Setting the Record Straight

Today has been very taxing.  I feel like I am carrying a whole government, along with all U.S. Marines and Worldwide Special Forces.  People need to pick up the pace.  I am in physical pain and my fatigue is great.  I will probably only write a bit and then I will go home.  There are fights in the corners of my life, and I am sick of the tumult straining my telepathy.  Maybe now there will be a shift.  I had a dream, the night before last, with Rep. Keith Ellison in it, so I just dropped him a medium line and hooked him in with gypsy special forces Romanian chief.  I will keep the short note private, but it felt like it was the timing that only angels can make.  Maybe he sees things a little differently today.  Maybe Congress is becoming a huge men's club now.  He can now talk to Trump as a stranger, and everyone will love it that way.  The lingo can be tres comedae. Maybe even a new sacred handshake between dudes will tell which of them are gaming or thinking in comic book characters on The House floor.  I felt flanked when I went to the downtown YMCA.  There was a strong NATIVE presence.  It is interesting because two nights ago I voiced disappointment at the Native beings turning away from animals and nature to do and listen to evil.  Then yesterday and today, they came through in quite significant numbers.  I did see Prof. Cornell West swimming there last Thursday, and today was Tip O'Neil.  His telepathy was rather dead, but the man was not. Line Deputy, I diagnose him as Czeck vampiric sired midway through his time in Congress.  His quiet rage at being seen as a sexual daddy figure, in Congress, by female Congresswomen and staff, was great.  He would even raise his voice, and these women would shower him with punitive Wiccan witchcraft killing over and over, very silently.  It was fatigue that made him walk away.  Now I see him and Sheriff Stayneck being past life vampire cowboys in a comic book all of their own with even vampiric horses who lick the blood of dead rabbits and rodents at night.  They can be sheriff and outlaws at the same time, like night and day.  The eyes of the horses can shine red light at night, run like the wind, and never spook.  Tip will live a little more every day.   Maybe now the race riots of words can calm down.  I ask for no sympathy, but I do ask for justice and privacy.  Maybe that is all Tip, Cornell, and Keith want too.  That is a whole lot of active vampiric.