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June Palmer


June Palmer

Correlation Is Not Causation

One very bad thing the internet did for people who are willing to investigate conspiracy theories, no matter how wild, is that it’s made the public very afraid to exercise critical thinking in some group-think type of fear that they will look like a lunatic if even one of the events they research begin to appear more and more reasonable and true. I understand why this happens, but it really does a great disservice to finding out the truth especially when it becomes absolutely critical.

I am not not “Truther”, but I am not sure it would matter much considering the above statement. We’ve trained ourselves to dismiss anything that upsets popular view in lieu of comfort, contentment and the status quo. I wish people would stop putting out their wacky “conspiracy” videos and just start coming at the topic with reasonable arguments, direct evidence and plausible leads. It’s ok to question things, but it’s not ok assert something as true just because you “really, really feel it to be” of that you hate the government in some way, so please put away all your strawmen and start doing some legitimate research if you really feel that compelled that you’re right.

Oh, and remember, correlation is not causation.

No closure.

What can you do when the words you shared with a person of importance to you before they took there own life a month later were “Can we let bygones be bygones?” and the answer, “No.”

The Deep Down Dark
Men Like You

Men Like You

Hip by Hipwest

The Ships That Have Sailed

Dreams are my blessing and my curse. They sometimes come as pure curse or pure blessing—as they also come in equal parts curse dressed up as blessing or it’s reciprocal. I dream in vivid worlds and wake often after the dream with full retention all the way down to the finest details and if I do not write the dream right away it fades away like wind blowing sand across a stony ground no more to be seen in its previous arrangement but scattered in to air and lost forever. Tonight’s dream just happened and I’ve been torn about whether I want to write it down and be cursed to remember it or forget it entirely and live on as if I if I never felt this way before and spare myself the reminder of my regret.

But alas, I cannot contain or bear the burden of writing off something so significant, neither do I want to look it in the face, but I am compelled by unseen forces and the ineffable emotions of a lost love and missed opportunities of a life that I didn’t believe I could have had or truly even deserved.

I saw her in the street. Near the last place we kissed. She was glowing and in a red dress that I’ve never seen her wear before, but always told her how enchanting she looked in red. The way she looked always made me feel like I had a raging but quiet fire in my soul, for how much I couldn’t express to her the singularity I desired be with her. The deep oneness. The unification all my universe and hers and fading into the fabric of all she is, so greatly that it would be impossible to ever weave us apart.  Her long black hair was immaculately waving in the wind never losing it’s purposeful and perfect place. She smiled. With that I was whisked to another dimension.

We were in some place that wasn’t my place and certainly not her’s. I think it was some version of my families place. We laid next to each other and she told me, even though I know she’s betrothed to some one else, that this is what she wanted. We just were… there is no better description the the word “were”. We existed exactly where we both wanted to be in that fleeting moment, where time had no reign over us and we could just enjoy the purity of each others company in it’s simplest form. I think we kissed. The winds that blow the sand that I earlier mentioned have eroded this part of my memory. Her son was there, but he was much younger than he is in reality. He was only four in this part of dream. He was sitting at the end of the couch that we were laying on and busily drawing pictures on paper on the end table.

I got up and she joined me in the kitchen. Somehow we had been there for a while, it was long enough to where she had made the best soup with spices I have never tasted before for me. She was impressing my family and she was equally allowing her self to find her place among them as if she had been there all along. Like a star among stars. A Queen among queens. We spoke long into the afternoon, but what about was never clear. I am not sure it ever mattered, only that we were in the same place at the same time existing for one another. She looked up and said something about the time on the clock being sometime around four in the afternoon and that it was time to make supper and got up and went about that task. And then I was whisked off once more back to that street where I last kissed her.

This time she was in all white and the most beautiful I’ve ever witnessed her and I was so proud to be there with her. Her dress was something I think you’d see movie stars wear, but never look anywhere near as beautiful and her hair was blacker than the night. My heart could not contain my admiration and joy. We quietly walked into some restaurant off of the street and she held my hand pulling me in as we dashed in across in front of some patrons standing against the wall and they all noticed her, but she was not with them, she was with me and I could read it on their faces. She turned and looked and me with a huge smile and said, “This is exactly where I want to be.”

So that’s where the curse begins, because I was suddenly laying here in my bed awake staring at the ceiling with the weight of the reality that none that is the way things are. And I am plagued with all the thoughts of how I could have had some version of that… or maybe it was all too good to be true. But either way, it does not feel good to be awake right now, nor do I want to return to dreaming if it’s going be even more of that, because I cannot bear the feeling of waking into my complete disappointment that this reality is one that I’ve feel I’ve lost in.

Maybe it’s all just my hearts way of mourning an emotional loss in it’s bid to reconcile with a reality devoid of such immense, but long buried feelings and thoughts. Who knows. All I know is that it doesn’t feel good to remember you are not where you want to be.

I don’t know it was something I ate, but I had a dream that a dragon named Drake showed up to an indoor basket ball court and want to challenge Drake the “rapper” to a battle because the dragon sincerely hated Drake and thought he sucked. Seriously. I did dream this. Here’s what the Drake the dragon said to Drake:

"Keep my daggers clean like teeth whitening, I flash bright like lightning and like a Spike Lee joint I always do the the right thing. I walk so close to the edge, it’s frightening. Spit shit so dope it’s like a kung fu fight scene. But you ain’t nothing like me. Played out like an internet trite meme. I write things and you bite things. Like a baby your ass still needs a wiping. I shit gold. Your shit’s old. Spit words so hot like fire they’re piping. I’m like a viking, but I don’t have to steal all your wives because they already like me, because I am the mic king."

I think the dragon won.

34 years left and counting…

My main critique in any elite popular culture phenomenon (which today’s is primarily of the hipster variety) is that there is never any shame in being derivative. It’s almost wholly ignored. With every iteration of elite self-awareness there’s concerted effort at confrontation and hostility toward any criticism that attempts at quantifying or labeling cultural movements while attempting to convince themselves that this all hasn’t been been done before. I am no fool. I have read Ecclesiastes and agree with it. The perpetrators or participants of this elite culture fear and despise being hemmed into a single corner as it makes me them feel undermined and invalidated by stealing away any amount of their self perceived superiority and relevance. Why can’t one simply exist and traverse this plane with out every step along the way being some version of high school played out on a grand stage where people seem to gravitate towards ideas and groups that align most with their own sensibilities and stave off all other groups with sticks, words, knives or bombs. Life is too short to just not be. We’ve got 70’s years at the most to make the best of things. Who cares. Stop caring and shutting the world out and just start enjoying every sunrise you are privileged to be alive to even see. You’re definitely not too good for that… I hope.