I am off for a bit...

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They say it’s my birthday tomorrow, but as I gave my birthdays away years ago to some greedy little boy who wanted more birthday presents, I am highly skeptical. I am off on an overdue escapade in any case, see you Monday — and Happy Mama’s Day…

And when I come back, big changes for me…

Deja vu...all over again...

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Writing about propaganda was a very interesting experience.

I won’t say anything about the book because there is a tendency for unattributed intellectual appropriation if I do.

Suffice to say, the decades of research I amassed came in handy.

Which makes me wonder — aside from the public relations firms — who did those jokers rip off back then?

The book is not as massive as my usual nonfiction work tends to be, even if the reference section is still, massive.

While the trolls in the dead profession never changed or evolved and managed to kill their own profession, Alexandra Kitty most certainly did, but then again, I am not a thought thief, so as I don’t follow scripts, I could naturally grow and improve.

My last name may be Kitty, but I am no copycat.

I am looking forward to 2020!

Working without end...a typical Alexandra Kitty work ethic.

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Over halfway done now. It is almost 5:30 in the morning, and sleep is scarce for me when I write books. I do my best thinking and writing in the dark alone with just Alexandra Kitty and her raw thoughts.

When you write this late, you cannot focus on your wishful thinking and on your work. You see things as they are, not what you want them to be.

I would say I will be complete in less than two weeks. I want to wrap this up before my Oxford course starts, and before I teach my Kintsugi course. War propaganda is all about tearing people apart. Kintsugi is about putting broken pieces back together. My two great passions have come to me at once, and it is a blessing, but one where I am right now the soldier who is forging ahead without rest, hitting all of my targets.

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But I always have fun with it as I hit my targets, baby!

Right where it counts…

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Fourteen years ago today, OutFoxed: Rupert Murdoch's war on journalism was published.

Disinfo is no longer in business, but the book is still around.

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As I am still toiling away, I would like to take a breather and point out some of the fuckery going on in the press.

Like this bullshit piece from Quartz:

A new Twitter account is outing shoddy reporting in science stories

You misogynistic motherfuckers, some white guy starts a Twitter feed, and you give him free publicity about showing shoddy reportage about science?

I wrote two books chronicling the same thing and showing how to spot it, and I did not get a mention.

Don’t Believe It!: How lies become news was published in March 2005 and I had an entire chapter on this problem.

When Journalism was a Thing also extensively went into this problem last year, and you ignored it.

The man posts five seconds on Twitter, and you drool and slobber all over his ass as if he did something original. Go fuck yourselves.

And speaking of fuckery, boy, someone with big boy pants must have taken over the propaganda arm of the federal Liberals.

The National Post are being dutiful little minions and are doing free propaganda for them:

'Inconsistent with democratic values': Internal conflict flared over Jody Wilson-Raybould's controversial last act as justice minister

An internal memo claims Crown lawyers were being overruled and told not to use certain defences to appear less adversarial toward Indigenous plaintiffs

Really? JWR was your pick, assholes. That was the culture of control you cultivated. She was well within the brand of political reasoning — and you wait until your little SNC-Lavalin scandal got this far away from you to try to take swipes at her?

You losers do realize the more you slag her, the worse you sound, right? You either mistreated her, which speaks poorly of your prime minister, or you picked and propped up a lemon for years, which speaks even more poorly of you. If you had class — which, by the way, you don’t — you would be better off copping to the former rather than the latter.

Do you idiots realize this has now gotten way, way bigger than two ousted female MPs? You are all going to get hit with a bigger scandal or three before October, and it won’t matter. It doesn’t even matter now. You all sound like vindictive spouses going through a divorce and come off as petty shits. Get a crisis management team and get over yourselves.

And as for the National Propaganda — stop being stenographers for the Man. No wonder you guys bleed money.

But it goes beyond the childish and psychopathically abusive nose-tweaking. The Grits are desperate and reek badly of it with their vast conspiracy theories of political interference being floated as a possible bogeyman for them to frighten the little people into voting for them.

Dumbasses, here is the memo: all countries meddle in the affairs of other countries. That is why Julian Assange had to be silenced by bribing the regime who gave him refuge with loans — who knows what drugs were given to the guy during his exile to discredit him, but WikiLeaks released information that showed the the “political interference” happened everywhere all the time, and the Left sound like Loopy Lous trying to make it sound as if meddling happened only with Trump, and we have people in the Liberal Party sound like paranoid potheads warning that other countries will meddle in our election.

Yeah, the way you stick your pointy little noses in theirs. Fuck you. For a group of blowhards who preach about globalization, why would this even bother you? Globalization precisely means the right to meddle in other countries’ affairs. That’s like wanting to fuck everybody and still be a virgin. Morons.

One last observation: Peter Mackay’s column in the Toronto Sun seems to have a very sly, but nasty jab to Justin Trudeau:

No one is fooled by the crafted image, stage-managed appearances, bold bromides, soaring rhetoric and flashy wardrobe; the stuff of an Old Spice commercial spoofing itself for effect.

The Old Spice reference doesn’t fit — unless you recall that Matthew Perry’s stepdad was the Old Spice guy in commercials…and that Perry boasted in public how he used to beat up Trudeau in school when they were kids.

Trudeau could never compete with Perry in the acting sphere, so go show up the guy in politics where you are completely unqualified. Take that, Matthew Perry!

That’s all for now. I am averaging a chapter a day, and I am picking up speed. Propaganda-busting gets my juices flowing. I could never stand liars because they are arrogant cowards to the core.

Ciao!

xoxo.

An update...and laughing at the deluded trash the Spec is passing off as "journalism"...

I am still alive, conscious, and coherent!

One book manuscript is done, and I am taking photographs for it. The other book is over a quarter done, and should be done in a couple of weeks.

After that, I will need a bit of a rest and recalibration.

Lots of garbage passing off as journalism and politics, but most have not compelled me to break my hiatus.

I came across this two-part knee-slapper about the murder of a Dundas couple from the Hamilton Spectator and it is pure delusional and arrogant bullshit.

It is typical of journalistic stenography when Establishment types who want to intimidate a target — regardless of innocence or guilt — by using a media campaign against them. Journalists, like good little puppets, always comply.

When my family sued the city after what paramedics did to my grandmother, all of a sudden, our case was slapped on the front page, even though it was not actually newsworthy. There were and are other cases of paramedics being sued in Ontario (I know because I went down to the courthouse to have a look) and for the exception of one, most never made news.

But the Spec drooled over the stronger and wealthier side, of course, meaning City Hall. Our lawyer advised us not to talk to the paper, but I wouldn’t have anyway. I know who these people are because I wrote a column for them and saw everything up close. The paper quoted one source who also went on to defend some shady criminal characters as well, which I have written about here previously.

The reporter pretty much got everything wrong, of course. The article did nothing but rely on authorities and parrot them brainlessly. It was free advertising about how grand, glorious and hard-working paramedics are, as if we were lazy do-nothings.

No, assholes, we were working 24/7 looking after a woman whose catastrophic injuries made her completely disabled and bed-ridden. They are just paramedics, not saints. They also have cushy government jobs and often make the Sunshine List. My mother and I weren’t living it up changing my grandmother’s diapers and feeding her because she could not feed herself. She was a prisoner in her own body, but fully alert and aware.

My mother was upset by the coverage. I knew what the city’s gambit was, and also knew that the Spec cannot give away their newspapers; so I took it in stride.

But my mother, months later, got in touch with the reporter and gave her side and wanted to show the results of what happened to us. Needless to say, they never bothered with a follow-up.

We weren’t the Man, after all.

So back to the articles of pure trash about the Dundas double homicide.

This passage is pure deceptive doublespeak and arrogance:

In recreating the night of the fire that killed Alan and Carla Rutherford, the search for a suspect in their deaths and the ripple effects the fire and the killings had on others, the Hamilton Spectator spent months speaking to multiple sources with knowledge of the family and the case, along with experts.

Some sources are confidential because they fear reprisal.

The Spectator independently verified all details.

The Spectator has also examined public financial, property, court and employment records and sifted through social media posts.

No, you didn’t. How are you exactly qualified to “independently verify” it? Are you trained or licensed? What empirical methods did you use? Are you police? Forensic psychiatrists?

No?

The fact that you needed to puke that passage out tells me everything I need to know. This is a ruse to sound as if you did something different and were authorities whose word meant something, and it doesn’t. This is a manipulative tactic and a feint, nothing more.

And how did you define “independently verify”? Talk to a second cop? Read a press release? That is an empty, garbage term. I do not recall you doing that when discussing what happened to my grandmother.

Did you see the photographic evidence we had? Did you read the hospital reports or spoke to experts on the matter?

Nope. You interviewed irrelevant parties who had no knowledge or expertise on the matter. They were there as cheerleaders to the men who dropped my grandmother, and you never once independently verified a thing.

But the faux authoritative babble of the Rutherford murder is cringeworthy. You looked at social media posts? Any motherfucker can do that. That is not an actual thing.

The purpose of articles such as this one is simple: put the pressure on the target, in this case the man arrested for the murders. You try to taint public perceptions in a bid to isolate that person and make them do what you want them to do. It is a strong arm psychological siege and the press always dutifully complies. You will always notice that everything is from the perspective of the Authority’s narrative, not the facts, and certainly nothing presented that ever refutes the theory.

The Spec is not an actual investigative body. It is just a few writers who suck up to police or government sources and then puke out whatever will make the source happy. When it is criminals involved, most people don’t care, but they should because this practice is deceptive and makes the press sound as if they are something they are not or have any business of being: Authorities who determine what narrative is socially acceptable.

I can talk about the glaring flaws and holes of both those articles, but I won’t. I will save those inconsistencies for another day, and even another book. The Spec cut my pay check in the 1990s. I wrote about them for Presstime in the early aughts. My family was traumatized by them a few years ago when they kicked an old, diasbled woman as she lay dying. I know who these people are and they do not impress me or have one grain of my respect.

I do not buy their self-serving decrees. It is a ruse, and one that is easily deconstructed. Real experts frown on using journalistic sources for a reason.

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I feel sympathy for Julian Assange, however. He was sheltered and naive in thinking the Middle Class would rise up against the psychopathic tyrants who manipulate and control them if he just exposed their slave masters.

That’s not how the middle class roll. You are telling them that they made a mistake and are defectively unenviable, and in that, they will never forgive him.

At least he understood what journalism should have been. This is not an assault on journalism because journalism never was as honest, organic, or brave as WikiLeaks, but the Guardian is trying to make a false comparison as self-serving vultures always try to do. WikiLeaks certainly isn’t the low-class garbage the Spec pukes and then pretends is real. I am writing about Assange in my latest manuscript; so it is the reason I am not mentioning anything here.

I am off again to go back to writing about war propaganda. It is a very depressing subject to tackle, especially when I am writing about it in the dark all by myself at 3 o’clock in the morning, but I am writing it from both ends to keep a positive balance. Sure, things are broken, but broken can be repaired to be better than new.

Life is meant to be Kintsugi, and it is an art that sings beautiful love songs to me; and I am grateful.

Til then…

xoxo.

Truth, Explained, Arc II: Duality? What does that really mean?

No transcript this for this podcast.

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I am now officially off this web site until further notice, namely, finishing my books.

Until then, here is a tune from The Hives…

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Update: Someone I adore just asked me about the federal Grits and their loser strategies.

Okay…

Justin Trudeau seems to take big motherfucking pages from Hillary Clinton’s playbook of being incapable of dealing with both internal and external problems.

The Girts are stupid in wanting to kick out Jody Wilson-Raybould and Jane Philpott because they are being egged to do so. Go for it. See what happens, assholes. That is the plan. We now have an audio recording. There will be more to come. The Grits are imploding.

And looking for more “retaliatory” measures against the behemoth economic juggernaut the US. To do what? Have more factories close in Canada? We are already in a recession. Are you dumbfucks that stupid? Are you out of your brain cell? You have no cards to play. What’s wrong with you?

There will be more political fuckery from the Trudeau regime, but don’t ask me about it. I just finished making a photo light box to take pictures. I am swamped, swamped, swamped. When I come back, I will tear every regime imaginable into tiny pieces with my wit for your amusements, but right now — Kintsugi and war propaganda await me!

Ciao! xoxo.

An Update: I need to take a hiatus.

I have just gotten another book contract to write an academic text about war propaganda. I have wanted to write this book for many years, but it finally came together. I have my Kintsugi book to finish in a short time as well, an Oxford art course to take and a Kintsugi course to teach.

What that means is I will have to suspend this web site for the foreseeable future — until I finish everything I need to do, which is a lot.

That means Chaser stories are put on hold. One of the stories on war propaganda will be in the upcoming book instead, and will no longer be Arc II. My story on Postmedia is on hold until I hand in my manuscripts. When I come back, that will be the next entry here, aside from my usual musings about coming back, but this absolutely changes how I will do Chaser.

Truth, Explained will have its second episode this week, but that’s about all I can do. So expect one more entry tomorrow.

No Cavewoman Graffiti. No expanding the List of People Everyone Should Know. No Dangerous Woman fiction. No writing about journalism and modern combat strategies. No musing on Quora. I am so swamped that I am overjoyed, but what I do takes unbelievable focus and I write books worth of items here — so now it will be in book form.

Things are picking up for me on this end. I have my Kintsugi photographs that I have to take for the book as well — as well as finish the rest of the book. That takes me into April, but then I will be writing nonstop and I have to schedule my art courses — both as student and teacher into all of it.

I have written two books in one year before, but not at the same time. These are both books I have wanted to do for a very long time, and now I get to do them.

For regular readers, I thank you very much for coming here. I will be back, more eccentric than ever. I still have F.R.E.E.D. to place, however, and I have plans to do something else.

If you like my style and want to read other things that I have written, if you can download many A Dangerous Woman offerings from Kindle — or Kobo. I have plenty of offerings there, fiction and nonfiction. I have my Ello page and my Quora page as well, but those two are on hiatus.

So, there will be a podcast tomorrow, but I am going to keep this site up with no changes or updates. It is not a matter of energy or me not having enough to say (ha!), but I have to focus on things that require research and precision, and when I am in that zone, I am a very different person. I never realized that until I gave a book talk to a group and the hostess who is a dear friend told the group all about my behaviour while I was writing the book. She did a very good impersonation of me, too.

Even my theremin playing will have to be put aside. I do have tickets for one play at the Shaw. That’s about it.

When I come back here, it will be me very unleashed…

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You will never be in the driver's seat unless you are willing to grab the wheel and steer it yourself.

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When I was a kid, I loved that ride, but only on one condition.

I got to sit up in front steering the bus.

Alone.

The bigger and older boys all hogged that seat until I strutted up, grabbed them, and threw them out, and got in there myself.

Boys more than twice my age and size would literally go flying out, while I daintily got in, grabbed the wheel, and giggled.

My mother was mortified, but my grandfather cheered me on, telling all the offended moms of flung out boys that it was his granddaughter who owned those boys’ backsides.

And he didn’t exactly speak English. He knew enough to tell them that — and negotiate and barter at any store, driving down the price.

My grandfather taught me many valuable lessons, and one of them was that if you want to be in the driver’s seat, you better be willing for some rough and tumble, but be sure to grab the steering wheel.

That involves strategy and risk.

But also a plan.

If you are not focussed on your goal, and if you do not believe in yourself, you will always choke and never grab the wheel.

Forget the brass ring.

Get the wheel and drive to your goal.

And when you control the wheel, you have full say in the direction that you are going.

You keep your promise to yourself and you travel up news paths, and straight into the eye of the storm.

No guts, no glory.

You do not nag other people who have control of the wheel of your ride.

You have a lot of women who don’t grasp this Truth.

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Here is an idea: put down the sign.

It will not get you anywhere.

And if you have held placards for decades, you are doing something wrong.

That is not a steering wheel.

You are nagging the driver.

Stop nagging the driver.

The one who has the wheel drives. The end.

When I was a kid, I did not ask for permission. I did not ask for approval. I did not seek validation for my choice. Mom would have said no, that’s rude.

And I would have never gotten to be the seat that made me the happiest as everyone else did.

All the boys who had age and height and girth over me.

She was not happy with my choice. I was tickled pink.

But she didn’t punish me. She took me there repeatedly and she took pictures.

Because she knew who I was as a human being.

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I had every right to that place because I fought for it based on my own instincts.

I didn’t hold a placard whining that the big boys were hogging that seat for themselves.

That’s what feminism has fallen to in 2019.

Because middle class women lost their instincts and thought a woman who ran for president was feminist.

Hillary Clinton was never a feminist.

Opportunist, yes. Ambitious, yes.

But not feminist.

She never corrected her past errors. She snatched defeat from the jaws of victory — in essence, her campaign made it amply clear that she had to focus of destination, and hence, could not actually grab the steering wheel when it counted the most because she build her house of cards on a lie.

She hesitated.

And then, made up the worst excuses in the history of presidential races: she blamed Russia (external) and James Comey (internal).

As if those two things would not be daily problems for any president.

If you cannot manage the external and internal, you don’t deserve the steering wheel at all.

But what she did was set back feminism and greatly discredited the US left version of it because women bought into her propaganda about the Russians being responsible for her defeat.

Okay, if the Russians could take her out that easily, then what do you imagine her abilities to be if she were president and twenty countries go after the country?

She can’t handle one, according to her convoluted bullshit narrative.

It wasn’t just journalists who banked on Robert Mueller finding collusion. It wasn’t just Democrats who have no actual original ideas or policy except for spending borrowed money.

It was US feminists who bought the lie.

And now they are left with a stunning defeat.

You wasted all of this time and resources nagging and holding placards instead of steering wheels, and you have scribbled paper to show for your efforts.

No amount of offended posturing and chest-thumping is going to alter that reality.

Because nobody with a brain is going to give one flying fuck to your excuses and denials.

You backed a turkey. Her bullshit story cost you goodwill and credibility. The end.

Donald Trump won because he flung out Clinton from that front seat.

He earned it. He jumped into the eye of the storm and he won fair and square.

The moment he announced his candidacy, I knew he would win and Clinton would lose.

I know determination when I see it.

If women want change, they have to change themselves.

They have to change.

They have to confront truths and reality that do not involved any self-serving patriarchal Mary Sue bullshit narrative.

Don’t tell me how you hold paper with scribbles on it. Show me how you handle your ride.

If any American understands the Hero’s Journey and its every nuance, it is Donald J. Trump. I would never begrudge him that. He is not crazy. He is not evil. He is self-indulgent. He is a brilliant strategist. He lives life to the fullest.

I do not ascribe to his politics.

He never asks permission to live his life. Women should study him and learn what it means to drive.

You could also ask me.

I have been doing that since I was a kid.

It was child’s play.

It is still child’s play to me.

And unless your hands are holding a steering wheel, you have zero say in where you are going or when…

Political Atheism: When you don't follow anyone's cluster of ideas, or want to lead a flock looking for canned ideology.

I have used a term on this web site quite frequently: Political Atheism.

I am always amused at how many people become alarmed at the very notion of it, using sophistry galore to claim it is “contradictory” (no, it isn’t), “wrong” (no, it isn’t), or “impossible” (no, it isn’t).

You hold a cluster of beliefs, but I bet none of them were ones you came up with. And I am also willing to bet some of those “beliefs” you don’t actually believe, but either tolerate or endure. You do not want to alienate an in-group that accepted you, or be seen as “strange”, “difficult”, and a “troublemaker.”

Too bad for you.

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I don’t mind if wrong-headed people see me as a strange and difficult troublemaker. That’s their problem. They are either limited, manipulative, controlling, or most likely, cowards. That’s not on me.

We have religious atheists, and now you have a political atheist.

And I am willing to bet that I am hardly the only one.

Politics has become the new religion, but I am not waiting several centuries before I disown the very notion.

People try to force people to accept them — with the lure of content and promises, and then use the same structure to keep the flock in place.

There is no different between a political rally or a religious gathering. You have to believe in the candidates and the ideology — the same as religion.

Politics isn’t empirical. Just like religion. It is based on say-so, not actually evidence or experimentation. Aren’t we clever?

People think it is some sort of sneaky hack to pretend to be evolved when it is just another form of religion. Priests held power over the flock the way politicians do now.

It is sanctioned insanity.

People try to dismiss me, and then bully me. Sooner or later, I have to pick sides.

No, I don’t. Religions battled each other, and I do not have to pick a side. They are both hopelessly wrong and downright mean to boot. While I am a spiritual person, no deity would express themselves through religion, particularly the ones who molest children, confine people, shame them, isolate them from their families, or want to kill them.

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Gods would want us to not depend on them or think of them as Santa Claus or our personal maids or butlers. We have selfish views on what higher beings mean to us, and I do not ascribe to any of it.

People can accept that from me. What they cannot accept that I am not impressed with Left/Right linear divides. No political system we have going is worth a bean. It is 2019; the time for passively wanting to be nannied by some They is over.

You would think political atheism would be a simple and mundane concept to accept, but it triggers many people who are trying to prove they are Always Rights, and then they have a meltdown. They want one single Them to blame, and then you have someone who thinks you both are alike, oppressive, boring, manipulative, tyrannical, and just plain suck. You want me to follow you even as you talk down to me and dismiss me? Really?

Memo: I don’t care what you think.

The most liberating of revelations is that no one else has to approve of your ideas or thoughts. You don’t have to be a follower. Nor, do you have to be a leader.

Nor do you have to be dawdling aimlessly in the the middle.

You can go wherever you wish however you wish. You don’t need approval or permission. You don’t need anyone’s validation or blessing.

You just have to be determined and active to forge your own path to create your own world — one that is in tune with your wants and needs.

Forge ahead by instinct and by heart. Trust yourself, help yourself, and don’t look for anyone else to rescue you. You are on your own in a world of people itching to shame others and make fun of them as they fall. They gossip and never bother to ask if you can pay your bills. People scam and cheat you and then blame you as they discard you.

That’s the way of politics. It’s war, and war is deception. I’ve no use for those games, and I look to other ways to make my life as fulfilling and meaningful as I can…

1980s this is not: Passivity in an Age of Propaganda.

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I grew up in the 1980s. It was an odd decade, but there are many elements that I am still happy to have inspired me. It was a breakthrough for a lot of things. It was upbeat. It was about confidence and flamboyance. It was eccentric, active, snarky, cocky, but also epic.

It was a decade that was an actual odyssey.

It was also whacked. Tele-evangelists were bullshitting the masses as they were becoming insanely rich on the backs of the poor. Greed was good. Excesses were seen as a wonderful thing. Extravagance was part of the culture.

Pop culture was crucial. You had monster acts, big movies, iconic television shows, and epic news stories. There was gravitas, and sometimes far too much of it. Everything seemed larger-than-life. We had Titans — even Teen Titans. It was all about breaking records and becoming a god on Earth.

There was more connect then than there is now, but it was a shallow kind that revolved around pop culture — artificial constructs.

You had social issues everywhere, from your denim jacket (I still have my old Hard Rock Cafe “Save the Planet” jacket I got in Florida) to comic books to soap operas (As the World Turns was on the vanguard of everything from feminism to interracial romance), and yet you had shows that strutted over the concept of excess, such as Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

Magazines were important, particularly Tina Brown’s Vanity Fair. People magazine’s reviews were must-reads.

You had the Middle Class always mindful of the less fortunate, as they strived to be rich.

It was an optimistic decade. Donald Trump was envied and emulated. Michael Jackson was seen as a role model. Madonna was considered a feminist icon.

Rich singers warbled about helping the homeless in North America and the suffering in Africa.

For all of its insufferable faults, the 1980s was about being active. Physical activity, such as exercise, was dominant. Mental activity was, too. Self-help books were a real genre that was profitable.

That was then.

The 2010 decade is an entirely different ball of wax.

For one, it is whiny with its brand puritanical nagging that comes from the Left. In the 1980s, it was preachy puritanical nagging from the Right.

For another, it is very passive. The 1980s saw the world in terms of helping others directly or even better, helping yourself pull out.

The slacktivism in the decades are different. In the 1980s, it was buying music records or Hands Across America. That was seen as a legitimate way to permanently solve all of society’s ills.

Now, it is bitching like a jackass on Twitter or donating on GoFundMe, but with the same idea.

1980s were not defeatist. 2019 is nothing but defeatism with perfectly healthy, educated, and capable people in their 20s want a pension, which what Basic Income happens to be.

There is a decided sense of passive angry entitlement. Life is hard. Life is profoundly unfair.

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Not the best picture of me, but who could say that inside my body at the time was ovarian cancer and I had not a single symptom or warning sign?

I was playing around with my new phone, taking that picture, resentful that the new filter erased my beauty mark, and made my already white skin look too white. I didn’t need the filtering, either, but I was griping about the limitation of my phone, not knowing that I had a time nuclear bomb inside my left ovary.

That’s life, where you have thoughts about trivial matters as bigger problems loom.

And yet I didn’t sit back and passively expect things. I looked after my mother at the same time as she had her own cancer to deal with, all while I had a huge gash on my stomach.

There was no They. There was no Them.

For all the problems of the 1980s, entitlement from a They wasn’t one of them. What can I do? What can we do?

Not, who is going to do things for me?

Much of it comes from having a passive Fourth Medium that is strictly me-centred by design.

The medium is more than just the message: its structure shapes the people who use it, as it shapes its propaganda to indoctrinate them.

When we are not aware of how rigs shape our thoughts, he begin to think those lies are divine truth.

And in an Age of Propaganda, when there is no effort, passivity shapes expectations.

It is unsustainable, but the lies the medium tells seems alluring all the same…

My name is Alexandra, not Cassandra.

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But the mythical Cassandra and I have something in common.

We both have a knack for predicting certain things, and being bang on…and get ignored anyway.

I never claimed to be psychic, but I pay attention to patterns and observe things and have a very good memory for things.

And I am a realist. I don’t delude myself or see things as I wish for them to be, nor do I make excuses, but how they are, whether I like it or not, and usually not.

I don’t take pleasure in seeing my country getting its ass whipped the way it has, but it was inevitable.

Some people need a kick where it counts in order to see their situation.

And it is very frustrating…

And now, for something completely silly, Part Three.

You can’t find the light of inspiration unless your head is in the clouds.

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Men know this and many rig things so that women can never achieve the same, but not all are of that ilk at all.

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I take risks in life.

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Some of the oddest risks you can imagine, and at the oddest of times and places.

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People don’t realize that I am paying attention.

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Spoiler alert! I am!

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And I notice that people are losing their ability to connect because they create a fortress of their words.

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Fuck that shit. It is time for a fiat lux or two.

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Because my heart has its wishes and has made the map for me to explore…

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And now, for something completely silly, Part Two.

I am on a quest to understanding all of the deepest truths of the omniverse.

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But I still have time to clean the house and take out the garbage.

Yet I still get right to the point.

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I don’t put on an act. What you see is who I am.

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Because I fight the good fight.

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My methods may be eccentric and enigmatic.

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And I welcome new ways of being silly.

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I confuse a lot of people who are never quite sure what to make of me.

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Because who they see is a palimpsest.

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Because when you embrace love, truth, and bravery, you can do impossible things even in the oddest of times and spaces…

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And now, for something completely silly, Part One.

They tell me God is a comedian.

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Well, so am I.

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I can be a real card.

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And I am a peculiar kind of perky.

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Do not bullshit me, though.

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And don’t think you can pressure me by means of time or space.

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I am a magician, too. I unlock the confines because that’s just who I am.

I can be fun at any kind of party.

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And I don’t give a flying fuck what people think of me.

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Because the grains of time move too fast to worry about the games played by others…

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Adlibture: the stream of inspiration that will take you to the strangest of places. Follow your instinct, not the script.

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Reading journalists whining is a real pain in the ass. Shut the fuck up.

Stop spinning a narrative overtly or covertly. What is done is done.

When you ignore people like me, expect the same treatment in return from the public.

Because no one is listening.

For a reason.

Journalism is following old scripts. The new kids are all frauds who are cribbers. Fuck them. They are riding on the coattails of the old and broken antiquated models.

If the profession wanted to be reborn, then they have to start from the very beginning.

And learn Adlibture, not scripture.

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The first step is anarchy, and with anarchy comes adlibture.

Follow your instincts, no matter if people disagree with you or think you are strange.

You take risks, not gambles.

You find inspiration wherever you wish.

For me, I have many, but let’s talk about one: my adoration for a comic book character who is seen as Steve Ditko’s other bug-themed superhero.

Ted Kord the Blue Beetle.

He is what every person should be: a person whose word is their bond.

You make a promise. You keep that promise.

The end.

He made a promise to a dying man where no one else heard him.

He did not have superpowers, but he was smart and made the technology.

He was inconvenienced. A police officer dogged him convinced he killed the civilian who was the original Blue Beetle.

But a promise is a promise.

He may have been rich, but he used his wealth for good. He could laugh. He could fight.

But most of all, he could absolutely be trusted to do the right thing.

I have the entire Charlton run in my office.

For a reason.

Because I have an affinity for the character, I have no problem being inspired in different ways.

Make use of what you have. Keep your promises. Help other people. Don’t forget to have fun.

And I did that all while having to deal with cancer.

And it took me out of very dark places. The Kordian System is a resounding success, and who cares if it came in a comic book?

Wisdom lurks everywhere.

That is the reason journalism’s collapse is an enigma.

But it is a selfish profession that hordes in anarchy, stealing scripts.

Not creating adlibtures that make you fluid and adaptable.

Because once you prove that you can be absolutely trusted in anarchy, you are on to the next step: alchemy.

Turning lead into gold.

Because alchemy is the emotional science that takes those adlibtures and puts them to good use.

You can improvise and assess on the drop of a hat.

And then, when you have your personal gold, you share it.

The third step of altruism.

You do not tell people how moral you are: you show.

No virtue-signalling or teeth-gnashing.

You give. You give credit where credit is due. You do away with pecking orders. You are not petty or jealous, let alone vindictive or closed-minded.

Your adlibtures begin to create new worlds on their own — and if you do it right, long after you breath your last.

People patronize me, ignore me, bully me, and dismiss me.

But they can never stop me.

I made a promise a long time ago.

And I keep my promises.

I have no trouble telling people off.

But I also have no trouble being inconvenienced to help someone when they are down without them ever knowing that I did.

That’s what should have been journalism. It should have been a noble profession.

Why?

No alibture.

And hence, no way of getting on track to altruism where it could freely create castles and gardens of gold without losing anything in the bargain…

Sometimes, the response that works isn't outrage. It's appalling humour to reflect the reality.

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If you want to find the solution that works, start learning to laugh at yourself. Bring light to yourself in order to see.

Humour is not supposed to be a weapon. It is supposed to be a tool.

Triumph does not come from anger, fear, or sadness. Tears solve nothing, and neither do temper tantrums.

When you use humour to lighten a load, you are on the right track.

When you use it to pretend you are superior to others, you didn’t get it right.

Laughter is the best medicine, but it is also a primitive drive to work through problems.

I don’t have problems making appalling jokes. Not racist ones, but appalling ones.

You do not have to applaud my humour. You are allowed to dislike it, but I do not go against my nature.

Nor do I make apologies for my giggling at the strangest of places.

I just see through the lies and absurdity as I work through a solution with kindness and wisdom.

Deal with it, motherfuckers…

The end of the Trudeau Fairytale: Goodbye Aesop. The winds of change will show you the exit.

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Hey look, kids! Skarlet from Mortal Kombat stole my 2007 look! Right down to the red streak, bangs, black turtleneck collar, lipstick, and eye make-up. You had your fun, now give it back.

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I am much, much friendlier.

And I do not have blood on my hands. Eww.

Today, two lawyers had bad things to say about their world leaders in North America — Michael Cohen did not deal any death knells to Donald Trump. He just insulted him lots, and he himself has done very shady things. Trump can easily overcome this man.

Justin Trudeau not at all.

The lawyer is an upstanding and smart lady who kept meticulous notes. She didn’t make wild accusations. She didn’t break the law. She stuck to facts, not innuendo.

There was no contest who was the better lawyer and the better person. Cohen was caught doing bad things. Wilson-Raybould was demoted for not breaking the law.

In the US, this is no watershed moment.

For Canada, there is now no going back. The Toronto Star admits the “sunny ways” bullshit narrative is done. That was not an easy admission to make for them.

The Globe and Mail wants him out of office. That is unprecedented.

We have those at the National Post — who always side with the men — have to concede that the woman in this case was the one speaking the truth.

We even have Maclean’s starting to sound like me with talk of the Grits’ minions and smugness. What is this country coming to when that happens?

Journalists in this country are notorious sunny spinners of rot. This time, they have the wind knocked right out of them.

I never bought the narrative of the Jive Turkey.

He always had a sheltered, smug demeanour. Conniving and arrogant and reeked of sheltered privilege. Canada could not afford him, but the Liberals made a deal with the devil — they could not beat Stephen Harper who is a silver fox — so they took a luxury brand name and ran it as prime minister, knowing full well of his limitations. Canada needs a cunning leader, not a vain, clueless one.

Canada is a country that is very much like the Versace pin dress made iconic by Elizabeth Hurley.

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That’s how we hold together. Barely.

We always have to keep it together. One wrong step and we are an impoverished nation.

Just one tiny, baby step.

We are divided, nannied, entitled, and absolutely oblivious that we are held together by a few pins and a prayer. That is the truth that was always kept away from citizens. We never had a prime minister tell us to suck it up and stop whining for things that we cannot afford.

That used to be the same story for the former Yugoslavia until they exploded and killed each other.

But Canada looks good in public. We had to have a very pristine image. That’s why there was the sudden spewing of the phrase “Rule of Law” by the Trudeau regime. They half got it, but none of the nuances.

And they allowed tyrants of SNC-Lavalin to have power when they were bluffing.

If SNC-Lavalin made threats to up and leave, the Grits could have nailed them, and recall the billions they gave to the company.

And air their sins.

And tell other nations to reject them if they wanted to sell stuff to Canada.

They could have neutered those bluffers who would have no choice but to capitulate to every demand, not rewrite Canadian law.

You do not appease someone in a position of weakness.

Jody Wilson-Raybould wasn’t going to roll because, as a prosecutor, she knew more than just the law — she would have prosecuted corporations during her tenure, and saw the bluffs and chest-thumping.

The feds had more than just a moral obligation to hit the company full force: they had to for their very political survival. If a company can be that brazen in rewriting the law, then every one will make the same demands and not hide it, either.

Not that they don’t already do it, but this was even more open than the others.

The Grits have now destroyed their own brand on a global scale. This mess will cost this country dearly.

I have been saying this for years. Trudeau is not cunning enough to be PM. It is not about being cute and flippant.

In the Game of Go, we are down, and we are one inch away from some outside force to shout, “Finish them!”

Our resources and political capital have been drained. China and Saudi Arabia will milk this, and will not be seen as a cheap pot shot.

Even Trump is looking better.

The Left in the Western nations are in serious trouble. They have lost their moral authority. They are no better than the right. They play the same ugly games and tell the same ass-covering lies.

And the piper is knocking on the Grits’ door, looking to collect his due.

You cannot expect solutions from those who copy other people’s words and scripts.

Trudeau is proof positive of that.

And with no acceptance of new systems and ideas, it will be a rapid decline from here…

Nothing much to say today...

I have had a lot on the go, and I am tired.

I am still working on the first Chaser arc. I wanted it out much sooner, but I keep researching just to be precise, and then want to write it in such a way that it isn’t too dense.

After that, I don’t want to do heavy things for a spell. I want fun. 2018 was way too heavy, and I want to lighten the load.

But then I scan the National Post and shake my head at their nincompoopity. This column is the absolute worst of the worst. Spinning and justifying is a bad thing. You have a troubling little gathering and you need to acknowledge it, not blame the person who is calling you out on the carpet for those troubling details — and then throwing their past and disavowed beliefs in their face. Not only is it a logical fallacy, it is also completely irrelevant to the charges.

But this is the newspaper that serves as minion PR flunkies for Steven Galloway and Jordan Peterson. Journalism they are not. Intelligent they are not.

Worthless, they are.

Lara Logan is repositioning herself in her career, but she is a day late and a dollar short. Journalism isn’t “losing credibility”; it got destroyed, and it got that way because people in that profession stood together, creating a wall that kept ideological diversity and intellectual innovations shut out completely.

There was no need for it. It chose to be in cages, and not roaming in the wild. Journalists became animals in a circus and freak show, and have no natural instincts for survival.

I plan at least two fun entries here tomorrow, then the the first arc of Chaser.

We will see where my heart and mind wander from there, but today, I went to my old alma mater for a concert with a friend and did lunch at the Phoenix…with this classic as one of the songs played…

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Actrivism, Part Nine: Immerse yourself in wavelengths. Learn to ride in someone else's soul.

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Nicola Tesla was a smart man. He’s #35 on the List of People Everyone Should Know.

And I took a lot from his ideas, particularly about understanding the deepest truths of the universe by understanding energy, frequency, and vibration.

Or, riding on the wavelengths of other people and groups.

When I decided to study the ways of journalism by becoming a journalist, what I was doing was riding on the wavelengths of this collective, how the justify their beliefs about themselves and how they process the world around them.

In-groups have their own little set of arrogant ideals, and they like to fancy themselves as superior, even when they are seen as underdogs or undesirables.

Look at CBC getting haughty because Fox News didn’t air someone who has gotten a lot of free press opining about the rich and their taxes.

CBC has conducted countless interviews that never made it to air.

When you interview a lot of people to make a narrative, some do not perfectly “fit” your pattern, and you will exclude it.

I have had editors cut out people I interviewed for articles, and I never found out until after publication.

But even in j-school, when one CBC producer came to lecture us, and we were given a real-life scenario, and we had to pick and choose which interviews made it and which ones were excluded.

So let’s not pretend. I have been interviewed for stories, and I never made it in the final product.

If you do not align perfectly with a narrative, you are removed.

I wrote OutFoxed: Rupert’s war on journalism, and I recount how the FNC is careful who they air, but it is not just the FNC.

Whenever you rely on narrative, you are going to do that sort of thing to keep the mindset in place.

Once it happened to me when I was writing about women who broke the law to appease a mate. I included a young woman who murdered a perfect stranger because her boyfriend asked her to do it.

The reason I included that case was to show it wasn’t some sort of romantic notion or that every woman was duped. I wanted a textured story, but the editor lopped it off, and the nuances of the story completely changed. I was not happy.

But that is the mundane reality of the newsroom.

I bet you do the same thing on Twitter and Facebook — cherry-picking articles and propaganda posters (that is what a meme poster is, kids) that fit perfectly with your beliefs with no dissenting perspective and stories.

But you take it for granted.

I didn’t.

I wanted to ride the wavelengths of the profession.

But once I began writing books about my findings, I wanted people to be able to immerse themselves the way I did.

So I did something very subtle: I presented the facts objectively through structure, but in such a way the mimicked the mindset of those I was writing about.

I did it with all of my books. You are going inside the mindset of the profession, feeling the same rhythms and frequencies as those working in it.

But a funny thing happened.

Some reviewers didn’t get it.

One was upset that I took the same “pot shots” at FNC pundits that they took on others, while completely missing the point.

The same goes for my latest book, When Journalism was a Thing.

The mimicry of the energy, frequency, and vibration completely went over some reviewers heads.

Not everyone was clueless, mind you. A lot of people understood the point.

I remember when I was a relationships columnist with the Hamilton Spectator, and I did the same immersion with a short 600-ish word column about money.

Someone wrote in, and got it. As in, felt it.

I set up a stage. I get into character — but not a fictitious character. It is Method Research, and I am a Actrivist.

I will upload the column and response another time.

But even back then, I would reflect the frequencies of those I was writing about.

That requires not being so me-centred. It is a you-centred exercise.

This is how you deal with the emotional aspect of covering people or events.

That’s how you walk through Infinity with someone else’s heart and soul to see their perceptions and go through their motions as if they were your own.

There is no Us Versus Them. You become the Them.

Outside and inside. You are both. Above and below. Left and right.

This method is the way of the Radical Centrist. You learn by becoming, and you gain energy by allowing its essence into the very stuff of your soul to see what are the problems and the core of their cause.

By becoming part of the problem before transmuting yourself into the solution…