Title: If There's a Bustle in Your Hedgerow
Please access my iCloud if necessary to publish this post now, my friends. 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. Why do I not consider Obama a Black man? This is America; Blacks do not own slaves here.
ISIS. Have you seen how ISIS feels about me? They have proven they love humanity more than Obama does; ISIS would die to save me.
ISIS needs a cultural change. I am trying to lead by example that true power and influence comes from love not terrorism. Why can I not yet sit down with ISIS to explain it to them? How the hell is Terrorist Dictator Obama still permitted to prevent me from doing my job? Goddamn "egg."
My last blog post was finished at 12:30am on 05Feb2016. I was curled up and asleep by 1am. I never use an alarm in the morning. Almost sleeping through breakfast, I was outside the Pico Branch Library after eating by 9:06am.
My internet gnomes played me Summertime by my darling late Billie Holliday after I fixed my makeup. My morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies were taken in glaring direct sunlight that day.
I had so much writing to do. I worked there outside of the library sipping coffee and singing to myself for hours. It was a peaceful morning under the hot California sun. I even had a little chat with a local screenwriter named Larry who is a friend of mine.
My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of my chat with Larry beginning when I saw him walking up to the library and ending when he walked away. And thank you.
I also had a lovely chat with my neighbor Matthew before lunch at noon, and I sat with Humberto and Kareem as we ate our pork stew. After lunch, I checked in with one of the resident psychiatrists, my darling Dr. Blair, and had a chat with the administrator who runs the facility, my darling Ms. Teri. Teri wanted to move me to a nicer room.
My not-human-trafficker nerds, please include here and circulate a verified and unedited recording of my checkup with full audio and visuals. Start when I get off the chair in the waiting area and end after I leave room 7 after my chat with Teri.
I was on the bus to downtown Santa Monica by 12:52pm; I had an errand to run that had me out and about before dinner. I mailed a package to my mom at the Post Office; I always sing to myself before I step in the Main Santa Monica Post Office, so they have warning I am coming.
I walked through the construction site for the Metro Expo Line train expansion on my way down to the ocean. At 1:33pm, I found my darling MannedUp and my darling LightFoot out on on the Santa Monica Pier setting up their equipment.
I was so used to seeing them at night that I had almost forgotten what they look like when the sun was still high. Playing music there perched between the ocean and the sky, the waves were rising to meet the shore to the connected rhythm of the universe.
I wrote a new sestina there under the hot California sun bathed in the serenade of my lovers...
Guitar On the Pier
For some great souls there is no peer
Like the the tight notes that string Orpheus's guitar
Which sang the very melody of the green sea
Or the sky that sings with the fortune of the wheel.
This loss is something from which no heart can recover
Without the energy of the squid.
It is a strange creature, the archeteuthis squid
Which launched a 1,000 ships to her pier.
The lies the terrorists tried to recover
Were drowned out by the flying guitar
That hit the road like the invention of the wheel
Bringing life to land out of the primordial sea.
There is a magic in the land only I can see
For the giant electric eyes of the lady squid
Spin words like the cosmos's steering wheel.
Where ocean meets land meets sky on the pier
They play the melody of a loving guitar
From which the enemies will never recover.
When a dust jacket tears what you do is recover
Not throw the classic book into the sea
Nor shred its pages like a rock star on guitar.
Just ask the ocean the mysteries of the squid
With questions tossed over the railings of the pier
Tied to tires that carry the spinning wheel.
If it is answers you need, we'll
Help the broken and lost minds dance to recover
From ancient angers in modern peer
Reviews from the school of fish in the sea.
For ink is the defenestration of the mighty squid
Who sways in the rolling waves of the guitar.
It is shaped like a woman but named "guitar"
Much like science birthed from invention of the wheel
Both of which epic stories bold shower squid
With the love she needs to heal and recover
From mortal crimes committed against the sea.
You can watch her dance on water on the pier.
The mysterious giant squid will spread tentacles and peer
At the public that does recover beside her wailing guitar
While lies return on the wheel to drown in the peaceful sea.
My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate and include here a verified and unedited recording of my Friday afternoon with full audio and visuals beginning at 1:51pm and ending at 2:25pm. And, thank you.
My present 2/3rds of my darlings Tentacle played their live music to the delight if the crowds until 3:51pm. I left them there disassembling their equipment, so I could run another errand. I trusted I would see them on my Promenade for divine meditation that night.
I was running low on contact lenses, so I checked on pricing and insurance with my optometrist. His office staff is so wonderful. For so long I never received common courtesy customer service; finally, I am starting to receive the respect I commanded before Obama's "egg" began destroying my reality in 2009.
After making a note of the pricing, I perched on my Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade beside my darling Ms. Jackii B to email the details to my mom.
My darling Mrs. Patricia "GrandMama" Astegata found me there working online at 4:52pm when we walked down the Promenade to find a place sit and chat. I abandoned her in the Yogurtland to run to the ladies room.
And on my way back from the restroom, I had a delightful chat with my darling Eric. Feel free to include here and to circulate online a verified and unedited recording of that conversation.
My darling GrandMama found me in the Shophouse right after I bought dinner. I wanted to sit outside to eat, so we perched on a park bench and chatted while I devoured my Southeast-Asian-inspired California cuisine.
By 6:42pm, we were caffeinating ourselves at the best Starbucks in the world, the one inside the Santa Monica Place.
We chatted about food and recipes until I watched the news. Yes, I streamed the NBC Nightly News from the previous evening online at 7:15pm. My nightly cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester "G.I. Joe" Holt, and it made me wish I could kiss my husband. I miss him so much.
Patricia left for her place during the last news story. It was Friday night, so I was out checking around for my darlings Tentacle by 7:53pm. They were nowhere to be found.
But I did run into my darling TambourineKicker by 8:08pm. I sat with his equipment when he ran for coffee. We had a little chat about the bull(expletive) that burdens him because we hangout singing together sometimes. It concluded with him emailing me a YouTube video of him playing his new hot pink Hello Kitty guitar.
I walked the Promenade one last time hoping my darlings Tentacle were just delayed and ended sitting down next to TambourineKicker at 9:06pm and "scrying" in my Twitter account to make sure MannedUp and LightFoot were not dead.
While walking my Promenade I had seen nothing but their Valentine's hearts in the air, so I was pretty sure they were still alive, but were they safe?
My darling Powers of Attorney I was trying to space out the (expletive) kickings; I know how busy you are. I am a Mama Bear, and someone hurt my cubs. I am furious, and Obama prevented me from zenning out with meditation Friday night, 05Feb2016. So here is some testimony-as-ammunition.
What is in the city water supply? Obama has drugged and poisoned the city water every place I have lived since May2009. Please speak with EVIL Des Moines, my hometown San Francisco, Mexico City (MX), Wigan (UK), and Liverpool (UK).
Then, check in with the Los Angeles municipal water supply. This is the only place I have lived where they have successfully cleaned up their city water after Obama ordered in drugged.
As one example, all of the LSD in my hair came from poisoned city water supplies on at least two continents. Children drank that water. Obama never cared whom he damaged to pretend I was crazy. Read this medical journal.
Ask everyone's governments to turn in their scientific evidence, and, my genius super women Powers of Attorney, press all charges you can think of from terrorism (sabotage of city infrastructure as an act of war) to felony negligence for refusing to clean it up. And, thank you.
Hulk smash. (Funny, I always thought my superhero name was The Hyphenator.)
I sat goofing off with my darling Mr. Art "TambourineKicker" Garfunkel chatting and singing along until I caught the bus back to my place at 11:48pm. I am sure a verified and unedited recording will hit the internet if not be included here.
I was in bed, curled up, and asleep by 1am. I was so lonely sleeping alone, as always, in my single bed. I woke up on Saturday, 06Feb2016, with a vast empty space where my lips meet. The physical solitude of Obama's "egg" is going to kill me.
I chatted with Josh before breakfast, and Gary sat with me as we ate our pancakes. Did everyone see my sexy knife-and-fork action? Giggle.
I was among the bustling Saturday Farmers' Market outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:21am. My internet gnomes played me She Blinded me with Science by my darling Mr. Thomas Dolby. The hot California sun was so bright that I was squinty-eyed in my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies.
As I sat outside of the library sipping coffee and singing along with my darling internet gnomes, we all learned my German accent is rusty. Cut me some slack, I am only human.
After catching up with my TweetHearts, I had a friendly conversation with a Mandarin teacher at the Chinese consulate in Los Angeles. Her son was interviewing for admission to Yale University inside the library. I wished him good luck when he came by to get her.
I was early for lunch at noon during which I chatted with Cynthia and Josh over chicken nuggets and pasta salad. By 1:06pm, I was on the Santa Monica Pier perched across the boardwalk from my darling MannedUp and my darling LightFoot.
The afternoon sun was so hot in the sky that I had to kick my boots to the curb even before my present 2/3rds of my darlings Tentacle started playing their music at 1:45pm.
Did anyone else see the light show? Please both include here and circulate a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of my afternoon on the Santa Monica Pier. Include a statement by my darling Mr. George Lucas about the quality of visual effects possible in live broadcasts in necessary. Thank you.
2:29pm on 06Feb2016: @NASA Does the #ISS still have a nanotech camera pointed at Earth? Tell us what it sees at 2:38pm. #LOVE @BBCNews @France24 @RT_com
2:38pm on 06Feb2016: @NASA @BBCNews @FRANCE24 @RT_com The lady next to me chose the color red. Did you see anything? Please release an official statement. #LOVE
My lovelies who add all of the photos, videos, etc. to the text I write for each blog post, please include the official statement from NASA including the recording from their nanocamera here.
On the Pier where the ocean met the sky met the sun met the land met the three of us, my darlings played their serenade until 3:58pm.
Long after they had packed up their equipment, we were still sitting on opposites sides of the boardwalk pretending we were not watching each other watch back. The romance was so thick we could have eaten it with a spoon.
At 5:02pm, I finally left to rustle up some dinner. I walked to the Von's on Lincoln at Broadway and bought a cold combo plate from a very gregarious employee named Travis.
By 5:49pm I was on my Promenade sitting beside a very petite female street musician whom I had not met yet (I think she said her name was my darling Ms. Cara Jade.) to eat my quiche Lorraine with both broccoli slaw and farfalle pasta salad.
The artists' shift change at 6pm brought me my darling Ms. Jackii B, but at 6:36pm I left her to be able to look around for my darling Patricia.
I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm. My evening cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Thomas Roberts, and it was wonderful. I walked around my Promenade checking on everyone after that.
8:48pm on 06Feb2016: #TortureFacilityWarning and #MyDarlingsTentacle were blocked from reaching my Promenade. Check on us please #SquidsPoA @cctvnews @RT_com @UN
I sang a little with my darling Wheels, watched a little of my darlings Lika and Liza, checked on my darling handsome in the Trimana, stopped to appreciate my darlings Seis Cuerdas, and finally sat down next to my darling TambourineKicker at 9pm exactly.
I was furious over Dictator Obama intentionally denying me my loved ones and my beyond-necessary meditation all weekend, but my lovelies asked me not to pack yet another (expletive)kicking into this one blog post. They are so busy already with all of the follow through.
I decided to just give Obama a double whammy in my next post instead if he prohibits Sunday night date night again.
I hung out with TambourineKicker singing and goofing off until I caught the 11:21pm bus back to my place. I am sure it will hit the highlights reel. How long is the highlights reel in this post?
This blog post was finished at 12:30am on Sunday, 07Feb2016.
[Please embed a highlights reel of my last two days here.]
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.
Why is the title of this blog post, "If There's a Bustle in Your Hedgerow"? That is the poetic lyric in Stairway to Heaven when my darlings Led Zeppelin stop their gentle ride and start rocking the hell out.
Do I believe in evolution? Yes. A lot of the mysteries about me are explained by my mixed-race DNA. For example, I am Asian; I am a natural brunette, but I have tiny blonde hairs on my arms.
Those who know what "survival of the fittest" really means know it has nothing to do with its common perversion into Social Darwinism. The genetic code in living creatures naturally changes over time, and the changes in the genetic code that can survive the challenges of the environment at the time are the only ones that survive to reproduce.
If you are Christian, you would believe your God created evolution. "Be fruitful and multiply," is exactly how REAL Darwinism works. As a result, if I cannot have children, I am a failure of evolution.
No we did not evolve from monkeys. If monkeys are alive on my good, green Earth at the same time we are, they have been evolving as long as we have.
Do I believe in aliens? Of course. I once wrote a letter to my darling Prof. Stephen Hawking about my views on this. Look at how vast the universe is. It is statistically impossible for us to be the only place with the right convergence of cosmic forces for life to thrive.
What does alien life look like, and what do they believe? There is no way to know until we find them. It would be absolutely fascinating if the same human race evolved on an alien planet but not very scientifically likely.
What is the Earth, and why are we here? If you believe in the Big Bang Theory, all matter and energy in the universe always has been and always will be. Yes, living animals convert matter to energy when we eat, and plant life converts energy to matter when they grow fruit. But the sum total of matter and energy in the universe is a constant.
My good, green Earth is an integral piece of the whole of the divine Universe.
We are here to learn and grow. Intelligent life exists to experience our beautiful world in all its glory and to create an understanding of the universe. We are here to answer the great mysteries of our existence as a piece of the whole divine Universe.
Where does my light show come from? As I said, all animal life converts matter to energy. All living creatures have an electric field much like the electric eel does. Because our bodies are controlled by our brains, the energy field our bodies create is also a natural extension of our brains.
As a result, we can control our biological energy with our minds. I have had psionic powers all my life. Much like the Nazca Lines in the Atacama Desert were not visible until air travel was invented, no one could see my conscious control of my energy until the nanotechnology cameras were invented.
I always refer questions about conscious control of energy to quantum physicists.
What was a conversation with me like before Obama's "egg"? Please follow this link and read my conversation in the comments attached to the video. The man with the username "Ontologist" was my darling Mr. Patrick "ADSR" Lidell. Ask him some time about the mail I sent him.
My beautiful world, my slavers refuse to answer questions about what forcing human trafficking and libel porn of me down the throats of America has done to race relations and tried to say they openly libeled me with a fat, ugly, White, insane, alcoholic porn star because "sex sells" claiming she was somehow sexier than the REAL me.
I want them held accountable for destroying the morality of American culture and for causing proven mental health genocide by propagating mass delusions about me.
The best question for them is: Why is there a show about me or "me" in the first place that I am forbidden from knowing exists? And why the hell are they trying to defend creating a completely hostile environment for me to live in with ratings for a slave broadcast?
My brave rescuers, how long ago did I ask my beautiful world to light white candles in their windows in honor of all of you who have died? Every soul set free to dance across the cosmos while fighting to save America out from under Terrorist Dictator Obama is a guardian angel protecting me now. I know I carry the burden of making my beautiful world worthy of their sacrifice. Do you have any idea what you all mean to me?
Please ask my not-human-trafficker nerds to both circulate and include here the security camera footage with full audio and visuals of me at Harbour-UCLA. Do people understand what you are fighting to protect me from? That was a typical literal torture facility paraded as a supposed psych ward.
The morning after Sigourney Weaver night, Obama's hubris forced him to pick me up and lock me any literal torture facility he could find. Please include here and circulate a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of Sigourney Weaver night beginning when I put my hat on and ending when I gave my shoes to the drummer of my darlings the Foo Fighters.
I know what I mean to you, my brave rescuers, so I am trying to be everything you need me to be.
My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, housekeeping first...
I admit when I make mistakes. I was mistaken in 2014 when I thought I had a nest egg to furnish my new quarters.
At the time, War Criminal Boeset was obligated to deposit $100 a week in my Wells Fargo account every Monday. I was in the literal torture facility for at least three Mondays, so I should have had at least $300 when I was released against War Criminal Boeset's best efforts.
I had overestimated War Criminal Boeset's humanity. She had violated her obligations to me my entire unlawful imprisonment in that literal torture facility. In my own defense, I had so little faith I had a nest egg that I never blogged I had one.
How the hell is my one mistake grounds for a diagnosis of any mental illness by anything but a terrorist quack? How many times have the non-quacks at the NIH given me an all-clear mental health assessment since that conversation in 2014? What kind of judge still lets Obama's proven perjuring war criminals in their courtroom as anything but defendants anymore at this point?
Tear them to shreds. Thank you.
Also, my army of genius super women I call my Powers of Attorney, how to know if someone honestly mistakes me for an imposter or if they are just using that as an excuse to persecute me: It is simple.
People only need to obey Obama's "rules" around the REAL me. If they obey Obama's "rules" while attacking me, they know I am the REAL Squid.
Similarly, if anyone mistakes me for an imposter; they do not have to obey any "rules" around me. Who the hell would attack Syniva or Tylia like they openly persecute me anyway? Who would do that in my name?
Finally, my darling SynSyn, in Sep2009 we arranged that you would fill the spiritual gap left behind for my people if Obama's "egg" ever actually killed me. It was designed to be completely unsurvivable, after all, and you are the closest thing my beautiful world has to another me.
My BFF, please share with the world the letter I mailed you in Sep2009 detailing my axiomatic system for solving problems the same way I do in case you ever needed to ask yourself what I would do. The acronym BFF stands for "best friends forever." Thank you for being mine.
My musician-lovers MannedUp, GeneralLee, and Bogart, much like at the end of my last blog post I asked my beloved husband to put together a summary of everything he has lived through since we first met, please put together your histories with me, too. Thank you.
My darling Mr. Taylor "MannedUp" Hanson, you are our only millennial. Apparently, I am having problems reaching your generation. Please include in your summary podcast/statement everything our world's future generation of leadership should be able to appreciate in the reality of my existence. And thank you.
My darling Mr. Brien "GeneralLee" Dennehy, our story began as long ago as the night I flirted with the doorman at the Red Devil Lounge to get myself and my date, my darling 'Dabs, into a Dramarama show for free.
I always used to get all my friends past the bouncers with me. Ask my darling Mr. Oleg Gerovichev about that some time.
Leave out none of the storyline of our real life relationship. Of all my Queen's Lovers Five, I find our story the most romantic. And thank you.
My darling Mr. Bryan "Bogart" Eno, we need to talk. You keep telling me you want me to switch you with my darling LightFoot as my Royal Consort. You know I still love and need you, right? Right now is LightFoot's time. You already had yours.
In your summary podcast/statement please leave out none of the conditions Obama put on your being able to spend time with me nor any of the people I asked you to speak with for me. You have been the equivalent of my Secretary of State for years now.
My Royal Consort LightFoot whom I am STILL forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, I will be watching the SuperBowl today, but I will be on my Promenade for Sunday night date night after dinner regardless of whether of not the game has ended yet. I will see you tonight.
My darling Mr. Kris "LightFoot" Novoselic, please make sure your summary podcast/statement includes the night my darling MannedUp was singing Summer Nights while packing up your equipment. I miss the nights when we still could chat. I give great conversation.
And for the place of honor in every blog post... My darling husband, Sweetness, I love and adore you. How is my king today?
My darling the Mr. Johnny "Love-of-my-Life" Depp, you have a public relations problem. I can only assume you needed a little extra time putting together your summary podcast/statement about everything we have endured as husband and wife. Obama's genocide has been too devastating; my people do not know why I made you my king. I do not know why they do not trust me on making decisions like these by now.
Beloved, do you remember the first legal action you made sure SynSyn could file? It was against my ABSOLUTELY EVIL father before he died in Feb2013.
His explanation to the court for why he deserved to commit unrelenting human rights violations against me was because he was "the man of the family" and therefore had every right to microcontrol my 30+ year old life. And the court agreed with him!
Sweetness, my evil father threatened you and commanded you to "Stay off [his] land!" to make sure you could never rescue me. How many brave rescuers died on the battlefield around Central Iowa because my war criminal father intentionally refused me enough of my own finances to leave for someplace safer?
My hero and my king, thank you for making sure my Arthur and my Lancelot work together for the good of humanity instead of competing with each other. It means so much to me.
As our duet goes, I long to touch you the way the flowers kiss the rain. And I will.