It is not occupy 2011. It’s one big “A camp” at rainbow fest. I’ve been practicing energetics for some years. I came with the intent of doing some healing on the place. When I asked what I should do I got strong responses of “No, do nothing, this rot won’t be stopped, not this way. It must be allowed to kill the carriers at this point. Please leave.”

Piss, spit, lies written in sidewalk chalk. Needles and decrepitude. Sickness. And an ever present fire burning vile smoke, to breathe it is to get sick or get along with them. Damn, do I ever need a shower.

Hate.

Hate hate hate hate hate hate. Hate at the flip of a switch, like a monarch altar, all blindness and air until the command is handed down then a blind rage. All too convenient, too useful.
These are the tares. A patient consumed by a virulent disease, just hours till death but with no children so he makes the virus his offspring to erupt from his corpse at the end so he can continue, even if in a form that is anti-life.