I haven’t been taking my time to organize my thoughts, when I do, I share the information with the next person, not the person the info was intended for. It’s usually excitement for recognizing the light, running it through my thoughts and let the ocd do it’s thing to connect the dots to determine the metaness of an event, personal, place or thing.
After getting a handle on the rideshare algorithm, I thought a new skill would be an interesting thing to learn. It just so happens that a few weeks back that the meat bag with a advantageous vibe rage quit from the recursive Fleur di lis Bar and Grill at what is a now a revised version of the future taping of “it’s Sometimes Gloomy in Pascagoula”, an alternative take on It’s always Sunny in Philadelphia. I’ve been the Charlie for the Model show, but after half the staff left with their negative energy all at once, they needed me to step up from trying to just vibe with the dishes in a sorta meta-meditation. The Echo quit and took his minions with him because he had a dispute with the feminine Neo that started working after my friend Mr. Anderson visited and left behind some light work that I’m pretty positive tuned in a Mississippi Queen. An error’d one, in survibing mode, but still a really decent good human being that is teaching me that new skill cooking.
One of the things I’ve been doing is giving neutral but energetic vibes to the prayers of the Rabbi I crossed paths with after driving home from Miami Florida after dropping off Genomic Neo there. I met him at Love’s Gas station in Lee Florida.I didn’t speak to him, but we entered Loves at the same moment, he asked for Oil from a worker, and I went to the bathroom and got a drink. Those two bubbles rubbing right next to each other was something I recognized 
as special. For the past several months I have been doing the fryer oil in honor of the Rabbi’s perceived prayers, sending thoughts that if this oil is changed and cleaned, then the machinery of the matrix will eventually focus at such a resolution that time eventually crosses over where the past present and future all meet in a dense collapse of gravitational bound information.
A nice reward could be to have the Lotto America glitch it’s rng to match the rng on the weekly Quick Pick I get for that game, and not just the star ball, all the numbers line up. It hasn’t been won in a while, so I figure I can be next in line for the jackpot.
I know I’m not the best quality writer to exist, a lot feels like I’m having to relearn writing now that I feel like I’ve been reborn so many times. A friend described my situation as me going from one existential crisis to the next, all while trying to stay afloat in a shitty situation.
I have more stories to tell, interesting origin story, and such but I’m just doing this as a therapeutic journal and this is enough for the day.