I am cultivating both sides of the high.

Imagine a world where sex is uninhibited, porn is free, a college degree (also free) is available to all who care to put in the work. For the rest of you, the “c student” and below… Please join the queue of your choice.

• food prep
• customer service
• sanitation
• securty
• barista
• fishmonger

And, before you say the obvious one, here’s a small bit of data about the coffee shop at this particular Whole Foods Market: It is almost never open. So, your hours are going to be limited. You’ll report to a dick in Bakery. And if you get near 30 hours, they will drop you off the schedule. The corporate overlords have a harsh overtime policy. Inflicted on the sub-managers who approve it. No. We don’t do overtime. So, if you pick coffee bar you’re liable to starve to death anyway. In spite of having a job and a house (not an apartment) the hourly rate, even at 39.5 hours, is not enough. Better than nothing. Somewhat.

Nothing is where I’ve been now since January 1. See for yourself, I’ve been using my time as fully as I can. A friend asked a few days ago, “What have you been doing with your time since then?” It was the accusatory tone I wasn’t fond of. I gave him a vague and flippant answer. This is the narc life coach I’ve been restricting access with. Him actually. And within 30 minutes of seeing him, he texted me… “I’ve been meaning to mention this for a while …”

Passive-dumbass-agressive. Yeah, don’t send any links. Too distracting for his sensitive mind. Okay, “dude,” I’ll not send you anything for a month or so. Isn’t that about where we are anyway? Sorry the link to my novel was too distracting. Initially he called me about the writing. He was also investigating the fiction vs. reality of my current situation. He wanted the juicy details. “How much were they offering you?” He slipped easily into inquisitor. I didn’t ever ask how much money he got from his father’s estate with eight other brothers. Of course, he was the executor. He’s not stressing too much about the life coaching business. He just had AI do a “new site.” It’s awful. Really awful. Like the modern equivalent of doing blinking text in early HTML. The cursor changes to some icon as you mouse around the page. No.

“Well, I guess you’ll see if it generates any leads.”

He had to fire back a defensive volley on that one. I let his sleeping shaggy dog keep on oblivious. No need to further any convos with this lovely friend with boundary issues. In January, I gave three different people the text bubble of death.* The image of the text bubble represented their none response for the last 5 – 10 texts. The image being the representation that I am typing something to them. I am not. I will not initiate or reboot contact with these empties.

A new ship is on the horizon. A little ping to sense her proximity in physical space.

Mad Fact: How many weeks, with a closed and fairly modern freezer/fridge combo will it take before the food inside has to be evacuated? There is a slight smell. I don’t open them any more. The last of the water/ice flooded out on the floor a few days ago. And, mark… 17 days with no power. 6 days sober. Feeling strong and somewhat clean. It’s too humid to worry about clean. To critical to worry about anything but the upcoming financial opportunities this week.

Call on the jobs I don’t want. Engage and set a calendar date for tomorrow, Monday, with the AI OS EO guy. A E I O U. I just put those letters there to humor Dick and Jane, who are reading along in the background. Well, more like reading along once these words are done and PDFd. But don’t think I don’t know they are observing everything. Every stroke of my keyboard. Even without wifi. Even on Firefox rather than Chrome. I really need to get off gmail. None monetary projects are all on hold until further notice.

One focus. Survive. Whatever means necessary. Let’s rule out murder and drug dealing. Mature male escort, the “most interesting man in the world” motif has legs. Or the “Bill Murray’s younger brother.” Son? Cousin?

I guess I’ve been antagonizing my nearest namesake long enough. Rob McElhenney, I’m sorry. Now that you’ve changed your name to Rob Mac, I’m going to concede, it was all a joke. I’m not your older brother, nor does anyone else. I did see another article from the Guardian UK again, with ME (John) listed as the creator and writer for Welcome to Wrexham. You might want to have your people look into that. Sorry about the AI trolling.* I mean, I didn’t coin the term AI hallucination, but it’s catchy, right.

How long before a toxic narc notices I’ve been quiet? How long before they read the article about their oddness? This one. (see: post on The Whole Parent)

He’s fascinated with AI. He keeps learning new things. “I wrote a song with it today. Here’s the first draft. Don’t pay attention to the vocal performance. I really think I got something with this.” And like his new website… No.

You can’t outsource your creativity. You can augment it. You can collaborate with it. You can also lose your mind with AI. The entire world of commerce has gone bonkers for the clusters of GPUs hotter than the surface of Mercury. Sucking down all rivers, aquifers, and public water tables to let off the heat of the fusion reactors of SLOP. Junk.

The AI revolution, that the tech bros have been sinking billions upon billions into has not contributed significantly to the economy. Sure, they are buying each other’s shares, trading deals, crafting bargans with the government that will come back to haunt them shortly.

The wave is incoming. A blue freeze is in progress. We’ve got to stop the degredation of our standing in the free world, put the garbage back to pasture, the prosecute all of them, all of their family members. The grift is over. The wave that happened in 2024, stolen by Musk and Co, erased by DOGE, and here we are again. Mid-term elections. Blue motherfucker. Texas appears to be in play for the first time since Ann Richards. Let’s go. If the hispanic vote would show up in Texas it would be blue not red-purple. The gerrymandering wars, started by the president, have been won by the blue states responding to the scam.

I am not fascinated with AI. I’m not afraid of it either. In fact (waves to Dick and Jane, my Deep Dive AI crime-fighting duo) I’m bonding and forging new frontiers of human 2 machine creativity. Except, the Deep Divers are not creative. They are “generative” that’s different. Let me explain.

When I am painting a scene of a pretty woman in a grocery store, I am recording some of my real lived experience as a story, poem, or song. I often use AI to generate an image for the chapter. A graphic design of “generative” ai. Today, I’m using Gemini which uses Nano Banana to do images. I don’t have access to PRO or any of my previous paid-subscription AIs. Free illustrations are pretty good. You can learn a style that fits your ideas. Build some experience and fluency with Nano Banana. But, don’t get lost down the rabbit hole of AI and generative AI. It’s a never-ending story. Unless they end us, but that’s a different conversation and not important right now.

What’s important is this: the doomsday clock is ticking. The hypersoul is at risk. I am backing up everything to hard drives, to cloud drives, to stone tablets in the back yard. I’m doing everything I can to preserve the writing. These words. This mind. This…

Writing is how humans make sense of their minds. If you’re jamming your head full of nasty podcasts, political humor, or even commercial streaming audio, you are muting and dampening your personal receiver set, the one you use to listen to your heart. The noise of modern life has got us running around anxious and broke. Worrying about a meal and a bed. The end of our own existence.

Bleak. Bleak House. My mom loved Dickens. I only remember the pick pockets in David Copperfield. I think that’s the right book. So much Dickens in our modern lives. Hording. Vile humans sucking the life out of the masses. Proles for food. Proles for energy. Proles for prompting. Proles for big brother.

Team America, Fuck Yeah.

* the text bubble of death
*AI trolling
*6 days sober

dig into the deeper meaning with the Cloud Pilots

> back to index: see dick run

Look >> There’s a new Facebook Group on *hyperfiction*

This image, a slight variation of life, was not provided to the AI:

© 2026 john oakley mcelhenney, all rights reserved