Shortly after backing up the previous journal entry I wrote to the WayBack Machine at Archive dot Org (while sitting at the Castro Valley BART station platform on the San Francisco bound train side of the platform), a skinny white guy who said he was recently released from Santa Rita County Prison asked me if he could use my phone to make a phone call. I said sure, used my pass code to unlock the phone, and handed the phone to him while he dialed some phone number and talked on the phone. I could barely hear anything beyond the loud white noise generated by all the cars traveling along the 580 freeway on both sides of the BART platform. The guy thanked me profusely for letting him use the phone. Shortly after that (and shortly after I quickly checked my Facebook), some fat black guy sat next to me at the bench I was sitting at and he asked me if he could use my phone to make a phone call. I said yes basically did the same thing while handing him the phone as I did with the last guy. This guy took at least half an hour to make a phone call. Once a BART train arrived in front of me, the guy asked if I needed to board the train and I said no and that I was just going to go downstairs after he was done using my phone. (I was suspicious that I was part of some covert social experiment while all this was going on). The guy even had the audacity to ask me if he could use my phone to use Facebook. I said sure. (I do not like denying any person the right to use the Internet to do non malicious things). The guy also asked if I had any crystal. I said nah. I have been asked that question a lot by random guys who seemed to be methamphetamine users; recently one of those guys (a skinny black man wearing a red jacket on a bicycle at the Dublin BART station parking garage 6th floor) even showed me his glass crack smoking pipe (and I was grateful for all these juicy details to make my movie of a first-person “movie” as information rich and poignant as possible). Anyway, shortly after I exited the Castro Valley BART station, I walked along my usual path through the downtown and, of course, past the house of some guy I have had a deep fascination with since we were both in high school (and he happens to live within a block of that high school) and we were both on the same cross country team. I was talking to myself about the usual “jazz” about human society is a big mass mind control scheme which has been going on for at least 50 years. Once I was about a block away from that spot, I thought I saw the dude I was most recently referring to running past me while wearing a blue shirt. I saw his glasses gleam from the car headlights in front of him. (I have entertained the notion that that guy (VDT) is a highly intelligent time traveler who knows about some of the deepest metaphysical aspects of existence and how the societal machine works because he has always seemed very old for his age and he has dropped hints (including through the Instagram activity he has shared with his followers) what I consider to be puzzle pieces which are slowly revealing to me that he knows what I am up to and is part of what I am up to). Rushing to the “finish line”…I am sitting at that place where I have seen the deer hang out which is about a 20 minute walk from my dad’s house and about a 10 minute walk away from that church with the electrical outlets I have been using this year to charge my laptop (and I have occasionally slept there in that little well-lit “cave” which is rather cozy and sheltered from the elements). If you have been following my past journal entries, then you probably know that I consider refining (and daresay finalizing) my personal websites (especially Karbytes For Life Blog dot WordPress dot Com) my biggest Job in life (and what I basically consider to be my life purpose). In my head I have all the ideas I need to flesh out Karlina Object dot WordPress dot Com to my liking, but in practice, it is time consuming and energy consuming to get my thoughts to flow as I want them to. I have so many thoughts competing for my attention that I am afraid of getting side tracked. I have not really procrastinated that much (if at all) on that project and I have been working as diligently as I think is possible for me to (going exactly as fast as I can (and not slower and not faster) coming up with exactly the content I could (to the exclusion of all other content)). It feels like a sentimental process which wants to envelope all existence into one stable and finite information structure which lasts at least as long as my human form does. (And thoughts like this has made me want to add a page or section to my primary website about INTELLIGENCE (and I recall images of many honey bees collecting nectar from the red bottle brush flowers which surrounds that church)). Yes, it’s a labor of love about pieces of intelligence figuring out how to survive.

Earlier tonight (on my way home from the BART station) around 11PM underneath a clear night sky and out in the cold air, I saw that my mom’s car was parked in my dad’s driveway and I felt irritated because I did not want to deal with my parents. I decided to take the advice of some person I recently started following on Twitter to wait rather than to impulsively go with the urgent flow of my nagging emotions to avoid creating more damage. I sat next to the giant art studio next door (which belongs to that rich Chinese painter who lives in that modern architecture house on the other side of the street from my dad’s house) and looked up at the stars and took a small bit of the penis envy mushrooms (just one rather smallish dried shroom). Then I resolutely went inside with the intent of quickly taking a shower. I saw that my parents were in my dad’s room and the door was shut and I could hear some news program playing from their television through the walls (and that bathroom I was taking a shower in happened to be right next to that room).

I was getting cold (and the air is getting colder) so I put my jacket on and watched an ambulance slowly drive by up the street. I am pretty sure that “the voices” talking with me “telepathically” are electromagnetic transmissions between me and emergency responders and not just police (which is much better than just being left to deal with only the police (which I was earlier calling professional bullies (and I was also remembering a meme I saw on one of my social media feeds depicting three white, smug, dumpy looking male cops saying that they do not make the laws and that they profit from the laws)).

Anyway, after I took a shower, I walked out of the house and started heading down the street with the intent of going to the place I am sitting at now near the church. I saw my mom’s car drive by slowly. I knew she was trying to ask me if I wanted a ride somewhere (and I was already fuming over how everything in my life seems to revolve around her while refusing to stop) and she continued driving. Then I got really uncomfortable thinking that this is all a plot by “the Hispanics” who want everything to revolve around family to make sure that I was on good terms with my family as an unspoken requirement for getting hired by them for a job. I called my mom on the phone and rather resolutely and grumpily asked various questions and my mom said she did not want to deal with it and that she was going to hang up the phone and then hung up. After a few minutes (and a few paces down the road later and going down the road she drove down and not the one which most directly leads to where I am sitting now) I called her on the phone again. I asked her some questions which seemed to be corrosively burning me like acid inside. I asked her is she was ever raped and she said no. I asked her if I was the result of a planned or else an unplanned pregnancy. She said unplanned and that she was horrified that I was asking such weird questions and doubting her love for me. I told her I just wanted to know what was going on and how she thought and it ended up being both us us having to cry on the phone. I realized how she feels and thinks and I feel very sympathetic towards her. I told her I would do the same thing if I were in her shoes when she said she was not trying to commit me to a mental hospital against my will and that she wanted me to have nice houses to live at (hers and my dad’s) and that, though money is tight, she wanted to help me all that she could and I could tell that she felt bad for me and I felt bad for her feeling bad for me because I would too feel very anguished knowing my child (no matter what its age) is lonely or struggling through adversity. I feel like I understand the “schematic” of how that emotional and thought process works and it feels like naively trying to trust the government and friends and family to all work favorably. That was the first time in years I was able to have that deep of a conversation with my mom. Towards the end of that phone call, my dad was apparently calling her. We said good night and ended the phone call on what seemed to be the most amicable terms possible.

I was thinking about how I am trying to make sense of and to help close some loop of thought spanning my family of origin and perhaps society at large (but especially locally). It was realizing that the source of most struggle is self-generated and that is why humans have had a hard time becoming environmentally sustainable and more longevity-enabling. As I was walking down the street, I looked at the many petroleum powered cars which were parked on the sides of the street and wondered if, because we live (presumably) live inside of a computer simulation, we can will ourselves to be immortal and for our cells to keep replicating rather than giving way to cancer. (Part of the reason I avoid being inside my dad’s house for too long is because there is “third hand” cigarette smoke lingering in there which makes my lungs feel constricted and poisoned enough to feel nauseous with a headache (and I could smell tonight especially that my dad was smoking a lot of cigarettes and letting the smoke infiltrate the house because that little room next to the garage is connected to the laundry room which is connected to the kitchen and closing the doors does not stop the smoke from getting through the half inch margin of space beneath the doors). I thought about that “privileged” (I mean “elitist”) community called Whisper Valley and how everything about that community is supposed to be environmentally sustainable and modern (which sets quite a lofty precedent for other parts of “modern” human civilization to emulate).

As I was walking down the road, I ranted about how people other than my parents and who I consider to be my smartest acquaintances seem to just want to keep me sedated and/or distracted so that I do not complete this Very Important train of thought: the idea that the humans are habituated to keeping themselves plugged into distractions so that they do not realize that all the humans have been doing for the past 50 years is enabling fossil fuels to keep being the predominant way civilization gets its energy and powers its vehicles even while scientists warned that doing so would lead to devastating ecological harm which could make the human species go extinct within a few hundred years (and less than one thousand). I am hoping that there will be collective “waking up” about this conspiracy which I call a “death cult” which tricks most people into allowing their bodies to become progressively less functional and for the environment to become progressively more toxic and full of carcinogenic agents as time moves forward and the people continue to do as they are told by the proponents of the death cult. Perhaps there are no people consciously plotting to kill off most (if not all) humans by forcing them to destroy the environment and to postpone medical and technological advancements for the purpose of “ethnic cleansing” if not forced extinction of the human species. That is why I do not drive a petroleum car. That is why I hardly generate any pollution. I would hate myself if I did knowing all I know. I hope other people acquire healthy self loathing and know why and that “self care” to remedy self hating is taking radical actions to save the biosphere; to end fossil fuels combustion, selling, and mining as quickly as possible. Rather than wait for “the neighbors” and society at large to “wake up and care” as much as I do (which means radically changing how they live), I decided to take matters into my own hands and not wait on anyone to be the best example of a human I can be. This is not a joke. I am not okay with pretending this is not as big of a deal as I say it is. (I do have hope that decriminalizing magic mushrooms will help people on a larger scale to upgrade their minds so that they can, for themselves, come to understand what needs to be done individually and collectively).

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