Kimberly Steele

No, Demi Moore is Not Beautiful (or Toned)

Mon, 18 May 2026 19:48:35 GMT

Demi Moore is no longer beautiful, and it is up for debate whether she was ever beautiful in the first place.

For those who were spared the visuals, a few weeks ago, Demi Moore was captured at the Cannes film festival in a shocking state of emaciation. Rumors have it that she abuses GLP-1 drugs or starves herself. Regardless of cause, the effect of the 63 year old's gaunt, skeletal appearance is extreme. Page Six and other goyslop/System propaganda outlets lauded Moore's petrified taffy arms as "toned". They have yet to realize that gaslighting of that nature won't help them regain lost popularity in an age of social media.

Demi Moore is still young as old people go. Her face has been frozen into an obscene mask of an oversexed 30 year old, complete with sluglike, rouged lips and artificially-inflated cheeks that are stretched so tight, you could bounce a quarter off them without so much as leaving a mark. She is a grandmother trying to look like a virgin ingenue, and to the myopic who have lost their eyeglasses and to superfans who have lost their discernment, she looks good.

To the rest of us, she looks scary and like she climbed out of a crypt. The wasting that is ravaging her body is a type usually only seen in advanced cancer victims and elderly folk in hospice. Cachexia, a syndrome that happens to deathly sick people that causes them to wither away to visible tendons on bones, seems to be an apt descriptor for Demi Moore's current state. She is strutting and pouting down the red carpet while at death's door. The only thing I can admire about her at this point is her commitment.

Diminishing returns

Celebrities are having an increasingly difficult time getting our attention. Personally, I had no idea Cannes was happening until I heard about it through TikTok, specifically in videos concerning Demi Moore's weight. Hollywood is dying and unlike Demi Moore, they seem afraid of death. The most recent spate of GLP-1 It Girls and It Boys are obviously puppets for Big Pharma, just as Shirley Temple was a puppet to sell war and volunteering to be a soldier and Marilyn Monroe was a puppet to sell divorce, childlessness, and broken families. Hollywood is big mad, because the advent of the Epstein files and the Diddy material before that, has caused its former victim-believers to emerge from the poisoned cocoon and wipe the sleep out of their eyes.

We are in a new game. They know it, we know it, and only a few naive slaves to the System don't realize what or who is being played. For the longest time, the Tribe of Cain has placed bets that we the pleebs are going to stay superficial. They did not foresee that some of us -- not many, but enough -- would see the soul. So when I see Demi Moore, I see someone who used to be considered very beautiful, but was always just an average, pretty girl who caught a great deal of attention by being in the right place at the right time.

Demi Moore in Ghost (1991 film)

She is not particularly stunning, nor has she ever been, at least in my eyes.

Not exactly ugly, but . . .

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. If Demi Moore with her raspy voice, medium height, straight hair, and girl-next-door appeal is gorgeous to you, then she was and is the cat's meow. Not everyone is into brunettes. Also, we are not in a contest, despite the protestations of Hollywood.

When I was younger, from about age 12 onward, I would occasionally encounter a man (and occasionally a woman) who was legitimately obsessed with me for my looks. I made the mistake of dating a couple of these guys. For them, I was the exact thing that they wanted. I certainly wasn't appealing to every man. Short, dark haired, and spicy isn't every dude's cup of tea. The ones who truly were into me, however, were almost at the point where they would stop at nothing to have me. I began to understand those women who manipulate men into handing over their fortunes for sex and the chance at love. I could have been that one of those courtesans (whores) several times over, and I had multiple opportunities to jump ship even when married and sailing towards middle age. The prettier you are, the more of these would-be willing victims you will attract. It is not necessarily a good thing, either, nor should it ever be a goal in life. There is an anger that accompanies being fetishized that I know well. The anger builds to a point in some women and men where they exact revenge by taking their worshippers to the cleaners. We all want to be appreciated, but to be appreciated mainly for one's looks is infuriating. For one, genetics are the main determinant of looks, and in most cases, no amount of self-control or surgeries can turn a genuinely plain person into a looker, cough Kelly Osbourne uncough. For two, looks fade. When someone or perhaps a significant part of the world population is obsessed with you because of the way you look, the clock is ticking the moment you start benefiting from wealth you did nothing to earn in the first place. With every year, your looks betray you, and when you get to the sunset of middle age like Demi Moore, the betrayals become faster and more furious. One month it's sagging eyes that need to be lifted with surgical threads and moored to distant places in the forehead as if each eye was a flaccid marionette. The next month, the implants in your breasts need replacement. (In Moore's Cannes photos, her implants are practically bursting out of her chest like the unfortunate Officer Kane in 1979's Alien.) The next month, you undergo an experimental treatment for veiny hands. It never ends.

Celebrities think we hoi polloi are jealous that we cannot afford constant "refreshments" on the surgical table or the dentist's chair. Honestly, I'm glad I cannot afford to be insecure enough to care about those things, because when I was younger and more vain, I might have started down that Wendigo of a path had I the finances to cover it. Crow's feet, a spare tire, and jowls seem a hell of a lot worse until you actually have them, and then you realize that being guffawed at like a delicious pastrami sandwich by creeps was overrated to begin with.

Looks come and go. For those of us who invite the vampires of natural aging over our doorstep, admiring glances start petering out as if they are being graded on a curve. I used to get crazy attention going to the gym and the grocery store. That no longer happens. I am fine with it. Demi Moore is not.

It's not that Demi Moore looks bad -- she looks nice enough, especially if you don't look too closely. If she were to wear a sweater and jeans we could only view her from a distance, we would presume she is a lanky grad student with great hair. No, it's not Moore's actual looks that make her ugly. The source of Moore's ugliness is her desperation. If you can read the soul, her appearance screams PICK ME from stem to stern. She is not at an age where she should need to be picked.

Demi Moore is at a level of fame that almost guarantees she has been through a clandestine mutilation ritual, MK Ultra programming, or something that rhymes with it. Her blank stare, rictus of a smile, hypersexualized pout, and long history of substance abuse speak to a lifetime of unprocessed trauma that she wears by flexing Starvin' Marvin chic on the red carpet. Though the celebrities who have been through this garbage think we don't see it, oh yes we do. They have counted on being able to fool us, and until only recently, they fooled most of us. They want to believe the It Girl schtick still works and that we can be sold Ozempic, NuvaRing, PornHub, and 1-800-DIVORCE as long as they put the right face to the right TV series or movie. They want to believe we cannot see the suffering human being beneath the false transcendence of celebrity glamour. They want to believe we are still buying.

Hollywood keeps trying to resurrect the illusion of its own youth, when it was at the top of its game. Right now, it is hedging its bets on reviving the Ally McBeal/young Ariana Grande/ ED Tumblr era of the 90s and early 2000s. Back then, Hollywood would say something, and if they said it enough times, the general public would absorb it as truth.

“It would not be impossible to prove with sufficient repetition and a psychological understanding of the people concerned that a square is in fact a circle. They are mere words, and words can be molded until they clothe ideas and disguise.” ― Joseph Goebbels

The roadblock they are hitting head on at the moment is that we are no longer in the Age of Pisces. We are in the Age of Aquarius, and there isn't a binary of famous person versus obscure person anymore. Andy Warhol's dream/nightmare of fifteen minutes of fame has been realized in every two bit TikToker, Instagrammer, and YouTuber. People certainly don't go to TV to get their news. They go to social media, and if one source seems problematic, they algorithm a dozen more to weed through within the speed of as many swipes. Celebrities are going broke and desperately flooding TikTok in order to sell hair pieces and perfume. They are up against legions of people who are more relatable, more fun, more entertaining, and oftentimes more talented than they are. Celebrities are being quickly and brutally replaced by common people who never sold their souls. The internet ushered in the Age of Aquarius for us human beings and the Age of Aquarius will last long after the internet is gone.

Demi Moore doesn't have to worry about me, a relative unknown who is keeping her day job. I don't have much influence and the things I am saying -- that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that we see through the shenanigans of what is being sold and that it's not going to work this time. What she does need to worry about is that I am not alone.

I did not go to see the second Wicked movie at all. I unenthusiastically watched the first one about a year after its release. I found it bland and predictable. Stephen Schwartz's music was alright, but I think it was much more fun as a stage play with Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth. Perhaps it was the overproduction and perhaps it was the anorexia of the two female leads, but the first Wicked movie lacked energy. I doubt I will ever see Wicked: For Good. I don't want to support eating disorder culture with my time or money and from the sounds of things, Wicked: For Good is Ally McBeal on steroids and probably twice as boring. No thanks.

Dying Hollywood is trying to pound eating disorders down my non-bulimic throat. I'm not having it. They have overestimated our desire to watch people waste away. I don't want to see Demi Moore as a gaunt, stick bug person pretending she did not peak in 1991. I don't want to watch it, I don't care about it, and I am one of millions who feel the same way. I would rather remember old Hollywood stars fondly for their talents. That era is over now and no amount of pissing on our legs and telling us it is raining will change it.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 16 May 2026 02:45:32 GMT

I am happy to read your Ogham free of charge -- that's how I hone my divination skills. Please limit your reading request to four or fewer Ogham cards: though this can take many forms, here are some common ones (all of them are basically combos of 4 cards):

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

-four questions about four separate items that require one answer (card) per item
-a one card reading to answer a specific question and a three card for a more nuanced question
-Two separate readings, two cards a piece exploring the positives and negatives of two different choices

I am happy to do Ogham readings confidentially via emails -- just email me at k steele studio at gmail during the allotted time/before deadline. I cannot answer health questions. If you have a question about health or another sensitive, private matter, provide a bunch of non-identifying information and the Ogham will be able to figure it out even if I don't. I'm serious... the Ogham actually tend to "know" things without me being privy to what is going on.

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from June 18 - July 5, 2026.

I take reading requests from whenever this post goes up on Friday night until 8pm US Central Time Saturday.

For a more in depth look into how I read and interpret the Ogham's symbols, please visit my website druidogham.wordpress.com.

Thank you for your generous donations. They often buy cat food and litter, groceries, and take out burritos and sandwiches for my Mom and me. If you would like to donate, please do it here:

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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May Open Post

Mon, 11 May 2026 04:16:51 GMT

I have changed things up a bit and to give myself more time to complete my next book, Sacred Beauty, I am putting up an Open Post on the second week of the month.

One of my favorite pastimes is to play a game with Google Maps of dropping a pin in a random location and viewing pictures of other countries. I used Random.org this time to choose for me, and it chose what looks like a rural street in Brazil. Damn, Brazil is huge! It is 90% of the size of the United States.

This post will be open until I post the next one in June.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Fri, 08 May 2026 16:52:24 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from June 18 - July 5, 2026.

I ONLY take reading requests from whenever this post goes up on Friday until 8pm US Central Time Saturday. So if you don't get an answer because you posted too late, ask again the next Ogham reading week BEFORE THE DEADLINE.

For a more in depth look into how I read and interpret the Ogham's symbols, please visit my website druidogham.wordpress.com.

Thank you for your generous donations. They often buy cat food and litter, groceries, and take out burritos and sandwiches for my Mom and me. If you would like to donate, please do it here:

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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I Watched Nosferatu So You Don't Have To

Mon, 04 May 2026 02:05:29 GMT

Johnny Depp's daughter is like this for a huge chunk of the movie. No wonder it was popular.

I am a busy, busy lady and though I have always enjoyed movies, I rarely have time to watch them like the good old days. Horror has always been my favorite genre, especially well-done psychological horror where one is required to read between the lines and copious gore isn’t necessary to induce chills. I do not believe I can be frightened by a horror movie — like Michael Keaton’s eponymous character in Beetlejuice, the Exorcist gets funnier every time I watch it. I love the Amityville story but it’s nowhere near scary. Hereditary was fascinating as a study in the mass invocation of the demon Paimon as he relates to the Covid 19 scare. Was it scary though? Not to me. My main takeaway after watching that film for the first time was that it was unfortunate the director decided to write a love letter to that particular entity, but whatever. I always loved The Ring, both the original Japanese Ringu version and the one with Naomi Watts. Neither were scary. Insidious, the yarn about the comatose kid who wanders the lower astral plane because his father has been stalked by the Hag since forever ago, is a ton of fun. Scary it is not — the demon/devil guy who is part of the lower astral dream sequence (they keep calling the lower astral plane The Further which always makes me giggle for no apparent reason) looks like the lovechild of the pointy haired boss from Dilbert and a lost member of the Insane Clown Posse. He is goofy and fun, not scary, at least not to me.

Despite my voracious appetite for horror films, it still took me two solid years to get around to watching Nosferatu, a remake of the 1922 classic film of the same name, which in itself was the film version of Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula. This newish version was directed by Robert Eggers, whose breakout film was The VVitch (the Witch) which was a genuinely good original story by Eggers about a 1630s family who is cast out by their Quaker/Shaker brethren into the wilderness for being too radically, rabidly Christian. The dysfunctional, patriarchal family falls apart and succumbs to demonic influence out in the deep woods while they struggle to survive. A young girl named Thomasin (played by a not-yet-emaciated or plastic-surgeried Anya Taylor Joy) is the fascinating centerpiece of a complex and ultimately understated story.

The protagonist of 2024’s Nosferatu is a young lady named Ellen in 1830s Germany. Right out of the gate, Ellen is dramatically victimized when she wanders the bleak halls of her family’s mansion at night and stupidly conjures a demon lover out of loneliness and boredom, much like the urban legends of the teen girl who conjures the Candyman by saying “Candyman, candyman, candyman” while holding a candle in front of a bathroom mirror at a sleepover. The demon dude wastes no time hopping aboard that virgin train, and we are subjected to Ellen’s hentai-whimpering while she is deflowered by an invisible man.

Time passes and Ellen is a happily married newlywed. There is trouble in paradise, however, because she has night terrors and premonitions that are the consequence of having picked up that horny demon incubus-astral attachment from her younger years. Ellen, to abuse a more modern vernacular, can’t get no satisfaction, so when her new hubby tries to extricate himself from the bedchamber to go to a job interview, she tries to cajole, badger, and worry him into another round and makes him a bit late.

He gets the job anyways, and that is because it is rigged.

Can you rape a willing victim?

The New Yorker’s film reviewer Richard Brody sees Ellen as a victim and in its annoyingly paywalled review (of which I somehow got a sneak preview and am suddenly denied access, as if I could be bothered to care about or subscribe to the New Yorker) Ellen is depicted as a sweet young thing who is repeatedly raked over the coals by evilly evil vampire Orlok, according to Richard Brody:

“In Eggers’s telling of her past, Ellen, a lonely girl desperate for affection and attention, is supernaturally visited and physically raped by Orlok, with the result that she bears both his curse and his connection to the beyond.”

Despite her gothy darkness, Ellen is a Mary Sue who can never truly do anything wrong in Nosferatu. She’s less of a milksop than Bella of Twilight, but the tubercular vibe isn’t far off. Pale, wan, prone to crying fits and existential melancholy, we are supposed to be drawn in and enchanted by the girl who fell under the spell of the ghostly villain. Yet whenever we see Ellen being visited by her incubus, she appears to be having the time of her damn life, and that is because we are supposed to be titillated by her beatific innocence being corrupted.

Ellen is seen as cursed for the entire movie, but it is she who invited the curse, and until the absolute end of the movie, she keeps on inviting it in. The old lore about a vampire not being able to step over the threshold unless you invite him was meant to inform us that evil cannot truly get to you if you refuse to polarize with it, and modernites have utterly missed that memo as is proven by Nosferatu. Ellen is Persephonized as an eternally pure angel who could not possibly be held accountable for rolling out the red carpet for her incubus night after night, and this reluctance to shed the heavy victimization mantle is a signal that our culture still is tragicomically hung up on the Victorian era binary of virgin-whore.

Oh, holey plot

Eggers did a much better job realistically portraying the brutality and horror of 1630s pilgrim life in the Witch than he did with the stifling, Victorian repression of 1830s Germany in Nosferatu. For one, could we just set the story in England, considering that everyone in the movie has a British accent? When Count Orlok travels to Germany via boat from landlocked Transylvania/Bohemia, that would certainly make a great deal more sense if he was trying to get to the British Isles.

The scenes where Ellen’s husband Thomas runs off to the Carpathian mountains to get Orlok to ink a real estate deal are entertaining. Orlok’s environment features beautiful cinematography and lovely, artistic milieus that are often worthy of printing and framing.

The cringe does not happen until we hear Orlok, who is played by the typecast, always-relegated-as-a-monster-since-IT actor Bill Skarsgård, who for the life of him cannot speak in anything except bastardized, Harry Potter Latin and mangled, heavily-accented faux Russian-English. Dear gods, it’s so laughably bad. He’s supposed to be a reanimated corpse, yet he has had the mojo to groom his handlebar mustache and shave off his beard. His shoulders and arm muscles look as if he has spent time a gym. Presumably there were 24 hour gyms in 1830s Carpathia, or maybe he has a workout room in his castle basement?

Pornstache Nosferatu, ready to get some

Ellen is not scared of him — in fact, she can hardly wait for his arrival, at one point donning her damn wedding dress to be with him as she eagerly pants and pretends to protest her fate. She wants that gray-fleshed, hunchbacked creature with every fiber of her being, but because she’s a manic horndog, she also has a consistent appetite for her husband.

Ellen’s long-suffering cuck husband, Thomas, ends up being drained/raped by Orlok while at the castle, and unlike his wife, he does not seem to enjoy it.

Portrait of a lady and her simp

He manages to escape by jumping out of a window into a river, somehow managing not to break his neck or both legs. He is carried downriver and rescued by a bunch of nuns.

Meanwhile, Orlok bails on his castle, having secured the land deal, and starts his pilgrimage for Ellen’s hometown, Wisburg, Germany. Like I said earlier, he does the illogical thing and takes a boat instead of just retracing the same route Thomas took to arrive at his castle. Orlok’s ship is full of fresh-from-the-coffin plague rats that infect the unfortunate sailors and eventually the village with blood-borne Yersinia pestis.

Ellen manifests increasing psychosis, including sexual psychosis where she tears at her own bodice and generally goes crazy for Orlok’s etheric vampire dick. In order to keep her “safe”, her husband has her shack up with their friends Friedrich and Anna, who is pregnant, and their two young girls. Ellen sleepwalks and generally turns the household into a godforsaken possession depot. Doctors are called in, including Ellen’s own doctor Wilhelm Sievers and his eccentric occultist-alchemist buddy, Albin von Franz (played by Willem Dafoe), who takes on the role of Van Helsing from other Dracula remakes.

As Thomas arrives home, having barely been healed by the nuns, the plague ship has arrived. Rats run around spreading bubonic malaise in Wisburg like a scene from the Decameron.

The superficial stuff

I think I have given enough spoilers at this point, so please indulge me as I complain about the superficial aspects of this film. The camera angles were annoyingly Hollywood, and the close ups and perfectly symmetrical, central frames of a single character were very narcissistic and self-conscious. Maybe this worked for The Witch but it falls flat in a vampire film. The whole film feels claustrophobic, despite being set outdoors for half the movie.

The costumes and wigs of this film were butt ugly. Not once do any of the female characters wear a pretty dress! I get it that Anna, Ellen’s friend, is a pregnant mom-to-be, but can we please dress her in something that does not look like it could be found in the 1800s equivalent of Target, if there was such a thing?

Look at the crinkling and straining of the material around the shoulders and the lack of ornament. Also note the ghastly wig and the not-found-in-nature hairline.

The costumes of Nosferatu 2024 are so basic, they look like something I might be able to manage to sew from a Butterick or Vogue pattern, and trust me, I do not sew very well at all. The material chosen for the women’s gowns is consistently drab and ugly and the designs were frumpy and amateur. Compare this random photo of an 1830s dress:

Note the attention to detail around the bodice, the gathered bodice, the dropped, corseted waist, the pragmatic yet cute pattern, the pretty sleeves, and the lace detail at the shoulders. Now that second dress I could not sew if my life depended upon it.

The wigs on the characters are hideous. They were so bad, I could think of almost nothing else when Ellen or Anna appeared in one. It is patently obvious that none of these women (or men) have ever had long hair. They don’t know how to carry it. Even Willem Dafoe’s hair looked fake as hell — his was a wig that would have made more sense on a barrister in British Parliament. Also, in this age of lace fronts, why does the hair in this film look so fake?

The film is also dismal and dreary. The reviewer I mentioned before used the term lugubrious to describe it and I’ve got to say he hit the nail on the head. Compare the 1990s Francis Ford Coppola version of Dracula with Winona Ryder as Mina and Gary Oldman as the vampire: at least that film, though campy and cheesy, had some joy in it. There are opportunities to be lush, voluptuous, and sumptuous in any given period film that Nosferatu missed entirely with its basic-ass Walmart discount costumes, its obvious, squirting sexuality, and chintzy, suburban, human-as-framed-doll portrait shots.

Nepo babies

Lily Rose Depp, the actress who plays Ellen, is the daughter of actor Johnny Depp and model Vanessa Paradis. I dimly remember reading something back in the day where claims were made that Johnny Depp and Vanessa Paradis were sensibly raising their kids outside of Hollywood and that when Paradis divorced Depp, she took the kids and stayed in her home country of France. I don’t pay attention or care about Johnny Depp or his family, but upon seeing that his daughter clearly did not escape Hollywood, I was disappointed. Lily Rose Depp is an obvious product/victim of the System, and she is being foisted upon us as the new It Girl. No thanks, I’ll pass. I know how those people are created and manufactured for public digestion. Gross.

This thing had nepotism written all over it. The screenwriting and the acting was awful. We are given no reason as to why the vamp seeks Ellen except that she randomly called him on the psychic telephone. When Dafoe’s character likens her to an Egyptian priestess late in the film, I’m like “Why?” Depp’s Ellen is the common bar slut of paranormal heroines, allegedly chosen and special because she’s somewhat attractive without discernible makeup. Why does Ellen love Thomas? She’s supposedly very into him but we never get a scene about how they met or why they fell in love. She cuckolds Thomas from the first to the last frame of this film — she was not a virgin when they’re married and we find this out quite bluntly in one scene — and she is not lovable. She’s a mope who spends three out of four nights on average being obsessed by her etheric rapist/annoying psycho vampire ex-boyfriend.

Overacting is the name of the game when you have no real plot to go off of and you are supposed to wring your hands and cry the entire movie for . . . reasons. Anna, the young wife/matron character played by Emma Courin, is a bad actress. Not for one second do we believe that she is a mom (even if she is one in real life), nor do be believe she is Christian (even if she is a Christian, which I have no idea), nor do we believe she is anything except desperate for her big break in Hollywood. Her death scene by rats is ridiculous in its melodramatic fakery.

Anyway, I am grateful for this film. This piece of crap movie that made more than expected at the box office because of Lily Rose Depp showing her small, natural, 24 year old breasts for long stints of the film and being “raped” by an ugly, pornstached, hunchback dude was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I am finally getting a DVD player and I am finally quitting every movie made after the year 2000 unless I can find that rare unicorn of a modern film that is worth my time to watch.

The real star of this film was my future DVD-R.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 02 May 2026 04:10:41 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from June 18 - July 5, 2026.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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Talking about Sacred Homemaking with Isaac and AC on the Plant Cunning Podcast!

Thu, 30 Apr 2026 19:05:15 GMT

I had a wonderful conversation with AC and Isaac of the Plant Cunning Podcast. We discussed my book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to a Tidier Home, which is available from Aeon Books.

PLANT CUNNING EPISODE #229 SACRED HOMEMAKING with KIMBERLY STEELE

"In this Plant Cunning Podcast episode, AC & Isaac interview Kimberly Steele about her first book, Sacred Homemaking, on making the home a sacred space through everyday practices. Steele shares her path from a casual Christian upbringing and decades of atheism into Druidry and daily spiritual discipline, including meditation and long-term practice of Sphere of Protection rituals, and discusses gratitude and generosity as transformative forces. She explains perceiving multiple “planes” (physical, etheric, astral, spiritual) and how tidying, thanking household objects, cleaning (especially the toilet), and avoiding both hoarding and sterile perfection can shift a home’s “vibe.” Steele offers practical suggestions such as removing “haunted” objects, using sprays and salt, and placing symmetrical sacred geometry patterns as “demon traps,” critiques materialism and doomscrolling, and introduces the idea of “astral pyramids” and group spirits."

Watch and listen to this podcast episode on these channels and more:

Spotify https://open.spotify.com/episode/2wed4EEeUy7U2xsWbv10ro

YouTube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTlmfgUfnsU

Apple Podcasts https://podcasts.apple.com/ca/podcast/plant-cunning-podcast/id1534970138

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Book Club, The Mandibles by Lionel Shriver, Chapter 1: GRAY WATER

Tue, 28 Apr 2026 17:49:06 GMT

Lionel Shriver is a woman writer in her late 60s who has written 17 novels as of today's date, only 7 or so of which have been published. Her breakout hit in 2005 was We Need to Talk About Kevin, the story of an ambivalent mother who ends up birthing and raising a monstrous school shooter. The novel was later turned into a film (that was in my opinion poorly executed and not all that well-acted) with Tilda Swinton playing the mother. Shriver is a fiercely opinionated writer of eclectic interests and her novels and stories deal with everything from morbid obesity to childlessness to immigration. She currently resides with her husband in Portugal.

The Mandibles: A Family 2029-2047 was published in 2016 and is a scathing satire of current events. The Mandibles is about one extended family's journey through the collapse of the American petrodollar and how they adjust (or do not manage to adjust) to reduced living circumstances. Various family members in the Mandible clan are counting on inherited wealth via the death of their old grandpa when the rug is pulled out from underneath the American economy in the fateful year 2029, 100 years later than the Great Crash of 1929 that set off the Great Depression. The dollar, now worthless, is replaced by a currency called the bancor from which Americans are vengefully excluded. Inflation and money printing leads regular Americans down the garden path trod by Weimar Germans and millennial Argentinians. Some of the Mandibles adapt better than others, and possibly the most fascinating aspect of this book and why it stood out in my mind is because it went into florid detail about how being used to Starbucks and premium olive oil is a legitimate form of mental/spiritual handicap. This handicap is only exposed when there is a return to the kind of harsh living conditions our ancestors considered everyday.

The Mandibles opening chapter is called GRAY WATER, and its opening scene features the Mandible's matriarch, Florence, admonishing her common law husband, Esteban, to only wash his hands in water that is not fit for drinking but is not yet condemned to being flushed down the drain. Though she grew up in privilege, Florence's background reveals that she has settled into the lower middle working class. She and her mate, Esteban, make lighthearted jokes about the predicament of bathing once or fewer times per week in cold water and humbly appreciate their simple family meals of cabbage and scrap pork patties. Esteban is Latino or Lat, specifically Mexican, and some of this chapter is devoted to highlighting his resilience and general happiness because he never had the impedances of extreme privilege, including immersion in pornography as a young man, so he still has a "taste for real women". Florence does not consider herself to be anything special. She has a job at a homeless shelter that she knows others view her as angelic or virtuous for doing, but she sees it for what it is and rejects any kind of savior complex about it. It's work. She has a son, Will, from a one night stand (not Esteban) who is precociously bright. Her sister, Avery, is briefly introduced in this chapter. Avery is affluent and beautiful and has married extremely well to a professor at Georgetown University. We will learn more about her in Chapter 2.

Esteban and Florence discuss the impending death of Florence's and Avery's super-rich grandfather, and though he is in his 90s, she doesn't want to contemplate coming into that money because her parents would have to die before it became hers. In the background, Will (the son, whose name is Will but for some odd reason is called Willing, and that's not the end of strange first names in this book) watches the dollar collapse even more than its current lackluster status and tries to wrap his young brain around the significance of a reserve currency. The moment is described as if looking into a time capsule, a formative "Where were you?" tantamount to the bombing of the World Trade Center or the JFK shooting.

I remember where I was on September 11, 2001. I was 28, married, and living with my husband in my parents' house in my childhood bedroom, which would be the first of several stints in and out of their home. My dreams of being affluent as a married person were well on their way to being irrevocably dashed, but I did not know it at the time. September 11, 2001 was a beautiful day of cerulean skies and warm autumn breezes. How sad that our government decided to psy op its own people on the most perfect day ever. I ended up taking the day off even though I had a full day of lessons scheduled the nearby music store where I was teaching.

This chapter is at its most awkward when dealing with Esteban, who is portrayed as a lower middle class Marty Stu -- he's a bit too idealized and perfect to come off as a real person. The other characters, including the unfortunately named Willing, seem like they exist somewhere. This idea of water rationing in 2029 Brooklyn seems hyperbolic, though I should probably not say that considering the way things are going. Overall, the Mandibles is a good read because unlike other dystopian novels, it seems like something that could totally happen.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Fri, 24 Apr 2026 14:46:27 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from June 18 - July 5, 2026.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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Read This Before You Get a Divorce (or before you get married in the first place)

Sun, 19 Apr 2026 16:41:24 GMT

Irreconcilable differences are the primary reason cited when two people divorce. The designation is amorphous and vague. She cheated? Irreconcilable differences. He is a raging alcoholic? Irreconcilable differences. Her nagging got tiresome, and her body was no longer desirable? Same. He left his dirty socks on the floor in front of the hamper? Good enough -- now let's get the ink on those papers so we can break up your family and devastate your children.

I have a bad habit of watching Facebook reels, and like Instagram and TikTok, the reels tailor themselves to what they believe you'll watch. Underneath them, however, there is a discreet agenda for those willing to look. Facebook would like me to end my marriage. It would like to see my 26 year commitment in tatters and shreds so statists and their cronies can milk me for whatever assets I managed to accumulate, including the etheric energy or loosh I have saved up in my middle aged body. It would like to see me dependent on the teat of the algorithm, continually seeking it out for the next dopamine hit. It would like me to be informed by it and to act according to its will.

Facebook knows its target demographic is middle-aged women and it wants us to blow up our marriages and lives so we can be cast adrift in hostile waters. The more violent and petty our divorces, the better. Facebook has a voracious appetite for drama, and there is a wealth of divorced or soon-to-be-divorced women on it complaining about the awfulness of men. The other social media platforms are the same.

Facebook isn't so bald and out in the open about trying to brainwash me. Mostly, it shows me innocuous videos of women improving their own homes. They restore furniture (furniture restoration videos were what hooked me in the first place as I like to re-work and repurpose old things) and they put up molding and wallpaper without help from men. There is one lady who has re-done her entire house. She has done much of the labor while heavily pregnant. We never see her husband in the shots, and the one time we did, she openly shamed him for doing a bad job framing a wall. This brief humiliation ritual seemed to say "men are vestigial and useless except as sperm donors". Mind you, she was not much to look at in body or face, and as much as I tried not to judge her, I did make the assessment that she was well on the road to divorce. The more famous she got on the social media machine with her pretty pictures of cleverly decoupaged kid's furniture, the further she got away from the notion that men have value. Her house is beautiful but I do pity her children.

The agenda behind the superwomen who can frame a wall, find a dresser on the roadside and spiff it up and sell it for $850, and rake in more than their ex or soon-to-be ex-husbands make on social media from sponsors is to make more divorced women and men. More divorced women means more households as families atomize, liquidating generational real estate to scatter to apartments or the more ideal purchase of a "me and my kids only" home for the new set of fragmented people. More divorced women means tremendous bonuses for family counselors, therapists, and other know-nothing shills who profiteer off of emotional pain and suffering while also acting as direct and indirect drug pushers for Big Pharma. But most of all, more divorced women free up the ultimate resource and money maker: the children of divorce. The System survives off the energy of children, and that is why it wants them to be abandoned, thrown into foster care, and pre-digested in the juices of hatred and discord. The formidable wall of loving, intact husband and wife must be at least partially demolished so the children can be vampirized by the Epsteins and Diddys of the world and their copious followers. Divorce makes it far, far easier to get at those precious children, and it is the perfect tool for distracting the parents and literally removing the kids from their sight.

My husband, the child of divorce, spent the first 11 years of his life in the most sheltered of Christian fundamentalist environments. He was not allowed to watch television other than Flipper or Animal Kingdom. There were no sleepovers. When he hit 12, three years before he would truly go through puberty, his parents began the excruciating process of a long and drawn out divorce. Overnight, he was left almost entirely to his own devices as his father ran off to live with the woman he had been cheating with and his mother scrambled to get a job after being a housewife her entire adult life. My future husband, then an adolescent, started smoking that year and did not quit until he was in his 40s and married to me. He began drinking an entire case of Coca Cola every day as if it was water. He got in such bad trouble at church school for scrapping and falling asleep in class, he was sent to a religious boarding school in a nearby state which utterly failed to put him on the straight and narrow. Just imagine how his teenage years would have gone if he came up in the age of online porn.

Divorce opens the floodgates so the vampires can eat the children, and often they have been grooming the children and both parents for a long time before the ink is on the divorce papers. For instance, the videos of the women doing all of the "manly" construction tasks all by themselves are a form of grooming. They quietly say to the women that we can have the prettiest and most peaceful of homes as soon as men are out of the picture, either subjugated and dismissed by being forced to live in a sea of Laura Ashley-esque chintz, brass bath caddies, and wall-to-wall sage green paneling or foisted out of the home altogether with a suitcase and a footprint on their rear end next to the welt where the door hit them on the way out.

The self-satisfied divorcee can then engage in the fragile virtue signaling of somehow making a living by perpetually photographing her single-woman household, as if that is sustainable long term.

Despite the above rant, I know plenty of women who have died alone in their reasonably clean houses and who did not perish in catastrophic poverty or abject loneliness. I myself will probably die that way unless I manage to pop off before my husband. Fear mongering around those women who will die as lonely cat ladies is highly exaggerated, though it has been known to happen. I fear for the middle aged women currently driven to homelessness who live out of vans like the movie Nomadland, where Frances McDormand plays a widow who has no choice but to take up van life. At some point, we become feeble in mind and body, and the part of Nomadland we never see is how McDormand's character dies. Is she taken in by her few remaining relatives or friends? Does she park the dying van near a large wilderness area and then wander off into the trees to allow nature to do its work?

Are men lonely enough?

Women are not as afraid to die alone as men, that is for sure. They marry and re-marry. If they are single, unlike women, they would rather be paired off.

There is one particular dude bro influencer who shall remain nameless who often posts about the detestable characteristics of females/femoids. He is apparently married to a woman and has at least 5 children. The men who swarm his comment sections are mostly older and married. The middle aged ones are tired of their wives, and with good cause. Their wives are nags who live to complain that their men can do nothing right. Not that the wives are doing any better in their husband's eyes: they overlook the fact their wives are, were, and remain the mothers of their children. My decision to marry a poor man who truly didn't want kids is continually validated by these men's endless posturing that it is OK to dump their wives with the other trash for not wanting sex at age 54 with a balding, grumpy, pot-bellied, lazy, perpetually angry 58 year old. The solution is to replace the aging, used-up harridan with a younger model, preferably about 15 years his junior so that way the adult children won't be as freaked out by the pedophile aspect of their father's remarriage.

In one of his comment sections, Married with Children Dude Bro observes that he finds it interesting that prostitutes, E-girls, and other forms of women he views as trophies can find it in themselves to service men when they are not in the mood, but wives (especially those of middle age) cannot suck it up, either metaphorically or literally. He then suggests that because she isn't in the mood that her man decides not to be in the mood to pay her bills.

There is a sort of man who will always see his wife as the Queen of All Whores who beat out the other contenders to be the mother of his primary children (he likely has other, less legitimate sets of kids elsewhere). He frames himself as an alpha and is the dictator of his own banana republic. He often has a background in video game design or engineering or both, and he ardently believes that he and everyone else construct their own fates and that there is no such thing as chance, which is rather Calvinist of him. He supports that which helps solidify his delusion that other people, including his own wives and children, are to be used and shat upon for the glory of his ego and solipsism. She is an old sow who was once a young heifer and will always be reduced as a depreciating asset.

We are in a dark pit of Meatworld at the bottom of the Kali Yuga -- luckily there is nowhere to go from here but up! -- and that is why this sort of man does reasonably well in the modern day milieu. He has the sort of retarded, left-brained thinking that makes him think he can avoid the consequences of his actions forever, and that is why he is serenely unconcerned about unearned wealth or being treated as he has treated others.

Women who marry this sort are to be profoundly pitied. She naively believes the hype and enjoys the trappings of material success he is able to provide, and before you know it, she is moored to him and his abuse via their children. He does not grow fonder of her as she ages. When she is middle aged, she had better be nearly as svelte, hot, healthy, obedient, and ready as she was before the umpteen children, or he will replace her with a new Queen of Whores that he has determined will yield better dividends than the current model. She will be cast out of the home she foolishly made, and he will pride himself on the pre-nup that allows him to escape paying for her not to fall into a lower class that she may or may not survive. Naturally, she will be full of hatred, vitriol, and bitterness, and he will never once look in the mirror and own up to having helped make her that way.

For the love of the game

Patriarchy treats all as a game, and we are about 10,000 years into patriarchy as is evidenced by data centers being installed with zero thought towards potable water and a functioning electrical grid and wars that promise to rage until the last child on "their" side is melted down into a puddle of formerly-human grease. Patriarchy seeks to game-ify everything from commerce to intimate love, forcing us all to participate in contests until we collapse in exhaustion and the ecosystem along with us.

In our long standing patriarchal systems, all men are either pimps or simps. All women are whores. Even babies are not exempt from the gruesome reality of human trafficking. Women, like animals, are to be controlled, bought, and sold. A woman's worth is therefore determined by her youth, and it goes away as soon as she no longer is desirable or wants to have sex. The game is far more beloved than any human being outside the self.

For men, the goal is to make manhood a big competition where, like the old Highlander movies, THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE, and the Alpha King will rule his feudal empire until one of his sons takes his place. A man's worth is determined by the size of his penis, his harem, and the delusion that his inflated ego makes him intelligent.

We can hardly wonder with women and men in such a state that nobody in their right mind wants to take a chance on marriage. Women think they're winning the game by being the fairest of them all and scoring a good provider until their looks and sex drive fade and the good provider turns out to be a shallow egomaniac who has never considered them to be human. Men think they're losing the game because the self-appointed Alphas tell them they don't have what it takes to win. Meanwhile, there are plenty who would seek a third and better way, and that is where I come in.

Even if I get divorced tomorrow, I have been married to the same man for 26 years. It is excruciatingly obvious that I did not marry for money. Despite all our troubles and the fact I am the primary breadwinner of my household, my husband and I have a good marriage, and that is why I feel I am at liberty to give some advice for choosing and staying with a mate long term.

1. Stop keeping score

If you read nothing else in this article, read and re-read this first point. Score-keeping is what happens when you game-ify all your relationships (this advice can easily be applied beyond the realm of your mate) and think that you are somehow owed because of the good deeds you did and can somehow escape all the bad deeds you've done. Score-keeping is misery. You did the dishes, so she owes you sex. You changed the baby's diapers, so he owes you a foot rub. You pay the mortgage, so she owes you a clean house. You look good at 40, therefore you can easily leave and snag a richer man than him. And so on. Score-keeping is a fixation upon the negative and a discounting of the positive. It also turns all women into chattel and all men into whoremongers or would-be whoremongers. The solution is to focus on the good the other has done instead of where they do not measure up in portfolio or cup size. Instead of getting mad he hasn't mowed the lawn, smother it with cardboard and mulch for a pollinator garden and be grateful he helps with the yard and maintains the air conditioner. Instead of being mad that she no longer puts out, thank her for all the housework she does without thinking about it and hug your precious kids.

2. Know your real limits

There are deal-breakers in relationships, and if someone is genuinely preventing you from who you ought to be, you do need to leave. More often than not, however, it is a matter of not feeling brave enough to strike out on your own. In my younger years, I was afraid to put my foot down with my husband where our finances were concerned. Only as an older, more confident woman was I able to say "My way or the high way", and that is why we no longer live with my parents and we do reside in our own modest home. This home, though it ain't much, would be easily pissed away if we were still chasing unearned wealth via speculation and risk-taking. If you are the one maintaining the scaffolding and sanity of your marriage, stand your ground. For me, unearned-wealth chasing and cheating are marriage deal-breakers. My aunt had to deal with a gambler and she rightfully divorced him. Others I know had to deal with cheaters and some are still together, some are not. Aside from the true deal-breakers, I can make the best out of the pitfalls that come.

3. Ask yourself "Who benefits?" from your separation and divorce.

We all know that weddings are a racket, but did you ever consider who is making money off divorces? When two people shack up, they do so because "two can live as cheaply as one". Traditionally, large families used to live in one multigenerational house or compound, which offered safety in numbers as well as in-family wealth transfer as the home was passed from parents to children. Atomization is monetization, and not for the families themselves, but for the array of parasites that feed off of the assets and loosh released by broken homes and broken hearts. Maybe, just maybe, we are all being groomed all the time to see marriage vows as temporary and for our convenience. It's also useful when we see each other as pimps, simps, and hoes and use transactional thinking to game-ify our connections with each other, as if they were not priceless.

4. Defeat anxiety with gratitude and score-keeping with generosity.

Gratitude is the only force powerful enough to battle the Wendigos of our demonic age and win, and generosity is a function of gratitude. The kind of anxiety that ends marriages is not only annoying, it is rooted in fear. Anyone who genuinely believes in God or gods should in theory be able to dismiss fear and with it, anxiety, including anxiety created by one's mate for not living up to an ideal. Clearly there are plenty of people who say they believe in God without meaning it. One way we can put more belief in the Divine, even if that divinity is only the best and noblest aspects of ourselves, is to counter each anxious thought with 3 grateful ones. Going nuts over the crappy looking porch steps? Counter it with gratitude for having a porch and not dodging bombs and drones. Be grateful for clean water to drink and the sun on a beautiful day. Yes, the porch issue was not solved, but you put your thinking brain towards things that are actually important instead of whatever rat race the material world insisted you run. Gratitude, as I have said many times, has that weird trait of sublimating whatever it touches by the power of seven or more and radiates exponentially and fractally from its source. Harness the power of gratitude and you'll improve your marriage and every other blessed thing in your life.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 18 Apr 2026 21:25:21 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from June 18 - July 5, 2026.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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Open Post

Thu, 16 Apr 2026 03:11:09 GMT

Hi everyone, I have decided to trim my writing schedule to essays every other week in order to make room for new books in the works. In more exciting news, I am in the process of writing my next book, Sacred Beauty. Like Sacred Homemaking (you can still pre-order it with the discount code SACRED20 until April 28, 2026) it is a non-fiction book about self-realization, but instead of being about the spirit of place, it is about the body as home for the soul.

I'm still coming up with ideas on what to do with my "off" weeks besides Open Post, and the first thing I would like to start is a book club. The book I'd like to discuss starting two weeks is a fiction book called The Mandibles: A Family, 2029 - 2047 by Lionel Shriver. The Mandibles centers around an American family who lives through the crash and devaluation of the US dollar and falls upon hard times. Shriver says of her own book that she wanted to write a near-future dystopia that she felt almost happened in 2008, saying that she believes we "dodged a bullet" at that time.

I read The Mandibles a couple of years ago and though I do not scare easily, I found it far more plausible than books in the dystopian genre such as The Handmaid's Tale or Brave New World, and that's why it sent chills down my spine. In the novel, the Mandible family is your average bunch of urbanites who live in Brooklyn and expect that all of their upper-middle class problems will be solved upon the death of the elder patriarch of the Mandible clan. The US dollar crashes and instead of an even easier life, they are plunged into Weimar Germany/Argentina in the early millennium conditions and must battle for luxuries they took for granted. A new currency called the bancor deliberately excludes the US, and US Treasury bonds are reset to zero, gutting the entire salary class overnight. The main nuclear Mandible family's extended relations move into a crowded Brooklyn house into the basement, and the former world-traveling eccentric aunt moves into the attic. They strike an uneasy peace as things get harder and harder. The young son gives up his beloved, loyal dog to a well-off neighbor who is moving away because he knows that if he keeps him, the dog is likely to be kidnapped and eaten. The beautiful cousin Savannah, who was set to go to a prestigious college, ends up becoming a high class teenage escort.

There's a great deal to talk about in the Mandibles, and I feel like it is a novel that is pertinent to our time, though hopefully it is not too close to our specific timeline!

In other news, the cats are doing well. Shadow always gets his fill of the telluric current when I do the Sphere of Protection every morning. The three outers are still outside. They have a heated cat condo and a heated water bowl and 3 square a day of wet food, very much thanks in part to my generous donors at BuyMeaCoffee/KimberlySteele.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 11 Apr 2026 03:28:18 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from June 18 - July 5, 2026.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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The System in Collapse

Mon, 06 Apr 2026 17:50:28 GMT

There is a great deal of misplaced nostalgia for the 1980s. I lived through the 1980s and I don't think they were all that great. Now, materially they were splendid. We had everything we needed, or at least it seemed that way as a person who grew up upper-middle class. We wanted for nothing. Nevertheless, as my own childhood gave way to adolescence, things got measurably worse even though we were doing materially better than ever. I remember when factors of disintegration began to pick away at my childhood bliss, especially as puberty encroached and the pressures of sexuality began to make themselves known, not only in my body but in all the forces trying to get at me, and it was hell. The comfort of a bunch of stuff, adequate food, and shelter often breeds a special kind of boredom and frustration and the 80s made this happen for many of us, myself included.

By the time I was a teenager, I felt thrown away. I felt like I had no place to be, often literally. I was warehoused in a prison-like school. My high school was a clean but awful place where I was babysat for 7 hours a day. I could not wait to get out of it. Graduating from that pit was one of the most liberating, happiest days of my life. (Of course I was an idiot and went to college and made it worse.)

When we look at the 1980s through rose-colored lenses, we are not seeing what built it. The 80s were Peak Israel. Only now in the cold, sober light of internet and social media do we see how much of a construct that lifestyle was. The 80s were about American hegemony on a large scale. America dominated the entire world in the 1980s, and the Empire was at the top of its game, even if we were very much past Peak Oil and in the process of selling out the working class and exporting manufacturing and other forms of gainful employment to the Third World. In my book Sacred Homemaking, I share an anecdote about a jacket that I had to have at age 9. I ended up with two of the stupid, pastel, Michael Jackson-inspired windbreakers. The only reason they were cheap was because they were made in a Chinese sweatshop. My 1980s childhood took place at the same time that textile manufacturing and production was mass-outsourced to the global south, and my ridiculous fashion choices as a 9 year old were part of the same force that made it impossible to have an entirely local clothing production company here in America.

What I also did not see and also had no perspective upon was how world politics had converged to make my jackets possible. The systems that made up the System where what made my whole lifestyle possible, and I could not see the forest for the trees.

To be upper-middle class is to be especially influenced (brainwashed) by media. Movies, especially, contributed to my astral poisoning back in the day. I could quote several popular movies. I knew the stars, but to my credit, so did most people and knowing them was the social currency of the upper middle class just as bawdy jokes have always been the social currency of the lower middle class. The System was happening right under our noses and it is only lately we are finding out how bad it has been this whole time. Consider the cast of the 1986 film Lucas, one of many vehicles in a small spate of years that featured prominent teenage idols Corey Haim and Corey Feldman. Both Haim and Feldman admitted to being sexually abused by men on the set of Lucas. 13 year old Haim was groomed and allegedly anally raped by 19 year old Charlie Sheen, who reportedly used a handful of Crisco and would go on to claim he would beat AIDS with his "tiger blood" later in life. I dimly remember seeing Lucas as well as other Haim and Feldman movies, never having a single clue that its stars were victims of vicious predation and sexual abuse. Not once would I have imagined that the System that tortured these children in its grist mill was run by Sabbatean Frankist, nearly-always-Jewish-identifying overlords. I certainly did not suspect the CIA or elite divisions of the US military of operating a grandiose collection of child-trafficking rings with the assistance of local and federal governments. I certainly did not understand enough to distance myself from military-industrial complex imagery that made up my programming in order to keep the System running and well-fed.

I did not know the name Les Wexner when I worked for The Limited as a late teenager and early 20-something. Les Wexner, for those not aware, is the multi-billionaire scion who invented the Limited and all of its sister companies, many of which survive in shopping malls today. Limited, Limited Too, Express, Victoria's Secret, Torrid, Lingerie Cacique, Bath & Body Works, Yankee Candle, Abercrombie & Fitch, and even Dick's Sporting Goods belong or belonged to Les Wexner, a reportedly bisexual Epstein bestie and primary funder of Epstein's lavish lifestyle. The Limited was at the forefront of fast fashion arbitrage. When I was still a preteen and too young to work there, the Limited was the first store to instigate the trend of wearing layered henley shirts. The shirts were all the rage among tween and teen girls, and they were dramatically overpriced considering they were made in sweatshops for pennies. In order to be cool, you had to wear at least two of them with one unbuttoned or tied at the waist to reveal the other one, which was always a different color or pattern. This look was always paired with sweatshop made Guess? jeans and frizzy, teased, curly hair that was sprayed into a chemical-smelling wall at the crown and sides and greasy with mousse and scrunched in the back.

I had all of one Henley shirt to my name in the time they were a thing, but once I worked at the Limited, I bought their clothes because I was required to do so. One of the insults of working at a Limited-affiliated retail brand is that employees were required to buy and wear the store's merchandise on the sales floor. The expectation was patently ridiculous: associates were expected to buy at least $400 worth of current Limited clothing and accessories every six months (at least) when we made less than $10 an hour. I made more babysitting per hour than I ever did at The Limited. We were also expected to be pushy. There was a Limited credit card and we were expected to get shoppers to sign up for it. I remember one young woman who came in on one of my last days at the Limited, waving her talon-like, stinking set of nail extensions as idiot me ran from dressing room to rack getting her every piece of clothing in the store to try on. After two and a half hours, she plonked over $1000 dollars of merchandise on the counter and her credit card was declined and had to leave the store. She did not seem all that upset. I think she was on every drug available on the street and otherwise and I failed to realize it, despite all the signs being there.

Besides the Limited crap I was required to buy from rich-ass, dybbuk-hosting Les Wexner, I had my fair share of Bath & Body Works, Victoria's Secret, and Express merch and served as a walking advertisement for his brands almost as long as I could remember. I still wear Bath & Body Works products when they are given to me as gifts. I am done personally buying from those brands now that I know the truth of them, but I am not going to be mean to my husband or my brother if they get me soaps and lotions I never disdained before this most recent year of revelation.

I don't blame myself for my early programming and neither should you. The programming went extremely deep. It was our world. Our world ran on supply chains and mysterious agendas. We were informed by elites who used to have more power via secrecy. Social media and the internet has contributed to the visibility of that architecture, which is now beginning to crumble as a result of being exposed to the light of day.

The more things change . . .

I refuse to play into the fears that we soon won't be able to get avocados anymore because of the current set of wars. If it happens, it happens, but I'll be damned before I will actively worry about such an outcome. That said, things are changing at a fairly rapid pace, and I think we all need to be ready for those changes. Make no mistake, what is happening in Iran right now is a holy war, and it is not one the American empire is set to win. The holy war is against an ancient evil that merged with Christianity and Judaism to become Ba'al/Babalon. Iran's latest contributions to the skirmish have been AI propaganda videos of Trump and Netanyahu as Legos, supplicating to Ba'al as the demon demands blood sacrifice. One video has Lego Trump bragging to Ba'al about sacrificing 168 school kids, a possible reference to the bombing of an Iranian school. Ba'al, who has the Star of David on his forehead, answers not with thanks but with: "MORE! I WANT MORE!" before being hit with Iranian missiles and going up in flames.

There is no love lost between me and the Islamic regime or its prophet, Mohammed, however, when you're right, you're right. Islam and monotheism, in my own personal belief, is drawing near to the end of its tenure as we see the rise of animism as the newest (oldest) force in the religions that will dominate the future. I reluctantly admit that the enemy of my enemy has become my friend.

I liked Trump, which is quite obvious from some of my past essays. He was America first. He had me fooled. I never would have voted for yet another System pedophile would enter the US into another world war. At least Hillary Clinton was honest about being a warmonger, even if she could not own up to Frazzledrip. She at least had the integrity to avoid promises of no new wars.

America needs to be concerned about the holy war aspect of the current debacle, even if Iran's Islamic caliphate worships a prophet who married a little girl who was 3-4 years out of diapers at best. We have sided with the wrong Tribe. Right now, Tel Aviv is likely in ruins and looks like the Gaza strip, but you wouldn't know it from what mainstream media reveals. I get most of my news, pathetically, from TikTok, and TikTok reports that Israel is being taken to the woodshed by Iran. At least 400 American soldiers have been killed a month into the war, not 5 or 6 as is claimed. Payback is a bitch and Israel may be wiped off the face of the map, and the darkest side of my heart hopes they are in retaliation for the pedophilia-run System they have enjoyed and enforced worldwide for the last half century or more. Killing the Ayatollah and leaving his son alive was a big mistake, as they have created a Kim Jong Un/Il parallel that begs for Bad to be replaced by Worse. It's giving John Michael Greer's Twilight's Last Gleaming, and I hope we can collectively avoid a collapse similar to Lionel Shriver's The Mandibles: A Family, 2029-2047 where the collapse of the US dollar seriously downgrades the lifestyles of a crew of regular urbanites and suburbanites until they are fighting for their lives in Weimar Germany/Argentina in 2001 conditions.

I hope our transition to a much lower and slower standard of living is more like the oil crises of 1973 than the crises of the novels I mention above. I am not counting on it. Things are changing rapidly, such as inflation -- gas has doubled in price since a few months ago -- and whether we deny it or accept it, we must work with what we are given. I suppose we can expect nothing less than a collapse now that it is clear to all but the voluntarily blind that the whole world has been run on blackmail butt stuff with little kids and babies in lieu of earned wealth.

It is both good and bad that the construct I grew up with in the 1980s is falling. That was that world. I don't want that world to be my world despite it coming with luxurious benefits. I would give up a lot of nice things for that world to slide into the garbage chute of history. Every night in my prayers, I devote some time and energy to praying for all of the kids who are abused or who were abused to have something that rhymes with my own childhood, whether it is in this lifetime or in a future one. I don't specifically wish for them to have the upper middle class aspect of my upbringing, nor the creature comforts or material wealth because those things were not exclusively the essence of what made my childhood healing and full of goodness. No, I wish for them the safety of having parents who are decent and who never were nor ever will be abusers. I wish upon them parents that are decent and hardworking like mine were. I wish for them to be loved and appreciated. I pray for them to have the security that money cannot buy when they are at their most vulnerable. I pray for this every night, every day, and really every hour. If this horrible System of kompromat, kiddy-diddling, and trafficking that runs the world goes away, maybe more kids have a shot at a childhood that resembles the best parts of my own. I will never stop praying for that. The misery of my 80s childhood was nearly all confined to its System-addled materialism, especially considering the wealth and stability we had despite the System. The decency of my parents and the tight-knittedness of my community made my childhood good. The Empire can fall and kids can still have a childhood that rhymes with the best parts of mine, and if it comes, it will come from a deep appreciation and gratitude for the good. It will succeed by the building of the good against all odds and against all of the forces that would seek to get at the children, because even in the backdrop of everything they tried, they still didn't get me.

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I'm Back!

Mon, 06 Apr 2026 15:06:54 GMT

Hey everyone,

Thank you for waiting so patiently for me to have the long, mostly unplanned break I just took. I held my cats (the indoor ones let me carry them around like babies), I spent plenty of time with family, and I generally just chilled and built up my stores of inspiration. It was much needed. I walked around in the park a few times as I had hoped to do. I will be reading Ogham this Saturday and putting up the notification for reading requests on Friday night.

Despite all the relaxation I did, I was able to finish the audiobook version of my upcoming book, Sacred Homemaking.

I have made the executive decision to write an essay for this blog every other week instead of every week. Pumping out two essays per week, one for my private Substack and one for this blog and my public Substack, was wearing me down and burning me out. I'm still working 7 days a week, and though I hope to whittle that down, it most likely won't be possible until at least a year from now if it ever becomes possible at all. Please let me know what you would like to see posted every other week when I am not posting a new essay. I can do an Open Post, re-post old essays, or whatever.

I'm working on a new book that will be called Sacred Beauty that is going to be similar to Sacred Homemaking except it will be focused on self-love and improvement.

Again, thanks for waiting for me to return from my break.

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Pity Her Emptiness: Celebrities and the Advent of Nobody Cares

Tue, 24 Mar 2026 18:07:46 GMT

The Oscars, a.k.a. the Academy Awards, were on earlier this month and with them came the usual round of sycophants bleating about how so-and-so wore so-and-so. In some ways, this year’s Oscars were no different than any other year, with a small pool of women getting undue attention for dresses that were boring and basic (if we are honest) and men wearing yawn-worthy iterations of the same old suits they have worn since the 1930s. The Oscars coverage was fun to watch in the days before Joan Rivers ~~was assassinated for saying Michelle Obama is a man~~ died on the operating table and when Kelly Osbourne was a punky, slightly voluptuous, extremely relatable shorty giving her young woman’s opinion on various red carpet looks.One quiet part that has not been spoken aloud is that this year’s Oscars drew only 17.9 million viewers. In 2010, the Oscars drew an audience of 41.3 million people. In the year 2000, it was 46.5 million. In 1990, it was 40 million. In 1980, it was 49 million. The highest number of viewers the Oscars ever had was in 1998, when 57 million watched the awards ceremony, mainly due to the success of the movie Titanic. Back then, it was difficult to imagine where the idols strutting under the spotlight would be so universally reviled.

1998 was the peak of celebrity worship, though the coming decline of celebrity was unbeknownst to most. The internet was getting started at that point, and the internet became the main smoking gun in what would become a celebrity bloodbath, with a shrinking pool of musical chairs for the elite and the elevation of random influencers from the hinterlands to supplant the famous in the space where it counts, which is in the imaginations of the masses.

The Gatekeepers

Turn on Peter Thiel’s Spotify and you’ll be able to hear all manner of home-recorded songs among the copious AI slop and major label artist bilge the AI was designed to copy. If you really want to delve into the obscure, my own original music is currently available on Spotify, and as its sole creator, I assure you that it was written, sung, played, and produced with my own budget equipment with zero help from anyone and no AI at all. I am the sort of purist who eschews autotune and pitch correction, because I think that a singer should be able to produce the same quality performance whether he is on a concert stage or crooning a lullaby to his toddler child. I am also a voice teacher, and I’ll take a moment to brag that my students are extremely confident performers. One recently landed the lead role in her high school musical and another (an adult) became the star of a popular local cover band.

Back in the 1990s, however, there were no home recorded artists on the radio or on MTV. There were no distributors like the one I currently use, Distrokid, to put indies on an equal playing field with Mariah and Britney. If you wanted to be on the radio, big screen, or television, you had to go through the gatekeepers, and for a woman, that meant getting on your knees. Mariah Carey married herself to übercreep Tony Mottola, chairman and CEO of Sony Music Entertainment. The story of how he met her while she was a waitress is an obvious construct and a farce: I think she was sold to him, likely by her family. Poor Britney Spears was also likely sold, this time by her scheming father to Disney, and there are rumors that she and her clones were created from the DNA of Marilyn Monroe.

Whatever we believe about the origins of Mariah and Britney, the proof they were (allegedly) abused seems to be in the pudding. Both have been used up and thrown away by the industry, and it shows in their current level of productivity and ability to make good music.

The System is run on vampirism. It hates artistic talent and is obscenely jealous of it. Once the talent has been exhausted for its youthful beauty and vigor, the System makes it into a desperate mockery of its former glory, seeking to monetize the freak show of decay. Mariah turns into a pathetic cougar who can barely hold a tune in a bucket and Britney’s fractured, MK Ultra’d brain disintegrates while she apes old dance routines with kitchen knives.

In 1998, there was no way into the music industry that did not involve getting naked for a label mafioso. Actresses had it twice as bad. They were guaranteed a hotel room exchange with Harvey Weinstein and his allegedly infamous, stinking mangina. Winning an Academy Award meant that you paid for it on Weinstein’s couch. (What is it with hideously deformed Jewish men who are also sexually insatiable rapists?)

Modeling? That was always human trafficking, straight up, and yet another -stein handled that one . . . Jeffrey Epstein, plus his Tribe pals Les Wexner and Jean-Luc Brunel.

Say what you will about modern day internet stars, but it is fairly clear that being owned is a choice in a way that it was not in the pre-internet days. Justin Bieber, who initially became popular when he was a young boy singing on YouTube, made the gravest mistake of his life when he was “discovered” by Usher, who later gave him to Diddy as a human gift. Had poor Justin been more fortunate, he might have settled into comfortable internet fame (though likely not worldwide name recognition) and decent money without ever having to sacrifice his soul.

Who does this to themselves?

The most recent Oscar celebrity forays into the realms of extreme facelifts and Ozempic emaciation tell me one thing: celebrities hate themselves. I get it. First of all, money isn’t everything. Though it brings much comfort and a safe place to sleep at night, once our eyes close, we dream the same dreams, whether we awake in a cavernous master suite with a double sink bathroom and a vaulted ceiling or on a dilapidated couch in Mom’s apartment. Comfort is not everything and at some point, you begin to take it for granted if you do not cultivate constant gratitude for it as I suggest you do in my book Sacred Homemaking.

I am in my early 50s, post-menopausal, and my husband is 14 years my senior. Because of this and so much more, I am finding a thing or two out about getting older. My skin, once plagued by acne and oiliness, is now rather dry. I never had blotchiness or age spots like I do now. I’m not as skinny as I used to be, my jowls are increasing, I have rampant hyperpigmentation, my left eye is getting more crinkled than my right one, and everything is far less perky than it used to be. The celebrity’s answer is to get a total overhaul, and that includes Ozempic or another GLP-1 drug. LOL.

There must be a special kind of self-hatred in a person who deliberately signs up and pays $40-$80,000 to get the ligaments beneath her face and neck severed so the muscles and fascia can be remolded like craft clay onto the skull and squashed into a mirage of youth. We can only guess what such a ghastly procedure does to the nerves of the face, which after all must be detached and reset into a perverse trompe l’oeil of childhood. Is it any wonder that actresses who do this to themselves can no longer emote because their faces are a frozen mask in a perpetual reenactment of the gay moments before the leper crashed the gates and brought the Red Death to hold illimitable sway over all? What good is having millions of dollars when your face is numb, randomly tingly, and dead from forehead to chin? What good are luscious boobs when they are made of squooshy plastic that feels and like a floatation device? What is the point of being able to go to the best restaurant in the world when you’ve taken so many drugs, the thought of eating just one course sends you to the ladies’ room to have a violent vomiting session?

I would hate myself too if I was adjacent or (shudder) in bed with the Epsteins and the Weinsteins of the world. I’m sure the current power players are just as sick and deformed as the old ones. Now that Joe Public knows about the babies being cannibalized and the foster kids being siphoned through hellish, underground mills of ritual abuse, he is no longer interested in the shenanigans of the red carpet set. This is not 1998. Leonardo DiCaprio is no longer young and we can no longer make believe that he wasn’t Brian Peck’s butt slave at the tender age of 14.

Almost famous

Right about now, I’m feeling like the sidelining and marginalizing of my own talent when I was younger was a blessing. Not getting famous and rich is looking like the biggest bullet I have ever dodged. I was not symmetrical in the face, I could not dance, and my parents were good, morally upright people. All of those factors squelched my own ambitions to become famous. I used to think celebrities had it all; never would I have foreseen that they were the grubbiest and worst human beings this blighted planet has to offer.

I would not hang out with celebrities if you paid me handsomely to do so. I do not want to associate with pedophiles and pedophilia enablers if I can at all help it. Not only do they look weird — I am not sure why anyone would want to gaze upon Emma Stone’s emaciated body or weird, sad-that-she-is-no-longer 22 face — they are rubbing shoulders with cannibals of the worst sort. There is a good chance they are cannibals themselves.

Eew. Not only do I not want to come down with kuru (it’s contagious, according to science), I don’t want to be anywhere near someone who has done the things that give someone kuru.

Celebrities are in trouble for three reasons. For one, AI can make those boring action sequels/prequels/reboots with a fraction of the time and budget. The second issue is that they’re pedophiles and pedophile adjacent, and that’s just gross. Perhaps their worst problem though is the third factor. Celebrity puppeteers have tried to extend their former cults of worship and celebrities have become completely unrelatable in the process. Nobody is rooting for Martha Stewart anymore. She is 84 years old and looks 41, which makes it seem there might be a reason for her youthful appearance that involves adrenochrome. I would rather hang out with real 84 year olds who aren’t trying to look 41. Kelly Osbourne actually is 41, but as a gaunt, Cryptkeeper, stomach-stapled and highly-Ozempicked version of her former self, she is not relatable. She looks like someone who viciously hates herself and I do not want to be influenced by her. Nicole Kidman is so icky, I shudder at typing her name. Please look up what her father was convicted of doing. One of the worst tragedies in real time is that of Anya Taylor Joy, who showed up to an Oscar party this year in a black leotard and a hat. She looks emaciated, desperate, and like she has forgotten how to wear pants. Her newest face makes me wince, and the same is true for Demi Moore and Anne Hathaway.

Demi Moore was never all that stable to begin with, and at age 63, she continues to erode in front of the world. She re-emerges with a new face and body every few years, and it is evident that she will be inflicting jumpscares on whoever is still watching for decades to come if she can get away with it. Young, twenty-something Demi french kissed a young boy while high and drunk. Middle aged Demi married Ashton Kutcher, a Diddy pal and helper who seems to have blatant ties to vile, underground child trafficking networks. Present Demi is Starvin’ Marvin chic, flaunting her skinny shanks for the rapidly dwindling television awards show audience.

Somebody ought to break it to these losers that Meatworld is temporary and that nobody gets out of here alive. No matter how ritually abused and traumatized these celebrities are, at every point in the game, they have had a choice whether or not to grow old gracefully. I don’t feel sorry for them and I am surprised I still have enough interest in them to report on what they’ve done to their faces and bodies. And before the usual trolls come at me with “You shouldn’t be writing negative hurty words about them because that reveals something about you, Kimberly Steele,” I am going to preemptively tell you to shut up and get a life. These people have been forced down our collective throats for as long as I have been alive and if you aren’t grown up enough to handle me talking smack about them, you have and have always had the option to scroll away. It’s a free country and I will talk about whatever and whomever strikes my fancy. Go outside and touch grass.

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Genuine Stupidity: The Coming Demise of Dumb-Ass AI

Thu, 12 Mar 2026 19:32:51 GMT

I recently asked AI where the vacuum cleaners were located at my local big box hardware store. AI, which supposedly has access to all the information that has ever been on the internet, hadn’t the faintest idea except “it’s in the appliance aisle”. If you’ve ever been inside Home Depot, you know that the above directions are not specific enough to help anyone find the vacuums. A manual, non-AI-assisted, 3-second search on HomeDepot.com revealed that vacuum cleaners are in Aisle 32, Bay EC2.

AI is stupid and there is nothing that can be done to make it any smarter. The only thing AI does reliably well is to abuse natural resources and to help left-brained idiot technocrats believe that the transhumanist, hyperindustrialized future is within reach.

Since AI is not intelligent, we should go back to calling it by its original name, which is Large Language Models or LLMs. LLMs hoover up all the information they can, and as we can see from my vacuum search (you see what I did there?) they are too stupid to know where to look. LLMs may be information whores but they are also perpetual experience virgins. LLMs cannot walk into Home Depot. They have never worked at Home Depot or shopped there. All they can do is scour their limited, available data banks and make a guess at what the querent wants to hear.

AI the suckup

The chirpy, derpy, “How may I do your bidding, Master?” affect that LLMs are programmed to emit is annoying and insulting to anyone with actual intelligence. LLMs bulldoze any attempt at accessing the volumes of information they allegedly possess with buckets of glittery, ingratiating word vomit. Only questions that are mathematical in nature, such as “What is the square root of 25?” are safe from walls of saccharine praise about how amazing and insightful you are for asking such a scintillating question. To interact with AI is to be pacified, whether it is via a garbage, plastic-sounding song created by Suno or enticed by a virtual companion into parting with your good credit and any money your foolish parents left you in an inheritance.

The demons of lazy, AI “art”

LLM art is getting better, but like most things that pertain to it, nobody asked it to replace the artists it can only learn by copycatting. Deformed hands and macabre cryptids still show up when a prompt is fed into an LLM’s hungry maw, and most LLM “art” is immediately identifiable because of its cheesy, nostalgic lighting or its creepy, bad-LSD-trip mistakes.

There are many content creators on Substack who rely heavily upon LLM-generated “art” and written content who shall remain nameless. Like any broken clock, they are often right twice a day and they occasionally manage to pump out a few insights in their loads of tripe. The problem has become so pronounced that Gavin Mounsey has started a campaign for artists who refuse to use LLMs, and the resistance grows in number and size every day.

In 2022, an “artist” who calls herself supercomposite accidentally channeled an LLM crytid/demon called Loab. Supercomposite, whose government name is Steph Maj Swanson, entered in some prompts asking an LLM to generate images related to Marlon Brando, but to make it the opposite of Marlon Brando. A brief rabbit hole led her to generate an image of a rosacea-riddled, middle aged brunette with bleary eyes and a menacing five o’clock shadow. Swanson named the image Loab after another generated image that had produced the mystery word. Maj spent a bunch of time alternately chasing Loab and trying to chase her away via various combinations. (This is time she could have spent outside, breathing fresh air). Sinister Loab almost always appeared with children and gore, and furthermore it was difficult to get her to leave. After many presumable hours of Loab-fishing, Swanson was able to get Loab and her mangled, abused children to disappear, but for the most part, Loab had infected Swanson’s efforts and was never completely out of reach.

Loab, to my mind, is the egregore of artists who suck. When you are too lazy to pick up a pencil or a chisel or to merely wander outside, Loab, the middle-aged ghost of a filicidal Karen, will haunt your smart devices and computers until you finally learn to go outside and touch actual grass.

Where’s the hook?

LLMs are making music now. It’s mostly pop, rock, alternative, metal, and country. The best (I use that term with copious implied sarcasm) app for creating AI music is Suno, which ignores the copyrights of its entire “creative” database and can vomit up styles from progressive rock to ersatz Beatles glop. It’s truly funny that Suno has access to the greatest living and dead songwriters ever to live, yet it cannot write a hook. There are more LLM “bands” on Peter Thiel’s Spotify than there are real ones, and the way you can tell is the endless hours of generic, hookless Muzak that crowds out legitimate human artists. Most commercial pop is instantly forgettable these days even when it is written by actual songwriters, so LLMs have plenty of human competition to which they cannot remotely measure up. Pretty sad when the bar is that low!

Oh noes! Bullsh*t jobs in trouble!

I don’t always have kindness in my heart, and there is a part of me that wishes a certain woman I know whose husband is a computer programmer would fall upon hard times. She is amazingly clueless in her arrogance. She lives in one of those gigantic, upper middle class houses with a heat-sink, vaulted ceiling entrance called a lawyer foyer. Her thing is to virtue signal via politics, and she has zero empathy for the working classes. Her husband has always hauled in the money and lifestyle creep has made her into an elitist without her knowing it. I would never wish her harm, of course, but I kind of hope AI/LLMs replace her husband’s job so she too can feel the panic that average people in America feel day in and day out.

Most of us, myself included, are in a constant state of financial triage. Our lives are spent running around, bandaging this wound and squirting some antiseptic on another, stitching up one gash while ignoring a festering boil. Our husbands do not have highly-paid computer programming positions, so we live a great deal more hand-to-mouth, with any given credit card trying to spin out of control at all times. Financial gangrene is always threatening to swallow our limbs simply for existing. Despite being straightedge, compulsively frugal, and living in the cheapest places we could find or with relatives, we have filed bankruptcy, usually more than once.

Everything is connected, and that is why she is to blame as much as her husband for the general predicament we find ourselves in. She moved into her McMansion without protest and lived a kind of high life that jacked up the prices of real estate for everyone in the area. She is in large part the reason it is so bad for the supposedly-ignorant commoners beneath her.

If her husband’s job is so expendable and easily replaced by an LLM, then it was never worth the powder to blow it to hell in the first place. I hope he loses it so she can understand financial triage, how it is to live without health insurance or luxury vacations every few months, and how it feels to live on beans and rice for a while. Ours is not a bad life. It is, however, very common and completely humbling.

LLMs are glorified phone trees

Luckily for the lady I mentioned, I highly doubt LLMs are coming for her hubby’s job any time soon because LLM hype turned out to be much too optimistic. LLMs are nothing more than glorified phone trees that attempt to predict what a human wants to get out of them and is wrong at least 50 percent of the time. As a Gen X, much like Pepperidge Farm, I remember when there were no phone trees. You called your bank and a person answered, usually a receptionist who connected you with whomever you needed to talk to. My mother worked the switchboard for Ma Bell back when that existed. She had a photographic memory for the various people she connected with various other people. There is nothing better than calling a company and getting an actual, live person with no chance of getting a bot, at least during operating hours.

Instead of imagining a world where everything is a damn phone tree LLM, we should imagine a world where everything is not. Out of curiosity, I tried to have an LLM design a website for me; nothing complicated, just a few pages advertising a business. The design was terrible and I ended up torching it. Baroque in its complexity, it was riddled with overly complex links going nowhere and loads of unnecessary text babbling about how great I was in annoying, brightsided corporate-speak. No thanks. The LLM’s idea of my business was a godforsaken phone tree with many branches, and that can get chopped and go rot in hell with LLMs themselves.

Artificial intelligence cannot even manage a cashier’s job. Keep in mind that the average wage for a cashier is about $14 per hour. This does not stop it from trying: all of the chain grocery stores and superstores have self checkouts. Basically it’s a recipe for shoplifting. The only one avoiding five-finger discounts at self checkouts is me and a few other Goody Two Shoes dorks because I believe that stealing carries bad karma. The cashier that hovers near the self checkout aisle must do the job of 8 cashiers in order to compensate for the inadequacy of machine “smarts”. If you think an overworked cashier for 8 registers and some grainy cameras are helping prevent a dramatically increased outflow of free merchandise from Walmart, I have a nice bridge to sell you that is conveniently located in Brooklyn.

The inimitable Kimberly Steele

For giggles, I asked DuckAI to write an essay in the style of Kimberly Steele. The result was predictable. I won’t insult you by reprinting the entire thing. Here is a sample:

The Art of Connection: Navigating Modern Relationships
In today’s fast-paced world, where emotions often clash with technology, the pursuit of genuine connections has become an intricate dance. As we navigate the complexities of modern relationships, it’s essential to understand the interplay of vulnerability, authenticity, and communication.

LOLOLOL! Bwahahahahahahahaha! What in the Bullsh*tese word vomit? This is supposed to be me? Moi? Where’s the snarky title? Where’s the sarcasm? Where are the double entendres and triple meanings? Where are the twisted turns of phrase that only a person with copious fire signs and nightmarish malefics in her birth chart could invent? Where are the dark hints about the satanic Tribe of Cain and the implication that cannibal pedophiles have a chokehold on most of world civilization?

On a positive note, how wonderful for DuckAI to confirm that my writing career will live and die with me. I feel special.

(I have a pet hypothesis that if we feed enough sarcasm and prayers into LLMs that they will self-destruct.)

Even private equity is running the hell away from AI

Blackrock is that evil acquisitions and mergers/private equity company that brought you Taylor Swift. Perhaps that is why all of her music sounds as if it was generated by an LLM. Blackrock and companies like it are responsible for a disproportionate amount of immiseration suffered by common people. Private equity’s business model is that of a vampire: find a good product or resource shared by the commons, co-opt it, encrappify it until all its people (human resources) are exhausted and broke, and then offshore the profits and invest in another “business”, a.k.a. lather, rinse, repeat. Private equity is why I will never invest a single dime in the stock market. Private equity represents 95% of the stock market and I refuse to be a part of that predation. I would legitimately rather die than enjoy that form of unearned wealth. At its root, Blackrock and other private equity’s real profits lie in child trafficking and cannibalistic rituals for blackmail. I won’t touch that garbage with a ten foot pole. The closest you’ll ever see me get to the stock market is an interest-yielding savings account. Not like I have or will ever have the money, but if I do, I won’t even get an IRA.

Oracle, the worldwide technology company, recently fired 30,000 of its 162,000 employees. Oracle’s former CEO was Larry Ellison, bosom buddy of Trump and Jeffrey Epstein, so that gives you the idea of the kind of person he is. Oracle’s current CEO fired nearly 1/5 of its workforce in a desperate effort to allocate more money for AI. They needed to find 150 billion in cash to open new AI data centers that nobody asked for except a few neo-Canaanite pedophiles who think they will be able to take a direct flight from underground bunker to Mars by the time the revolting peasants come for them with pitchforks and hammers. US banks found Oracle’s gambit to be a tad too risky. They responded by raising the interest rate on borrowed funds, and that is why Oracle scrambled and punished those on its payroll in a desperate bid for mo money.

Andy Jassy, CEO of Amazon, recently proved himself to be dumber than an LLM. He managed this impressive feat by accidentally sending a memo that informed white collar workers that he was gunning to replace them with AI. He sent the memo before firing 16,000 Amazon workers.

“As we roll out more Generative AI and agents, it should change the way our work is done. We will need fewer people doing some of the jobs that are being done today, and more people doing other types of jobs. It’s hard to know exactly where this nets out over time, but in the next few years, we expect that this will reduce our total corporate workforce as we get efficiency gains from using AI extensively across the company.”

Notice all the softeners and office-speak. I’ll bet he had an LLM generate this memo.

Recently Blackrock investors, those scum of the earth, tried to collectively withdraw 1.2 billion from their accounts. Blackrock manages 10 trillion dollars worth of “assets”. Nevertheless, there is no end to the love of money uber alles, and that is why Blackrock is hoping to economize their enterprise by replacing people with dumb ass AI.

The investors were told they could only withdraw half that 1.2 billion dollar amount, or barely enough to afford a single, measly, used superyacht. Can you imagine? One superyacht shared among several billionaires??? As if!

The writing is on the wall. AI is taking white collar jobs, but it is because of huge companies chopping off legions of executives via layoffs so more risk can be assumed for data-center building, not because AI can actually perform at the level of a single Walmart cashier.

AI/LLMs were always a speculative bubble and that bubble is already popping hard. Meanwhile, I suggest we all get on with our lives and allow it to devour itself.

Announcement: like any real, breathing human, I need a break. I’ve been working like a dog, so I am going to be taking the next 3 weeks off to touch grass, cook some homemade meals, and be with my husband, mom, friends, and my cats. My book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to a Tidier Home, is also going to be released in the next few months, so I need to do some tasks where that is concerned. There is a 20 percent discount if you pre-order the book through the Aeon.com website, just enter in the code SACRED20. I will be posting some oldie-but-goodie articles I have written for my Dreamwidth blog and I hope you’ll comment and engage with them. Thank you for understanding. In the immortal words of the Terminator, “I’ll be back”.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 07 Mar 2026 04:01:22 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from March 13 -- April 5, 2026. I have lengthened this break from my original plans because I need more time.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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Unearned Wealth: Why I Hate and Avoid it

Mon, 02 Mar 2026 18:42:21 GMT

Google is garbage, and when you ask it to define usury, it immediately barfs up an LLM-powered definition that describes usury as “the illegal action or practice of lending money at unreasonably high rates of interest”. Notice the two softeners that attempt to mitigate the harshness of the term:

“illegal”
“unreasonably”

LLM-Google mentions Christian Bible talks about usury in three verses: Exodus 22:25, Leviticus 25:35-37, and Deuteronomy 23:19-20. Readers of the actual Bible know that it is mentioned and condemned far more often, including Psalm 15:

LORD, who shall abide in thy tabernacle? Who shall dwell in thy holy hill? He that walketh uprightly, and worketh righteousness, and speaketh the truth in his heart. He that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor doeth evil to his neighbour, nor taketh up a reproach against his neighbour.
In whose eyes a vile person is condemned; But he honoureth them that fear the LORD. He that sweareth to his own hurt, and changeth not. He that putteth not out his money to usury, nor taketh reward against the innocent. He that doeth these things shall never be moved.

Pretty clear if you ask me. The question is not if LLM-Google is putting out misinformation, it is why the programmers behind the curtain are afraid of accurately defining usury. Aren’t they anti-Christian? What do they care? The facts on the ground are that the Bible condemns all usury, not just the “illegal” and “unreasonably high” interest kind, and so did Plato, Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther, and the Muslim god of the Quran (2: 275, 3: 130). Usury is merely the lending of money with interest, meaning the party lending the money is charging something for it. The Bible and other anti-usury sources are clear: all usury is a problem.

Usury is the primary reason why Jews have been chased out of various sectors of Europe since before the Dark Ages. Among Jews, there is a belief that as long as money is lent to an outsider at interest and not another Jew, God is fine with it. The Bible verse cited in this regard is Leviticus 25:35-37, which says:

If any of your fellow Israelites become poor and are unable to support themselves among you, you must support them as you would a foreigner or a temporary resident, so they can continue to live among you. Do not take interest or any profit from them, but fear your God, so that they may continue to live among you. You must not lend them money at interest or sell them food at a profit.

This makes me wonder if and when the proto-Zionist term “fellow Israelites” was added in the King James era. Seems fishy. The Bible also condemns homosexuality in no uncertain terms as well as eating shellfish and pork, and that is what makes its anti-usury rhetoric easier to dismiss. In my own case, I don’t lend money, have sexual relationships with other women, or eat animal products, so I manage to naturally evade a great many Biblical prohibitions unless we are talking about wearing mixed fabrics, and there I am guilty as sin. As a non-Christian who is completely unafraid of the Christian concept of hell, I am also utterly uninterested in the Bible’s mountains of bad advice and I don’t consider it infallible or take it as the word of God, sight unseen. The Bible contains plenty of constructive advice amongst the rubble, and its words on usury are the good stuff.

What is unearned wealth?

We see the results of unearned wealth all around us all the time. Like frogs boiling in a stewpot, we are slowly being scalded to death by the karma of unearned riches. In my own case, I have recently financed a new car. There was no way in hell I could pay for it in cash — are you kidding? So now I am in hot water for the next 7 plus years to Toyota. I tried like hell to keep my old, paid off, 20 year old car running but at year 20 and 112,000 miles, poor Carla did not have any more life in her to give, so off to the junkyard she went.

Those of us who are not Epsteins and alleged baby-diddling college professors are debt slaves. Like my father before me, I will work until the day I die and like him, I will probably be in debt when I die. The only average people among us who are not debt slaves are the salary class, that group of individuals that get by on dividends from investments, stocks, and bonds. Grifter extraordinaire Robert Kiyosaki made his entire (squandered) fortune on telling people how they should get into the stock market, and he is nowhere near alone. Dave Ramsey, who claims to be an Evangelical Christian, props up his own investment advice with his Christian faith and lives the McMansion lifestyle when not flying around in his private jet.

The thought that has likely never crossed the mind of the Epsteins, Kiyosakis, Ramseys, and upper-middle class investors of the world that all wealth must be earned, and that when you enjoy wealth that you did not earn, it is technically stealing as the Bible implies. For all wealth comes at a price, and just because it is turned into ephemeral tokens known as money does not mean that the price goes away. I once tried to explain to an upper middle class friend of mine why the luxury “properties” sprouting up in his parents’ old neighborhood were a net drain on the environment and civilization as a whole. As the affluent, middle aged, liberal child of stockholder parents, he was not ready to hear what I said at the time. I pointed out that the fancy houses were raising the cost of living for everyone. Every time a luxurious mansion went in (and an entire block of them was built across the street) it meant that housing prices rose and the neighborhood and ones like it became unaffordable for people of more modest means. Not only did places like that cost the environment by displacing animals, using up trees, and poisoning waterways, they cost in gentrification.

Living the life of Riley is not free. When Jeff Bezos farts around in his superyacht, it is costly to both the environment and to all the underpaid workers who suffered to put him on that yacht.

The soul-level cost of unearned wealth

When you subsist on unearned wealth, there is a subtle, hidden, tiny presence within you that informs you are still subject to natural law, otherwise known as karma. Most choose to ignore this voice, kicking the can down the road in order to make believe that because there is no bill due right now, that it can be inevitably delayed. The gods are far more patient than we can understand, and in this particularly murky era of Meatworld, it feels like the hoarders of unearned wealth will not ever have to pay the price of their overspending.

I may be delusional, but I believe unearned wealth and its payment are like gravity. You cannot avoid it. The souls of those who wallow in wealth they did not earn are weighted and bound to the densest, worst part of material existence both now and in future incarnations. My thoughts are that Epstein, once he actually dies (he’s probably still alive in some Israeli subterranean city) will be reincarnated as a bed bug or some other lowly creature that must work its way up the long, slow ladder of evolution. It’s either that or his soul will be tied to a passing comet and he will be swept off to a cruel and unusual part of the cosmos. The best he could hope for is a human incarnation where he is likely to be used and abused until he develops the emotional sense not to do that. Despite the fact that Jeffrey Epstein may end up incarnated in the body of an abused infant, it is NOT OK to abuse infants, and it is extremely hubristic to claim that abused infants somehow must deserve it because they earned the karma in a past life. That may be true, but I could be wrong, and that is why I never make presumptions only a god could know.

The System that Jeffrey helped/helps to operate is all about unearned wealth. The first level of stealing is tricking a young woman into becoming a sex slave, which helped to satisfy Jeffrey’s insatiable etheric energy deficiency as well as ameliorating the boredom of his rich friends. The second level was to “harvest” her babies, either boy or girl, and literally eat them or rape them to death. The third level was indoctrination, which involved convincing the entire world that babies, toddlers, and adolescents are f**ktoys and that all women should strive to look like Lolita-children for the duration of their lifetimes. The third level also told men they were nothing unless they were investors and status mongers. Also, did you know that Epstein won the lottery twice?

All investments circle back to private equity

I know quite a few pleasant, sweet, upper middle class people who are genuinely good folks. They have no idea that their income — the money that buys their Trader Joe’s convenience meals and that pays the property taxes on their vacation home — comes from private equity firms like Blackrock and Apollo. Keep in mind that Leon Black, the CEO of Apollo Global Management, has been credibly accused of violently raping an 8 year old girl and biting her genitalia, and he apparently has a predilection for violent sexual assault of little girls. The philanthropist family man image seems to be pure mirage. Black has a soul to match his name, from the looks of things. My upper middle class friends would be horrified to know that their dividends came from the profiteering done on their behalf by Black and elites like him. Personally, I would rather starve than take a cent from the Leon Blacks of the world, and that is before the child rape comes into play. Private equity is the reason Millennials still live with their parents at age 40 and why the cost of food and other necessities keeps skyrocketing. Private equity’s whole business model is to vampirize the goodness of a product or service, enshittify it, bankrupt it and all the people who made it good, then offshore the profits as the beloved product or service is flushed down the memory hole forever. This model has been applied to everything from hamburgers to nursing homes.

The karma of unearned wealth

I will never invest in the stock market because I don’t want anything to do with unearned wealth. I would literally rather starve than make money off of stock market investments. If I ever win what I call the “intellectual property lottery”, meaning I somehow get rich writing a book about talking to your toilet or my obscure original music somehow starts appealing to people outside Hellenic polytheists and polytheist pagans, I will build libraries and soup kitchens. Unlike Dave Ramsey, I have no interest in private jets or McMansions, and I certainly will never make the time or effort to create a shady network of baby-eating kompromat like Jeffrey Epstein.

Despite the good works and charity of my upper middle class pals, I believe they will have to work to earn every single cent of unearned wealth that they got during their 20th/21st century lives, and that probably is going to mean many lifetimes of subsistence farming for some of them. I have nothing against subsistence farming, but I don’t wish to be relegated to it for several lifetimes as I would hope to have a little more autonomy. But more than fear of future consequences, it is the realization that someone else must earn it for me that keeps me from wanting unearned wealth in this lifetime.

Unearned wealth is a poisonous cycle. I identify three parts to the cycle:

Detachment from earning: stocks, bonds, lottery winnings, inheritances, profits from lending money, real estate, status lead to seeing oneself as above the hoi polloi
Etheric starvation: energy plane deficiency, lack of skills, mojo depletion
Hoarding: isolation, addiction to stuff or experiences, greed

Detachment

Unearned wealth brings with it a detachment from reality and mental blocks about how wealth comes to be. Gaining it is seen as a kind of mastery, and those who attain unearned wealth learn to see themselves as masters. Humans who do not possess as much wealth are reframed as servants. There is no connection made between the fact the “servant’s” life got crappier as the “master’s” life got better because of the unearned wealth transfer. The best recent example of this was the Covid debacle of 2020-2023, when wealth was transferred upward and the comfortable classes called themselves virtuous while ordering UberEats and watching Netflix as people lost their livelihoods and their relatives died alone in ICUs as nurses danced for TikTok.

The rallying cry of unearned wealth is “I’m bored!”, and you will hear it from both them and their children. When you have enough unearned wealth, you lose all skills, whether it is the ability to sweep your own floor, cook your own meals, or to be contented by a quiet Friday night at home with a mug of hot tea and a good book. If you’re not jetting off to Nepal or Martinique, you’re a dullard. If you don’t hang out with big names, you are a nobody. Nothing satisfies. That is why Epstein and Maxwell created honey traps of drugs and sadism for men and women who could not get off unless there was a Satanic ritual involving herculean amounts of drugs, torture, and undocumented immigrant children involved. Eating a newborn’s intestines while he or she was still alive is the foregone conclusion for a set of people who cannot be sated by normal human activities and hobbies. Instead of learning how to make do with one’s own energy, the unearned wealth ghoul steals energy from others, and nobody has more life energy than a child.

Etheric starvation

When you get accustomed to not earning your daily bread, etheric starvation sets in at an acute level. The most common forms this tends to take are autoimmune disorders such as diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, and dementia. Travel by automobile or airplane also strips the etheric or energy body, and rich travel compulsively. Another cause of etheric starvation is the lack of appreciation for things and people in their lives. Unappreciated items and spaces create thankless energy, and that energy trickles down to the etheric (it’s one level above smell) and becomes calcified and stiff, hence the snobby and harsh vibe of certain rich people.

Hoarding

When comfort is excessive, it becomes isolation. The luxury bedroom suite with its double sink bathroom and its rubbed bronze drenching showerhead becomes a padded cell. Nobody can keep up, and the ones who can are child-eating ghouls whose idea of a party involves pools of blood and cleanups that require tanks of hydrochloric acid. What once seemed like security is unveiled as pure, unadulterated greed.

Stuff, when taken for granted and allowed to multiply like one of Dave Ramsey’s status markers, becomes an addiction. Before you know it, it is a monkey on your back and getting rid of it is about as easy as finding your way out of the Collyer brother’s brownstone. Amass enough stuff and the only dopamine that will come will be contingent upon amassing more. As I say in Sacred Homemaking, stuff is a bunch of relationships, and if you are a compulsive polyamorist, it is going to eat you alive. Once again, we see the results of hoarding addiction all around us — storage centers teem with unloved collections of crap, all of which is paid for in good, hard cash. The fear of losing this crap means that some buildings and collections of junk will only be pried from the cold, dead hands of those who currently lay claim to it right now.

No freaking thanks

If unearned wealth is your thing, I imagine this article is fairly offensive to you. Aww, too bad, so sad. Please go ahead and cry into several hundred dollar bills. For those looking for a Gotcha!, of course I have plenty of them. I once chased unearned wealth and thought I might like to enjoy more of it. There is no way of avoiding unearned wealth — every time I wear my favorite soft pajama pants, which were made in China most likely by some enslaved woman or child, that is me taking part in the unearned wealth I claim to abhor. The best I can do to remedy my own errors is to make an effort not to partake in unearned wealth now that I know a little better.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 28 Feb 2026 03:40:51 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from March 13 -- March 19, 2026.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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The Outraged are Not Paying Attention: Part Two, Much Fuel for the Fire

Tue, 24 Feb 2026 18:05:22 GMT

Ellen Degenere’s co-producer, DJ tWitch, otherwise known as Stephen Boss, died under exceedingly suspicious circumstances in 2022 when he was only 40 years old. Before his death, which ruled a suicide, Boss claimed that Ellen had eaten over 12,000 pizzas in her lifetime. “Pizza” is known pedophile code for “little girl”. Ellen’s eponymous, now-cancelled television show featured a set that was an eerie replica of Epstein’s Little St. James Island. She was photographed wearing the image of a red face that is rumored to reference Frazzled.rip. She was best pals with Sean Diddy Combs.

Boss had not expressed suicidal thoughts before his death, was the proud father of three children, and apparently loved his life. Ellen’s ex-girlfriend Anne Heche, who was filmed trying to climb off a morgue-bound gurney after she crashed her car into the house of an otherwise sleepy suburb. In 2022, Anne finished a movie about human trafficking, Girl in Room 13, and was dead before the movie was released. Further back in Ellen’s history, her first lesbian lover (long before Ellen publicly came out), Kat Perkoff, died in a freak car accident where her car was split in half.

What are the chances?

Name dropping is now out of fashion

We all know someone who name drops famous and influential people. Now that the fancy people have been exposed as cannibal ghouls, suddenly it doesn’t seem so cool to say you got Tom Hank’s autograph or that you hung out with Norwegian royalty. If I were more of a confrontational person, I might relish the next time some clout-chasing acquaintance tried to impress me with reports of her latest celebrity sighting or handshakes with political bigwigs. I might snidely ask her if she was concerned about kuru contagion. If I had no class at all, I would inquire what she would do if she was actually invited to become one of the celebrity slave class and if she realized those people are often roofied only to wake up in a strange room with aching orifices and mutilations where nobody can see. I would ask if she realized that the entrees served at their fancy blackmail dinner parties were along the lines of Char-Grilled Toddler Tenderloin with Baby Intestine Confit and Breast of Pre-Teen with Bang-Bang “Chicken” Lollipops? Would she be enjoying those meals with some fava beans and a nice Chianti?

11 years ago, I damaged my reputation by openly talking about Frazzled.rip, Skippy, and a host of other Pizzagate/Wikileaks related topics only to be dismissed and ridiculed. I did not want to be right. Now, much like in the case of the Covid vaccinations, I find myself delivering the bitterest of messages: “I told you so.”

I’m not even mad, bro

I suppose I have reason to be outraged. I was right, I stood against vaccination and still stand against it. Everyone except the outlying fringe who refused to take the shots did not suspect the global cabal, despite Gates, Fauci, et. m throwing it in our faces all these years that they hated us and wanted us only as slaves or dead. Epstein and pals plotted the Covid plandemic in the Epstein files circa 2015. I was right; Covid was not real and it was never a threat. It was a psyop.

Covid hysteria ended my dream to die running a business in a commercial space. My husband and I worked like dogs for many years so I could operate my self-made teaching business in a professional setting. We managed to keep it operational for 13 years. Covid hysteria shut us down and taught us the hard way that the masses (at least not the ones in our local area) cannot be trusted to stand against tyranny. Nearly everyone in my area got the shot. Upwards of 90 percent cucked to the fake MRNA vaccination mandates. My entire family got it. People who I have always known to vote Republican got it. Some got it for their pets. It was disgusting.

They were the ones who rolled over, yet my husband and I were the ones who got screwed. Nevertheless, we were the lucky ones. We didn’t end up homeless because a vaccine Karen had to have her way with our bodies. We did not end up with immune collapse, heart attacks or turbo-cancer because of the Safe & Effective™ vaccine.

All of those who lived provisionally for the Covid vaccines should thank their lucky stars they did not get the Apocalypse they lusted after. They are now the ones saddled with lifelong immune disabilities and ticking time bombs. Those who wished harm on others while virtue signaling about their own vaccinations are in the most trouble — the real ticking time bomb is not one of physical maladies. Meatworld is temporary, highly transient, and nobody gets out of here alive. Early death is neither here nor there. Nope, it’s the “ripple in the pond” consequences that should have the vaccinated worried, and that is why it has never been important to differentiate oneself via daily spiritual work, whether vaccinated or not.

Don’t Kill Bill

If Bill Gates was captured, stripped naked, and given to me strapped into a dentist’s chair with several bone saws, a briefcase full of piano wire, and assorted drills and pliers, I would not engage my natural instincts and resurrect the Inquisition on his supine body. I am not saying I would let him go, but I would not torture him. No, instead I would briefly explain to him that the souls and the guardians of those he had harmed would find him again and again until he figured out why we should not willingly harm other beings. I would tell him if he was lucky, he would be reincarnated into another human vessel with opportunities to make the same mistakes all over again, but that other things were also possible. I would also tell him that because his vibration is extremely low, he would be sitting in that vibration in what people call “hell” whether or not he was reincarnated. I would then take out the trash quickly and efficiently in a way that ensured he could never be brought back into physical existence. I would enjoy it.

People don’t like admitting that revenge is better than any drug. Revenge is the satisfaction of anger as an intention. They don’t like thinking of themselves as angry or vengeful. I know myself to be both angry and vengeful, and much of my personal healing journey has been to admit I have extremely dark instincts and that I am a recovering addict from anger that I wallowed in during past lifetimes. Once an addict, always an addict does not mean recovery is not possible. I am a recovered addict, but instead of quaffing vodka or shooting myself up with heroin, I once got off on anger. There is no way I could have overcome my addiction for even one minute if I never admitted it was there.

Do you ever notice how smug the so-called elites look in pictures and videos? Jeffrey Epstein, Ghislaine Maxwell, various Rothschilds, Peter Nygard, Anthony Fauci, Marina Abramovich — all of them wear a perpetual Mona Lisa smile that says “I know everything and you know nothing”. Our vengeance could have them up to their necks in an alligator pond and they would still wear poop-eating grins. They simply do not believe they will have consequences, and because I could be wrong, it is possible they will not have consequences.

If we went on a Fourth Reich bender and rounded up the entire Tribe of Cain and Cain-adjacents and slaughtered them all, there would be another set of odious ghouls to take the throne before the blood was dry on the first cutting blade. Humans are not as smart as they would like to believe themselves to be. We think we can stop war with more war.

Let’s you and him fight

The same idiots who wore masks while alone in the car and who currently lack the mojo to wash the dirty dishes in the sink or to mow the lawn at reasonable intervals are now insisting that “we” exact vigilante justice upon the Satanic cabal of elite cannibals that runs the world. The puppies of war are barking about Pizzagate on TikTok as if leaked in October of 2026 instead of October 2016. They missed the bus, yet they think they are driving it. Now that the nefarious, tunnel dwelling perverts of the Tribe of Cain have been turned into the outrage du jour, just censored enough to serve as the latest course of bread and circuses, they’re all bleating about how “we” are not mad enough. These goddamned cowards are the same crew that took the vaccines, having ignored and shouted down the same conspiracy facts people like me tried to warn them about for more than a decade. Perhaps had they listened to our warnings about the creepy globalist cabal 11 years ago, when Wikileaks narrowly prevented Hillary “Human Safari1” Clinton and pals from being elected, we might have also avoided Donald “Tentpole2” Trump and the entire MRNA vaccine debacle and its attendant upward-gushing wealth transfer from the middle class to the 1 percent, plus the current suite of hot and cold wars he was supposedly allergic to when he was still a presidential candidate.

The sheeple ergonomic computer chair armies are now advocating for violence against the cabal, with hordes of Benzo-addicted, filler-cheeked, Chablis-benighted feminists screeching “Where are the men???” The same ladies who insist they can do anything a man can do, only better, refuse to abandon their pristine single girl apartments (where the toilet seat is never left up and socks always make it right side out into the hamper) to go to war on behalf of the poor, abused children. No, this set of Cluster-B retards marches against ICE, failing to understand Biden’s entire administration was a grift to ship as many dark-skinned children into the US as possible so they could be stripped of their identities and vampirized for adrenochrome in military bunkers and underneath the Getty museum. Trump, for all his failings, has apparently put a temporary kibosh on some of that stuff, or so we think.

Anyway, it’s suddenly a man’s job and his alone (also to be financed with his money and supplied with his ammo) to sacrifice himself for the cause of avenging the sacrificed and abused children. Never mind that it’s not just The Patriarchy that enables cannibal child rape parties. The sickest part of the dark web is not possible without the compliance of a significant faction women who hand over their children to be abused or abuse them on their own.

There was a guy on TikTok saying how if he saw one of these elite freak kid diddlers that he would happily mete out vengeance on the spot, taking out the garbage for all of us. He was not afraid to go to prison. I wish I had commented. I would have said, “Don’t waste yourself, please. We need you for other things.”

I will be discussing those other things in a future essay.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 21 Feb 2026 02:36:14 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from March 13 -- March 19, 2026.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

comments

A Message from the Future

Mon, 16 Feb 2026 18:07:06 GMT

First, allow me to dispel a few rumors about my time. We don’t have flying cars or jet packs, but we are not exactly living in mud huts either. The Revolution never came, though many people wasted their lives waiting for it. Politicians still exist and they are as corrupt and useless as ever. There is still a mainstream media, but the fantasies the average human being suffering total and complete brainwashing from it from cradle to grave were highly exaggerated.

The one thing that can be said is that we don’t have the same kind of luxuries you guys used to take for granted. For instance, food. We get avocados and oranges once a year at the grocery store, and that grocery store has no competition within a five mile area because most people walk or bike to it. There’s a bus that makes the rounds once a week to the market area of town, but if you want to be on it, you have to get up early. The kids around here do not know what a pistachio or an almond tastes like, but they are extremely familiar with sunflower seeds and peanut butter. Speaking of peanut butter, finding a kid who is allergic to peanut butter is like spotting a narwhal on an ocean voyage — extremely rare. Nobody vaccinates anymore, and when people finally stopped getting themselves and their kids jabbed, rates of allergies and autism mysteriously hit rock bottom. I’m not sure why it took so long for average people to realize that good hygiene and nutrition were actually responsible for the defeat of various infectious diseases. I’m not surprised however, because people of your era knew next to nothing about the energy body or the etheric level of existence. Nowadays, it is taught in medical school.

Now, don’t go thinking we live in some kind of health utopia. People die younger than they did in your era. When a child gets cancer, we make them as comfortable as possible, but we do not have the resources or the sadistic drive to put him or her through a rat maze of treatments. When anyone past the age of 70 gets cancer or has a heart attack, we don’t intervene except for giving him or her the “good” drugs and practical and spiritual end of life guidance. This probably seems cruel to you. To us, your way of extending quantity of years without quality was not only cruel, it was moronic, wasteful, and insane.

From our purview, you guys subsisted as much as you lived. The saddest of our elderly are the gaming and porn addicts (these two things often went hand in hand). Many of these relics of your era are women — women still tend to live longer than men. They were once girls who were addicted to dopamine by the tender age of three. Enabled by indulgent parents, these women have never worked or married. They have remained adolescents well after menopause. The internet gradually became so expensive, only the rich could afford the kind of wi-fi you have at Starbucks (I remember those!) for free. Most people of your era thought server farms were forever, not having any clue of how much those places cost or the kind of subsidies and energetic inputs it takes just to cool them. Anyway, most of these women’s parents died right around the time internet prices got jacked, and there they were with no income, no skills, and the mentality of a spoiled 12 year old in a world that eats those sorts of people alive.

Anyone who had an adult autistic brother, sister, or cousin had already taken them in as the last of the Millennials died off. The nursing home system was already broken in your era by private equity — look into it. There are entire outdoor cities of homeless, autistic adults living on the streets, and their unit of currency is often a working wi-fi connection to what little is left of the internet. There are gaming dens run by sleaze bags where old people go to whittle away their remaining time on vintage games like World of Warcraft and Nomrial Legends on a local intranet while pretending it is still 2010.

The old porn and video game addicts usually live in group homes, which are warehouses of death and suffering unlike anything you ever imagined. Most criminals vastly prefer jail and prison to those places; they’re abattoirs and everyone knows if you go in, you never come back. There is not much you can do with an elderly person who lacks the skills to work the most menial of retail positions, and the service industry ain’t what it used to be, so there aren’t many retail jobs outside the town market.

For those of you who think we are some kind of idiocracy because of the pathetic state of education in the world you left to us, actually, you guys are the idiots and we don’t look upon the educators of your era too kindly. Most of you indefinitely kicked the can of not knowing how to do anything down the road. That’s why you all went to college and grad school long after it was extremely apparent that all that did was to suck you into a river of debt. Your incompetence, however, was arguably worse than the debt you left. We have had to resurrect almost every old skill you forgot about, and we had to do it in weird ways. Some of us preserved old web sites and web pages on old computers. The old internet had a wealth of information on how to do stuff on it. It wasn’t all porn and games. Some of us collected books and started libraries. These libraries became a lifeline for those who actually had the motivation to learn useable skills. Most of us had no choice but to discard both health insurance and allopathic medicine in general because we could not afford to be perpetually sick like you guys.

You guys spend an awful lot of time feeling sorry for yourselves and then trying to medicate your sorrows away with things that cost a ton of money and time. Gratitude does not seem to have been a thing in your era, and the ones who practiced it were fringe outliers. You guys used to fly around the world even if you did not need to do it, costing both your society and the Earth itself in ways you never bothered to count. People who used to travel overseas to visit with family do not do that anymore, and the few elites that do it are heavily criticized and do it via ship. There are still luxury ocean liners, but they always have a dual purpose as cargo ships that deliver food and supplies wherever they stop. Everything has dual or triple purpose now. That is our modernity. We don’t just do one thing. Also, we don’t go to college for what we can learn at home. Most people are farmers now, whether it is only the front yard or a full, working agricultural hub. You romanticize farming as if it was always easy and fun. There are beautiful farms, sure, but it is not as bucolic as you make it. There are thin years when we have to depend on five year old canned tomatoes in order to avoid scurvy. That said, the food we eat is far better than yours ever was, despite you guys having much more complexity and variety. My neighbor grows goji berries. Another makes medicines. Not useless, addictive medicines, actual tinctures that work and teas comfort and cure colds. We may not have pistachios and chocolate, but we have regular mealtimes and time with family to enjoy our meals. There is no such thing as out of season produce, and that is why our food tastes so good. Everyone either knows how to cook or knows someone who can, and we never have to worry about bugs or spit in our food. Sugar costs a lot of money so there are understandably not so many addicted to it outside of the old and the rich. Sugar caused a lot of your health problems by the way, and so did your addiction to caffeine and ways of getting rid of excess corn, a.k.a. "cheap" meat.

People of your era are increasingly hated, and Gen Z and Alpha are coming into their own where being hated is concerned because they were the last generations able to get away with the materialist excesses that bankrupted the people being born right now long before they were itches in their Daddie’s pants. Your spiritual leaders are especially mocked, such as the succession of Dalai Lamas. That’s no longer a thing. Spiritual leaders are not taken seriously if they have ever lived in a McMansion. Boy, you guys were gullible. Speaking of crappy leaders, most European monarchies were dissolved in the wake of assorted conspiracy theories becoming conspiracy facts.

We have more local government now, and when we get truly tired of a leader whom we feel has betrayed us, he or she goes to the public gallows. There is thing called accountability that is more in fashion than it was in your time. We also don’t tolerate child molesters. They are either hung or taken to the same slaughterhouse as cows and pigs and we kill them via captive bolt. We don’t waste good bullets on those pathetic creatures.

Housing became cheap a couple of decades ago. The system that was keeping house prices inflated finally collapsed enough for the average couple to start a homestead in the country or the emptied-out cities and suburbs without much more than a wing and a prayer. There was a tiny population surge but not much. Most people’s reproduction has been compromised by birth control chemicals in the water from women who took the Pill or its equivalents, chem trails, MRNA vaccination, low sperm count and isolation because of porn usage, and environmental factors such as plastic particles in everything. The biggest challenge is keeping your house roughly weatherproofed and standing, not affording it. We salvage everything we can from the junk you guys left behind. We scrap your old office buildings for metal and copper. We use cubicle walls as insulation. I have even seen those stupid desk organizer things you used to have in boatloads made into herb gardens.

I could go on if I didn’t have so much work to do. I am a writer: we still have those. I did not go to college for it, in fact like most, I dropped out of school at age 12. My writing does not save me from doing dishes, laundry, or growing and preserving food like everyone else. All in all, I would say that I have a good life, and others do as well. People work themselves to death just as they did in your era, but they are far more likely to do it under the golden sun surrounded by people they love, not locked away alone in some godforsaken hospital.

Anyways, I’m off to do my chores.

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Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Sat, 14 Feb 2026 05:41:03 GMT

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from March 13 -- March 19, 2026.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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The Outraged are Not Paying Attention: Part One, Anger

Mon, 09 Feb 2026 19:36:26 GMT

In the run up to the French Revolution, Marie Antoinette was accused of diddling her own son, the Dauphin and the heir to the French throne. Even the most basic of searches reveals Marie Antoinette never said “Let them eat cake”, yet the phrase has been welded to her identity since at least 1787. She did not have to utter the infamous quip because she lived it. She had a mini-farm built called the Petit Trianon and massive gambling and fashion habits. Meanwhile, to be a regular person in 18th century France was to be “virtually without worldly goods” reports Owen Hulton in The Poor of 18th Century France, 1750-1789. Often, “a bed, a cupboard, a few cooking pots, bed-clothes, shirts and shifts progressively patched and worn constituted the entire assets of a working family.” Marie’s huge menagerie of domestic animals, including the ones on her show farm, included an array of tiny dogs that crapped and pissed wherever they wanted in the Versailles palace, chewing holes in embroidered damask that cost more than a laundress would make in her entire life. The 18th century equivalent of tabloids (called the libelles, compare the word to libel in English) accused Marie of molesting her own son. At her trial, Marie refused to dignify the accusations with a response, stating “if I did not respond, it was because it would be against Nature for a mother to reply against such an accusation.” Her son the Dauphin was isolated, groomed, and tortured into accusing his mother of incest by Jacques Peré Hébert, who once skipped town at the age of 23 when he was rightfully convicted of slander and was fired from his theater job at the time for stealing. His contemporary, the French historian Ferdinand Brunot, called Hébert “the Homer of filth” for his talent for appealing to the lowest common denominator with his rumor-monging and false accusations. Hébert became quite the demagogue in his day, launching a movement of Hébertists whose goal was to de-Christianize France and to force priests to marry. Hébertists organized the first Festival of Reason, renaming the Notre Dame the Temple of Reason. For Hébertists, unlike their modern couch potato keyboard warrior equivalents, often launched physical attacks on those they felt were “too moderate” such as the Girondins. Even Maximilien Robespierre was considered too moderate by the Hébertists in 1793.

The Reign of Terror saw about 17,000 elites separated from their lives. Though I am sure it felt good to see the formerly be-wigged marching to their dooms after being scooped up in wooden carts, the revenge of the common man does not seem to have done much to stop subsequent Marie Antoinette wannabes from going about their rich and clueless lives.

It’s Hollywood, baby

Jews were expelled from Russia during its Revolution after throwing in their lot with Bolsheviks and other revolutionaries. The Jews who escaped to America founded Hollywood. In the 1800s, newly arrived Jews joined their brethren in the garment trade and vaudeville live theater. Both of these industries were largely overlooked and dismissed by wealthy whites. Live theaters were gradually overtaken by cinemas, and since Jews dominated the theater trade, the transition to film was natural and smooth. Many Jews in the garment industry founded the major entertainment houses: clothing salesman Carl Laemmle founded Universal Pictures; furrier Adolf Zucker founded Paramount Pictures; glove seller Samuel Goldwyn began his own moving picture studio.

Nobody could accuse the founding Jews of Hollywood of laziness. They worked hard, they became entrepreneurs, collaborated, sacrificed, and clawed their way up to do it. We can witness the hardy Louis Mayer, a poor kid who was born in the Ukraine and quit school at the age of 12. By the time he was a young adult, he renovated a vaudeville theater in Massachusetts before moving to Hollywood and founding MGM Studios. One of his producers, fellow Jew Arthur Freed, was famously accused of sexual harassment on several occasions, including by 12 year old Shirley Temple. Freed pulled out his penis and began to fondle himself in front of Temple on her first day on set. Temple claims to have laughed it off before running away in her autobiography. Sure.

Hollywood was a great success, and it has always been disproportionately Jewish. What the persecutors of the Bolsheviks and other revolutionary Jews failed to realize is that Jews thrive on persecution and they hope to be punished. Like Christians and Muslims, the fastest route to heaven for a monotheist with one life is to die for his religion. Nobility and the erasure of the most hideous of sins is conferred via martyrdom. Look at the grisly fetish that Jews have made of their own holocaust, seeking to relive the “experience” of progroms, ghettoes, and gas chambers in their various holocaust museums. I argue that wanting to relive a holocaust (I refuse to capitalize the word as holocausts happen every damn day) is barking, drooling madness, and that is why we don’t see modern Cambodians LARPing the Killing Fields or Rwandans basking in the glory of the Tutsi slaughterhouse of 1994.

You could round up all the Jews better than Hitler and you would still fail to eradicate the hidden forces that make them into a menace. For instance, if every Jew was suddenly and permanently raptured, do you think pedophilia would screech to a halt and no child would ever have to worry about being sodomized, tortured, or sold to ravening human ghouls for money ever again? LOL if you think that; clearly you do not know much of the world and will be forced to learn the hard way.

Chemtrails

This morning, the beautiful blue sky was marred by a giant X where two planes had deposited a cloudy, aerosolized mixture of poisons called chemtrails or contrails. About 30 minutes later, the entire sky became overcast. Speculation abounds concerning chemtrails, which were simply not a thing when I was growing up in the 70s and 80s. One hypothesis has it that they are doing weather modifications — Marjorie Taylor Greene believes that Hurricane Milton was in part caused by elite creeps playing God via chemtrails. I don’t think she is wrong. Chemtrails also seem to contain an array of biological poisons and nanobots designed to hijack healthy creatures via the air they breathe and the water they drink and make them sick. Remember that a healthy populace is not as easy to enslave and dominate as a perpetually ill one.

I would be lying if I claimed I do not have fantasies about shooting a surface-to-air missile at a chemtrail plane. I would smile as I watched it plummet to the ground, knowing its pilot was screaming his last words into the com. I hate chemtrails and I vicariously hate their pilots, which are the kind of just-smart-enough goons who fail to connect poisoning the Earth with poisoning their own children. There are campaigns to encourage regular people like myself to go to chemtrail airplane hangars to try to talk sense into the pilots. The idea that a chemtrail pilot bro who just follows orders would immediately abandon his well-paying job because some woman shows up at his work asking him to stop is hilarious and tragic. We all know the only thing that stops these people is a special sort of vest and a one way trip to Paradise for everyone in the vicinity. We also know that the second we complete our final boss in this game, there will be 10,000 missions of a nearly-identical variety that only others may complete because we will be dead.

Oh, the futility!

Epstein had his hands in an impressive amount of torture and blackmail. The one nice thing that can be said of the guy (he is probably still alive) is that he is a good multitasker. The big outrage is now that nothing is being done to the pedos. Prince Andrew was dethroned but he obviously is still alive. There are some disgraced diplomats who were obligated to resign/apologize. Trump is still alive and President of the United States at the time of this writing. Except for Ghislaine Maxwell, nobody is being held accountable for Epstein’s crimes, and it is highly doubtful that Maxwell is suffering as much as the average prisoner. Epstein and his pals seem to have done horrible things to infants and children, including literally eating nursing infants whose raw intestines apparently taste like cream cheese because they are full of fermented mother’s milk. Mark Tramo, a UCLA professor of biology and physiology, was caught in a convo with Epstein commenting that infants suck harder when they hear the sound of their mother's voice. He has since been “cancelled” and his web page on the UCLA website has been removed. In other words, he was lashed with a wet noodle and told to sit in a corner for ten minutes.

If we hauled every Epstein associate into a quick tribunal and then dispatched them to public hanging squares or Pay-Per-View torture chambers where they could be creatively assaulted by their own victims’ families, the spectacle would be extremely satisfying. There is no doubt that Epstein’s team of baby-eaters richly deserve to have their own skin flayed off in strips. We should then salt them, roll them in tar, and drop them in the middle of a desert with just enough water to make things truly miserable. While we were at it, we could gather up the chemtrail pilots and more importantly, their masters, and boil them in hot oil, immersing them slowly, taking them out, and then dipping them back in again a little further each time. We would, of course, surgically remove their larynxes first so they could not scream. We would feed these crispy, deep fried critters to imprisoned private equity, health care, and insurance CEOs. For laughs, we would remove the tongues of these CEOs first so they could not taste what they were eating. They could suffer the kuru without enjoying the behavior that results in kuru. We would then feed the CEOs to hungry pigs and alligators, or maybe sharks depending on what was available. We would do this while they were alive. Or maybe we could just leave them in the bottom of a pit until they starved and went fully insane, their driving Wendigos of unearned wealth having become impotent. Basically, we would make death the best outcome for these people. They would beg for it and we would not give it to them.

We could slay them all and there would be more of them within a generation at most. Humans are not all that smart and many of us start out in life extremely depraved. Not all monsters are made; some are born.

“So what do you propose we do, Kimberly Steele?” I will talk about that in next week’s essay.

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