As many of you know, I use audio and video content to facilitate my metaphysical practices. This is exactly how I do it. When you interact with anything I post online, your subconscious mind reacts in ways you can't perceive. What you call an emotional response is actually a complex energetic response. Your excitement, lust, disgust, or amusement releases Loosh and projects it toward me. (Ask ChatGPT about the writings of author Robert Monroe). My bio links are the gateway to my Loosh Extraction Portal. Instead of trying to gain fame or collect ad revenue, I harvest Loosh. This is how I can support my lifestyle and move forward on my mission. Here are descriptions of the links in my FetLife bio:
NGL is a cool website where you can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer in a future FL post. (Don't worry, it's anonymous).
PlatonicIntimacy.com is for those of you who are serious about meeting me in person.
Tantra.Tube takes you to many of my nude Tantra healing demo videos. Those ladies give me lots of Loosh and enjoy every minute of the extraction process.
My NiiAE 2030 website is your introduction to my Hypersigil. The sights and sounds in this container have been charged with extra intention. Save this link for last if you are still curious about my chaotic thought experiment.
The Esoteric Crimelords is a collection of fictional stories that took place at the end of the 1990s and the early 2000s.
It features various fictional characters in various locations that may be based on real people.
You will discover events that may or may not have occurred in real life.
A young man named Rod narrates chapters 1-4.
Carl was a fair businessman, but his prices were on the high side.
After about seven good months with him, I was reacquainted with a white boy I knew from high school, Stanley.
He had access to much better prices and quality.
His suppliers were major importers and students at the University of Cincinnati.
They had the entire surrounding area, Clifton, locked down.
Stanley was basically an account executive for their operation.
He was grooming me to be part of the organization and paraded me around like the new big thing in Clifton.
He had his reasons.
His two main incumbent distributors, Tyler and Tim, were involved in an escalating street beef with some Rastafarians who were very violent.
Automatic weapons had been fired through their balcony window.
Their core, bubble gummer clientele became scared to hang out at the apartment and buy drugs from them.
Stanley knew they would fold under pressure, and he wanted me to move in and fill the vacuum.
I also saw this as a great opportunity to expand my operation. I jumped in headfirst.
I moved out of the parent zone to Clifton in June 1996.
Stanley and I made a good team, but there was always a lot of distrust. He was overtly shady.
We had an uneasy relationship purely based on mutual benefit.
With Stanley’s guidance and supply, I started making good money and basically took over my side of Clifton.
It was the middle of summer, and I had hustled up enough money to put some wire rims on the Chevy Cavalier.
Unfortunately, two weeks after I bought them, someone stole them and left the car sitting on bricks. That’s a story for another chapter.
In the fall, I got an apartment across the street from my old one and really took over.
Stanley’s main suppliers got busted, so he started shopping around.
Stanley used to boast, “I can go anywhere and sniff out the pounds.” He found some good prices in the drought.
It was through a guy he really trusted, named Darnell. I met him. He seemed cool.
He was a clean-cut young black college student who was an occasional middleman for weed deals.
We did a few two-pound deals. Then, I told him, “I want 4 this time” because I had a partner on the deal.
Darnell said his regular guy didn’t have it, but another dude had it. I said, “Cool”.
Darnell then warned me never to go to him directly because he would rob me. (RED FLAG)
Stanley went on vacation, and I was dealing directly with Darnell. He tells me it’s all good, but dude doesn’t want to come to my crib.
I figured it wasn’t a big deal. I told him I would pick up the other portion of the money and meet at a convenience store.
I distinctly remember it was 10:30ish and a white girl named Sheryl stopped by to buy a dime.
I remember stuffing the 10-dollar bill in the bottom of my pocket as not to get it mixed up with re-up money.
I go out to my 1989 Nissan Maxima, and as I get to the car door, a little black dude runs from behind the dumpster.
“Get on the ground!” He rushed me, and I fell. He started feeling on my waist.
“Where the gun?” where the gun?" “Don’t make me blast you” “where the car keys?
I said, “I don’t know” (lucky for me I was laying on them).
He got my fat $3100 knot and ran across several parking lots.
I got up, still in shock, ran into the building and knocked on the neighbors’ door.
A young boy came to the door and walked outside with me.
I got my keys off the ground, went to the crib and got the baby Hi-Point 9mm I bought over the summer.
I got in my car and started driving. I went to every spot where I had ever done business with them.
I was going to kill them. Thank the lord I couldn’t find them.
The ironic part is I still had the $10 Sheryl gave me. It was the only money I had.
In that moment, I had no idea I would build a million-dollar operation from a single, crumbled up piece of paper.
On top of all this nonsense, I wasn’t sure if Stanley was in on it. I was ready to kill them all.
This was before cell phones, so I went to the pay phone at Frisch’s Big Boy and called Anna. I was so pissed.
She told me to calm down, and I went to her sister’s spot and we got drunk.
Next was the come-up plan: I knew I had to rob someone else.
I had to pick a victim carefully. A lot of guys don’t automatically comply just because there is a gun involved.
The silver lining was my silent partner, Jack, who didn’t get his money taken.
He was down for whatever I was involved in. It was a business friendship that lasted over 20 years.
I picked a hillbilly that liked to spend big money ($1,000 or more each deal).
I tell him I got a pound of good green and a sheet of acid for $1300. He was all over it.
I didn’t want more heat on my crib and definitely wasn’t getting run out of Clifton in my 4th month in the neighborhood.
I told the guy to meet me in Covington in a parking lot. I grabbed the Hi-Point and drove across the bridge. I already knew I wasn’t going to use the gun.
I put it under the seat. I parked at least 5 blocks down and two streets over. I walk to his car.
I get in and tell him to drive. I take him around Covington and then tell him to park.
I say, “He don’t wanna meet nobody, I’ll take the money in there and come back with the stuff”.
He gives the money to me, and I walk down an alley, turn the corner and sprint to my car that is parked close by. I get in and go straight to Anna’s sister’s house.
I got so drunk that night because that kid was a likable guy. I didn’t even want to listen to his pleas on the voicemail.
Some people at the house were laughing at the poor guy asking about his money.
I felt bad about it for a few hours, but I got over it.
The lifestyle of an Esoteric Crimelord comes with lots of ethical ambiguity.
