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[397 words; 2 minutes; comets, dreams, synchronicity]

[Audio only, of Julia and Amy; Perseid watching, Emigration Canyon, August 13, 2016].

[The following is the comment I left on a friend’s blog; writing it made me cry for I’m trying to finish/revise a blog about an emotionally-intense evening spent with a vulnerable neighbor I barely know, in which the song “Tiny Dancer” played a part, and…

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Climate change deniers: pulling your head out of your butt will also improve the oxygen getting to your brain

  In May, Isle de Jean Charles (Louisiana) residents became the first American climate change “refugees”, resettled in advance of a crisis event with the help of 48 million American tax dollars. Today, due to flooding (an event NOAA predicted years ago would worsen in LA due to climate change), 20,000 Louisiana residents have been rescued from their homes, 10,000 are in shelters, 6 people are dead, cars are left on roadways and buried under water, homes and businesses are destroyed, and taxpayer-funded Federal emergency aid has been granted (an estimate of cost not yet available but is estimated to EXCEED the $1.5 billion for the floods Louisiana had this March). If you want to believe that climate change research isn’t “proven” (in quotes because, in science, NOTHING is really ever “proven”; research either supports or does not support certain hypotheses) or that it isn’t human-caused, that’s fine. Please don’t. But you cannot deny that human behavior–emissions from vehicles, focusing

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And the Dead played this song at that concert in 1992, and even though some fans said they were sellouts since the song was so mainstream, we all danced to it that night anyways because even then we knew labeling a song like that was really our own mind trapping itself in a mind-control of its own judgment plus the LSD had kicked in and nothing brings about the feeling of soul-family, never-ending unity and freakshow-dancing faster than small squares of drug-laced paper. My mom had done her part to keep me off psychedelics by repeatedly relaying the story about the time that guy spiked her Coca Cola with acid (she went psychotic, and tried to escape out the half-window of an old Studebaker).  But in 1992, I had already been under the influence of Dr. Tart at UC Davis studying altered states of consciousness’s–taking part in his intro course which was basically a 3-month long hit-piece against mainstream psychology AND

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