I answer to or reply wholeheartedly, to no-one… well except to the man that I’m with…
Is it just me or is the Twit getting more and more power-hungry, by laying claim to others’ natural abilities, by the minute? 
What a twat!
MagsJ,
Power, if intended for the common hood if acquired from the excercise of an expanding awareness of realizing a parallel process for gaining a this singular process, is an acquisition of hood power, an opposing position may be contentiously dubious.
I brought the singularity to the human species and gave it free.
Anyone in the world wants to talk to me, they can…
Either telepathically, through dreams or in person.
If I really wanted to claim power, I’d have made a cult or religious sect.
I’m smarter than everyone about how to do this. That’s not a lie.
I didn’t do it. I gave you your lives as you were.
I can be a trillionaire right now mag.
Instead I haggle for prices in bodegas.
You have a lot to learn about power and your need to insistently project.
I’ll tell you a story in my life.
I was sitting in a circle of extremely rich men, and one of them said… “I’d suck a dick for 10 million dollars.”
And I said, “I’m not gay, I don’t have a price”
They looked at me bewildered.
What they didn’t understand about that exchange is that there are massively more important things than money. Identity happens to be one of them.
Fuck whoever you like. Just know that you’re children to me.
Jason, I’ll tell ya a story of my own…
Once I took a walk and I encountered an injured pigeon in my path. It was flopped on its back and could not prop itself aright. Each time it tried, it only rolled over helplessly onto its back again. I simply stood there, watching it do this over again in morbid fascination. It was an excruciatingly pitiful sight and it wrenched my heart. But I also felt disgust, because I know urban pigeons to be filthy, troublesome and disease ridden. I knew it was better off dead. But the sight of its helpless flopping, and earnest attempts at trying to right itself on its feet was killing my conscience. There it was, on its back, wings splayed, glancing up at me in confusion and terror. It was grotesque, but it wanted to live. I could not take the sadness any longer. So, instead of stepping over it and leaving it to its certain death like I wanted to do, I decided to intervene. I did not want to touch it bare hand, so I extracted some tissues I had in my pocket. I tried to finagle it into my hands, but its fearful wriggling and squirming made me drop it. It appeared I injured it further and I felt worse. I tried again. The feeling of its bulbous wriggling body in my hands heightened my disgust. It fought against me. I had to exert quite a bit of pressure to hold it still. It even pecked at me. Finally, I had it firmly in grasp. I didn’t even know what I had planned to do at this point. I just thought I had to do something, conceal it. I carried it over to a bed of dead grass nearby, and laid it down there. Perhaps it would now be more comfortable while it waited to die, I thought. At least it would not get hit by a car or perhaps tortured to death by someone.
The next time I took a walk around my neighborhood and I encountered another pigeon. This one was in the middle of the street, sunken into itself like a ‘loaf’ position of a resting cat. When I approached it, it became agitated and tried to prop itself on its feet but couldn’t stand. When I knelt to examine it closer, I could see its body trembling uncontrollably. At first, I thought it was fear, but when I delicately turned it over to look underneath it, I could see one of its legs was snapped backward and there were some traces of blood. It merely stared blankly forward, trembling in what I now knew was excruciating pain. Overcome with sadness and pity yet again, I took it upon myself to assist in some way. This time I did not concern myself with bare-handling it. I clasped my hands around it and it did not squirm at all, but only helplessly awaited whatever fate would befall it. I transferred it onto a front lawn of somebody’s home. I hoped perhaps, whoever the resident was, would have kindness in their heart and care for it, revive it. It was a gamble, and probably a meaningless one. Then, overcome with disgust, I ran back to my house and scrubbed my hands with hot water and soap, anxiously and vigorously for the next thirty minutes.
The next time I was walking down a quiet and serene canal trail. The nurturing silence of the day had crept into the afternoon, along with the waning sunlight softly glinting off the surface of the murky water. I basked in the peace of my thoughts, until suddenly a pigeon fell to the ground directly in front of me. It landed violently, with an audible ‘smack’ that I instantly knew had to have been fatal or mortally injurious. It seemed it was. It twitched at first, its head spasmed, and then it was still and calm. Satisfied, I stepped over it and contently carried on my way.
There is no lesson here Jason, but there is an acumen. Guess what it is.
…and you see nothing wrong with most of the things he says?
In needing to be relevant, the guy is taking away others’ hard-earned wins and personal achievements from them… so speak for yourself or others, not for me.
His unwarranted ill-manners and aggy-rudeness towards me, fuelled by his misogynistic-ego going-back some 8 years ago now, makes me exempt from caring… coz I ain’t no masochist - that also applies to anyone the shoe fits, on here.
…and, I thank you. 
I was driving these random strangers to a random destination one day. One of them asked me, “Why do you have a beard?“ Just to get a rise out of me. Answered, “Because I’m an old, weirdie beardie!” They stared at me speechless. Not another word.
I live for such moments.
Jason, I’ll tell ya a story of my own…
Once I took a walk and I encountered an injured pigeon in my path. It was flopped on its back and could not prop itself aright. Each time it tried, it only rolled over helplessly onto its back again. I simply stood there, watching it do this over again in morbid fascination. It was an excruciatingly pitiful sight and it wrenched my heart. But I also felt disgust, because I know urban pigeons to be filthy, troublesome and disease ridden. I knew it was better off dead. But the sight of its helpless flopping, and earnest attempts at trying to right itself on its feet was killing my conscience. There it was, on its back, wings splayed, glancing up at me in confusion and terror. It was grotesque, but it wanted to live. I could not take the sadness any longer. So, instead of stepping over it and leaving it to its certain death like I wanted to do, I decided to intervene. I did not want to touch it bare hand, so I extracted some tissues I had in my pocket. I tried to finagle it into my hands, but its fearful wriggling and squirming made me drop it. It appeared I injured it further and I felt worse. I tried again. The feeling of its bulbous wriggling body in my hands heightened my disgust. It fought against me. I had to exert quite a bit of pressure to hold it still. It even pecked at me. Finally, I had it firmly in grasp. I didn’t even know what I had planned to do at this point. I just thought I had to do something, conceal it. I carried it over to a bed of dead grass nearby, and laid it down there. Perhaps it would now be more comfortable while it waited to die, I thought. At least it would not get hit by a car or perhaps tortured to death by someone.
The next time I took a walk around my neighborhood and I encountered another pigeon. This one was in the middle of the street, sunken into itself like a ‘loaf’ position of a resting cat. When I approached it, it became agitated and tried to prop itself on its feet but couldn’t stand. When I knelt to examine it closer, I could see its body trembling uncontrollably. At first, I thought it was fear, but when I delicately turned it over to look underneath it, I could see one of its legs was snapped backward and there were some traces of blood. It merely stared blankly forward, trembling in what I now knew was excruciating pain. Overcome with sadness and pity yet again, I took it upon myself to assist in some way. This time I did not concern myself with bare-handling it. I clasped my hands around it and it did not squirm at all, but only helplessly awaited whatever fate would befall it. I transferred it onto a front lawn of somebody’s home. I hoped perhaps, whoever the resident was, would have kindness in their heart and care for it, revive it. It was a gamble. Then, overcome with disgust, I ran back to my house and scrubbed my hands with hot water and soap, anxiously and vigorously for the next thirty minutes.
The next time I was walking down a quiet and serene canal trail. The nurturing silence of the day had crept into the afternoon, along with the waning sunlight softly glinting off the surface of the murky water. I basked in the peace of my thoughts, until suddenly a pigeon fell to the ground directly in front of me. It landed violently with an audible ‘smack’ that I instantly knew had to have been fatal or mortally injurious. It seemed it was. It twitched at first, its head spasmed, and then it was still and calm. Satisfied, I stepped over it and contently carried on my way.
There is no lesson here Jason, but there is an acumen. Guess what it is.
Mag. I’m not a misogynist.
I’m just teaching you about earth and you can’t handle it.
Mag. Women should always make ALL the first moves.
That’s never happened in the human species.
And because this species is sex dimorphic, that means every sexual selection is no means yes.
You’re greater than this species mag.
I’m just explaining earth to you.
_
Mag. I’ll tell you something about myself. I can read body language to infinite precision.
Women are more uncomfortable than men being hit on.
That’s how I discovered the no means yes problem and its global implications.
Women only choose men that they’re uncomfortable with.
This is just basic earth logic I’m teaching you.
I’m cosmic in scope.
I could tell you lots of really fun stories of worlds that have 8 sexes instead of the two we have here.
Mag. No matter how much you dislike me…. And that’s your right as a person. I’m just teaching.
I’m working on structural problems so I can leave.
A teacher of my caliber …
People are afraid to touch me.
You know why?
It’s not because I hurt them …
It’s because I give people freedom to be who they are.
And everyone is terrified of the masses.
I don’t consider myself a king who orders everyone around…
And that scares people.
I could be a trillionarre right now.
With that kind of money. I can kidnap you and rape you.
But I’m wise.
There are no locks or doors when the spirit world comes.
You have to live on your wits alone.
The guy has no shame and has lied about his actions from the past, that are now coming back to haunt him, in the midst of him trying to cultivate a more cultured air.
No integrity, no accountability, no nothing… the new morality x ethics?
Americanized minds adopt similar practices, such as the tired “you seem upset”, or “why are you so angry”…schoolyard techniques.
We’ve seen it from multiple ILP members…usually of a similarly simple mindset, usually of the same sex and from the same region of the world.
Projection is their only method - if not in sympathy, then in antipathy.
Feigned aloofness is supposed to convey their ‘confidence.’
They unload their anxieties, and their every insinuation conceals a secret they desperately want to deny or forget.
They tell you what they are feeling with every cynical remark.
The secret is to let them speak their minds, because they expose themselves with every accusation, every taunt, every comment.
Entirely subjective - bound by their will’s needs & desires - they can only project sympathy/antipathy based on their self-awarness, which is always minimal, and always self-aggrandizing, self-comforting, self-flattering…overcompensating for a deeper sense of insecurity.
Their fears and anxieties are unloaded upon those that trigger them.
Unable to become more objective - empathic - they can only make sense of others through what they know of themselves, and what they know of themselves is always corrupted by their fears and anxieties. This is their weakness. They pretend cold indifferent reasoning to mask the corruptive effects of emotions on their convictions.
The other is a projection of all they appreciate in themselves as ‘good’, or a projection of all they appreciate in themselves as ‘bad’ or ‘shameful’, embarrasing…too difficult to admit, even to themselves.
They tell you exactly who they are and how they feel, and they don’t even realize they are doing so.
Even this commentary will be inverted and projected. Easy.
If you remain calm and analyze their posts you will find in them everything they wish to conceal about themselves being used as a means to outsource what they fear being exposed as personally identifying them.
Given that they do not understand what objectivity is, or that empathy is not necessarily sympathetic/antipathetic, even this analysis they will use as another defensive projection.
In their minds all are just as subjective as they are; all project as they do.
So, now I will become a projection of their own projections; I can be guilty of what they are afraid of being exposed as being.
Anything that threatens them in any way automatically becomes a representation of the parts of themselves they wish to deny, and they can now cynically shame this effigy, slander it, threaten it, attempt to silence it, laugh and mock it.
It’s cathartic, for them.
Was fake account that disappeared? oopsies!
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Taylor Swift will sing a song about a drunk schizophrenic, who for some mysterious reason can’t get any, and is losing it. Maybe the government is behind it.
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How many more nicks will you make?
You know the government has a copy of all your deleted posts.. a bigger plan is in motion..
Fuck off you loveless slaves.
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You’re not the first to wish me dead, friend. The last assassin returned to his company and said…
You’re right. Ignorance is bliss.
meanie
¿who hurt you?