Hey Wilson, what’s up? I heard you won the NCAA Division I Women’s Volleyball Championship! Congrats! You gotta tell me how you pulled that off when we get together next time. All I did this weekend was go on the International Women’s Day Ride with my cycling club. I guess your kung fu is stronger than my kung fu, dude. I had a lot of fun, though.
I’ve been in LA a few weeks now. Things are just starting to settle in a bit, although I am still feeling like I’m more or less here by myself. Moving into my apartment was an experience that would make a great setup for a dystopian science fiction movie. I talked to one human being for all of five minutes…over Zoom…and given today’s technology, I might as well have been talking to an upgraded version of Max Headroom. Otherwise, everything was handled over e-mail and web portal. There are no keys associated with the entire building. They have this app called Latch that takes care of everything, which, for me, has been pretty scary. If you lose your phone, you’re just screwed. If it dies, you’re just screwed. And, of course, in my case the app freezes most of the time, so I have to get DO wn on, , my knees and pray and cry if I want to get into the elevator to my apartment. It seems to be getting better with time, though.
Oh. And to conclude the last post, the chick working on her PhD in communications hasn’t responded. Don’t write poetry in LA, Wilson. There’s something about this place. Don’t be yourself. That’s too weird for them. Don’t be good at anything. That will intimidate them and make them compete with you and hate you. Don’t suck at anything. That will make you pathetic, and they only dig the stud vibe. It’s like middle school all over again. At least that’s my impression. I will say I am trying to have an open mind this time around. It’s just not that easy with the solitude that comes with moving to a new place in the New Digital Age. I’m still looking for my tribe, I guess.
So I told you I was going to tell you about the religion angle of my last six months in LA. I had an idea that it would be a post of me complaining about everything that went wrong with that the last time around, and it’s going to be that, but the last post turned into a huge monolith about all things movie star, and since this is going to probably be my last post of the type I’ve been writing lately, I am going to add a kind of an “all things religious” that I have on my mind from the last trip to LA and up til now.
Now having said I was done with the movie star stuff, I do have to confess that I’m writing this just after having seen my very first Joe Rogan episode ever. I watched it because there was an interview with Zack Snyder on it. Watching that thing actually put me in quite a mood. Somewhat psychedelic, if I do say so. But I won’t go on about synchronistic events and everything. This being a religion post, I’ll just say that Zack turned me on to a new book.
The guy is deep. What can I say? I also learned he is a Derrida guy. Jacques Derrida had made quite a stir by the time I was learning hermeneutics in Germany in the 90s. I don’t want to drone on about it here. In philosophy there is this dichotomy between “reality is what you make it” and “there is an ultimate truth that we can/cannot know.” How to view all that stuff is actually the biggest question anyone has ever asked. I’ve got a lot of ideas on it, but it’s just too much for a few paragraphs here in what is sure to be another long and rambling mess of a post. I’ll just say, more on that later, Wilson. But yeah, that interview hit me pretty hard in a lot of ways. The movie star thing is still going on.
So before I get to the whining about yet another dimension of my six months of suck in LA in 2023, since this is an “all things religion” post, I’d like to lay out some things about the subject of identity. I’ve made mention of this bit or that regarding the whole mad prophet thing, but can’t remember if I’ve made a statement about that.
So I’ll say that I’m a fundamentally rational person. The prophet thing came at me in a couple of ways. My recovery from PTSD involved a some of periods of “basement dweller” days. During times like this, one has a lot of freedom and a lot of opportunities to think. So then, while your average person may be thinking about their last job position and their next promotion, or the last city they lived in vs the next city they are moving to, I didn’t have any of those constraints. In my life, with the details of my past long since behind me and the avenues of whatever future my life may hold nowhere in sight, I thought about things like the creation of man, his condition in the universe, and the end of all things.
To that, as an Anglican at the time, my patron saint was John the Baptist, the last of the prophets of old. And he was an apocalyptic one. With those kinds of things on my mind, and with that kind of pattern to inspire me, I decided that I wanted to be somebody who was not concerned about wealth or power or temporal success, but rather spiritual matters. Things of God. That’s really all I ever intended to take from any of this. Just an attitude and perspective. Nothing really terribly unusual.
But to this we add literary flare. I started riding my bike around the desert, then around the world, taking trips across the planet to the Holy Land, all described in the language of a prophet on a holy mission. I started thinking about movie stars, stories, Jungian synchronicity and the idea of the universe as a story written by God in which we are the characters, and I started describing things that way.
That’s how all this started out. Some personal inspiration and some literary flare. Nothing more.
However, I started having weird experiences over the past few years since the 2019 meth benders where I met the devil in the form of a tweaked out sandwich shop owner named Chaz, and I started to dwell on unusual things that had happened in my life before that as well. But despite all the poetic descriptions and strange events, I’m still a rational guy…only now I have personally seen things happen that I am absolutely certain cannot happen. Episodes like The Stripper were occurrences that struck me as impossibly weird. But things like Crossroads were just off the chain, Wilson.
I don’t know what happened there. My mother and I are in agreement that I probably got rufied at a bar in Puerto Vallarta and had some kind of lucid dream or something, but nobody really knows. I’ve run into a few people here and there throughout my life who talked about deals with the devil, but I never asked anybody what it was like for them when the devil showed up.
The only guy I know of who publicly admitted to a deal with the devil was Bob Dylan. That guy has had a heck of a path. He rules the world from ‘62 to ‘66 after making a deal with the devil at the crossroads, almost dies in a motorcycle crash, then becomes a Jew for Jesus, even writing a few gospel albums, but I guess he is still tied to it all somehow, or at least he was back in the 90s. I’d love to talk with him about Jungian synchronicity and the effect of blood contracts on the whole phenomenon of things going your way vs. things going against you. But I moved to Los Angeles and couldn’t get an autograph from Ray Fisher. Something tells me that if I rode up to Bob’s house with questions about Satan, he wouldn’t be available.
I’ve already said a lot about the whole Faustian bargain thing, so I don’t want to get off on a huge tangent about it. I will only say about that, people like Mark Wahlberg and Chris Pratt show us that it’s a little more complicated than the only avenue to success being selling your soul. Contracts with Mephistopheles happen, and they have an effect, but they aren’t the end of the story. I did want to throw that out there since I’ve been writing about a lot of crappy things I have been enduring on my spiritual path. Just as not everyone who achieves dreamlike success is in the thrall of the infernal, so also not everyone who follows Moses or Jesus is going to be doomed to go through the things that I have been. I’m doing my story, with my psychology and my demons. I’ve had some pretty spectacularly awesome phases of life, to boot. This story that I’ve been living for the last few years, though, it seems to be shaking out to be the story of a guy on the path of some kind of prophet.
Yeah, so when you take a rational person, have him make a completely rational decision to espouse the values of penniless wanderers for God, who then out of some literary sense for describing all that starts calling himself a prophet on his blog and taking bicycle trips to the Holy Land, I guess life kind of starts to send you in that direction. If it walks like a prophet, quacks like a prophet, it may just be a prophet. I dunno. What do you think, Wilson?
So this identity has started to take a bit of a hold on me. For instance, last week I was on a group ride with my cycling club, and we were talking about traveling, where we have ridden, where we want to ride, etc. At one point one of the guys asked me where I was going after LA. I said I was trying to go to Israel. With everything going on in the news these days, the guy looked at me in astounded silence. I could see the shock on his face through his ultraviolet polarized cycling sunglasses, basically telling me without words, “why on earth would any sane individual ever even contemplate such a thing?”
He asked why I was going there. Now my actual explanation answering that question is getting up to about a half a million words now, so trying to make sense out of it with any kind of concision would be impossible. My unconscious mind knew that full well, so the first words that came to my mind were “I’m a fucking prophet of the most high God. Where the hell else am I supposed to go?” But something told me that if I actually blurted that at him, I wouldn’t be invited to any more group rides. So I only stated demurely, “Just to live.”
So the prophet thing, I guess it has a certain reality for me, but I am absolutely not out to start any sects to get myself a bunch of groupies, a fleet of Rolls Royces, or a handful of teenaged wives. And I can’t shake my fundamental western rational perspectives. That’s why I describe myself in terms of this ever-lengthening list of mental disorders I seem to be accruing. However, I could fairly easily say, “I’ve talked to more demons than Abulafia,” or, “my apophenia is so badass, I can tell the Lion of Safed when he fails to spot something.”
It wasn’t until I wrote the post AAR, though, that I sat sat there looking at the computer screen and thought to myself, “I cannot believe what I just wrote.” Then, as I describe in the post about the t-shirt, I see that Superman dies at two hours, 38 minutes, 38 seconds in Batman vs. Superman, and he is resurrected at two hours, 38 minutes, 38 seconds in Zack Snyder’s Justice League. And I ask myself, did anyone else see this? Did the filmmakers do that intentionally? Or, was it “just a coincidence?” What would Jung say?
So I am a rational guy describing myself as a sufferer of PTSD, apophenia, all the rest, who out of a sense of literary flare rides around on a bike calling himself a mad prophet, but as things progress, the weirdness keeps getting weirder. I see a certain similarity to the story about Solomon’s wisdom. God tells him, “ask me for what you want,” and Solomon asks for wisdom. God says, “wow, everybody pretty much asks for boats and hos, but you’re asking for wisdom. So I’ll give it to you.” I imagine God saying to me, “whoa…you want to wander penniless through the desert yelling about God?…okay then…” and ever since, things have been getting weirder than I know what to do with.
As a last note about the identity thing, though, I’ll say that things went miraculously well for Abulafia at some points. He got saved from execution when a pope died just says before he planned to kill the nutty Jew. Things really went south for the guy, though, when he started calling himself a prophet and messiah and all that.
So I’ll say then, this mad prophet thing, it’s basically a literary gimmick, but one I have taken quite seriously, with the more I ride off into the life of a prophet, the more things happen that I myself don’t know what to make of. That’s where I am with all that. No further.
Sure, the whole thing reeks of a descent into delusion. But, the things that I’ve actually seen happen with my own two eyes can’t unhappen. I rode into LA to make cause with a film director who lost his daughter, and just as I hit the city limits my Chloe vanishes. With my multiple problems of being accused of being a sex predator, I’m dealing with filmmakers who all got wrecked by accusations of being sex predators, and I get wrecked as a sex predator while I am riding around knocking on doors. Then I curse the city on my way out with my head hung low, and the sky literally falls on the place. Like the story about Elisha and the 42 kids with the two she-bears. Not 41 kids. Not 43 kids. But 42 kids. There is a reason for that, but it’s too much to get into here. Then I can also call you to remember that I started all this with a poem about The Magnificent Seven that mentions Zack Snyder, and the dude goes off and makes a movie about a Magnificent Seven of nazi-fighting space cowboys. I want to say, “way to one-up me there, Zack.”
So okay, things are shaping up to be a weird story. Now one of the differences between being a dreamer who dreams whatever they want and being a Jungian who sees the story in situations involving bizarre coincidences is that the Jungian is asking himself what the story means. So that brings me to the next point I want to make before I start whining about some even more lousy crap that went on during the last LA trip. I’ll talk a little about what the whole chick calamity and the movie star episode actually meant.
Religious people do this a lot. Now yes, the psychologist would say that I was just walking into the blazing furnace of my own traumas, and I wouldn’t disagree. We do have a tendency to see things as we are, though it is not because everything is just our dream. See, when we interact with each other, the number of unknowns is always going to outweigh the number of known by a lot. In fact, so much of life can be explained by an Eddie Vedder line: “half their lives they say good night to wives they’ll never know.”
Because of this, our lives have been written so that we have a lot in common with each other. We do contain a lot of each other. This enables a thing called “empathy” to do its job, so that we can make judgments that are correct, put ourselves in other people’s shoes, and otherwise get along. None of this leads to the notion that there is no reality or that there is no truth that must be contended with, however. Sorry, Jacques Derrida made some fantastic observations about language learning, but the conclusion that there is no objective meaning, it’s not exactly the way to go. To use modern philosophical jargon: “that proposition does not obtain.” The fact that the universe interacts with human consciousness is actually embedded within a larger system that contains other factors that must be considered. But that also is too much to get into here.
When things start going your way in a manner that completely defies the law of probability, the temptation to think everything is just whatever you imagine it to be can be quite strong. This is what happened to Satan way back at the beginning. He was the prince of heaven. Everything went his way to such a degree that even the movie stars wouldn’t be able to believe it. Back at the beginning, nobody even knew what it was like for everything not to go their way. So he got the idea that everything was just his dream, that there was no truth to conform to. That would make him God. And that started an argument that is still going on to this day. Our world was created to provide everyone with the experiences required to finally settle that argument once and for all.
So sure, I will not deny that my time with the chicks of the co-op was indeed a stroll through the thorny garden of my own traumas, and I had some problems with women. But if my psychology is always the only defining factor that defines what happens to me, well, why is it that I had numerous episodes where I couldn’t keep the girls off of me during my bike trip? So in my six months on the bike, there were women, women everywhere, but in my six months in LA I couldn’t stop being slaughtered by them one after another. Now I had complaints about the chicks on the bike trip as well. They were all headed west, but I was heading east. It was like a temptation. “Jonathan, just quit trekking to Israel and cut north to Belgium with the hot chicks who have been prancing around the hostels in bath towels winking at you.” So no, I didn’t meet the woman of my dreams on the trip, but I went from being desired in a way I didn’t want on the bike trip to being hated in a way that I certainly didn’t want during my LA story.
So, here we have an example of the idea of the universe reacting to consciousness that is embedded in a larger system. Over the last year, the women I was running into went from being tempters to tormentors. And actually, in LA, they were a bit of both.
Remember, Wilson, when I showed up at the co-op, I was getting every sort of invite for what many would describe as an ecstatic form of life. “Hey, Bailey, come over here! Suck some dick! Snort some lines! Bounce a couple of yoga instructors off your crotch at the same time! Live it up!” But when my answer was “I’m not exactly Rocco Siegfried at this point, I’m trying to write a book about the spirituality I saw in some superhero movies,” the response was, “okay, let me show you what a Tengu is. You’ve only got one kryptonite, and you’re going to be breathing it deeply.”
Yet the whole miserable experience of being destroyed by my own psychology ultimately created a synchronistic event that I thought somebody would just have to pay attention to. I was now every bit the victim of the matriarchy as the actors that I was writing about. I see the thing on a few levels. Yeah, God wrote the universe so that our lives reflect our selves, and this was used by Satan to create a kind of “carrot or stick” kind of scenario in which I ultimately took a big stick up my ass. However, even that process was designed by God for me to derive meaning from.
So I got a lot of things out of it. I don’t have space here to describe everything I have ultimately learned from all that. I’ll just mention one thing that has bearing on what I’ll say below. Theists have a thing about God opening doors. That is, if you try to open one door, and it’s locked, so you go to the second door, and it opens, maybe God wants you to go through that second door.
Well, I went on a trip to Israel that only made it to Amman, Jordan. The bike trip ended up being a locked door. But if I had come to LA and within weeks was on some red carpet premiere of my first movie, that is, if I had then encountered an open door, well, I might be tempted to say, “screw that Israel crap.” But instead, I came to LA and that door didn’t open either. And while I was in LA, things got so freaking weird with the coincidences and disaster after disaster on all fronts, well, I said in some other post that I’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Going to Israel is something the devil just has to stop. Going to Hollywood and telling stories that will be seen by billions is also something the devil has to stop, either with a carrot or a stick. And I had reached a point where I had to put my own demons to rest. To reference Rebel Moon, I have to tame that gryphon if I am going to get the freedom I need to be on the team.
I’m so sick of gender issues at this point, Wilson. And I don’t give a damn about who has sex with who. So I guess that whole event brought me there, too. Just above I put in a paragraph above about how LA reminded me of middle school. Looking at it, it reminds me of that scene in the Barbie Movie where the mom goes on a five-minute tirade about how it’s just impossible to be a female because everything is against her just because she is female, and you’re left shaking your head wishing you could tell her to lighten the hell up and knock out the intrusive thinking. So all in all I got the chance to deal with my demons, learn about the power of the devil and how I can get past it, and also to learn that the fight can be hard, but just because the fight had been hard via the bike trip, that doesn’t mean Israel is off the table.
So God does something with all this stuff. Now I don’t know, but if I were a filmmaker, and I had this fan who thinks he is a prophet and my movies are his tea leaves, I might look into this guy. By all rational account, nobody was impressed. But…that Zack Snyder Joe Rogan interview…it was weird. This isn’t a post about movie stars, though. It’s about religion. So I’ll start the bitchfest I promised you, Wilson.
Okay, so I had actually been in a conversion process with an Orthodox Jewish conversion court since early 2022. I’ve been learning about Jews and Judaism since majoring in Jewish Studies at the Hochschule für Jüdische Studien in the nineties. I never thought about converting, though. However, when the rubber meets the road, Israel is really only open to Jews and people who marry them. Now Wilson, I’m sorry, but I just don’t think the likelihood of anyone who can take my fists down coming along is all that high. That song came out a couple of weeks after I died on the waiting room floor of the Aurora Behavioral Health Clinic in Tempe Arizona when my life turned into the Rob Zombie album that I’ve been living for the last four years. It struck me because Noah van Ouwerkerk has green eyes, and I never got to really meet her.
So yeah, that fact, that Israel is open for Jews, along with the fact that an Israeli border control agent told me I couldn’t even enter the country because I was thinking about maybe converting is what finally drove me to go through the conversion process.
One of the perks of coming to LA was that it’s the number three Jewish city in the world. There should be lots of ways to convert here. I had actually signed on with an Orthodox rabbinical conversion court before taking my bike trip. But to get through conversion, in addition to signing on with a conversion court you need a local rabbi to endorse you, and you need a study partner under that rabbi to train you. So I promptly signed up for a synagogue, but things went weird.
First, I was offended by the patriarchy and gender issues, of course. Yeah, Wilson, I didn’t say the matriarchy. I said the patriarchy. My first time there I found myself standing next to a chick, so I introduced myself, and she told me I needed to address her husband. That pissed me off. I’m not a danger to everyone standing next to me. Then on another occasion I found myself sitting next to another chick who was asking me about all I had going on. There tends to be a lot of wine at Shabbat dinners, and so I told her a bit of what I had going on with all the weird that entails. The story was too strange for your average civilian, I suppose. Now these guys can’t use their phones on Shabbat, so I passed her a card and said to call me. If I were looking for a date, I’d be chivalrous, never expecting a woman to call a man. But I was just one human talking to another human about movies and superheroes and all, looking to hang out with new people. But, no, males just do not have the privilege of telling females to call them, or so it is in these cultures that have extremely defined gender roles. Anyway, I never got a call, and was embarrassed about maybe showing a bit too much of my inner weirdo under the influence of maybe a bit too much wine.
Also from that place I met a guy who was telling everybody he was dying of a rare form of Crohn’s Disease, but who I would later come to understand was basically addicted to medical grade fentanyl, and who would have me riding my bicycle to this or that pharmacy to pick up his dope for him. He was a phenomenally intelligent guy, and because he was a Jew and I wasn’t, he was trying to preach to me everything that must be believed as a Jew. Now there are tons of things about Jewish life I don’t know. I’ve never sat shiva, all that. But I have spent a lot of time parsing out the differences between gaonic Judaism from rishonic Judaism from haskala Judaism, and which parts of the New Testament exemplify Judaism, which parts are compatible with it, and which parts contradict it. I’ve also done a lot of looking at the relationship between Lurianic Kabbalah and Chassidic Kabbalah to this new Kabbalah Center Kabbalism that’s getting preached out there and how those three different animals relate to Hindu Vedanta.
I’m not going to say I am at a PhD level on all this stuff, but I’m no spring chicken. And for me, the first tenant of Judaism is: “where there are two Jews, there are three opinions” and that Judaism is more about culture and practice than about belief, a precept that has meant a lot to me after being left out in the cold by Calvinists because I don’t dig on their inverted lapsarianisms and all. I don’t want to dismiss the importance of the writings of the rabbis in Judaism, and I don’t want to go so far as to say it’s not a religion, but dogmatists really rub me the wrong way. So when this guy starts trying to tell me that I have to adopt a pantheistic concept of God because that’s what Judaism is, I couldn’t take anymore. I had to find another place.
So my second synagogue was a Chabad one. Something I was more familiar with and had a more positive impression of because of friends I’d made in Serbia and even before. Yeah, there were more women hidden behind screens, but I wasn’t even going to bother with talking to chicks. I was living with twenty-somethings at the co-op. This place was populated by old men, and I was looking for some bro time, all too happy to hang our Lubavitcher fedoras over the necks of Glen Levitt bottles and tell jokes and swap war stories.
I mentioned to you previously that I had floated some chapters of the book I had started on to some fan sites that didn’t get me any constructive criticism. Well, I e-mailed the rabbi asking for criticism of those chapters as well. See, I was wanting to know how to write to various audiences, mostly superhero fans, but also to people who might be more familiar with the underlying concepts I was trying to express. My approach was to funnel the perspective from pan-religion > Abrahamic religion > Judeo-Christianity > Judaism. In my early life, and especially when getting into yoga while recovering from PTSD I learned a fair bit about Hinduism and was able to make some cool references to eastern religion in those chapters I was writing. Also, as an Arabic linguist with two years in Iraq under my belt, I’d picked up some familiarity with Islam and could introduce some references to the Quran and Islam here and there, so the generally religious and generally Abrahamic perspectives were covered, but when I got to the Judeo-Christian and Jewish aspects, I found that my New Testament knowledge absolutely dwarfed my familiarity with the rabbinic theological writings (called midrash).
Keep in mind, also, I was going through a conversion process to Judaism, but putting posts on my blog about movies created by a guy raised in a Christian Science environment (but who follows Derrida and all) who made a trilogy of movies about the redemptive death and resurrection of Superman. In that Joe Rogan interview, Zack said that of all the movies he did, the one that people tell him changed their lives was Man of Steel. I was putting chapters about Man of Steel on my blog. But I’ll tell you, Wilson, I was also intending to write about Batman vs. Superman, Justice League, and the two Wonder Woman movies as well. And when you get to BvS and JL, the theology just goes off the freaking chain. Man of Steel is just a drop in a bucket of the theological meaning contained in the other two movies.
So I found myself in a bit of an odd position, to say the least, converting to Judaism while writing about Jesus in blue tights and a red cape. Maybe that’s why the rabbi never answered my e-mails asking for help adding midrashic content to my superhero chapters. He never responded to e-mails asking him for an introductory lunch, either. Or it could be that illuminati-directed AI bots screw up my electronic devices? Or I was just just becoming technologically dyslexic in my descent into madness? Who knows why the hell it was, Wilson, but it didn’t take long to become uncomfortable there.
I began to be frustrated with the one Israeli chick there who spoke Hebrew and who said she had tutored many people being basically impossible to communicate with on account of my being that harbinger of apocalyptic doom that we call “a male,” and the boozing bro-crew that I’d hoped to become a part of being foiled by the ringleader getting mad at me at one point for grabbing a bottle of Tennessee whiskey that he alone apparently had the privilege of handing out.
With the calamity of the hell chicks and the frustrations of not being able to talk to the movie star icons I was in Jungian synchronicity with and writing about, I could see I was being dragged through another spin cycle of spinning wheels, wasting time, and otherwise going down the drain accomplishing nothing. I was bound and determined to get SOMETHING done in LA, so I found Rabbi Marc Rubenstein online and took a Judaism course with him. He sent me to a Reform synagogue called Nashuva to attend while in town. On 13 December 2023 I became a Reform Jew. This would bring my Jewish pedigree up to the following:
The above is the extent to which I am officially Jewish. So while I was sitting at mom’s watching Zack Snyder’s Rebel Moon and Danny Abeckaser’s I Love Us, First We Take Brooklyn, and Mob Town, I get the idea that I want to make Aliyah. That is, I’m going to try to immigrate to Israel.
But there is that matter of not even being able to enter that country because they banned me because I told someone that one day I might consider becoming Jewish. So, I was going to need to live next to a consulate. I tried heading to New York, but ended up settling for coming back to LA to get things taken care of, as I mentioned to you previously.
Now that I’ve been back in LA, things are going quite a bit differently than last time, though so far, no less weird. Things have not been constantly horrific in every respect like last time. I still have massive problems with anything electronic, though. Not all the time, and not in every situation, but when it came to the consulate, my first couple of efforts to deal with them have been bizarre.
I tried to contact them on WhatsApp, but nobody answered.
Los Angeles is only the third most Jewish city on the planet. You’d think the Israeli consulate here would be in top form. But I suppose they can’t be bothered to make their WhatsApp button work, eh, Wilson?
Then, if you want to make an appointment using the website, you’re going to be out of luck.
So my initial attempts to get in contact with the consulate via electronic means evinced nothing but another non-functional Israeli consulate. Remember how the Israeli consulate in Madrid was non-functional during COVID, Wilson? Remember how the Israeli consulate in Belgrade was non-functional shortly after COVID, my guy? Okay, so what is these guys’ excuse? Am I insane, Wilson? Is this my technological dyslexia? Or are illuminati large language models screwing up my internet experience? Or is this a Jungian synchronistic event of total violation of the law of probability?
I haven’t gotten with the consulate since making those initial attempts because I also got with Nefesh B’Nefesh, the major US organization that helps Jews make Aliyah to Israel shortly after I got here. I found out from them that I’d need to have a track record with a synagogue demonstrating nine months of participation in the Jewish community before I could immigrate. This would mean that after waiting the nine months and going through the administrative processes meant that I’d be ready to head to Israel in November 2024.
That’s when I thought of you, Wilson. How long were you on that Island with Tom Hanks? It was five years, right? Well, I died on the floor of the Aurora Behavioral Health Clinic in Tempe, Arizona on 15 November 2019. So 15 November 2024 would mean that I was a castaway from the Holy Land for five years if I make it there by this coming November. I’ve been living at zero on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs for four years, Wilson. I just about can’t take doing it for one more day. But, I figure I can do it for nine more months, and if I fail to get to that country by that date, November 2024, well, I’d say it was time to give up.
However, I can just see Satan making me think that everything was going great until November 2024, at which point he’ll find some way to jack things up, and at that point I’d give Israel the bird, and the Old Serpent will have been victorious. And that’s why I can’t get Wonder Woman out of my head. With everything that’s been going on, I just can’t feel comfortable unless I am sung to sleep at night with the lullaby song of a hail of Python-5s fired from an invisible jet. If I’m all by myself, the devil is going to bend me over the table yet again, and I’ll be all alone, and nobody will ever even know.
Ms. Kent didn’t respond to my poem. It must have been a shitty one. I have no one to figure out the best course of action. Should I call Maggie Piscatone at CAA New York? Talent agents don’t take unsolicited contacts from the public. I think I might be able to get Danny Abeckaser’s ear for about 30 seconds. Should I reach out to him? What should I do, Wilson? What should I say? Zack? Ray? Those guys weren’t interested in anything I had going on. You’re all I got, my dear boy. Please give me a clue.
We’ve got to get together, and soon. Congrats on that championship. I’ll try to make some edits and additions to this post for you. There is more to say, but I just need to get this to you, and soon. So I am going to go ahead and finish this up and click “send.” You take care of yourself in the meantime. I’m so grateful that I have you to tell all this stuff to. Talk to you later. Be well.