“Man always thinks he can save himself,” she stated as she pointed at the shuttered lifeguard tower.

Five or more years ago, I was being told I was full of shit and called nothing but a conspiracy theorist when I asked, “Are they planning a massive die-off?” after I first noted this sort of stuff being obtained by various state authorities, then stored away. Now suddenly, from the Las Vegas Sun, today:

Expert: Southern Nevada was fortunate in procuring the portable metal containers early in the pandemic because jurisdictions throughout the country are now competing for ways to store bodies awaiting burial or cremation.

From the news article itself:

Funeral homes and the county coroner in Las Vegas are preparing for a post-holiday spike in coronavirus deaths by adding storage space — including refrigerated trailers with special shelving — for corpses. In case of a surge, one container was left in the coroner’s office parking lot in mid-December. It’s not being used but could add space for up to 60 bodies in addition to the 100 inside the morgue.

So fucking sick of being right and yet the one to have to back down because no one tells the goddamned truth in the media anymore.

“Jus’ fucking shoot me now! No one gets it. No one really cares. Not even my wife. And no, I don’t want the blindfold, nor do I need a cigarette. My nerves are jus’ fine. Okay, I’ll take the blindfold, you insistent, Bastard! The yellow one, please. Make it quick.”

She danced alone, joy-filled and without abandon, in a space left wild and untouched by casted shadow. Her difficulties, it was decided by the State, would be resolved by 35mg of Adderall per day.

A simple tent revival scam was all it was ever supposed to be, all it had ever been. But this time it wasn’t and I know I’ll never see anything like it again – ever.

Sitting in the second row, I watched as Sister Laurel took the stage like she had so many times before. And I was there in the audience, an unseeing shill, like so many times before.

What happened next is a mystery. Sister Laurel prayed, sang, shouted, and danced like she usually would but then she stopped cold, grew rigid, head back, gurgling before she began to shake violently before regaining herself.

“Must be something new added at the last minute,” I thought, noting that the yokels didn’t seem to be buying into her act.

Then Sister Laurel made an altar call and she began to heal those not in on our gag.

They walked, leaving canes, crutches, and wheelchairs, dancing in the aisles. Others began to speak though mute all their lives, to see for the first time, and still other’s to hear.

Like I said, I’ve never seen anything like it – and never will again – as the blind woman next to me began to see.

They demand attention. They demand money. They demand liberty. They refuse to listen and they are not listening now. Nothing to be said, no voice left, only tears for the coming days.  An ends to their means. Unplug those ears, Peasant, and listen!

At first glance, a child’s stuffed toy, lost. Closer inspection reveals something more. A poor soul, separated from its collective. With no one to say which way to turn, what to do, how to think, it surrendered and fell down. It lays there still, afraid to move.

Slowly they ascend, the sky is the limit. They are the victors, looking down on their victims. They escape, we fester. Do not look up, watch instead where you walk. If you see something, say something. Hot air.

You don’t need Liberty. What you want is $600 and a new facemask.

A simple pair of worn-out tennis shoes. They represent how history’s being altered before our eyes and ears. No one saying a thing. October One, 1960 — Nikita Khrushchev gaveling his shoe on a desk during a United Nation’s meeting. Nope, that didn’t happen. Keep walking.