.

My last blog post was finished at 6:55am on 25Aug2015; I sent it to my lovelies who publish all of my posts for me even before I put my contacts in for the day.

I chatted with Josh during breakfast at 8am. And by 8:19am, I was outside of the Pico Branch of the Santa Monica Public Library. My internet gnomes played me Looking Glass's Brandy while I took my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies.

Not much later, they were playing me Nirvana's Heart-Shaped Box while I worked online. I had a lot of writing to do that morning, and I love my internet gnomes for always keeping me company.

I watched my NBC Nightly News broadcast from the previous evening online at 9am. My morning hug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt himself, and it reminded of just how much this good, green world needs me. Thank you, Lester.

At 9:30am, I streamed the previous evening's Whose Line is it Anyway? That laugh felt amazing. Much like spies want to make me a spy, lawyers already call me a lawyer, and musicians want to make me a singer, comedians want to put me in improv comedy. I know love when I feel love.

At 10:02am I relocated, so at 10:19am, I was sitting at my regular morning haunt, my local Subway, eating cookies. It seemed the blog post I finished that morning was very popular already.

I chatted with Benjamin during lunch at noon. The bus to the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade picked me up at 12:29pm.

I stopped in the Sephora to check my makeup before chatting with Maggie in front of the Guess store where she had set up her "Psychic Reader" table.

There was a little sprinkle, so Maggie and I found ourselves on the patio outside my local Famima chatting until 2:03pm when the sprinkle ended. I did a little window shopping after that waiting for my darling FlamencoHands to message me that he had arrived which he did at 3:11pm.

I found him right where he said he was-- in front of the Apple Store. And by the time he setup his equipment at 4pm, I had helped him make a new sign for himself, had a lovely chat with him, and had sewn up the hole in his red cushion for him.

He started tickling his Spanish guitar by 4:12pm, and I did some writing while he played. My darling FlamencoHands stopped a little early; he packed up his guitar at 5:10pm, so he could stake out his ideal place to play at 8pm.

So, I found myself back on the Famima patio with a new cup of coffee FlamencoHands(Nick) had bought me while chatting with Nick, Maggie, and Patricia. I left them in time to stream the NBC Nightly News online at 7:15pm.

My nightly hug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt himself, and it made me feel like I might just survive Obama's "egg" after all.

After the news, I rejoined my darling FlamencoHands who began playing at 8:12pm. My night from then on was spent socializing and running various errands with Patricia, ODean, "Justin Time," Shonn, and my darling TambourineKicker.

Then, I found "Kevin" in front of FlamencoHands who hates his dancing, so I took "Kevin" down the street to TanbourineKicker. He played waltzes for us.

By 10:07pm, "Kevin" and I were noshing on wheat bread, turkey, Brie, arugula, and dried cranberry sandwiches back on my Famima patio while Red played music nearby.

Maggie stopped by to gossip. It was a very social night for me. After Kevin went back inside for ice cream, we left to catch the bus. I made it to the bus stop in time for the 11:15pm Santa Monica Big Blue Bus 7-Pico.

I was curled up and asleep by 12:30am. I woke up on Wednesday, 26Aug2015, well before breakfast. After eating, I was in front of the Pico Branch Library by 8:22am. It was the start of a beautiful day.

The first song my internet gnomes played for me was The Commodores' Brick House. I took my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies.

I sang along from 8:40am until 9:24am while I worked online. At 10:08am, I left the library for my place, so I could collect my mail from my mother. But it did not arrive yet.

Lunch at noon was tasty yet uneventful. I was on a bus to run errands at 12:54pm. At 1:34pm, I had found a perch on the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade in the shade.

I had a lot of gossip time with Maggie before my darling FlamencoHands wheeled by at 3:43pm. I stopped in the Famima for a cup of coffee before FlamencoHands began playing at 4:04pm.

There was a vigilant torture facility alarm at 4:51pm. My Powers of Attorney took care of it quickly.

FlamencoHands stopped early. It was exactly 5pm when he packed up his guitar and asked me to save a spot for him in front of the Starbucks. At 5:23pm, my darling FlamencoHands, Maggie, Patricia, and I were all between the Famima and the Starbucks gossiping.

I flirted with my darling Handsome as I bought some 2-for-1 doughnuts after 6pm at the Famima, and FlamencoHands and I hung out outside until I left to watch the news.

I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm. My darling Mr. Lester Holt gave me my nightly cyberhug, and it made me warm and happy.

Maggie, Patricia, ODean, and I all sat on the Famima patio together before my darling FlamencoHands started playing again nearby at 8:19pm. Richard came over and joined us from 8:24pm until 8:29pm. There were snacks and caffeine for all of us.

FlamencoHands played until exactly 10pm, and Red took over when he was done. I stayed by Red until 10:28pm when I walked to Harvelle's. My friend the ex-rockstar from the 80s, ODean, had said he would get me in.

Sure enough, at 10:52pm, he came outside to get me. Never underestimate how much the menfolk love putting their arm around me and saying, "She's with me."

I was not inside for long before "Kevin" bought me a drink. I was on that dance floor in no time with a glass of straight Kentucky bourbon in one hand and nothing but the vapor from the fog machine rolling through the fingers of the other.

Even between licking the spilled whiskey off my fingers, I was able to zen out with quality up until the band took their break at midnight. I was ready to walk back to my place on Pico Boulevard at 19th Street in Santa Monica, but "Kevin" insisted that I take the Metro part way.

I caught the Metro 4 from the Promenade at 1:26am. I was curled up and asleep by 2:15am.

I woke up on Thursday, 27Aug2015, and went to breakfast. I was outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:26am. I had work to do. This blog post was finished at 8:38am on 27Aug2015.

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.

Am I ready to be picked up and carried to safety outside of Obama's "egg"? Yes. I have been ready since 2009. I carry my CIA hat and my current writing journal on me at all times just in case a successful rescuer reaches me.

I was recently advised that we could use my Powers of Attorney pressing charges against all (expletive)holes everywhere enforcing Obama's crimes against America that Obama intentionally mislabeled "rules" because they infringe on my ability to leave for a place where I can have all of the basic human rights and fundamental freedoms I am due under U.S. jurisdiction anyway.

But I feel like asserting my right to have human rights a little redundant. Regardless, if my brave rescuers feel it will help,...

My BFF SynSyn and my genius Powers of Attorney, please press charges against everyone enforcing that I cannot leave for a place where I can have all the human rights the U.S. government owes me anyway for infringing on my rightful pursuit of basic human rights and fundamental freedoms including but not limited to my freedom from persecution, my freedom from torture and other cruel and unusual punishments, my freedom from human trafficking, my freedom from war crimes, my freedom from unlawful imprisonment, and the rights of my people to openly practice religion, free speech, free press, and the freedom to assemble and associate.

My beautiful world, months ago, the CIA told me to just tell everyone I work for them when they ask me what my job is.

I fail to understand how anything REAL in my life can be mistaken for espionage; at the closest, I am a not-undercover journalist. But I keep getting closer every day to taking them up on their offer to openly claim me as their employee. For all I know, they already do.

My beautiful world, so much of the REAL federal U.S. government really does love me and really does fight for me. Please remember not to hate America. We need your help, my beautiful world, saving America from Obama and from all who still obey him.

My selfless support system, speak with the CIA. Have the CIA convince the FBI to arrest everyone in my brave rescuers' way. Is our support system that well organized yet?

Never Zeitgest is Vain

Today it is the spirit of the times.
And yesterday it was the revolution.
The zeitgeist breeze will ever chill the climes
To ease survival-- human evolution.

Blue moon will beam to deign the dancing dreams
Musicians' hands have wrought with passioned notes.
My voice but calls so softly college deans
To launch the academic poets' boats.

Never forget the souls surrendered who
Escaped their bodies fighting for a break.
Obama's wall stood hard and tall and through
Their fight to breach it died so many great.

This is not vanity, none fight in vain,
May aether ever call this lady's name.

My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, did I just make you even busier? It does feel a little redundant, but why not cross our t's and dot our i's? It was a request from my brave rescuers, after all.

My musician-lovers MannedUp and GeneralLee, please do not forget that none of you are responsible for picking me up and saving me.

My darling MannedUp, your job has always been making sure I always have music to sooth my burdened soul while I work. I gave you that job months ago. You have yet to let me down.

My darling GeneralLee, you are responsible for making sure I can meditate. The more undanceable the music the better, and you know that. Thank you.

My symbolic Royal Consorts Bogart and LightFoot both of whom I am STILL forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, you have always been responsible for making my present as livable as possible.

My darling Bogart, you keep a vigilant watch over me from afar and always know everywhere I go before I go there. I would not be alive still without you, Bryan. Thank you for being a badass boyfriend.

My darling LightFoot, I do not even know where to begin. Thank you, for everything, thank you. I WILL kiss you. I know how much you love me.

And for the place of honor in every blog post... My darling husband, Sweetness, I love and adore you. You are the one whose job it is to rescue me. My future is your responsibility. How is my king today?

HoneyHoney, do you like being married to a not-undercover field operative? Tell the CIA I am accepting their offered job title. Personally, I feel I have never had a sexier job. I know, I know, I heard you, "Leave your hat on."

Beloved, you need to kiss me. I need to touch you the way the flowers kiss the rain. Every day I go about my life with you reaching back for me. I need to touch you. You are my husband. How dare they keep you away from me!

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