I looked at Instagram so hard on the treadmill yesterday that I had sea legs and almost fell when I walked away.
This is unusual for me. Via hashtag, you can search for anything on Instagram — the brilliance of this suggested itself to everyone at least ten years ago and I’m just catching up. I mean, it doesn’t have to be content curated by one particular person or entity; it’s collectively assembled. (I still haven’t really figured out how or why to engage with Twitter, especially when the good Twitter posts end up on Insta, Reddit, and FB anyway.)
So I’ve known this, but — you’ve read my blogs. What the fuck am I gonna search? #spell dresses? Yeah, I already know what they look like and how much they cost and where to buy them; I don’t need to be searching up ways to hemorrhage money. I do love to see my IRL and digital gal friends looking gorgeous in their Spell.
Ethical vegan content? No, I specifically unfriend / distance myself from vegan pages. I’ve made the switch, I don’t need to be ambushed by the most upsetting photos and videos on earth, every day.
Vegan recipe content? I can out-cook anyone when I’m in an actual kitchen (wild and unproven claim) but also, cooking beautifully represents a form of self-care that I’m not aligned with, right now, beyond a low level. I’m also a little confused by the entire concept of recipes, as they’ve taken hold in my…generation, I guess? Worth a brief rabbit hole.
So, a recipe is a blueprint for a dish, as we all know. Recipes were traditionally published in books and/or written down on “recipe cards” and kept in a “recipe box”, as was the case with my mother. The books were, like, Betty Crocker and Fannie Farmer — I mean, there was a high probability of gingham showing up in the design of the cover. And an even higher probability of a masterful dessert photo or illustration consisting of some type of multi-tiered Jello monstrosity, which is a phase of American cuisine we really do deserve to be made into an international laughingstock, over. The whole thing was very 50’s mindset, with women in pearls and up-do’s, wearing frilly aprons and producing casseroles — “patriarchy has never been easier!”, as the Veganomicon put it. There was an overt and covert emphasis on “entertaining”, which is what people used to do before TV and the internet.
Recipe culture has changed a lot now. There’s meal delivery services, at the tip of the spear, and then apps that deliver a menu and shopping list to you, based on some preferences. The idea is not so much entertaining as it is feeding your fucking self. And there are still recipe books, but hardly anyone does recipe cards. I think gals these days would probably be offended if I were to roll up and try to trade recipes. Also I’m vegan, so none of us would be interested in what the other had to offer. And then many many blogs, essentially, many vegan blogs for sure, and I can’t remember any of them to recommend. I used to mess around with that but frankly it’s a lot of work, and not my life’s work.
Here’s the problem — either you know how to throw food together or you don’t. A recipe for someone who knows how to throw food together is more like…suggesting a new song title to a songwriter: “Why don’t you try one called ‘Somebody’s Gonna Get Broken-hearted’?” And they’re like, “Oh yeah, that could work…”. But instead it’s: “Why don’t you try a pasta dish with a cashew sauce, and then golden raisins, a ton of fresh thyme, and fresh shucked corn rather than traditional Italian ingredients?” “Oh yeah, that could work…”. But if someone doesn’t know how to throw food together, then you have to walk them through the whole thing step by step, which is what traditional recipes do, which is fine. I’m not good at creating recipes that specific, which is why I wisely disengaged.
I guess the weirdest thing, from a vegan standpoint, is that any vegan becomes I suppose a sort of first responder to people who are v-curious or considering the switch, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Every now and then I’ll get a message in inbox — help, I’m going vegan! And like a first responder, there is actually very little I can do. “Watch Gamechangers and Google vegan recipes.”
Here’s the thing, though — how many people actually operate off of recipes as omnivores? If they do, great, they’ll be well suited, but if they don’t, the last thing people want — or the last thing I want for them, rather — is to associate a minor change in grocery items with a major ordeal in food prep. I mean, I guess when people struggle with it, in reality or conceptually, I’m always curious, how the fuck are you feeding yourself now? I understand many people associate a shift to veganism with a shift up in overall quality and consciousness, and that’s great, but not if it’s unrealistic or unsustainable. I mean, just do whatever you’re doing now, but buy vegan meat and vegan dairy and call it good. Take a journey up the food-vibration-consciousness ladder later; become a fancy recipe person later.
So that’s what I think about that, but I do want to mention the absolute explosion of vegan recipes, online and in cookbooks. I think it’s great, but also really funny — it speaks to the presumed (and personally confirmed!) helplessness of people, mentally, when they go vegan. They’re like “what do I dooooooo?” And vegan recipe blogs everywhere are like, “HERE’S WHAT YOU DO!” It’s great, it’s cute, I have no issue with it, but still I’m always returned to the question: how the fuck were you getting by before? I mean, I’ve always been veg so I don’t even know how to cook meat but it looks a lot more complicated than anything else, to me. You have to make sure it doesn’t get you sick, like it’s heated enough for long enough and gets thrown out early enough, before it spoils…just sounds like an enormous pain in the ass, and like the hardest part of making food is, specifically, animal products. I mean, there’s nothing that I cook that had a freaking skeleton and organs and fur and hair that I might have to separate out, for chrissakes. Getting the pit out of an avocado, or the rind off of a fruit, is about as tough as it gets, in my world. I can’t even imagine. I can’t imagine. Trying to figure out how to safely cook a thing that used to piss and shit and bleed. Ugh, that is just raunchy.
Anyway, back to Instagram: short story long, I don’t look at vegan recipe content. What other notions can I disabuse? Women in trucking? Don’t look at that. In fact at my second-to-last job interview, for a truck school, the committee asked me what guidance I would offer female students as they entered the trucking industry. I just said, “Get a strong skillset and then lead with that.” They all stared at me like I was broken, and I had no idea what else to add, so I just shrugged somewhat aggressively. Turns out I was supposed to say something like “I’m a member of x y z minority trucking organization and I would make sure she signed up for it too” or whatever, but I still don’t line up with that. I don’t have anything against it. There’s plenty industries and occupations where I suppose you have to play stupid games, but trucking isn’t one of them. It just isn’t. They just give you a road test and then you either know how to drive or you don’t, it’s really simple. Straight up meritocracy. God bless the remaining meritocracies.
What else? I did have a fling with permed hair pages on Instagram, before I permed mine. I don’t think it really matters what kind of perm you get — with hair as straight and flat as mine, any curl, any volume, is a godsend. So now, permed, those pages have fallen by the wayside.
I’m always on the prowl for memes. Not many of them are good; I’m pretty snooty.
There’s an indie model named Rocky Barnes that I follow. She’s just the most naturally beautiful woman on earth, and has truly found her calling, and married her photographer and they recently had a baby together, who is now featured in lots of the photos. Her pregnancy and delivery was apparently really rough and I just love that this woman who uber-cares for her body and beauty has negotiated another really important aspect of life with love and attention as well. I also love that her entire modeling career has been indie, specifically, just waking up everyday and doing what she loves.
I follow an Aussie gal named Brinkley Davies who has the most incredible (drone?) photos, aerial and underwater — she’s a marine biologist, ostensibly, but seems to hang out in sexy rash guards and play with ‘roos on the beach a whole lot, too. She shreds on a surfboard. Long story short, I’m not sure what exactly she does, but she probably makes enough off Instagram that it’s not a big deal. She’s always in and around the ocean.
I follow, or have ass-over-teakettle, ended up following, people who do different things, and the main ones I love are people who post lots of photos of their pets. I mean, at the end of the day, what do you really wanna see besides that?
Closing in on some kind of point, though, and specific to getting all wobbly on the treadmill yesterday because I was looking at my phone so hard, I’ve finally found the hashtags that produce content that I’m truly interested in, and they orbit around the Q phenomenon. So these are like Q, Qanon, WWG1WGA (where we go one, we go all), #toosavagefordemocrats, that type of thing.
Like a lot of people, I was happy enough to exist in some kind of gray zone between negotiating outright conspiracy theories and what passes for the established meta-narrative, right now, about [whatever]; and like a lot of people, I’ve considered my own intellect, impressions, and five fucking senses to be adequate to steer me, personally, through the various tsunamis of our times, and by “our times”, I mean this specific year, 2020. I’m aware of what performances of virtue and caution and right-mindedness would serve to get me into the foyer, at least, of the cult of the snake that eats its own tail, and while I typically don’t flout my counter narrative notions, I consider that most of this is not my business; most of my business is not anyone else’s business; and that, in fact, if most of us continue to mind our own business in whatever way seems best to us personally, the world will stagger on as usual and some kind of semi-reasonable baseline will be maintained. If current events are most like bathwater splashing violently in a small but shifty bathtub, what else would any of us expect? If dominant ideologies get so heavy they can’t help but oppress new, challenging sub-ideologies into existence, isn’t that just the way of things? As long as I’m not prevented from doing the basic shit I need to do, and we still seem to be operating as essentially a constitutional republic, then why not just appreciate the way things play out to the extent I can, you know?
Personally I’m a fan of cops, and the fact that they can come and help me as a result of my having paid taxes; personally I would rather see a statue of a Confederate with an amended placard or statuary addition, making explicit the acknowledgement that this is our scarred history and this is our current best understanding of how to connect the past to the present, in greater mindfulness of human dignity; personally I would rather demonstrate to myself and others my ability to connect across demographic lines than to have my city, for instance, sponsor me into some undoing whiteness training; personally I’d rather maintain the tenants of liberalism, and live somewhere that acknowledges their value. Personally I’m not interested in a cashless society or a basic universal income, although I understand that the appeal of mostly-free market capitalism is a tough sell for a generation that’s been fucked not once but twice by total failures of our economy. Personally I thought we were trending in a really good direction, nationally and economically, prior to the shut downs. Personally I think we should have quarantined the elderly and at-risk, rather than in the case of NYC forcing admissions of COVID positive patients into nursing homes and having half the deaths there represented by that nursing home demographic as a result. Personally I’d be into an “America: Take Your Chances” initiative where everyone who’s okay with potentially getting the ‘rona, like me, like damn near everyone I know, is allowed to just go back to work or school normally, but anyone who isn’t comfortable with that can remain locked down as long as they want. Personally I don’t think we’re going to shelter our way out of a virus that no one is immune to, which is extremely mild in almost all cases; personally I can’t get on board with all the emphasis on “permanent, life-long, debilitating side effects!” of COVID for survivors when we don’t even have 6 months of data yet; and personally I’m not interested in being vaccinated for something I’m not scared of, when I am scared of vaccines and whatever the fuck riders, digitally or medically, come along with that, and I don’t anticipate any mandatory vaccination scheme going smoothly in America because, last I checked, we’re Americans, and nothing mandatory goes smoothly here, ever, thank god.
In short, I’m personally happy to just form and refine my own notions about everything and mostly mind my own business.
But this child sex trafficking shit is out of control. I’m sorry, but that’s everyone’s business. White, black, science-denying, shitting your pants over COVID, defund the police, bake a cake for the police, rich, poor, Dem, Republican, vegan, omnivore, I don’t care who you are, this is everyone’s business. If there has ever been an indictment of the mainstream media’s having sold its soul to the fucking devil, this is it. It’s “debunked” — that’s all I ever hear. Debunked, debunked, debunked, debunked. They can’t even give a good reason why it’s debunked, or how, or relative to the actual fucking concerns. “We have determined it is unrealistic to expect a child could survive being shipped nationally or internationally inside a utility cabinet so we rule this theory: debunked.” Oh fuck you. We know, for a fact, the Catholic Church is still hiding and dodging the actual systemic level of child sexual abuse going on, past and present, and even that is finally out in the open, to some extent, attended by a mind-bogglingly absent level of general public outrage. But it doesn’t just stop there. There is too much smoke for there not to be a fire, you asshole media, and even if it is only smoke, it’s your fucking job to cover it. You chase every other goddamn ambulance.
If this is the first you’ve heard about it, as a reader, then I’m not surprised because the tap dancing to distract your attention from it has become severe, and even where it nonetheless emerges, you’re encouraged to dismiss the possibility of entrenched, systemic, digitally-enabled child sex trafficking as a right-wing conspiracy theory.
What’s “right wing” about examining hundreds of thousands of missing children every year? From the foster care system, from detainee camps, from orphanages, from Haiti, for fuck’s sake? What’s “right wing” about looking at a ton of emails and seeing that, whether or not #pizzagate is “debunked”, this is clearly code for something? No one talks about actual pizza and hot dogs that way — spending $65k of tax-payer money on shipping them in from Chicago, and I hope we get the same “waitresses” and “I found a handkerchief with a “pizza map”, is it yours?, and “have a slice for me” and everyone wearing red leather shoes, and McCauley Culkin’s assertions, Mel Gibson’s assertions, Chris Cornell dying, the Clinton body count rising, Jeffery Epstein’s bullshit suicide, all of it.
I mean, I know what’s political about it — the actual politicians and elites involved, and the families that have controlled our wealth and steered our politics and medicine and media and infrastructure, but there’s nothing political about abused children, and last I checked we all still cared about that. I mean, if we can’t figure out that we all still care about that — but that’s just the thing, isn’t it. Divisive, divisive, divide, divide, when it’s become absolutely too obvious and too enormous that a thing none of us could deny caring about is literally upon us. It’s upon us.
And we don’t need the fucking MSM to get our information anymore. While they still managed to maintain some semblance of relevance, then okay fine, it’s passive and you don’t have to go hunting for it, but I’m saying out with the irrelevant, in with the relevant. Tweets and Instagram posts are being flagged and fact checked for inaccuracy, and when you go in an investigate them anyway, it’s just someone showing a video of how you select a girl’s name on a $10k pillow on Wayfair and it corresponds, every time, to the name of a girl who’s gone missing in the last year. But the “fact check”, when you read it, tells you she’s already been found dead so it’s debunked, or Wayfair said the cabinets are utility, and the listings did not support the high price point of 12, 13, 14, 15 thousand dollars, so they’ve been taken down to be revised to reflect their value — because that makes sense — but guess what: when the “explanation” makes even less sense than the conspiracy theory? I don’t think it takes a rocket scientist, or some kind of unusually skilled journalist or fact-checker, to say: well, that’s still weird. It’s still weird, you guys. None of these questions has been adequately answered, let alone debunked. Connections between Marina Abromovic and the Yandex search engine producing images of tiny fucking girl children, when you enter the SKU for furniture, and that’s “debunked” because someone’s disassociating the SKU’s and taking down the listings as fast as they can.
Come the fuck on.
I was happy to believe #pizzagate was a debunked conspiracy. I was happy to believe Q and Qanons were a debunked conspiracy. I heard about it years ago and was like, Ok — let’s just have that not be true because how would that even be true. But how could it not be a possibility, honestly? And I would expect — except I wouldn’t, anymore, because I’m red-pilled as fuck, now — but I would have expected some journalist, some media outlet, with some semblance of a set of balls, to tackle it, if it were tackle-able.
But you know what? Everyone who has had the balls to tackle it, has ended up dead. But finally it’s too obvious — too obvious for me, even, and I’m reasonably dense, reasonably committed to believing the best of people, large scale, and reasonably interested in minding my own business.
The missing component for me, I guess, was the Satanic worship angle. I’ve seen the media freak out (they don’t, anymore, notably) about movies and live shows exhibiting elements of the occult, and I was as annoyed as anyone. Like, come on — we don’t all have to be Bible thumpers here, that’s kind of the point of the USA: newsflash. The “occult” is just a name for stuff that hasn’t officially become a CULT yet, and cults abound, and for some reason we’re fine with them. Christianity is a cult, Mormonism is a cult, Islam is a cult, they’re all fucking cults — they just achieve a collective suspension of disbelief and then we call them “religions”, but they’re all cults. I’m part of the cult of veganism, let’s say, and Abraham Hicks, and Teal Swan, and channeled perspectives generally, and I know that’s weird, and I’m fine with it.
So the “occult” — pshaw. But now it’s occurring to me that Satanic rituals are the connecting thread, here. And I don’t believe in Satan or hell, but I do believe that we can “believe” whatever we want into some kind of existence, individually and collectively, and honestly why would we not have a worldwide cult of Satan worship. We can’t seem to escape this really generic heaven/hell, God/Satan dichotomy, whichever side of it we align with. So, fine, it’s really not that much of a reach. It’s fucking tacky, but it’s not a reach.
I understand this blog may be challenging, as well as boring and strange, and if I had my head on straight I’d simply present you with the evidence I’ve encountered, so you can make up your own mind. But I’ll just refer you to sources that do a better job than me, because frankly I think I need a reaction blog.
I’m shocked, but not shocked. I’ve been shocked for years that we love animals the way we do — you never meet anyone who doesn’t claim to love animals, and I think they’re being honest about that to the extent they can be — and yet we allow them to be systemically tortured and murdered as a matter of course. We all know it. And we all allow it. That’s shocking — but not shocking, because I live in the world, same as you do. This — this increasing, inevitable, undeniable, and yet still totally ignored by the mainstream — evidence of systemic child sex trafficking and torture is even more shocking, and even more not shocking, and for all the same reasons.
I understand we’re all, you know, negotiating the social repercussions of our interests and beliefs right now. I’ve become a lot less cool to some people, and a lot more cool to others, as I’ve found the courage to emit tiny peeps and squeaks, here and there, about some of the things that seem important to me. I understand if you eat meat and want to keep eating meat; I understand if you want me to wear a mask everywhere I go because your grandma. That’s all fine. It’s not fine, but it’s fine.
But Guislane fucked-up-name-I-can’t-pronounce Maxwell is allegedly in prison and Epstein walked the streets for decades a known, fucking known pedophile child trafficker, he had a fucking rape island, he had fucking flight logs, and the Catholic Church has paved the way for all of us to acknowledge that this shit doesn’t just happen in ones and twos. Once you look into it, it’s NOTHING BUT known pedophiles, consorting long-term with people we consider respectable, walking the streets, winked at, ignored — enabled. It’s part of something bigger, and if it takes me — this poorly educated, politically almost illiterate, truck driving, blog writing, navel-gazing white chick — to act as a canary in the coal mine for some shit you might want to start looking into, then it’s already gone way, way, way too far.
I have fucking had it with the meta-narrative — what it encourages me to focus on, what it discourages me from focusing on. Where we go one, we go all, and I’m finally, unconditionally happy to be on the right side of this.
So yeah, gloves are off for me. And I almost fell off my treadmill, yesterday, ripping off this bandaid. And it was worth it. And then I bench pressed like a boss. And now I’m writing this blog.
I respect your ability to use your own internet and, at risk of offending what remaining meta-narrative sensibilities you may still have, I’ll just recommend this documentary for what it’s worth, because I can’t think of a better starting place.
And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for all the F-bombs, but I can’t not, right now.