So I’m sitting, and I see Canada with it’s red leaf. Below it is Maine, there where the dark coldness bring you the redness of brown they call “gold” and the young do much drugs, they’ll steal anything (And pretend it’s clear alcohol. What a sickness!). This redness continues all the way to California. I hear there is a new war on drugs. Is it working? Between modern AI systems and youths on drugs, there’s no doubt a regression pathway.
So I scan the linear path across in my line of sight. And find a fake blue so fake, Taylor Swift’s eyes could not home it. So fake, when I stand and walk towards it, it is by my feet. I look down at it and nothingness looks back at me, this differentiating x black woman. How did I know this blue was fake from the position of its linear regression? We need to ask the smartest of us, the billionaires makers of billionaires, Harvard, Yale, Cambridge, Oxford and them. They get billions to know these things. I have discussed reality in the essay On thankful realities. How from the essay, could I have known of this fakeness? How did I know?
My readers, wherever you are in the world, I will never want to hide a book like CTTD in print versions behind some backdoor at a Bluesie jazz comedy fest. Do not make me something other than human and humane with my books. Give your support. CTTD has been a lesson in law. Justice must be achieved. Give your support and hold on to the relativity.
Raising one’s hands down existentially once is a definite degenerative disorder ( a cluster B factor). The degeneracy of raising one’s hands down existentially twice should be listed as a DSM 5 genetic and mental disorder, and the inability to raise one’s hands existentially as “imbecilic throughput schizophrenia”—ade ronke
On January 7th 2026, I was stalked, harassed and arrested by the state police. The reasons for this is, in my view, the intellectual and daring proclivities in my book, A Case in Point. There are other reasons to be stated in this book. If every indication of my life doesn’t suggest this to you my readers, it is calling it: if I wasn’t to be me. would I not be dead? But I am cognizantly alive by my own recognizance. In other words I was arrested for being who and what I am. What is to follow is false imprisonment, and a true story of great injustice and ceaseless attempts at cover up while I meet unsavory criminals along the way. If this hadn’t happened to me, I couldn’t have conceived of it. It happened to me. I must go beyond mere conceptions. PLEASE SUPPORT THIS BOOK FOR PUBLICATION
BOOK ALBUM—AIN’T THAT HOW IT GOES–music mood -1 * Nothing’s Deader(than love) 2 * Bulletproof.
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