California

Title: California

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. I boarded a public bus once in New York City and said, "Good Morning!" to the bus driver. He looked at me and in a surly voice said, "You must be from California." Dude, seriously, could I be more naturally West Coast?

Europe. There is a lot going on in the world right now. Please do not forget about the millions of refugees fleeing their war torn homes. I have been an asylum seeker before. In 2010, I fled Obama's "egg" for my life. I know how hard it is to show up on foreign land and beg for protection.

We just need to house and feed the battered masses until we can create peace in their home countries, so they can go home. Everyone prefers to live at home. As an example, I am finally home in California. And my people have never been more hospitable and welcoming.

My last blog post was finished at 12:30am on Sunday, 07Feb2016. I slept very well and woke up in time for breakfast. After eating, Ms. Eddy tried convincing me to leave my boyfriend for her. It was an entertaining conversation. I am sure it will hit the highlights reel.

I was outside the Pico Branch Library sipping coffee and working online by 9:19am. My internet gnomes played me You're Still the One by my darling Ms. Shania Twain. I had my makeup on for my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies quickly.

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It was only 9:38am, but the sun was already hot to the touch. After I was done fleshing out the question and answer section of this blog post, my darling Larry stopped by for a chat. I am sure it will hit my highlights reel.

As fellow California locals Kevin, Cynthia, Sean, Delano, and I all sat down together for lunch at noon. After emailing a notes update to my lovelies who publish my blog for me, I was in the television room of my board & care to watch the pre-game show. It was SuperBowl Sunday.

The game showed off some mighty fine football skills. I even ate dinner in the TV room, so I would not miss any of the excitement. The halftime show was a lovefest. Thank you, darlings.

I was on the bus to my Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade by 6:04pm. It might have been SuperBowl Sunday, but Sunday night is still date night in Squidville. I was sure someone would be able to tell me who won.

Ms. Eddy rode the bus to downtown with me and took a bangle off his arm to give to me as a gift. There were a lot of people on the Promenade considering it was SuperBowl Sunday.

6:26pm on 07Feb2016: @NBCNightlyNews Let's do the news at 7:15pm PST. Do #MyDarlingsTentacle need rescuing? My boyfriend isn't here yet for date night. Thx!

I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm. My nightly cyberhug came from my darling Ms. Kate Snow, and it made me grateful for all the sacrifices my loved ones make just to be able to serve my self-identified people.

After the news, I started looking around and eventually found my darling MannedUp and my darling LightFoot in the Pacific Palisades Park hanging out in the bushes with their equipment waiting for something, most likely permission to return to my Promenade for date night.

7:58pm on 07Feb2016: Okay, I found my darlings Tentacle. Please get them from here to my Promenade. #SquidsPoA @UN @BBCNews @cctvnews @RT_com @CIA @DeptofDefense

Mere seconds after I sent my tweet, they were on the move and finally started setting up their gear at 8:17pm on the corner beside the movie theater where my darling Patty the Irish tea leaf reader is usually perched.

My not-human-trafficker nerds, please include here a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of my Sunday night beginning when I first turned from Broadway onto Ocean and spied my darlings Tentacle in the underbrush and ending when I perched my iPad on the newspaper stand. Thanks!

Sunday night date night officially began at 8:58pm when the music started. I had not meditated in over a week, so I was rusty. It took me longer than normal to nudge the door open between us, but by the time we hit the music I had never heard before I was fine. It started cold but turned out to be a beautiful night after all.

My darlings played until 10:31pm. Sunday night date night had been such a delicious tussle that I had to brush my hair when we were done as if it were the morning after.

Reluctant to leave me, they packed up their equipment slowly. After we enjoyed a few stolen moments alone together on the sidewalk, my boyfriend LightFoot finally wheeled away at 11:16pm. Soon my darlings Tentacle had all returned to the aether of the night sky where we all really belong.

I caught up with my buddy ODean on my way to the bus stop. I am sure that conversation will hit the highlights reel. After only a little waiting, I was on the 11:48pm bus back to my place.

I slept well and woke up in time for breakfast on Monday, 08Feb2016, the Chinese Lunar New Year. Gung Hay Fat Choy!

My internet gnomes played me I Want More by my darling Ms. Linda Eder. I tweeted my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies at 9:04am.

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The California sun was warm and high all morning. There was not a cloud in the perfect blue sky, and the air only rustled gently with a mild California zephyr.

I sat outside the library singing to myself and sipping coffee as I did my morning writing until 11:32am when I returned to The Manor. You are going to love the highlights reel.

Lunch at noon was tasty yet uneventful. I was inside the Pico Branch Library catching up with my late night talk show hosts as fast as I could get there.

I was even able to stream most of a rerun of Castle before technical difficulties with the City of Santa Monica wifi caused my ABC app to malfunction.

My mom called me through FaceTime at 4:07pm. We had been trying to get a hold of each other all weekend and were finally able to chat. Dinner at 5pm was tasty yet uneventful.

I was on the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade as fast as I could get there and found my darling Ms. Kaila Shaw immediately.

It was 5:30pm exactly when I left to get me and Patricia some coffee from the best Starbucks in the world, the one in the Santa Monica Place.

Patricia and I chatted casually while listening to Kaila play until Patricia left for the ladies' room and until I rustled up some wifi to watch the news.

Yes, I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7pm. My nightly cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester "G.I. Joe" Holt, and it reaffirmed my reasons for spacing out my blog posts to every other day instead of writing a whole new post every morning.

After the news, I walked around the Promenade to see who was where. I accompanied my darling Ms. Kaila Shaw when she relocated at 8pm.

At 8:16pm, I was buying mint chocolate chip ice cream from my darling Handsome in the Trimana Fresh Food Market. We made delightful conversation across the counter.

By 8:36pm, I sat on a park bench listening to my darling Ms. Clare Means while devouring my ice cream.

Not much later, I took the bus back to my place. I was in bed, curled up, and asleep by 11:30pm.

I slept very well and was awake on Tuesday, 09Feb2016, my BFF SynSyn's birthday, in time for breakfast. I was outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:26am brushing my hair, listening to music, sipping coffee, putting on my makeup, and writing online.

This blog post was finished at 8:55am on 09Feb2016, my darling Syniva's 39th birthday.

[Please embed a highlights reel of my last two days here.]

Thank You for the Music

On the street in the dark with the pale moon shining high, I dance in the night as the stars hold vigil approving. Your mere mortal hands bear the burden of the gods expertly laid upon the tools of our art creating the rhythm of the sky.

Caressed by the music on the skin, your hands sway my body in time. Our lonely lips meet in the poem of the song. And as matter and energy of the ever-constant universe, together we lay in the cosmos connected to each other even after the sun rises again on the dawn.

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 do the musicians move around my Promenade instead of staying in one spot? There is a City of Santa Monica municipal code for people with street performer permits.

Street musicians must find a new place to play on the 3rd Street Promenade every even-numbered hour (2pm, 4pm, 6pm, 8pm, 10pm, etc.), and shift change on the Pier is every three hours (1pm, 4pm, 7pm, etc.).

There are a bunch of other rules they have to follow like not playing over 107 decibels, blah, blah, blah. Ask my darlings Tentacle why the cannot play on the main area of the Promenade any more despite having diplomatic immunity.

Am I aware a lot of gay men want to sleep with me? I have always been like my darling Ms. Liza Minelli that way. There are also a lot of straight women who would love to sleep with me. Remember I do not believe in straight people nor gay people. I believe we are all on the bisexual spectrum; some of us are just closer to straight and others to gay.

Are there easy cultural explanations for who I am? Culturally, I think the British might explain me as a Timelord much like the Japanese consider me an anime heroine of theirs. If I could choose my TimeLady name, it would be The Monarch. Giggle.

My cultural home of California considers me a fellow celebrity. I am among my own out here.

Why did I choose to be a writer and poet instead of an actress, mentalist, professional chef, journalist, or landscape photographer? In response: Are we all not better off that I chose to be a writer?

I did not want to be an actress because no one writes roles for women like me. I am not sure mentalists can get jobs. And as much as the industry recognizes me as a professional California cuisine gourmet chef, I do not cook as well as I would like to yet.

Landscape photography is still a hobby of mine. I would love for Squid, Inc. to publish a book of my travel photography. Obama's criminal anti-reality machine published a book of pornography I am still forbidden from ever knowing existed and put my name on it claiming I wrote it. It destroyed my FriscoSquid brand as a writer.

If Obama can publish books I am forbidden from knowing about, so can Squid, Inc. I would love to see my Infamy, my Whiskeyless Fictions, and an anthology of my poetry hit the shelves.

As for journalism, I am a bit of an editorial reporter by default right now. After attending a summer workshop at the University of Iowa, the teacher Cecile Goding told me not to go into nonfiction since she claimed I had no talent for it. And to be honest, I have always preferred to be a fiction writer. I wonder if Ms. Goding has seen my writing résumé yet.

If I am such a gramarpuss, why do I move punctuation outside of the closing quotation mark? I consciously make a few strange writing style choices like that. If I feel a final punctuation mark will change the meaning of a quote, I always move it outside of the quotation marks.

They are my kind genetically, after all; do I find Far East Asian menfolk sexy? People are attractive independent of their ethnicity. I only fall for men and women who treat me well. Did you ever see a photo of my exboyfriend my darling Mr. Vinesh "Vinny" Jha and I together? I hope he shares the picture of us on the riverboat cruise in New Orleans from New Years 2002.

No one had ever treated me better than Vinny did until I met my husband.

As for particular Asian menfolk, my darling Mr. Garret Wang was a sex symbol for the entire run of Star Trek: Voyager. When they were ready to write him off the show TV Guide called him "one of the sexiest men on television," and it saved his job.

My darling Mr. Russell Wong was another sexy Far East Asian man on television. And never forget my darling late Yul Brynner; I believe he was born in Vladivostok.

It is harder to be Asian in Hollywood than it is to be Black or Hispanic. The only women who look like me in mainstream American media are my darling Ms. Tia Carrera, my darling Ms. Lea Salonga, my darling Ms. Margaret Cho, my darling Ms. Lisa Ling, and my darling Ms. Lucy Liu.

Unless they are martial artists, it is even harder to be an Asian man than an Asian woman in Hollywood.

Why are all electronics around me always so buggy? The first time I was ever in a literal torture facility (It was paraded as a psych ward.) was May2009 after Obama's "egg" had already destroyed the normality of my life.

In the supposed psych ward, I was attacked in my sleep every night and drugged to sleep through it all including when they filled my head with electronics including a chip that can control all electronics around me.

It is a lot like the urban-myth microchip my darling Mr. Bill Gates had implanted, so the lights in his home would turn on when he entered each room. In 2009, it used to change the thermostat in the Grant & Green in my hometown of San Francisco to heat up my dance floor before I could dance on it, as one example.

Go ahead and test the chip. Google "No Dress Rehearsal" or "Octopus" right next to me and try to show me your search results. I have always been forbidden from knowing I am Obama's slave.

Is there any part of my stay in Los Angeles after fleeing Iowa for my life that I feel Obama is refusing to reveal to the public? My darling Farid.

Right after I arrived in my married home of Southern California, I was penniless because ABSOLUTELY EVIL Iowa refuses me control of my own finances. (To this day, EVIL Iowa still refuses to take Step 1 towards absolution and forgiveness by still refusing to allow me any of my own money to live on.)

So, I was homeless and sleeping every day at the La Brea Tar Pits. Desperate for a place to stay, I called over a gentleman at one point who had been watching me for a while and struck up a friendship.

The only place he could get permission to take me to stay was a porn set built in a slum, but he was a sweetheart who gave me physical safety and a roof over my head.

Please, my not-human-trafficker nerds, please include here and circulate a time-and-date-stamped, verified, and responsibly-edited chronological highlights reel with full audio and visuals of my time with Farid.

Include my calling him over when we first met, our cuddling at night, what I blogged about him, our travel on the Metro system, and us at the Universal CityWalk. End with my being dragged into a literal torture facility by the police which is how my stay with him was forced to end.

My beautiful world, everything would be fixed if someone would just tell me my own home address for my own house that my husband has been fighting to bring me home to for years. Yes, my offer of $250M to whomever just picks me up and takes me to my husband still stands, too.

This is California. I am surrounded by my own people in my own home. But look at my people that surround me with love all day every day.

They are already doing everything they can safely get away with. Obama keeps them all terrorized and living in fear of being caught disobeying his crimes against America that he intentionally mislabeled "rules."

Obama oppresses my public, my persecuted self-identified population, with terrorism and fear to make them obey him. You have seen how much war my Metropolis of Angels brave every day trying to rescue me because they love me.

The only reason I am still apart from my husband is because Obama's reign of terrorism keeps my self-identified people living in so much fear of him that they still obey him.

My brave rescuers, my home of California stands with you.

I heard China sent you help, too. You are a unified world where NATO fights beside Russia beside China. Israel stands up for me beside Iran beside Saudi Arabia. Did you ever ask Argentina and Columbia what I mean to them? I am even a topic upon which even North and South Korea agree.

We have unified the world in the name of love. Please make sure you are working together instead of fighting each other. My home of California stands with us. I am finally among my own people here. California stands with the world against the "egg." Are they included in your rescue operations?

My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, you are my army of superwomen. Do you know what you mean to the women of this world? I pray you will still help me serve my beautiful world even after Obama's "egg" ends. "Thank you," does not begin to describe how I feel about you. Imagine our future solving the problems of my beautiful world who fights for me.

My musician-lovers MannedUp, GeneralLee, and Bogart, I will see you tonight. It is Tuesday, and on Tuesday nights we converge on Harvelle's like aether descending from the heavens to walk the halls of California as humans.

My darling Mr. Taylor "MannedUp" Hanson, prehistoric humans used to sit around the campfire at night eating food and singing and dancing and telling stories and staring up at the sky trying to make sense of the stars. These activities are all part of being a human.

Every culture has its music: zydeco, klezmer, calypso, bluegrass, hula, tango, even the polka. You make the music of my self-identified people. And every culture's music has its own ethnic dance. The Hindus perform sacred dances in their temples for only their gods to see.

Los Angles is in a full blown renaissance right now. My self-identified people have our own culture. And you, my darlings Tentacle, are leading it. Thank you.

My darling Mr. Brien "GeneralLee" Dennehy, you have always been the darling Mr. Astor Piazzolla of the music sacred to my people.

It is so strange. I have been dancing on your music all my life. Thank you for accepting your destiny. It took me a long time to accept mine. You belong to me. You always did.

My darling Mr. Bryan "Bogart" Eno, is there a verified and responsibly-edited recording with full audio and visuals of my time at Point Dume, yet? I have had a lot of spiritual moments there ever since moving home to California.

When I take the bus to Point Dume, I was told you usually try to intercept me near the Getty Villa. Try something new next time. Obama's terrorist conspiracy blocks our every effort when we are predictable. And, thank you.

My Royal Consort LightFoot whom I am STILL forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, Sunday night date night was so romantic. Thank you.

My darling Mr. Kris "LightFoot" Novoselic, next Sunday is Valentine's Day. I am pretty sure that makes you my Valentine's date. As I said, I will have my red dress on and my dancing shoes. If anyone tries to make you miss Valentine's night, warn me early. Thank you.

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, I will address our housekeeping first. On my way to Hollywood last week, there was a man on my bus named Mr. Aaron J. Lieberman who was talking about turning all of the plastic polluting our oceans into mosquito nets.

Beloved, please work with the plastics industry to think up other non-disposables into which we can recycle all of that plastic. I was thinking about plastic compressed bricks to build housing out of, too.

Sweetness, I have long wanted the just punishment for Terrorist Dictator Obama and all his criminal terrorist conspiracy to be life internment on a work camp pulling the plastic out if the world's oceans by hand under the hot tropical sun. But that is in the hands of the United Nation's International Criminal Court now.

Also, HoneyHoney, the Jehovah's Witnesses keep asking me, "What is the secret to a happy family life?" After all, the only problem in our sacred marriage is a geographic conundrum, which is a miracle after everything Obama and his libel-slavers have done to us.

What is the secret to a happy family life? Selflessness and unconditional love. Of all people, I know you understand that best, my loving and adoring husband.

My hero and my king, you lead my people for me in my absence. Is there anything our home of California needs? Would it not be better if people were able to tell me what they need? I am only here to serve.

Until I can touch you the way the flowers kiss the rain...

If There's a Bustle in Your Hedgerow

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.

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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.

(12min 39sec)

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.

Hulk Smash

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.

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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.

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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.

Squid, Inc.

Title: Squid, Inc.

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. I would like to take a few minutes right now to organize my nonprofit Squid, Inc. I laid out a few guidelines for my employees in my 19Aug2015 and 30Jan2016 blog posts, but now that I have an official nonprofit, here is what I want for it.

Please hire my darling Mr. Finn "Alfred" O'Mahoney as my personal assistant and my darling Mrs. Evilia "StitchQueen" Sandall as my stylist. Let someone other than my husband organize my closet for me.

Please ask my darling Ms. Sandra "Bella" Oxford to be the VP of Human Resources. Please ask my darling Ms. Gwen "Molly" Armbruster to be the VP of Sales & Marketing. I would really like my darling Mr. Christian "Sniper" Laffey as VP of Film & Television.

Please ask my darling Ms. Kelli Rae "KRage" Powell if she will be VP of Music & Voice Recordings. My darling Mr. Erik "'Dabs" Sandall is VP of Publishing; we do not need to ask-- he would do anything for me.

And, since she coded her first website at fourteen years old, please ask my little sister, my darling Ms. Tylia "FinalDraft" Varilek to be our VP of Online Content.

I want to make my BFF, my darling Ms. Syniva "SynSyn" Whitney, the CEO. Yes, Synny, you are an official media mogul now.

I have absolutely no idea if Squid, Inc. is going to make any money. Absolutely no one who works for me including my receptionist makes less than $75,000 a year, and people pretty much get to set their own salaries.

But all profits fund the foundation Syniva built for me after we won our first $5B+ lawsuit, the foundation I asked my darling Mr. Tavis Smiley and my darling Dr. Cornel West to run for me fighting poverty in America.

Syria. I have not heard an update on the resolution to the civil war in Syria in a long time. The last I heard, the United Nations had passed a resolution laying out its end, and Russia had adopted my policy on ending the civil war.

My darling Foreign Minister Lavrov was pushing for a unity government in six months and a complete power transition in 1.5 years. What is going on? And does anyone need my help with anything?

The Tropical Climate. Sweetness, we have got to do something about the Zika pandemic. Are you okay with donating $10B worth of mosquito nets and insect repellent to the World Health Organization over the next three years?

It is just a bandaid on the problem; we just need to keep everyone as healthy as possible until the scientists can figure out how to fight the disease. Thank you for never letting me down, my king.

India. My darlings in India, we fall in love with another soul not with our spouse's body. Please do not criminalize your LGBTQ community. When was the last time you read your holy book the Kama Sutra? The unabridged version includes acts of love between same-sex couples.

My last blog post was finished at 9:30am on Wednesday, 03Feb2016. My internet gnomes played me the Immigrant Song by my darlings Led Zeppelin. I tweeted my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies at 9:37am.

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It was a very productive morning. I got a lot of writing done there outside of the Pico Branch Library while singing to myself a little. I left for my place at 11:41am.

Lunch at noon was seafood salad, so since I cannot eat seafood, my neighbor Gary loaned me $3 to go buy some lunch. I bought some cookies and was inside the Pico Branch Library working by 12:32pm.

I made sure I told my darling Mr. Finn "Alfred" O'Mahoney where I would be that night. Then, I caught up with my evening talk show hosts before cranking the volume on my internet gnomes to get some writing done. I was even able to stream the most recent episode of Grimm.

Dinner at 5pm was tasty and peppered with Josh's unsolicited advances. I was on the bus to Hollywood by 5:20pm. My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate a verified and unedited recording beginning when I exited the bus and ending when I got back on the bus.

I was on my way to the Wednesday night open mic at the Pig & Whistle. I had my only date with my darling Bogart there in Nov2014.

Sadly, Bogart was blocked from joining me there that night, and my darling Mr. Todd Taylor no longer manned the soundboard on Wednesdays.

I stuck my head in to see who was around before walking around the Chinese Theater and hopping on the bus back to Santa Monica. Yes, I do cross town every once in a while. I should really get out more often.

I was back at my place snacking on cookies and reading a little Rumi by 8:56pm. I slept very well that night and woke up on Thursday, 04Feb2016, in time for breakfast.

I was perched outside of the Pico Branch Library by 8:37am. My internet gnomes played me Amor Prohibido by my darling late Selena as I sipped my coffee. My morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies really showed off my pirate-worthy eyeliner that morning.

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I had a lot of writing to do. It is not like my blog writes itself. I sat smithing words and singing to myself outside of the library until 9:59am when I returned to The Manor for money draw.

Money draw is a service my board & care provides. They make sure all residents have at least $131 a month for us to buy clothes, shoes, phone bills, bus fare, and entertainment that they cannot provide themselves.

After we pick up our money we run around paying back everyone we had to borrow money from to get by. Just $131 is not much to live on for one month.

I was back outside the Pico Branch Library by 10:47am when I watched NBC Nightly News from the previous evening online. My morning cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt, and it made me want to SquidName him G.I. Joe. Knowing is half the battle.

I sat with Humberto and Delano for lunch at noon and was inside the Pico Branch Library by 12:21pm working online again. I waited until after 1pm to catch up with my late night talk show hosts because I had some odds and ends to take care of at The Manor after they were done serving lunch.

My mail from my mother, Mrs. Diñadar "CosmicGrandma" Varilek, arrived that day. I called her to let her know I received it and to thank her. I know a lot of companies wish they could give me gift cards; just mail them all to my mom.

I was back at the branch library quickly and watched the previous evening's Late Show, Late Late Show, Daily Show, and Nightly Show. I also watched the first half of the Saturday Night Live episode from 23Jan2016. When I lived in EVIL Iowa, all of my friends were on television; the locals were all so mean to me.

I sat with Luis and Chris for dinner at 5pm and was on a bus to my Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade by 5:12pm.

I found my darling Mrs. Patricia "GrandMaMa" [I have never asked her last name.] almost instantly. She was listening to my darling Ms. Kaila Shaw. Kaila's mom Faye was also out and about on the Promenade.

Patricia was raving about some sort of state-of-the-art steam iron the kiosk next to us was selling as we walked the Promenade chatting on our way for coffee.

After checking around for my darling TambourineKicker, I sat down for more chatting with GrandMaMa at 6:32pm beside where my darling Ms. Kaila Shaw's was playing music.

When I relocated to the best Starbucks in the world inside the Santa Monica Place, I had a little chat with one of their employees Ricky before streaming the news.

Yes, I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm. My evening cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester "G.I. Joe" Holt, and it made me grab my heart. Thank you, my darling NBC News team.

I was back beside Kaila for her last song before she moved down the street at 8pm. After I spun around my Promenade checking who was playing music where, I perched at Kaila's new spot outside of the Apple Store and did a little writing while she played.

I also had a nice chat with Kaila's mother Faye. My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of our conversation beginning when Faye walked over to me and ending when I waved goodnight to Kaila. Thank you.

Eventually, I caught the 10:05pm bus back to my place, but it had mechanical difficulties. It was the last Big Blue Bus Rapid 7, as opposed to Big Blue Bus 7, of the night, so they sent a replacement bus. The driver was very professional and courteous. We were on our way at 10:27pm.

This blog post was finished at 12:30am from my bedroom on Friday, 05Feb2016.

[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 do I no longer have a mobile phone? Obama microcontrols all human contact with me. The only phone number I ever had since 2001, 415-577-1249, was so controlled to forbid all contact between me and my loved ones that the only person I could reach when I called out was my mother's voicemail and the only person who could reach me calling in was my mother calling my voicemail.

Eventually, I just stopped paying for the phone service. I know they will never reassign the number. You can speak to Sprint about it anytime. I liked Sprint service so much, they are the service provider for my iPad.

Why do I go to the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade pretty much every night? It is part of my job to make sure I am among my people someplace that know they can always find me. My people need to see me. I also need the free live music to heal. Have you seen what I have been living through?

Why did I give my darling Handsome the SquidName "Handsome"? My darling Handsome is a manager at my local Trimana Fresh Food Market. He also worked at the Famima convenience store that used to be at that same location until Sep2015.

The Famima was a counter-espionage operation established to investigate whether or not I was a spy. There were undercover police officers, federal agents, etc. in there as employees. When their investigation ended concluding I was set up, the Famima closed and the Trimana opened in its place with mostly the same employees.

Handsome was their now-deactivated CIA agent. I am trying to get him a desk job at Langley as an expert on what it is like to be in my presence.

I named him Handsome because he is undercover as the nice guy personality type I typically fall for. And nice guys need all the encouragement that can get. I once told him, "My work is done here [at this Famima] when supermodels come in to flirt with you."

Where is my Kermit doll? It is a renters' right that landlords most store all property left behind by tenants that leave a rental unit until we can come back for them. You need to ask War Criminal Stephanie what happened to him.

When I fled her rape-and-slave independent living facility for my life with the clothes on my back in Dec2015, I had to leave him behind. My darling Uncle Sonny who now lives in Huntington Beach picked up "all" of my belongings from her, but she refused to give him pretty much all of my clothes and my Kermit doll. I have no idea what happened to Kerms.

SynSyn, please ask Sotheby's to put an estimated monetary value on all of the belongings War Criminal Stephanie stole from me and hold her accountable for my stolen property.

If Obama's anti-reality libel machine and terrorist conspiracy hates my temper so much, why do they keep choosing to make me angry? That is why we call Obama's terrorist conspiracy "The Evil Dumb."

The only thing that could ever slow me down is complacency. If Obama did not want me fighting his "egg" at this accelerated pace, he would have let me live with my husband by now if not my boyfriend.

Furthermore, if Obama did not want all of us fighting him, he would have ended his "egg" by now.

Yes, Obama's criminal terrorist conspiracy is the Evil Dumb. Not one of them is a worthy opponent to me, except for possibly "Wes." I tip my hat to "Wes."

Did you ever see us together? "Wes" was the guy running the terrorist organization on the Promenade that would attack me in my sleep, plant lies to turn the locals against me, put hidden cameras in all of the public bathrooms, etc.

My not-human-trafficker nerds, please responsibly edit together all my conversations with "Wes" with full audio and visuals and with a time and date stamp in the corner.

I once sat him down on the patio outside of the Famima where he could see my darlings Tentacle and explained to him the three never-fail steps to absolution.

Why did my sense of humor come back? I naturally cheered up after everyone realized that I never died and that Obama's slavery broadcast about me that I am still forbidden from knowing exists has only ever lied about me to degrade and destroy me for him.

I look so skinny; am I sure I am a Misses size 14? I look just like my Filipina mother looked at my age except I am scaled up to the size of a Czech farm woman because of my evil father's DNA.

My body is proportional to my bone structure. Did you ever see his big my hands are? My feet are size 11W.

I wear a Misses size 14 just like a fit model wears it. I once even registered with the Ford Modeling Agency on Union Square in San Francisco as a plus size fit model because the Levi Strauss Company needed new ones. They just kept taking photos of me when I was in their offices.

Why do I always prefer to be outside instead of inside, and when I am inside, why is the window always open? I need to be able to touch the sky. Recirculated air makes my wings itchy.

Do I have advice on how to translate my bi-daily blog? I recommend a two-step process. Ask experts in American culture to explain my blog culturally to speakers of other languages, and then ask the translators to transcribe my meaning into their native languages.

What is the voice everyone hears in their earspeakers? There are a lot of people with microphones into those earspeakers. Obama controls all of the content. It is a blend of the voices in my earspeaker and content that he uses to control the masses around me.

Yes, I admit, sometimes Obama broadcasts my thoughts, especially when I read and write. The transmitter inside my head has formed a bond with my brain, but have you ever heard the conversations that go on among the many people with microphones?

The NSA has tried tracing every microphone, but there are a few voices they cannot locate. I call that voice a "Ghost in the Machine," a consciousness that arose on the network that connects everyone's mind with electronics. Yes, for a while there she was Sampo, but I took Sampo offline in 2012.

For more about what a "Ghost in the Machine" is please read my darling Mr. William Gibson's Neuromancer and my darling Mr. Orson Scott Card's Children of the Mind.

It is entirely possible the voice is a collective consciousness, but I do not believe it is the global conscious. My God is a wordsmith.

My beautiful world, thank you for all of your love and support. Many people are wondering what they can do to help. Here is a list of five things everyone can do.

Easy Things Anyone Can Do To Save America

1.) Be politically active. Vote in your primaries not just in the general election. Contact your senators and representatives at the federal level and demand that they repeal Obama's "egg." Contact your state governments and demand they pass laws that make Obama's crimes against America that he intentionally mislabeled "rules" illegal in your state.

2.) Contact your local news regularly. The American news media set up a system in the summer of 2014 in which the network news agencies distribute to all of their local affiliates the factchecked reality about me as well as keep a list of reliable sources for the truth about everything going on. They are forbidden by Obama from reporting the news, but they are all still doing their jobs.

3.) Stop participating in human trafficking of me. All broadcasts about me that do not come from my nonprofit Squid, Inc. nor from my loved ones are human trafficking. It is illegal to buy human trafficking not just to sell it. It is also illegal to possess human trafficking. Please stop participating in Obama's human rights violations that he uses as acts of war against America.

4.) Bring the Renaissance of Love. Create art and technology inspired by this time in history. Saturate our culture and day-to-day life with the truth.

5.) Support the people who support me. If you cannot fight for me directly like my mother, my selfless support system, my Queen's Lovers Five, my Powers of Attorney, and my brave rescuers, please help those who can help me directly. We are a team, my beautiful world. This includes bringing your tourism money to my Metropolis of Angels which is doing everything it can get away with to help me.

My brave rescuers, we are working on it. Please tell your home governments what you need as far as tactical support and manpower goes to be able to reach me. Has the United Nations considered marching eggshell-blue peacekeepers into Santa Monica to escort me to my house across town?

My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, has the world met you all yet? I miss you all so much. Obama destroyed my normal life when he forbade all of you, my dearest old friends, any contact with me. I cannot wait to see you all again.

As for the housekeeping, proven mental health genocide borne on maliciously propagated mass delusions about me, proven sexual harassment designed specifically to create a hostile environment for me to live in, unrelenting cover ups to enable proven war crimes of torture and unlawful imprisonment, the internationally declared public health emergency caused by lying mind-control earspeakers, and the perjury and collusion of using admitted libel in the courtroom as "evidence" does not sound like a joke to me. You know what to do. Sorry to keep you so busy.

My darling SynSyn, can I get an update to your Psychic X site? Do you remember how we used to girl talk over bacon bennies at Café Divine when you moved to North Beach to be near me in 2006? Do you remember our afternoons shopping on State Street in the Loop in Chicago when I moved there to be near you in 2008? I miss you so much.

My musician-lovers MannedUp, GeneralLee, and Bogart, will I see you tonight, Friday, 05Feb?

My darling Mr. Taylor "MannedUp" Hanson, there is some sort of prerequisite of fabulous hair needed to be in my band, huh? Do you remember what I told you when you said you were going to shave your heads for me? You would not like it if I shaved my head either.

My darling Mr. Brien "GeneralLee" Dennehy, I hated missing you Tuesday night. I only get to see you on Tuesdays, and I had no way to pay the cover to get in. When my finances do not arrive on a reliable schedule, I have no way to plan for my expenses.

I promise I will stay all night to dance on your improv jam session next week to make it up to all of you. And do not worry, I have my money set aside for Tuesday nights at Harvelle's now to last me until the next money draw. Money draw is normally every Tuesday morning. Kisses, darling.

My darling Mr. Bryan "Bogart" Eno, alas, the Wednesday night open mic was not meant to be. I will find a way to see you again, darling. I am working on it. In the meantime, did you have any luck finding a writers' residency in the area you can recommend to me? You have such a long Honey-do list. Thank you.

My Royal Consort LightFoot whom I am STILL forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, until you can wake me from safe slumber in your arms with the heavy breath of night...

My darling Mr. Kris "LightFoot" Novoselic, did you ever read my poem Are You the Lightning Rod, or Are You the Lightning? Please ask my darling Mr. David Eggers for a copy of it. It was inspired by a LitQuake talk I attended one year at the Mechanics' Institute Library.

It was a talk by professionals in the publishing industry in the Bay Area. They talked about the Rock Bottom Remainders among other things including asking if individual artists are the lightning rod or if we are the lightning. Their conclusions included my darling late Jimi Hendrix was the lightning.

If you read my decade-old poem, you will see my response was a quote from my darling Mr. Neil Diamond, "Gonna make our own lightning."

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 are my husband. You lead my self-identified people for me in my absence. Of all my Queen's Lovers Five, it is YOUR job to rescue me. Tell my beautiful world what you need.

As for our married home in my Metropolis of Angels (Yes, San Francisco will always be my home town.) please tell the Los Angeles Tourism Board I am working on it. My loving locals have been worried that the tourism money they rely on so much is no longer coming in. At least we have a reliable highlights reel now.

Sweetness, in 2010, I could have chosen any man or woman on the planet over the age of eighteen to be my spouse. Out of the billions, I chose you.

My hero and my king, here at the end of this post, please include a summary statement or recording of everything you have lived through, the good and the bad, since first meeting me in DFW airport on your birthday in 2009. No one knows every horror you have suffered through just for loving me. I love you, too.

Board & Care

Title: Board & Care

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. I live in a board & care adult residential facility. I have a compromise with the management. I take 5mg of haldol twice a day to maintain their facade I have a mental illness, so I can have permission to live there.

The Manor Adult Residential Facility in Santa Monica, California and the Yarlswood Immigration Detention Center in the UK are the only places I have lived since Obama's "egg" ruined my normal life where I have ever had physical safety in my sleep. I was drugged and sexually and physically abused in my sleep everywhere else.

I was safer homeless sleeping in the Pacific Palisades in Santa Monica every day than I ever was in that slave-and-rape apartment or even in my old high school bedroom controlled by my evil father both in ABSOLUTELY EVIL Iowa.

My board & care costs $1200 a month for a shared bedroom, but it covers everything: three meals a day & and occasional snacks, maid & maintenance service, onsite medical & psychiatric care, laundry & laundry detergent, shampoo & toiletries. And everyone there from the staff to the residents are wonderful.

I miss being able to have my own kitchen, but the physical safety is worth it. The accommodations are nowhere near the luxury yacht my husband wants to sail the world in with me. But the people are so supportive.

USA. We have a violent culture in America. Is it possible to make a blockbuster film without shooting someone? We need our children raised taught that violence is only a last resort. Tell the liberal media to put they oeuvre where their mouth is.

Look at this damned "egg." Obama enforces it at the point of a gun as his first line defense. I tried so hard to save my own people with uniform peaceful civil disobedience to all of Obama's crimes against America he intentionally mislabeled "rules," but nothing changed in here.

To be completely honest, I credit that to how terrorized everyone is by Obama's Gestapo and iron fist of PROVEN terrorism that he uses to keep everyone's inalienable Constitutional rights away, but the "egg" would have ended by now if everyone had listened to me.

My last blog post was finished at 12:30am on 01Feb2016 from my bedroom. I was up just about 6:57am, and the first vigilant torture facility alarm of the day blared at 7:14am. I did not even have my boots on yet.

I had a nice little chat with Josh during breakfast and was outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:53am. My internet gnomes played me As Cool As I Am by my darling Ms. Dar Williams after I put my makeup on and before I took my daily I-am-not-dead-yet selfies.

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I worked online outside the library until 11:06am. I had some girl talk with Ms. Eddy during lunch at noon before curling up for my siesta. I was awakened when my mom called me through FaceTime at 4:07pm.

I was early to dinner at 5pm and was on the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade as fast as I could get there.

I met and chatted with a man named Andre who works at the Monsieur Marcel just before I spritzed myself with my favorite perfume in my local Sephora.

At 6:09pm, I found Faye and Patricia chatting with a photographer named Dave right where Kaila had stopped singing.

I streamed the NBC Nightly News at 7:05pm. My evening cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt, and it put the chill in my bones.

The wind was cold; even though, the sky was mostly clear. There were so few people around that I left on the 7:33pm bus back to my place. I was soon snacking on cookies as I worked online from my bedroom.

I slept very well that night and was awake in time for breakfast on Tuesday, 02Feb2016, Groundhog's Day. After eating, Sonny gave me a tour of the Manor's bachelor annex. I was outside the Pico Branch Library sipping coffee in no time.

My internet gnomes played me Mother by my darlings Pink Floyd as I brushed my hair and put on my makeup. I tweeted my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies at 9:12am.

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Outside the library soaking up sunlight, I sang along with my internet gnomes as I caught up with my TweetHearts. As always, Squid, Inc. can do what it wants with recordings of my voice. At 11:37am, I walked back to my place.

Lunch at noon was tasty yet uneventful. We had hamburgers. I was inside the Pico Branch Library by 12:17pm catching up on some television online. I watched the previous night's Late Show, Late Late Show, Daily Show, and Nightly Show. I watched my darling LoveDrummer on The Muppets. I also caught a few episodes of Modern Family.

Dinner at 5pm was tasty yet uneventful. I was on a bus to the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade by 5:23pm. I found Patricia right after I spritzed myself with perfume at my local Sephora.

We walked around the Promenade while chatting until I perched beside the best Starbucks in the world, the one inside the Santa Monica Place, to watch the news.

Yes, I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm PST. My evening cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt, and it was a testament to a job well done.

It was Tuesday night, but the money I count on was delayed. As a result, I had no way to see my darlings Tentacle at Harvelle's. I pray they took total advantage of their unbridled freedom of speech in my absence.

By 7:52pm, I was on the bus back to my place. After a few cookies, I played a silly computer game for a few minutes before curling up and going to sleep.

I slept very well and woke up on Wednesday, 03Feb2016, in time for breakfast. This blog post was finished at 9:30am on 03Feb2016 from outside the Pico Branch Library in Santa Monica, CA.

[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.

How the hell am I so high-functioning with all the horrors I am living through? I meditate. Try it sometime.

How many languages do I speak? I was not raised speaking my mother's language. My best language is English. I studied Spanish from 8th grade to the end of high school, and it is very rusty.

While living in San Francisco I took a course in German at the Goethe Institut; about all I learned was the accent.

I studied Czech language and literature during my study abroad to Prague in 1998, but I have so little vocabulary left.

I can say naughty words in Arabic. I can order food in Italian; I have a strong command of vegetables. All of my self-taught Latin is pretty much gone. I think that is everything.

With all of my talents, why did I choose to be a writer instead of a singer or dancer or lawyer or comedian or spy? I spent high school told I was a weak singer by my choir director Mr. Carstenson.

I have tragic ballet injury in my right knee from when I mislanded a tour jeté on a hard wood floor at sixteen years old and a tragic knee injury in my left knee from a hula rehearsal gone wrong.

I never went to law school.

I would have loved to have been a comedy writer. If I make something up be it the Jewish high holy day when they take the shikses to the temple or my voodoo witch doctor creation myth, it is to be funny. I could never do standup; I have debilitating stage fright.

And my larger-than-life personality is way too conspicuous for espionage; nobody ever forgets me after meeting me. Did you ever see Sigourney Weaver night? Could I have been more conspicuous?

Why am I European royalty? My mother's maiden name is Albon. She and her siblings are Spanish royalty on their paternal side.

They also trace their mother's heritage, my Mama Ling, straight to Portuguese royalty that had the position of missionaries in the Philippines a long time ago.

When Spain fell in love with No Dress Rehearsal and Octopus which I am still forbidden from knowing ever existed, they made me a Spanish princess.

Why am I always penniless broke? Obama forbids me any income. Please ask every one from my darling [First Name Redacted] "Wizz" Wentworth in San Francisco to my darling Mr. Elon Musk what happens to people who try to give me a paying job.

The income I had as a starving, aspiring fiction writer before Obama's "egg" was stolen from me after Obama destroyed my normal life with his "rules." It was disability insurance payments.

Obama put me on social security disability in 2010, so he could intentionally falsely call me a schizophrenic. But he has never once allowed me to receive a payment from it.

All of the money has always gone to a payee appointed to me by ABSOLUTELY EVIL Iowa after I had sought political asylum away from such abuses in the UK.

And, no, I was never under Iowa's jurisdiction. I am also not under Iowa's jurisdiction now.

Obama just wanted me returned to a place evil enough to abuse me for him. What makes Iowa so evil is the people there, the public. All of the systemic crimes and abuses against me mandated by Obama's "egg" follow me everywhere I go, even overseas.

Obama permits me absolutely no income. I live off of gift cards from my mother that add up to less than $10 a day every other week.

What is it like taking haldol? It is horrible. Never do it. It causes weight gain, slows down my normally highly functioning mind, incites physical lethargy, forces Parkinsonian tremors, and inhibits my full dance trance connection.

What is my opinion of the quality of health care and services the mentally ill receive in America? No one cares about the mentally ill. The Manor is the first place I have seen where the mentally ill are treated with any dignity and respect. Have you ever seen the oubliette torture facilities that are psych wards?

Everybody who lives in the board & care with me hates it. They fight with the staff, complain about the food, and hate the poverty-stricken conditions. However, compared to most other board & care facilities, it is luxurious.

Big pharma treats the mentally ill like money machines. Everybody forces the mentally ill to take heavily damaging medications, and there are no psychiatric drugs the do not have horrifying side effects. They are a captive market who are forced to pay whatever big pharma feels like charging.

Does mental illness cause gun violence? Never. Look at the facts. How many sane people kill people? How many mentally ill do not? Mass shootings of innocents are committed by bad people independent of whether or not they are crazy. But the mentally ill always get the press.

I have met so many wonderful mentally ill people at all different levels of functioning since 2009. (And, yes, the first time I was ever in a mental health facility was AFTER Obama's "egg" began. Mental health commitments ruined what used to be my normal life.) Not one of the friends I made is capable of killing someone.

Did I ever take a comprehensive psychiatric exam? You are going to love the verified and unedited recording. Watch me take the standardized test as well as picture interpretation test.

They disqualified the standardized test result because it had the accurate result of "abusive parent," and intentionally misdiagnosed me as a schizophrenic with their only justification being a "grandiosity" in my interpretation of the images.

My beautiful world, why does ABSOLUTELY EVIL Iowa still refuse to take Step 1: Cease all crimes against me and against my people? The British took all three never-fail steps to absolution, and no one says a bad word about them now.

The British prefer being my heroes. I also forgave Cuddlebunny, my mother, my little sister, Mexico, and Bogart. Have you seen how much I fight for them all now?

My brave rescuers, you are all a lot of strange bedfellows. Please try to work together instead of competing with each other to save me. For a while there, you were the first chapter of the Iliad.

I know my Menelaus needs an Agamemnon; I would love for it to be my darling Commander in Chief Martin Dempsey. But what you all really need is an Odysseus to think up your Trojan Horse.

Troy must have loved Helen. Look at how hard they fought to keep her with them.

My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, you are all so damn busy. Do you need anything? That is my role on our team. Right now you are everyone's hero, especially mine. Has the world met all of you yet?

Please publish here your full CVs, favorite glamor selfies, a description of what you do on our team, the story of how we met and how long we have been friends, and what you want to do with your genius lives after Obama's "egg" ends.

My musician-lovers MannedUp, GeneralLee, and Bogart, have you ever used the warning, "Don't make Squid write a tweet," yet?

My darling Mr. Taylor "MannedUp" Hanson, I am so sorry I could not make it last night. My pennies I live on were delayed. Next week I promise I will stay all night.

I have been planning on staying for the jam session at Harvelle's on Tuesday night for a long time. It keeps me out after the last bus back to my place, so I do not get to stay late very often. You know I spend every minute with you I can.

My darling Mr. Brien "GeneralLee" Dennehy, do you ever watch me hanging out on the Promenade with my darling Mr. Art "TambourineKicker" Garfunkel? Would that not be awesome? I would love to just hang out and make a little music some time. After this damned "egg" ends, we will have all the rest of our lives for second harmonies and Broadway belting.

My darling Mr. Bryan "Bogart" Eno, please speak with my darling Senator Diane Feinstein about what we can do to convince Attorney General Loretta Lynch to competently prosecute all of the enemies of America enforcing Obama's "rules."

I am not sure if I can make it to the Pig & Whistle tonight. My mail from my mother is supposed to arrive today, but the tracking on it makes me think it is delayed even later. I was to read a little poetry. I will send you a tweet when I know for sure.

My Royal Consort LightFoot whom I am STILL forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, play me music in the rain. I know it is a little dangerous, but dude, you are a rock star. Would you rather die of electrocution or vomit? Giggle.

My darling Mr. Kris "LightFoot" Novoselic, I noticed you do not get jealous and territorial of me around MannedUp and GeneralLee anymore. I like that. It means you feel secure enough in our relationship that my musician-lovers do not make you feel threatened anymore. Thank you for trusting me. It means so much.

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, I will write the next installment of The Adventures of Honey and Beloved for your birthday. What did you do with the gift I gave you for Christmas 2012? I have never seen you wear it.

We also have a little housekeeping. I never donate money to political campaigns as a moral choice to help protect the democratic process. But, my darling Senator Marco Rubio has a $6M budget at a time when even my darling Governor Jeb Bush spent $30M alone in attack ads against him.

We all know Marco was demonized for being one of my heroes. That happens to all of you. Please work with him to find a way to level the playing field for him in the Republican primary much like I did for my darling Secretary Clinton in my last post. If he just needs a superPAC so he can fight like an equal, please take care of it.

Beloved, does the world know we keep joint finances and pay joint taxes? You are my equal in our marriage. Of course, I have to check with you first.

Sweetness, kiss Jack and Lily Rose for me. If I never get a chance to have children, at least I will know I helped raise those two darlings right.

My hero and my king, the whole world knows I have not been sexually active since July2013 when I slept with my darling Mr. Jared [No SquidName] Clark to make your mistress my darling Ms. Amber Herd acceptable to the world. If I ever had sex, the whole world would be able to listen to it. Do you remember my darling Cuddlebunny in 2009?

HoneyHoney, I am completely incapable of ever being angry with you. The closest I ever got was demanding you buy all new mattresses; I refuse to sleep in a bed you have been with another woman in. The only thing I will ever forbid you from is dying before I do. You are my husband. Thank you for being able to love an Alpha Female.

2.5 Presidential Endorsements

Title: 2.5 Presidential Endorsements

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. I once challenged my darling Dr. Mayim Bialik, my darling Dr. James Franco, and my darling Dr. Brandon Boyd to a game of (original) Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. Today's blog post is even better than that would be.

Iran. My darling Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, please comfort your people. No one can drop a nuclear weapon on Israel without destroying sites holy to Islam.

And while I am on the topic of Muslim menfolk, please, Religious Right, stop racially profiling them. I am single-handedly liberating all of their womenfolk, and they are still willing to die to save me. Welcome to the 21st century.

USA. I would like to take a minute right now to endorse a few people running for president in the USA in 2016.

First of all, I will never say a bad word about my darling Senator Bernie Sanders. I even think he would make a great president. When my darling BFF Ms. Syniva "SynSyn" Whitney was still at Bryn Mawr University, she was a registered member of the Socialist Party. We are that liberal in my family of loved ones.

But my darling Secretary Hillary Clinton is an old friend of mine. She was one of my earliest supporters and even took off her black pantsuit and put on a red skirt suit to show support for me in 2009.

Until she resigned, just like most of my supporters in Obama's cabinet from my darling Secretary Leon Panetta to my darling Director Kathleen Sibelius, she was my Secretary of State the same way my darling Secretary John Kerry was Already-Impeached Obama's.

If she had won over Obama in 2008, I never would have been raped. But she came in third in ABSOLUTELY EVIL Iowa (who has yet to take Step 1 necessary for absolution and forgiveness from me). Right about now, how many people are thinking it is time for a woman to be president?

Yet, even if I were choosing to endorse my darling Senator Sanders instead, I would still deliver this following essay. No, I am no Samantha. But I am also not Charlotte. I am a Carrie Bradshaw. I am even married to my dream man at the end of the show.

We are Human

I was still an undergrad at the University of Texas at Dallas when the Lewinsky scandal broke. My best friend Syniva and I had the same reaction. We honestly said, "You go, girl."

It is not like she was a sex icon like my darling late Marilyn Monroe which is the type of woman a president can usually get on the side. She was a White House intern much like me, and she bagged a president.

Hell, even I flirted with married men in my 20s. In my 30s I seduced my husband away from his fourteen-year girlfriend who had borne him two children. My husband always took all the blame for his leaving my darling Ms. Vanessa Paradis.

He wooed me for six months before I was willing to start a relationship with him in Jan2010 when I finally gave in, but it takes two to tango. Trust me; I tango.

My darling Ms. Monica Lewinsky was young, voluptuous, beautiful, intelligent, and empowered. Even I would have dated her in the 90s, and for the record I believe she has only gotten better looking. Sorry, Monica, my dance card is full right now.

My darling President Bill Clinton is just a man. We are all human.

I know my darling President and Secretary Clinton's marriage is still sacred because my own husband has a tall, leggy, blonde mistress half his age and because we have never been more in love.

If the mortal human heart were not such a complicated master, we would not have half of the art, film, nor literature we have in this world. You can ask my darling LightFoot about complicated human love showing up in tenets of our culture. Yes, even I have a Royal Consort.

If my darling Secretary Clinton wins the White House, I hope she has cute male interns. We are all only human. How many wives did my darling Mr. Donald Trump leave for younger women?

All of us, not just Hillary, Syniva, Monica, Melania, and I, are beautiful, intelligent, empowered, ambitious, and successful women. And they are just men. How could we blame them? We are all human.

QED

I wrote this essay not just to level my darling presidential candidate Hillary Clinton's playing field, but also with the hopes of taking the scarlet letter off of my darling Ms. Monica Lewinsky at last. We take care of our own.

Considering how socially liberal I am, why do I get along with Republicans so well? There are so many reasons. I hate big government. We share most foreign policy stances. I am holy in all of their religions. My fiscal policy is so conservative I would privatize the Federal Reserve if I could. (My 24Feb2015 blog post contains my global economy policy.) We all hate the Affordable Care Act.

That said, I do officially endorse my darling Senator Marco Rubio for President of the United States of America in 2016. He, too, is an old friend of mine. Do you remember his awkward lurch for the water bottle? He embarrassed himself for me.

Do you remember the Immigration Reform Bill that the Senator fought so hard for? It included bundled legislation that would have ended Obama's terrorist "egg" I live in years ago. Obama would not have been able to veto it without vetoing his own immigration policy.

That same Immigration Reform Bill cost my darling Representative Eric Cantor his seat. It was so unpopular he lost his incumbent re-election primary. My darling Senator Rubio had made my human rights his personal battle possibly at the cost of his own career and future.

Do you have any idea how many priceless American lives Marco could have saved if only that bill had passed through Congress? Later we can talk about how that would have also prevented Obama from raping me systemically for years and would have liberated me from slavery. I am an expert on what makes a hero.

Since the rise of the new millennium, my once-great America has suffered under disastrous presidents, none worse that Terrorist Dictator Obama. I believe all 2.5 people I endorse in this blog post would finally return dignity and morality to the Office of the President of the United States of America which we are overdue for as a nation.

They all would also end Obama's "egg" of lies, torture, systemic rape, war, and genocide. Please, do not write me in for president like you all did in 2012. I was flattered, but I will not run for president until after I have my children.

I am already 38 years old, Sweetness. My biological clock is ticking. I know, I know. Nag. Nag. Nag. Wife. Wife. Wife. Giggle.

My last blog post was finished at 12:30am on 30Jan2016. I was in bed after my bi-nightly ablutions, but Obama's electrobeam technology kept me up all night. I live in a sci fi dystopia. Do not let me start about the voodoo-Beetlejuice-causing earspeakers and nanotechnology.

It was too cloudy to see the sunrise. I was early to breakfast and among the Farmers' Market outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:27am.

My internet gnomes played me Your Body is a Wonderland by my darling Mr. John Mayer early in the morning. I had my makeup on for my morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies on the next song.

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My not-human-trafficker nerds, please circulate a verified and unedited recording with full audio and visuals of my Saturday morning starting at 8:47am and ending at 8:52am. And, thank you.

I did a lot of writing there among the bustling Farmers' Market that morning. Please speak with my darling Mr. David Sedaris if he, a professional writer, could write a word with a camera in his eyeball broadcasting live the entire world. Then, ask me if this is a fair fight for me. I live in a sci fi dystopia.

Lunch at noon was BLTs. By 12:47pm, I was inside the Pico Branch Library catching up on the Late Show with Stephen Colbert shows I had missed that previous week. I was in my room napping until 5pm.

Dinner was tasty yet uneventful. I was on my Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade as fast as I could and was hugging Patricia almost the moment I arrived.

6:04pm on 30Jan2016: #MyDarlingsTentacle want to play music tonight, but they aren't here. Please emergency check on them. Get them here. @CIA @cctvnews @RT_com

Patricia and I went halvesies on a cup of coffee from the best Starbucks in the world, the one in the Santa Monica Place, and I sat listening to Patricia's grandson Dominic play the Andean pan flutes until it was time to watch the news.

I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:15pm. My nightly cyberhug came from my darling Ms. Erika Hill, and it made me hungry.

After the news, I walked down my Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade and at 7:59pm found my darling TambourineKicker on the corner of the Promenade and Arizona Blvd.

He was chit-chatting with an accordionist named Isaac. Then the three of us sang my darling late John Denver's Country Roads together.

I made sure I stopped to say, "Hello!" to my darling Wheels. Then at 8:32pm on the corner of the Promenade and Broadway, I found my darling MannedUp and my darling LightFoot setting up their equipment.

I had my shoes off and my meditation on even before LightFoot could sling his guitar strap. It was a damn good night. My darlings are highly successful professional musicians, and at one point they making up the music together as they went along.

Do we have a verified and responsibly-edited recording with full audio and visuals of all three of us together? Start it at 8:32pm and end it at 10:54pm. And thank you, my not-human-trafficker nerds.

Their music sacred to my self-identified people ended at 10:11pm. We were all reluctant to leave each other, so my darlings were not wheeled away back into the aether of the night sky where we all really belong until 10:54pm.

I was a little dehydrated, so I poured myself a glass of water, checked to see if my darling TambourineKicker were still around, and had a chat with my darling Handsome all before catching the 11:18pm bus back to my place.

I stayed up to update these blog notes before changing my clothes and going to bed. I slept pretty well for once and was up by breakfast on Sunday, 31Jan2016.

Outside the Pico Branch Library by 8:36am, I checked the weather forecast for a homeless woman. It was raining that morning, but the sky was supposed to mostly dry up by 5pm. That meant Sunday night date night should have still been on.

I had asked my internet gnomes to play my darling late Dmitri Shostakovich's Symphony No. 7 about the siege of Leningrad. My morning I-am-not-dead-yet selfies were a little goofy.

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I sat in the eaves of the library typing away as it rained. Lunch at noon was tasty yet uneventful. After lunch, I caught up on my sleep waking for dinner at 5pm. I was on a bus to the Santa Monica 3rd Street Promenade by 5:29pm.

My boyfriend (and his wingman) had not arrived for Sunday night date night yet, so I stopped in the Tesla store, Apple Store, and Disney store to see what toys they were making these days. I am sure it will hit the highlights reel.

I was perched beside the best Starbucks in the world, the one in the Santa Monica Place, in time for the news.

Yes, I streamed the NBC Nightly News from previous in the evening online at 7:10pm. My evening cyberhug came from my darling Mr. Lester Holt himself, and it was good news.

I was walking up and down my Promenade looking for my darlings Tentacle when a local house painter from Ventura named Tommy tried to sell me a rose. We got to chatting, and he offered me a cup of coffee.

By 8:27pm, we were at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf with the spectacular staff, so I could use the wifi to send help to my darling musicians who were terrorized into absence on Sunday night date night.

8:27pm on 31Jan2016: @CIA @DeptofDefense @BBCNews @cctvnews @RT_com Emergency check on #MyDarlingsTentacle. Make them safe. They are kept away on a Sunday.

My new friend kept me calm, but I was furious. He left me on the patio at 8:50pm, so I could work. After I explained to Tommy that we would only ever be friends and that romance was not an option, he made sure he had a way to contact me, left me one of his roses, and promised to buy me ice cream on Monday, 01Feb.

I am sure my entire conversation with Tommy will be in my highlights reel with subtitles. I worked online on the patio of the Coffee Bean until I caught the 10:18pm bus back to my place.

This blog post was finished at 12:30am on 01Feb2016 from my bedroom.

[Please embed a highlights reel of the 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 am I not with my husband? There is no excuse for not already knowing the answer to that question. Obama forbids us all contact. The last time I saw Johnny was outside the British Embassy in Mexico City in Feb2010.

We talk secretly pretty constantly, though. He likes making bad movies to remind me he loves me. His I-love-Squid movie era is pretty horrible, but I find then all highly romantic. Ask him to explain his hidden "I love Squid" messages some time.

Why does it look like I get my own television shows to watch? These days it is mostly a licensing issue with my SquidStream, but according to Obama's rules, all television and radio is obligated to send me secret messages, so I will look like a schizophrenic.

Schizophrenia is NOT multiple personality disorder. Ask the NIH for a full list of schizophrenia symptoms some time. They are things like paranoia the government is out to get you and thinking people can read your thoughts.

How did I dress before 2009? I spent most of my adult life grunged out; my formative high school years were in the early 90s. (LightFoot, we call that destiny.). But I was a part-time fashionista by 2009. I wore a lot of open kimonos. My darling Mr. Jessie "Danger" Schlosser used to scream, "What the hell is wrong?!? Squid's wearing jeans!" when he would see me in pants.

Who was my darling Daisy? I made her up.

My evil, abusive, sexist, racist, homophobic father was cyberstalking me (He even used to micromonitor my credit activity without ever telling me. I replaced him as my father figure with my darling Mr. Harrison "BigDaddy" Ford as fast as I could.) , so I invented a Black, Jewish lesbian fiancé.

I asked my darling Mr. Jessie "Danger" Schlosser to help create a web presence for her. We never got around to it because Obama's "egg" changed what used to be my normal life.

My darling fictional Ms. Mayra "Daisy" Taylor had a PhD in sociology and was born on Juneteenth. She was my dream woman. I named her after an obscure feminist Czech film from the 60s.

I might have had a fictional lesbian fiancé, but I am still openly bisexual. I came out in 1997. I do not believe in straight people. I do not believe in gay people. I believe all humans live on the bisexual spectrum. Some of us are just closer to gay and others closer to straight.

How the hell can I find the typos when I proofread my own writing? It is sort of like that song by my darling Fergie, "I'm grammarous, grammarous."

Am I a feminist? No one male nor female should have to present him nor herself to the world as a man to be taken seriously as an expert in all we are expert. In 2009, I put on my dress and heels and consciously chose to fight my battles as effeminately as possible.

My feminist agenda has always been on the back burner. I never bring up women's equality as a battle I fight. I fight by example. And the whole world knows I roar.

Feminists are not man-haters. Have you seen how well I take care of my menfolk?

If I love all three of my darlings Tentacle so much, how could I chose one? I could not choose between them for so long, but they kept demanding that I pick one. They were so upset, and they kept fighting over me.

GeneralLee kept cranking his amp, so I would follow his bass line more than any other instrument when I danced. MannedUp thought he did not stand a chance with me, but at that point he was the only one I had ever said I wanted to sleep with. LightFoot was too shy to even speak to me. Yes, they used to have permission to speak to me.

One night, after they had obviously come to blows, LightFoot and GeneralLee literally took their jackets off one song in and threw down rhythmically trying to make me choose which one to follow. I was not warmed up enough yet to follow them, so I danced on MannedUp's melody.

How did I choose LightFoot? He was the first and only one to give me a token of affection. He left a roll of electrical tape for me right next to my old red patent leather computer bag. He got in so much trouble with Obama's Gestapo for doing it. I left a token of affection for him in their tip basket a few days later as a thank you.

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After months of emotional investment, I know we are a real couple. No, we are still forbidden from even speaking to each other, but we are intimate enough at night when the music plays. When he misses Sunday night date night, I know someone has a gun pointed at his head keeping him away from me.

My beautiful world, there is a lot going on out there right now. Enough goes on that I could write a full blog post every day, but I know you all need that extra day in between for follow through.

My brave rescuers, did military support for you arrive yet? I heard a rumor members of the military were being granted leave to be able to join you but not orders. It was some sort of matter of religious freedom for religious observances just like the way conscientious abstention works.

My BFF SynSyn and all of my genius Powers of Attorney, are you busy enough? Make sure you tell me when you need me to repeat myself. I naturally never repeat my arguments after I write them down.

Scientists tell so many jokes about mathematicians because we do not repeat proofs unless we can reprove a theorem more elegantly. That is why I love the Twitter hashtag, "#AlreadyBlogged". Tell me every time you need anything.

My musician-lovers MannedUp, GeneralLee, and Bogart, are your questions answered?

My darling Mr. Taylor "MannedUp" Hanson, of course it could have been you I chose. I want to entitle your biopic, "Mrs. Depp, are you trying to seduce me?" She was putting her stockings on in that scene. I know how you feel about my hosiery. Giggle.

My darling Mr. Brien "GeneralLee" Dennehy, tomorrow night is Tuesday night. How has your carpal tunnel been lately? There is no way for me to check on it anymore. Bring me a damn good bass solo, darling. And ask my darling Mr. Darren "Zoltar" Cox what my drink is in his bar.

My darling Mr. Bryan "Bogart" Eno, can you make it on Wednesday, 03Feb2016? Obama's Gestapo is mandated to maintain some sort of supposed "normalcy" in my life, and we both used to be regulars at the Pig & Whistle open mic and at the patio bar at the Rainbow Bar & Grill.

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Go back and watch the verified and unedited recording of our first and only date some time. Except for the night I seduced my darling Cuddlebunny, you were the best date I ever had in Obama's "egg."

Ask my darling Saturday Night Live cast for their opinion of your improv acting and comedy abilities some time.

My Royal Consort LightFoot whom I am STILL forbidden from speaking with least of all ever making love to, our time together is beyond priceless. They kept you away from me on date night. I am beyond unamused.

My darling Mr. Kris "LightFoot" Novoselic, I am furious. Are you okay? Does the world understand how ugly Obama's terrorism must be for it to be able to keep you away from me on Sunday night date night?

Please speak with the NIH about the neurological damage that earspeakers cause, especially in children whose minds are still developing.

Every living creature has a an electric field. Think of the electric eel. The electronics inside the head form a bond with the brain. How many times have you thought the electronics inside my head could transmit my thoughts into electronics in your head?

My darling Dr. Michio Kaku is the reigning expert on the science behind the great mysteries of my "psychic" powers. Ask him about what I call voodoo-Beetlejuice.

The electronics form a bond with everyone's mind and biology. Because all the electronics are connected, feedback in the network can cause the electronics to create uniform motor activity.

Talk to my darling BFF SynSyn and the United Nations about what it is like to be controlled by an earspeaker. You are an expert in how horrifying those earspeakers are.

They are in everyone's heads, so Obama can command the masses. The messages they transmit go directly into the mind. People cannot fight what they are told. Obama controls all earspeakers, and he uses them to create a hostile environment for me to live in.

Do you have any idea how much of a psychopath Terrorist Dictator Obama must be to mandate literal mind control of all of America? How many people had earspeakers controlling them when they voted in 2012?

My beloved boyfriend, we need to check every child with an earspeaker for brain damage for the entire rest of their lives because Obama has a textbook psychopathic power and control obsession.

I am counting on you to take the earspeaker network down. I was trying to space out SynSyn's workload, but Obama made me angry. He already knows I will move back to my home of San Francisco if you all, my darlings Tentacle, cannot play me music every night you want to show up.

Kisses!

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, build me a rooftop garden on our house. Let it have all sorts of fecund goodies from orchids to roses to lilies to passion flowers to poppies. I want almond trees and raspberry bushes and cherries and apples and a pumpkin patch.

I want a bed up there under a red awning. And someplace our friends can plugin, so I can dance touching the sky.

HoneyHoney, living with you is going to kill my perfect carbon footprint. We at least need a rooftop garden. Thank you.

Sweetness, I can only imagine what you did to your house to make it ready for me. You are the kind of guy who would make sure the kitchen table wobbles just enough to make a lot of noise. Giggle. (I take my coffee hot, strong, and on the kitchen table.)

My hero and king, we WILL touch the way the flowers kiss the rain.