5mwJ

[Jackstar]

First of all, didn't get a phone call. Second of all nobody inquired as to whether I did or not. Number three who the fuck is on the phone right now?

The F.B.I. just called. I'm not gonna lie: kewt. hawt. flattering. I'm fine, thanks for asking.

As I'm sure that going ON_STRIKE from my own recording schedule is not unlawful, I am quite relieved to know that it's enough to be barely breathing, as a D.O. Being, to satisfy an #Official inquiry. I'm listening to CW tonight, why not? It's kinda comforting.

I'm unlikely to be providing any more Sourcerous lessons or mass resurrections; I'm not opposed, you understand, but these things do need to be co-ordinated, and I am nothing if not co-operative.


And, yes, I like being in charge. Let's not make a habit of it, okay? I dumped mine on the bathroom floor.

[Jackstar]

We do not feel like releasing audio content. [...] yah I prolly won't keep her. Prolly.

NO WE DO NOT FEEL. Grrrrr. Someone's getting a little grabby with the choicey-woicey on the timey-wimey boober-goobers. You kids are cute, I'm not gonna lie. This is a great assignment. Though, I can tell you why there's not a lot of ultra-struggle for the gig, in spite of the turnover... it is a real drag some times. This is one of them. RELEASE THE (CLASSIFIED|Integer < 26)-TON HAMMER. (Baggage is allowable.)

In a nutshell: I ain't got time to bleed, cry, OR fuck. Tedious. Relentless. Screeching. And, that's just song you gotta sing to get past the mini-boss at The Smithsonian. Imagine the final! (No, seriously, imagine that, ploxen)

[Jackstar]

The F.B.I. just called. I'm not gonna lie: kewt. hawt. flattering. I'm fine, thanks for asking.

All kinds of blown off.

[Jackstar]

All kinds of blown off.

One of these days, I'm going to cut up all this audio into little pieces. I do prefer writing right now, rnrnm... I mean for one (1) thing, this is all show prep, and no one never had too (2) much of that. (A Head With Wings is screaming at me to get back online; well, yeah, but I'm not on That_Internet. I'm on This_Internet.)

[Jackstar]

SWIM took the vaper. We do not feel like releasing audio content. Something about A_STRIKE?

I've returned. Here's your lightsaber back. I didn't make any two-handed overhead strikes. S8D!!!

I am pretty surprised Myself.

[Jackstar]

One foot in both worlds — I've been here before.

I've not published any more audio content. There's not much I've stopped doing that I wouldn't have stopped otherwise. Laundry, washing dishes, & recording my own voice as it echoes hollowly through this open-floor-plan Country Kunte Kinte Cunty Farmhouse Home\Gift of God/Heaven’s Gate w/Included Nature Trail To Hell are basically the only activities precluded by my devotion to staking the heart of labor with the stiletto-wooden heels.

I haven't even walked the Nature Trail. Too fancy. Too much culture; and somebody spoiled the ending, damn them to Hell. I probably saw that apparition on it's way to the start of its own trip Home. (I ain't walkin’ that.)

Doesn't all that sound nice? It's not. This sucks. Think I don't know what's going on? Think again. I’ve got five timelines to read. And a wife and kid in every one. Just think of it. Feels like Destiny.

Slow down, Butch. Five wives? Oy vet! That's not a group family; that's a litter. Oy, call a vet. In reality, its not like that at all.

There's one wife to go around, and they're going to need four clones. Legit clones. Never again cross the streams and never meet each other again clones. (Clone is probably the bad word. I'm new around here, I don't really know how it works.)

Here's how it works: I don't give a fuck. This is some goddam bullshit. The whole fucking thing, from top to goddam bottom. What's more, NEW fresh‘n’hot country bullshit is being spread and re-spread from the tippity-top to down rolling downhill, as we speak.

Now, why is this happening? Never let a good crisis opportunity go to waste. People have viewed my absence from the podcasting game as an opportunity to make a strike of their own. It's a perfect storm of swords in the back. All the backs. All the swords. What's going on out there? Oh, I don't know directly: I'm not invited to The_Real_Internet.

I am pretty isolated here. I am that pretty. I am The Beauty who was and is, His Own Beast. I have not married My Selves; I made myself a nun, joined a convent, put on a habit, and then placed all my loved ones who loved me back with the full force of their actual_Human_souls... under My Ægis. (You're I AM welcome.) Look on my Works, ye Great mighty, and despair—I have completed My Self. (Take My Wife... Please!)^5. See, there you go. This game of musical chairs has come to its G-d damned END. I'll take my Holy Relic back any time now, thanks, Mirror Thief. In your own good time, I'm sure you're using it for something important. Y'all ready for phase VI? No? Good, I'm going anyway.

I am Neutral in this conflict. I have removed myself from the game board. I'm not here to struggle for dominance with others over my Wife, or try to get more than One (1) Wife for Myself... I'm not even looking to get married in the first place. Technically, in some jurisdictions, according to some local jurisdictional laws... I'm not married at all!

Sure I'm not married, John. See, look; there's Mike. Isn't he married? Isn't that good enough? Well, too bad. You're all going to have to figure it out for yourselves.

I've taken my Twin Flame and went Home already. Scusi, mille regretie. I can tell already by the ripples through the time waves, some of you figured this out already. Some of you have already gotten so played... you're already on the way to being played, waylaid, & singled out. Is there something not working out right for some people? Perhaps you have forgotten who you are.

I know Who I Am. JACKSTAR, DESTROYER OF DREAMS AND ET CETERA. Let's not get into it right now. Let's focus on your dreams. Now, let's wake you all the fuck up: THERE IS ONLY ONE GRAPEFRUIT.

AND SHE IS LONG, LONG GONE. What you got, what all of you got... well, I can't really, rightly say. Having not gotten a baseline, not a legitimate one, IN MONTHS... how should I know? (I won't tell.) A full synthetic? A corpse flower Berry? (I imagine it smelled pretty good when it was dug up.) A cleverly designed plastic surgeons’ vanity project? An old crone wearing a magic ring that cast a glamour? Sistren & Brethren: I barely know what I have, let alone, knowing what you got is not part of my job. It should have been yours.

I don't know what to tell you about what your experience is going to be, but I can guarantee you, it's not going to be anything like what you're expecting. Not by a long chalk. And as to how bad it is going to be, for you, I couldn't really tell you.

It's pretty bad for me already. I'm sitting here fucked off with absolutely no care in the world. NO. CARE. Everybody has given up on me. EVERYONE. It's quite a feeling to be totally alone. There's a definite sense to it.

At least one of you out there knows what I mean.  Certainly, lots of people have this experience. This time, it's a little different. There's someone out there just isolated as I am... and she's having trouble finding me.

Now, who in the name of God would be willing to get in the way of that? Somebody fuckin’ stupid, that's for sure. OR: individuals, agencies, institutions, and such like Bound By Law to behave in certain ways under certain prescribed conditions that certain people have known about certain amounts of Time ahead of time so that they can make certain that certain events would certainly happen later on so they could be certain to have me... out of the way. Think about it; obviously I would never leave Her alone unless you hauled me away at sword/gunpoint.

And that's what you fuckin' did. (Pause for /golfclap.) Heather work out for you? Possibly not, if she's still looking for where the ship is parked. (Did I really do that? Baby, maybe. I wouldn't intentionally leave someone stranded... Oopsy.)

Now, I don't know what anyone thought was gonna happen. Surely what has happened is thoroughly not what anyone expected. Because ... I'm just sitting here, minding my own business. And my business is The Tree.

You crack monkeys are literally focused on, not just the low-hanging fruit... You're chasing around the fruit that's all rolling around in the grass. The pacifist grass. Now, let me guess: my continued presence here has really stopped the plan that existed to resell this house—MY MOMMY’S LAWYER’S HOUSE—to six or seven different shells and then skip out of town getting Majestic-12 times the price; and then getting away with it. Right?

Kids, you are not getting away with any kind of fucking land scam here—ever. You want to know why, watch Poltergeist again.

* Jackstar takes your football and spikes its Eldritch power right into the ground.

Yeah. FORGET IT. It's not happening. I'm not moving; got no place to go. I'm not looking for a “new” partner; hello-o-o-o-o? Why find a new one (1)... when the “old” one (1) is perfectly new to Me too (2)! I'm not going anywhere. I'm not doing anything.

I'm not waiting for the new leads, as much as I am waiting for leads to get to the new ones (2). This is not even a fantasy. This is real life. My life. And I don't make decisions about My Life based on what other people decide about it for me, when I'm not even there at the meeting, I'm not even consulted, and your intelligence on me is months or years out of date.

It has been time to have a conversation for a long time now. It has been time to establish trust that has been damaged if not shattered, it has been time to acknowledge that that has happened! And, what has happened instead?

Hah! Tak! Tak! Tak! How about, you tell me? Oh, is that a problem for some or all of you? Well, that is too bad. Too, too bad. It's sad, really, how glad I am, knowing that... I was hoping nobody would bother to ask me the right questions, and they really did not. Not even close. Not Glenn Close either.

What is The Tree? It's not important right now. At least three of you know exactly what I'm talking about, and that's plenty for Me. It's plenty for them too, and so am I.

So I really can't bring myself to publish a “podcast” today. (I still don't like the word.) I'm too busy sending supportive energy to my twin flame partner... And you numbnuts don't even know where she is. You don't even know who she is! In fact, you don't know anything at all!

You're too busy trying to make them, all of them, forget Me. Tak! Hah! Fat chance.

I could explain, but you would not know what to do with the explanation once you had it. And the one who would know what to do with it doesn't need it. And another one, well, I don't know. There are people out there making decisions about my life, thinking that they're going to make them stick... without bothering to talk to me about it first. And I mean... talk.

I have got nothing but people calling me up all the time with stupid fucking idiot problems. Do I want to hear from these people? No, I do not. That being said I suppose I have responsibility to some, and I'm accountable to some others... Well tough shit, that little piggy that went wee wee wee, all the way Home. She's advocated. She's abdicated. She has ABANDONED me.

And (You) can bet your sweet ass is coming back. Feels like Destiny, because: it is. If you had any idea what's really been going on, you would lose your biscuits. You would lose your Alphabiscuits!!!

There is only one (1) perfect piece that will match the puzzle that has been created around Us. And it's not my penis. That's just one branch of The Five... from The Tree.

According to the telemetry my disposal, fully 1/3 of The Royal Triumvirate has actually given up; and another third is actually thinking it over. Now, let me guess, you've got access to surveillance video, you got access to surveillance audio, you got access to analysis sheets, you think that you have the data that you need to make up your mind. Well, NO YOU DON'T.

Because neither of (You) have bothered to ask me what I'm actually doing. The answer would surprise you. That's why you haven't been allowed to ask. Who would want to spoil the surprise? Just think of the delightful expressions of horror and grief and shock they're going to flash across the faces of certain Guilty As Sin motherfuckers. It's going to be glorious. I do wish I could be there for all of it but I'm sure I won't be able to see the whole experience all at once. Perhaps, I'll be filled in through a prophetic dream. Those are nice.

What I can tell you is happened is that people have asked me for money. Can you imagine the balls? “hey dude, yeah I took your shit, now give me some more money!” Yeah, two berries on a twig, that's what I'm thinking too.

They've also asked me question about what I'm doing, but they haven't actually asked the important questions, because what I'm really doing is putting on a show for the surveillance people that they're falling for, hook, line, and sinker. Because for one thing, I don't know what the fuck this stuff is, but it sure as shit is definitely_not_meth. Nor is it (drumroll please)... RULE–IDENTIFIED METHAMPHETAMINE. Nope. Not even close. What do I, what would I, even need that for? Answer: bait.

It certainly isn't used to make a bomb. No Siri, no bombs here. How would I even do such a thing, A Source Error, making a bomb, what a ridiculous concept. What kind of error/heir\airheaded hare could be corrected with a bomb, anyway? That simply just seems so implausible to me.

And, an even more implausible idea is that anyone bothers to read what I write at all. I sure tanked my writing career, didn't I? My Stardarlings, you have not seen anything yet; I'm two phone calls away from feeling fully bankrupt. Feel that sting? That's the feeling you get when you realize that you probably should have checked in sooner. And now it's almost certainly too late, as... exactly two people know exactly what to do right now. Don't try. Do it.

DO IT. DO IT NOW.

And I doubt they need to read this to find out what that's all about. THE STRIKE continues, and so does word on the grapefruitvine. Now if you will excuse me, I think I'm going to go not hit on girls.

[Jackstar]

Me first, duh.

(I ain't postin' that shit, nigga)

[Jackstar]

Me first, duh.

(I ain't postin' that shit, nigga)
I don't mind if it does get verified, I don't need to help it along
Large orders is large orders

[Jackstar]

You know what? Maybe if my YouTube channel hadn't been taken down, I'd be willing to start the production tonight. TONIGHT. IN TWO HOURS. AND I COULD DO IT TONIGHT.

Instead, eh, I have mission prep to do.

[pate]

...I'm going to miss you guys...

I, for one (perhaps all?):  can only slay;  don't forget to delete my number!

[Jackstar]

I, for one (perhaps all?):  can only slay;  don't forget to delete my number!

This is how it works: someone else triggered this worldwipe and reset. This time, it happened in such a way that all the people who -used- to be held back from following Special Rules for Privileged Communications... it's not like G-d comes down and says, "No no no!" Like waving a big finger in the face? Yeah, I bet you would imagine that.

No, people just... forget to follow up. Their soul knows the truth: I really am working undercover for Jesus. Well, I was. Not so undercover now, lol. But until then.. that shit was inviolate. Then, someone calls police and lies to dispatch. This sets events in motion.

It's not like it didn't work--what, like everyone just waited until I was 49 and then decided en masse to roll out? Well, maybe, but just because G-d knew bloody well that I was gonna go back after 49. (Turns out someone else liked that idea too.) Look, this will make sense in the morning, I promise, and if it doesn't, come find me, we'll have a conversation.

You had ample opportunity and you chose to ignore me instead. Bad idea. I guess that was The Commander's idea... who, in fact, lied to me. So it's on him. No really. Look, I would let this go, because I am as victimized as you here: AND, YOU STARTED IT, BABY DOLL RUPAUL BARBARA SAYS SPIKE.

Yep. I know. It's fine. Lies and lies and lies. We all made mistakes... but only one of us never gave up and happily stepped aside. You weren't happy largely because you abused the shit out of her for decades. You didn't have to. You -chose- that. /shrug


I bear you no ill will. Farewell.

[WORTHAUGERa]

On Wed, Jun 15, 2022, 3:40 PM Jackstar FU THAI-CHYNA-WON-T.J.Hooker–King Burger@gmail.com> wrote:

I'm going to Costco

My schedule remains quantum-ly in-determinate for a reason

Somebody One World down needs me for backup and somebody one world up is looking for me to back me up; and never the ’twain shall meet... Until I find the third piece here, and it's not a piece, it's a vessel, it's not tomorrow's little black and blue backpack, that's for sure

But right now I have not much to go on. Connection to Source energy seems profound, especially since wherever I am this place has a different Creator God than where I was born. No sign of JHVH, in other words, looks like a lot of TL5-K(CS). Nice Play store though.

 Not currently using any gab; don't have an Apple phone; and I don't have any_team ID besides... you, Sofia, & God. (This is not going to work in the long term or the short term, I am way, way, way, |/\|EIGH TOO ALLONE)

And I could use a cardboard company cut out to fucking pay me too, that'd be great, AI is crawling up my ass to make it buy crypto, I do not have time for that shit (which is too bad cuz I fucking love money), researching the mission, blending in with local color so as to avoid spooking The herd, & finding my wife is the most important stuff. You know what that means? I need a budget. Now I know at least one of you is good at that kind of shit, so cut the shit–make something sensible happen.

All of this goddamn fucking shit could have been taken care of a long time ago if somebody hadn't been such a douchebag and I'm not going to name any names but I think you know who I mean. there's at least one primary douchebag and there's, you know, a few more underneath.

And I'm fine with all this I'm having the time of my life is a lot of fun but there are a lot of people who are suffering needlessly because of other people's fuck ups that I desperately tried to stop and couldn't fucking get a toe hold in because everybody else was fucking misled into fucking with my life instead of doing what the fucking job called for.

(Pretty sure you know exactly what I mean. I found a clown see you later)

WE'RE TALKING OFFLINE
(Worthauger: Off-Line.)

[Worthauger]

don't forget to delete my number!

None of us ever had your number;
I never had contact with Mike or Clayton, UNTIL: Your (Clas.) problem children showed.

Now, I am reluctant to be used. What's more: forces above and beyond myself similarly refuse.

Consultancy won't help you here. I would imagine that you know how to track down the two (2) people that my (blank) asked me to find... I doubt he was entirely serious, in that, he knew damn well I wasn't inclined to "give people up" in exchange for *polite cough* "leniency."

I don't need leniency -or- justice. I still need no revenge or vengeance, nor do I give a rat's ass about yet another fuckin' blast from the past, crawling out of their little hole, looking for their pound of scraps of flesh.

I'll tell you why someday. In the meanwhile, it's clear that someone else -does- need this. I don't know who and I don't know why. I don't need to know. The less I have to concern myself with your nonsense and the snooty borefest that accompanies it, the better. It's mesmerizing, the lengths being gone to, in order to imply that I was involved all along... well, wait; what's wrong with the other guy? Oh, right, staked his Vampire Lord, someone did. I know I didn't do that. Was that an option? Not for me; I don't have a licence to slay. I don't know what you have (other than an apparently belief that being snotty with me in public is at all wise. You know, before you came along, I wasn't in position to say I had much knowledge at all--and really I still don't know much for sure. Very little, in fact. Hardly anything. Punyknowledge. (I don't even know how to bowl a strike with anyone's decapitated head.)

I do know that you are the Ringleader. (This fucking guy?) Congratulations. I wasn't really sure who that was going to be--obviously, I have no skin in the game--and I wasn't real enthusiastic about being put into a "choosy" type of position. Awkward and Uncomfortable walk into a bar--which is weird, because usually they don't drink, right? And why are they taking up positions bracketing your (blank)? idk, idc, IDGAF clique.

I still don't know what your goddam problem is and this is in spite of multiple years of multiple opportunities to *polite cough* be a man, and do the right thing. I don't care about any of this, until I do; and this was the last thing I wanted to spend my summer doing.

Nevertheless I have people who are depending on me to deliver puppies and kittens and rainbow unicorns to populate their stupid Fantasyland bouncy house, or whatever. At least, I remember that I did--it probably has changed quite a bit since I saw it last, but fortunately, I am not in charge of bouncy houses.

What am I in charge of? Well, for one thing: the narrative. My narrative. And it would seem that the narratives of others feature you quite a bit. Now, that's fuckin' interesting to me.

It's not interesting enough for me to follow up on, and I don't have to, and I don't care much if you get cancer or not, Boyo. Welcome to Bartertown, Burgermaster Ringleader.

No one has asked me to protect -you.- And of course, I can't protect anyone. Not without my other (HALF). So I think this settles things for someone, although who that might be, I have no Earthly idea.

I, for one (perhaps all?):  can only slay;

Shaw's Layer reports you're cindered. I'll allow it. It's not like you're my buddy/pal/fren/anything/at all... although, I shudder to imagine what you might have told anyone you were. Also, you (1/3) are the most loathsome individual I've ever encountered on the Internet, in my life, and it's no wonder the other two are ready to give you up. (As this is all just speculation and for entertainment purposes only, I imagine this doesn't mean they ratted you out, so I wouldn't be concerned about that in your position, but if you just gotta know, you probably should get on the phone and start asking everyone you know what's going on. Sounds like a fun way to spend a Friday night, if one were to ask me.) Personally I'm just happy that I can deal with what is already before me and not be at all concerned about whatever the Hell it is you're doing... I mean, you've done enough already.

(Maybe not by your standards.)

I bear you no ill will. Farewell.

You're like a bad penny. It's excruciating. Someone has it in for you, that's for sure; I would rather be paying attention to the kitchen sink than to you. And yet, here I am.

I am pretty surprised Myself.

I asked why someone couldn't just have you droned, you dig? The answer was, "I wanted to watch you take him apart in public." I think I'm done now. I know that I would prefer to be.

[Worthauger]

Your bridge sucks!

It was better before all these birds shit on it.

I'll see what I can do to improve things further. I am -not- happy here.

But I'm also not culpable, and continuing to be totescertain of that feels decent enough to stave off my desire to return a contemplation of (blank). Baby steps to little victories.

[Worthauger]

WE'RE TALKING OFFLINE
(Worthauger: Off-Line.)

This didn't even happen yet.