Well, Wilson, I moved. A couple of days ago, out of the blue, a chick named Sydney that was living at the co-op sent me this on the co-op’s Slack workspace:

Yes, I was right about the gossip mafia. It wasn’t just paranoia from medical marijuana or anything, although that may have been a contributing factor to some aspects of this nightmare, so it’s important to avoid that treatment modality right now.

As soon as new females arrive at the co-op, they are “warned” about me. Rumors are still circulating about the poem about Rekhilut’s ass that wasn’t about anybody’s ass, and in fact never mentioned an ass. Only one sensual line about a thigh in a poem to add an accent to a wholesome sentiment. Apparently now I am making pedophilic remarks? Notice I asked about that. She didn’t answer that question. And she quoted a line directly from my post The Tengu, but she obviously didn’t read the post. So people are taking lines from my work to pass around out of context. I could go on about all the things you can learn from reading this text message, but it’s obvious that the pogrom was real.

I am obviously being hunted. It’s actually interesting that I had just written a chapter about the divine being hunted among my posts about the spiritual metaphors of Superman movies just as all this was breaking out. It’s actually the last chapter I wrote about the spirituality of Superman before my mood deteriorated to the point that I couldn’t concentrate on anything but this crap and was in no condition to provide anyone with balanced and mature perspectives on spirituality.

Upon the conclusion of that text conversation, which didn’t last much longer than the message above, I begged the owner to move me to a new location. He agreed, and I was moved to the quietest and most remote space in the new building. My only additional request was that the leadership do what it could to prevent the gossip from moving to the new location.

Of course, when I moved in, I ran into one of the dudes who lived here and asked him for some help getting familiarized. He called the leadership at this facility to get some information about what was going on, telling her he was with me. He had her on speakerphone so I could hear first hand whatever guidance she would have for me or the two of us. What do you think she said, Wilson? “Hey, we need to talk about this when we get some privacy. Can you talk yet?” To which he responded, “no, no privacy yet” with me listening in full view. So, Wilson, the gossip is following me to the new place. No fresh start or anything.

The good news is that this new place hardly has anyone around. There are two areas at the this new facility, and I am in the quieter one, and when people from the quieter area want to socialize, they go to the less quiet one. Or they hang out on the roof in the hot tubs. So one miracle has turned in my favor: I am living in a co-op where nobody else will be around. I still have to deal with strange looks as I walk through the halls to wherever I am going, but at least I can find a comfortable couch to sit on by myself.

Now I only have three weeks until I take a trip to Florida for my sister’s wedding reception mid-November, and then I have a wedding to go to in Puerto Vallarta in December. I was thinking of heading out around December 10th to that, but I haven’t bought tickets for it yet, so I may just come back for a few days at the end of November to pack up my stuff and ship off my bicycles and then head down to Mexico around December 1.

Really the only question I have now is how much time and energy I devote to this project of writing about Superheroes. I can do that at any time, from anywhere in the world. I had wanted to turn it into a really epic work that not only talked about the meaning of the movies, but also described the incredible drama of the filming of the movies, hopefully including interviews with filmmakers, maybe even some of the famous ones if God blessed me with that kind of luck. My paltry efforts to get the filmmakers on board have been completely immolated by this calamity that I have been living. But maybe I can take a few more stabs at making Hollywood connections before I leave town. I’m telling you, Wilson, unless something changes, I am leaving Los Angeles in December and not coming back. Maggie Piscatone (Gal Gadot’s rep) and Scott Metzger (Ezra Miller’s rep) are in New York anyway, and these Justice League actors don’t live in Los Angeles. Nobody is filming anything in Los Angeles due to the screenwriter and actor strikes anyway.

I do wonder about how much time to devote to trying to do any productive work in Los Angeles because I really think that I have been so traumatized by the prolonged stress of the Satanic Lilith attacks that I need to devote quite a bit of time to retraining myself to be able to comprehend the now almost-forgotten notion that women can be human beings. I owe this to my mother and to my daughter. And while we are at it, I owe it to Gal Gadot.

Israel is at war, which could get very intense very quickly, and she is using her fame and her status as the representative of her supremely iconic character to campaign for the release of hostages and behave otherwise as an honorable queen among her people. I once wrote that I would gladly serve her as her gladiator knight if she would have me, but I shudder to think of offering myself as the stressed-out bundle of nerves that I have been lately.

Almost immediately upon arriving in Los Angeles I was falsely accused of being a misogynist, and as I look at myself now I see myself as basically becoming that way. I came to Los Angeles after taking a world trip that was a bit more than I could handle by myself, and after breaking up with my last girlfriend two years ago, I had a desire to find a partner, someone who would like to accompany me on my adventures and maybe help me on some activities that I would otherwise not be able to undertake by myself. But right now, the idea of sex, intimacy, and binding myself to a partner makes me want to throw up.

I remember God giving me all kinds of messages while on my bicycle tour: “Jonathan, there are going to be things that you are going to have to deal with alone. You need to be able to be alone. You need to be able to handle everything by yourself. I am with you. I am all you really need.” But on that trip, with all that craziness, I still could not shake a deep-seated need for a partner. I have post-traumatic stress disorder. And I think I also have apophenia. Although regarding the apophenia, I encourage you to watch Queen’s Gambit before satisfying yourself with what Wikipedia is going to tell you about this condition, Wilson.

Psychologists tend to define apophenia as “making mental connections that aren’t there,” but it is better defined as “making mental connections that most people don’t.” I’ve been writing about the difficulty in distinguishing madness from illumination for over two years now. I can tell you that everybody from Abraham to the Buddha to Lao Tzu would be put in straight jackets if they were allowed anywhere near psychologists today.

But yeah, I have an anxiety condition, and my brain has very unusual ways of connecting symbols and patterns, and a partner would be very helpful. But right now, I make sure I masturbate a time or two per week because I am a fifty-year old man with some insecurity about making sure my equipment still works. But the thought of being inside anyone gives me the creeps. I have no sexual or romantic desire whatsoever.

This of course won’t stop Satan’s Little Whores from accusing me of sexual harassment every time I look at them. Nor will it stop everyone from thinking I am gay because I have no partner and hang around people that there is no chance of having sex with. But with all of that in mind, as someone for whom the closest actual, real people in my life are my mother and my daughter, and as someone who has idealized a famous woman, Gal Gadot, on account of her connection to Israel and her portrayal of one of the greatest superheroes, to the point of actually considering trying to work for her at some point, should I just table all this book stuff and try to alter this idea that I have picked up here at the co-op that women are basically one-step removed from rabid feral animals with dangerous maws?

At one of the synagogues I have been studying at, they keep the women behind a curtain. You can’t hand them your business card. You have to place it on the table and they have to pick it up off the table. This way nobody can say that they were touched inappropriately. After what I’ve been through, these practices strike me as incredibly good ideas.

So what do you think, Wilson? Now that I am at the new place, with none of the psychopaths from the first facility around me, with nobody around me, basically, I seem to be de-stressing day by day. But I now only have effectively three weeks left in this city. I will remember it as a place richly deserving of divine judgment. I will remember it as a place of hatred of the divine. If an asteroid hits it, or if San Andreas Fault finally goes pop, I will know why it happened.

The Devil runs this city. The only allowable religion here is to do deep breathing exercises and yoga until you feel better. Never mind that you’re still going to die, and everyone you love will as well. Never mind that there are still homeless people out there starving day by day. Never mind that there are still people slaughtering each other in the Ukraine and Israel. Never mind all the lies and betrayal. Just use the Law of Attraction to get what you want, and meditate until nothing bothers you anymore. Anything else will have you branded as an evil patriarchal opponent who must be destroyed with false accusations of pedophilic remarks. That’s what the demons who own these blind, lost sheep make them do like puppets on a string. There are no ethics like actually being able to face your accuser. You don’t even get to know what you are charged with until random people you’ve never spoken to send you texts about how evil you are. This is my impression of Los Angeles. In a nutshell:

Remember the word that I said to you: A servant is not greater than his master.’ If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you. If they kept my word, they will also keep yours. But all these things they will do to you on account of my name, because they do not know him who sent me.

John 15:20-21

So how should I spend the rest of my time here? Should I even try anything that would make me want to come back after Chanukah in Mexico? Or should I spend my time trying to find a female who is an actual human being? Let me know, Wilson.

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