20 July 2025

Day 5

Yesterday, Day 5, there was a street fair in town. I decided to conduct an experiment. A field test. I would go to the street fair and see if the people sickened me. I walked around. I sat under a tree. I bought a sandwich. The sandwich was pretty good. It was called an Italiano. Some type of meat in a pesto sauce with some vegetables wrapped in something called panini bread. It was tasty. Nobody or nothing I saw produced any emotion in me other than boredom. Most of the people I saw had smiles on their faces. Whether they be young or old. That was an interesting observation on my part. Young people tend to think they are *cooler* or *hipper* or whatever you want to call it than old people. Yet they were just as easily contented as the old people. When I made this observation, I laughed out loud. People walking near me stared. Young and old. They looked upset. Even frightened. Perhaps they sensed that I understood them. Which would make me more powerful than them. They perhaps knew I could devastate them with a word or two. Destroy their existential illusion. They quickened their walking pace. I returned home. Healthy as a horse.

Intensity: No episode of illness to report.  Felt healthy as a horse.  More powerful than the sheeple I encountered on the street.  So inconsequential were they, no need to victimize them.

Frequency: N/A

Factors: No new insights to report (in regard to illness).

19 July 2025

Day 4

I had a bag of the cat’s dirty litter in my hand. I was about to step out the front door and head to the dumpster. Then: a premonition. I was certain that if I walked across the parking lot to the dumpster an object, a piece of an airplane or a satellite or a drone, something like that would come crashing down and split my head open.


I closed the door. I set the bag of litter on the floor. I sat in my chair. I thought things over. It was absurd to believe my head was going to be split open carrying the bag of dirty cat litter to the dumpster. And yet. . .this is what I believed. I moved my chair next to the front window. I sat there looking out at the parking lot. What should I do? I have had these premonitions before. Sometimes they were accurate. I remember over 30 years ago, close to 40 years ago, I was working in a store, a young woman came in, she had a mohawk, she was nonetheless attractive. Oh no! I will marry her! It happened. Yes, sometimes the premonitions eventuated in reality exactly as they presented themselves. Of course, sometimes they did not. I sat in my chair and decided to wait until I saw another human being moving about the parking lot. Let me see what happens to them, I thought.

Several moments passed by. I stared at the bag of dirty cat litter. This was the cat’s fault. Nonetheless, I harbored no ill will toward my cat. He has been a great and loyal friend. Finally a car enters the parking lot, parks. A fat white woman gets out of the car. She walks to her unit without incident. I had hoped whatever falling object that was meant for me might take her instead. But of course, that’s not how this shit works. I know that. I knew that. I went back to staring at the bag of dirty cat litter. Sooner or later, I would have to take it out. Sooner or later, I would have to leave my unit, for one reason or another. Let’s just get this shit over with, I thought. I got up. I picked up the bag of dirty cat litter. I opened the front door. I stepped outside. I began walking to the dumpster. I didn’t bother looking up at the sky. Of course, nothing happened. My head wasn’t split open by a piece of falling airplane. I wouldn’t be typing this shit if it had.

[In the interest of scientific accuracy, I must report that I am typing Day 4's report on Day 5. I’m already falling behind on this project. I can only do the best that I can do.]

Intensity: No episode of illness to report.

Frequency: N/A

Factors: No new insights.

17 July 2025

Day 3

I woke up today in a bad mood. It had nothing to do with my illness. At least, at this point, I don’t think it had anything to do with my illness. I believe it was because of the dream. I dreamed I was in a church.  Maybe not a church.  It was a massive structure, with both lower and upper level seating.  I was sitting alone in the upper level watching some sort of religious ceremony.  Ritual.  I was seated so far away, I could not tell the specifics of the ritual, but the mood was black.  It was an anti-Christ ritual of some sort.  That was the knowledge I had in the dream.  Anyway, after watching for a couple minutes, I was suddenly carried away.  Lifted up out of my seat at incredible speed toward some malignant force.  I woke up before I encountered the malignancy.  I started work earlier than usual. But then I got sick of it. I got in the car and headed to the bagel store. On the way there I saw this:
I pulled over to gawk.  It turned into quite a mess.  Here it is a few minutes later:















O my spirit was lifted immediately! I laughed and laughed and laughed!

Only the most mild symptoms of the illness for the rest of the day:

Intensity: very mild *fever* broke out in early afternoon.  Was watching the news and the broad who speaks for Trump was asked about the Jews bombing a Catholic church.  When she said the Jews said it was an accident, I wanted to shit in her mouth.

Frequency: The desire to shit in the Trump broad's mouth was the only *fever,* and it burned off as soon as I changed the channel to General Hospital.

Factors: No new insights.

16 July 2025

Day 2

Today is Day 2. The second day following the last outbreak. I decided I should begin to track the course of the illness around 6 PM today. I had no problem at all on Day 1. Yesterday. I passed the day working and doing errands. I work where I live. So I didn’t have any contact with people while I was working. I had the piano music on in the background. A YouTube video of piano music. Melancholy Piano For Old Souls. Very nice.  I like it.  When I went to the store to get items to eat and drink, I saw people who would be. . .I was going to say victims. . .but that’s not correct.  I was going to say people who would be victims when my illness was in full flower.  But no, victims is not correct. When my illness is in full flower I don’t victimize people.  No, people enable me. So when I was in the store buying the food and beverage items, I saw people who would be very fine enablers had the illness been in full flower. But I did not give these people a second thought. A second thought in terms of the acts of indecencies. I just had my usual healthy contempt for them.  Stupid people.  Shallow thinkers.  Bestial, really.  Look at the rinds and husks in their carts, LOL. Anyway, Day 1 went without a hint of the illness. A boring day of full health. I slept like a baby. When I woke up today on Day 2 I felt confident the illness would not flower. Then around about 6 pm my mind started wandering. That’s not good. I put on ABC World News Tonight with David Muir for a distraction. There was a story about an earthquake off the coast of Alaska, a story about Jews bombing Syria, the usual trivialities of our world.  David Muir is a very good presenter of news.  Flawless articulation with just enough humanity to convince you he really gives a shit about this stuff.  I watched for 10 or 15 minutes, then stopped. The distraction was losing its potency. That’s when I decided. Decided I should begin to track the illness. Isn’t it amazing? I am (X) years old and had never bothered to track it before! Why not try to learn about it?  Study it.  Surprised I’ve never tried a detailed investigation of the illness. It could be because of my age. Because of my old age, that is why I decided to try to track the illness now. I am probably close to death. When you die, you want to face Jesus with as few delusions about yourself as possible. You want to know yourself as well as you possibly can.  As well as you can possibly stand to know yourself. You don’t want to have the slightest air of merit about you when you stand before the Lord. You don’t want to be like Donald Trump, mad as a hatter with delusions of grandeur, blind with pride, waiting for a reward, waiting for a prize.  Donald Trump always expects some prize, LOL. Can you imagine? Can you imagine standing before the Lord Jesus Christ thinking you’re going to be given a prize? Anyway, I want to know how sick I truly am or at least as much as a person can know how sick they are.  Obviously none of us can bear to be absolutely truthful about ourselves.  It's going to be hard to appear before the Lord.  It's 8:17 pm now.  Day 2.  I should try to quantify, day by day, the illness.  I just googled how do you track the progress of an illness?  It responded: several methods can be employed. Symptom tracking involves documenting the type, intensity, frequency, and duration of symptoms, along with factors that affect them. This can be done using a symptom diary, either in paper form or through a digital app.  Seems like I intuitively knew what to do already.

Intensity: very mild *fever* broke out around 6 pm.  First symptom since last flowering of illness.  [Should I call it illness or disease?  I just googled are illness and disease the same thing?  Response: While the terms "illness" and "disease" are often used interchangeably, they have distinct meanings. Disease refers to a specific, medically diagnosed condition with identifiable causes and symptoms, like diabetes or a bacterial infection. Illness, on the other hand, is a broader term encompassing the individual's subjective experience of being unwell, including symptoms, feelings, and how it impacts their life.  Unquestionably I should call it illness.]

Frequency: The mild 6 pm outbreak was the only occurrence in these last 2 days.  Or these first 2 days, however I would decide to view them.  It was easily suppressed with a dose of David Muir and the beginning of this scientific examination of the illness.

Factors: Do we, LOL, I mean, do I have any insight into what triggered very mild 6 pm *fever?*  My best guess here on Day 2 is that it was triggered by the ill thoughts of the last flowering of the illness.  After the full bloom of the illness, the illness wilts completely away on Day 1.  No thought is given it.  The mind is only concerned with the trivialities of the returning *normal* or *healthy* life.  But it seems about 36 hours into the recovery, if it is a recovery, that has yet to be validated, the first moments of *boredom* (meaning nothing more to think about in the resumption of *normal* or *healthy* life) return.  The mind then, being conditioned by the thoughts that dominated the flowering stage of the illness, returns first to those thoughts, the last most entrained thoughts, the ill thoughts. These ill thoughts were easily chased away before turning into a full blown fever delirium.  What we, LOL, what I will have to do in the following days is measure the frequency and duration of the boredom, the strength of the boredom (i.e., how easily can I depart from boredom) and the techniques that are most useful in putting down the boredom. 

Well, this is a good start, I believe.   

13 July 2025

Ann Coulter


To be honest, 20, 25 years ago, this broad didn't really bother me.  Because, to repeat, to be honest, she didn't look too bad.  She was rail-thin in a country populated by morbidly obese women, and she had very nice legs.  Her giraffe neck and mannish face were always problematic, but nothing an extra large burlap sack couldn't take care of.  She could vomit her *shock* takes or whatever, and I could still imagine her naked (with the burlap sack, of course) in bed. 

But now, when she is an old bag, haggard-looking, wrinkled-up trans looking, I don't see her naked, anymore.  I just hear her stupidities.  She's pretty much a dumb cunt.  Remember, she was the main cheerleader for the appalling J.D. Vance as Vice President.  

Anyway, she has always been a self-proclaimed Christian, and when she could be visualized naked (with the burlap sack, of course) I gave her the benefit of the doubt.  But now she looks and sounds like one of THEM (hint as to who THEM are: tribespeople).  I can't visualize her naked or at the cross of Christ.


02 July 2025

Jimmy Swaggart



1 July 2025: The Rev. Jimmy Swaggart, who emerged from the backwoods of Louisiana to become a television evangelist with global reach, preaching about an eternal struggle between good and evil and warning of the temptations of the flesh, a theme that played out in his own life in a sex scandal, died on July 1. He was 90.

Mr. Swaggart’s voice and passion carried him to fame and riches that he could scarcely have dreamed of in his small-town boyhood. At its peak in the mid-1980s, Jimmy Swaggart Worldwide Ministries had a television presence in more than 140 countries and, along with its Bible college, took in up to half a million dollars a day from donations and sales of Bible courses, gospel music and merchandise.In his prime, Mr. Swaggart strode the stage like a bear, his voice thundering with emotion, dropping to a near-whisper, then rising again, sometimes to the accompaniment of tears — his own as well as those of his followers — as he spoke of his love for God and his disdain for the Devil. “Satan, you’re in for a whupping!” was a typical Swaggart warm-up. But Satan may have sometimes won a round. In October 1987, Mr. Swaggart was photographed entering a hot-sheet New Orleans motel with a woman. In a later television interview, the woman said that she and Mr. Swaggart had several encounters, describing them as “pornographic” but as not involving intercourse. Early the next year, the Assemblies of God, the huge Pentecostal organization under whose auspices Mr. Swaggart ministered, suspended him from preaching for a year and ordered him to undergo rehabilitation. Mr. Swaggart responded in February 1988 with an extraordinary, tear-gushing mea culpa to some 7,000 followers at his World Faith Center in Baton Rouge. Turning first to his wife, Frances, he said, “Oh, I have sinned against you, and I beg your forgiveness.” As some listeners wept, Mr. Swaggart went on: “I have sinned against you, my Lord, and I would ask that your precious blood would wash and cleanse every stain.”

He continued to preach independently. But donations dropped off, and while he still earned enough for him and his family to live very comfortably, he never regained the influence he had enjoyed. Scandal struck again in October 1991, when Mr. Swaggart, who was in California on business, was pulled over by the police in a red-light section of the city of Indio for driving erratically. In his company was a prostitute. She later said that Mr. Swaggart had become alarmed on seeing a police vehicle behind him and had tried to hide his pornographic magazines under the seat, causing his car to swerve. This time, he was less remorseful. “The Lord told me it’s flat none of your business,” he told a stunned audience at his Family Worship Center in Baton Rouge. Soon afterward, Donnie Swaggart said his father would seek medical and spiritual help.

And he could be a hypnotic speaker. “I don’t know of anyone in America, religious or secular, who can hold a crowd better,” William Martin, a Rice University sociologist who has studied the evangelical movement, told The New York Times in 1988. Mr. Martin said a friend who was a lawyer had told him, “I don’t believe a word he says, but I don’t know anyone in the world who’s better with a closing argument.” 

Jimmy Lee Swaggart was born in eastern Louisiana, in the small town of Ferriday, on March 15, 1935, to Willie and Minnie Bell (Herron) Swaggart. His father was a grocer, a slap-and-strap disciplinarian and an occasional preacher at the local Assemblies of God church. Both parents became evangelicals. The family was shattered when Jimmy Lee’s baby brother died of pneumonia, and the parents fought often. Mr. Swaggart recalled how he had been influenced by his grandmother, who he said had studied the Bible incessantly, and how he loved going to church because his parents didn’t fight there.

As Jimmy Lee grew older and more certain that he was on the path of the righteous, he prayed for the salvation of his first cousin, Jerry Lee Lewis, the early wild man of rock ’n’ roll who married several times (one bride was his 13-year-old cousin) and who thumbed his nose at conventional morality, as the writer Nick Tosches recounted in “Hellfire,” his biography of Mr. Lewis. The country singer Mickey Gilley was also a first cousin to both Mr. Swaggart and Mr. Lewis. About the same age, the three boys were childhood companions. They learned to play an uncle’s piano and occasionally disobeyed their parents by going to a Black nightclub, where they were entranced by the music and dancing, Mr. Tosches wrote.

On Oct. 10, 1952, Jimmy Swaggart married Frances Anderson. He was 17 and she was 15. A year later, their son, Donnie, was born. Convinced that God wanted him to preach, Mr. Swaggart traveled in a rundown car throughout rural Louisiana and later across the South, holding revival meetings. In his 1977 autobiography, “To Cross a River,” Mr. Swaggart wrote of staying in pastors’ homes and church basements. Mr. Swaggart’s wife helped run day-to-day operations of the family’s ministry, where Donnie Swaggart has followed in his father’s footsteps as a preacher. Mr. Swaggart is also survived by several grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Decades after the scandals, his hair thinning and going white, Mr. Swaggart was still preaching of God’s goodness, Satan’s trickery and man’s frailty. “God is patient with us,” he said in a televised service at the Family Worship Center in 2014. “Thank God for that.”

Jimmy Swaggart was America's greatest preacher, an unmatched orator.  While Billy Graham was dull as dishwasher, with all the charisma of a clam, Swaggart was a natural born story teller.  Additionally he was an outstanding musician, a great keyboardist and a soul-stirring vocalist.  

Of course, he will mostly be remembered for his scandalous fall.  Caught twice with sex workers, he was branded a phony and a hypocrite.  There is some merit to the charge of hypocrisy, as Swaggart had pointed his finger at Marvin Gorman and Jim Bakker in the messy televangelism wars of the mid-to-late 1980s.  But he was no phony.  Nobody preached the gospel of Jesus better or with more conviction.  If he wasn't anointed to preach the gospel, he was the greatest religious counterfeit of the 20th and 21st centuries.

Swaggart's fall highlights what remains the greatest failure of contemporary American Christianity: sinners are no longer welcome in church.

Somehow, the church founded by the Friend to sinners has become a habitat of self-righteous pew warmers who act as if Jesus sprinkles them with goody-two-shoes fairy dust as soon as they receive the faith of Christ.  Pew warmers get *saved,* then immediately hide their sin, refusing to speak openly of their lusts, greed, hatreds, jealousies, etc.  They know fingers will point, *discipline committees* will be formed if their sins are discovered.  

What if Jimmy Swaggart could have taken to the pulpit and said to his congregation: I am fighting temptation, I have adulterous desires, I want to wallow in fornication.  Pray for me, pray the Lord give me the strength to resist.

Nobody feels secure enough in contemporary churchianity to reveal their true ugly self.  Their sin festers inside.  Eventually they get sloppy in their deceits and get caught, perhaps they want to be caught, worn down by the charade, and then they are charged as a hypocrite and a phony.  Hypocrisy?  Perhaps.  Phony?  No.  How can a sinner be called phony when they get caught sinning? 

American Christians need to stop acting like they are not sinners.  They are sinners covered by the Blood of the Lamb.  Sinners worthy of eternal destruction, completely worthless without the Blood of the Lamb. 

American Christianity needs to acknowledge sin, and once again become a friend to sinners.  The greatest failing of Jimmy Swaggart was not his motel room perversions, but his reluctance, even after being caught with his pants down, to make his church a place where sinners could unburden their souls.    

But let's not end the Jimmy Swaggart story there. Let's end it with him, even at age 89, at his best:


01 July 2025

Love Walked In

Love Walked In
: I don’t know anybody who has seen this movie. I saw it once, about thirty years. I thought it was outstanding. I don’t think you can even find it on Tubi today. A true lost masterpiece, if my memory does not deceive me. Anyway. . .


A struggling writer scratches out an average material existence by playing piano in a lounge act with his singer girlfriend. Despite their modest lifestyle, the two are happy — but can they stay happy without being rich? This becomes the mind-preying question which drives the struggling writer (brilliantly played by Denis Leary) to contemplate a crime which will defile his girlfriend. A dark and memorable parable from the pre-Late Stage Capitalism conspicuous consumption America, a time and place where the sheep were brainwashed into thinking that happiness was not possible without material wealth (nowadays the sheeple, long-since looted by their overlords, understand wealth is only for the Elite).