Dear Dirty America


The Psychic: Living Out the Last Hours of the American Dream

September 17
23:05 2011
I saw my psychic today. She’s a big bitch of a fortune teller. Tall and wide with the mental capacity of a demon. She’s sweet, though, and rarely does she talk about doom and gloom. “We’re gearing up for something huge,” she told me. “America’s going to suffer something it has never suffered before. But I can’t put my mind on it. Not yet, but it’s just around the corner, whatever it is.”

Gunnshots (Don)

This she told me in response to my concern over feeling awful and dreadful. I’m picking up the most negative, disastrous vibrations, I said, and I can’t help it. What do you see? That’s what I had asked her. Is it the Ugly Spirit? I asked. And is it me, or does this negative atmosphere affect all of us?

“I feel it too,” she said, “but I don’t usually share that information with others until I know exactly what it is that I feel.”

That’s good policy, I said. I’m going to put this on my blog because I read somewhere that good blogs make known private information. So we’re heading for a calamity?

“I’m afraid so. I hope it isn’t true. But all psychic signs point to yes.”

What did you eat? I asked. Most recently, what have you eaten?

“I had Indian food for lunch.”

Maybe you’ve got indigestion, I told her. That could be the cause of your anxiety.

“It’s more than anxiety. But what about you?” she asked. “Why do you feel danger in the air?”

Maybe I’m under psychic attack, I said. Charles Webster Leadbeater said it was possible in his book about the astral realm. Maybe that’s it.

“You’re not under psychic attack,” she said, “your sense is even stronger than mine, but you don’t care to extend it to prophesy and psychic reading. But your mind can’t be taken over, I assure you. You’re your own worst enemy.”

And I keep my enemies close, I said. Oftentimes I sleep with them. If they’re fair and beautiful.

My psychic laughed. “Be careful,” she said, “but I’m afraid whatever it is that is going to hit this country, natural or man made, we won’t have much choice in the matter. Either we will perish, or we won’t.”

Then I’m going to buy a cookie at the nearest cafe and eat it and enjoy it. Because I rarely indulge. I only eat Neem leaves and steamed vegetables.

“Indulge,” she said. “That’s what I tell everybody lately. Fulfill your desires, follow your passions. We don’t have much time left. And even if we do, our nation, our society, and our lifestyle is going to change drastically. And soon.”

I reached over the table to hold her heavy silver medallion that hung at the end of her necklace. I kissed it and thanked her. Here’s to living, I said, the last hours of the American Dream.

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