science fiction redux -i'm in #hashtag facebook jail

the truth by now, is we know everything about one and other.
the most painful thing you know about me is i do not have any money.

i am in facebook jail for 3 days.
for 72 hours i cannot post, like, love or react to
american society, chilean society, costarrican society.
american-latinamerican
spanish-english
the empire
the sad and tired, the bound and gagged.

it's a fine time to be silenced.
between eclipses, at the end of an era, the beginning of uncertain times, for everyone.

you mustn't clean your name by soiling the names of others.
but if you are a criminal, by now, everyone knows it.
i am a party girl.
i am a serious thinker.
i am empathic.
i transmute feeling into words and back, daily, rigorously.
groomed over generations to be communication architect, a journalist, an editor.
to listen to both the story and the story that is not being told.
i guess that makes me an exhausting person to be around.
mostly everyone i know spends most of their day live action role playing, larping through a hazy at best definition of truth.

sent into online exile between new year eclipses.
i slept 24 hours on christmas day.
it's very hot for the month of december.
my menopause is over.
sleeping for 24 hours requires some preparation, restless sleeping mixed with intense lucid dreaming, the sonic batting of mosquito wings, the winds over central america are the atoms of betelgeuse imploding in the distant universe.

years end 2019 so many references to science fiction.
firstly that cinema is all science and all fiction.
0.07% of humanity is chosen.
hollywood-holland-holyland

sound on film is swiss
chocolate is maya.
coffee is african.
everything that grows around the equator between capricon and cancer is mixed, plants, people, language, and war is over. hemp is currency, energy is free, children are safe.
dupont, bayer and all oil extraction and processing plants have disappeared.
the planet shivers through a crack in solid light and all the harm inflicted over one hundred years goes on to a dimension where that planet dies. the rest of us hold on and awaken or get out of jail to discover the seaons never went away, that diversity is thriving, and the dishonest have learned their dishonesty did not go unnoticed, that integrity lost can only be restored by reason, never force.
google never embraced evil.
knowledge set everyone free.
julian assange was released and returned to his home australia, that was not burnt and he restored to full health.
letting one bloke take all the blame for everyone else's crime, punishing a journalist for doing his job, is criminal.

"the truth is we outgrow those who don't know how to love us."
here in fb jail i have to silently observe the news:
iran would like us to stop trading in dollars.
we should.
if israel knew what was good for it, it would declare truce and help palestinians back on their feet, get them fresh water, remove the check-points, disband the idf, shutter the weapons workshops, brick by brick disassemble the great wall and pray the arsenal of atomic bombs back to oblivion, where they belong.

lowkey is my new smart crush.
joe rogan is my old new crush.
lee camp is my news monkey, metal.
abby martin is smarter than me.
we're listening.

my walk of the talk, would be to march over to my family home and tell them what to do.
they won't listen, so i don't.
it took me seven years to complete memoire, a process that mostly involved editing, allowing what i don't tell to fill in the story of my life.
i've spent my whole life listening.
vast memory of what was said, what was not said and what held true over time.
my mom's new thing is for me to come at her like a person with no memory, enter at this new stage with the same selflessness as i agreed to enter all the other stages of our story.
if she's thinking about creating a docile reprieve for herself, a bubble of wellness from which to exit the world stage, that's fine. we can do docile.
what we can no longer be do is hostility, talk, words, lies.
and real estate.
mismanagement of property in times of mass awakening.
all her fears are me.
she's been an obstacle to change, for me, for as long as i've lived; the petty discouragement, the modesty clause, the precious sense of esthetics.
my obstacle to myself has been the defiance of allowing history to repeat itself.
a joke to be over told.
a meal to be over-planned.
a kitchen in the shape of a claw.

so many square feet of sleeping space, so much metal in the overbuilt frame, one little old lady.
a brother who sleeps in the service quarters.
what would be beneficial is a group therapy, a guided family constellations work in which we can agree to stop disagreeing.
as long as our mother does not respect me, my siblings won't either.
their children won't know the love of their auntie.
the house will fall to pieces.
the death will not be celebrated.
the dead will not leave.

lowkey, kareem dennis is only 33.
that was my favorite age to be.
i quit smoking and meat that year, i made peace with my body.
i walked alone through forests and along beaches.
i talked from land phone booths along dark roads.
i went to santiago that year, a week well spent with friends.
i went to new york that year and rocked out with uncle and cousins in smoke free venue.
2003 was before a black president was possible.
mark zuckerberg was 19, pre-harvard.
lowkey was 17.

my dad lives in southern arizona, now.
his house is 5 miles from the country's largest detention center.
the desert needs to be planted with food, the grounds don't need surveillance, or guns.
the center is filled with children, my children, the hondurans.
they were born from war, from rape.
they go free and the prison gets the lights turned off.
ac during daylight hours. the prisons will become small towns, will create trade and barter.
if it's done on other planets it can be done here.

part of my christmas siesta was to watch "Arrival" and the two popes.
and wish the trolls become elves if for a bit, prompted by a clip from a man named chris packham, via the group organized at standing rock. it made me happy.
news of gas leaks can be faked - a field of hemp stopped the fire from spreading in valparaiso.
we hit the wall at fukushima, like the replicant zhora running through endless panes, not dying just busting shit up, bleeding. breaking all barriers, to truth, that life, is not a movie, that these one hundred years end when we stand up and dance.
15:55