Victoria Day Weekend 2020: Monkey Mind Mayhem

Black Model T: Supreme, but Cheap Enough to Play With 

They want the look, sound, and feel of Black excellence—Black Supreme—but only if it's: Depowered enough to not challenge the center, Distorted just enough to sell, so they use stage performers in skins and suits that keep up with appearances, but fuel one agenda. So they used 2020 to get your engines ready, closed off passports and handed out regulated nervous system vaccinations in 2021 to get on their marks, get set and go into the 2022 "race" of the century. That indicated a trailer park for the erasure of identities that were "won" in silence,  than mocked saying "at least it wasn't physical... now deal with the 'burden' we created through performance", so I'll "sit down and be humble", while everyone is pushing to #stopcovid. 

They called me a virus during a pandemic, projected illness on my name while prescribing my ideas to others for "public health" and economic reform. Stop calling me dirty to match a "cleanse" that they don't want to fight, but strategically hijack a recipe and smell what others were cooking, while simultaneously blaming me for having the audacity to stand up, when the system was designed to hide and siphon my roots from right me under me, blaming "self sabotage" or "lack of motivation". I’ve risen in soil meant to smother. And yes, I’ve stumbled—but I never stopped rising. The same cannot be said for those who prayed with an "e" for my downfall just so I wouldn't get an "A."

The one they tried to silence through rituals, distractions, delays, and psychological stage plays. They buried my name in paperwork and called it policy. They watched my soul move through generations and tried to hijack it with injections, beliefs, and projections that had nothing to do with my essence—but everything to do with their fear of it.

They made the Carbon Tax rebate feel like Christ returned, $200 for 200 years—only to cash out on my silence during COVID, hand out my name and wealth and family names for claims like raffle tickets, to call it balance for what they wanted. They really were rebating the truth—sold in pieces to preserve the lie that they were keeping from me, but also on my behalf. I am her.

The Carbon Tax Trap as Energetic Suppression tools that become silent spiritual penalties to keep "originals" in a loop.

Carbon tax models are coded metaphors:

Instead of measuring pollution, they monitor emotional volatility, creativity, and spiritual disobedience. When you express anger or truth, it’s framed as costly, and you're "taxed" through:

Loss of opportunity

Exhaustion

"Legal" surveillance or institutional interference Forced Labor for Validation in a staged performance. 

You’re forced to work in the system that erased you, just to survive:

Competing against people who have been pre-fed your own legacy as curriculum, roleplay, or agenda.

Hollywood, Healthcare, and Politics script personas based on your line, and then gaslight you by making those proxies “untouchable” due to fame or social status.

Even truth-telling in private becomes a liability—because the platforms themselves are built off the performative silence of spiritual originals.

This is why I or you may feel like you’re entering your own rat race, chasing your own shadow while others profit from your light.

We were written in the bones of the earth, not on stages built to mock us. Let them dance. The drum never lied—and the ancestors don’t miss the beat. They mocked our pain into pageantry, choreographing history to crown themselves heroes. But soul can’t be simulated. And truth doesn’t flinch under flashing lights.

While they spiritualizes taxes for promise to tap into energy, cause a stir for campaigns and get rewarded for calming it down, fighting taxes for the wealthy and funding infrastructures as our ideas are siphoned. Weaponizing faith and teaching us to pray for returns—while glorifying those injected with our stolen DNA as prophets of progress. All while we, the source, are taxed with false "returns", for our own silence.

They sold our spiritual currency as "carbon tax" and coded our rebirth into scripts they could profit from. They translated our literal "voices", teachings and spirits into scripture, taxed our emotions as volatility, and called our healing a threat to the market. They prayed for Jesus to return, and when I did—black, feminine, light-borne, awakened—they called me the Antichrist. Not because I was evil, but because I seen the games they played in the dark...so they brought it into light under them to control the narrative.

They mocked me with GoFundMes for racist women that is voluntary donations, while using taxpayer dollars to sponsor spiritual war against me to they exhaust my trust to other "reserves" and avenues of commerce. They framed my dignity as disorder, my boundaries as bitterness, and my inheritance as up for grabs—because they planned to repackage me before I knew who I was. But I remembered.

I remembered our birthright...and still i was respectful of positions,, or families...but out of greed and jealousy kept poking to play with my mental health, housing, finances and family. So they shadowbanned me claiming they can't trust me, while mocking and proviking in plain sight playing eviction games to cancel out their own participation. Forcing covid tests on our kids to open their brain barriers and "accept transmission", to mock me through them about not having a baby to ultimately give up to them or hand out through rituals for new lineages while watching us crumble.

The spiritual contracts signed with breath, not ink. The ancestral codes buried under concrete playgrounds and policy papers. The sacred trust stored in melanin, in memory, in matriarchal lineage. They tried to dilute us for creativity quotas. They tried to replace us with actors on stages built from our pain.Or text my 'baby's understanding based on their lies and manipulate, to study and exhaust for not "knowing" what they innactuality wanted to learn and develop. They turned our emotional tests into financial metrics. But what they couldn't predict—what they never could own—was the return they feared most: our collective awakening.

They used my name, my likeness, my divine frequency to create economies, as they feast while I'm upside down and put in 'detention'. To fund pharmaceuticals. To normalize surveillance. To reward silence and punish sovereignty. And they kept the cameras rolling in workplaces, courtrooms, and churches. But I didn’t miss the plot. I was the plot.

They harvested our future to plant distractions. They monetized my DNA. They wrote "carbon solutions" into scripts that demanded I play "dead".

But I am her. I have always been her. And no amount of stage performance, ritual dilution, or digital humiliation will erase that.

This isn’t just about me. This is about every soul who has been spiritually taxed and emotionally trafficked in the name of "order" and "progress." This is for every birthright handed out like coupons by people who never paid the price of becoming.

You don’t get to rewrite a "script" obtained through an observation deck, than build an army of bullies to create a book of "acts" than call it holy. You don’t get to watch my trauma you created, just to call it an unpaid case study. And you damn sure don’t get to use my light to fuel your campaigns while mocking me for not having enough culture to represent.

The return already happened. I am her. And I am not up for debate.