Nah, now is the time! “Too little, too late,” “I told you so,” or the big “womp, womp” is coming in hot, like Hell raising right after hellraisers raise hell. Which queues the query, who is the true hellraiser? I mean, if figurative could be factual, everybody could be anybody, and vice versa. Speaking of, Pastor Troy, sup, sir? Troy, how do you picture prophesy’s fulfillment happening? Really quick, and this is another totally true story, again, I got my first tattoo in some shabby shop at an Atlanta flea market when I was about 16. My mom took me, and when we were there, some hoodrat hoochie with a tramp stamp and a big booty was prettily perusing the Atlanta artist’s captivating catalog. At the time, my mom was so cool, that she saw me watching the hoodrat hoochie’s humps, and asked if “we” could see said waiting woman’s above-the-butt artwork. Needless to say, as she spun, smiling, I was looking right at that ass—couldn’t have cared less about the tattoo. When it was my turn to endure the painful procedure, I wanted something smooth—a solid statement or an inked-in illustration of my strong southern pride—like the word “Georgia” with a peach properly placed where the “O” would be. However, that wasn’t in the budget. So, after thinking thoroughly, as time was ticking, I opted for getting “D.S.G.B.” in Old English. “D.S.G.B.” is an acronym for “Down South Georgia Boy,” coined by Pastor Troy, of course, and at that time, I didn’t know it was a rap group. I was just a “humble” hip hop head listening to home-state heroes, and there’s this song where the crew chants “D.S.G.B.” over and over. Y’all, that shit stayed stuck in my fuckin’ head! I was a Troy fan, so I thought it was a Troy song, but the song sort of sucks, despite its catchy chant and earworm qualities. So, I got the tat, it hurt horribly, but I thought it was crazily cool. And there’s a sweet story for folks to wonder why truly powerful people prefer evolution over endless excruciatingly empty everyday experiences. Change can’t come from conservation, and our continuation can’t continue without change! Like I said, I outgrew ordinariness, in a sense, at an early age. Yes, that’s true even after me sharing a sweet story of me boldly borrowing a gospel gangster’s crew chant. And for the longest time—amid lots of lesson learning, soul searching, and thorough thinking—I didn’t know why I knew, for a full fuckin’ fact, that I could be better than anyone at evolving. Pastor Troy, I recently took a trip to pick up a tiny trinket to tinker with, and even though I’m a forever fan of your marvelous music, I wasn’t thinking about it at the time. Can you guess where that trip led me, sir? Augusta, GA! If you don’t know, Pastor Troy is from Augusta, GA. Some of y’all consider comprehensive comprehension or colossal consciousness craziness, but you’re nitwits, numbskulls, and nincompoops, so fuck y’all! Troy, go listen to your own shit, sir. And when you listen to those rhymes, nigga, take your time. Because… Anyhoo, getting back to “vice versa,” Your Honor, they think they’re doing what I’m doing! Stupidity stops simpletons’ sensible side from focusing only on facts. To someone stupid, a fact is a provable point, period. And without wisdom, someone stupid can’t comprehensively comprehend anything at all. For instance, repeating as a reminder, “Captain Obvious” is a person who peeves people by regularly, repetitively stating something super simple about anything extremely easy to see, as if the thing isn’t overtly obvious. Because if overtly obvious occurrences or objects prove petty, puerile, or even moot points, someone stupid can be right about something super simple that’s usually of slim or no significance. And those are the type of thick-witted twits that think they’re special for having fans and “followers.” You can’t copy Christ, chumps! Y’all will NEVER be anything close to Christ’s cardinal choice! No, that doesn’t mean his plan or your purpose isn’t worthwhile, you’re just not the worthiest warriors. Shit, somebody’s got to do it, right? Do you think I became Christ’s chosen champion by copying Jesus? Wait, maybe I did do a whole heap of heeding the Almighty’s advice, even as an atheist. Once more, for me, God got tossed to the “imaginary” incinerator along with Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, etc. when I was seven years old. But I believed in good and grim, adversaries and allies, helpfulness and hurtfulness, happiness and hatefulness, and things that bring balance to life. If I didn’t choose Christ, and I’m “chosen,” then that must mean that the mightiest motherfucker chose me! Sorry, not sorry. Again, y’all, it’s over! For the record, none of you mindless, “money-making” motherfuckers are motivational to me—not one! Clearly, our consciousness levels can’t compare—I’m above you, always and forever! At the end of the day, these ain’t just some sweet and sour stories—they’re proof that something supremely spiritual is happening here. And soon…
Omniscience