Covid Dreams

November 28, 2022

Covid Dreams

This rambling post is simply the wanderings of my mind as I have worked through Covid. If you don’t care to read it, fine. I’m just working through some thoughts, and believe me, I’ve had a full week of isolation to think about shit.

First, let me say I have (until last week) avoided Covid for two years. I watched as our local businesses, including my beloved haunt at the local tavern, were economically destroyed. It has been one constant pattern-interrupt after another. This last week is no exception.

But time moves on. My small rural community chose at this time to turn itself into a Disney-esque tourist trap, so why not cut my ties with that lot.

Everyone around me got covid. Employers, employees, friends and my wife. I partly chocked up my health to a tonic I drink every morning:

½ glass water, 1 shot of organic apple cider vinegar, 1 teaspoon magnesium powder, 1 tsp of turmeric, 4 drops of oregano oil (that shit will kill anything) and dash of black pepper. Choke down with vitamins, gargle with mouthwash and snort saline to clear nose.

Shit seems to work. Until last week.
My wife found a Farm Terrier pup to replace our good boy who had recently died of cancer. Getting the pup required something I loathe; leaving our small, rural community on the edge of the Canadian Pacific.

I don’t know where I got it; the people in the pot shop? The people on the ferry? Somebody on the mainland? When we came home I had a rare splitting headache, and took two ibuprofen. Slept in my recliner with a wool blanket. The next morning, I instantly tested positive big-time.
The wife has repeatedly tested negative. The new pup is very happy and is fitting right in.

In order to protect my wife from infection, I opted to move to a heated outbuilding we have. I had recently bought a nice cot, installed wi-fi, had radio, an old VHS TV – pretty much all I needed.

I must have a hundred books I could have chosen to take – books on government corruption, assassinations, emerging viruses and the bio-security state, but I chose a novel. Why? I’m not sure.
I knew I was going to miss the Nov. 22nd anniversary of the Kennedy assassination- an important day in the take-over of the US government – and I had recently picked up a Don Delillo trilogy including the book he wrote on the Kennedy assassination, named “Libra”, which I had heard good things about.

But in the course of looking through the book, I found the first novel in the series – “The Names” sucked me in. The Novel profiles various security-oriented men in Greece, the middle east, and their wives. The hook is the protagonist discovers a murderous cult that uses ancient alphabets to choose their victims.

So I began my week in isolation, which in my head ranged from Doggy-land to Greece.
The thing about choosing a novel is that I wasn’t following direction or memorizing crimes against the state. Novels, which I rarely read, allow our minds to wander through dialogue, allowing for a free-flow of thought.

Several days in, I realized once again that at times I have driven my friends (some of them) and family (some of them) nuts with my cynicism about post WW-2 politics, and the emerging bio-security state.
It is patently obvious that Covid is a designer-disease, created in a lab – first by Ralph Baric at the UNC Chapel Hill, and when Obama halted “Gain of Function” research stateside, the project was moved to Wuhan China, which was operating under a grant by the Pentagon under cover of The Eco Health Alliance. This may be part of a long-range plan to set China up for a fall in public opinion, possibly a war.

The head of NIAID Anthony Fauci had to catch himself lying to a Senate investigation about such matters.
As it is, various friends and family have made a very nice living off the pharmaceutical industry.
One of my good friends threatened to leave our place if I said anything remotely controversial about Fauci – because he had met him and considered him “a god”.

I realized we had been lied to about Covid; “No” to masks at first, then “yes”; lied about natural immunity; lied about transmission and infection from the disease; the origins of Covid, which Jeffery Sachs of “The Lancet” investigation said authorities never will reveal, due to the liability of millions of deaths.

In my Covid dreams, I sat alone for a week and considered the origins of my cynicism and how to deal with it. One quiet evening, I turned on the old VHS TV and went through the tapes I had.
I’ll be damned, one tape was of my last Karate tournament, in which I won my division. But I will save that for a future post.
Another old tape I found was a memorial tape of various presentations by my mentor and editor of the “Portland Free Press”, Ace Hayes.

Ace was legendary in Portland. He was the equivalent of Portland’s “Mae Brussell” – a true old-fashioned conspiracy analyst. I plugged the tape in. The first 20-minute segment featured me and Ace on a cable access TV show, interviewing a guest on government corruption. I would soon become a sidekick to Ace, we appeared on cable TV and in public lectures. Ace trained me.
Ace could rant with the best of them. He had a huge library upstairs in a barn he had gotten from the disbanded Rajneesh organization in Oregon. The bottom floor was his extensive machine shop.
Ace had balls.
One time around 1970 the kids at Portland State University were fighting with the cops. Ace came around a corner by the riot, and was stopped by a Portland cop. The cop asked what Ace had in his briefcase. Ace plainly said “ A pistol and ammunition”. The cop thought Ace was shitting him and told him to go. Ace carried a gun everywhere, usually his trusty 9mm Smith & Wesson.
Ace ran guns to the Sandinista’s in Nicaragua, and almost got caught. He had a huge list of important phone numbers, and for a brief moment in time, I was Ace’s guy.

After Ace’s death, his wife Janet told me Ace said “That kid doesn’t know how good he is”, meaning me.

Meanwhile, I’m in my “Unibomber shack”, reading a novel about a murderous cult. The dialogue is intriguing, yet sufficiently vague, allowing for wandering thoughts. From the novel:
“I’m getting a remote ignition device put in my car. They stick a thing on the trunk. I can start the car while I’m in the kitchen boiling an egg.” He looked into the lobby. “If it blows up, the egg tastes that much better.”

Days have gone by. My existence has given a whole new meaning to “intermittent fasting”. I wake up, take my temp and oxygen readings. All good. I have a pack of really, really good bulk green tea, and I make about three thermos’s-full. My thermos looks just like the one that Ace took to his lectures.
My ankles and wrists are about 1/3 thinner than they were. My pants are falling off. My wife texts in the morning, I ask for two scrambled eggs at about 1pm. That, possibly a handful of mixed nuts, and a sip of organic tomato juice. Light Beer around 3:00, anything for dinner, and red wine after.
The process during fasting causes “autophagy”, or cell replacement.
I have refused booster shots and now refused “Paxlovid”, a crappy antiviral my wife took once. Not for me. I am hoping through autophagy the mRNA I took over two years ago has left my system. I have withdrawn my consent to be part of the grand experiment.

So what to do about my trained cynicism?
I have decided, over the last few days, that stating history and facts does not appeal to people who get their news from the NYT, Washington Post, or CNN.
Even worse from people who made their money in an industry that is being criticized. You can’t expect a man to learn something when his paycheck demands that he not understand it. Or something like that.

For me, I decided, in some cases it may be better just to pull out one of my pocket notebooks and make a comment and note.
I have found that people respond best to my thoughts when they themselves ask me a question, like “What do you think about the Russian invasion of Ukraine?”.

Additionally, I could work on my presentation of topics. I recently read a book on “The Socratic Method”, and am reading another book on “The Trivium”, informing about Grammar, Logic, and Rhetoric.

Meanwhile, I have sweated it out for a week with no boosters, Paxlovid, or help from pharma.
And now, I should have natural immunity for a good while.

I shut down my Covid recovery center this afternoon. It’s been a week, and I tested negative.
I looked around my room, wondering if I had “Stockholm Syndrome”, in love with my captivity.
It was hard to leave.

– John Titus

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2 Responses to Covid Dreams

  1. fritzferr on November 28, 2022 at 5:03 pm

    Holy Schmolly JT! I’m glad you’re well again. Great, evocative writing. You’re stream of consciousness just grabs you and it’s a pleasure to go along for the ride.

    • JT on November 29, 2022 at 1:49 am

      Thanks!
      Was an adventure!

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